From Stove to Studio

“That’s so interesting.  How did you get into acting?” is the usual comment and question I’m asked when people find out that I do voice over, tv commercials and the occasional film.  There is a long answer and a short answer.  Most people receive the short answer — I fell into it.

The long answer is the reason I write Anne on Fire.  It answers the question:  How does burning your leg on a stove at 2 years old lead one to the acting world?

From the research and interviews I’ve conducted, I learned that when my mother found me on the stove, sealed to it by the sole of my shoe and burning, I was in shock, unable to say a word or call out for help.  As time went on, my wounds healed and I was a normal kid in every respect.  Except that no one ever talked about the accident.  Without that context, I was left alone to create my own meaning for the event.

Everything might have gone on just fine, had my mother not asked me to make her two promises on her deathbed.  ”Don’t fight with your sisters,” she implored, a request that seemed incredibly difficult to me as the youngest of three girls.  I reluctantly agreed.  ”Use your talents.  Promise me,” she asked, as we pressed on the morphine drip that eased her pain in those final days.  That request seemed the easier of the two, especially since I’d always fancied myself as the creative one of her five children.

She passed.  Time passed.

Now and then, I would have the distinct impression that she was whispering to me from beyond.  Mostly I shrugged these moments off.  Raised as a traditional Catholic, I certainly believed in the after-life.  But the teachings were that we humans got just one shot at life, then pass on to our eternal future, where by all accounts, we  wait in joyful hope of the coming of the rest of our loved ones to the pearly gates.  There was no talk of secret messages passed along to those of us left behind.  Eternal life meant we each went along in our separate domains.  But what if she was trying to tell me something?

It was Christ Church in Alexandria, Virginia, old as the country itself where my cousin got married.  He asked me to do a reading at the wedding and I’d read it over many times in preparation.  Since elementary school, I had a long history of being asked to read in church and it always exhilarated me.

I climbed up to the church’s pulpit and pressed the reading flat with my hand.  And then it happened.  I looked up and somehow, some way, time was frozen.  The people in the pews were frozen.  Everything was silent and un-moving.  I didn’t talk.  I couldn’t talk.  I felt as if I’d been in this place before.   A soft whisper in my ear and I heard her, “Use your talents.  You are not doing what I asked.”

Fumbling now and with shaky hands, I looked up to see the people moving, waiting for me to begin.  I did.  I read each word slowly and carefully, feeling a powerful surge as I ended the piece.

As I stepped back down to my seat, my legs wobbled and I noticed I was sweating.  I looked around for acknowledgement but the ceremony just continued on.  Something had happened and I needed to find out what it was.

I didn’t know it then but the acting career I never thought about before was about to begin.

NEXT:  Part 2

Commercial Break

The whole topic of finding your voice sometimes needs some comic relief, a commercial break if you will.

Here is a short film intended to provide just that:  The Unity Ball Bathroom Fund-A-Cause.

Hearing Voices Comedy series.  In this clip, “the lawyers” are trying to find their voices.

Finding Your Voice…the Hard Way

A man and a woman performing a modern dance. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“I don’t feel you are committing to what you are doing,” the casting agent said to me at today’s audition.  “Mess it up more.  Make it more real.  Stop caring about it so much.”  Casting direction came at me all at once and flustered me.

Of all the different things I’ve done in life, acting is one of the most challenging.  Making something real isn’t just playing a part; it’s becoming part of it.  In so many things we do in life, we can “phone it in,” or “fake it ’til we make it.”  We play a part, whether it’s in the business world or somewhere else.  We become conditioned to follow someone or some institution’s many rules.  Do this.  Do that.  Follow what the sign says.  Fit in.  Understand the culture.  To go along, get along.

Rarely are we asked to “mess it up” and express our authentic self.  In fact, most of the time, we find ways to hide what’s real about our selves.  Some days I wonder about this.

So there I was.  As the casting director worked me over, I began to sweat.  “You’re doing it as if you were looking for my approval,” she said.  She was right.  At this point, I was looking for her approval.  “Don’t do that.  Just have fun and see what comes up.  If you go too over the top, I’ll pull you back.  And don’t worry.  We have lots of time.”

In the majority of acting and voice over jobs I do, there is specific but usually gentle direction.  Yes, I’ve even been ‘accused’, criticized if you will, for having ‘too pretty’ of a voice.  Now, once you get booked on a job, the client has every incentive to get you to do what envisioned and they certainly know that they catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  Plus, you are already booked and on the job, and part of the reality is that clients don’t want to squander their investment.   If you are moving the wrong way, they will tell you.  If they want you to have more of a ‘smile’ in your read, you’ll hear it.  If they want five extra takes even when they loved the first one, you’ll do them.

But today, I was face to face with a casting professional who seemed to read my mind and know my every insecurity.  “Do you do a lot of voice over?” she asked before I could complete the first take.  I nodded.  “I can tell.  Your voice is too perfect for this.  Make it more real.  Loosen up.”

Another take and finally I saw the casting assistant raise his arms in victory.  I must have done something good but I had no idea what I had done.  “I’m sweating,” I replied when she asked how that last take felt.  “Good,” she said.  “It means you finally showed up to the audition.”

As I left the office and walked out in to the bright sunshine, I was disoriented.  Not sure where I was and so I walked, unsure whether to laugh or cry.  I’d just eaten an audition and hadn’t felt this dejected in a while.  In a way it was no big deal.  Every actor knows that you have to eat a lot of auditions along the way.

But it made me think.  Why was it so hard to find my voice today? 

I wondered.  And wondered some more.  I thought about my voiceover friend Lynne and her thyroid cancer surgery.  What would it be like to physically lose your voice when you use it for some source of income?

In many senses, my blog and my exploration to understand my childhood burn accident is all about finding my voice.  I think a great deal about the story I learned on the day of the accident.  My mother was ironing in the basement when I slipped upstairs to grab a treat from the cabinet above the stove.  Call it intuition or just mothering, but my mom noticed I was missing and went to look for me.  When she found me stuck to the stove and burning, I was silent, unable or unwilling to call out for help.  I had lost my voice.

All these many years later, I am taking the time to find it.  It’s no coincidence that I wandered my way into acting, voiceover and writing.  When one door closes, a window opens.  The older I get, the more I think about those windows.

Back to that audition.  As much as I detested the moment, I am grateful to that casting agent for pushing me.  Just imagine if we were all reminded every day to work harder to find our true voice.  It’s certainly not easy but it is good.

Related articles

• Auditioning sucks! (canadianperformersmoney.com)
• A Matter of Voice (thereaderwrites.wordpress.com)
• How to go against what people want (voicethedream.com)

A Fresh Look at Illness and Death

Micrograph showing that the papillae in papillary thyroid carcinoma are composed of cuboidal cells. H&E stain. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Considering how pervasive illness and death is in our lifetimes, it still usually comes as surprise when you hear about it.

When I learned my voiceover compatriot Lynne had thyroid cancer, I gasped aloud.  When her note explained she had thyroid surgery, my eyes bulged in shock.  Now writing in her blog, Prognosis Positive, even Lynne explained that some 27 million Americans have some sort of thyroid issue.  When you think of 27 million people having a thyroid issue, it stands to reason that a someone you know would likely have a thyroid problem, even thyroid cancer.  But logical theory always seems to shock when the practical reality becomes a living, breathing person you know who has an icky disease.  The news was especially tender to me since I am one of those 27 million people with a thyroid condition (hypothyroidism) as are two of my siblings (hyperthyroidism).

And then I heard about the death of cousin Marv.  Marvin was 75 and still his death was sudden and to many of the us relatives, unexpected.  Seventy-five is a respectable and (by today’s standards) a somewhat young age to push up daisies.  Just as the news of Lynne’s thyroid cancer shocked me, so did the news of Marv’s death.

At Marv’s wake in Wisconsin, relatives and friends packed the funeral home, with an hour or more wait in line to pay respects.  Amid illness and death, everyone looked vital and healthy.  Chatter of relatives and friends filled the room, catching up, checking in, learning what was new and interesting in everyone’s lives.

“How is your book coming along?” cousin Joanne asked me when we found time to have a chat.  A little like molasses, it slowly moved forward. Of all my relatives, Joanne is among the most interesting.  Single at 50, she adopted her first daughter.  At 60, she adopted her second.  As she career as a nursing professor waned, she hung out her shingle as a solo practitioner in healing touch.  “Have you looked at the chakras affected by your accident?” she inquired.

Leave it to Joanne, in her late 70s, to remind me to look at the metaphysical issues behind illness and death.  There is always a voice to illness and even death, if you care to look deep enough.  I took her suggestion to heart and took a look at the chakras, once again.  When someone reminds you to look again, maybe it’s a voice you should hear again.

Thyroid is a 5th chakra issue.  The leg relates to the 1st, or root, chakra.  This from www.chakrahealing.com:

Fifth Chakra/Throat
Resting at the back of your throat, the throat chakra is more than just the words you speak. It is the mouthpiece by which you communicate your truths. Energy from the fifth chakra is rightly associated with a pure blue color – representing the ‘true blue’ essence of your soul. When you express your thoughts, beliefs, and opinions to others, you are sharing this essence through your energy. Appropriately, the Sanskrit word for this chakra center is vishuddha, meaning “pure place.”  All forms of human expression – including body language, spoken words, writing, dance, music, or art – profess certain truths inherent to our existence.  As we find ourselves progressing through life, we must learn to effectively communicate our ideas without bringing harm to others; simultaneously we need to be able to obtain what we want using our own words. It can be difficult to achieve a balance between speaking up and being quiet.

A person with a closed Throat Chakra might feel as though they ‘don’t speak the language’ – that is, they aren’t able to use their words to share their thoughts with others. This inhibition might stem from fear; past experiences of ridicule or embarrassment can cause some to choose to remain quiet. On the opposite end of the spectrum, some people who experience fifth chakra imbalances talk incessantly, where their fear lies in hearing silence. People that resort to lying to hide their true intentions, or to avoid hurting others also deny the energy of their Throat Chakra. Fifth chakra deficiencies can also contribute to physical ailments including bronchitis, ear infections, hearing problems, laryngitis, mouth ulcers, and tonsillitis.

1st Chakra/Root Chakra

The Root Chakra  is a flowing spring of energy which connects us to the earth and to each other. As the first of the human body’s seven energy centers it is the source of the low-frequency waves that drive our most basic survival needs, including our primal urges. In ancient Sanskrit, this place is referred to as muladhara, the foundation. It is the scarlet red Root Chakra energy emanating from the base of the spine that accounts for not only our connection to the physical aspects of our being, but also our sense of comfort, security, and belonging within the world. Beginning at birth, we are faced with situations that challenge our very existence. In these instances it is energy from the Root Chakra that feeds into the adrenal gland above the kidneys and activates our instinctual “fight-or-flight” response.

Given this role in our well-being, it is not surprising that a blocked Root Chakra center can result in difficulties meeting or moving beyond essential needs. Recurring financial struggles, weight and food issues, deep-rooted family problems, and an inability to create long-term happiness or stability are all manifestations of a deficient Root Chakra center. Blockages can also be observable as variety of physical ailments, including chronic fatigue syndrome, Epstein Barr virus, colitis, Crohn’s disease, or cancer.

So, I must ask:  Have you ever lost your voice or felt you weren’t grounded?

If we keep looking at the cause of “dis-ease” maybe then we won’t be so surprised by it.

 

Related articles

• The Thyroid – The Occult Center of Clairaudience (evolutionarymystic.wordpress.com)
• Have you checked YOUR chakras lately? (everywherealways.wordpress.com)
• Root (Muladhara) Chakra (sensualblissvoyager.wordpress.com)
• Throat (Vishuddha) Chakra (sensualblissvoyager.wordpress.com)
• The difference between anger and wrath? There are three gates to hell….. (prophetic1dotorg.wordpress.com)
• A Word About Chakras (estrellahealing.wordpress.com)

The Press-Gazette Publishes its Maggie Follow-Up Story

 

St. Vincent Hospital Green Bay

“There was a great deal of interest in the story I published on Maggie,” Green Bay Press-Gazette reporter Dian Page told me after her initial column on my search for the nurse named Maggie, which was published last month.  “I’d like to do a follow-up story.  Could you pass along some information on what you found?”

It took me about a week to return calls and emails from the many people who responded.  It took an equal amount of time to process the thoughts and feelings it brought to me.  It was incredibly touching that so many people were interested in my story and my search.

Today Dian published her follow-up story, Pediatrics Nurse Remembered Fondly By Many.

Have you ever searched for someone from your past?  I’d like to hear about it.

In my Anne on Fire research, finding this much information on a “Maggie” — someone remembered but long-lost from contact — is unique.  Talking to friends, relatives, siblings, doctors and others associated with my burn experience, their memories have varied widely.   Just because the memories are vivid for me doesn’t mean they leave memorable impressions on others.  One person’s crisis is not necessarily another’s.  One person’s joy may be their own.  It’s remarkable to have the perfect shared experience as I found in my search for Maggie.

For example, when I called the doctor listed as my pediatrician, he was receptive to my call.  He had known my parents for many years and I had gone to high school with his son.  As much as he remembered our family, he had to scratch his head about me.  He certainly remember me but not the story of the burn even though it was 99% certain that he was there during the initial stages.  When I talked to my father-in-law (a retired surgeon) about his, he reminded me about the volume of work and the many sleepless night he spent doing surgery after surgery.  Of course, he remembered many of his patients and their specific stories but helped me understand how impossible it would be to remember every detail as a patient would.

All of this is what makes the Maggie story so remarkable.  From everyone I talked to and everything I learned, I know Maggie always remembered me.  As a nurse’s aid, I was told, Maggie would have had the time to spend with her little patients — unlike the duties calling the regular nurses and doctors.   And that is what people remembered about Maggie:  The time she gave to those she loved.

It’s something to know and remember about life.  The time we spend with others is the most lasting gift of all.

Related articles

• Drumroll Please……It’s Published (annegallagher8.wordpress.com)
• Calling Crivitz (annegallagher8.wordpress.com)

Paul’s 11-Cent Dare

Image via Wikipedia

As February gives way to March, the waning gray winter days have yelped out for some inspiration.  When I read Paul Trout’s wonderful blog post, Create Your Own Luck:  The 11-cent Dare, the other day, inspiration arrived.

As Paul explained on his website blog Paul Trout Executive Consulting, “The problem with waiting for luck to happen to one’s self is very “me-centric.”  What if you could create your own luck by being others’ “unexpected serendipity”? In other words, can you create luck for yourself by helping others feel lucky?”  If you read the rest of Paul’s post, you’ll see that he does in fact create his own sense of good fortune by randomly distributing 11 pennies.

When I checked my coin purse this morning, it contained exactly 11 pennies — a true sign that I should take his 11-cent dare.  For the second time since since reading Paul’s post , inspiration had hit and I hadn’t even begun the challenge.

As readers of Anne on Fire may know, I am a penny fan.  There are encounters with serendipity, life’s little good luck charms or just small bits of encouragement.  Apparently pennies intrigue other people too — roughly 100 people have randomly visited my blog and the I Find Pennies post through Internet searches for “Finding Pennies,” and ”What Do Pennies Mean?”

Like Paul Trout, I’d always been “me-centric” about pennies, wondering where they came from and what meaning they held for me.  It’s about time that I initiated the chain and scattered some random pennies.

Bunching 11 pennies in my hand, I walked outside  Along the block around my office, I dropped a penny here and there.   In the minute it took to walk to my car, I saw three people exit the job re-training center and spot a penny on the ground.  One of them leaned over and picked it up.  It felt good to see it.

“The psychological secret of opportunity is that human beings are programmed to reciprocate to those who have helped them.  But when they can’t help the person who helped them directly immediately, they often help others,” Paul wrote on his blog.

I am on my way.  Thank you Paul Trout.

Will you join in the 11-cent dare?

Related articles

• A Penny Here, A Penny There (davefine.wordpress.com)

Finding Maggie and So Much More

Maggie Ready for Work

When I called Dian Page at the Green Bay Press Gazette a couple of weeks ago, my hope was to connect the memories in my mind.  For so many years, I have had pictures of my little self at the time of my burn accident but I’ve never been sure if these are real or “created” memories.  It can be-devil anyone to wonder about these things — did this really happen to me or have I made it up?  In my case, I need only look at the scars on my leg to know it did indeed happen.  But how and why do I remember (or think I remember) certain pieces of the experience.

That was my motivation for searching for Maggie, the Nurse.  I had no idea what I would find.  I was ready for anything.

Except perhaps for the fact that I found Maggie and a great deal more.

I didn’t set out to find someone’s Nana, someone’s mother, someone’s son, someone’s sister, someone’s friend.  And yet all these people found me and there was a quite a story to tell.

Maggie Glaser Conard was a pediatrics nurse at St. Vincent Hospital in Green Bay for some 30 years until her retirement in 1987.  She did not recover from the massive stroke she suffered in 1988 and died at just 60.  “I just wanted to let tell you that your vivid description of her (Maggie) brought her back to life for me.  She was exactly as you described in everyday life; not just in work.  She was crazy about her grandchildren and she made each and every one of us feel the way you felt.  I thank you for this.  You have made my night, my week, my year,” Maggie’s granddaughter Jessi Guenther wrote me from Seattle, Washington.  Something amazing was happening.

It continued when I spoke to Maggie’s sister, Shirley Warpinski, a retired nurse who still lives in Green Bay.  “Maggie had a gift.  Everybody loved her.  She was happy-go-lucky and always optimistic.  She was just the sweetest person,” Shirley said, telling me that Maggie was valedictorian of her high school in Luxemburg.  “Whenever she had free time at the hospital, she would go playroom and be with the children.  And oh, did she love to read.  She read to the children all time.”

There is was.  During my three-month hospitalization, I learned to read and at 3 years old, became something of a freaky genius for that day and age.  It came back to me now that Maggie had been the one by my bedside, reading to me, teaching me the letters, encouraging me on during those long days when I was confined to a crib, secured with netting so I couldn’t get out and harm my recovery.  Whether it was 15 surgeries or 20, I knew my treatment was painful and grueling.

“Yes, I remember those nets.  We had to cover the cribs for safety reasons,” shared retired Green Bay nurse Carol Mangin, who worked with Maggie for a “long, long time” at St. Vincent’s.  We talked about my third-degree burns.  “Burns are so painful.  You were lucky yours were third-degree because the nerve endings died and it would not have been as painful as first- or second-degree burns.”

“My mother cared for people for the better part of her working life,” her son Ted Conard told me.  “Caring was in our gene pool I guess since I went into that field and others in our family did too.”  After 35 years of working at Green Bay’s Curative Workshop, Ted recently retired and still lives in Green Bay.  After my discharge from St. Vincent’s, I attended therapy at the Curative Workshop for many long months, regaining flexibility in both my legs after months of inactivity and re-learning how to walk.  “You probably worked with Gloria, a therapist there,” Ted said.  “She was there forever.”

Suddenly, my memories were expanding, connecting.  They were real.

“My mom Maggie had crazy love for children.  She would come home and talk about her patients especially the ones she became close to and I’m sure she talked about you.  She would have grown really attached and her heart would have been breaking for what you were going through,” Maggie’s daughter Julie said.  “She would have thought of you like you were one of her children.”

“Maggie would be so pleased to know that you are pursuing this,” retired Green Bay nurse Mary Thomas explained when I spoke with her.  “As nurses, you touch people’s lives and then they go their own ways.  To know that you remembered, that she touched you and it meant something to you, well, that means something to all of us.”

My sister Susie, a nurse herself and professor of nursing at UWGB elaborated on that thought.  “Nurses do so many things but the human caring is what makes the difference.  This nurse cared for you, she transformed a difficult experience for a child.  In her caring for you, you were no longer alone in that room.”

Once again, what I set out to find wasn’t at all what was there.  Instead I found something deeper and richer.  Yes, I found Maggie and the memories the beautiful memories she gave me.  But now I understand the life she brought to so many people — her patients, her colleagues and friends, and her family.

Her granddaughter Jessi told me about her brother’s reaction to this unfolding story and she included it on her blog as well:

“The first thing that came to mind…is how loved ones have a way of letting us know that they’re still there, they never left to begin with.  What an awesome gift”  ~Nathan Kofler

There’s also a comment from “Carrie” following Jessi’s blog post that makes a great deal of sense to me:

“…..We have named those, God-incidences because its too perfect just to be a coincidence…..” - Carrie

These “God-incidences”/coincidences have brought me this far and at every turn of this journey I’ve found something immensely beautiful.  For anyone who has gone through a fire of any kind, be it physical or psychological, we know we would never want to go through it again.  And still there are great lessons and great love to be found.  “It meant the world to me and my family to know that Maggie was loved by so many people,” her daughter Julie told me.  “What a legacy she has left.”

A legacy indeed.

Thank you Maggie Conard.  You have left behind an incredible legacy of healing and helping for so many of us.  I am grateful to be a part of it.

Drumroll Please……It’s Published

Jumping off a cliff

True to her word, reporter Dian Page published an Article in the Green Bay Press-Gazette today that has my palms sweating. ”Daughters Take the Literary World by Storm,” reads the headline.

It’s a cliffhanger.

Will anyone read it?  Will anyone have information?  Will the daughters really take the literary world by storm?

Stay tuned.

“It’ll Run on Tuesday.”

Coffee as Fortification

One of the great ideas I received after writing about my search to find Maggie– the nurse who cared for me when I was in the hospital after burning my leg — was to contact the local newspaper and have them link to the blog posts.  Honestly, I hadn’t thought of that. instead I was working on the copy for a call-out in the personal ads.  But the more I thought about it, the smarter it seemed.  Armed with a cup of coffee for both caffeine and courage, I called a long-time columnist at the Green Bay Press-Gazette and spilled out the story of my search.

“Now, that’s kind of interesting,” reporter Dian Page said.  “Tell me about your ties to Green Bay.”  My ties of course are many, including having a brother and a sister who still work and live in the area.  “Well, send me an email summarizing what we talked about and I’ll see what I can do.”  Quickly, I pounded out the story summary on my keyboard, hit the send button and that was that.

Only if you have ever pitched the press, you can never be sure what happens next other than the fact that you usually wait.  Your story, your idea, your pitch if you will is no longer so much yours as someone else’s.  The media had just become the filter between me and my target audience — anyone who might have information about Maggie-the-Nurse or my story for that matter.

Days passed and I sort of forgot I had even done this.

When the phone rang yesterday with an unknown 414 exchange, I let it go to voice mail.  Probably another one of those “you’ve won a vacation!” scams or something.  But when I listened to the voice mail, it was Dian from the Green Bay Press-Gazette, calling to fact-check a few things about the story.  “It’ll run on Tuesday,” she said.  “Good luck.  I hope it helps and you find some information.”

It’ll run on Tuesday, January 31st.  I don’t know what exactly is going to ‘run’ — what piece or part of the story — but I do know there’s power in the press and that everyone and their brother reads the local paper.  Now this, is going to get interesting.

Related articles

• Calling Crivitz (annegallagher8.wordpress.com)
• Getting big links from big media sites, the fundamentals (distilled.co.uk)

Calling Crivitz

Crivitz, Wisconsin

It started with my high school friend Peggy.  She read about my search for Maggie, the nurse who cared for me at St. Vincent’s Hospital when I burned my leg.  Her mother, she reminded me, was also a nurse at St. Vincent’s and she planned to grill her for information.  Grilling complete, she discovered that her mother didn’t remember Maggie — a result of failing memory or perhaps being on a different floor of the hospital during those years.  But her mother gave her a lead — call Anne, another nurse now retired and living in Crivitz, WI, who might have a better recollection.  (Crivitz, WI, of course, is the home of the annual summer bluegrass festival — www.flatrockbluegrass.com — among its other outdoor recreational delights.)

Cold calling has never been my strong suit, but I had nothing to lose and dialed the number.  “Hello,” squeaked a man with a distinct Wisconsin accent, the kind that started low, sounded nasal and ended on a higher note all in a three-syllable-beat as in “Hellll-oooo-ooo.”  Anne, the former nurse was out, but expected back shortly and I should sure call back. 

People in my native Wisconsin always amaze and inspire me.  I didn’t explain who I was or much about why I was calling, other than that Mrs. so-and-so suggested I give Anne a call and yet I was welcomed to call back.

A couple of days later I did call back and Anne warmly welcomed me, “I’m so glad you called back.  My husband said you called and I was so curious to hear back from you,” she said and I could hear the smile in her voice.  “Now, Maggie.  Maggie,” she mused.  “I am so sorry but I don’t remember her.  One of the problems at St. Vincent’s is that we didn’t get to know the nurses on the other floors.  I wasn’t on pediatrics and I have to tell you I just don’t remember her.”

I thanked Anne for her time and generosity to give it some thought when she piped up.  “Now, I just thought of an idea for you.  Why don’t you take out an ad in the Green Bay Press-Gazette?  Everyone reads it and I’m sure someone would see it.  I’m just so sorry I can’t help you myself.”

Taking out an ad had crossed my mind but I hadn’t done anything.  “Anne, I think you are right.  I’d thought of that and maybe you are helping me by confirming I should do it.”  She clucked.  “That would be nice,” she said, “You should do it.  And if you find her, would you call me back?  I’d just love to know.”

Have I said that I just love people in Wisconsin? 

Next step?  Call the classified ads department at the Green Bay Press Gazette. 

Now, how should I word that ad?

Related articles

• Snow big deal (wisconsinbucketlist.com)