Tag Archives: fear

Faster. Better. Cheaper.

Little known fact: The US military is the largest supply chain in the world.

My supply chain management education will always color the way I view things.  At times, I wish it didn’t.  In education, I like to believe that most students will find their way, eventually.  Most will find their purpose.  I feel for those who don’t, but it is a reality of life.  There are always those who remain lost, and sadly, I’ve known a few.  I can help, but I can’t be everything to everyone.

With supply chain issues, there is a solution.  There is always a solution.  We just need the resolve to follow through and make necessary changes.  We learned so many supply chain and economic lessons from the Greatest Generation and World War II, but as that generation passed away, I fear that we have lost those lessons or even ignored them completely.

Let me start at the beginning.  I am deeply proud to come from a long line of entrepreneurs.  I long idolized my dad and Grandpa Buttrick.  Both owned and ran their own companies and were self-employed, as different as their companies were and still are.  My dad developed Russell Canoe Livery around our family and our lifestyle.  He had no desire to build it beyond what it is now, even if we had the opportunity.  

Grandpa, on the other hand, loved to build.  He expanded his convenience store business into screen printing, Subway franchises, propane, hotels, and more.  He even loved to compete against himself from time to time.  As a child who loved to build, I took notice.  In having the opportunity to manage one of his convenience stores for a few years, I am grateful to have learned just why Grandpa loved the c-store business so much.  Ultimately, it helped me become a better manager at the canoe livery and a more empathetic boss.

While this cover is exactly how I remember it, it must be an updated version!
No WI-Fi in the 80s and 90s!

As a child, one of the most fascinating books I owned was The Way Things Work by David Macaulay.  I wanted to know how and why things worked.  Looking back, this helps explain why I chose supply chain.  It fit the bill.  I knew I didn’t want to study management.  I wanted to know exactly how value was added, and not just become increasingly removed from day-to-day operations that actually pay the bills.  Accounting and finance never even entered the picture.  In fact, my mom and I joke that we would starve if we had to try and make a living as accountants.  I am decent at math, but I make errors far too often, and it is not my thing.

I do have two older cousins who earned supply chain degrees from Michigan State and blazed the trail, but as my older cousin Emily tried to sell me on supply chain, it made me look at the program more critically.  Instead, my experiences at the Broad Business Student Camp (BBSC) after my junior year of high school sold me on Michigan State and supply chain management.  During that week attending BBSC, I had the opportunity to explore State’s incomparable campus, everything the Eli Broad College of Business had to offer, as well as all things supply chain.  In short, I had the opportunity to preview what my life would be like as a Michigan State business student with one of my best friends.  What was not to like?  By the time my parents dropped me off at MSU in August of 1999, I had to kick them out of my dorm room as I had already connected with student groups in the business school, and I was not going to be late for the first meeting.

Now you know why I never wavered in my pursuit of my supply chain degree, in spite of the fact that, deep down, I knew that I wanted to be a teacher as well.  As for the deeper lessons that stayed with me and kept me up at night, it all started with a business history class I took during the winter of 2000, the very heights of the dot.com bubble.  In fact, the bubble burst that consumed that spring forced me to pay attention.  My history professor, in fact, predicted the fall of the stock market (the dot.com bubble) publicly almost as soon as classes started in January.  When it finally happened in March, as a 19 year old, it left a deep impression.  However, as memorable as that experience was, this is not primarily why I remember this class 25 years later.

Instead, my professor’s description and explanation of how Detroit became the “arsenal of democracy” still sends shivers down my spine.  He made the case that the United States and the Allies would not have won World War II without Detroit.  While I knew Detroit played an important part in the war, I didn’t realize just how important.  Supposedly, when Hitler received intelligence of manufacturing totals coming out of Detroit, he didn’t believe it.  Those who had gained manufacturing experience in cities like Detroit, especially Detroit, would turn their focus to the war effort.

When you think of the manufacturing capability we had during that time, the early 20th century, it makes sense. We were able to help supply Great Britain long before we officially entered the war after Pearl Harbor.  Thanks to FDR, we switched from manufacturing consumer goods to munitions.  We went from cars and refrigerators to tanks and aircraft.  This is the question that keeps me up at night:  Would we be able to do so again if faced with such a crisis?  I don’t know.

Actually, I doubt it, as the way things are now.  Born at the end of 1980, I’ve watched my entire life as Michigan lived up to its “rust belt” image.  Most of the business professionals I graduated with in 2004, me included, had to relocate to states such as Texas and California to find jobs.  When my parents graduated from college in the late 70s, there were still good manufacturing jobs to be had right out of high school, although that would soon come to an end.  I grew up hearing of plant closures, manufacturing outsourcing, and general loss of manufacturing capability in the United States.  It is all I knew. By the time I sought to start my career, little remained.  Instead, less secure positions with multinationals outsourcing much of their labor to places like China, Mexico, and India took their place, particularly in the shadow of the first dot.com bust.

By the time I interned with IBM out in Rochester, Minnesota during the summer of 2001, not only did they not have enough for their interns to do, their full-time, permanent employees didn’t either.  Instead, they were focusing on their garage bands and updating their resumes.  In 2003, as part of a tour of a GM factory in Mexico near the border, I vividly remember seeing rows upon rows upon rows of brand new Pontiac Azteks and Buick Rendezvous awaiting shipment as our chartered bus slowly approached the plant.  Looking back, it foreshadowed Pontiacs epic downfall several years later. Tragically, Pontiac would never recover from the monstrosity that was the Pontiac Aztek.

My last semester at Michigan State in 2004 brought the Eli Broad College of Business’s first Chinese Supply Chain Symposium.  Of course, it focused on all of the wonderful benefits of outsourcing manufacturing to China.  I left wondering if I was the only one asking just how long before we were outsourcing our own jobs?  Where and when would it end?  Was I the only one seeing the connection between outsourcing and both unemployment and underemployment in the United States?

Even Russell Canoe Livery has a supply chain,
one with its own set of challenges and setbacks.

I will leave you with this summary.  We desperately need to bring manufacturing back to this country.  If you think the supply chain interruptions during the COVID 19 pandemic were bad (and I followed them closely), what would happen in the case of an even worse global crisis?  Good manufacturing jobs helped finance the growth of the middle class throughout most of the 20th century, particularly after World War II.  Why can’t we get back there?  We’ve learned so much during that time, and we have the workforce, if given a chance.  I hope I live to see it.  By the way, this doesn’t mean becoming isolationist.  It is simply expanding beyond the pharmaceutical, technology, and service industries.  Supporting local farms wouldn’t hurt either!  Cheap is good, but it is not always best in the long-run.  We’ve remained far too short-sighted and complacent for far too long.

Mom, Dad, and I – Spring 2001
Tower Guard Induction – Beaumont Tower, Michigan State University
In honor of Grandma Reid, who worked as a riveter in both Hamtramck, MI and Fort Worth, TX during the World War II era, all before the age of 20.

Becoming Ms. Russell

I did not set out to become a teacher, I left that to my younger sister Erica.  As her older sister, I’ve never known her to want to be anything other than a teacher and a mother.  I envied the fact that she was so certain about her desired profession, not to mention her dedication to her love of children.  When we played school – and we did often – I ended up being the school librarian while she insisted on being the teacher.  Until our younger brother was born when I was age 10 and Erica age 7, we didn’t have a single pupil.  By the time he was two, Erica made our toddler brother a series of report cards, grading him on things like “listening” and “sitting still.”  But, this isn’t my sister’s story.  It is mine.

My story of pursuing a career as a secondary teacher is by no means conventional.  In fact, it is so unconventional and challenging that I would recommend it to no one.  If it weren’t for the facts that teaching is in my DNA and I am meant to be a teacher, I would have given up long, long ago.  Instead, I doubled-down when I was faced with what at the time seemed to be insurmountable obstacles.  I even went back to substitute teaching when needed while deciding what my next step would be.  I am a better person, and teacher, for it.

Every story needs to start somewhere, and mine starts with the statement that teaching is in my blood.  It truly is.  As a genealogist, as far as I can tell, the teaching tradition goes back at least five generations on my mom’s side of the family.  It likely goes back even further.  Both of Mom’s grandmothers taught, and one of her grandfathers served as principal of his daughters’ elementary school, as well as coach.   

Interestingly, the teaching careers of my great-grandmothers could not have been more different.  I knew both Grammy Bea (Beatrice Williams), who taught kindergarten and first grade for decades at the height of the baby boom, and Great (Leona Buttrick), who taught in a one-room schoolhouse and quit teaching once she married my great-grandfather Hatley.  Although these are stories for another time, their careers illustrate massive changes in public education.

Funnily enough, the teaching tradition isn’t exactly confined to mom’s side of the family.  Even though neither of my dad’s parents had the opportunity to further their education, they highly encouraged their children to do so.  Both did, and even though my dad and his sister didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye on much of anything, I find it telling that they both married teachers.  On the Suszko side of Dad’s family, there are several special education and agricultural teachers.  In fact, my cousin Kristy, a woman with whom I attended school at all levels from kindergarten to college, now teaches dairy science at the university level.

As much as I did not want to admit it, I am a teacher.  It took me far too long to make peace with that fact.  Something inside me would not let it go.  As soon as I graduated from Michigan State in 2004 with degrees in supply chain management and Spanish, my entire world shifted.  It would not be made right again until I went back to school in 2013.

It all started during the Great Recession with a casual conversation with my ex’s mom Cindy.  We were invited to dinner as usual, and Cindy and I struck up a conversation.  She told me that she wished that she’d gone back to school to become a nurse.  All I could think at the time was that I did not want to be in my 50s and regret not pursuing an interest.  During the Christmas shopping season of 2008, I worked at Best Buy in   Saginaw.  As I lived in the South End of Bay City at the time, I drove by Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU) every day on my way to work.  Slowly, I started to wonder what would happen if I did decide to go back to school to become a teacher.  The idea excited me and fed my imagination. How could I make it happen?  How would I adjust?  Online classes, in their infancy back in 2004, intimidated me.

Eventually, I had the ability to make it happen in 2013.  I largely enjoyed my time at Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU), although I would advise commuter students to do their homework.  For example, if I had not followed up with my advisor, I would have stressed out about the math portion of the general MTTC exam necessary to even apply to the College of Education.  I didn’t necessarily doubt my ability to do higher-level math likely trigonometry and low-level calculus, but I had not remotely touched those subjects in well over a decade.  The thought terrified me. Much to my relief, my counselor informed me that I scored high enough on the ACT test I took in high school that I did not need to take the general MTTC at all.  I then questioned why I wasn’t informed earlier.  She simply stated that it likely stemmed from the fact that I was a commuter and a non-traditional student.  While I would highly recommend SVSU to traditional college students coming right from high school, I’m not so sure in other situations.

I enjoyed most of my classes and professors at both Delta College and SVSU, but I can’t say that I didn’t have any bad experiences.  In fact, one professor and class at SVSU stands out for all of the wrong reasons.  This particular professor taught a class that focused on diversity.  However, somehow, throughout the entire semester, he managed to offend nearly everyone in the class.  Horribly.  He supposedly hated coaches.  When I ran into a former classmate in a school setting years later, we naturally discussed this infamous class and professor.  This man, who happened to coach as well as teach, informed me that this professor tried to get him removed from the College of Education program, likely because he planned to coach.

Somehow, this professor appeared to have no issue with me or one of my good friends, even though he had long ago deeply offended us both.  As we paired up to complete our main teaching project for the course, things fell apart.  When it came time to “teach” our project, our professor respected my teaching time and even seemed pleased.  Then, he proceeded to continually interrupt my friend and teaching partner for her entire portion of the project.  He made it exceedingly difficult for her to even finish.  Already extraordinarily introverted, I have no idea how she made it through.  Disrespectful doesn’t even begin to cover it.  Unfortunately, she never did become a teacher, although she would have been wonderful.  Instead, she became a librarian.  To this day, I still believe that the world needs introverted teachers too.  There are too many people like this professor that discourage future teachers every step of the way before they even get started.

Stay tuned … There is much more to this story.

Not just my favorite TED Talk on education and teaching, my favorite TED Talk period.

Rita Pierson’s famous Ted Talk on Education – Well worth watching!

Feliz Día de los Muertos

Teaching the meaning behind Día de los Muertos was always one of my favorite parts of teaching Spanish.  Enjoy the ending of Coco, one of my all-time favorite animated movies.

Childhood Antics

July 1984 – Tawas, Michigan – Hamming it up with my Schneider and McTaggart cousins at Aunt Tara and Uncle Bill’s wedding. Thank you Aunt Amy for helping me locate this picture!

Sometimes, a picture can bring up a wide-range of emotions:  joy, sadness, nostalgia, and everything else.  Earlier this summer, I sent my aunts on a search for the picture above.  It had been on my mind for some time.  I consider it one of the definitive photos of my childhood; one that has always stood out.  First, Grandma Buttrick had it framed in one of the back bedrooms of her house for many years.  I always enjoyed coming across it during visits.  For that reason alone, the picture remains a favorite.

While I was too young to remember having the picture taken at my Aunt Tara’s wedding to Uncle Bill in July of 1984, I grew up hearing all about it.  I can’t tell you how many times I heard the story of how I, at three years old, took the instruction to smile at everyone as a flower girl walking down the aisle much too literally.  I stopped at every pew.  At the end of the ceremony, I cried and ran after my mom as she left the church in the processional as a bridesmaid.  I didn’t understand that I just needed to follow my older cousins.  My only memory from that day is a hazy notion of playing at the beach on the animal-shaped play equipment at the Tawas City park during the reception.

July 1984 – Smiling for the camera right after the ceremony …
Thank you to Aunt Tara for locating this gem.

In the picture, I see myself as a little girl full of personality and character.  There is no doubt that I was a ham like my mom, an extrovert.  When I look at this picture, I see “before.”  Before self-doubt, before losing self-confidence, before I realized that my body is, and always has been, all wrong; in other words, before kindergarten.  Prior to kindergarten, no one – not my parents, grandparents, cousins, other adults, other children, or preschool classmates – made me feel inferior in any way.  No one asked me to be something that I wasn’t, no one called me fat or ugly.  I could be myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved school.  I would not be a teacher today if that wasn’t the case.  I loved learning, I had some great teachers, and most of my classmates were great.  Yet, I dreaded gym and recess all throughout elementary school.  In gym, always picked last for any game, I just wanted to be good enough.  During recess, other students started picking up on just how different my body is and was.  When you hear that you are fat and ugly on a daily basis at that young of age, you start to believe it.  It becomes a part of you.

1985 – Playing @ The Cottage on Sage Lake with McTaggart and Schneider cousins.

Oddly, things improved a bit during junior high.  I cared about my grades, others didn’t.  Suddenly, I didn’t care so much about peer pressure.  I began to see it for what it was, even though I would have given anything to be what was then considered “normal.”  Keep in mind that this included the era of grunge, emo, and heroin chic.  Any “normal” adolescent felt inadequate when faced with the popular culture of the time. While I finally did come into my own in high school and college, this picture makes me wonder what I missed all those years in-between.  What if I hadn’t had to work so hard for self-confidence?  What if I could have kept that early childhood enthusiasm and creativity?  What if I hadn’t turned inward in the face of constant bullying in elementary school?  What could I have accomplished?  What if?  That is what this picture represents:  possibility. Unadultered possibility.

Vitamin C – Graduation (Friends Forever) (1999)

Vitamin C – Graduation (Friends Forever) (1999) (Video) (Lyrics)

(Written February 12, 2024)

I came across the video for “Graduation (Friends Forever)” by accident this past weekend.  Sometimes nostalgia slaps you so hard in the face that it cannot be ignored.  While I can’t say that “Graduation (Friends Forever)” was ever a favorite, it did leave an impression when it first came out during the spring of 1999.  How could it not?  I graduated from high school in 1999, and quite frankly, the target audience.

In the midst of watching classic videos from the 80s and 90s, YouTube saw fit to suggest “Graduation.”  Thinking “why not?,” I found myself transported back 25 years.  What struck me most about the video wasn’t the song at all.  Frankly, I still find it way too saccharine.  Instead, I thought about how I could have guessed the year from any still photo from the video. Not a cell phone in sight.

It cracked me up.  The video definitely fit the late 90s aesthetic that we all thought so bleeding edge at the time.  In fact, the girl’s outfit in the video, the layered yellow tank top with the orange/yellow slip skirt, reminded me of one of my go-to outfits in 2001.  The only difference?  I didn’t layer tank tops.  Instead, I wore a jean jacket over a yellow tank top.  I remember it vividly because I loved that outfit and that look so much at the time.  Maybe it is time to bring it back.

While I can’t say that I loved or even liked high school (I couldn’t wait to graduate and move on), it is fun to look back from time to time.  After watching the video, it hit me that this June will mark 25 years since I graduated from high school.  How?  Just how? Interestingly, “Wear Sunscreen,” a spoken-word release based upon an essay, became popular during the spring of 1999 as well, even though it dates to 1997.  See below.

The advice still holds.

“Ladies and Gentlemen … to the Class of 1999 … “

Not The End, The Beginning – Part 2

Not The End, The Beginning – Part 1

When I went back to school in January 2014, just over 10 years ago, I admit, the idea of being an older student intimidated me, especially online courses.  When I graduated from Michigan State University (MSU) in 2004, online courses were not nearly as developed as they are now.  Due to a combination of landing a full-time position in Houston, Texas within a week of graduation, moving across the country, my stubbornness, and adjusting to working in corporate America full-time, my first experience with online classes did not go well.  That early negative experience stayed with me.  Fortunately, I adapted.

During the academic year, I planned to attend class and work on coursework two to three days a week while substitute teaching as much as possible.  To add insult to injury, I didn’t just take classes at Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU).  No, I decided to enroll at Delta College too.

There were two reasons why I enrolled at Delta.  First, realistically, I could save money when compared to SVSU.  Second, I decided to complete a writing certificate while working towards my teaching certificate.  In the end, I had a wonderful experience at Delta College.  My history and writing classes, all taken at Delta, are among my most treasured.

My decision to complete the general writing program at Delta College stemmed from my involvement with Mid-Michigan Writers.  I attended their Gateway to Writing workshop in the fall of 2013.  That day, I happened to hear a group of Jeff Vande Zande’s students talking about how much they enjoyed his class and the wonderful writing program at Delta.  Vande Zande, who happened to be the keynote speaker that day, taught a screenwriting class at the time.  A few years later, his screenwriting class changed the way I look at movies forever.

At SVSU, I had to decide which secondary endorsements I planned to pursue.  In addition to Spanish, I had to choose between social studies and English.  Social studies won.  In 2019, I started a new position as a middle school teacher at St. Michael School and began taking classes to earn my English endorsement.  As with so many things in my life, I didn’t want to have to decide between two great options, so I didn’t.  I did both.  In spite of a pandemic, scheduling conflicts, and other considerations, I finally completed my English endorsement in May 2023.

In the end, I resigned my position in order to finally complete my English endorsement.  As incredible as it seems, SVSU, even in the aftermath of a global pandemic, offered no online or evening options for the two classes I still needed.  It wasn’t the only reason I left St. Mike’s, but I knew if I didn’t, I’d never be able to finish.  It ended up being for the best.

Sadly, that summer, approximately a month after I resigned, the assistant principal at St. Mike’s – and so, so much more – passed away.  It is safe to say that my life would be very different without Norma Vallad.  I certainly would not have landed at St. Mike’s without her involvement.  So much of our school culture revolved around her down to every last detail.  I still can’t imagine St. Mike’s without her.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to face that prospect in the fall.

By the time I finished my English endorsement last May, I felt such a deep sense of closure.  After all these years, no more educational pursuits to chase – unless, of course, someone would like to pay for a masters degree or PhD.  As far as I am concerned, I have nothing left to prove.

Teaching left me conflicted.  On one hand, I had come way too far to give up on teaching.  Yet, my first full year of teaching coincided with the Covid 19 pandemic.  I saw first hand how the pandemic affected teachers, students, parents, administrators, and everyone else.  The apathy I saw and experienced still haunts me.  As I reconsidered my role and future in education, little did I know that the best was yet to come.

Stay tuned for Part 3 …

Living History

In March 2020, during Lent, this piece of art featured prominently outside my classroom door.
When we left school that fate Friday, March 13th, no one realized that we wouldn’t see each other in person for months.

A Journal of a Plague Year

Growing up, I always wanted to live through a historic event.  Unfortunately, little did I know what life had in store for me.  Now in my early 40s, I am amazed when I stop to think about what historic events I have lived through already – and how different the world is from when I grew up.  I vividly remember the Cold War; the fall of the Berlin Wall; both the first and second Gulf Wars; September 11th, 2001; the War in Afghanistan; and of course, the COVID 19 pandemic.

A year after September 11th, 2001, that somber anniversary inspired me to write about my experiences on that fateful day.  That entire morning is etched in my memory.  At the time, I had just started my semester studying abroad in Quito, Ecuador a couple of weeks before.  I was still learning my routine and adjusting to my new host family.  September 11th colored that entire experience as there was no way it could not.  While I didn’t write much for the 9/11 digital archive, what I did write sets the scene and provides a glimpse into what US exchange students were dealing with all over the world.  My full story can be found at The September 11 Digital Archive, story6757.xml.

This past spring, a conversation with a fellow writer made me realize that I could do the same with my experiences throughout the pandemic.  I found a place to archive all of my writing relating to the pandemic, past and future – A Journal of a Plague Year.  I may include some videos I have from that time frame as well.  It may become a cool little side project.  I’m definitely looking forward to it.  Maybe I’ll be able to finally put all that the pandemic disturbed and disrupted behind me.

There are SO many things that stand out.  That first awful week of the shutdown during which I had to go to school, alone, and pack up all of my 6th graders belongings (pictured below).  The conversation that I had with Norma and Ashley as school dismissed that awful Friday, March 13th of Lent, not realizing that we would not see each other in person for months, will always be remembered.

In the weeks following our last in-person day of school (March 13th, 2020), as a teacher, I had to pack up my students belongings and prepare them for pickup by parents. Each teacher had an assigned time to be in the building. Doing so in the middle of the stay at home order, not knowing when I would see students, teachers, and staff again, was nothing less than surreal.

That weekend, my mom had had several old high school friends over for a get-together.  The venue changed from a friend’s house to my mom’s in order to limit contact with her friend’s disabled and susceptible son.  All so very strange and new.  Keep in mind that this is just before the stay at home order was issued for Michigan. 

After I learned that we would not be going back to school the following Monday, I just packed clothes and headed to my parents’ house.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I would stay there with them well into May/June.  What I remember most is that I happened to catch some of my mom’s friends, some of my favorite people, before they left.  It would be the last time I would see them for several months.

I could easily keep going.  The spring of 2020 also represented the end of my first full year of teaching, my first 6th grade class.  Definitely not the way I wanted to start off my teaching career.  Personally, I believe the education system is still reeling from the shutdown.  Students and teachers are still trying to pick up the pieces.

This is just a glimpse of what I plan to share and document.  I hope that I inspire others to do the same.

Faith Over Fear

Below are my thoughts after one year teaching through the pandemic.  As a writing exercise, we were asked as teachers what we had learned through the experience.  In my opinion, two years later, it sill holds up and summarizes nicely how I felt and continue to feel.  Originally published on the Saginaw Bay Writing Project (SBWP) website, you can find a link to the original piece below.  I’ve only corrected minor errors here.

Our Teachers Write – SBWP

What did I learn about myself as a teacher over the past year?  First, I clearly understood just how fragile our everyday lives are – students, teachers, and administrators alike.  Most people seem to have underestimated the power of their daily routine, their “normal.”  I certainly did.  Second, I learned just how much I continue to not know.  I am still learning how to teach effectively online.  Finally, I learned how to focus on what truly matters.

As 2019-2020 was my first full-year teaching, I continue to feel robbed.  Plans for March is Reading Month, field trips, and so much more – all gone.  Memories with my first 6th grade class never made.  The little things still haunt me.  I am a big believer in class read-alouds, and when we shut down for the school year in March 2020, I was in the middle of the first Percy Jackson book:  Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan.  My 6th graders adored the book, and I still regret the fact that I was unable to finish the book with them in-person – or continue the series.

If I still feel this way a year later, I can only imagine how my middle school students felt and continue to feel.  There appears to be little to no concern regarding the impact prolonged shutdowns can have on emotional, social, and academic well-being.  It just doesn’t seem to matter to anyone.  Somewhere along the way, we  lost our humanity.  We, educators and students alike, are not alright.

As we entered the Lenten season this year, memories of last year came flooding back.  On Friday, March 13th, 2020, as I participated in the Stations of the Cross with my students, we learned that we would not be coming back to school.  Little did we know that we would not finish the year.  The uncertainty, the miscommunication, and the worry will always stay with me.  At the time, no one had any answers, only an endless list of questions.

During the lockdown, I worried about every single one of my students.  Would they fall behind?  How would they survive without seeing friends on a daily basis – or ever?  I also learned what I didn’t know.  No one taught me how to teach online.  Yet, that is exactly what I did. I was not prepared last spring.  When my class was quarantined this fall, I was still not fully prepared.  Only now, in a virtual week built in after spring break, am I now beginning to feel as though I can somehow teach online.  It took over a year.

I can’t imagine trying to navigate it all without faith.  When I talk about faith, yes, I am referencing a higher power, but I am also referring to a general faith that everything will work out in the end.  No matter where we are today as educators and students, there is hope for tomorrow.  All hope is not lost.  We can and should do better.  We will.  If given the choice between faith and fear, I choose faith.

Guns N’ Roses – November Rain (1991)

W.M. and I – Puebla, Mexico – March 2004

Guns N’ Roses – November Rain (1991) (Official Video) (Lyrics)

(Written February 2, 2023)

Ah, Michigan State and all of my Alternative Spring Break (ASB) memories in Mexico.  Some of my best ASB memories involve W.M., and one in particular, November Rain by Guns N’ Roses.  It takes me back to nothing less than the most romantic evening of my life.

I met him at the airport as we headed to Merida, Mexico for a week of working hard doing volunteer work and playing even harder.  I was listening to Here Comes the Sun, ready to relax in the Yucatecan sun in the middle of a busy, crazy spring semester, and here was this guy – our site leader for the week – chatting me up.  He flashed me this great smile and asked me what I was listening to at the moment.  We bonded over George Harrison.

Lunch break with friends – Merida, Mexico – March 2001
The week W.M. and I met.

It didn’t take us long to become friends.  By the end of our first day of volunteer work, we were hanging out eating pizza and drinking Mexican beer, getting lost in deep, meaningful conversations.  I had lost my grandfather almost exactly a year before – at age 20, the first real loss of someone so close to me – and I was happy to find someone who understood.  That was the thing – W.M. and I should have had everything in common.

A year ahead of me, he studied marketing and Spanish to my supply chain management and Spanish.  No wonder we had found one another.  Later, the only time I actually met up with him on campus in East Lansing – or the United States for that matter, and for lunch no less – he told me all about his semester in Quito, Ecuador.  I don’t remember if I had already decided on a semester in Ecuador, but after hearing about W.M.’s experiences there, it was a forgone conclusion.

I’d love to say that this story is a college romance that ended well, but that simply wasn’t the case.  Instead, it is a story of friendship spanning years, countries, cultures, and continents that didn’t end so well.  It is also a story of unrequited love on my part.  I fell. Hard.

The thing is that I was never going to change my plans for anyone, muchless a man who hadn’t shown the least bit interest in anything more than friendship.  We left it as friends and that was it.  We were both driven with much to do.  That is, until Spain.

Fast forward nearly two years, and I was in the middle of my semester abroad in Caceres, Spain.  I’d resigned to myself that W.M., unfortunately, wanted to remain friends, nothing more.  Then I received the email.  The week before Valentine’s Day, I receive an email from him stating that he had landed an internship in Madrid – an easy train ride away – did I want to meet up?  Did I!

In the end, we spent a fun weekend in Madrid hanging out.  He booked me a hostel near wherever he was living.  We spent Saturday hanging out, eventually ending up at the Hard Rock Cafe and a beautiful park nearby.  We talked for hours.  Too good to be true, right?  Right.  When he walked me back to the hostel and didn’t even so much as kiss me goodnight, I wept.

In 2004, I returned to Mexico and ASB as a site leader myself.  Now a senior, I juggled interviewing for full-time positions in Texas with classwork along with all of my extracurricular responsibilities, including ASB.  As a result, I had to fly into Mexico City on my own and take a bus to Puebla to meet up with the rest of the group.  I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but W.M. got ahold of me once again.  Would I like to meet up for dinner in Puebla one evening?  He happened to be working in Mexico City at the time.

Beyond confused, I, of course, said yes.  I had no idea what to expect.  Why would this man take a bus at least two hours each way just to spend the evening with me?  He knew no one else in the group and the plan was just for the two of us to meet up.  We were friends, but seriously, what else was going on here?

I met him in the zocalo, or town square, and we quickly found an outdoor table at a local restaurant.  In my mind, the only thing better than Mexican food is authentic Mexican food.  The cuisine in Puebla tops them all.  Pollo en salsa mole anyone?

After watching the sunset over an incredible authentic Mexican dinner, a little red wine, and the ever present great conversation, W.M. and I somehow found our way into the Mexican equivalent of a dive bar.  Now, I am not much of a drinker, but I love the atmosphere in dive bars from time to time.  This one happened to be perfect.

I never really did see any sign advertising the place, but I could not have had more fun.  W.M. and I ended up holding court with a group of Mexican young men roughly our age.  We, two gringos who spoke Spanish who happened to end up in this cool unadvertised bar, stood out.  In fact, they thought we were married.  So, in this ambiance, we all start singing along to November Rain – very poorly.  It is still among the most romantic nights of my life – and he never even so much as kissed me.  Yet, there was at least enough chemistry between us for people to think we were married.

That was the last time I ever saw W.M.  In 2008, I looked him up on Facebook, and unfortunately, it ended up in a political argument that ended our friendship.  I still have no idea how he could have attended the same business school as me, and yet not understand the impact government can have on business, good or bad – small business in particular.  Time had not treated him well.  In fact, Diego Rivera comes to mind.  I recently watched Frida and it all came flooding back, much to my amusement.  The passion between Frida and Diego gets me every time.

Over the years, I’ve tried and tried to capture our friendship in writing, and I’ve never been able to do it well.  I once even brought an effort for critique, and the reaction of the men in my writing group still cracks me up.  Every last man in our group believed him to be gay.  All I have to say is this:  If he is indeed gay, he didn’t know it himself at the time.  The last I knew, he had a Mexican girlfriend and lived in California.

I can’t help but think of him every time I watch Casablanca, particularly the line “We’ll always have Paris.”  Indeed.  We’ll always have Merida, Madrid, and Puebla.

A Fresh Start … Part 2

Read A Fresh Start … Part 1

By mid-June, things were starting to come together at the canoe livery …  but would our customers return?  Boy, did they!  We had a wedding at our main location in Omer towards the end of June.  After the wedding, with one more weekend in June left, we became increasingly busy, experiencing volume rivaling what we normally experience mid-to-late July or even early August.  True to form, we remained busy right up until the mid-August.

Normally, this would be welcomed and wouldn’t have been an issue.  However, this year, thanks to COVID, we didn’t have adequate time to properly prepare.  During a “normal” year, we have much of June to prepare for the crowds.  Things ramp up during June until it becomes crazy from the 4th of July until mid-August.  Well, we lost that time to hire and train.  We had a week, maybe two, before we started to become that busy.  Add in the pressure of new safety precautions, difficulty in getting merchandise, and rebuilding from the flood, and one gets a sense of why it became so stressful.  I feel as though I have been running a marathon since May.

Please don’t get me wrong.  I am eternally grateful that our business not only survived but grew during COVID.  I refrain from saving thrive because it would not be sustainable long-term.  Simply too many hours and too much work in such a short period of time.  Still, it haunts me that so many small businesses didn’t survive or are in danger of closing permanently.  All I could think of this spring is the decades of work the canoe livery represents – my family history and my personal history.  It would not exist if not for the hard work, dedication, foresight, and planning of my parents, my grandparents, and now my brother and I, along with countless others over the years.  So much in my life simply would not have been possible without the canoe livery.  In it, I see my future.  Whether I like it or not, the canoe livery and the Rifle River is a part of me.  The very idea of it no longer existing is unimaginable.

If nothing else, I do hope that I have turned the corner and truly have a fresh start this fall.  It feels that way.  I could use some routine and consistency in my life – along with a healthy dose of “normal” – whatever that is now.  It is time to figure out exactly what it is that I want.  I know that I have returned to that theme dozens of times here over the years.  Yet, I still don’t know.

Who is to say that I will be content to spend the rest of my life alone?  If I met the right man – and I repeat here, the right man – I can see myself in a relationship again.  Yet, I have a difficult time seeing how I would meet him.  Same goes for children.  I would love to be a mother.  I know I would nail it.  Yet just the mere thought of the foster and/or adoption processes is enough to make me want to break out in hives.  I know what can go wrong all too well.  Maybe it will be time to “jump” sooner rather than later.  I do know that I do not want to regret what I didn’t do in my life.  Until then …