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My story is a wonderful adventure and a magnificent love story of a young woman from Neenah, Wisconsin who gets to live a very big life.  I took a leap of faith to travel to a third world country for someone I loved.  Some would say I was so adventurous!  But when we are young, it doesn’t always seem that way.  The world is open to us… and fear is masked by our eagerness to learn and our capacity for adventure.  That’s how it was for me.

I left Neenah after high school to go to the “big city” of Milwaukee when I was 18 to attend Prospect Hall, an all-girls school.  I met a handsome man from Beirut, Lebanon attending the Milwaukee School of Engineering, and I fell in love.  It was complicated, as his parents were not going to allow their son to get involved with an American common girl (much less a non-Muslim) so they took him back to Lebanon after graduation.  But somehow, they were unsuccessful in getting him to forget about me, and five years after we met, he came back to the U.S. and asked me to marry him.

So there I was, engaged to an Arab, whom my parents liked very much.  They knew I would leave and they knew I would become a Muslim in order to marry him, as Lebanon did not allow mixed marriages between religions.  I was raised Roman Catholic, but they supported me in my decision.  They let me do what I needed to do.  I think they knew I would do it anyway.  And I guess they figured I would not change who I was.  They had given me a very solid foundation.

Beirut, Lebanon

When the time came for me to leave, I flew out of Outagamie Airport (Wisconsin) and landed in Beirut, Lebanon – only to find that the runway was being bombed! This was the beginning of the 1975 Civil War in Beirut, and the beginning of my incredible journey.

I knew that adapting to the culture and customs was critical if I was to grow, thrive and be happy in my new home, and learning the language was paramount to being accepted.  So I embraced the Muslim culture immediately.  Flats in Beirut were very expensive, so Maher and I started off living with his family.  This gave me an opportunity to observe and learn about Muslim life close up, and to begin avidly learning the Arabic language.

Maher’s parents, M’Nouman and Abu Nouman and their maid, M’Saad, welcomed me into their home from the day I arrived, introducing me to their culture and habits and helping me to become familiar with my new world.  From them, I learned the exquisite traditions of the Arab world, and the warmth of “Ahalan wa sahlan”, welcoming people to your home.  I had never seen such friendliness and warmth – men holding hands with other men and women holding hands with other women – just because they were friends.

I was also thrilled to discover the richness of Beirut.  At that time, Beirut was known as the “Paris of the Middle East” – for its culture, but in particular for its food, and the care that went into the preparation of that food.  The shopping of fruits and vegetables was a serious, almost exalted activity; and the cooking and eating was equally so.

But Beirut was also a battleground at that time.  There was often bombing or fighting in the streets.  I had many harrowing experiences during this period of time, including diving to the floor in our home as a sniper aimed through a kitchen window.  Amidst this chaos, Maher and his family tried to carry on as normally as possible, so I did the same.

In between the bombings and gunfire, I was able to marry the man I loved in Beirut in that summer of 1975.  On the morning of my wedding day, Maher’s mother sat beside me on my bed and welcomed me as her third daughter.  It was a simple ceremony in the living room of my in-laws’ house, presided over by a Sheik, in the presence of my husband’s family and two witnesses.  I wore a blue silk dress and carried a red rose.

At first, I was disappointed that the ceremony was so informal – no white wedding dress – and no women allowed except for Maher’s immediate family.  But I loved my husband.  I had received only warmth and support from his family.  And I was determined to learn and accept the customs of the Muslim faith.  The day, it turned out, was as lovely as I could have hoped.

It was also an opportunity for me to understand a bit more of the traditional marriage relationship.  The Sheik that day explained to me – translated by one of our witnesses – that in the Muslim faith, the husband is entirely responsible for the wife, and she is not required to do anything to earn money.  A symbolic gift (usually money) is made to the bride both at the time of the wedding and shortly after, to provide for her in the event of divorce, since no money will be given to her at that time.  I was asked how much I wanted, and could in fact have asked for any amount.  What I asked for was 10 pounds sterling, about $15.00.  As the gift was symbolic and I was a modern woman, I did not see the need for more than that.  Besides, I did not intend to divorce.

United Arab Emirates

By the end of the year, Beirut had become increasingly dangerous, to the point that we had to leave.  Our lives together took a detour when a welcome miracle happened.  Maher’s company offered him a posting in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), and we jumped at the opportunity to move to a safer environment and a different culture.  UAE became our home until 1985.

The difference between Beirut and the UAE was stark.  Whereas I had known a lot about Beirut before leaving the U.S., I knew nothing at all about this desert country.  It was the home of Bedouins and 99% Muslim, and was very strict in its religious observance.

But it was safe.  Once again in a new part of the world, in the city of Sharjah (and later Abu Dhabi), I needed to establish to everyone that I was going to stay and be a part of their country – I was not just a visitor or a foreigner.

Although my husband was an Arab, we were both pioneers, since the UAE was in its infancy in development – no roads yet (camels and Bedouins walked down the center of the main street), buildings were just going up, electricity just coming to the city as well as running water.  I had long hair but learned to take a shower in less than 3 minutes, as I knew I’d be out of water after that.  These were not easy times, as the UAE is an extremely hot and humid country with temperatures in excess of 120 degrees.

Establishing myself in the UAE meant going on my own to the “souk” or marketplace.  It meant trying out my Arabic and bargaining with the locals.  I still remember taking a deep breath the first time I approached the souk.  Remember, I stuck out like a sore thumb – there are no naturally blonde Arabs!

But the souk was delicious, a feast of colors and smells which I devoured before getting down to business – with a big smile, of course.  The merchants waited for me to start – and I bargained like my life depended on it!  They were delighted, and it was an immeasurable triumph for me.  I savored it.  It was my true beginning in that country.

That same day, on my right, two British ladies who didn’t speak Arabic were paying ridiculous prices for their fruit.  I looked at my vendor, and he smiled a mischievous smile.  I smiled back at him and didn’t say a word.  In the end, I became the darling of the vendors, and earned the nickname of “nos ou nos” – half and half.  It was a great compliment.

Although these early years in the Middle East were certainly challenging, they were also an exciting adventure for me.  I was fascinated by the cultures and traditions, and thrilled by all that I was learning.

Leaving the Middle East

Sadly, however, there came a time when my circumstances became less enchanting.  After two children – a boy and a girl – and several years together with Maher, my marriage was no longer a good one, and my husband no longer recognizable as the man I had married.  He had changed, adopting a repressive version of the Muslim culture, instead of the beautiful one I loved.

And I changed too.  How could I not?  I was no longer adapting to my adopted country.  Everything was harsh – harsh, where before it been a pleasure for me to acclimate.

I was in a country where women had no rights, a third world country where anything I said was disregarded without a thought.  I was in a country where women disappeared in the desert never to be heard from again.

My life was in imminent danger.  I was no longer permitted to come and go as I pleased, and had to be escorted everywhere.  I now had to cover my legs, and be different in ways I never had to be before.  I was a prisoner in my home and my husband became abusive when I did not adhere to his wishes.  I knew that I could not survive another episode.

And the American Embassy would not help me.

I had to make a decision.  Should I give up and live this way?  If I did, what would it mean to raise a daughter in that country?  What would it mean to raise a son in that way?

And if I decided to do something, how would I do it?  Making a decision is one thing, figuring out how to do it is another.

My answer came from within.  I had to draw from myself.  I had to dig deep and believe I had the answer.

From that moment on, everything I did had a purpose and a reason.  I got out of bed in the morning with a purpose; I got out of bed in the morning because I believed in myself; I got out of bed in the morning because it felt right in my gut.  It was inside of me and I had to work it outward to everything I did in order to escape with my children, as I was not going to leave without them.

So I planned my escape.

I knew I had to leave when my husband was on a trip and actually on a plane in the air where he could not check on me.  He had eyes and ears on me during the day.  So it would have to be in the dead of the night.

But before any of this could happen, I also had to be a very good actress.  He had to trust me enough to travel again.  He believed I would try to flee to the U.S.  He said we would never let me return there – ever.

So I became very obedient.  It pleased him and I could see a change in him.  I started receiving my dozen roses every week like before.  I never contested him and always did as I was told.  He would test me with his words, and I would never react.  I became completely subservient.  I prepared for the flight, so that when the time came, I would be prepared to leave.

There was one false trip that he planned and I passed that test.  It didn’t feel right – my gut told me he was lying.  I couldn’t afford to make a mistake because if I did, I might never get another chance.

Shortly after that, the time did come again for another trip.  He was leaving for India – he gave me just a few hours notice.  I felt it was right.  I had everything in place – except one thing.  I still had to get our original passports.  They were in the safe in my husband’s office.  Imagine everything in place but no passports.

I had a plan.  And that part of the plan didn’t work.  I was in front of the safe in the middle of the night, with the taxi outside waiting for me and my children. And I couldn’t open the safe.

Then I looked at my 5-year-old son, Manar.  I had many times seen him replicate things that he had watched others do only once before.  I asked him if he had ever seen his father open the safe.

He said, “Sure Mom.”  He spun the two large dials.  It clicked and he stepped aside to let me pull open the heavy door.  There, on top of a mound of cash, both dirhams and dollars, were our three passports.  Carefully, without touching a dirham or dollar, I took out our passports as if they were solid gold.

There were four checkpoints I had to get through in order to get to my plane in Abu Dhabi.  I used my Arabic and my charm as a young, blonde, American woman to get through them.  There is no way I should have been able to do that since I was supposed to be accompanied by a male family member.

Once on the plane, I got through to the pilots to explain the danger of my situation, and to ask for their help.  Our flight went through London to Chicago and then Outagamie Airport in Wisconsin.  My greatest fear was that my husband would find out that I was gone and search for me in London and if not there, then Chicago, and take us back.

In Chicago, the police escorted us personally to our plane for departure to Outagamie Airport.  My family had arranged for this, unbeknownst to me.  When we arrived in Wisconsin, my entire immediate family was there.  Even as I deplaned with Nadine and Manar, I was searching to make sure there was no private plane ready to whisk us away.

As far as I know, I’m the only woman to make it out of the Middle East with her children without professional help.  It was November 16, 1985 and there was a slight smattering of snow on the ground.  A moment I will never forget.

I believe anyone over the age of 40 understands that life does not always end up the way we thought it would.  But that doesn’t negate all the good that happened along the way.  My ten years in the Middle East were rich in experience and learning.  I loved living there.  Believe me when I say that I am still pulled by the heart to the country that I loved and learned so much from.  But it was time for me to leave.

Since coming back to the U.S., I have shared many happy stories about that time with my children, who encouraged me to write them down so that they would not be lost or forgotten.  I have finally done that, in my book Pulled by the Heart.  It began as a labor of love, for my children, to recount to them a piece of their own history.  But it turned into an educational tool, a means of sharing with others my experience of the Muslim culture, and what it was like for an American woman to live in the midst of it for ten years.

When I began giving lectures and attending book signings, one of the first questions I was ever asked was, “I have not yet read your book.  What is it that I will find most surprising?”  My answer: “How much I loved it.”

I learned a lot about myself when I had to follow through on the decision to leave my husband and the Middle East.  I learned that you absolutely can do what needs to be done to make your life and your relationships healthy and whole, in spite of the obstacles stacked against you.  You will know that it is right by the feel of it – that sense of something good and respectful that comes from following your true self.

Cooking as a Career Path

I was always interested in food because my mom was a really good cook and we ate really well.  She always laid a beautiful setting and used good, local food.

But I was actually unsure what I was going to do with myself.  I was working at a restaurant, a summer ski camp restaurant, and a woman who was working with me said, “The movie business is starting to build in Vancouver and they really need catering.  I’m wondering if you would come and be my assistant because I’m going to start a company.”  And I said, “Sure, I could do that – you know, until I decide what I want to do at university.”

It turned out that I loved it!  It was interesting and fun.  Eventually, I left her and went out on my own and ran my own movie business catering company for twelve years.  It was a great kind of cooking because unlike in restaurants, the menu is up to you every day, you make whatever you want to make.  It was a great way to learn to cook.

Then I decided to go to a cooking school in Paris, the École de Cuisine la Varenne.  So after I had almost been a self-taught chef, I went and became a chef, went to school, got a diploma.  The experience in Paris was fantastic, although I think I learned a lot of my craft on my own, just from reading and loving to cook and running my catering company.

So that’s how I got into cooking, just kind of by fluke.  And when I went to the cooking school, I met all sorts of people from all over the world who were chefs and caterers, and I knew that was definitely how I wanted to make my living.

The Cookbook Story

After I married my husband, we continued to live in Vancouver.  Mike worked in the ski business and I kept working as a movie and film caterer.  So he was working away and I was catering away, and then one day he got offered a job in Nelson as manager at the Whitewater Ski Resort.  So he moved to Nelson, and I soon followed him, giving up my movie business catering company.  In Nelson, I started another business called Pink Peppercorn, a catering company for weddings and parties and Christmas events.

Within a year, however, the ski resort was in danger of going bankrupt, of just being shut down, and there would be no more skiing for the Nelsonites.  So we got together with a group of ten other local businessmen and we put in an offer and bought the ski area, the group of us.  It was risky, we were taking a big, huge gamble, buying into a ski area that depended on things like snow and tourists and maintenance and staffing. It was a great big unknown.  But we bit the bullet and decided to buy into it, and therefore Mike was able to continue on as manager.

And because my background was in food, I took over the little cafe at the resort, which at that time was a little, basic, fries-and-hot-dog-and-hamburger cafe.  I just knew there was no way I could go from my background in catering to being satisfied with running a basic cafeteria.  So I turned it into the Fresh Tracks Cafe, a trendy little upscale cafeteria or cafe similar to what you would find anywhere in a big city, with interesting food and everything homemade – all of the soup stocks, even the burger patties and the baking.  Everything was made totally from scratch.

After a while, we built a reputation, and people started to come to Nelson not only for the skiing, but also almost as much for the food – it seemed like they fell in love with the food.  And I began to have some great interviews – I had one with Sunset Magazine and the New York Times, and a huge one with More Magazine.  It just grew from there.

And then customers and friends started begging for the recipes.  They would say, “Can you give me the recipe for this or that”, and at first I was writing out the recipes by hand and giving them out.  But I was doing this so often, I finally just decided, with my friend, Lori McGuinnes – it was actually her prompting – to put them into a book.  We had kids the same age, and we were standing outside the school one day and she said “Shelley, you have got to get the recipes from Whitewater and put them together in a book because everybody is wanting them all the time.”  She said “I’ll help type, I’ll do anything it takes to get this project going.”

So I went through the task of figuring out how to write a cookbook.

I started out by just taking a recipe I loved from Whitewater and turning it into a recipe to serve eight instead of 200.  Then I would test it and test it, and then I gave the recipe to Lori, and she would type it out and start the file, and that’s how the first book – Whitewater Cooks: Pure, Simple and Real Creations from the Fresh Tracks Cafe – got started.

Then I went out and found a designer – actually, I went through a few different designers – to help turn my recipes and photos into the text you need to send to the printer. I found an excellent girl, she was freshly out of graphic design school, only 23 years old, and so talented and sharp.  Her name is Minn Benedict.  I went to her with my huge box of files and I said, “Here’s my work, what do you think?” Together we came up with a look that we really liked, and from there we just worked together, on each recipe.  It takes a long time.  You have to make sure each recipe fits the page, everything looks the same, decide how the picture layout will be, how many pages per book, etc.

The photographer, David Gluns, had never done food before either – he was a sports photographer – so for him the food part was really fun and challenging.  He would come over and I would take food out of the oven, and I would have all the different setups lined up – all the different plates, lighting, tables, napkins – and he would take probably 100 photos of each dish. Then we would go through the hundred photos and pick one.  Our criterion was always, “OK, which picture makes you want to eat that the most?”

It took a year, but we did it, we put it together and got it published.  Then all the books arrived, and I was pretty nervous because I had no idea if ten were going to sell, or 100 or zero.  I think we had 5000 books in the first printing, which seemed outrageous.  But it arrived in December 2006, and they all sold, I think within a couple of months or maybe six months.  It was obvious that people were loving the recipes.  So I just kept printing them.

And then about a year later, I would be walking down the street in Nelson or wherever, and people would tell me, “Time for another cookbook!”  So I made another one – Whitewater Cooks at Home.  And I thought that was it, two was it.  It’s a lot of work.  It definitely takes a full year of testing and developing the recipes, doing the photographs and everything.

But the second one was so popular, that last year, I made a third – Whitewater Cooks with Friends.

The Ski Business Story

When we bought Whitewater, were very young and we couldn’t even borrow any money from the bank, so we had to find private funds.  Even my father thought it was nuts – we asked him if he would co-signed the loan and he said, “No way! I’m not helping you with a ski area.  Do you know what a risky business that is?”

But my husband is a very good businessman.  He had a degree in business from Carleton and also took the ski area management program at Selkirk College.  We also had the support and encouragement of a friend of ours, Tex Mowatt, who actually discovered Whitewater, is a very good businessman and used to be the mayor of Nelson.  He really convinced us that this would be a good move for us.  So although we were nervous because we had no idea what would happen – and we did have some tough times – we decided to rely on Tex’s advice and my husband’s knowledge of money and business and ski areas, and just go for it.  But it was scary, because I think I was only 27, and he was 32.  It was before we even had our kids.

The next big decision of our lives came after seven years of owning the ski area with ten people, when my husband and I decided we wanted to own it on our own.  It was just becoming complicated – every time we wanted to change something, it meant we had to get together with ten other guys to make a decision.  So we took another big, giant gamble in our lives, again on Tex’s advice.

He said “Mike, Shelley, I think it’s time that you guys make an offer to the other owners that they can’t refuse.”  And he was really right, that was the way to do it.  We made an offer to each of the ten guys to buy them out.  And they all said yes.  Each of them got quite a nice little chunk of money, because we wanted to make sure that they were not just selling because we want them out, but because the offer was fair.

Then we took over, just Mike and I, and it was just the two of us to run it and talk about it.  And for about the last 12 years, it was the only Ma-and-Pa owned ski area in North America.  He did everything with the lifts and in the downstairs, the accounting and everything, and I ran the upstairs, bar, cafeteria, retail-type stuff.  And we got excellent managers underneath us.  We sort of divided up the business that way, went to work every day, ran our little business, and the kids were up there all the time.

Then, about three years ago – we weren’t actually planning to retire yet, we were going to work until we were about 55 and 60 – but some really great guys from Calgary came along, three guys that loved skiing, and had families and loved Whitewater.  They’d been going there for years as customers, and they said, “We really want to own this place.”  They made us an offer, and after not much negotiating, we said yes.

We love these guys that took over, they’re the best thing for Whitewater and the locals love them.  They put in a new lift and they kept all the managers that worked for us, and they’re totally happy with them.  So that was really good news.

And Mike and I have become really good friends with one of the couples.  We went to Italy with them in the spring, and we just came home from Banff where we went hiking together and went in a bike race with them.  They are great people and we are thrilled that they are the ones who took over our business.

Family Life

At Whitewater, the kids would come up skiing on the weekends, and it was fine.  The only hard part was that we always had to work Christmas, spring break and weekends throughout winter, so our kids’ Christmas was that Mom and Dad go to work in the ski area. Which was fine, we just didn’t get to go on any holidays like regular families or take weekends off.

But we had a little trailer up there that was really cozy and cute.  They would come up and go skiing, and when they got tired of skiing they would go hang out in the trailer with their friends and watch TV or read or eat fries or get out of their ski boots and just kind of wait until we were finished work. It was probably a bit frantic for them at times, especially at Christmas because we were pretty busy and preoccupied.

But the great thing was that I never worked a single summer in their whole lives.  So from the time they were babies to teenagers, summers were always just me and the kids, and Mike could take most of the summer off.  So that was a real bonus.

I’m sure when they look back on some of the winters, they probably think, “Wow! My parents were frantically busy!” But because we were at a ski resort, they skied – especially my son, he would just come up and ski all day anyway. My daughter didn’t love skiing as much but she stayed home and she probably liked that too, to have the weekend with us gone and her girlfriends there. That was just our lifestyle.

When it came time for us to sell and we had an offer, we asked both of them if they want to take over, and they said, “No way would we want to work as hard as you guys!”

My son is 21, he’s in physics at McGill, so he going to be a physicist.  And our daughter is 22, she’s at UBC, taking political science and thinking possibly to become a lawyer. Totally opposite to what their parents did. You never know what your kids are going to turn out like.  But they didn’t want to be self-employed ski area managers like us.

Both of my children have all three of my cookbooks in their kitchens in their houses, and that’s the food they like all the time.  My son will make dinner for all the guys in his big, goofy house of guys, and my daughter will make delicious healthy things, so for them it’s a gift.  They’re used to watching the whole process, and they both ended up being very good cooks.  And they like having a collection of their mother’s recipes.

The Rewards

If it hadn’t been for Whitewater, there would never have been a cookbook.  And if there hadn’t been the first cookbook, there would never have been the second, or the third. And the exciting news for the third is that I’m actually just in the midst of booking a plane ticket, because the third one has been voted in the top three books in Canada in the Taste Canada Culinary Writing Awards in November. I’m super excited!

I had entered the first two cookbooks and they didn’t even make the top ten.  I entered the third one in October when it came out, and on January 1, I found out it was in the top 10.  Then, on August 1 when they announced the top three, I went onto their website and there was my little name!  I was thrilled, I could hardly believe it.  So I and my husband and the kids and lots of girlfriends and all the people who helped work on the book, we’re all going to the big gala awards on November 5 in Toronto.  I’ll find out between 6:30 and 7:30 that evening who is the winner.

It’s pretty exciting because it’s almost like the little cookbook that could.  The whole thing was totally not preplanned, absolutely not.  It went from, “Oh, let’s put some recipes together,” to being one of the top three in Canada.  Except I kind of almost hope I don’t win because I’m not a very good speech writer!  I’ll have to get some help from somebody.

Mostly, though, the part that I love is knowing that, now that there are probably a hundred thousand of my books out there, there are a lot of people making those recipes that I love too.  Those are my favorite recipes that I put together in the books, and it’s fun to know that they’re all out there having happy, yummy, successful lives in all sorts of situations from weddings to potlucks.

I get emails all the time saying things like, “Hi Shelley, I’m having a shower for my daughter and we’re making everything from the Whitewater cookbooks.”  Or I get emails from the nutrition department of the Lions Gate Hospital saying, “Hi Shelley, just wanted to let you know that we recommend your books for healthy eating to people who come to us for nutritional advice”.

Here’s a funny story about my Hungarian Mushroom Barley Soup.  Last week we were mountain biking on Vancouver Island.  We were up at the top of this trail, just sitting at the top – there’s this bench where you can rest before you ride down – and this woman came out of the bushes with this huge, beautiful basket of mushrooms she had picked.  I looked at her – she wasn’t a cyclist, she was just his gal coming out of the bushes with a big basket of mushrooms – and I said, “What beautiful mushrooms. What are you going to do with them?”

She said, “I’m going to make this really good Hungarian mushroom soup.”

I asked her, “Does it have sherry and sour cream and paprika and fresh dill and lemon and barley?”

And she said, “Yes, it does.  It’s a recipe from the Whitewater cookbook.”

It’s a really funny story to me because we really were out in the middle of nowhere.  And here’s this gal, just popping out of the bushes, and that was her intention in picking those mushrooms, to make that soup out of my cookbook!

Life After Whitewater Resort

I’m fairly busy with the world of bike riding now, and we have a fairly active outdoor life.  My husband races a lot in the Masters cycling races, but we also have been going in all the Gran Fondo series races, in Kelowna and Whistler and Penticton and such.  And last year we did a five-day bicycle tour in Italy.  We also go to Europe in the spring now that we’re retired, to train, train, train, and then we come home and go in as many races as we can.  We also to do more hiking. We’re pretty active now.  It’s marvelous to have the time. And I have the kids that I go and visit.

My cooking now is very simple and quick.  I usually know in the morning what we’re going to have for dinner and I have it marinating.  I’d say we eat at home almost every night, especially in the summertime when the kids are home and I want them home for dinner.  I announce in the morning what we’re eating that night and they say, “OK, see you at six.”  So every night at six our kids are home at the dinner table, which I love.  I still really like food and I still put effort into having a good dinner every day.

And actually this year we had a lot of work done on our house so we were making lunch for painters, carpenters, etc. We had a long table outside with an umbrella and we’d all sit down in our working gear and eat a very healthy, lovely lunch. It was very fun, actually.  I loved feeding them lunch.

New Projects

I’m planning a fourth book, starting in January.  I think it’s going to be called Whitewater Cooks for Life. It’s going to be my healthiest one yet, lots of gluten-free, wheat-free, and vegan recipes.  It will still be based on using fresh and healthy foods, but a little more geared towards people who are wheat-free, because that’s the way we eat now.  We are doing cooking all the time now that doesn’t involve wheat and it’s actually pretty easy. So there will be one more.

And it’s the same team exactly, the same designer, same photographer, and my friend and assistant Marianne Abraham.  So we’ll all be back together working on this in January.  I think it should be coming out in November.

But I’ve also started something else right now that I’m excited about.  I’m going to bottle some of the sauces and dressings in my books, like the Glory Bowl, which was really popular.  We’ll be working on that in the next couple of months, so soon it will be on the shelves and people will be able to go out and buy their favourite sauces from my books without having to make them.

Personal Qualities That Contribute to Success

I’m super hard-working and energetic.  With employees, I’m very caring and open and honest, and I let people have lots of freedom at the same time.  I think I’m pretty fun and creative – I think fun really works in a kitchen because kitchen work is really hard.  And I think people liked the fact that I cared so much that the food was delicious.  If the staff can see that the owner really cares, then they’re going to follow in those footsteps and do the same thing.

Looking Back

I don’t know if it was our intention to create such a unique life for ourselves, but it sure worked out, for both Mike and I.  You know, he’s a business degree guy, he could have been an accountant in a brown suit.  Instead he was a ski area manager in a really nice ski suit, skiing around.  We’ve had a very nice life of work and raising our kids in this little town of Nelson.  Neither of us would have ever guessed that we would end up in a small town like this but now we’re hooked, we love it here, we have lots of friends and we live right on the lake in a cute little house and that’s where we plan to live forever.

Now that we’re retired, we look back and we think, “We had a really good job.  That was a nice way to spend 30 years of our working life.” It really was.  I’m really fortunate that my life turned out to be that way, that all those working years and kid-raising years were spent doing hard work but in an environment that I love.  My job was two things I love, cooking and skiing. I don’t know how often that happens to people.

********

The quest for perfection, a characteristic often found in women, and even more so in female legal professionals, is useful to us in many ways. Excellence in the quality of work, methodology, concern for detail, meeting of deadlines and budgets, and the list goes on. When it comes to the practice of law, the quest for perfection is essential.

That being said, in all its aspects and from every angle, this quest for perfection can create significant problems when it is applied to our lives as a whole.

On the one hand, it can contribute to diminishing our quality of life and our self-esteem, interfering with our pursuit of happiness and balance. Despite all the time we invest and the effort we put in, unfortunately we all too often feel that we should be doing more, doing it better, that we should succeed at everything, be perfect, excel at everything, be recognized in all areas, and be loved by everyone. That we should constantly be the best of mothers, wives, sisters, and children, the best at the office, the best on the board of directors, the best in business development, and in each and every single one of our social commitments.

Conversely, this quest for perfection can stifle our courage and discourage us from applying for important positions, becoming involved, challenging and even surpassing ourselves.

Sometimes, out of fear of not attaining perfection, we don’t dare become involved in a project or an important office or political committee, or a professional or charitable organization. Some women don’t dare become partners, climb the organizational ladder, accept promotions, or work towards new objectives and greater goals. Still out of fear of not attaining perfection, of not being good enough, some women don’t dare accept the responsibility of representing a major client or attempting business development. Some women don’t dare speak at conferences, argue certain cases, or handle certain business deals. Or maybe they shy away from sitting on a board or applying to become a judge. Some women even go so far as to leave the profession – women of exceptional quality who have the talent and potential to continue.

How many women have turned down opportunities because they felt they weren’t good enough, or because they feared they couldn’t reach perfection? And how many of those women, after having let opportunity after opportunity pass them by, wind up thinking, “Why didn’t I go? I know I could have done it.” Some even go on to add, “I could have done a better job than so-and-so.”

And so, this infamous quest for perfection can lead to two major issues. On the one hand, it can undermine our self-esteem, and on the other it can make us timid, thus stifling our progress.

I tried to think of some possible solutions that might help us, as women, confront these issues. I began to wonder, might the solution be an obligation of means?

All in all, what if doing our best were enough?

Think about it for a moment.

Wouldn’t we be more likely to be more daring in our lives if we allowed ourselves to be wrong, if we gave ourselves permission to make mistakes, if we accepted the fact that perfection is not attainable? My thought is yes.

Wouldn’t we be happier if we got rid of our feelings of personal guilt concerning the imperfection of our acts and deeds? Wouldn’t we be even prouder of ourselves if we told ourselves that doing our best was already great? I think so. I think that we need to let go of our never-ending quest for perfection in everything we do. Instead, every day, we simply need to try our best, and love ourselves as we are. I think we’d all be more confident if we only reasoned, “Today, despite any small mistakes or imperfections or lack of time, I reached my goals because I did my best.” Wouldn’t we all be more content and closer to happiness? I may be wrong (for I give myself the right to make mistakes), but I think the answer is yes!

For those of you who may be skeptical and for all you steadfast perfectionists, I would like to clarify what I’m saying. It is my belief that doing our best still implies making use of all reasonable means at our disposal in order to achieve the desired performance, the desired result. To do everything necessary and to take serious control in order to do what needs to be done.

Without really knowing it, and without defining it that clearly, I began applying this attitude to my life in 2005, after having my second child. At the time, I was working in a major law firm, the mother of two young children and an avid seeker of perfection. I began to strongly question things, even going so far as to consider leaving the profession.

But I realized that quitting wasn’t the solution. Having adopted this new way of thinking, I decided to take matters into my own hands and launch myself into business. Today I am still a lawyer; the mother of four children, ages 2, 3, 7, and 8, happily married, a businesswoman and the chair and founder of a law firm that was just named one of the Top 10 regional firms in Quebec. I am also the Chair of the National Women Lawyers Forum of the Canadian Bar Association and am involved with the Montreal Bar.

In all of these areas, I have made mistakes and have committed blunders, but I have also forgiven myself for them. In every instance, I didn’t let my sense of guilt or my quest for perfection get to me as it had in the past. I think the force that helps me to keep going and to do everything (or at least try to do everything) lies in my belief that, right or wrong, I have the right to make mistakes, and in all things and in all situations, I at least try to do my best. And do you know what? That’s enough for me!
And what is most extraordinary is that I am deeply happy, and you can’t put a price on that.

And so I would encourage you to do a bit of soul searching.

If these thoughts can help you, either to feel less guilty, even for a moment, or inspire you with drive, even if it’s just for one project, then I will have accomplished something extraordinary, and you will have too.

Yikes.  It takes all my best refereeing skills to get through days like that.  Although you and I both know that if I’m smart or have the available time, I can cut all the squabbling short by doing one simple thing: getting them out of the house.

It’s a no-brainer for most parents.  Change the scenery, and you pull the rug out from under whatever drama your kids have gotten themselves wrapped up in.  The funny thing is, we often forget that this technique works on adults too.  And on days when you are feeling cranky or funked-out for one reason or another, it could be just what the doctor ordered.

Here’s how this particular revelation came to me.

I work for myself. From home. Doing legal research, and writing elegant yet compelling memoranda and pleadings and contracts.  It is fairly solitary, intellectual work that requires me to spend a lot of time being intimate with, well, my computer screen, my keyboard, my brain, two or three of the best legal search engines, and the four walls of my office.  Not real chatty interactions, those, for the most part.  Although I have clients (God bless them), I have no co-workers.  And I live in Canmore, Alberta, a town of 12,000 people, about a 75 minute drive away from most colleagues, competitors, and networking opportunities of significance to my line of work.

And most of the time, this is OK with me.  Because, first of all, I like what I do, and I like that I can get paid to do it, from home, for good clients, on my terms.  These are very big perqs, and I know I’m lucky to have them.  How many people can commute from their breakfast table to their office in less than 30 seconds?  How many can look out their office window every day and see things like this?

I’m also naturally a bit of an introvert, so a certain degree of solitariness does not bother me as much as it might some other people.  In fact, there are many days when I quite enjoy it.  No water cooler rumour mill, no office politics.  It makes legal practice almost peaceful.

But there are downsides to this splendid isolation.  I am, after all, human, and subject to certain weaknesses of my kind.  Key among them (at least as far as work is concerned) is that in the absence of frequent opportunities to measure myself against others in my field, I sometimes lose a sense of perspective and begin to fear that I am falling behind, or not as sharp as I used to be, or not as competent as a I should be, or not as good as the next guy, or, or, or…

So it was good for me this past week to make the hour-plus drive into Calgary to attend a keynote luncheon hosted by the Association of Women Lawyers (AWL).  The speaker was Anne Giardini, Q.C., a very accomplished lawyer and President of Weyerhaeuser Company Limited, as well as the author of two novels.  She spoke eloquently, as befits a lawyer/writer, on a provocative topic: “Having It All – On Your Own Terms”.  Well goodness, who among us doesn’t want to know the key to that magic formula!

And her speech was good – insightful, humourous, encouraging, but also – importantly – realistic.  Of course there is no magic formula.  We all know that, although sometimes, perhaps, we harbor a secret hope that someone will surprise us by pulling one out of a hat after all.  What I took away (and I do not necessarily claim to be summarizing Ms Giardini here) was that a meaningful, authentic life is available – but what makes it meaningful and authentic is personal, and so we have to look inside ourselves and find our own way.

But I digress.  At least I think I do.  Because what I meant to convey about why this brief foray into the company of my professional peers was good for me was that it shook up my mindset, cleared away some debris, and settled me down.  By getting out of my quiet office and interacting with colleagues, real time, I got my perspective back.  I remembered what I am good at.  I remembered how I got good at those things.  And I remembered also that although there are some things I am less good at, it’s OK because I have a plan for how I’m going to get better.

One simple luncheon was all it took.  A corrective that is so simple to implement, yet so effective.  I am going to plan to get out of my house a little more often.

When we moved from Montreal to Canmore, we transitioned from a neighbourhood that was predominated by double-income, professional households, to a community where many mothers have left paid employment to dedicate their time and energy to running their family. Different lifestyles and life choices. And to be sure, these different choices produce different outcomes in things like the income level of the family and the pace of life in the home.

But do they produce a “better” family, or happier people within the family, one way or the other? When we were in Montreal, we knew families that were functioning pretty well, despite fairly hectic lifestyles involving full-time work hours by both parents. We also knew families that were divorcing, or had discipline problems with their kids, or were struggling with simmering issues of one kind or another. It was all over the map.

Here in Canmore, where lifestyle choices tend to be highly family-oriented, I have not gotten the impression that things are substantially different in this regard. I have not done anything like an empirical study. But there are happy families and divorcing families and struggling families here too, in proportions that do not seem to me to be dramatically different from what we saw in Montreal. It’s too bad, in a way – because wouldn’t you like to think that there is a formula you could follow? Wouldn’t it make things easier to know that, as a general rule, one way works better than another?

I have come to believe that at the end of the day, it does not have to matter who does what within the family. It is not necessarily so important which tasks are performed by who. What matters is that you have a negotiated agreement as to how the labour will be divided, and that everyone is reasonably comfortable with the terms of the agreement. Over time, the agreement may come to be less satisfying to one family member, or less well matched with the family’s needs, and then it needs modification. The transition phase provoked by that development can be a challenging time in the family dynamic. But still – it’s the existence of an agreement that everyone can live with that matters. Not so much what’s in the agreement.

The agreement that works for my husband and I (at least for the moment) is one where we both try to do a bit of everything. We both work. We both prepare meals. We both drive the kids to soccer practice, or shop for their clothes, or listen to their triumphs and complaints at the end of the day. Either one of us might shovel the driveway or review our investments or return the library books. This works for us (most of the time) because of who we are and how we are each wired.

Of course, we do not each do all of these things in equal measure. Each of us is naturally better at or more interested in certain things, and as a result we tend to do more of those things because that’s what comes easy. Plus, on any given day, one of us may be more available than the other to attend to certain things. But we both know that if one of us isn’t around to make a decision or take care of something, the other will do it, no matter what it is. Because it doesn’t always matter who does what. It just has to get done, and making sure that it does is valuable to our family.

It takes enormous energy and commitment to run a family. For most of us, it is the biggest single project of our lives, and by far our biggest investment. Yet sometimes, because it is so all-consuming, we need to step back and get a little perspective on just how much we are doing and how essential all the little pieces are to keeping things moving forward. Consider, for example, the following inventory of “jobs” within a family:

• If our kitchen was a restaurant, there would be a chef, a dishwasher, a waiter/waitress, a busboy and a hostess.

• If our house was a hotel, there would be housekeeping staff, laundry service, grounds-keepers, a maintenance crew, porters, and a concierge to greet new arrivals and give wake-up calls.

• If our family was a business, there would be a book-keeper, an accountant, an office administrator, a controller, a purchaser, an events coordinator and social convener, a sales and marketing department, a CEO, and definitely – definitely – a human resources expert.

• If our home was a hospital, there would be doctors and nurses, social workers, therapists, pharmacists, nutritionists, bed-pan emptiers and vomit cleaner-uppers. And they would be on-call 24/7.

• If we were a consulting firm, we would offer services in life skills coaching, motivational speaking, personal training, spiritual guidance, project management, financial planning, interior decorating, fashion consulting, security, self-defense, and career counseling.

• And somewhere in there, there would be taxi driving too.

Whatever the division of labour in your house, whatever portion of the breadwinning, nurturing, cooking/cleaning/homemaking falls to you, it is important to never lose sight of the value that your contribution makes to the well-being of your family, both as a unit and as individuals. Negotiate an agreement with your spouse, if you haven’t done so already. Re-negotiate it if necessary as needs and resources change. But always keep sight of the importance that your efforts make to the family machine. And then keep doing them.

So on this Mother’s Day, don’t be shy to soak up the appreciation that you are (hopefully) receiving from those around you. You very likely deserve it. But in addition, accept some appreciation from yourself. When you believe in the importance of what you do, you feel a stronger sense of reward for doing it, and may even end up feeling motivated to do more of it. Which is good for everyone, including you. Because, like Mom used to say, “you get out of it what you put in.”

Happy Mother’s Day!

********

The foot, encased in my ski boot, flopped over sideways at a 90 degree angle from my leg.  Boot buckles flat on the snow, the rest of the leg facing forward.  It was this incongruity that captured my attention, not the pain.  That was yet to come.

The trip from the very top of the mountain to the infirmary at the base was not particularly painful or stressful, but it was long.  I considered the irony as I stared up at the sky, strapped to the toboggan.  Every run at Lake Louise is a long one – that was a selling feature for us when we purchased our season’s passes.  It seems we had not foreseen every way that that could play out.

Pain first registered – loud and clear – upon arrival at the bottom of the hill.  A stabbing bolt of pain overwhelmed me as the patrollers unloaded me from the meat wagon and helped me to a bed in the first aid room.  And I was cold, so cold.

Then the boot had to come off.  That boot, snug and stiff by design so that I could carve beautiful turns in the powder.  So difficult to get my foot in and out of at the best of times.  That boot had to come off.  Now.  And worst of all, no drugs.  Nothing for the pain. Not until the ambulance came.

When the paramedics (pair of medics I remember thinking) arrived, the nice man with the drugs asked me, “On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being almost no pain and 10 being the most pain you have ever experienced, what is your pain level?” To which I replied, “What number is morphine? – that’s my number.” Lucky number 7.

Four ambulance rides, three hospitals, one surgery and two weeks later, I was home and on the long road to recovery. Pain was my constant companion, percocet my first line of defence.

It’s easy to understand how people get hooked on percocet. It is a loyal and calming friend, taking away your pain and anxiety.  Until you are no longer able to move your bowels.  I can’t help but think that people who are addicted to percocet must also be addicted to laxatives.

So now I couldn’t walk or poo.  And I desperately needed to restore some normalcy in my life.  After a month of daily doses of pain relief, I quit taking anything for pain.  Three long painful days, during which I tried to distract myself with books, music, even rug-hooking.  Or I  simply watched the snow fall from my cozy perch in front of the living room window.  I wondered how much longer I could manage.  Then I realized I was managing. And it was only going to get better from there.

Finally, my surgeon gave me permission to start weight-bearing – the moment I had been waiting for.  Now it would be up to me.  I would be walking in no time, I told myself.  I was strong and determined and I was pretty good at managing pain.  Just watch me.

This is the point at which I learned what frustration truly means. Screaming, crying, tantrum-inducing frustration.

I had picks on my crutches to help get me over ice and snow from the house to the car.  Then I had the handicapped parking to help me make it from the car to the pool.  A major struggle to remain upright while I pulled open the doors to the pool.  Then a wheelchair to get from the changing room into the pool.  And at last, buoyed by the water, I could walk – actually walk.  Just like a normal person.  I cried.

It felt so good to be walking, despite the pain.  Coming up the ramp into shallower water, however, my reality returned.  I couldn’t support my weight.  Not even close.  But I returned every day and celebrated small successes, always believing I would return to normal. It’s not like learning a new sport that you can simply decide is not for you after all.  You have to learn to walk again – you have to.

And not just walking but walking without a limp.  It’s unbelievably hard to relearn to walk without limping.  Even when it didn’t hurt, Leg (as I affectionately called her) just couldn’t do the smooth stride.  I walked for hours in my bathing suit in front of the full length mirror, monitoring my hips, feet, everything, as I corrected my stride.  I practiced my walk like a runway diva.  I progressed from crutches to cane. My mantra: no limp, no pain, no cane. I walked without a limp with the cane but simply couldn’t do the stride without it.

I longed to be normal again. I just wanted my life back. I didn’t want to be noticed when I went out in public – the comments people made cut like a knife.  This was the greatest test of resiliency.  I wrote in my journal: Do it anyway. When people say things you don’t want to hear, when it hurts, when you don’t think you’ll ever walk normally, when you’re scared, when you’re frustrated….  Do. It. Anyway.

It’s been a year since that fateful day that changed my leg and my life for good.  I am walking now without a limp (perhaps a small gait anomaly), and only a little discomfort which has been helped significantly by orthotics. And I am skiing once again.  Although I would never have wished such an experience upon myself, I dug deep to summon the strength and determination to pull me through.  I am so very proud of myself – the perseverance, the strength of character.  I rose to the challenge.  Also I am humbled.  Mostly, I am grateful.

But tell me – when did The Green Mile become a Christmas classic?  Granted, it’s a pretty original script and a good movie, with many touching and even humorous moments (think, for example, of Wild Bill spitting the Mud Pie).  On the other hand, it is also a movie about death row executions, rape and murder of children, and squished mice.  These things, you might think, should make this the last kind of movie you would want to watch – or program directors would want to show – at Christmastime.  And you would be right.  Except, of course, for the miracles.

Now, the kinds of miracles that happen in The Green Mile are true miracles in the purest sense of the word – the laying on of hands to cure sickness, resurrecting the dead (in this case, a mouse, but definitely a dead one and definitely resurrected).  Personally, I have no experience of miracles of that calibre in my own life, and the question of whether they could really happen is a discussion way too big for a blog hastily written on New Year’s morning.  Suffice it to say that in the moments when I allow myself to entertain the possibility, the feeling of wonder and warmth that I get is so nice it inevitably brings me to tears (though admittedly, I cry pretty easily).

But leaving aside these truly miraculous miracles, there are of course smaller, sort-of “miracles” that do happen in everyday life, and that can touch us in rather profound ways, if we are disposed to let them.  I have not lived an overly dramatic life in the past year – no natural disasters, no poverty or starvation, no political strife or wars in my neighbourhood.  But even I can think of a few of these minor “miracles” for which I am grateful.

For example:

• Eight months ago, my mother-in-law had a heart attack.  My husband, who got to her home before the emergency vehicles, sat with her and watched her turn more and more blue as her lungs filled up with fluid and her ability to breathe diminished.  At the hospital, initial tests indicated she had suffered serious damage to vital internal organs, including her heart and kidneys.  We felt discouraged about the quality of life she would have going forward.  But a few days later, new tests showed no damage at all, not even to her heart.  None.  Now she lives in Vancouver, in her own apartment, close to another of her sons and within walking distance of her church and her husband, who is in long-term nursing care.  She is 72 years old. She is visiting us for Christmas and cooking up endless treats that we have not enjoyed since we lived near her in Montreal.  All we can say is a deeply felt “thank you”.

• In the week just before Christmas, a dear friend of mine had a car accident.  Her car bounced off a concrete wall and rolled over twice.  My friend suffered a broken thumb and a mild fracture of her sternum, from impact with the airbag.  Amazingly, miraculously, she suffered no other injuries.  She will likely need a new car.  But her body will heal.  And she is able to spend the holidays in the best place of all, at home, surrounded by family.

• Friends of ours, a couple for almost twenty years, separated this past summer.  Though they are both good, kind, warm-hearted people, being a couple was simply not working out for them anymore.  They have a son the same age as our daughter, and for all three of them, the separation was devastating.  Having been through divorce twice as a child, I could relate to their pain.  But this Christmas, both of our friends are spending time with someone new, in the early stages of potential new relationships.  We wish them both the best that life and love has to offer.

• Another friend of ours, who has endured two debilitating bouts of chronic fatigue syndrome, had a relapse this fall, just as his wife was getting ready to give birth to their first child.  In the past, CFS has hit him so hard that he has spent, literally, years unable to leave his bed, let alone his house, or tolerate even mild stimulation like telephone conversation or television.  So the fear was that this would be a repeat of those past episodes.  But it wasn’t.  For reasons unknown, recovery this time took a matter of a few weeks, and he is now fully himself again.

• Four days ago, my daughter celebrated her 12^th birthday.  She is wonderful in every way and has been since the day she was born.  It is cliché to say that the birth of a child is a miracle, but it is no less true for being cliché.  Watching her face, glowing in the candlelight as we sang happy birthday to her, my baby girl who is so close to being a teenager, I had a moment of strong emotion.  Strong enough that, yes, I nearly cried.  I guess some kinds of miracles just never lose their shine.

I am not really a maker of resolutions, though I do try to look ahead to the New Year with optimism, energy and a general intention to work hard and be better at things that I know are challenges for me.  I hope I will make progress at these things this year.  I hope I will have the perseverance to stick with things that might not come easily.  And I hope that, in the midst of these efforts, I will have the presence of mind to look up and notice small miracles.

***********

I was around 25 years old, just landing in South Korea to teach English for a few months, before my last semester of university.  I noticed, not for the first time, that my stomach was bothering me.  I didn’t give it much thought, since this always seemed to happen when I flew.  I assumed it was a normal part of a long flight with lousy food, lack of oxygen and hours of sitting in one place.  I also assumed that most people must bloat up and have pain the way I did.  The fact that it would take me days to get back to normal also never seemed odd to me, but just part of the stresses of travel.  I carried on.

Living in Asia was quite a shock to my system:  new sights, new smells, and new sounds.  The first few days, simply adjusting to my surroundings was challenge enough, never mind being thrown into a classroom of kindergarteners, all looking to me for direction!  I had never taught in my life and these beautiful little children were all waiting on what I would say next.  Oh my!  The fact that my intestines were gurgling all the time must surely be due to the stress of my new role, my new life in Korea, and not anything more serious than that.  Right?

And so it went. The two months in Korea passed fairly smoothly.  I got used to my new job, began to enjoy the children and got more comfortable in the classroom.  My stomach rumblings would come and go but were always worst on Friday nights when a group of teachers and I would head down to the local pub for a few pitchers of beer along with some Ojingah or dried squid.  But hey, everybody bloats when they drink beer right?  At the end of the summer, I decided I really liked living in South Korea and I loved teaching.  So I signed up for another year, went home to finish my last semester of university, then flew straight back, bloating in tow.

After two years abroad, I returned to Canada, and my digestive problems had not improved.  It got to the point where I was embarrassed to travel or sleep at other people’s houses because I never knew when or where an attack would happen.  I called them attacks at this point because I had finally consulted a doctor, who diagnosed me with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome).  “What can I DO about IBS?” I asked.  “Try to relax,” he suggested.  “Stress exacerbates it.  There is a drug we can give you if you want.  It’s an anti-depressant.”

An anti-depressant to treat a digestive problem?  This felt like a slap in the face!  I knew that I was not depressed – at least, not more so than might be expected for someone who was in constant pain.  But at any rate, whatever mood-related symptoms I felt, I knew they were caused by the digestive symptoms, and not the other way around.  The problem was not in my head.

Yet the doctor – a leading gastroenterologist – offered me nothing to treat or even validate my physical complaints.  He did no tests.  In fact, he barely examined me – palpating my stomach briefly and asking a couple of questions – before pronouncing “IBS” and sending me on my way.  Over the years, I consulted other doctors, who were generally not substantially more insightful than this first one.

I bought several books on IBS, surfed the internet looking for answers, tweaked my diet here and there, but never came to a complete solution.  I could improve things slightly, but results were inconsistent, and overall, I still suffered.  The closest I came to a solution was the year I went to a naturopath.  He really listened to me and recommended some fairly radical changes to my diet, including removing wheat.   The only problem – I now realize in hindsight – was that I was still eating other gluten containing grains like kamut, rye, and spelt.  So I was part way to a solution, but it would be years (12 to be exact) before I came to my own conclusion that I have celiac disease.

Celiac is an auto-immune disorder where your body attacks the villi in the lower intestine whenever gluten-containing grains are ingested.  The short-term effects of this can range from minor inconveniences like pain, bloating, diarrhea, to more severe symptoms such as headaches, dizziness and vomiting.  In the longer term, however, the effects of the disorder can be very detrimental because the body’s ability to absorb nutrients is drastically reduced by virtue of the villi being damaged or even destroyed.  If undiagnosed or untreated, sufferers can end up with joint damage, bone damage, organs that no longer function properly, failure to grow to one’s full potential (if the disease manifests early in life), and even cancer in worst-case scenarios.

It is not known why some people who carry the gene anomalies responsible for celiac develop the disorder early on, while others never develop it, or develop it later in life as I did.  The tests for it are difficult and invasive and have a very high margin of error.  So finding out whether or not you are celiac is a feat in itself.  And, of course, there are dramatic lifelong dietary changes to make once you are diagnosed.

I am happy to report that, after taking matters into my own hands (genetic testing for celiac at my own expense done through a laboratory in the US) I now have a confirmed diagnosis.  I know, finally, what I am dealing with.  I had already begun a 100% gluten-free diet two years earlier on suspicion that this was my problem, and the fact that I felt better within one week of being on the diet fuelled my conviction that I was on the right track.  But it still took two years to figure out how to navigate my way to actual medical confirmation.

No one wants to be sick, or to be told that they have an illness that will never go away.  But when your body is telling you unequivocally that something is wrong, the need to understand what is going on can become too pressing to ignore.  Finally knowing with certainty what I suffer from, and having validation that there is a real, physiological cause, is immeasurably valuable to me.  It gives me control of my life.

Today, I adhere to a strict gluten-free diet and my problem is essentially gone, regardless of my stress levels.  This is a miracle, in a way.  But in another way, it didn’t have to be, because all I ever needed was to know what I had to change to make myself feel better.

My purpose with this story is to hopefully help others facing similar challenges.  My message is simple: be persistent!  Pay attention to what your body tells you.  We are all stressed to some degree in our lives, and of course that does affect our health.  But if your problem is persistent and you feel unwell often, believe in yourself and what you feel.  Don’t accept that it is just stress when signs indicate that there is something more going on.  Keep pushing and searching for answers.  I am so glad I did.

Here is her story, in her own words.

My mantra:

Everything happens for a reason…so pay close attention.

My beginning:

I immigrated to Canada from Denmark when I was two years old, with my parents and three older sisters. Within a few short years, the number of my siblings grew to seven, making me a true middle child. We lived in small rural towns for my entire childhood and adolescence. The largest one, Zephyr,  had a population of about 500 people.

In my younger years, I was extremely shy and lacking in confidence – I remember that my comfort zone was to be as invisible as possible. Thankfully, this changed as I grew toward adulthood. I suspect my mother would have preferred me to stay shy a little longer, instead of turning into the teen rebel that I became. Looking back now, I shake my head at some of the things I did. I was pretty naïve, dumb and lucky (see My fun stuff, below). But it was all part of growth and learning.

After high school:

I thought about college – university was not even on my radar – but liked the idea of getting regular paycheques better than going into debt. My objective at this stage was to move to Toronto, find a job, find a husband, return to the country, have kids, and be a stay-at-home mom.

I did move to Toronto and got a job within a week of graduating. After that, though, I got side-tracked from my original plan and never really got back to it. I accepted the first clerical job I was offered as a dicta typist in an insurance company. After a year, I applied to a law firm and was delighted when they not only hired me but promoted me in just a few months – I never expected to land a prestigious job as a legal secretary at the age of 19. I even took shorthand back then. I also worked in administration at Honda Canada (lots of party boys to play with – especially on the motorcycle side) and Universal Films (where one of the perks was to take home a 35mm film – but now I’m dating myself).

Moving into advertising is where my “job” evolved into a “career”. My advertising boss was a great mentor, though I don’t think he realized at the time that that’s what he was doing. He was tough and pushed me pretty hard, but also believed more in my abilities than I did. That experience, it turned out, was key to so much of what has followed.

After five years in advertising, I moved into a straight-commission position in the always interesting but sometimes unethical business of headhunting. I started in this role quite naïve and trusting and left with much more streets-smarts. Wow, it was great to be paid based on results, and my income expanded nicely over the next five years.

Then: wham, the ‘90s recession hit – almost immediately after buying my first (very leveraged) house. Almost overnight, the lucrative field of head-hunting dried up, and I was in trouble. I learned two things: first, with a big mortgage like I had, I couldn’t afford to get what my Mom referred to as a ‘real’ job (i.e., a steady, salaried job) – the math just didn’t add up.  Second, I learned that recessions offer opportunities for creative thinkers who can give belt-tightening companies good value and alternatives to traditional ways of doing business. This is when I began my own HR consulting business, Perceptive Edge, which I’m still running and loving to this day. During the first few months, as I was building my business, I waited tables on the side – that sure gave me motivation to expand my client list.

Perceptive Edge:

When I started, I had to hide the fact that I was working from a home office. I targeted entrepreneurs as my niche. My business started out as offering recruiting services on an hourly basis as an alternative to head-hunters. I was fortunate to have a few key clients who had other needs in the people-related area which evolved into doing employee audits, dealing with sensitive issues and in general working as their sounding board and coach on an as-needed basis. It expanded nicely due to referrals and repeat business and I’m still having fun.

About the only downside of working on my own is that it can sometimes be lonely, without others to brainstorm with. Recently, to help counter-act this, I brought in a delightful young lady who is now working as my associate…so far, so good!  I also addressed the isolation of working on my own by setting up a Mastermind group. This initiative bore fruit of more than one kind – one of the Mastermind members later became a very good friend and match-maker (see Life partner below).

My fun stuff:

My life started to get exciting when I was 17 and left home to work in a resort for the summer. One of my new and adventurous friends talked me into hitch-hiking to Florida, which I jumped at – I’d never been anywhere -this was my first chance at adventure!

I left with CAN $100 in cash, no credit cards and no clue the US didn’t take Canadian money. Our first attempt to cross the border resulted in us being turned back – so much for telling the truth. We modified our story and were admitted to the US easily. We met some kind people who not only picked us up and asked if we wanted to crash on their floor – they also fed us and drove us back to the highway. It wasn’t until day #2 when we manoeuvred out of a bad ride in Atlanta, Georgia that we learned our Canadian money was more like monopoly money. Thankfully the two officers who found us roaming the streets of Atlanta towing large suitcases at 4 am took us to a local restaurant and fed and protected us until daylight. Our thumbs got us safely back home a week later, the same day my postcard from Florida arrived home, giving Mom only a couple of hours of worry.

During my 20s and early 30s I partied a lot with my carefree friends and played lots of sports with no real direction in life. I lived mostly day to day having fun with friends and with the young men who passed through my life.

In my 30’s, I thought I should find a man, settle down and have kids, but my actions were not in alignment with these loose goals. After lots of self-help books and a little therapy, I realized I was sub-consciously attracted to non-committal men – likely something to do with like attracting like.

Reaching 40 took the pressure off as I’d made a deal with myself that having kids was no longer a good option. Plus, what if cosmic pay-back happened and I had a kid like me?!

Life partner:

At 42, I met my current life partner, Chuck, who was very different from men I had previously dated – a good guy, though still with a small streak of badness to keep him interesting. Fourteen years later, I am happy to say it seems to be working out well – for so many reasons.

Chuck is an entrepreneur, is adventurous, pushes me outside my comfort zone when I need it, loves to play, and is genuinely a good person. He was divorced for seven years before we met which meant he knew how to cook, do laundry and was independent and not needing to live the traditional “couple” life. He has two delightful daughters and I now have a grandson – without doing the heavy lifting. We enjoy each other’s friends and he’s enjoyed being an uncle to my/our nieces and nephews. And we love doing grandparent things with our five-year old darling Ethan.

Kids:

I rent rather than own. Thanks to my seven siblings, I have 15 nieces and nephews, plus eight (so far) in the next generation, that I love to borrow. Without having these many children in my life, there would have been a deep void, so a big thanks to all my sibs.

Friendship:

Friends are the family we choose. A girl needs girlfriends, and some men will never totally understand the importance of that. It’s important to me to spend weekends and sometimes weeks away with “just the girls”.

I love having people of all ages in my life, including friends half my age. I also love having diverse people in my life, as this broadens my thinking and tolerance.

One of the best life choices I made was to be a volunteer ski patroller for 21 years. I was an intermediate skier when I joined and knew nothing about the human body, so there was a steep learning curve. I met a bunch of fabulous peers of all ages, many of whom are now great friends/second family.

By patrolling, I had to stay in shape, had to ski on the awful days, got to cut lift lines on the beautiful days, made fresh tracks in the powder and of course, helped lots of injured skiers. Patrolling also gave me a place to belong which I found I needed being self-employed.

My life partner also found me on the hill – maybe he had a thing for women in uniform! He was actually referred to me by a friend and I was easy to hunt down. Some of the older guys on the patrol were like big brothers to me and checked him out to see what he was made of, and also pushed him on the slopes. He passed the test, and the rest is history.

Failing (I see it more as dusting off, learning and recovery):

So many people take the safe route. Thankfully, I’ve not been afraid of failure. I’ve often not landed where I planned but somehow the detours were interesting and often led me to where I was meant to be or to people I was meant to meet. I believe in coincidence. I’ve never believed that one needs to be specifically trained in an area before venturing forth. My natural strengths seem to continue to find me and the bumps I hit along the way offered lots of training. The school of hard knocks can offer a great education. I also believe bumps and scars develop into character.

Travelling to open your mind:

Before meeting Chuck, travel for me meant cookie-cutter trips to Club Med and ski resorts. Now, that has all changed. Our first trip was to the Grand Canyon where we hiked down and up in one day – he wanted to see what I was made of. We’ve since had many adventures to unusual places: Peru, China, Thailand, Cambodia, South Korea, India, a few countries in Europe and lots of travel to the US, where he spent the first half of his life. We also frequent the Caribbean on his boat, sometimes even during hurricane season. Travel is never dull with Chuck as my personal tour guide.

One very special trip (this one without Chuck) was to Arizona with my Mom and four sisters. It was great to see Mom enjoy being spoiled and to share beautiful Sedona with her, which is my most favourite place in the entire USA.

I also love introducing my nieces and nephews to travel. Several years ago, I had a fabulous bonding experience on a trip with to the Banff area with a 15-year-old niece (who’d never been on a plane – from personal experience, I thought she should know there are alternatives to using her thumb to see the world). We were joined by two other nieces from Vancouver, and then dropped in on yet another niece living in the flat plains in Lethbridge. How great to have them all together!

More recently, Chuck and I have made other trips with the younger generation – once to a resort in Arizona with three nieces in their early teens, and once on the boat in the Caribbean with three nephews in their late teens. Both trips were an absolute blast, and a time I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. It also gave me a taste of what it might be like to be the mom of teenagers. With the girls, our first dinner consisted of watermelon, chocolate and ice cream (hey, we’re not their parents!). With the boys, we learned that at that age, they are eating machines but have no idea what to put in the grocery cart. On that trip, one learned to scuba, we all rode scooters and all were stung by jellyfish. Memories none of us will forget.

Being an aunt and a nana:

Years from now when the next generation will go to therapy, their gripes will be the parents’ fault and not the aunt or nana’s fault! I absolutely love having these kids in my life and love to push them outside their comfort zone while doing the best I can to make them believe in themselves and be confident. Because we were immigrants and didn’t have any extended family, this kind of encouragement was probably a void I felt in my life. So I want them to know they can do and be anything they want, and that having a few stumbles along the way is great learning. I believe there is real value that aunts, uncles and grandparents can add to kids’ lives. Sometimes we may give the very same message as their parents, but it’s received differently.

And because it’s such a treat to borrow my nieces and nephews, we go out of our way to find new and unique things for them to do. We love taking the kids out for Asian food and they know the rule is that they either use the chopsticks or pay for their meal. Funny how quickly they learn to eat with chopsticks. We’ve also taught them how to go up the down escalators, and how to find their way on the subway and in airports. I was a natural follower for years; I want them to be in the driver’s seat of their own lives.

Important life lessons and breakthroughs:

Through all of this, I have unearthed a few gems:

• Don’t blame others for my lot in life unless I want them to continue to control me – that was a big aha! moment for me. When I finally stopped blaming my Dad for many of my challenges in life, many obstacles left my path. I also stopped feeling the need for his approval. What took me so long!
• When life gets rough, remember that many others have bigger problems. While I sold my first house at a loss and waited tables while starting my business, my 30-year-old girlfriend was dying of cancer. When people asked why I wasn’t more upset about my financial situation, the answer was easy – the loss of my friend put it all in perspective.
• Alcohol was my sub-conscious crutch early in my adult life because it gave me the courage to overcome my shyness in social settings. Twenty years later, for health reasons, I quit alcohol, which was tougher than I ever thought it would be, but a great breakthrough because I then discovered my true self (no ‘numbing’ required).
• Fire clients I don’t like working with – no matter how much I may need billings.

As a non-rule girl, here are some rules I believe in:

• View hurdles as lessons and opportunities for character-building;
• Surround myself with interesting people of all ages, and always have young people in my life;
• Remember how to be a kid and act like one often;
• Laugh often;
• Be tolerant and accepting of those different from myself – who knows, I may learn something;
• Accept and love my partner for who he is – if I ask him to change, he may also ask me to change…and how prepared am I to do that!
• Get to the gym and work up a sweat – it always feels good when I’m done;
• Eat healthy foods – this includes foods that release “happy endorphins” like chocolate and ice cream;
• The older I get, the less important it is to be liked by others – giving me more freedom to be myself;
• I love Dr. Phil’s quote “we teach others how to treat us”.

Things I’m still working on:

• Remembering that just because it’s on sale does not mean it’s a good deal;
• De-cluttering unnecessary stuff from my life;
• Eating treats in moderation;
• Understanding why my summer clothes shrink a size during the winter season;
• Staying current on electronics – new stuff comes out faster than my learning curve.

To sum up:

Overall, life has been good with many great adventures. I feel fortunate for all the great people in my life. I love being the (self-proclaimed) “favourite” aunt, and love to push and embarrass the young ones while still offering them a safe place to fall. I love the freedom of having my own consulting business – couldn’t imagine battling rush hour traffic, working regular hours, having to shop during crowded times and only getting 2-4 weeks of vacation per year – yuck! There are times I’d like to work more collaboratively with others but not enough to give up my freedom. I’ve found there are plenty of ways to work around that – ski patrol, Mastermind, friends and family – and find my place to belong.

We have a choice to take the optimist or pessimist routes in our lives. I’m choosing to live life with my glass half full.

Other things are new – like being able to throw our canoe on the roof of the car and be lakeside in 15 minutes.  Or running into pretty much the same people with every new activity we get involved in, and realizing it’s because the town is just that small.  Or snow before Hallowe’en.  Or finding elk tracks in the snow right around the corner from our house, and then later meeting the elk who made the tracks, and a few of his buddies, standing in the road while I’m on my way to get groceries.

Elk tracks

This sort of thing definitely did not happen back in Montreal.

Another thing that didn’t happen often back in Montreal was getting to see my sister.  One of the very best consequences of moving is that I now live close to her.  I use “close” in a relative sense – she is still three hours away by car, but then again, she used to be three provinces away, so the improvement is exponential.  Plus, the three hours does not seem like it will be an obstacle – we have already seen her five times (yes, five) since we got here, and all indications are that the trend will continue.

To know how special this is, you have to realize how long it has been in coming.  The last time my sister and I lived in the same province was more than 20 years ago, when we were both still in high school.  Back then, we had spats like all siblings, but mostly we liked each other pretty well.  At the same time, though, we were teenagers, so (surprise!) maturity was sometimes lacking – on my part as much as hers, even though I am four years older.  Looking back, I would have to say that our closeness was a kind of unspoken, nebulous thing – there all the time, but only occasionally crystallizing into something more tangible, and probably half scaring us when it did.

At least, that’s how it strikes me.  My sister, who is a kinesiologist and not a literature graduate or a silver-tongued lawyer, may have a much less airy-fairy take on these things.

Either way, the point is that although we were close, it was in a youthful, unevolved kind of way.  Because we were youthful and unevolved ourselves.  And when I left to start university, I must admit that I was so eager to get out into the great big world that I left without really looking back.  My sister, in time, left home and went her own way too, and although we have a good relationship, opportunities for getting a little clarity on that nebulous closeness thing have been rather few and far between.

So now here we are, twenty-some years down the road, and much, of course, has changed.  Most pertinently, we are both fully and properly adults, with husbands, kids, mortgages and grey-covering dye-jobs to prove it (it’s true, I am not a natural blonde).  Presumably, we have both matured.  I’m sure our relationship has too, though the truth of that will show up over time as we get to talking more and more in person about the kind of stuff that doesn’t tend to come up so much when you talk over the phone.

Because the reality is– and I’m seeing this clearly as I spend time with her now – there is just no substitute for time together.  Twenty years without seeing each other very often means that what we really know about each other has more to do with who we used to be than with who we are now.  We both know the facts of each others’ adult lives – where we’ve gone, what we’ve done, who’s been with us while we’ve done it – but there is another level of knowing a person, beyond the facts, that is harder to develop without time together.  It’s a sensory thing – a felt understanding – that feeds on physical proximity.

My sister and I now have a chance to pick up where we left off twenty years ago and develop more of that felt understanding.  Hopefully (surely!), we are evolved enough to be more conscious and unbefuddled about things than we were as teenagers.

There is a lot we can learn from each other, about the hows and whys of choices we have each made and the directions we have taken.  For instance, I have placed a lot of focus on work and career, while my sister chose to leave practice as a kinesiologist to redirect her energy to home and family.  In a way, this is not a surprise, because it was always clear my sister had more homemaker instincts than I did (I have many times been thankful to live in a time when a woman’s worth need not be measured by the quality of her embroidery or the flakiness of her pie crust).  I think we are both good at what we do, and largely satisfied with our choices, and that by itself is a meaningful topic for conversation.

Another thing that has happened in the last twenty years is that my sister has become the superior athlete out of the two of us.  This was not the case when we were kids, when I tended to be the one playing almost every sport going, while my sister had more interest in music and art and just being with friends.  Today, I still play some sports in a leisurely, recreational kind of way; my sister, though, has run marathons and triathlons and recently completed a 100 mile bike ride (a “century”, as it’s called) through the Rocky Mountains, probably without even breathing that hard.  She is strong.  She trains almost every day, and could leave me eating dust, hands down, no contest.  Who saw this coming?  Maybe she did.  Maybe she knew where she was going all along.

But I think most of all what we have to talk about and feel our way through is our families – the new ones we have created with our husbands and children.  Because this is something that, as teenagers, we could not possibly have known anything about, and it is the thing most fundamental to who we have each become.  So naturally, this is fertile ground.  Plus, it happens that our families are great and we are lucky to have them, so how could we help but talk about them?

So we will see how it goes.  We will see whether geographical closeness, so long in coming, can contribute to closeness of another kind.