I have been on the “Word of the Year” bandwagon for about 8 years now.  I typically have my word chosen sometime in early December to get ready for the new year. This year, however, I’ve been on the struggle bus. I’ve even had a few sleepless nights tossing and turning interviewing potential word candidates throughout the night. A week into the new year I have finally landed on my choice and all I can think of is: “What took me so long?” I mean, this word had been turning around in my head for weeks and I kept pushing it aside. But in the end, I know the word really chose me rather than me choosing the word. You’ll see why.

2023: LIGHT

I think of my personal word of the year as a navigation tool or compass; something to provide a sense of direction as I go about my life. It keeps me grounded and centered.

Here are some meanings of Light to guide my way.

To me, it also means the opposite of darkness and heaviness. All of which apply to why this word resonates with me for 2023. 

The past few years have been heavy for so many reasons, particularly, watching my mom’s decline from dementia. I have kept the last birthday card she ever sent to me in my bedside drawer. It’s signed with her own shaky and beautiful handwriting, and it is from 2019. It was my last birthday she ever remembered. She passed away in August of 2022. 

My mom was a collector of “things”. The collection I think of most is her collection of lighthouses. My hometown has a beautiful historic lighthouse, and it may have been her inspiration. She collected lighthouses in all shapes and forms from art on the walls to candles to coffee mugs. I won’t ever see a lighthouse without thinking of my mom. Lighthouses have been traditionally viewed as symbols of hope and security. They are also a symbol of strength and resilience. Days before my mom’s funeral, Emma gifted me with a lighthouse necklace that I cherish. This word has been trying to break through the clouds, but it just took me some time to see it clearly. 

What better navigation tool or compass exists than a lighthouse to provide a sense of direction for the year ahead? A beacon of LIGHT in 2023.

In 2023, I want to:

Live Light.

Reflect Light.

Seek Light.

Radiate Light.

In honor of my mom and my year ahead…hello 2023…I welcome you.

Our lunch date was scheduled for February 23, 1994. His restaurant choice would be an opportunity for another clue into this guy. He chose a restaurant called Mountain Jack’s by West Towne Mall. I had never been there before but I felt certain a serial killer would not choose a chain restaurant in a mall parking lot. (That’s humor.) But you do learn about someone through their choices. For example, Mountain Jack’s was a different vibe than choosing Buraka, the Ethiopian restaurant downtown on State Street. Am I right? For anyone who isn’t familiar with Mountain Jack’s, best I can recall, it was known as a steakhouse and it was your typical mall parking lot trying to be upscale restaurants. (Not critiquing, just describing. I’ve eaten at my share of Olive Garden’s and Outbacks!) 

We met at the restaurant and had an extended nearly three-hour lunch. We got along fabulously and exchanged all the get-to-know-you stuff. He had moved to Madison within the past year. He was a year younger than me. He graduated from DePauw University in Indiana and Enterprise recruited him out of college. He ended up in a trek toward Wisconsin when his girlfriend of 7 years moved to Madison for med school and they had broken up shortly after he moved here. So many learnings. I really liked this guy. I offered to split the bill, but he refused and paid for lunch. We agreed that we should do this again, but I let him know that I was leaving for Washington DC the next day to attend a conference and would be gone for about a week. (For my credit union friends: The 1994 CUNA GAC! I was a YP Crasher before it existed!) We booked a new lunch date for my return. Not afraid to take control of any situation, I offered to choose the next restaurant.

Upon my return from DC, we had our lunch date scheduled and agreed to make it less than three-hours this time. (We actually had jobs.) Now to select a restaurant. State Street vibe? Pasqual’s on Monroe Street? Despite my usual no-chain rule, we ended up at Edwardo’s Pizza out of convenience to my office. Yes, another chain restaurant but with a younger-hipper vibe. (Side note- After Edwardo’s Pizza closed years later, that building turned into an Enterprise Rent-a-Car office for a period of time. Weird, right?) Anyway, it was another great get-to-know-you lunch date that we had to end way too early. I insisted I pay for this lunch and we agreed to meet again soon. 

When I returned to the office, I debriefed with my friend Molly. As was so often the case those past six plus months, I was going to be the third wheel to Molly and her boyfriend, Hisao, to see a band play that night. Molly had the brilliant idea that I call Dale and invite him to join us. Could I do that? Would that be way too forward? Oh hell, why not. So a mere hour or so after our second lunch and a couple weeks after that first phone call, I called him again to ask if he’d like to join me for some live music that night. I gave him my address and that night we drove together to the Crystal Corner Bar, not far from my apartment. This bar deserves some extra commentary here. It is quintessential Madison. The walls of the bar feature huge windows of glass blocks, through which light and neon from inside create an interesting, crystal-like shimmering effect. The pharmacy across the street used to have similar glass blocks in the walls — and locals simply referred to this intersection as the “Crystal Corner”. The bar dates back to the 1930’s with an art-deco feel and it is clearly a dive-bar in the best sense with sticky floors and all. Anyway. Away from table settings and chain restaurants, I was excited to share “my Madison” with this guy and see how things would go. I was also happy to have a couple friends meet him and weigh in. 

The night was brilliant. The band was great and the beer was as cold as the temperature outside. Molly and Hisao gave a thumbs up assessment. After closing time, Dale drove me back to my apartment. Screeeeccchhh. Diversion in the story here because there’s a story within the story. When my kids were little, I’d often lie in bed with them and tell bedtime stories instead of reading a book. I found this method preferable because the lights were off and my theory was they’d get sleepy faster. But this method also required me to conjure up lots of creativity. Sometimes, I’d steal a story from a Disney movie and just creatively retell it with new names and a twist. But if I wasn’t feeling creative, the easiest place to dig deep for story telling was from real life. So, over time my kids heard many of my general life stories as bedtime stories. Examples: The time Grandma’s (my mom) dog saved her from drowning in Lake Michigan by biting her hand and dragging her to the shore when she was a young girl. The time my brothers put me in the dryer and turned it on, but gave me a blanket to soften any bumps. The time my brothers sent me on the garage roof with a giant trash bag as a parachute and told me I could jump off like those little plastic toy guys with parachutes. (Childhood brother stories is a whole different blog post someday.) But what I’m about to share is one of those Top Five frequently requested bedtime stories from my kids. Like yelling Free Bird at a concert. As in, “Tell me that story again; the one when Dad dropped you off after your first date.” Each time, I’d add some extra detail in the mix or if I forgot something, they’d add it for me and then we’d giggle together at the story. 

So, here’s the scene post-bar time. Dale pulled into my driveway. I lived in a house divided into about 4 apartments and mine was a one room efficiency on the ground level. However, there were about 5 or 6 steps leading up to the front door with metal railings on both sides of the steps. We chatted briefly in the car and decided to meet up for breakfast on Saturday morning. I hopped out of the car and attempted to do a little carefree-cute-girl jog across the walkway and toward the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs and just as I had grabbed the edge of the metal railing, I slipped on ice, my legs flipped out from under me and I landed on my ass. I had somehow managed to still have my hand on part of the railing so I super-slickly-like grabbed hold of the rail and pulled myself up as if I were Violet from The Incredibles. I did not look back, but immediately resumed my carefree-cute-girl jog up the steps and into my front door. Nothing to see here. Ever hopeful or slightly dizzy from the beer perhaps, I convinced myself that he never even saw that fall because I was So. Fast. And limber. He was probably checking his rear view mirror preparing to back out of the driveway. There was no way he saw the fall. I nailed that date from start to inconspicuous finish. 

At breakfast on Saturday morning, he asked if I was okay from my fall. I laughed and confessed I had hoped he hadn’t seen me fall. And that is how a story about falling and getting up again became a frequent bedtime story for my kids as they were growing up. 

I think Dale and I saw each other nearly every day from that Edwardos Pizza lunch/Crystal Corner Bar/falling on the ice night on. And it was a fast falling in love story. To cut to the chase, we met in February, 1994 (as you now know). He met up with me after a CUES convention in California for our first vacation together in June 1994. We moved into an apartment together in August 1994. (The Wiedenbeck Doebelin warehouse apartments where you could walk through the courtyard and straight into Club de Wash for live music nearly every night.) Dale had a job offer to move to Dallas (pending my agreement to move with him) and we moved to Texas together in November 1994. He hung an engagement ring on our first tree and proposed that Christmas. And, we planned a wedding for August 1995. That, my friends, is the definition of “when you know, you know.” 

We will celebrate 26 years of marriage this August. Attaching a picture of that first vacation together in June 1994.

If I can lean on a sports analogy and sum up any learnings from my experiences, it’s this: You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. (Wayne Gretzky or Michael Scott? That’s for you Office fans.) Seriously though. What are you waiting for? Call that person. Book that trip. Attempt that challenge. Stop talking about something and just do the damn thing. 

Some have asked for an Epilogue of sorts to share Dale’s side of the story. I will do my best to tie up some loose ends with nuggets from Dale coming soon. Thanks, friends, for taking this trip down memory lane with me. If it weren’t for COVID and this below zero weather, I may not have taken the time to document this. XO

Valentines Day is approaching so I thought I’d tell a love story this week for anyone bored enough to read it. Here’s Part 1. It might not appear a love story, but stay tuned.

It was February 12, 1994. I was just about to spend my Valentine’s Day solo after breaking up with my 7+ year college boyfriend the previous Summer. I was figuring out this newly single life and it was exhilarating in that weird sometimes lonely and sometimes exciting way. I was busy becoming. And I was probably in my pensive-writing-poetry phase about this time, listening to Liz Phair and declaring my independence (lol). I was a few years out of college, working at CUES, and living the life of a young adult. That included living in an efficiency on Gorham Street in downtown Madison, going to see lots of live music, regularly dancing at the Cardinal Bar probably to a lot of Depeche Mode or Jane’s Addiction or Happy Mondays, and paying off student loans and the credit card debt I racked up (stupidly) from all those card offers in college. (Shout out to Summit CU for guiding me through that debt! But that’s another story.)

One way I saved money in those days was as a hair model for a local Madison salon called Smiles on Regent Street. A few times a year, I’d sit on a stage at some hotel while a hair stylist from TIGI England or NYC or Dallas cut my hair and explained the cut to an audience of stylists. It was fun and I always had a fresh haircut! That February, the hair show was in Milwaukee and I had convinced my friend and former college roommate to join me for the show. We took off to Milwaukee in my 1990 blue Geo Prizm amidst snowy roads on I94. (I mean, it was February. In Wisconsin.) We got to chatting and laughing and I may have had a little too much confidence given the road conditions. I hit black ice and the Prism starting shifting left and right down the highway. And I mean shifts in near-right angles. I calmly tried to guide the wheel in opposite directions to steady the car straight and I pumped the breaks to attempt to gain control and slow down. You know, all those tactics we Wisco kids grew up learning in High School Drivers Ed class. In what now seems like movie playback slow motion, the car did indeed slow and I came to a complete stop on the right shoulder while my right back end slid into the guardrails on the edge of the road.

I am now endlessly thankful for guardrails on highways. I am also thankful (and lucky!) that there were no other cars nearby when this happened. It was as if I was the only car on the road at that time and in that place. Shaken, I got out and checked the car, noticed the dent, got back in and checked in with my friend. We were both fine (physically) and decided to continue the drive (white knuckled and less chatty) to the Milwaukee hair show. I guess the shock of the accident left us feeling like we needed to continue on despite the new dent in my car. Damn. I’d need to get that fixed. I promise this does turn into a love story. Stay tuned for part 2.

I arrived back at my office with the Hyundai Excel and called “the girls” in to debrief. I closed my office door and announced with dewy-eyes something like “I just met a guy”. I remember asking everyone if they had ever rented a car before and if they had experienced the kind of treatment I had with a walk to the car and an opening of the door. (As I said, I didn’t think this was normal…but I had to verify.) I’m thinking we passed his business card around the room and I started to get the confirmation I was seeking. This was not normal rental-car-guy behavior. This was different. As girls do, we hatched a plan via group think. We had complete consensus that I needed to call this guy. Didn’t he essentially ask me to call him? I clearly remember one part of the conversation in my office when someone in the room said “If you don’t call this guy, you won’t be my mentor anymore.” I know this because I wrote it in my journal that day. This comment struck me because it had never occurred to me that I could be someone’s mentor. Well. I had to live up to that, didn’t I? And, it would be rare for me to back down from a challenge. Side note: This beautiful journal was given to me by a bff right after my breakup with the 7+ year boyfriend. There are 5 total entries – 2 of those include Dale. I’ve never been good at journaling. Anyway, attaching journal pictures here for added affect.

Okay, this plan needed some strategy. I couldn’t just call him straight away. I decided I would wait until my Geo Prizm was ready for pick up giving me reason to call to let him know that I dropped off the rental. Yes. Brilliant. (Because doesn’t everyone call the rental office to let them know you’ve dropped off the car when you’re finished with it?) That would be about a week away. That gives a girl a lot of time to think about things. Did I misread the situation? Was he just a really good sales person and walks everyone to the car? Was he a master networker and impressed that I knew people at the Enterprise headquarter office? Maybe he already had a girlfriend? Maybe they even lived together? Remember, there was no social media platforms in 1994 for easy stalking. I found his phone number either in a phone book (ha, what’s that?) or through directory assistance (ha, what’s that?). The plan we hatched was to call his home number during the work day to be sure I’d catch his answering machine (ha, what’s that?) and get some clues based on the message. I dialed. The message said something like… “You’ve reached Dale and Mark. If you want to leave a message for Dale press 1, if you want to leave a message for Mark, press 2.” I quickly hung up.

The countdown was on and the plan was formed. Nearly a week later, I picked up my newly repaired car and came back to the office to finally call the number on his business card. He didn’t answer the office phone so I had to ask to speak with him. I fumbled through something like “I rented a car from him last week and he told me to call him with any questions.” I waited anxiously to hear his voice on the phone and I was finally transferred to Dale. The plan was this: 1. I would let him know I dropped off the rental car. (I still crack myself up about this.) 2. I would ask if he’d be interested in having lunch or coffee with me. Hang with me here as this was a well-thought out theory. If he picked lunch, I wasn’t misreading him because lunch was more of a commitment. If he picked coffee, he was just being a polite sales guy. Looking back on my 20-something self, it is 100% truth that we all overthought this plan – Way. Too. Much. (But, come on. Isn’t this cute in a silly young adult crushing on the rental car guy sort of way?) But here he was on the phone with me and I was actually pretty nervous. I remember fumbling through something like “Hey, I don’t know if you’ll remember me but I rented a car from you last week and I just wanted to let you know that my car is now fixed and your car is in the Enterprise section at Smart Motors.” (1. ✔) I think he replied with something that made me know he at least remembered me, but I was also focused on the next line I was about to blurt out. Deep breath; I continued. “Also, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch or coffee with me sometime?” (2. ✔) He answered in one word…Yes. I got stuck. I mean, I had a plan and he was supposed to pick lunch OR coffee so that I would understand the play here. Somehow we fumbled through the couple minute conversation and decided on a date for the next week. He picked lunch. He would pick the restaurant.

I know. You’re all wondering how long I can drag this out. Soon friends, soon. There may be one more part to write and we’ll call it a wrap. I still owe one of you a photo of me from a hair show. I’ll dig around this weekend. Stay tuned for part 4; possibly the final entry in the origins of this love story. XO

Still February. Still 1994. Post-hair show and post-accident. In my first adulting car-care experience, I called my insurance company who directed me to a list of acceptable repair places. I ended up at Smart Motors on Odana Road and was informed it would take up to one week to get my car back. Luckily, my insurance covered a rental through Enterprise-Rent-A-Car. Back at my office, I called Enterprise to reserve a car. I was told that they had one car available on their lot. Busy winter season, I supposed? An Enterprise employee could bring the car to my office if I’d be willing to drive them back to the rental office to fill out the paperwork. An hour or so later, I got the call, “This is Enterprise, I’m here in your office parking lot.”

I hopped in the passenger seat of the rental and said hello to the driver. I was immediately struck by one thought: “Uh, this guy is pretty cute.” (Whatever. Call me shallow.) Other pluses from that <15 minute drive to the Enterprise office.

• He was playing my favorite radio station (92.1 WMAD at the time) so he clearly had good taste in music.
• He was not wearing a wedding ring. (I had sadly learned to check by this point of my young life.)
• In true extrovert fashion, I chatted this guy up and it was such an easy back and forth conversation. He was … charming. I was in sales at the time and Enterprise happened to be a client of mine. (They exhibited at CUES conferences and advertised in our magazine.) I knew a bit about their business model and their work with credit unions selling fleet cars. I probably even name dropped the few people I knew at the headquarters office in St. Louis. (He didn’t know them.)
• I found out he was from Ohio and had moved from Indiana to Wisconsin to open up new branches for Enterprise in the Midwest. He had moved to Madison fairly recently.
• He was really cute. Wait, did I already say that?

We arrived at the office and I filled out the paperwork. Side note – when he tried to sell me the damage waiver (to meet his daily numbers), I politely declined. And to the surprise of his staff listening to our interaction, he politely backed down. (Dale was known by his team for pushing them hard to sell the damage waiver. Gotta meet those numbers!) We had more pleasant chatter inside. He then walked me back outside to the car, opened the drivers door of the red Hyundai Excel and handed me his business card. “If you have any problems at all with this car, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.” I hadn’t rented many cars in my life, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t normal treatment. Seriously, if you were watching this scene in a rom-com, you’d catch the connection. The pause at the car door. Holding out the business card a little longer than needed before the handoff. The awkward smiles. Our time together was reaching maybe 30 minutes by this point. Yet, there was something more than renting a car going on here. A spark. At least that was my impression as I took his business card and drove away.

I wish I could attach a photo of the business card, but alas – we’ve moved to a new house this year. I would know exactly where to look at the old house…but sigh. No idea at this moment as there are those boxes you take forever to unpack.

Here’s what it said:

Dale S. Tomalin

Area Branch Manager

Enterprise-Rent-A-Car

Stay tuned for part 3.