The Perfect Snow … Storm

A perfectly snowy tree
outside of school

Today (December 8, 2010) was a perfect example of an “up north” winter. Big, puffy cotton balls of snow were falling from the sky, and if you looked up into it, it’s likely you’d get an eyeful and a mouthful. For local snow lovers like us, it’s what we wait for. I even call our friends downstate with a “snow report,” which, in reality, is a test to see if they’ve gotten as much as we have. So today, winter settled in with a smile full of fluffy whiteness that blanketed us in the most cozy of ways.

Later in the afternoon, as I was driving to pick up my son, Rowan, from school, the snowy roads caused traffic to be at a standstill. I had left my cell phone at home, so I couldn’t do any “checking in.” I wasn’t really in the mood to listen to music, so I found myself daydreaming in the Traverse City gridlock.

I kept remembering a time, in the middle of one snowy night, when I drove my Jeep off the road. On this night, the ice on the road was thick enough to ice skate on – literally (and yes, I have done this before in our lovely state). I was a high-schooler driving around with friends and thinking it might be cool to hot-dog it up a bit. As soon as I hit the gas, the Jeep started sliding. After three full rotations (thankfully on an isolated road) we landed in a cornfield. “No problem,” I thought. “After all, this is a JEEP.” Then I opened the door and stepped out into snow that was well above my waist. “Uh oh. Looks like I need to call DAD.”

My Dad is a tough Swede. Following in the footsteps of my sister and brother – my parents were pretty much immune to any antics that I might dream up. I made the call and heard my Dad’s sleepy hello. I started to explain that I was buried up to my axles in a cornfield, and I’ll never forget his response: “Dig yourself out.” Followed by a “click” of the phone hanging up.

So in today’s winter wonderland, I found myself thinking about “digging myself out,” and how in reality it’s more important to “dig others out.” Living up north for the past 12 years, we’ve had many opportunities to help stranded motorists. I remember one in particular on Rowan’s second birthday. Driving down Front Street, we saw a well-dressed man standing next to a shiny compact car, buried in a snow bank. We were passing right by him, and it was obvious my husband, Doug, was planning to keep on going, when I said a little too loud, “We need to stop and help him!” “We don’t have a tow rope,” Doug said. “Pull over,” I said.

We left Rowan in a warm-and-running car while we got on our hands and knees and dug the visiting businessman out of the snow bank that his compact had landed in. When we got back in, I realized the importance of our actions when Rowan started asking us questions about helping others in his own kid-speak language.

Fast-forward to today. For some reason, the words “dig others out” kept circling in my mind. “Wonder if we’ll have the chance to help someone today?” I thought to myself. 

Just after I picked up Rowan, my question was answered. A man had veered off the road in his Nissan pickup and was buried up to his axles, trying desperately to place cardboard under his tires for traction to get out – on his own. I pulled over. And so did another woman. We realized that we might be able to push him, but we were two dressed-up moms and one guy in a busy four-lane intersection. What we needed was a tow. I looked around and spotted a car with two young men in the front. I tapped on the window and asked, “Could you please help us with a tow?” “Sorry. We’re headed to help someone else out,” they said.

Seriously.

I looked at my Subaru Outback wagon, and back at the man who was busily attaching a towrope, and thought, “What the heck? Let’s give it a try.”

I pulled that man out of the snowbank (with Rowan once again watching over the scene from the back seat of a warm car). I jumped out and gave a whoop! And without hesitating, walked right over to the man (who was obviously shaken from the whole incident) and gave him a big bear hug.

Pulling him out was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I guess that’s the way I feel about most challenging situations. They can seem almost insurmountable – especially when others refuse to help. But just put your head down, tap into your inner strength and surround yourself with people who want to help, and good things happen.

Needless to say, I’ve added a towrope to my Christmas list. Just in case I need to help

dig someone else out. 

The Power of Touch

Today I had the pleasure of visiting with one of my favorite new people who also happens to be a Shiatsu guru. I'm a firm believer in massage and when a friend gave me a gift certificate to try Shiatsu, although I was ignorant about exactly what it was, I was never the less enthusiastic. So, this morning, after my third visit, I was compelled to send this note to all of you who are near and dear to me, as a reminder of: the power of touch. 

Kauai from the sky

According to the "guru" the Chinese believe that autumn is a time of "letting go." For some people this translates into a mix of emotions (grief, love, excitement, etc.) while for others, it is just an overall feeling of discomfort. The last two days of Northern Michigan weather were a brilliant reminder of this transition as Mother Nature's winds whipped up to 75 miles-per-hour in some areas, all-the-while stripping the trees of their autumn glow.

Thinking about the change of the seasons, reminded me of how important it is that we touch one another. Not just during times of transition - but whenever and however we can. Whether it's gently holding the hand of a new friend, or heartily embracing a loved one, reaching out to others is a powerful and magical thing. Even the seals understand...

A while ago, on a beach-walk with a dear friend in Kauai, we came across two monk seals playing in the surf. The two were rolling over, and over, in the surf locked in a gentle and playful embrace. We stayed still and watched them for several moments and I remember being struck by their expression of happiness. They were ecstatic just hugging one another.

Fast-forward to two days ago, when I visited a rest home with my son to seek out a "friend" he had met during a class trip. While we weren't sure we found the exact person he had met, we did spend time with two other lovely ladies. They didn't know us, and were quite confused about their own surroundings, but at some point in our conversation, I reached out and touched each one on the arm. Time stopped as I held my hand there - letting them know that I cared.

Thank you for letting me reach out to "touch" you in my own way today. You are all loved.

The Little Caterpillar Who Could

Rowan and Doc

The day we brought the monarch caterpillar that Rowan named “Doc” home in a zip-lock plastic baggie, I was filled with both intrigue and dread. As a child, I couldn’t ever remember capturing one of these sproingy, beautiful green guys and the thought of caring for him was daunting. Especially given that our experience trying to “hatch” tadpoles just one month earlier had resulted in the demise of one small froglet.

The friends who we “adopted” Doc from had plastic baggies hanging all over their house with caterpillars in every stage of development. As Lynn shared what we should watch for and how we should care for this tiny creature, the kids bounced around sing-songing facts about the wiggly guys, and how their transformation happens.

So, we drove home, with Doc in a zip lock baggie hoping for the best. Yet I couldn’t shake the bad feeling in my belly and the thought that I might have to have another “circle of life” conversation with Rowan was enough to make me sick.

As with life, Doc’s transformation didn’t go according to plan. Our friends assured us that he would begin chomping away on the milkweed leaves in the bag and when he started pooping a lot, he would attach to the side of the bag, at which time we would cut the bag away and hang him somewhere.

Doc chomped and chewed and when he started pooping more than most humans I know, we watched him with intensity. After returning home from a quick trip, we checked in on Doc only to find that he had in fact, become a chrysalis but he had not attached himself to the side of the bag.

Here comes that sick feeling again. I got on the phone and left a message for our friends – asking for their guidance on what we should do next. Doug wasn’t going to be home for several hours, which increased my anxiety as I had a feeling that we would need to take some action to help Doc survive. It was up to me. So, remaining calm (on the surface), I did what most people would: I Googled it.

Instead of focusing on Doc’s demise, I turned our dilemma into a challenge…propelling us forward by digging in. I recently realized that when I am under stress, nobody knows it. That’s not to say that Rowan was unaware, it’s just that when push comes to shove, I can channel all that fear into focused action and ultimately, results.

I found out quickly that in order for Doc’s wings to develop properly, he had to hang upside down. So, the fragile, beautiful green chrysalis needed to be hoisted and hung. “Great,” I thought out loud. Dealing with fragile and intricate details aren’t my forte. Doug and Rowan both know the kind of tense concentration it takes just to paint my own nails!

“Okay, okay, okay…” I kept repeating. And then, as most of the women in my family do, I began to talk through what we should do, out loud. “What we need to do is tie a string to the top of Doc and hang him.” “Hey! Here’s an old butter container, and here’s some string…”

Moving through the murky waters, trying to remain calm, all the while sweating the details. I was a nervous mess. In the end, with great care, I managed to rig Doc up to the inside lid of an old butter container and I even cut a hole so we could see his “progress.” By now I should mention that I was one hundred percent convinced that Doc would perish. If he hadn’t already crossed over, the trauma of my attempt to handle him “delicately” surely killed the poor guy.

So, for the next eight days, we watched as Doc’s home turned a variety of colors. All the while, with Rowan assuring us that “it was completely normal development” and that he had “researched it in school.”

Daily and most nights my thoughts would drift to Doc. “At what point is he going to get moldy and I’m going to have to have “the conversation?” I kept thinking. One night, before we drifted off to sleep, I shared my worry with Doug. “I am SO worried about Doc. I just cannot bear the thought of having another “circle of life” conversation with Rowan. After all, we did just kill a tadpole…” My husband, possibly one of the kindest, most patient people I know responded sleepily…”I know, honey. But let’s just wait and see.”

By now you know a few key things about me:

1) I rarely ever let “them” see me sweat.

2) Intricate details (like clasping my own bracelet or painting my nails) are not my strong suit.

3) Thankfully I married a patient man because I have little to none of my own.

So, we waited and we watched. And one Friday morning, Doc had turned completely black. My heart sank when I saw him. “Oh my gosh, he’s died and now he’s getting MOLDY!” I thought just as Rowan padded over for his early-morning check of the winged one. “Mom, he looks like he’s about to hatch,” he said. “What??? My head said. HATCH? That guy is as moldy as the bread we just composted…” Rowan continued, “Yep, Mom, it should happen any time.”

We continued with our morning routine and right before we left the house for the day, we checked on Doc once more. Peeking through the door on the makeshift butter container, dangling from the bottom of a blackened chrysalis was a beautiful monarch butterfly! Doc had hatched and he was extraordinary. Slowly, he stretched his wings and unfurled himself. It was a Friday after an extra-long week and in my mind, it was a miraculous sign. The little caterpillar that could…did.

Doc needed to be released. And we were going to be gone all day. So, we packed up the butter container with the butterfly who beat the odds and drove him to school – to share him with Rowan’s friends.

Such is the story of a wiggly, squiggly worm that I thought was done for. The irony of the entire situation was not lost on me. So many times, I have wondered, “how am I going to accomplish this task?” only to find out that deep within me, like every one else, there is a reservoir of strength and will to survive. And to think, all started with one little caterpillar.

Stop to Smell the Serendipity

Rowan stops to "smell"
the strawberries

This has been a week full of challenges and ironies. The best part about all of it is not that it is over, but that I was present enough, to actually recognize each blessed moment. That’s not to say I was blissed-out all week, just that my heart felt connected in a way that made me want to sing and cry all at the same time – I felt overloaded with feelings. Brimming with happiness, at the same time drowning in an ocean of tears.

So I write this morning, on the brink of a wonderful celebration at Rowan’s school “the Dance of the Cosmos” where once a year we are reminded of our connectivity to each other and to the Universe. Each graduating child chooses a planet, comet or asteroid that they would like to be, and they actually perform a dance of sorts, moving around one another in planetary fashion. The twins Michael and Sara are the Sun and Moon, Rowan Schultz is the comet “Wild2” – the perfect fit for my wonderful, wild child.

The fact that this week is culminating with such a celebration is ironic perfection. At the beginning of the week, we attended a smaller celebration for Rowan’s graduation and during this time, each teacher speaks about each child who is “moving up.” One of the teacher’s was having a very difficult time – not just because of the bittersweet goodbye that she was making – but it was obvious to me that she suffers from a fear of public speaking. As I watched her shake  (yes, you could literally see her shaking) my heart went out to her and I whispered to my husband “someone needs to get up there and hold her hand,” feeling very much compelled to do it myself. Not two seconds later, the teacher remarked aloud “I really need someone to come up here and hold my hand…” Doug and I were both shocked and covered in goose bumps. There was no way she could have heard me but it is obvious that she felt me. 

So, that’s the way the week started and I should have known that it would be special but instead I dismissed the moment and kept moving. Which is what I think we all do more often than not. The weird thing is, the moments kept happening. Mid week I found myself having coffee with a friend (after struggling through a busy morning and running late). We thought sitting outside the café would be nice but the construction across the street made it difficult for us to hear without screaming at one another. I suggested we move to a quieter place up the street, and when I spied a bench along Front Street in the sun, it called my name. I really needed to sit in the sun – and she agreed so we did.

I was helping my friend (who had recently decided to pursue her passion of photography full-time) with connections to people who might use her services, or be able to refer or help her in some way. About an hour into our discussion, she mentioned that she would like to do some travel photography and I immediately thought of a person who does that kind of work, and is a kind-gentle soul, who could guide her. I said, “You know who you should talk to is my friend so-and-so.” I spoke the words and as soon as I did, I noticed a person on the other side of the street at the cross walk – yep, you guessed it: it was my friend Mr. So and So. Again, I was astounded. Literally – I said, “Oh My Gosh – there he is!”

We laughed, I made the introduction, and we both agreed that when you are working from your heart, the Universe has a way of providing. But for me, this week, it went deeper than that. The “ironies” were literally starting to pile up and each time, I recognized the moment but passively dismissed it and kept moving.

Yesterday, I tuned into a friend of mine on the radio and she happened to be speaking with an author who just wrote a fictional book about forgiveness. Although I only caught the show for five minutes, his words touched me deeply. So much so, that when the radio host offered a signed copy of his book “to the first caller” I started dialing. People who are close to me know that I never enter contests and certainly not radio contests. I think this comes from my former life when I was responsible for developing campaigns and contests to woo listeners to the most popular stations in New York, Chicago and LA – in that role, we were never allowed to enter a contest. So all this has carried over into a feeling that because I am “in the business” I should disqualify myself from drawings. Ask anyone who has attended an event with me and they will confirm my refusal to “enter to win.”

So, I called and a feeling of happiness came over me because I knew in my heart I was going to win the book. And I did.  The irony doesn’t end there however, because I needed a book for my staycation that I had planned (Mom’s mental health weekend away at the beach) for this Friday (today).

So, I finally stopped moving. And let it all sink in. And I started typing (right after picking up my new book) with the hope that sharing some of my personal ironies and serendipities might spark something in your reality too. And that you might take a moment to pause and reflect on these blessed “coincidences” and remember that each one is absolutely meant to be.

Big Wheelie

Yep, that's me at age three

It all started when I was three years old and was liberated by a Big Wheel I received for my birthday. The youngest of three children living in a suburb of Grand Rapids, Michigan, our home was nestled among a lot of similar-looking houses.

It didn’t matter to me that my brand new Big Wheel wasn’t the girls’ version – my ride sported primary colors and bright-spangled handle decorations instead of a softer, pastel palette. For me, it was love at first ride, and as soon as my feet touched the pedals, I was in motion.

My mission (although I was unaware of it at the time) was simple: to connect with people. It’s hard to put into words the overpowering desire I felt to spend time meeting and learning about other people’s lives and experiences at such a young age. My mom likes to tell how I would be gone for hours and she would have no idea where I was only to hear later from elderly neighbors “how great it was to spend time having tea and toast with Juliette this morning.”

I was and continue to be fascinated by people. Back then, one neighbor in particular was my favorite. He was confined to a wheelchair, with an ever-present blanket on his lap, and an unending supply of circus peanuts. It never occurred to me to ask him about his handicap – I was just a kid willing to push him around the neighborhood – which to him was probably better than any conversation we could have had. My mom laughs out loud when she recalls the time she saw me streaking by the front of our house, pushing his wheelchair at mock-speed, his blanket flying in the wind. He was having just as much fun as I was, and we laughed all the way around the block.

My tastes have changed, but my fascination with people has never waned. So it seemed a natural fit when I decided to pursue a journalism degree with the thought that I might someday grace the airwaves of 60 Minutes and lead scathing interviews with world leaders. I liked being on the “asking end” and I was becoming particularly good at using my hypersensitive intuition to read people and paint a portrait of their story in my head. 

However, after earning an associate’s degree, it was time for another career decision. Following an interview with the first female president of the university, I had the sense that I had peaked as a journalist and was ready to take on a new challenge. Again, my interest in people led me to pursue a degree in marketing. It excited me to have the opportunity to learn more about the science of consumerism – particularly what makes people buy. A consumer behavior class confirmed I was on the right path.

Continuing to connect with people throughout the course of my career has led to some of the most fulfilling professional and personal relationships I have ever experienced. But it was only after having those “in the trenches” professional experiences that I realized my intuition has also played a large part in my success as a business owner. Following my gut and being unafraid to both listen and speak from the heart is a life lesson I will continue to share for many years to come, and I credit a great deal of this drive to my first big wheelie and the excitement, independence, and connection to others it provided.