I recently met a woman known as "Mustard Girl".  (She is the creator and CEO of "Mustard Girl" Mustard, thus the name.)  Her real name is Jennifer Connor, and we were having lunch recently, and she was sharing a story about how she started her company.  See, she used to frequent a burger stand in Madison Wisconsin where she went to college, and she loved the mustard that the man made by hand.  She would crave it, and go out of her way just to get the stuff slathered on another burger.

"You should bottle this and sell it," she told him.  Then one day, she got the call.  

"Do you want my recipe?  I'm retiring," he told her.

The rest, as they say- is history.

Not only am I now addicted to Mustard Girl mustard (particularly the dijon flavor), but Jennifer and I have something in common.  We both talk to our dead Dad's whenever we need some guidance.  She lost her father when she was only 6.  She asks for signs that usually show up in the form of rainbows or four leaf clovers at her cabin up in Northern Wisconsin.  I ask for signs that usually manifest in a cardinal or butterfly in Chicago.  Either way, we like to think they are closer than we can imagine.  

This past weekend, I went up to Wisconsin to visit my Uncle Tony- who was my Dad's brother.  Thoughts of Dad were heavy in my heart, as I wondered what kind of sign I might receive.  Since I was no longer on my home turf, I couldn't count on my usual bird community. 

As the wind started picking up the night I arrived, and rain started to fall, we all huddled around the television to see if tornados were looming.  Then, the sun broke through the clouds to reveal a full rainbow that arched from left to right, illuminating the entire landscape.  

"That's right over Grandpa's farm," my Uncle said.  Grandpa died a year after my Dad- and lived just up the road from Uncle Tony.  We had just been talking about the people who bought his farm moments before the storm hit.  As we sat gazing at the colors in the sky- my cousin Jesse noticed something remarkable.

"Look- it's a double rainbow," she pointed.  

Sure enough, a second rainbow formed along the outside of the original.  I'd never seen a double rainbow before.  I used to think people made that kind of thing up- until I saw one with my own eyes.

So- thank you, Mustard Girl.  I am now open to receiving those little winks from the other side in the form of colorful bands dancing in the sky.  And please let me know which stores have your mustard so I can buy some more.  Either you put crack in the recipe, or it's just incredible- but regardless, I need more pronto.  My pretzels haven't been the same without it.