When a Wren is a polar bear

Being a grandmother has it’s moments. One of those came recently when my granddaughter Wren was scheduled to be in her first dance recital. Wren is officially three and 11/12 years old.
The holiday themed recital was scheduled for Sunday, Dec. 19. Since my family lives 250 miles away, we decided to bundle our Christmas gathering on the same weekend. My husband and I packed up the presents and dogs, Lisha and Rocky, for the five hour trip.
The presents went in the trunk, and the dogs got to lounge in the back seat. Lisha’s an old hand at travel but this was Rocky’s first road trip with us. He settled in after about 100 miles, using Paul’s coat as a pillow.
We arrived at Wren’s house just after supper on Friday night, with enough time to see Wren before she was bedded down for the night with visions of fairies dancing in her head. Saturday was her dress rehearsal and she needed a good night’s sleep.
On Saturday, her mother Sarah and I dressed Wren in her polar bear costume, white pants, white shirt, red scarf and white ears on her head band. A stop for last minute Christmas shopping included eating lunch at the food court of the mall. Several napkins as bibs were needed to keep a three and 11/12 year old from dripping pizza sauce on her white shirt.
Her shirt intact, we arrived at the auditorium for rehearsal. We sat waiting while several other dance classes rehearsed their numbers donned in reindeer costumes, pajamas and red dresses lined in white fur. I won’t go so far as to say it was pandemonium, but I’m glad I was not in charge of the scene.
“Unless something goes very wrong, we will only run through each number once,” said the woman in charge.
One participant in the Mommy and Me group was definitely not happy about being on a large stage in front of an equally large audience of children and parents. Her meltdown left me somewhere between feeling bad for her and laughter. Several children abandoned their designated stars on the floor to wave and run to their mothers. The children craned their heads to focus on their coaches who stood in the wings demonstrating the next move.
Then it was time for Wren’s group to rehearse. The teacher lined up the little ones and led them onto the stage. What a delightful sight to see 10 three-year-olds dressed as polar bears march onto the stage single file and land on their stars. Everything was going well until the unthinkable happened.
Wren found a blue feather on the stage floor.
Wren loves feathers, crystals, and anything that reminds her of nature. We think she may be a budding naturalist by the way she likes to kiss dead crickets, and carry frogs around in her hands. Seeing a feather on the floor was too good to resist.
Wren picked up the feather and her attention was glued. She stared at the feather, reveling in it’s delicate details. She stroked the feather and waved it in the air. She danced with the feather. She blessed the other students with the feather.
She did not do her polar bear dance.
I’ll never know if it was the feather or something else in the air, but all of the polar bears seemed to lose all sense of their dance moves. When the run through was finished, the teacher announced, “This is an example of when everything goes wrong. Let’s try it again.”
With feather still in hand, Wren and her troupe got another shot at their number, showing improvement. Afterwards, we paised Wren for a beautiful dance and took her and her feather back to the car. I sat next to Wren and she turned to me and offered me the feather.
“I got this just for you,” she said.
So, the whole thing is now grandma’s fault.
Saturday night was our family Christmas gathering. I had made quilts as gifts for the members of my family, including a special one for Wren. Wren opened her package and pulled out her quilt with an excited exclamation, “Home Sweet Home!” And so, each person’s quilt was named as a Home Sweet Home quilt. I have no idea how Wren came up with the name, but it set the tone for the rest of the evening.
And, I guess Wren had a good night’s sleep with her Home Sweet Home quilt because her recital on Sunday went well. Luckily, the stage floor was swept and no feathers were found. Wren did her dance as well as any three and 11/12 year old polar bear could. We presented her with roses afterwards, like a true prima-ballerina.
Though her mother had sworn this was her last dance class, the next day she said, “Her next recital will be in May.”
By then she’ll be four and one-third years old, and hopefully there won’t be any feathers on the stage.

A dance of trust

Raising a dog is like raising a child. There is the instant love when parent and child have their first moments together. There is the time of nurturing, when the child is dependent on the parent. As the child begins to grow and explore, there is the time of anxiety for the parent. How do I keep my child safe yet allow for learning experiences and exploration.
Even though I got Rocky when he was almost two years old, there was still the instant love moment when I looked through the bars of his kennel and saw his eyes. There was the time of nurturing when I first brought him home, showing him his new place, his food and where to sleep.
Now I’m in the dance of trust, finding the balance between freedom and safety.
I’ll say it again, Rocky is a wonderful dog. And, he still has not learned that coming when called needs to be an instant thing. Because of that, his walk time and potty time are spent on a leash.
I’m getting to know his umwelt includes a need for freedom to run. I know when he’s feeling that need. He gets a look in his eye, a tension in his body, and for a brief moment there is a hesitation. He may look my way as if to say, “I know you don’t want me to, but I really have to go now. Trust me.” Then he’s off.
Like the parent, I know I cannot keep him leashed his entire life. There comes a time when each of us needs to feel the freedom to be our true selves. I can only give Rocky that time if I find a place of trust within myself.
I know he always comes home. He’s usually gone for about 20 minutes, then comes running back from the opposite direction. His smile melts my heart.
I decided control was futile and went for a ‘supervised liberty run’ approach. Fortunately, I live in the country where room to run is available on three sides. The fourth side is a road and across the road are the neighbors. My approach is to keep Rocky’s supervised liberty runs in the three wild areas.
I thought about boundaries. I realize that our farm ends at the tree line, but Rocky doesn’t understand that boundary. He seems to have a different idea of the limitations of liberty. His boundary reaches into the woods, down the ravine and across the creek, then back to the farm via the horse pasture behind the barn.
We start on leash, walking in the direction I choose, away from the road. When we reach the middle of the field, I bring Rocky in, give him praise and a treat, then unhook the leash. Rocky smiles and bounds off a few feet, jumping straight in the air, chasing his friend Lisha, sniffing the ground, until he gets the look.
This is where the trust comes in. I watch him take off, snow flying behind him as his paws hit the ground. Watching Rocky run is like watching the changing face of wind. At times he will run unhampered, like a straight line wind, powerful and unyielding. The next moment, he stops, nose to the ground, circling like a dust devil. When he finds the perfect smell, the wind ceases, like the eye of the storm. When the eye passes, he’s off again.
He heads for his favorite spots and veers off into the woods, out of my sight. I resist the urge to call him back, knowing he won’t respond. I wait a few moments, then begin to walk a diagonal line through the field to intersect his circular route.
Lisha stays by me, occasionally looking into the woods as if she can hear Rocky run. We stand quietly, listening for the jingle of his dog tags. The jingle gets louder and soon Rocky breaks through the brush, still nose down, his tongue swaying with each breath. When he gets close, I begin to communicate again.
“Good dog, Rocky. Thanks for coming back.”
He looks at me and sometimes comes to me for the treat in my hand, sometimes it takes a few tries before I’m able to get the leash back on. And, even then, his joy in the experience of the run is contagious.
“Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”
Like the parent, I’m learning if you really love them, you have to let them go. If you’ve done your job well, they’ll come back.
There’s something about watching a dog run that stirs the love of freedom in people. How often do we get the chance to run free, unfettered by boundaries or time, only concerned with what is in front of our noses? Do we ever trust ourselves enough to remove the leash of expectations and responsibilities?
Rocky is getting better. It takes him longer to get the look now and he’s developing a consistent route so I feel like I know where he is, even though I can’t see him. I’m hoping he will realize there is a time to run, and a time to stay by your people.
It’s a dance of trust for us both.

When are your holidays?

As a newspaper reporter, I’ve been doing a series of stories about depression. I was reviewing a list of suggestions for getting through the holidays and came upon this line - Know when your holidays are.
Most of us would say the upcoming holidays are Christmas eve, Christmas day, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. These are the most common times for family and friends to get together to celebrate ‘the holidays,’ depending on your personal spiritual beliefs.
When I read this line I realized it isn’t only the official day that can be a challenge.
For example, Christmas isn’t only Dec. 25. Christmas for some people has been going on for over a month already. Shopping for gifts, menu planning, traveling and decorating are also part of the holiday. For someone dealing with holiday depression, coping with shopping for gifts may be worse than the actual day with family.
What traditions do you have that give you a feeling of Christmas? Is it going to pick out a tree, or the first snowfall? If you used to do these activities with the loved one who is no longer present, how will it feel this year? What strategies can you put in place to deal with the feelings of loss or grief that may come up when you pass a Christmas tree lot?
A friend of mine told of breaking into tears whenever she passes her grandparent’s house this time of year. They’ve been gone for several years, but the memories of Christmas at grandma’s house are still vivid for her.
Personally, I think of Christmas whenever I pass an airport at night. When my niece was small, we would intentionally drive by the airport on Christmas eve so we could show her lights in the sky. She believed it was Santa Claus bringing his sleigh full of presents.
Another friend mentioned bringing out the Christmas music and thinking of special people associated with a particular song.
How about going through your list of people to send cards to? Will there be a hole left in your address book?
For someone dealing with depression, driving down the street at night and seeing houses lit up with colorful lights can be a trigger – knowing everyone else is celebrating and filled with the holiday spirit, while they can’t seem to bring themselves out of the dumps.
Know when you holidays are.
It’s not only good advice for those who need coping strategies. It can be good advice for those of us who are looking forward to the joy of the season.
Seeing a shopping adventure with your children as a holiday celebration in itself can make a difference in your experience. Instead of getting frustrated with the long lines and heavy traffic, we can remember to appreciate the experience as a Christmas memory to cherish when the children are grown.
Taking time to add a special note inside someone’s Christmas card could make their holiday and yours a little brighter. I’ve learned that people dealing with depression can be very good at hiding their symptoms. We may not know how important a smile or a card can be to someone this time of year.
Another suggestion was being intentional about holiday plans. What holiday traditions do you really enjoy, and what traditions are being done out of habit or obligation? If going to Aunt Mabel’s house for figgy pudding is something you enjoy, great. If it’s something you feel forced into, perhaps opening a conversation about alternatives could lead to a less stressful holiday. Wouldn’t it be good to know if Aunt Mabel doesn’t even like making figgy pudding, but she feels she has to keep up the ‘tradition’?
Knowing when your holidays are can bring an awareness to the magic in the small moments like hearing the ting of coins being dropped into the Salvation Army kettles, feeling the freshness of snow flakes melting on your cheek, or smelling the scent of balsam as you pass by the wreath on your door.
Adding celebration to these small moments, and seeing them as part of your holiday, can relieve stress and help us all remember why we celebrate this time of year.
Happy holidays.

First snowfall

The first snowfall is usually an exciting time, which proved to be the case this year. My sister Linda drove up from her home in Iowa to visit for the weekend. Luckily, she came on Friday, before the first snowfall hit. She commented about driving through cold rain in the southern part of Wisconsin. Sometimes the rain was heavy and almost solid. When she arrived in Washburn, it was a normal fall day, slightly cold and overcast.
“We’re supposed to get snow this weekend, probably starting tonight or tomorrow,” commented my husband, Paul.
“It seems to be all south of here,” said my sister. “Maybe it won’t come this far.”
Saturday morning we awoke to wind and slight snow. We sat at breakfast and planned our day. We would go into Ashland and have gyros for lunch then stop in Washburn at the used bookstore. These two activities are staples for any visit. The gyros from the Pita Hut in Ashland are “to die for,” and a trip to Chequamegon Books is a feast as well. We also planned to have squash and meatloaf for supper and needed to stop at a grocery store for ketchup, a required meatloaf ingredient.
We began the day in my Bear Den, a small cabin my husband built with a woodstove inside. I was working on a quilting project, while Linda made clay rattles and Paul rested with a book. The snow got heavier, the wind picked up and the ground began to turn white. We were snug and warm in the Bear Den, enjoying the wintery scene out the window.
At lunch time, we piled into my sister’s truck, which has four-wheel drive. We were sure we wouldn’t need it,after all, it was only the first snowfall. But it’s good to be prepared, right? We set off down the snow-covered road towards our “to die for” gyros.The snow sloshed beneath the tires, sending wet waves across the road.
“It’s kind of slippery,” commented Linda.
We approached a left hand turn and the truck began to slide when Linda put the brakes on to slow down.
“You may want to go straight,” said Paul.
Linda straightened the wheel and we slid to a stop past the intersection. She backed up and we slowly maneuvered the turn.
“It feels like grease,” she said, trying to keep the truck on the road.
“Why are we doing this?” I asked.
“We’re getting gyros for lunch and we need ketchup for the meatloaf.”
“Are they worth it?”
We all looked at each other. This is the point where I remember all of the times I have driven in snow and did just fine. I also remember all of the cars I drove by in the ditches and the time I was one of them. I decided the gyros were really good, but probably not literally “to die for.”
We decided to turn back.
“What about the ketchup?”
I had tomato paste, tomato soup and tomato sauce, but no ketchup. The family meatloaf recipe includes hamburger, eggs, chopped onion, oatmeal, mustard and ketchup. Ketchup is not only an ingredient, it is a topping, and a dipping sauce on the side. You can’t make meatloaf without ketchup, can you?
Our first snowfall of the year turned out to be the mother of invention. We drove around the block toward home and passed a car resting in the ditch after it took out a mailbox. We arrived home safely and had leftovers for lunch. Then we brainstormed about the meatloaf. We had just enough ketchup left to be the topping and the dipping sauce. The tomato paste, soup and sauce were discarded in favor of stewed tomatoes as the ingredient.
The storm raged on and branches fell from the trees due to the heavy snow load. My horses were nestled snuggly in their stalls munching on hay and we sat at the dining room table munching on the best meatloaf we ever cooked.
Turns out that stewed tomatoes make a meatloaf that is flavorful and moist. Add baked squash, au gratin potatoes and corn, and we had a meal worthy of the first snowfall.
Being stuck at home in a snowstorm isn’t too bad when you have a stocked larder, two good cooks, and a Bear Den.

Revisiting old ghosts

Last week I wrote a story about a presentation at the Washburn Public Library called Wisconsin Ghosts and the Afterlife by Terry Fisk, a paranormal investigator. While I was working on the story, I visited Fisk’s website and saw that his company was sponsoring the Unexplained Conference in Eau Claire the next weekend.
I love a good ghost story as much as anyone and, with Halloween coming up, it seemed like a good adventure to attend the conference. I called my sister, who lives in Iowa, and suggested we meet there and have a Sister’s Halloween Adventure.
Both my sister and I are familiar with spirits, having grown up in a house that featured a resident ghost. Our family has favorite stories about this spectre, like the time he tapped me on the back in the middle of the night, and the many times my mother would awaken in the night and see him staring at her from the foot of her bed.
When my sister mentioned to her partner that she was going to attend the conference with me, he said, “Oh, maybe you can find out about the ghost who likes to watch us sleep everynight.”
So my sister and I got a room at the Plaza Hotel and eagerly joined the crowd for an evening’s entertainment.
The first presenter had written several books about werewolves. Her talk included stories she has collected from people who say they have had encounters with werewolves. She showed sketches of these creatures and pictures of the places where the sightings occurred. However, there were no actual photos of werewolves.
Here’s the thing. I would think that in this age, with people carrying cell phones everywhere, and hand-held digital devices, someone would have the opportunity to snap a photo of a werewolf, or even post a YouTube of their encounter with one. As my sister pointed out, “Anyone can draw a picture of a werewolf and they all look alike. That’s because everyone knows what a werewolf is supposed to look like.” Good point.
It was a fun presentation, but I’m not convinced about the validity of actual living werewolves.
The next presentor talked about re-incarnation. The speaker’s evidence stemmed from studies done with small children who tell stories of their past lives. Some children can describe where they lived, who their parents were, etc. Researchers have recorded these stories, gone to the locations described by the child, and found physical evidence to conclude what the child says is true. The theory is that when we are children, we still remember these past lives. As we get older and more conditioned, we begin to lose those memories.
Here was physical evidence suggesting that re-incarnation is possible. Did the presentor prove that re-incarnation exists? Not really, but he gave a fairly convincing presentation.
The other presentations were about various hauntings, Big Foot sightings, UFOs, and other unexplained occurrences. Are there big foot creatures in the Chequamegon Forest? There are multiple stories of sightings. Again, no photos other than vague shadows or something hairy from a distance. One photo depicting a close-up view of a Big Foot on someone’s critter-camera looked like a neighbor in a gorilla suit.
The next day we went to a Healing and Psychic Fair. There were presentors on past life experiences, spiritual healing and accessing different dimensions of reality. Vendors featured everything from aromatherapy and healing crystals to dowsing and quantum jumping.
Where any of them able to provide absolute proof of the validity of their craft? No.
But, here’s the interesting question. Can I, or anyone else, provide absolute proof that there is no validity to these occurrences? No.
We are left with a conundrum of polarities. No one can prove they exist and no one can prove they do not. There are heated debates on each side. Religious beliefs come into play. It all boils down to what you choose to believe. If one of these therapies helps someone feel better or live a better life, is that a bad thing? I don’t think so.
We know the mind is a powerful thing. We also know that we don’t know everything about the universe we live in, how it works, and all of the different elements that live in it with us.
There is one thing I know for certain after having this experience. Going on a road trip, spending time with my sister and having fun is something I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt. I don’t need pictures, or scientific evidence. We had a went shopping, experienced new things, and got to spend some quality time together reminiscing about our own paranormal childhood. We met some interesting people, had some laughs, and maybe even expanded our concept of reality a little.
A weekend well spent.

With help from a carpenter

My husband Paul is a carpenter. In his job, the closest he usually gets to saving a life is fixing a roof so it doesn’t fall down on someone’s head. That is, until last Wednesday.
Paul works for the National Park Service. He was on the job fixing an attic at Little Sand Bay when a call came in requiring help with a search and rescue.
“We didn’t have much information,” he said. “Just a radio call saying someone was in the water.”
Why was a carpenter called for a search and rescue? Because it was within park boundaries and they were the closest available personnel.
Personnel with the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore work closely on and around Lake Superior, and she is an unpredictable partner. The National Park Service provides training for park service employees in first aid and CPR. Interested persons can also be trained in search and rescue.
“I’ve done ice search and rescue training but hadn’t trained for anything like what happened that day,” he said.
When the call came in, Paul and the other members of the boat crew scrambled to make sure they had the right equipment and the best information. They knew the search was in the area of the Meyer’s Beach sea caves.
“It’s exciting at that point. The adrenaline is flowing. This could be important,” he said.
Paul has been on two other search and rescue missions that were non-eventful and mostly provided a break in the routine of the day. Once in the boat, if you aren’t the boat operator, there isn’t much to do but be patient.
“We had three boats going out and we still weren’t sure what we were looking for,” he said. “It could have been a kayak overturned. We didn’t know.”
The three boats arrived at the estimated point and Paul’s boat was instructed to slow down and get close to shore heading east. Information also came in from a member of the team on shore.
“Radio communication can be spotty out there so we have someone on shore who can often see things we can’t,” said Paul. “At this point, I’m part of a three-boat team. Chances are we aren’t going to be the ones who do the rescue. We are just part of the team.”
Chances were different this time. Though another boat was the first to find the victim in the water and throw him a life preserver, it was the boat Paul was in that was best suited to do the actual rescue.
“The guy had fallen into the water from the cliff above and he was able to get himself to the edge and was standing in a small cave, ankle deep in water, and trying to hold on,” said Paul. “There’s no shoreline there, nowhere for him to go. By the time we got there, he was shaking pretty hard and he was only a few minutes from falling into the water. I think he knew it was life or death if someone didn’t get to him.”
Paul could hear the man saying, “Please hurry!”
The boat Paul was in had a ramp in the front that could be lowered, making it easier to get a person out of the water. While Abby, the boat operator, maneuvered the boat in the choppy water, Paul went to the front of the boat and grabbed a line in his left hand.
“When we get close, you grab my hand and I’ll grab yours,” he called to the man. The man stepped toward the ramp and their hands met.
“I yanked him into the boat,” said Paul. “I didn’t want to lose him and have to try again.”
Once in the boat, the man collapsed.
In another boat was a ranger who was also a paramedic. Blankets were thrown from boat to boat and then the boat operators had to again maneuver to get the two boats close enough for the ranger to get into the boat with the rescued victim, who was then transported back to the waiting ambulance at Little Sand Bay.
Successful rescue, a life saved — now what do you do?
“We did what most people would do,” said Paul. “We re-hashed the whole thing over several times.”
I’m proud of my husband. I think he’s a hero, but he is a bit more modest.
“It wasn’t me. It was us,” he said. “Everything worked out right. Having good boat operators and being available was what saved him. In a rescue like this one, we had what we needed, three good boat operators with the ability to get that close to the rocks without hurting the person in the water. Abby did a wonderful job. I think perfect is good enough.”
He also credits someone else for the success of the mission.
“This guy was saved by the grace of God that day,” said Paul. “He got too close to the edge and started to slide down the bank. He thinks he fell about 40 feet into the water and he didn’t get hurt. There were people on the bank with cell phones who were able to call for help and we were available.”
Saved by the grace of God and the help of a carpenter.

Magic in the printed word

I love books. I love the tactile sense of the paper in my hands and the smell of the ink. I love the potential held inside the two covers of a new book and the anticipation of the adventure I’ll find inside.
I work for a newspaper and I’m an author of two books. I have a stake in the printed word.
So, why did I buy a Kindle?
For those of you who haven’t discovered the Kindle, it is a hand-held device used for reading books in electronic format. My new Kindle holds 3,500 books in the palm of my hand.
Over the weekend I met Don Carlos Barrios, a Mayan elder and shaman, at a ceremony near Madison. When I got home and searched the internet, I discovered he has written a book titled the Book of Destiny. His book provides information about Mayan prophecies about 2012 and the Mayan calendar. I decided it sounded like an interesting book so I checked to see if it was in Kindle format. It was.
Here’s the amazing thing: with one click of a button on my computer I ordered the book in electronic format. While I turned off my computer and put my dogs to bed, the book was automatically downloaded to my Kindle (which wasn’t even turned on). I got into bed, turned on the device and began to read the book. All of this happened within about ten minutes and the only factor that slowed down the process was putting my dogs to bed.
It has to be magic.
As I began to read, Barrios was describing the new age of consciousness that is part of the Mayan prophecy of 2012. He speaks of the fifth sun which will bring the human consciousness into alignment with the ether world, the world of the unseen.
It feels like we are already there. How else can we explain the magic of the entire contents of a book flying through the air from one computer to the next in less than a minute? How does the information know where to land? This transmission is faster than the speed of sound or light.
With my Kindle, I can carry with me the entire collection of Charles Dickens writings, every Sherlock Holmes book written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the complete stories of Edgar Allan Poe. And the device weighs only 8.3 ounces.
Any avid reader can understand why I now say “I love my Kindle.”
I have not forsaken printed books. I still have my library of treasures at home and I’m sure I will continue to add to it.
In these times of ether world magic, it is still important to give our children the experience of reading a book they can hold in their hands. I don’t want to lose the image of my pajama wearing grandbaby cuddled up in her mother’s lap while having her favorite picture book read to her. A Kindle can’t give my grandbaby the sensation of touching the fur piece attached inside her book about animals, or the experience of seeing the colors of all her favorite books lined up on her bookshelf.
I still like the experience of reading an old book and finding a personal note hand-written in the margins, or having a small piece of paper fall out of the back of the book with an old grocery list on it. I like tattered edges and folded pages.
And I like things that help bring literacy to new levels. This is the image I hold for these new electronic readers. In this busy world we live in, being able to carry an entire library of books in the pocket of your coat just might encourage young people to read more. It can certainly lessen the load of the backpacks children carry. Being able to adjust the type size with the click of a button might mean that elders and people with limited sight will be able to continue to read.
Yes, I have a stake in the printed word, and I also have a stake in preserving our mother earth. The more books I read on my Kindle, the more trees we have to beautify our world and create the oxygen we breathe.
Which, to me, is another form of magic.