From Rico to Chico (part 2)

After leaving the Telluride Bluegrass Festival on Sunday night, we arrived at the Best Western in Montrose at 1 am Monday. It was a really nice place and would have liked to spend more time there – at least a full night!

The sun and 6 am came a bit too quickly. My hubby took me to the Montrose airport so I could catch the first of three flights to get me to my next destination – Chico, California. I was running late and was reprimanded by the counter person/gate person. Montrose has one gate (I think), maybe two? I buzzed through the mini-security and then onto the mini-plane (an Embraer Brasilia EMB-120 turboprop). My carry-on bag had to go underneath and my laptop barely fit under the seat in front of me.

Our bathroom apparently was out of commission (not a problem since the flight was only about an hour), but there was the wafting odor of pee through out the mini-cabin. The view outside the window was fantastic -- well the opposite window from me. My shade was jammed shut. Our flight attendant, Jessica, was a fiery redhead with a fierce scowl. She sat in the front of the plane and glared the entire flight. If there were to be snacks and drinks, that was just too bad. We were on our own.

The flight was quick but the landing at DIA made my heart skip a few beats. Denver’s almost-to-Kansas airport location provides some interesting wind currents in a larger plane. We made it safely on to the ground at the mini-terminal arm branched off of the B terminal. It was a short wait and then on to plane number 2 – this time a large, roomy Airbus to San Francisco.

Another short wait and then on to plane number 3, another Brasilia Turboprop. This time I had the single seat and my laptop almost didn’t fit under the seat. I really had to wedge it under there. The seat I was supposed to be in was the first one and my laptop did not fit into the overhead compartment so I took the next one back and made a new friend with the woman who's seat I swapped with. She was headed to the same workshop I was, as was half the plane.

This time my window shade worked and after flying out of the clouds of San Francisco, I watched the rolling fields and patchworks of Northern California pass below me. Less than an hour later, we landed in Chico. I realized that I really didn’t know where I was on a map (but looked it up later). A short taxi ride to the Hotel Diamond and I was at my home away from home for the week.

I was in Chico for a business workshop/certificate in my field at the university. Chico is a small college town. My hotel was about two blocks from campus. The first afternoon I decided to walk around the town and get the lay of the land, and also to get my legs unfolded from all those plane rides. It was stifling hot but there were plenty of shady spots to walk about – especially on campus.

I ran into my friend Hannah from the plane and we chatted a bit. She mentioned a natural food store several blocks away. We continued on separate paths only to run into each other at the store awhile later. I stocked up on studying munchies, and picked up a refreshing looking juice. Later I discovered that you really should read the label in health food stores. This one had some odd ingredient in it that made it taste like feet with a slight bit of mango on top.

I crashed early that night after walking about in the heat, the three plane rides, lack of sleep and the fun weekend before.

The workshop was interesting but not so much to include it here in the blog. I passed the ceritficate test with 100% (whew! “self-paced” online classes in my book seems to be “wait to the last minute”). I also met and heard many great folks in the business.

One great thing in Chico was the Pita Pit. You pick a pita sandwich and add all the fixings (like a Subway). It was so good, I had it two nights in a row and would have done a third had I not talked Hannah into dinner at the Tres Hombres. One great thing about Hannah is she thought I was in my late 20s.

I also caught my first Bookcrossing book at a local coffee shop, Has Beans. Unfortunately it really wasn’t something I wanted to read (and that the original reader had repurposed into a vegan cookbook). None the less, but I’ll have fun passing it on, maybe into Boulder or the freebox in Telluride when I head back there for another event in August.

The bad thing about Chico is that it was an oven the whole time I was there – above 100 degrees F. Uhg. I was very happy to arrive home back to cooler weather in Colorado.

From Rico to Chico (part 1)

Summer brings a schedule full of things, including travel and concerts. A couple of weeks ago, we loaded up the car and headed for the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. Telluride is about an eight-hour drive from Denver. It’s a really pretty one that goes through many different landscapes. You have the front range and the Rocky Mountain views of Vail, and Glenwood Springs, which morphs into the desert like landscape of Grand Junction. Driving south on highway 50 brings you to the Alps-like San Juan mountains of the Dallas Divide and the peaks around Telluride.

We stayed with friends just outside of Telluride in the old mining town of Rico. With a summer population of about 500 and a winter population of 200, it is a small town where everyone knows everyone else and dogs run free. It’s a lot like Cicely, Alaska – complete with it’s own cast of characters. We had lunch at the Enterprise Bar & Grill on the main street and were treated to tastings of the bar owner's new supply of really hot! sauces. That evening as the sun when down, so did the temperature -- a welcome relief from the 100+ days in Denver the previous week. We spent the evening at friends of our friends with a bonfire, good food, beer and good chatting.

Sunday morning, after a good meal of bagels and fixin’s, we caravaned into Telluride for the Bluegrass Festival. Telluride is an awesome place for a show. The scenery is incredible. Plus the people watching is pretty interesting. We staked out a spot and set up our day camping gear, chairs and all and were soon joined by other friends.

Telluride is at 8750 feet in altitude, but many of the concert-goers were much higher than that. If you ever wonder what happened to the Deadheads when the Grateful Dead stopped touring, just look in the Town Park camping. Lots of dreadlocks, tie-die, really dirty feet and a lack of soap. Ah, the life of the nomad. I itch just thinking of it.

During the day, we took a break from the high-altitude sun (too much can make me grouchy) and took the pups of the group with us up the gondola. Sheena was thrilled to join the ride. Sya would have preferred staying on ground level and tried to burrow herself in the humans’ laps. It’s a palm-sweaty view for me, especially when there’s a strong cross breeze. At the top of the hill (approximately 10,000 feet) we had a fantastic, although steep view. Our friends informed us this was one of the ski runs. Wow, definitely a Warren Miller kind of run -- straight down.

In spite of the days’ heat in the ozone-deprived sun, the night can cool down quickly. As the sun rounded the mountains, folks started to add layers. Out came the fleece, the wool socks, gloves and more.

The headliner of the Sunday show was my favorite band, the Barenaked Ladies. Most people would not think of them as Bluegrass but they have a very folksy feel to their music. They did a mostly acoustic set with the banjos, accordian, and more. They also played many songs from their new album coming out on September. With their usual offbeat humor, they commented on the "dirty" dancing (of the nomad folks I mentioned before), the ride into the Telluride airport (a tricky one, and the nation's highest airport), and various other "Only in Telluride" quips.
After the show, we bade hasty goodbyes and booked it out of town an hour and a half north to Montrose, where I had an 8 am flight Monday morning.

That story in part 2!

Could be pilot error?

Computers have made our lives easier but sometimes I wonder if it is making humans more stupid. There seems to be a human element of just plain common sense in a lot of computer generated work these days.

My aunt, the one who just lost her husband has been mired down with paperwork. It’s the little things that stick out. She just received a letter addressed to her, mailed to her current address (not forwarded) from the Social Security Administration. It stated that they were unable to mail her social security check because they didn’t have a current address for her.

My husband and I just refinanced. My previous mortgage was in my former married name and my ex-husband’s name. When I realized I was getting a check back for the remaining escrow amount, I asked how I could get the check to just me and in my current name. Simple, Chase replied. Just send a letter and a copy of the divorce agreement. So I sent a letter, a copy of the divorce agreement, the Quit Claim deed and a couple of other supporting documents.

Yesterday I received the check made out to my ex-husband and my former married name.

Today I received two letters from Chase, my former mortgage company. The first stated that they had received my letter and would forward it to the appropriate department. The second said that they had received my letter but needed the approproate documentation – a copy of the divorce settlement (which of course was stapled to the letter).

Earlier this week I received a water bill from the city. I pay a budget billing program that pulls the same amount out each month (until month 12 where it reconciles the difference) and also have auto pay - where it withdraws from my bank automatically. The bill was past due and appeared to have been so for two months. So I called. This person did have common sense and explained to me their new computer system had a few bugs. One of those bugs was that it was now pulling $25 a month rather than $31, even though my water usage had increased in 2005 from 2004. The computer should have calculated a larger amount based on the actual usage. The other problem is that it randomly decided not to pull auto pays each month. Thankfully this was understood about the new system and that it would all work out in the end. Nothing was my fault, she assured me, and my water would not be suddenly turned off.

I had a similar thing happen with the new Dell laptop lease I have. For some reason, I had a past due of $2.64 and no payment had been pulled for April. Ends up what happened was that I had received notice that my autopay wouldn’t start for 30 days, so I wrote a check for the March amount. The autopay pulled two days later. Since the $2.64 was a monthly tax imposed by the state, the computer had to show it in the month of April - even though I had paid it twice in March. After a 20 minute phone call, I was told not to worry, it would catch up with the May payment. I understand it need to show up monthy but why the heck didn't it just give me a credit for the extra $2.64 for April instead of a past due.

Don’t worry Hal, I don’t blame computers. They only do what stupid humans tell them to do. But I think we are seriously becoming dumb and dumber by the minute. The more we rely on computers to calculate/automate/distribute based on what we tell them to do, the less common sense we have as a race. I can see why the cylons took over the twelve colonies.

As the old saying goes, seriously people, pull your head out of your …

Saying goodbye when you have the chance

Is knowing someone is going to die better than having someone die suddenly? When you know someone is going to die, you have your chance to say goodbye and to meet with them one last time. When someone dies suddenly, you may have regrets about not being able to say goodbye.

My mother’s older brother died this morning of cancer. He went into hospice in January -- the doctor giving him two weeks. I knew he had cancer a year ago, when right around my wedding they moved from Arizona to Salem, Oregon to be near one of their sons and grandchildren.

My mother went to visit him in March. She encouraged me to do the same but when I found a flight about 10 days out, she thought maybe not. Who knew if it would be in time. So I didn’t go. Life got in the way. She gave me their phone number. For whatever stupid reason, I didn’t call. I have stupid phones and most of the time I can’t hear on them. It was a dumb excuse and one I now regret because it is too late.

It’s been more than 20 years since I have seen my uncle Bob and his wife. I think the last time was when I was in high school. They came through town in their RV which I thought was the coolest thing on the planet. When I first met my uncle and his wife, I think they lived next door to my grandparents on Long Island, NY. I say "I think" because I was really young. My mom is the baby of three kids and there's about 13 years between her and her brother. She was kind of a surprise (but a good one in my opinion).

In 1977, my grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary and we went back to New York to celebrate. There also was a trip to New York in 1981 after my sister Annie was born. I think it was this second trip, that my uncle and aunt had moved from the house to a houseboat on the Hudson. I have pictures of us tooling around in a rowboat. I was small then and thought the houseboat was really cool. Now it might be a little small – but then it was really cool. My uncle also took us to where he worked in one of the tallest building in the United States – one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. We got to go to the top and I still have pictures from my little Kodak 126 of the Statue of Liberty and lots of clouds.

He retired not long after that and they traded the houseboat for a camper van and begun traveling around the country. Around the time I got into the book “Blue Highways” by William Least Heat Moon from a reading contest at school. I always thought of my uncle in Least Heat Moon’s stories. Later they traded up to the nice RV with a bit more room and indoor plumbing. It had two TVs and two VCRs, which was pretty cool in the mid-80s.

At one point, they got into an accident. I don’t remember what happened exactly but it seems my aunt had a lot of neck and back injuries. Around then, they decided to stop traveling and settled down in Arizona into a house on the ground without any wheels.

The amount of times I met my uncle Bob I can count on one hand. It was more the distance between New York and Colorado than anything. Email made it a little better the past couple of years. But the times I did meet him were good and fun.

He was a really wonderful man and I am sorry I didn’t know him as well as I should have. He has two sons I really don’t know at all, as well as a handful of grandkids. I got into geneology awhile back and got everyone’s names and birthdates but I don’t know them.

So this morning after my mom called, the first thing on my mind is that I never called him. Why? I don't know. Distance, time, my own crazy life in the way. None are good excuses. It’s my own fault. I didn’t get that chance to say goodbye and I knew his death was near. Perhaps in mind, I thought that he would just surprise everyone and stick around for awhile.

So here’s to my Uncle Bob, a great man. I’ll miss you.

You’re unfinanceable ?! -- music in advertising

When did catchy ad jingles change to popular songs rewritten into maybe not-so-intended ways. Did Madness really see a coffee commercial when they first penned “Our House”? Naked Eyes must really love Foley’s version of “Always There to Remind Me.”

Some songs work really well for ads. Sheryl Crow’s “Everyday is A Winding Road” is used in a car commercial. Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction" would be great for an ED drug (Cialis, Viagra), although not actually used in a commercial right now. Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” tune is used by Cingular (not sure if that is a perfect fit but I like the song). MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” works well for the germ-infested daycare center ad for Lysol.

Maybe it’s the lure of extra money. When Bob Dylan showed up in a Victoria’s Secret commercial, many were surprised and some said it was the end of the world. Dylan had sold out. In 1987, when Nike used the Beatles song “Revolution” (rights then owned by Michael Jackson), Paul McCartney complained that the song was about a revolution, “not bloody tennis shoes.” Yet more recently in 2005, he appeared in an Fidelity Investments ad, along with his Wing’s song “Band on the Run.”

Sometimes money isn’t much of a lure and personal values rule out. Hummer had a hard time buying rights to songs for their commercials – even from small indie bands who couldn’t fathom supporting the very un-ecological gas-guzzler.

Many songs used in commercials have helped more obscure up-and-coming, indie bands hit the limelight. Apple’s I-Pod campaign has introduced Gorillaz, Jet, Rinôçérôse and others to a wider audience. Toyota got me hooked on Fisher ("It's a Beautiful Life").

I don’t mind the use of songs but in the original format, not with the lyrics rewritten. But it's almost laziness on the part of advertisers -- a lack of creativity -- that few use original written lyrics to catchy jingles. They don't even need words. Vonage’s “Whoo Hoo” tune is pretty catchy and memorable. So is United Airlines’ grandiose classical theme song.

But really, the local car commercial that has butchered EMF’s “Unbelievable" into "You're unfinanceable". Argh! It hurts my ears. It’s unbelievable! It's not even a word.

[Note: in my googling (research) found a lot of interesting things on AdTunes – another bookmarked site helping me avoid work.]

urban bastardization of otherwise harmless words

Okay - seems that the treat "dilly bar" I referred to in a previous post no longer only refers to an ice cream treat. Incidentally an ice cream treat that is not available through the ice cream man (and this is the actual, original ice cream-only treat I refer to) but through Dairy Queen.

Sometimes you say something and someone giggles. You wonder why. This started when I began teaching courses at a local college. Even though I think I am not a day over 21, these kids that I was teaching apparently were still in Junior High School, masquarading as college students.

The assignment was to come up with a name for their group projects. I was trying to teach brainstorming and that no idea was a bad one as it could lead to more good ones. The project was a collection of many different subjects into one publication. One of the group members offered "Tossed Salad." Seems harmless and not too bad for a collection of different things thrown together.

Then there was the snickering. One older, non-traditional student informed me she would not be a part of such filth (although she couldn’t define the filth, but knew that the snickering boys were up to something). So I googled it. Lovely.

So that’s great that there's slang and urban terms for whatever floats your boat. But maybe when a very unhip, thirty-something klutz utters or writes something, perhaps it would be wise to assume they mean the original meaning. Just a suggestion.

If you ever want to know, here's a helpful reference. I looked up “steamy beef hand” and thankfully no one has stolen that one yet.

Steamy Beef Hand

You ever wonder where some band names come from. I think this could be a good one. It started as I prepared one of my fabulous dinners (okay – took the ingredients out of the ziploc freezer bag and followed the directions from Dinner by the Dozen) —beef and broccoli. As I was browning my hamburger in a large pot the steam was bouncing off my stirring hand. I walked into the other room where the dogs became very interested in that hand.

mmmmm, steamy beef hand, I said aloud.

And a new band name was born. Now where did I put my drumsticks...

ICE CREAM MAN!!!!

Wow - just barely past 55 degrees out there and the ice cream man is out... (on a Friday at 1pm - although I think it is Spring Break for the neigborhood kids). There's still a patch of snow in the yard but summer must be just around the corner...

Not sure about him - it's a cute truck but things aren't the same today as they were when I was a kid.

Really want a [edited] bomb pop now...

The Klutz's Guide to Neighborhood Watch

The other morning my neighbor from across the street rang the doorbell. It was about 10 am and since it wasn't yet noon, I was still in my pjs and a sweatshirt (one of the perks of working from home office). I opened the door expecting him to hand me a package as the UPS guy is always delivering my stuff to him across the street.

Al: Are you okay?
Me: I'm fine, how are you?
[Al looks a bit confused.]

Al: Well I thought I'd just check on you since you were banging on the window...
[Now I look confused... scanning back through my previous 10 minutes...]

I realize that I had been banging on the window trying to get the squirrel out of the bird feeder. The squirrel completely ignored me, didn't even flinch. Al, across the street, who I was completely unaware of standing by his mailbox , heard me. I explain this to Al, who chuckles and moves on with his day.

I'm pretty sure the neighbors already think I am nuts ... but nice that they're keeping an eye on me none the less!

Birthdays, life, death and random thoughts in between

"...The important thing is not to be bitter over life's disappointments. Learn to let go of the past. And recognize that everyday won't be sunny. And when you find yourself in the darkness of despair, remember ... it's only in the black of night you can see the stars. And those stars lead you back home. So don't be afraid to make mistakes, to stumble, fall. Because most of the time, the greatest rewards will come from doing the things that scare you the most. Maybe you'll get everything you wished for. Maybe you'll get more than you ever could have imagined. Who knows where life will take you. The road is long and in the end, the journey is the destination." - Coach Whitey Durham (Barry Corbin) in One Tree Hill

I quietly turned 36 the other day. I didn’t mean for it to be quiet – I’d much prefer fanfare and celebration. But it seems you pass “a certain age” and birthdays get lost in the rigamarole of everyday.

With the passing of each birthday, thoughts turn to life. Am I where I wanted to be at this age? Where is it that I wanted to be? What is the meaning of life? 42 ... well, in this case, 36. It seems around my birthday, I am more aware of the fact life changes so much. Just when you think you might be in a pattern or a rut, if you step back, you'll feel the wind on your face as the world spins around you.

My grandmother is 77 – a fact that she brings up a lot lately. Perhaps it is a way to justify the whirlwind of changes she has just made. She moved from her house of 20-plus years into a stylish new place. It’s not assisted living, or a retirement building. It’s actually a pretty coo loft. But it is about one-quarter the size of her house – much more manageable for a 77 year old, albeit a fairly healthy one. She also sold the family cabin, as you may have read in previous posts. She's made these changes sort of as a way of getting her affairs together. Not that she is going anywhere. But she is 77, she will remind you this if you mention anything.

As I was contemplating the “when” of having a child, not the if, I suddenly was gripped with a fear that I might not be around for grandchildren. Then I realized that it is foolish to think that way. You really can't plan for anything in life. It doesn't work out that way. I am definitely a planner. My husband is a fly-by-the-seat-of-the pants-er. He’s been calling me type A lately. He’s right. He’s a B. So we complement each other by sometimes meeting in between. So I end up putting in place the financials, the schedules, the what-ifs, and he provides the why-nots, the let’s-gos, and the better-now-than-laters. Sometimes we flip when I suggest we run off to Paris next weekend and he reminds me we have to pay taxes.

Back to life’s changes. My mother’s brother is in the late stages of prostate cancer. He is in Salem, Oregon. I haven’t seen him in 20 years but have kept in touch on and off by email. I’d like to visit him but am having trouble getting the where-with-all to do so. True the cheaper fares are two weeks out. But life is so busy. There's a loan closing, a book club meeting, work, class to teach, taxes to do, dogs to board. All that can be rescheduled and taken care of pretty easily. I’m afraid to book a trip and end up being too late, but at the same time, afraid not to give it a chance.

On the other end of the spectrum, my sister is bringing new life into the world – due in September. For most people this is a joyous event and something I hope to do myself in the near future. But my sister wears blinders. She really flies-by-the-seat-of-her-pants. She’s a good person but just not a planner like her older sister. Her son has just turned 15. He’s a good kid but medicated and has a host of disorders defined by letters. This is mostly genetic. My sister herself is bipolar.

Her choice to get pregnant was that it was finally time, and she was in a good financial place. But she chose not to notice that she is just barely financially stable and that she really can’t stand her husband, who has a host of things going on himself. In order to get pregnant, she went off the medication to treat her disease. Then through a series of unfortunate events, lost her job.

I will admit this has affected my choices to become pregnant. Since there’s so much going on there, it’s hard for me to do the same and be happy about it, or for the rest of the family to be happy about it. I’ve always been my sister’s keeper. As I love her dearly, at the same time I am tired. It’s also very hard on the rest of the family – three other sisters and our parents. My mom is a worrier and has the blood pressure to prove it. One other sister has been going through her own changes in life – most recently health issues. Thankfully it turned out not to be Leukemia, as was a possibility, but instead good old-fashioned mono. She mirrors her big sister in work hours – too many of them!

The last thing about my birthday is that each March brings a reminder of an old friend’s birthday – exactly two weeks before mine. His mother and mine were good friends before we were around. There are pictures of us as babies, toddlers and young kids. I moved to a different town in third grade and didn't see him as often after that. His mom still came to Bridge night but he typically stayed at home. When I was 17, he took his own life. I had a great deal of teen angst and often wondered if I could just give up. I could never have gone through it. In reality, I just needed a good vacation. I often wonder what happened for him to be at a point in his life to do this. There was speculation of many things: that a former teacher of his was accused of molesting students and he might have been involved. Or possibly he had received a lower grade than expected (I believe he had a 4.0 GPA and was already accepted to School of Mines as a high school junior). Or that he simply had a shortcircuit in his body chemestry. There were no other indications, no signs.

Several years later, his mother succumbed to cancer that slowly took over her whole body. She was a wonderful person. No one deserves to lose a child this way and then lose her own life to such a horrid disease, but she deserved it the least. I think of her daughter and her husband left behind. I don't think my mother is in touch anymore but I hope that their lives are really good to them now.

The quote at the beginning of this post struck a chord with all these thoughts swirling around in my head. It’s a WB show about teen angst but the script writer has it spot on. And it doesn’t hurt hearing it spoken in the deep Texas voice of one of my favorite actors.

Life is a journey. You might as well eat cheetos in the car, take lots of pictures along the way, and maybe have a birthday party or two at McDonalds.

It's March 18 - do you know where your snow shovel is?

It's that time of year and we're about due for a biggie. The setup is right - rain due to start this afternoon, turning to snow overnight. Okay mother nature - what's the plan?

Tuft-butt season

In many parts of the country, the Groundhog may signal the coming of Spring. Here, it’s big tufts of white and brown fur everywhere. Yup, it’s tuft-butt season when our brown dog/German Shepherd mix Sarah-dog blows her coat. She has gorgeous fur - a marble of red, brown, white, tan. The birds love it too, lining the nest with her brushing piles from the yard. The cats are not so fond of it —especially when I give them little dog hair wigs. Now there's a picture for "Stuff on my cat." BA HA HA HA! [Yes, they will smother me in my sleep...]

George Clooney and dreams

And now, on a lighter note... (I do have several blogs started but not finished - damn work ... damn taxes ... damn life).

I need to start writing down my dreams. This morning I dreamed I was watching a movie at someone's house and George Clooney slipped some drugs into my drink or food. It was speed but in the dream I was a slug. I decided I needed to walk it off and Jason Alexander was there. He was helping me and saying that was really uncool of George.

??!

I sometimes try to figure out where this comes from and if there is a message. In the past I have had dreams that are foretelling things to come. Years ago I dreamt my biological Dad had died but all I got was a phone call and wasn't able to find out where he was, only that I needed to come deal with it. In the real world, the next day he called me to tell me he was getting married (to a very nice woman and they've been married ten years). I also had a very vivid apocalyptic dream on Sept. 9, 2001.

Anyway, back to George Clooney, whom I sure is a very nice guy. The drugs are probably because I have new glasses and am getting used to them (prescription changed slightly, not to mention that they actually sit in the right place on my face, which I am not used to). They do make me a little dizzy. Mr. Clooney was on the Oscars the other night. Jason Alexander was in a movie I watched over the weekend. Still don't know what it all means but it's funny to see how the brain works.

This is how a heart breaks

Have you ever felt so incredibly sad - like someone punched you in the gut? You fight to breath normally. The skin around your eyes stings from salt in your tears. This is my Saturday -- a beautiful, warm sunny blue-sky Colorado day. The hubbie and I went to the cabin to clear out the things we left for future visits. I took some pictures to remember everything about the place.

And I cried. A lot.

I recall crying like this only a couple of times in my life. Once it was at my Grandpa's funeral. I feel like he has died again. My heart races, my breath squeezed out of me. I have to say goodbye to this place and it's so incredibly hard.

On my final way out the door, I grab a wooden sign with the family name on it. There's four of these - one inside, one hanging outside by the driveway, and two at the dirt road intersections leading up to the place. This is the one I can bear to remove. Taking one of the others down is too painful. I will save this sign for the day when we can get our own place like this.

The air is crisp. The sun warm on my wet cheeks. The stiff breeze musically wind through the pine trees.

This is how a heart breaks.

It's gone

There are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I think I’ll save some time and hit them all at once.

The family cabin is gone. Grandma rushed ahead and put it up for sale, even after the hubbie and I offered to take it over. It was gone in a day for more than what she asked for and definitely more than what we could have afforded. She’s never seemed to me to be someone so concerned about money and certainly didn’t need to be.

We are upset that we weren’t part of the discussion. I know I am not alone in this. My parents weren’t even in on the decision. My dad’s name is on the trust. He had to sign papers for the sale against his choice. This was supposed to be for all of us.

I know I am an incredibly sentimental person. This was one of the last places where my grandpa was still around. My grandparents bought the place in 1993. He died from cancer in 1995. The time in between, he spent hours rebuilding the place, making it a year-round family retreat. My grandpa’s spirit is there.

Now it’s sold.

Maybe it was better I didn’t know this when we were there before Valentine’s Day. I would have just been sad and not enjoyed the serenity, the peacefulness. There are things we have to pick up that we left there for our future visits. I will probably run up this weekend just to get it done with. The longer I wait, the harder it will be.

Acceptance is the light at the end of the tunnel. But in the meantime, I have four tough steps to get through.

You say Turin, I say Torino

I had Olympic aspirations. I was the roller skate queen of Arapahoe drive. Decked out in torn knee jeans and giant fuzzy bell pom-poms, I faithly hit my blacktop driveway whenever it was clear of snow. I skated my heart out to Abba's "The Winner Takes It All" or Neil Diamond's "America". I got my inspiration from ice skaters. Hey, I can do that triple twirl, toe-picking sowcow (not likely spelled that way and having nothing to do with farm animals). I flung myself into the air believing I was achieving that exact step. Nevermind my toe pick was actually a bright red stopper and my blades were actually wheels.

I was going for the gold.

Unfortunately, roller skating never became an Olympic sport. Eventually the white roller skates wore out. The fluffy pompoms disappeared. Abba and Neil Diamond were replaced with New Wave. Time on the blacktop turned into time somewhere else.

As I tune into the 2006 Winter Olympics, I watch the ice skaters and know somewhere inside the roller queen skates on.

Wobbly bits

I think that phrase may have come from “Bridget Jones Diary.” It’s been wobbling around in my head lately. For almost a year, I've been obsessed with my wobbly bits – more so then the usual. In March 2006, I was diagnosed with high-blood pressure, pre-diabetes, and poly-cystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS). I weighed in at my all time high of 235 pounds. I had joint pain and fatigue. I was winded walking across the campus where I teach. I don't know how it happened but gradually since college I had been moving less and eating not too bad, but not too good either. Coupled with the PCOS, which causes the weight gain, blood pressure, and blood sugar issues, I was losing the battle of the bulge.

Tired of feeling tired, I knew I needed to do something. I walked into a nearby commercial diet center and said, "what do I have to do to get started." The answer: a really, really strict diet, and a good chunk of money. In fact, it’s a paid version of an eating disorder. Okay, maybe that’s too harsh. But the program has a single sheet of paper listing what I can eat and when. No fruit after 6pm. Beef, cottage cheese and canned tuna can only be eaten every other day (a day between each item). I picked the program because it was advertised that is allows "real food." Yes, it does. But it's a very short list of real food. In addition, you buy "nutritional supplements" to fill in the gaps of the very short list. That’s where a lot of the program cost lies.

The program also doesn’t include exercise. It’s okay -- but they warn you it might slow your weight loss. (??!) This is true as muscle weighs more than fat. However, my goal wasn’t to just drop 90 pounds, it was also to be in better shape over all. So I also signed up with a personal trainer class at the rec center that is three blocks from my house.

At the time I started the diet program, I also started taking Metformin (a diabetes medicine) to treat the PCOS. The idea was to get to four pills a day, which was supposed to completely reverse the condition. My body really argued about the meds. I think much of my initial weight loss was more from the side effects of the meds, then the diet itself. I also went through Costco-sized bottles of pepto-bismol. I never could get past two pills in a day and finally ditched them mid-September. Some of the other treatments for the disease include diet and exercise. So I decided to stick to that route.

I lost about 50 lbs so far but hit that weight in October. Since then I have fluctuated a couple of pounds up and down but have really stayed in one place. This has been particularly frustrating. The diet center's answer is to take more of their pill supplements. Right now I take a multi-vitamin but draw the line at all the other stuff. I have similar reactions to supplements as I do to the Metformin.

One of the good things about this plan is that it is balanced. It doesn’t throw out entire food groups. I argue some are pretty limited but it has protein/starch/fruit/veggies. But I’ve also grown tired of the limited, bleak list of food and occasionally have added a few things in here and there. I know this has slowed down the weight loss but this is real life. I have learned about portions and calories. In fact, most of my “cheats” are things most people wouldn’t consider being a diet cheat. Carrots, for example, aren't allowed. Neither are bananas. Yes, these things will be "allowed" back when I hit the maintenance phase. But they have too much sugar for now. I also eat an occasional Hershey's kiss. Like I said, this is real life.

I’ve also recognized that stress plays a big part in your weight. A very busy life leads to food on the run and cooking what is easy. For me, that was refrigerated tortellini pasta. But I would eat the whole box myself with butter. Granted that was dinner after a day of maybe eggs and one other item. I wasn’t eating enough and what I was eating was storing itself and contributing to my insulin issues. It was comfort food - calming in the storm. I’ve learned that I can eat this stuff – but in balance and in portions. There's also other ways of calming stress.

Slowing down and eating away from the computer or TV has also helped. I have a hard time sitting and eating without doing something else. But watching a netflix blockbuster, I could eat a whole Chipotle burrito without noticing and then wonder why I felt like I was going to burst. Luckliy, I’ve discovered another obsession of mine (Sudoku) is something that slows me down. It works my brain and lets me eat slower. When you eat slower, you recognize when you are full. It also helps you enjoy the food more. Sometimes just a couple of bites of something you love can satisfy you just as much as eating the whole thing.

Cravings have been strange though. Last summer I craved Cheetos (the crunchy kind). This isn’t something I normally ate but I was obsessed with “cheatos”. If someone had a bag of them, I was a goner. Now I really crave one of those cheesy bites pizzas. They say cravings mean that you are missing something needed in your diet. I don’t think I am missing pepperoni but perhaps the calcium in the cheese. My diet doesn’t allow much dairy – 4 oz milk a day and 5 oz cottage cheese three times a week.

I work at home which has been both good and bad for the diet. It’s been good because I am not tempted by donuts/bagels/birthday cake and other goodies brought in by coworkers. I can make my meals fresh. The bad is that the kitchen is just down the hall from my office. I have to be sure not to have anything bad on hand.

Working at home, I keep the TV on the Travel Channel or HGTV. I see a lot of weight loss commercials. The common theme is “find the real you.” The real yous of all these folks are size sixes. I started at a size 20/22 and thought that 16 sounded pretty good. I wanted to be a size that I could walk into any store I liked and find something that fit. I wanted to fit into a "Large" so I could pick up cheap deals at Costco. I am now a size 14 ... petite. Ends up the round butt kept normal length pants and skirts higher off the ground. It's funny being considered petite but still being about 30-40 pounds of where I should be on the charts.

So while I am frustrated I’ve not lost the 90 pounds originally planned by the diet center, I have to look at the fact that I have lost 50 pounds. My blood pressure and blood sugar are back to a healthy normal. I can run around, even at 14,000 feet, and be able to breath, without my heart beating out of my chest. I can find things that fit on the clearance rack at Target and on the tables at Costco, as well as all my favorite stores.

I still have some wobbly bits. I started Jazzercise classes again (after a six year hiatus following my traumatic divorce). I would like to smooth out some of those bits (like my “belly butt” that appears with lower waist pants) but have decided that curves are pretty cool. I didn't lose the boobs, although now they’re a little lower without my belly holding them up.

I will continue the program as planned. At the same time, I will try to lighten up on myself. It's not a failure since I've accomplished all the goals but the actual number on the scale. And that’s a pretty cool thing.

Bridge over troubled water

Found this while randomly surfing blogs:

http://www.thisdayinmusic.com/member/birthdayno1.php

The number one song when I was born was Simon & Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water." (Okay ... water ... I am a pisces. Does this has some deeper meaning??)

When I turned 18, it was Rick Astley "Never Gonna Give You Up."

Somehow I always thought my life's theme song would be the theme from Fame.

The groundhog and the power of two

Man, that groundhog wasn’t kidding. Every February 2, when the little rodent sees his shadow, I think Duh! There are six more weeks of winter no matter how you look at it. Spring starts on March 20, 2006, at precisely 1:26 P.M. EST. That’s six weeks from February 2.

In my neck of the woods, this time of year is when the snow really starts to fall. The mountains have been walloped this year with tons of snow but down here in the front range, not so much. Our winter has been mostly wind. Lots and lots of wind. And some more wind. Did I mention the wind?

Saturday we had snow and some record low cold. It's -2 as I get ready for my 10:30 Jazzercise class. On goes my athletic socks, yoga pants and tank top. Then a warm up shirt that has long sleeves with thumb holes in the end. I top that off with a pair of sweat pants and wool socks. I add a fleece jacket. When it gets this cold, you start wearing two of everything: two gloves, two coats, two pants ... two nostrils frozen together.

When I am all bundled up to go, I feel like the “Christmas Story” kid. I also know why Minnesotans say “Uff Da.” It’s the sound you inadvertently make when you try to move around in this cold weather body armor.

Later as I am bundled into my cozy little house, I watch the cats lick the ice on the insides of the windows. I wonder if their tongues will get stuck to the metal. It’s “two” dang cold. Yet I know in a couple of months, it will be too dang hot.

Fun with Kennel Cough, plastic splinters, and large quantities of dish soap

I should just give up. I will never have a normal, easy life. Whenever I take some time off, something happens (usually some kind of damage to my house while I am away). We took a quiet weekend away for the two of us. Sarah-dog and Flounder went to Camp Bow Wow. When I made the reservations a couple of weeks ago, they told me their Bordatella vaccine was due and that we should probably get it beforehand since they had some kennel cough going around.

So the pups headed to vet two weeks ago for their shot.

Well, it ends up getting a Bordatella shot is a little like a flu shot. It’s going to protect the pups but not 100%. Apparently this is a more aggressive strain at CBW. Both girls are coughing and snorting. Sarah-dog thinks she needs to go outside every time she coughs and then seconds later scratches to come back in. It's made for a not-so-productive work day.

So to vet we go. I’ve now got some $60 worth of antibiotics (which are the plain old nasty tasting capsule not a nice, easy to administer beef flavored pill) and another $80 for the vet to see the pups and tell me they likely have kennel cough. I talked them out of the $140 worth of “cough suppressant” instead picking up a $7 bottle of Robitussin DM (which is okay for the pups). (I like the vet that we see but I’m beginning to think it’s awfully pricey.) Except I forgot to get a syringe (like for babies). The pups aren’t going to drink the Robitussin out of the little cup. I picked up a baby medicine syringe. What expressions on their puppy faces when I shoot a teaspoon of Robitussin down their throats. Getting the antibiotic pills into Sarah is pretty easy – she’s pretty docile. Flounder, who normally will eat anything that flies in the air, is clamping her mouth shut and tried to bite my head off. Not a happy camper. I tried rolling the pill in bread.–First one went in. Then as I gave her the second, the first one flew back out of her mouth. %#&^#%!! The blasted pills are so big, they're hard to hide inside something.

The good news is that now they’ve gotten this, they should be more immune to it in the future.

But a warning to those of you out there that board or take your dogs to the dog park or doggie daycare, the shot doesn’t make them immune right away (and doesn’t make them 100% immune). And when the doggie daycare tells you that they're having some kennel cough problems, heed that as a warning and you should probably make other arrangements. At least be sure they are updated on their vaccine – apparently the nasal version kicks in quicker than the shot (which I didn’t know before). The shot can take a couple of weeks. The nasal mist – a couple of days.

So my big babies will now have to endure some quiet time to get over their doggie colds. And I get to play traffic cop everytime they go outside to keep them from kissing their boyfriends Drake and Moby.

Not sure my week could go much worse but the day also included fun with a dozen plastic splinters in my hand (from a plastic rope holding my hanging chair), and fun with a Costco-sized bottle of dishsoap that has a mysterious leak and left about an inch deep sludge of soap in my cabinet. It’s soap, so should be easy to rinse off, Right? Well, not in large quantities. There were so many bubbles that later when I went to bed, there were bubbles coming out of the downstairs toilet. Yeah, shades of Amityville Horror —but am thinking it’s more of the minor day-to-day terror of everyday life.