The Snowball Effect

Unlikely Ripples: How Luck and Choices Snowball

Dec. 17th 2025

I recall my grandmother saying, “It’s not the cards you’re dealt but how you play the game.” Or maybe it was my mom because family wisdom often gets shuffled around like a deck of Uno cards at a sleep-away camp, and you never know who’s holding the Draw Four. What I do know is that whenever my mom really wanted my attention (translation: “Clean the living room,” or “Finish your math homework”), she’d claim every pearl of advice was actually straight from my Nana. That was her secret weapon— her ace up her sleeve or extra joker that frequently magically appeared and disappeared. And to be fair, it worked. After all, my Nana held the dual crown of reigning card shark and undisputed World’s Best Cook (as confirmed by the faded magnet on my dad’s fridge—and the suspicious lack of leftovers at family dinners). Truth be told, I’ve been hesitant to show anyone my ‘cards’ because, well, what if they’re nothing but a hand of twos? Thankfully, life deals us a new hand every day, so there’s always another round of Go Fish, Poker or BINGO on the horizon.

Since October 4th, 2025, I’ve been harboring a secret—no, it’s not that I’ve got a mommy-monster sized vintage jar of Moishe’s sauerkraut suspiciously lurking in my fridge with a “best before” date from 2022. That’s purely fictional—promise! The truth is, my sauerkraut actually survived my old fridge’s dramatic demise last summer and somehow scored a spot in the shiny new one, right alongside two pint-sized backup jars. Why do I keep so much sauerkraut? I wish I loved it—really, I do. It’s healthy, I have no doubt that is true because it definitey tastes healthy to me. But let’s face it, my feelings for sauerkraut are complicated. It’s not you, sauerkraut, it’s me. If anything, that Moishe’s mega-jar should be teaching a course in Ultimate Survival; it’s hung in there longer than my last 3 New Year’s resolutions.  But enough about fermented cabbage—let’s talk about my real secret. I’ve been quietly assembling a website: “Girl Meets Words,” dedicated to my passion project, the “We Paint Poetry” program. If you’re curious about what sparked this creative adventure, or you’re dying to know about my grand plans and wild ambitions, keep reading— there’s more mystery here than on your favorite crime drama.

Let’s rewind to the COVID era— when humanity collectively obsessed over sourdough starters and accidentally wore pajama bottoms to international Zoom calls.  That never happened to me, of course, I just perpetually live in my pjs but enough about me.  Teachers everywhere leapt from VIPKID to Outschool in what might generously be remembered as “The Great Migration of Lesson Plans,” or maybe “The Exodus of the Eternally Muted.”  Unfortunately, teaching phonics online wasn’t my jam, and I was as prepared to teach calculus as I was to join Cirque du Soleil. On the plus side, shutdowns reignited my love for painting and introduced me to the wonderful world of poetry writing. I painted and I wrote—a lot. During my secondary school days, I took classes at a place with a French name so poetic it deserves its own sonnet: “Toile Étoile”.  Combined, that’s a “Canvas of Stars”—which sounds exactly like the kind of place where Bob Ross and Leonard Cohen might share a coffee.  It refers to “Inner Brilliance” or the idea that an individual's unique brilliance (star) is expressed through their authentic self (fabric/canvas). "Toile Étoile" represents a backdrop for dreams, hopes, artistic expression and creative potential.  I will forever feel grateful that my parents could afford to send me to that art school on Saturday mornings and sometimes Wednesday afternoons after school too.  I was very lucky!

But painting, it turns out, isn’t like riding a bike. Skills fade. Unlike my ability to binge-watch shows, my brush skills had become rusty. Add to that my lack of degrees in art education or creative writing, and I felt about as qualified to teach poetry as I did to coach Olympic hockey—dream big, but maybe not that big. So, I painted and wrote for myself, hoping that one day my hobby would snowball into something meaningful, though mostly, I just let it hibernate… until the universe threw me a snowball with a side of maple syrup.

By pure Canadian luck, I stumbled upon “Hope at Hand” (hopeathand.org) —a nonprofit in Florida. Hope At Hand is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that provides art and poetry sessions to vulnerable and at-risk youth populations. Using poetry, creativity, art and therapeutic approaches, they facilitate healing and personal growth for children and adolescents. One of their main objectives is to increase arts opportunities for youth in low-income areas. Research indicates that students from low-income neighborhoods who actively participate in arts enrichment programs are significantly more likely to pursue higher education. This underscores the transformative impact that creative expression and the power of words can have on a young person's future. Hope at Hand provides poetry lessons as outreach programming for youth who are unable to leave a residential facility and in-house for those who can access transportation. ​ Of all the joints in all the world, I found one in the land of alligators and oranges!

After my tiny donation, a curious person from Hope at Hand asked me how I found them. Reader, I truly have no idea—maybe a cosmic algorithm, maybe Eventbrite, maybe sheer northern stubbornness. The internet is a more complex tangle than my long-knotted hair on the windiest day of the year. I assume that I found it very indirectly, through a third or sixth party website (writer.org --> I searched through many writers personal websites and the links that were attached to those websites --> click, click, click, click & scroll down somewhere and boom 💡 eventbrite.com --> hopeathand.org). Hope at Hand is a genius name for an organization; it made me click because I immediately wanted to know more. Once you discover something brilliant, you can’t unsee it nor tuck that inspiration away again. Learning about Hope at Hand made me yearn for my days at Toile Étoile and made me realize how transformative art and poetry have always been for me. If only I lived in Florida! But I’m proudly Canadian (and allergic to the sun – yes, really.  I get ugly rashes.), so volunteering in person was out. Instead, I set my sights on paying it forward from la belle province—Québec. The snowball started this past summer when I had COVID, and now, as winter settles in, it’s rolling downhill with gusto and gathering speed.

Welcome to my blog, “Tail-Tales & Takeaways”—a place where squirrelly mischief meets creative chaos, and no acorn of wisdom is left unturned. Here, I’ll chronicle my wild ride: the plot twists, epic fails, and poetic victories that ripple through our classroom like a squirrel on a triple espresso. Prepare yourself for “Nutty Notes”—because every project needs a little goofball garnish and, let’s face it, the Squirrel School runs on giggles and glorious alliterations. My true quest? To launch a learning experience that’s as far from Zoom fatigue as a squirrel is from a spa day. After a decade of virtual teaching, I yearn for the kind of hands-on, heart-in learning where students burst out of their chairs, chase cards across the room, throw velvet darts in silly rhyme battles, play actively and interactively, and—yes—maybe even survive a snowball skirmish (indoors, metaphorical... for now). I’m starting small—just a single classroom and a handful of eager and motivated card-chasing poets. But I’ve got my snow boots on, ready for this snowball to roll, bounce, and possibly somersault down the hill. For now, it’s one step, one snowball, one rhyme card at a time. Curious about some of the cards I’ve been dealt lately? Interested in the custom deck I’m building? Want a sneak peek behind the scenes? Swing by wendyhelena.com. Trust me, this is only the prologue—the best chapters are still being written!