To the women who have shaped me – Thank you.

We are halfway through Women’s history month, and I have been thinking a lot about the women in my life.

My lineage.

I love reading. Some people look at me baffled when I tell them how I read a book.

I start at the beginning but then I read the end. There is something soothing for me to know how a book ends. I can relax into the story and the words and all the colors, sounds and tastes that are being evoked by the writing. If I don’t read the end first, I rush through the book because I am so curious and I can’t really enjoy all the nuances.

But one of the first things I do as well is find the acknowledgment page. Again, I am curious. Who are the important people in a writer’s life? Not just those who help with the editing and publishing process but those who have had a deeper impact.

That lead me to think about the extraordinary women who impacted and influenced me and on who’s shoulders I stand.

The lineage that has shaped me.

My Mom, my grandmother Muetti, my aunt Annemarie, Rita, Frau Mohr, all the Barbara’s, Nicole, Regena, all my coaches, Donna, Michaela, the women in my archetype explorations, my study group, my clients over the years.

But let me tell you more about just one.

My grandmother.

The one who’s DNA I share, who I have in my bones, who’s patterns I embody for good or for bad.

She was born late on December 31, 1902. She would always say her father should have looked at the clock a few minutes later then she would be a year younger. She was the oldest of five and the help her mother needed to raise all the children.

She wanted to study forestry. But studying was the privilege of the two boys that were born after her. Like many women at that time, she was sent against her wishes and dreams to a school run by strict nuns to learn everything about how to run a household.

I don’t know of the various positions she held after she finished school, but I know that in the early 1920’s, she was sent with her musically gifted sister to Paris. She ran the housekeeping side of a boarding school while being the chaperone for her sister who studied piano with one of the renowned teachers of that time.

Her first act of defiance, against the wishes of her father, was to cut the hair that was so long that she could sit on it. She cut it chin length as it was fashionable in Paris.

That is how I remember her from the first photos of her with my grandfather.

They had a whirlwind romance, and after knowing him for only six months she set sail to join his life in Sumatra.

She lived there for 36 years, birthing and raising her four children and teaching other women how to nurture theirs. Applying all she learned from the nuns in the ‘householder’ school helped her and other families to survive during the war, living off the land, growing food and animals.

She homeschooled her children during the war according to the teachings of Maria Montessori.

When I was born, she and my grandfather had already returned to live in Switzerland.

I grew up with stories about finding snakes in the house, having geese so the snakes would not slither into the baby’s bassinet. Of monkeys in her kitchen cabinets, throwing the salt and pepper shaker at her, of jumping on her loom while she was weaving and of always laughing at her.

She had a temper, so she told me. She threw the inkwell at my grandfather after he kept commenting on her accounting.

I knew her as kneeling in her garden, planting, always planting and talking to her plants. She had a deep love for the earth and all things growing.

She taught me how to knit. I saw her sewing and cooking.

She promised me to show me the ocean. And she did when I was 11 years old.

Christmas morning, she spent in the overly warm kitchen preparing the turkey, wearing a towel around her neck because she was sweating. Always she would come and say: the cook needs something to drink! And my grandfather would pour her a glass of wine.

Child rearing, she told me was not unlike growing a plant; for it to grow straight you have to give it a stick, so it has a guidepost to grow along.

Hers was not only an easy life but one she lived with grace, accepting everything it offered.

She was devoted to her family and dedicated to the people who worked for her, always teaching them and being taught by them. Later her dedication was to the guests that came in the summer months to her house in the south of Switzerland.

She was adventurous, moving to a country and a culture so foreign form hers. She was courageous in the face of adversity. She was generous with her love. I always got the sense that she was content with her life.

After my grandfather died, I spent a lot of time with her. I wish I could remember all the conversations we had, and I often wish I could ask her now about life. Her deeper understanding of it as she got older. And I catch myself while being in nature having conversations with her, just telling her things.

On the outside my life has had a similar trajectory. Moving countries, raising children, being a householder and now being the steward to a wonderful piece of nature. And having grandchildren!

On the inside I hope I have some of her traits in my body, joining with the traits of all the other women on who’s shoulders I stand.

Shaping my own lineage.

And maybe someday I will be the shoulders some other woman will want to stand on.

Over time I will share more about the other women in my life.

For now I would love to hear from you on who’s shoulder you stand, what is your lineage?

Please use the comment section below the blog.

As always, with love, gratitude and pleasure!

Theres