Thought this picture of George said it all!  I’m really not sure if the next phase of my disease progression would have happened without the scleroderma, but it sure wasn’t a lot of fun!  (still isn’t!).  Shortly after the initial round of diagnosis and adjustments, I ended up with severe diverticulitis.  I tend to think it was due to the fact that the scleroderma slows down the digestive system to the point that it is definitely moving in slow motion!  So, things easily get hung up going through the pipes!  Either way, this first round of problems ended up with three hospitalizations, tons of missed days, and finally surgery to remove five inches of my colon…fun, right?

It is insidious, this slow digestion thing.  You get a bit of heartburn from that “bad enchilada”?  It’ll be gone in a bit, right?  How about eight hours later you’re still struggling with it?  Nausea?  Well, this is what happens when last night’s dinner hangs around a bit longer than it should.  Nausea is my middle name now, affecting 90-95% of my waking hours.  Sometimes it’s not bad enough for meds (I don’t want to be reliant!), most of the time though meds are needed.  Either way, it is challenging!  I look green?  It’s not you, darlin’!  Really!  I always look this way!  (smile)

Then there’s the on again, off again “flow” through the system.  In other words, it’s either all or nothing for the “tail end” of the digestive process (ahem! I am a lady, so fill in the blanks!).  There is no normal with scleroderma…except that no normal is normal.  Complicated by my very, very odd allergy to “live cultures” such as acidopholous, which would normally be used to help my poor old, slow mo’ system out, life can be quite an adventure!  One never knows what’s going to happen, when, or where!  Bit of “visiing the porcelain pillow”?  Why not now?  Run, run, run?  Why not?  I think you get the picture.  But look at the positive…I do get a lot of exercise just keeping things under control!

 The impact on all aspects of digestion are a bit overwhelming at times, though, for I do love to eat (no, I’m not 300 pounds!  But, no slim miss…yet…either).   With life revolving around your digestive system, eating becomes a daily “internal” dialogue!  To eat that dish I really have been craving for (I do love enchiladas!) and suffer or be good and be bored, looking for snacks!  Hmmm…..now that’s a quandary we can all identify with!  I won’t give up that pizza, but it’s not a daily food item anymore…darn!

So, accept, adapt, appreciate?  I’d have to say as part of this post that this aspect of the disease remains my greatest physical problem and greatest emotional challenge.  As my allowed food groups shrink (we’ll see more of why in the next post, which will be delayed due to an upcoming trip for another one of those fun procedures!) I do fight the “doggone, I’m going to do what I want!” response more and more.  But heck, this just sets my challenge out clearly, don’t you think? I can use all the help I can get here!

Munch those cashews for me, my friend, and eat my strawberries, but don’t touch that slice of sausage and mushroom pizza!  Hugs to you all!

Have a great “T” day!

There are many ways that scleroderma can attack your internal organs.  For many of us it starts with the digestive system.  This is the major impact for me, so today will be just the first in a several part discussion of what it does to you.  Let’s just say every day is an adventure!

One of the first signs they warn you about with scleroderma is difficulty swallowing.  Why?  Because for some reason the disease really likes to start its march through your body in your esophagus!  As you struggle to swallow at times even small bites of a bagel or piece of toast, you get the feeling something isn’t quite right, but you ignore it.  Just a quirk, you say.  That is, until other signs start to pick up.

For me, the first stage was the travel down my esophagus, triggering an age old hiatal hernia into full bloom followed by GERD (gastro-esophageal reflux disease).  Wow…if anything can turn you off of coffee, what used to be a staple of my life, GERD can!  Yuck!  So, phase I for me was discomfort, painful swallowing from top through middle of the winding path to the tum…followed by hours of reminders that perhaps what I had eaten was a bad choice!  Many things taste good the first time around, but subsequent trips not so good.  But, being who I am, I continued to ignore these symptoms, simply noting that my digestive system had always been sensitive, so this too would pass.

As we’ll see tomorrow, what was to pass wasn’t quite so easy to ignore.  But, for all of you out there struggling to get that breakfast sandwich down, take a second and pay attention to your body!  It is the first internal signal that something is amiss.

So, having sounded a faint alarm bell, I’m going to sign off as this story will take several posts to unwind itself.  There’s a lot of insides to our insides!  For that, you’ll find out, I’m very glad!

Remember, no self-pity on this end…just a story to tell that may help others feel a bit of comfort…you are not alone and there is so much life you have to live yet….enjoy each moment, for remember our goal…accept, adapt and appreciate!

Have a great “T” day!

When I try to describe scleroderma’s impact to someone, the first thing I always do is hold out my right hand (my left hand is beginning to follow).  What they see is a crooked mass of fingers that can no longer be straightened.  I then say, “What you see in my hands is what it is doing to my insides.”  So, as my hands go, so goes my health overall.

I know many people get totally clawed..and I guess I hope I live long enough for that to be the case.  For you see, as I said earlier, getting something like scleroderma makes you appreciate life, not wish it away or blindly ignore its passage.  And, it is the weakness in my hands that first caused me to slow down, which was a very good thing.

Today?  They hurt more and more.  Swimming can become agony, but then, aren’t you supposed to break a sweat exercising?  Since I’m not sweating I should at least know I worked out!  And, bit by bit they’ll get weaker, so George can flex his manly muscles even more to help open those jar tops!  So you see, there really isn’t anything gained in pulling the covers over your head or complaining….Accept, adapt, appreciate, remember?

And, how can the post not end positively with such a beautiful shot taken outside Pompeii…where the shortness of life is made oh so clear.  Did it matter whether those people were young and strong or old and frail?  No.  Life begins and ends as it should.  Relax, quit trying to run away from the Grim Reaper, and carefully breath in each moment of your life, holding those you love dear and politely ignoring those you are less fond of.  Live, love, laugh!

Have a great “T” day!

I thought today I’d start at the beginning, when I first found out that I might be facing some unexpected challenges.  It was a busy time.  George and I had set a wedding date and decided on a destination wedding as we really only wanted family, which would be hard to pull off if we stayed near home.  So we set up our plans for Hilton Head, SC.  As we were juggling these additional “stressors,” I developed a severe and painful rash in my mouth.  Eating became agony as the open sores were sensitive to anything that passed their way.  Put a canker sore on steroids, spread it around everywhere, and voila’…Oral lichen planus.  This was my first diagnosed autoimmune disorder.  It came with itchy wrists from a rash and a huge rash on my upper legs.  And it hurt.  We made little progress with the regular doctors, though, and I was feeling a bit punky, so we went to a holistic doctor, Dr. Noe.

Dr. Noe was a no-nonsense physician.  She immediately sent off for every blood test she could think of, certain that other autoimmune disorders were lurking that would explain other symptoms.  And, sure enough, the scleroderma markers showed up and the diagnosis was made.  That led to horse pills taken by the dozen, which ultimately was the demise of my care under Dr. Noe…for you see, I already couldn’t swallow very well, a prime scleroderma symptom.

We went ahead with the wedding, though, setting the concerns about the diseases aside so we could enjoy the time.  We did too much, of course, but then, that was who we are.  It was a memorable wedding, and right there I knew I had gotten very blessed in later life…for George could have understandably said, “Gee let’s wait and see how your health issues pan out.”  He never once mentioned this option.  He was simply at my side.

Beside the problems swallowing, the main thing that was bothering me early on was that I was dropping everything.  Unless I paid very careful attention to what I was doing (slowing down, oh lord!) I could think I was holding something only to find out I wasn’t.  That was the first symptom of the impact on my right hand.  I didn’t really feel any differently, but my hand strength and coordination faltered.  But, I was in denial, so I didn’t go to a traditional physician for over six months after the diagnosis.  Guess I didn’t want to learn more and as long as I didn’t it wouldn’t happen. After a bout with a dermatologist who flat out stated Dr. Noe had no right to make a diagnosis and that scleroderma diagnosis was a ticket to death, I started to realize I’d have to face the thing straight on.  So finally, as the dropsies got the better of me, off I went to Dr. Silversmith, a local rheumatologist, who came back with exactly the same diagnosis as Dr. Noe had done six months earlier.  So now I had two severe autoimmune disorders…and was quickly also diagnosed with Raynaud’s, which made for the tri-fecta.  And that is where it all began…having to accept that I did have challenges ahead and would need to alter my plans for the future.

Tomorrow I’ll move on to how the disease spread and what it meant as it traveled through my body.  For today, let’s say the hardest part is finally accepting you have the disease.  Two doctors later there was no denial.

But, with acceptance comes wisdom and adaptation, as we’ll begin to see tomorrow!

Have a great “T” day!

Today, if my darn fingers will obey my brain, I will start to ponder a request from the dedicated professionals at the Scleroderma Foundation to write about scleroderma for children and teens.  Quite a challenge, as it forces me to actually face what it DOES mean to a person.  That is something easier to duck, it seems, than to face straight on.  So what if my typing is decaying due to a lazy, slightly crooked hand?  So what if I need to rest more and more, feeling that the hours of waking are slowly fading away?  Ah…so what?

So I am going to do a series of ramblings about the very disease process that brought me to writing for children in the first place.  Perhaps in these musings I’ll come to a place where I can write with both joy and honesty to such a young audience.  Perhaps once again I need to think how to explain it all to grandchildren who may not quite understand why Grandma is tired so much and that we see so much less of each other.  We’ll see, as this form of reflection is a painful path for me.

What scleroderma has meant to me is having a pin put into a balloon that was always full of energy, floating happily from one task to another, multi-tasking with ease while constantly expecting more from myself.  I was boundless energy that crashed about every four months, slept an entire day, and was off running again.  Down time?  I knew no such thing.  Contrast that with today where I take a day to recover from simply teaching for five hours…sitting, I might note…to a very small class.  I sleep the sleep of the dead so much of each day now that the waking hours are the unusual thing.  And, I remain tired and dizzy all the time.  But, stubborn…no one but George is allowed to see me struggle.  For the rest of the world, the picture is of just a slower me, but not necessarily a different one.

But scleroderma is changing me.  For one thing, while I still plan a thousand events and projects, I am learning to focus and finish one for that is something I believe I can still do with my former quality.  I have less patience for politics, less desire to engage in any form of fighting (whether of the academic or personal strife form), and more desire to just sit peacefully and read.  So in many ways, scleroderma is a blessing, forcing me to slow down and notice the world around me.  To pay attention to what really matters…the people who make life worthwhile.  Hence my ongoing dedication to that small group of students who have bonded with me at the Academy.

Scleroderma, though, is not a kindly friend.  It takes a bit of your energy every day, permanently leaving you a little less to go on.  Hands and feet cramp painfully, making even the glory of my morning swim at times an agony of stops and starts as I try to force my feet to do their job (how one can pull dead weight thru water I do not know!).  It robs one of dignity, as a digestive system becomes one’s greatest enemy.  Just eating can bring on a wave of discomfort that makes no real sense but is real nonetheless.  Lady’s aren’t supposed to have flatulence, right?  Wrong.  If you have that misconception, saddle up close to a woman with scleroderma and you might get more than you bargain for!  UFF DA!

So, today is just a ramble to begin to shape my thoughts around the challenges I face now and to start to make myself think thru how to most optimistically handle the challenges that still lie ahead.  And, it will provide us food for discussion or at least thought, I hope.  And Sandria, if you read this, thank you.  I will work on getting to the right place to do the task you’ve requested.

Have a great “

This man sits every day in this spot on the Erin Islands, playing his accordian and waiting for the few hearty tourists who make the trek across Galway Bay to this little cluster of islands that are more rock than dirt, yet where wild flowers abound upon every morsel of dirt.  The islanders haul the dirt up from the edge of the ocean to provide the means to grow their crops, which are neatly segmented off into six foot plots fenced by, what else, rock walls!  While it seems a bit bleak, there is also a deep charm amongst the island and its peoples.  Drawn by horse or donkey carts, you wander along the island’s few roads seeing graves where family may reside.  Many Irish settlers to America came from the Erin Islands, as did my husband’s.

But today’s theme is why blog?  Perhaps for the same reason this man sits playing all day…because they may come?  Yet even if you can figure out why you blog (does the world need these comments or could it spin blithely on its course unfetterred by their uttering), what to blog every day becomes quite a challenge.  I’ve run through the family that inspired so many of my life lessons, talked about the book events we’ve done, and the reasons behind some of the stories.  You’ve read through discussions of how I was formed professionally by the Power of Threes, and seen some of the better photography I’ve taken in my life.  That all said and done, I repeat, why blog?

I have to admit much of my blogging is due to a commitment I made to everyone to try to make this company a success.  So many fine people have put their time and energy into what we are doing that for me to fail to keep up this end of the bargain is simply not right.  But, unless I move beyond the rhyming of books, how do I keep such a site going?  This question is what awakes me each morning, wondering what to do next, what corner to peer into, what rock to kick aside.

For today, it is simply a “why?”   It shall have to suffice.

Have a great “T” Day!

One of the next themes is procrastination, a talent I have in spades.  Have you ever wondered why we sit and doodle, only to have to run full tilt ahead (watch out!) to get done the things we’ve committed to?  Oh, I know not everyone is afflicted with this “syndrome,” but for those of us who are, I wonder why?

I tell myself often it’s because I don’t allow enough real down time, so I steal it from my days, always chock full of “woulda’s” and “shoulda’s” as otherwise I wouldn’t give my mind any rest at all.  That seems like a reasonable self-defense, but there is also the truth that I work best under pressure, so perhaps I’m just waiting until my valve is ready to pop?

Either way, I do wish I could do more creative doodles!  Sometimes my doodlin’ takes the form of spider solitaire or mahjongg solitaire, others drawing endless coffee cups seeking just one that is actually true to shape!  I’m sure you have your own forms of distraction…but are we truly so in need of distraction from life.

Perhaps this is the lesson for today…we doodle because we must.  For unlike other mere mortals, if we don’t plan activity for every waking moment (and we don’t count reading, etc) we feel as though we are lazy, not doing enough.  But the body and mind have their own needs, and when we don’t listen to them, we falter.

So in “Doodlin” the book (number eight I believe) I’ll be working with Wil and T to unlock this mystery and find a healthier way to deal with the need for both physical and mental rest in our lives.  It’s ok to say “I’m going to do absolutely nothing” when answer the constant query of “What are you going to do next?”  That may be the key to freedom…to relish in the doodles as they restore us for harder tasks.

Have a great “T” day!

Today’s theme is as much as question as a blog…for it is a quandary that keeps rearing its head.  As most of you know, I have published extensively in my career, everything from lengthy books to concise pamphlets, articles galore for all sort of outlets, and so forth.  The children’s books are simply a new genre for an old hand.  In almost every case I have done so with editors having little to offer.  I take pride in my craft.   So why the question?

Editors, I know, play a role in the writing process, but in my experience not always a positive one.  Often trying to remake the book in their own image of what it should be, the life can go out of the writing in the quest to eliminate that last split infinitive.  But is not creative writing simply that?  Does following mores’ and grammatical structures take precedence over creating a “feel” with the words, their flow, their meanings? 

This question came up during a recent meeting where it was suggested that a good edit would have made our books shorter and geared toward less “gifted” children.  I question this assumption and would love some feedback, for I didn’t write the books with a gifted child in mind, just one that is today learning to read in kindergarten!  All I learned in kindergarten was how to take naps and how to dip graham crackers in milk that came in a container instead of a glass!  Today’s children are rightly being brought to the stage of reading and comprehension earlier than we were in the 50′s.  So why the concern about editing?

Would an editor take out the rhymes or try to change sentences so they were not as funny but more “correct.?”  The answer we came to was “yes,” when our first foray with an editor had the pages coming back unrhymed, which is not good for a rhyming series!  As for shorter, I often feel pushed to get the story in with the 30 pages I’m allowed…for children’s books are traditionally 32 pages with title page and front matter.  So how would shorter make sense?  Easier?  I realize there are some big words in the books, but when I see the stories my grandson is reading at age 6, they are not any more difficult.  Children, as with all students I have found, will stretch only as far as you make them.  I see no reason to pretend they can’t do something when it is clear they can.

So, I avoid editors, but assume there are editors out there who could help my work.  I’d be glad to make their acquaintance before we get Bab’s book to market, but will they attempt to take the “sass” out?  I’d bet dimes to donuts they will…for you see, a book has to reflect the voice of the author, first and foremost.  Bumpy English?  Sometimes debatable punctuation?  Are these what make or break a book or is it content and story after all is said and done.

Hope this time I at least kick enough dirt that we get a dialogue going!

And, have a great “T” day!

While there are probably a thousand things I could write about today, all that comes to the front of my mind is how beautiful a day it is.  We’ve gotten past those horrible hot days of summer yet fall is still holding off.  The pool is a might chilly, but I’ll swim in it until I can’t stop shivering…and that’s a ways off.

There are days when all we need to do is appreciate nature’s handiwork, enjoy friends and family, and take a deep breath, breathing in peace and breathing out all the accumulated stresses and strains of daily life.  If we don’t stop once in a while, we can lose ourselves in the activity trap, and in so doing, lose the meaning of life. 

I’ve spent the past few weeks exploring the influences (people) in my life that have led to the stories and the drive to tell them.  Just as important as people, or at least a close second, is the world around us.  The beauty of a gorgeous day or a stormy one–ever changing nature at its finest.

So relax today, talk a walk, play with the kids and your pets…and say a brief thank you to whatever powers you believe in for the glory of the day.

Have a really, really great “T” day!!

Ted Watts has been a dear friend for over 25 years.  We met at a conference in Manchester, England, where after a VERY long trip to get to the campus, I walked out of my dorm room (oh I hate to stay in dorm rooms!) and asked loudly, “Does anyone know where to get a beer around here!”  (Even then I was rhyming.)  Ted’s head popped out of his room, he walked with me to the Rampant Lion, and we’ve been friends ever since.  The hard decision was whether to put Ted in the friends category or co-author.  He is, in actuality, at the head of the line for both.

As a coauthor, Ted is like Lidija in many ways.  He is dogged determined to place every article.  But, he brings even more to the table as he knows literature (the weird stuff I call it…smile) that I don’t really keep up with.  When we combine his theory with my field research observations, we get some pretty neat pieces overall!  And, Ted can find more ways to skin a cat to get multiple articles from one of my field “dalliances.”  So, because of him the back half of my career is as prolific, if not more so than the first.

But none of this is what Ted has taught me.  Several years ago Ted contacted herpes of the eye while on a foreign trip.  By the time he got back to Australia, it had done irreparable harm to his eyesight…he literally can’t see.  Yet, he finds a way to hold a piece of paper “just so” so he can make out what it says.  Now, combine this physical fact with what I said about our productivity and I think you can tell what Ted has taught me.  He definitely makes lemonade out of the multiple lemons he’s been dealt, but even more, grace under fire.  He never, ever complains no matter how bad things are.  There is an example that is definitely hard to live up to.

For setting the bar so very high, my friend, thank you.  I will try to remain as noble as you about our failing bodies…but indominantable spirits.

Have a great “T” day!

Ricardo Silvi came into my life just as I was starting the value creation work.  Energetic and in all ways Italian, Ricardo brought a level of enthusiasm and dedication to the data collection stage of that project that remains unrivaled.  And, he brought a richness into my life.  How else could I have dreamed of spending weeks alone in Italy, wandering up and down the streets of Forli trying to NOT act the ugly American.

It was the summer of 2004.  The mosquitos were everywhere at night…zangara…and I foraged into stores trying to find ways to fight them off.  It was also that awful July when the deaths in Europe due to the heat hit all time highs…as did the temperatures themselves.  But it didn’t seem to matter…I was wandering the streets of Italy, watching the locals, enjoying the ambience.  And, Ricardo put enough work in front of me to keep me out of trouble.  I still haven’t finished that book, but it is on the list that I intend to finish, for my “bucket list” is the writing that has yet to be completed.

So what did Ricardo and his dear wife Irene teach me?  They reawoke in me the enthusiasm for research that was flagging by this time in my career, but they taught more than that–hospitality and forbearance, for it isn’t easy launching an American into your life the way I would descend on them.  Ricardo also taught me loyalty and appreciation, for at every turn he found positive ways to involve me in events, even to the point of being the key note speaker at a conference!

So, to Ricardo and Irene, thank you for all of the memories…all of which are good ones.  Most of which I remember (smile), including that first sip of lemoncello after a pizza dinner in Forli.

Live long and prosper, dear friends!

Have a great “T” day!

Research has always been the part of being an academic that brought interest into the daily grind and allowed my imagination to run wild.  As my son so aptly put it at a young age, “Mom, you write fiction!”  Why did he say that?  Because I am a theory builder, and as such often work from models in my head rather than scores of research papers completed by others.  I’ve tried to stay out in front in my field as that’s where theory belongs…and find that others are just beginning to work on things I completed almost 20 years ago.  Given anything older than 10 years is often ignored in literature reviews, one would wonder about my strategy, but I simply went where the bread crumbs led.

While I have worked predominantly alone, I’ve also had three (that number again) co-authors who have worked on multiple projects with me.  The first one I’ll speak of is Lidija Polutnik.  An unlikely pairing of an economist and management accountant, we’ve had a prolific run at working on value creation models that make sense to me although perhaps not always to other accountants…for these models don’t “add up.”  In accounting people add, subtract, multiply and divide…that’s it!  Yet these models have exponential value creating functions that can be leveraged to increase the rate of growth.  So, are you asleep yet?

What did Lidija teach me, since that is the focus of this latest round of posts?  Persistence.  Once we had a paper finished, Lidija would stay with it until it was accepted at a good journal.  I tended to be good at the first draft and often had an early version of a paper accepted for publication.  But, when this didn’t happen, Lidija would start shopping the paper around and dogging editors until success was snapped from the jaws of defeat.  She never gives up and never gives in.  She feels the papers all deserve publication and she has achieved this goal each and every time.  So thanks, Lidija!

Have a great “T” day!

I chose this picture of my former cove view in Warwick, RI because Vang…Richard Vangermeersch to most of the world…is a Rhode Island native.  It only seemed fitting, also, since we live in snowy New England to let any of you who either love or are fascinated by snow to enjoy one of our winter scenes.

Vang has been a close friend for 22 years now.  When I moved from Penn State to URI, he took me under his wing, helping me learn how history informs everything we do every day.  I can’t say I’m still an historian, but I always turn to old stories first when trying to make sense of the new (don’t the recent blogs attest to this?).  Vang is, though, also one of the smartest and nicest people I’ve ever known.  So he mentored me, and together we made several signficant breakthroughs in Management accounting (yawn, I know!), and I am still trying to live up to his ability to be a good friend.  Much like Uncle Harry, Vang will someday (I hope a long, long time from now) fill a church.

So our history, whether formally recorded as the musings of others (that is ALL any writing ever is…really!) or informally thru the memories, stories and recollections of family and friends, shape our every moment.  History defines our present and forms the basis for the future–for if we don’t study it we’re destined to repeat past errors.  And yes, I have made many…but each one normally only once.  It’s good to be creative!  New ways to insert a bit more drama into life than it needs!

So to Vang, thank you for the memories, both informal and formal, and for sharing your vast talents with me.  A true friend indeed.

Have a great “T” day!

Mike Gleason is the second mentor that taught me so much about life.  Irish to the core (hence the photo of the Cliffs of Mulhern…I have no recent picture of him), Mike enjoyed every moment of life.  Constantly curious, he was always in search of a novel solution to a complex problem and always willing to lend a hand to those around him.

Mike taught me what it meant to be a “field researcher.”  After the two years of internship at Revlon Corp. under his direct tutelage, how could I not come to love the “real” over the make-believe world so many academics embrace?  Perhaps a story will help it all make sense.  On one of my first semesters at Revlon, Mike asked me to go out to the fragrance department and see if I could figure out what was going on.  When I asked where it was, he simply said, “Follow your nose.”  So I did…as they tested every bottle of fragrance made!  I used to have to hang my suit outside the window at home to avoid making the house smell like a bordello when I got home!

Anyway, the problem was that the company had switched propellants for its perfume in the wake of hydrocarbon being linked to ozone depletion.  But, it seemed that the new propellant was anything but easy to work with.  In fact, while many bottles had too little propellant to work, others were exploding in the warm water bath that served as the final quality test for the product.  Given my parents were blue collar, I simply went to the machine operator to get the information I needed.  No one else, it seemed, had thought to do so.  It turned out that the propellant was eating away the gasket used to make the seal for propellant injection (the gasket cost a nickel).  Current maintenance procedures only changed the gasket once a week, so the machine operator was trying to manually manipulate the pressure going into the bottles to compensate.  Not an easy task. 

Of course, such an easy explanation met with pushback from R&D…hence I learned politics can often try to trump plain old common sense.  The R&D manager tried to tell me the problem was the glass bottles rubbing against each other, claiming that weakened their molecular structure.  Yeah, right.  I realize I’m a natural blonde, but run that past me again?  Mike then stepped in and backed me, making a simple change to procedures to switch out the gasket twice a shift.  The problem with the exploding bottles and QC rejects simply went away.  I had solved my first puzzle and was exhilarated!

That was what Mike always did for me.  He would give me a challenge and then wait to see if I could handle it.  I only let him down once, but unfortunately that was enough.  That was also a learning point for me, although one that cost me dearly.

So, Mike…if you ever read this, please accept my gratitude for helping me see that my dad was right all along…the only sense that matters is common sense…aptly applied.

Have a great “T” day!

It is hard to explain all the ways that Gordon Shillinglaw impacted my life.  I wouldn’t have a PhD without him, that is for sure.  While I was in the MBA program at Columbia, Gordon put out a call for proof readers/solvers for his revised textbook.  Always looking for ways to earn a bit of extra money, I immediately volunteered.  I not only proofread for content correctness, but couldn’t help myself from putting in commentary of my own along the way.  Where some would have been put off, Gordon instead gave instructions to several of the professors in the department to “get this one on board for the PhD program.”

I never would have considered, or probably qualified for, the PhD program at Columbia.  The school is always in the top five for graduate business programs for a reason–trust me, it is NOT a cake walk.  And, I was horribly under-prepared in math.  I had derailed in Algebra II when my dad died suddenly my junior year of high school…for some reason that was the only course I couldn’t get my head into after his death.  So, I shunned math, taking only College Algebra (where I did get an “A”) prior to going to Columbia.  Hence my GMAT scores, while quite respectable for the time, would also have been considered too low.  But, Gordon was the head of the Accounting department, more than well respected, so an offer was made to me.

I waited until the last gasp to accept, knowing it meant four more years of grueling studies.  The MBA program had not been that difficult for me as Drake had prepared me well, but the PhD program was different.  I was an honor student in Econ undergrad, only to enter into a math intensive Econ course that had upside down “A’s”, backward (and I don’t mean dumb!) “E’s” and the talk of epsilon neighborhoods…where I assume some ethnic group must live!  That was all on the first day.  I put my head down, studied my buns off, and ended up with 5 points out of a 100 on the first exam…and yes, I did spell my name correctly.  In rides Gordon the White Knight.  He finds a way to use the little known “flex” in the PhD program to route me though Management Science where they taught advanced math working from numbers to distributions.  Now here was something I could get my arms around!  Because of that intervention, I did just fine thru the rest of the program, actually acing the math qualifier (which asked a person to make distributions from numbers…do you think Gordon had foreknowledge?  I do!). 

But that wasn’t the end.  Gordon then helped me master Management Accounting, even ensuring my dissertation was finally accepted.  He did have one caveat, though…I had to do the entire dissertation, including all the references, in 150 pages or less.  What!!??  I had turned in a 120 page lit review alone!  Hence Gordon made me have nodding acquaintance with Ben Franklin’s apology, “sorry I didn’t have time to make this letter shorter.”  While I still tend to write easily, and hence too much (this you see every day!), I believe that discipline made me capable of doing the short, focused writing of monographs and now children’s book,s with only a little pain from having to depart from my free-flowing natural style. 

Having published extensively in his youth, as well as serving in WWII as LT in charge of a gunnery position on a battleship, Gordon was definitely part of the greatest generation.  He set a bar for publishing that required each piece to be well thought out and well written.  I strive for this every time I sit down, always ready to toss those bits that simply don’t measure up.

Gordon, thoug

Today’s picture is not random, but rather an arch from the Roman ruins in Rome that has three porticos.  It captures the theme of the day quite well, don’t you think?

Every person has what they consider to be their “lucky” number (remember Aunt Cora…she might pash-shaw that concept of luck, instead looking upward!).   For me it seems to be the number three.  As I look back on my life I remember three mentors who shaped my professional life, giving me the knowledge and at times wisdom to make bold moves in cost management–Gordon, Mike Gleason, and “Vang.”  I simply went where common sense took me, guided by their patient lessons.

There have also been three “partners in crime” in my professional writing–Lidija, Ricardo and Ted.  Their patience is also to be commended as I am a sprinter who hates to edit!  Without their focused, unrelenting attention to details and the publication process, I’d be a lot less prolific!  Thanks guys!

There have also been three decades in the career that these six people spanned.  I find that interesting as now I am entering a new decade, one where my creative writing will be front and center, but where I will complete the recording and analysis of what thirty years of knocking around in the field has taught me.

George is my third husband, and number three truly IS the charm.  And, there are six grandchildren, which is 3 doubled up…which is a good thing for grandchildren!

I have three siblings.  And, three close female friends, two of recent vintage but very special–Chris, Lisa and Trish.  If you add me to the Lisa and Trish combo we also get the Three Musketeers that are bringing the books and the company to life.

So…find your lucky number and use it to count your blessings.  They are there waiting for you to recognize them as the positive force they are in your life.

Have a great “T” day!

A week ago the three musketeers (Lisa to the left, Wil in the center, I’m the big blonde!) did a book signing at Bank Square Books in Mystic, CT.  It all started slow, but by the end of the two hour event we had sold 14 books, met a wonderful group of people, and signed ourselves silly (even Wil!)…he was cute, very carefully printing Wil, which he felt should be Will!

Just catching you up on the events…and I’ll begin the Power of Threes tomorrow.

Have a great “T” day.

Today will be very quick as I’m running late!  Oh, but it felt good to sleep a little later today…

I wanted to pull the threads of the last week together by noting that each of Grandma’s children were very different.  Yet together, the rich tapestry they weaved into my childhood and young adulthood (a short-lived family, alas) has made me constantly aware that it is the differences in people that leaves its mark, and the more idiosyncratic the person, the greater the mark they leave.   They, along with my parents, gave me the life lessons I am now trying to impart…often just by being who they were.

One household, one set of “events” for their lifetimes, yet each etched in such different ways.  That is what we should celebrate each day…that amazing ability of the human to grow and shape themselves into a unique bundle of talents and attributes.  Life is good.

Have a great “T” day!

Today we talk about the last two uncles…Evander and Ray.  Evander is the one in the middle, white shirt, crazy hair.  That is a good depiction of him, even as an adult!  What was special about Uncle Evander?  Quite simply, grace under difficult circumstances.  Uncle Evander had one of the worst cases of stuttering I have ever run into in my life.  Yet, he loved to tell jokes and jest with anyone within earshot.  In other words, even though words were hard for him to “get out,” his extroverted, mischievious self couldn’t be repressed.  He simply ignored the problem, and hence, so did everyone else!   I think he even took pleasure in the fact that he could take longer to tell a joke or story since he’d be “pausing” inbetween.

Uncle Ray.  Here we have the definition of gentle, caring and humility.  Uncle Ray is the one who worked alongside degreed engineers developing and designing optics at Bell and Howell (a now defunct camera company) with only an eighth grade education.  He never bragged about anything he did, instead always patiently waiting for everyone else’s stories to unfold.  Perhaps being sandwiched between the extroverted Evander and Frances made him a bit more circumspect.  He was definitely the most introverted of the “kids.”  When I think of Uncle Ray, then, I simply smile for he brought peace of mind with him wherever he went and willingly shared it with all present.

So, Grandma left quite a legacy, didn’t she?  All seven of her children grew up to be hardworking, generous, and loving people who simply could be relied on to help, regardless of the need.  They never complained, ever.  So was Grandma a tough disciplinarian?  Given the devilishness I’ve described, the conditions she faced, and life’s severe blows, of course!  But clearly this discipline was never confused for a lack of love and acceptance, by all of her children.   She has left a legacy hard to measure up to, but profoundly and forever revered.

Have a great “T” day!

As you might be able to tell from the simple tilt of his head, Uncle Francis (the shorter of the two…the other is Uncle Harry, right?) was always ready with a smile and a kind comment.  And, he was by far the “zaniest” of any of my aunts and uncles.  He joined the paratroopers in WWII…Why would he choose to jump out of a perfectly good airplane and be shot at, you might ask?  Because he made an extra $3.00 per month, which he sent back to Grandma.  Need I say anymore?  On one raid he was the only one of his platoon to return to base.  He never quit asking himself, and us as we got older, why had he been spared when so many had died?  There is never an answer except that a good person remained.

Harry and Frances worked “the farm” (all that we ever called it) for all of their lives until both retired as 60 came and went.  It was a hard life, but the two of them made it work somehow, slowly taking the 600 acre parcel that was the size of land grant farms in Minnesota, and turning it into one of the largest farms in the area.  They focused predominantly on crops, keeping only a few cows and pigs.  Grandma was in charge of the chickens….oh boy, do I hate real chickens!  They are not cute and snugly, believe me.  They peck at you, chase you (until you get big enough to chase back), and in general terrorize small children!  When farm life finally became too hard for Grandma, it seemed it gave permission to both Frances and Harry to move on.  They would never have left the farm as long as Grandma wanted to be there.  So, do you think she really frightened them or inspired them?

But back to Uncle Frances.  He was an unusual Minnesota bachelor…he finally married when he was 48.  Since he wasn’t the oldest son, but rather the youngest, he wasn’t bound by the Norwegian “rule” of oldest son stays to take care of parents, never marrying.  Guess Frances wanted to make sure he tried a bit of everything in life!  Full of enthusiasm until his last days, he would go to the casino and gamble a bit, working the machines to find the “loosest” one…which he shared with me, much to the delight of my pocketbook (it was only a nickel machine, so don’t get too excited!! Smile).  He was quick witted, a bit sly in his responses, and always ready with a smile.  I will always remember him as that ray of sunshine in every day.

We’re about at the end of my Dad’s family now.  I’ll talk a bit about Evander and Raymond tomorrow.  I only have the 1927 photo of them, so you’ll need a bit of imagination, but I don’t want to leave them out due to a short stack of photos!

Take care, and truly have a great “T” day!

Aunt Marian spent the most time with all of us kids and parents.  In fact, I place my dislike of the telephone unfortunately on her and my mom’s hour long talks every night.  That’s when I should have known I wasn’t a “normal” woman (in the making), but so be it.  Not a real problem, but both good and bad legacies come from the important people in our lives.

What Aunt Marian did teach us, though, was the necessity of being orderly, her most famous phrase being “a place for everything and everything in its place.”  She was also the embodiment of loyalty, often dealing with a disappearing Uncle Dick who would evaporate for months at a time and then reappear as if nothing had happened.  It was a strange thing to watch as a child, but it made it clear how loyal Aunt Marian was, and how loving.  In the same way she stood by Uncle Dick when so many would not have, she was always there for my parents, helping in whatever way she could.  Never a woman of great means, she still found a way to help with back-to-school clothes, Christmas duplicities (Santa supposedly would leave our presents at her house early as he was so busy on Christmas Eve.  This way we got to open presents that night, allowing my parents a chance to sleep a bit later the next day!), and learning how to work to earn spare money. 

If you were willing, Aunt Marian could always find a job you could do to earn spending money.  And, she would teach you how to do it properly.  I still cannot cut corners when I do a task because of her example and instruction…so when I shovel snow, for instance, ALL of the snow has to be off the driveway, not just the top layer!  Cleaning?  Do it the right way or don’t bother.  So there were many complex lessons that we all learned from Aunt Marian.  And, when my parents passed away she stepped forward to help the best she could to at least make all of us feel that there was someone out there who would still provide that unconditional love that is lost when your parents pass on.

Lots of memories.  I still can’t make divinity the way she did nor clean as well, but heck, this gives me something to keep striving for.  Thanks for setting the bar high enough that we had to stretch!

Have a great “T” day!

Today’s post will be short (mercifully?) as Wil is here.  We had a great book signing yesterday at Bank Square Books.  When I get George’s pictures I’ll tell you more about it.

This blog, though, is about Uncle Harry, who was always doing something for someone….unheralded and often unseen.  But, never unappreciated.  When he died (after a heart attack when he shoveled the neighbor driveway), the church overflowed into the yard…there wasn’t even standing room.  Granted Wild Rice Church is small, but then so is the community of Flom, where Uncle Harry lived his entire life (outside of that stint called WWII). 

A quiet, unassuming, wonderful man.  That is the only way I can describe him.  Never a complaint, often a chuckle, although the limelight of telling the joke didn’t suit him.  And, he stayed with Grandma her entire life.  That is the lot of the oldest son in a Norwegian farm family.  Prairie Home Companion is based on fact, after all, not fiction.

So, today’s salute, short though it may be, is to Uncle Harry, who was the personification of random acts of kindness.  He just naturally helped whoever needed, never stopping to think about himself, his own schedule, or anything other than lending a hand.  For this lesson, and the wish I could be as good a person, I can only say, “Thank you.” 

Have a great “T” day!

To start, I have to apologize to the spirit of Aunt Cora as her as “Snow Queen” in the retirement home in Twin Valley, MN was the only picture I had in my collection at home.  But, two things, Grandma Boreen looked just like Cora at the same age, and you get the spirit of Cora by just noting she was happy to do whatever made everyone else happy. And since there are only two seasons in Minnesota–Winter and Road construction, she got the better of the pick ( by the way, the state bird is the mosquite…ouch!).

Aunt Cora was exotic as I grew up.  She lived in San Diego (in the smallest house I’ve ever seen) and would fly back to visit the family every 3-4 years depending on her budget.  While she taught in that one room schoolhouse for a few years, once she hit San Diego she became one of hundreds who sewed various clothing items.  She could sew, no doubt.  But what I also remember about Aunt Cora is that I never, ever heard her swear, complain, or say a single bad thing about anybody or anything.  She was the first “Susy Sunshine” of my life and a tough act to follow!  One day she said to me, “Why does everyone claim good luck when something goes right but curse God when things go wrong.  Seems to me like people have it reversed…when things go wrong it’s the devil at work, not God.”  That has led to a lifetime of thanking God for every green light (I am a bit impatient) and the good things that happen in a day.  She also taught me that in all things there are blessings just waiting to be recognized.

But her lessons didn’t stop there.  She lived every moment of her life with joy.  At 80 she was going to the casino with her friends in California, only to be the one who ALWAYS won a jackpot.  She always came home with more money than she started with.  That was Aunt Cora.  If you believe in karma, as I do, someone who one sends out as much positive energy as she did should truly only receive positive things in return.  Once she was esconced in the nursing home in MN, which I continue to believe was not the right place for her, I would sneak in a bottle of red wine that we would share.  That was Aunt Cora in every way, sipping wine out of juice glasses (we were hiding the evidence) and telling funny stories all the time.  Everyone she came in touch with simply fell in love with her, for you could always count on leaving her with a smile on your face.

The last time I visited her while she was still in California, she decided to drive Gordon Shillinglaw (my mentor and lifelong friend) and me to her favorite restaurant.  She could barely see over the steering wheel and drove like a race car driver.  Leave it to say I was glad I was in the back seat…Gordon was pale by the time we reached the restaurant.  We walk thru the door and lo and behold, before we even sat down a mai tai with an umbrella in it was being put in front of Aunt Cora.  That was who she was…fun, funny, spunky and always wearing a smile.  I truly do miss her because that type of optimism is very hard to find in this world.  Thank you, Aunt Cora, for teaching me to make lemonade with every lemon I’ve been given and to find the humor in every situation.  Live life to the fullest…that is the key.

Have a great “T” day!

When I think of my grandmother (she’s clearly on the far left, I’m next to my brother Bruce, Aunt Marian in between us all) I think of a woman with spunk.  On the right you see the seven children she raised by herself on the farm in Minnesota after my grandfather took his own life as the impact of the Great Depression sunk in.  But, Grandma didn’t cave, nor did she lose the farm.  With a very stern hand she raised all seven children to lead productive (very) lives, kept the farm going until she finally turned it over to two of my uncles to run, and continued to care for those two uncles well into their late fifties/early sixties (her eighties).

Now, if you ask the rest of the family about Grandma, you might see a flicker of fear cross their faces.  But to me?  Grandma was a good woman with a good heart who had been dealt a tough hand.  So what did she teach me?  To never give up, no matter how grim things look.  Just put your head down and keep moving forward as there really is no other alternative.

Grandma also loved to play cards, and it was here that she showed her brilliance.  Heaven help her partner in whist (a very complicated game close to Bridge in nature), who was often me, if you miscounted the cards or misbid your hand.  To her these were natural things to do…as was keeping a farm going during the Great Depression with eight mouths to feed.  As for the kids?  None of them, outside of Aunt Cora, the oldest here who did a bit of high school, went beyond the eighth grade education offered in the one room schoolhouse just outside of Flom, MN, where the farm remains today (no longer in the family though).  For people with only an eighth grade education, though, they could read, do math, and perform complicated operations with the best of them.  Uncle Raymond designed optics for Bell and Howell…with only an eighth grade education and a ton of common sense, competing with degreed engineers in his position.  Each of the kids showed Grandma’s determination, understanding of the meaning of hard work, and the fact that they never complained.  And, to their death, they all loved to play cards.

Great family, great woman…one who taught me not only life lessons but also how to crochet (she noted my knitting was sub-par so I was deemed hopeless there!).  And, I learned to take someone else’s idiosyncracies in stride, such as the time when Grandma mistakenly added pancake powder to the instant potatoes when they weren’t thick enough.  I didn’t eat potatoes that night, but Uncle Harry, for whom this seemed to not be a new event, ate them without complaint.  He wouldn’t have dared, even in his sixties, to criticize Grandma.  Hence, a woman with spunk, right to her dying days.  She blessed us all.

Have a great “T” day!

Today I turn to my Dad, who died so very, very long ago.  I was several months shy of 17 and still believe with all that has happened in life that the night of Dad’s heart attack will forever remain the most traumatic of my life.  It is story like so many others and one you don’t need to start your reading with.  Just suffice to say it was a shock–he was only 48.

My fondest memories of my Dad, though, include every Sunday morning’s car washing (clearly not in the winter!).  He would start the routine at the same time every Sunday, around 10, when he felt my mom had had enough rest that she could be left to keep the four of us kids out of trouble (a big job!).  He’d put on the radio.  For the first hour it was the Boston Pops…hence I came to know I would live near Boston some day so I could go to the Pops whenever I wanted…and I do.  The second hour, though?  POLKAS!  What an ear-shattering switch of genres!!  (smile)  I don’t mind polkas, but goodness, right after the Pops?  Anyway, that was my Dad…a portrait of opposites co-existing.  Perhaps that is where I came by the accounting prof who is also so happy doing children’s books and writing?

So, what did Dad teach us.  He was the disciplinarian of my two parents.  There was no “good enough” for Dad, only doing something the right way or the wrong way.  And, the wrong way was not acceptable.  If you remember, one of the personal traits I noted was doing what was right, even if it isn’t the best thing for you.  Well, that was Dad talking.  Like so many WWII vets, and also a child of the Great Depression, he learned those lessons quite well.  He was a mechanic, along with my uncle Harry.  If they made a mistake, someone might die.  So there was only the right way to do things.  No cutting corners, no being tired.

Besides that lesson, Dad was focused on teaching us to take responsibility for our actions and for our own growth.  We weren’t rewarded for good grades, it was expected because he knew we were capable of getting them.  I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t put in the effort?  To this day I can tell you I’d rather not know!!  Rewards did come, though, for hard work.  As noted in an earlier post, I was deemed the most “responsible” of the bunch.  My reward?  I got 90% of the chores!  But, I did get a much larger allowance.  So together Mom and Dad taught me to be responsible, and that included working to earn my way.

They were great parents….no regrets except I wish they had stayed with us a while longer.  They will always be missed.

Have a great “T” day!  And, I’ll see you tomorrow!