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, though, also taught us to be “gentlemen” as academics.  No harsh questioning or flip remarks to guest speakers was ever allowed.  Questions had to be well thought out (he made me write mine down first to make sure I still wanted to ask them!).  And, he taught us to appreciate fine red wines and the entertaining part of being an academic.  He introduced me to all of the “big wigs” in Accounting, immensely helping me start my career.  And, he lived what he said…he walked the talk.  I still strive to live up to his example…it is a tall order.

We remain friends, no, much, much more than friends, to this day.  We are both growing older, but I will never forget that without Gordon my life would never have been as rich or as rewarding.  Mentor extraordinaire…that is all that can be said.

I realize this post may not be as closely related to how you think of Crosswinds Press and its mission, but we will be publishing professional works downstream (once I get caught up!).  And, behind each book, regardless of genre, lies the mentors on both a personal and professional side (Gordon is both) that shaped me, making the life lessons more than just slogans to me.

Have a great “T” day….and thank you, Gordon….for everything!!

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!