About Flagpole. (Athens, Ga.) 1987-current | View Entire Issue (Dec. 24, 2025)
DECEMBER 24, 2025 & DECEMBER 31, 2025 ■ FLAGPOLE.COM 19 cry. You know the one. The piercing cry that gets you whisked out of the room and fast! Poor Aunt Hawk didn’t know she was the cause. She thought I was a crier who probably needed some more leg patting. What I really needed was a cigarette and a beer. As much nicotine, alcohol and Dramamine that was going around, you would think I might have become an alcoholic or a drug addict of some kind. But at first, to my family’s dismay, I became a meditator and a yoga teacher. There but for the grace of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, go I. So gratitude, my Aunt Hawk, for teaching me the bless ing of a quiet room away from the beer, the smoke and the overzealous patting, too. Aunt Hawk, every Thanksgiving I think of you, and hope you have a loving Angel who patiently sits beside you for some heavenly patting from your heart. Bubble Trouble By Jamie Ovinnio Athens runs on caffeine, creativity and the occasional questionable decision... so naturally, I started a mobile dirty-soda business called Bubble Trouble. Bubble Trouble wasn’t created in a board- room—it was born the same way all great Athens ideas are: at 11 p.m., while standing in my kitchen, staring at a can of Dr Pepper like it owed me money. Somewhere between the sugar high and the intrusive thought that said, “Hey, what if I turned this into a whole business?”... Bubble Trouble arrived. For the uninitiated, “dirty soda” is what hap pens when you mix soda, flavored syrups, cream and pure emotional support. Think coffee shop energy, but for people who say, “Actually, caffeine makes me feral.” We pop up around Athens—mar kets, festivals, church events, small businesses, you name it—with aqua-and-purple bubbly branding that screams fun, chaotic joy, and your kid definitely can’t have three of these. In true Athens fashion, I’ve learned more from setting up at local events than I ever learned in school. For example: If your tent tries to fly away during a wind gust, that’s just Athens testing your commitment. A cooler full of soda cans will develop its own personality after hour six. And nothing—nothing—unites people faster than a specialty drink with cream on top. People always ask how I come up with drink names. Easy: I just pretend I’m naming indie bands. “Velvet Punch”? Could easily headline at the 40 Watt Club. “Caribbean Fizz”? Sounds like three UGA stu dents who met in a GroupMe. “Pink Starburst”? That one’s absolutely playing AthFest. But honestly, what makes Bubble Trouble feel so... Athens... is the people. The kids who try As a riding instructor in a coed camp near Clintwood, VA, my job was to teach children to ride horses and learn safe behavior around them as well. Arriving in late spring to a verdant mountain setting, I enjoyed meeting the camp counselors, instructors and all of the horses. Except Lucifer. He was the lanky chestnut gelding standing alone in the pasture. As I approached him for the first time, he tensed his muscles and pinned back his ears. I moved slowly toward him and spoke softly so he could learn my voice and smell. Yet his distrust remained. Clearly, Lucifer was unsafe for campers at that time. Yet, we needed him. The other horses required breaks from long hours in the riding ring. All of them had to work. Lucifer was not vicious, but I learned how he tested riders in a cun ning way. I rode him each day before sunset when campers were not around. In the dusty riding ring, Lucifer waited until I relaxed in the saddle. Then, he’d swiftly swerve sideways to try to smash my leg hard against a fence post. Fortunately, as a youngster I read Son of the Black Stallion by Walter Farley and learned how a horse can learn from self-inflicted consequences. Maci Foster me. My gratitude for my hometown library and its wide variety of good books for young readers grew as well. Repairs By Lane Young I often wonder, what if we didn’t heal? Every break of bone would stay apart. Every cut would bleed and never seal, Along with every fracture of the heart. Poison ivy rashes, tendon tears, Ego bruises, tempests of the brain, Wells of grief and general despairs, And colonies of microbes would remain. For all the woven tales a body tells, For all of these repairs, let me say, Thank you, blood and bones, thank you, cells, Thank you, soul, thank you, DNA. Into the Distance By Philosophy Into the distance, the shadow grows. Into the distance, the fork in the road. Into the distance, the shadow goes. Into the distance, the highs, the lows. Into the distance, the open space. Into the distance, that hated place. Into the distance, they see the fight. Into the distance, they see the mite. Into the distance, the mystery sings. Into the distance, the mystery brings. Into the distance, the eye sits low. Into the distance, the fork in the road. Into the distance, the ocean blinks. Into the distance, the clouds do sink. Into the distance, the mountains breathe. Into the distance, the ocean seas. Into the distance, the shadow knows. Into the distance, the shadow stows. Into the distance, the shadow fleas. Into the distance, the shadow seize. Into the distance, she marks the path. Into the distance, hope turns to ash. Into the distance, comes the spring. Into the distance, comes the fling. Into the distance, she sets her sights. Into the distance, dark turns to night. Into the distance, she sets her sights. Into the distance, dark turns to night. every flavor. The moms who whisper, “I need the strongest one you’ve got.” The dads who pretend they’re buying a drink for their kid but immediately take the first sip. The vendors who trade drinks for snacks like we’re in an adult version of the lunchroom. Athens has its own heartbeat, and Bubble Trouble just tries to dance along with it, preferably off-beat, because rhythm has never been my ministry. So if you see a lavender-and-aqua tent with bubbles floating everywhere and a woman sprinting between a cooler, a syrup table and a Square reader... come say hi. I’ll probably hand you a drink, a laugh and a story you didn’t know you needed. Helpful Book for a Horse from Hell By Liz Conroy In my summer of sweet 16, the toughest challenge for me was trying to train a treacherous horse. As I recall, Satan, the horse in the story, had a habit of biting. But the smart trainer avoided using physical punishment. Instead, he baked a big potato, wrapped it carefully and stuffed it up his sleeve so it created a large bulge. As he walked into the stall, he put his potato arm for ward. Immediately, the big horse lunged for that bulge and bit down on it as hard as he could. After Satan burned his own mouth, he never bit anyone again. With that story in mind, I decided to let Lucifer rush to a fence post to try to crush my leg against it. But at the last second, I’d raise my leg, and Lucifer would slam himself into the post instead. It took several times. And it was risky. Each time I pulled my leg out of the stirrup and lifted it back, I was off balance. If he bucked or reared at that moment, I could have fallen. But it worked! He realized that his own action resulted in pain. With praise instead of punishment, he calmed down and gradually became rideable. Although I only let the most experienced riders on him. For a young teenager in a mountain camp far from home, taming Lucifer meant newly found confidence for Light By Margaret Agner In a cold brown dusty stable An infant was born. Christ A brown small baby— Quietly among cows and sheep Asses and barn smell. A special star marked the place. We remember the stable With a cacophony of lights Glittering red and green Silver and gold, And music coming out of sidewalk loudspeakers. Tinsel stars and birds, Tinsel angels with hourglass figures and platinum hair, Kissing and drinking and spending. > continued on next page
