So, Son has his car. He's head over heels for the thing. Drama Queen has been out of town for a couple of weeks, while all this is going on. He sent her a picture of it, but she's not impressed. Her only question:
Does it have side-curtain airbags?
I about laughed myself unconscious.
All weekend, I've been asking Son if he's told her that he got it. "No," he says, sheepishly. Finally, yesterday, he says he told her.
"Must have gone well," I said. "I didn't see a mushroom cloud."
He shot a look at me. "Oh, I missed the mushroom cloud," I said.
"I'm still waiting for it," he said. "I waited until she was on her way back home, so she'd be in a good mood."
So, he actually plotted this out.
"I don't know if that helped," he said. "After I told her, all her texts back to me were one-word messages."
I grimaced. So did he. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I'm waiting for the fallout."
I had an image in my head of Drama Queen seeing the car for the first time. Arms folded. Frown in place. Disapproving. Taking the fun out of it for him.
"Listen, Son. You should enjoy this. Don't let her put a damper on it. And no matter what, don't allow her to make you sell it. Even if you marry her. This is how I look at that. I hate it when women marry a man, then expect him to change what he loves because she doesn't like it. She married him knowing about his cars, motorcycles, hobbies....all that. To make him dump it after you're married isn't fair. You work together and compromise, but you don't demand that it goes away."
He considered this. "I think you're right. As long as it doesn't take time away from your relationship, you can work together to make both people happy."
I gave him the example of my Ex loving to fly r/c planes. "I married your dad knowing he loved to go fly those things. I could have demanded he get rid of them and spend the time with me, but all I'd do is be taking away a little of his joy. Instead, he'd fly part of a Saturday and spend time with me the rest. It works."
She's back in town now. Keep your fingers crossed for him. I have a feeling her reaction will test the limits of the things I tolerate well.
I also had to tolerate an irate email from my Ex. I think Daughter told him about the car because Son doesn't speak to him anymore (long story, for another time). Ex said: "I want to go on record as saying I'm completely against Son getting this car. With his behavior, he doesn't deserve it. He should earn such a thing. You are only rewarding his bad behavior."
Uhm, no. He is earning it. He worked out payments to his grandpa. He's cut his hair and is getting a job. If he doesn't pay for it, then grandpa sells it. The price he paid for it is equal to the value of the engine alone.
So, I replied to Ex's declaration with one word: "Okay." Think he could hear the shrug in email?
Unfortunately, I'm having to tolerate more of something else well. I learned how to do this when I was about 15 years old. I had a lot of pain, and no one could figure out why. One doctor told me I was making it up for attention. I cried my way out of his office. Finally, someone noticed something on a past blood test. Ah-ha!
I'd had my appendix out months before. Turns out, I didn't need it out. I had Rheumatic Fever, and it mimicked the symptoms. It left me with a little gift. I had Junior Rheumatoid Arthritis.
I learned to tolerate a lot of pain for a long time. I put pipe insulation around pens and pencils, to do my homework. I had to stop horseback riding. I pushed through orchestra by doing paraffin baths on my hands every night. I watched my body change with the effects of steroids. It went into remission when I was 19, but my knee still hurts when the weather changes or I bump it just so.
Now, in recent weeks, I'm worried. I'm in pain. A lot of pain. All the time. Head-to-toe aches. It started with the migraine, the one that lasted for weeks. Now, the head feels okay most days, but everything else hurts. I refuse to stay on the morphine. I can't live like that. The doctor thinks it's tension-related, but she hasn't run blood tests and scans yet.
I'm almost afraid for that, but I'm being pushed to the wall by this. I'm really, really tired of feeling bad. It's not me. It's not how I want to live my life. Life is too short to spend it sitting and hurting or whacked out on pain medication. I don't like feeling like an invalid, or having others look at me that way.
I guess I'm a little scared. I keep telling myself the thing that's become my mantra -- this too shall pass.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
First cars
I remember when I got my driver's license. I was 17 and not particularly in a hurry to get it. I'm not sure why, but that was just me. Not particularly in a hurry, which is probably why it took about 24 hours for me to be born in the first place.Anyhow, my dad had a friend who had restored an old VW Beetle convertible. Candy apple red with a white top. Kinda like the pic here. And he'd let it go to me cheap. Oooooh, I wanted that car.
Then a friend of mine was killed by a drunk driver who rolled over the top of her VW convertible. No Beetle for me. I got a 1984 Oldsmobile Firenza.
They don't even make these things anymore. It was a really durable car. I actually wrecked it a month later, hitting the "watch out for the median" sign. That's when I learned dogs go in the back seat.... I got it fixed and drove it throughout high school and college. When I got married, my now-ex wanted to get rid of it. Made him crazy that I kept cars for more than a year or two. We drove that car until the third alternator replacement happened, and so did the first child.
Like me, my son hasn't shown a particular interest in getting his license. He's nearly 18. I've taken him out to the back roads to practice, and so has my dad. He thinks it's fun, but he's not particularly motivated. Not particularly motivated to have a job, either....
Remember this gem from him? "A car is just another girlfriend to drain my money."
Guess what? He just might be about to have that other girlfriend.
We were at a car show for Father's Day. All the kids, my sister, me, Ranger, and my dad. Son and my sister's oldest head off on their own. Soon, I get a frantic call.
"I think I found my first car." Yes, indeed. Love at first sight.
And it looks somewhat like this.
The blue is a little darker and shinier than this picture, but there you have it. A 1968 Ford Thunderbird. The thing would have hit the lot in 1967 about the time my parents were planning their wedding, and I was but a glimmer in their eyes.The one my son was standing in front of still needs work. My son had the flyer in his hand, though. It had a list of all that had been updated on it, and the price of $3,500. NOW, the boy is motivated.
He still carried the flyer in his hand as we went to his doctor's appointments yesterday. His therapist even heard about it. Back at home, he was still rattling on about it. He was formulating a plan.
He'd get a job. He even knew where. "I need a haircut before I go looking for a job," he said. You coulda knocked me over, hearing that. Cut his hair?? Dang, he wants this car.
"It's a powerful engine," he said. "But you don't want to drive a car that old too fast, or something will break." Come again?
"Grandpa said his uncle works on Thunderbirds all the time," he said. "Maybe we can take a trip down there and he can show me how to work on it." No kidding? Hmm.
He asked me to look up how much the insurance would be. To add Son to my insurance more than doubles my premium each 6 months. I pay $450 every six months. He would add $540 to that. If I add him and a 1968 Thunderbird, it's $604 more every six months. Go figure.
The lady with my insurance company asked if it was a 2-door or 4-door. "Two-door," I said.
She laughed. "So the doors go on for like a mile, right?" Yes, exactly!
So, Grandpa gets home and Son wisely lets him settle into his comfy chair before rattling at him. But rattle he eventually did.
They have an appointment to drive the car tonight, after work.
Grandpa contacted the owner, who is actually only the second owner. He bought it three years ago and started updating the engine and giving the car a thorough cleaning. He wanted to put the engine in a hot rod he intended to build, but never did. Before that, it sat in a warehouse for ten years after the original owner died. It has 120,000 miles on it.
The upholstery has two small tears in the front seat. Back seat is perfect. Air conditioning and heat don't work. Power steering, power brakes, power driver's seat.
Hear that sound? That's the "drain for my money" opening for dear Son.
Drama Queen hates it.
But Son is absolutely in love. And actually motivated towards something, which is good to see.
Monday, June 15, 2009
One big pain....
....in the head.
Literally. A migraine.
A week ago last Saturday, Daughter and I were getting ready to go out shopping. My head was starting to ache, so I took a couple of Excedrin and out we went. I thought maybe the headache was starting because I hadn't eaten yet, so we grabbed some lunch. A couple of hours later, the pain was getting worse, so I took a couple of ibuprofen.
Daughter has a clothing allowance now. She's been saving it to have a good chunk of change to shop with, but she knows that's all she gets. She budgeted her money wisely, made good purchasing decisions, and still have some dough left over. Good girl. Her personal style is emerging, too, and I'm glad to see she has a sophisticated edge that I didn't gain until much older than she is. Again, good girl.
So, we get home, and I start getting ready for Date Night. The one night a week when Ranger and I can go out without anyone bugging us. Unless it's an emergency. The headache was still there, so I popped a couple more Excedrin before leaving.
It only got worse. Ranger and I went to dinner. I took more ibuprofen. Ranger worried over me. He gave me something soft to relax in, put on one of my favorite shows, an darkened the room. He pet my head and let me rest quietly. By the time I headed home at midnight, I'd had two Aleve and no relief.
I woke Sunday to pain. "You have something wrong with you every Sunday," Mom said. Thanks. I'd just been dismissed. Everyone else left for church, and I curled up in a darkened room.
When 10:00 AM came along with nausea, I'd had enough. Only twice before had a headache gotten this bad for me. Each time, I ended up in the emergency room, begging for a shot of Demerol. It was time. I called Ranger, and he drove me to the Urgent Care place that shares my doctor's office.
I kept my sunglasses on the whole time. Even the dimmed room wasn't dim enough. The doctor went over my history and examined me. Yep, I had a migraine. The trouble was that only the hospitals carried Demerol now. These little places were afraid to keep the big-time narcotics on hand because it made them a target for robberies. So, they wanted to try the little guns first. I got two shots, one of Phergan for nausea and one of Toradol for pain.
Twenty minutes later, no one was surprised that I was still hurting.
The strongest thing they had was something called Nubain, a "low-level narcotic." I got another shot, with this medicine and more Phenergan in it. Twenty minutes later, the pain was dulled. Not gone, but close. Keep in mind, Phenergan is the stuff that knocked SC on his ass, the first weekend we met. So, they released me into Ranger's capable hands, and sent me on my drug-induced-merry-way.
I tried to sit on the couch with Ranger at home, but the sleepiness took over. He helped me up the stairs, kissed me goodbye, and went home. I tucked myself into bed and stayed unaware until the next morning. I woke up long enough to leave a voicemail for my boss, explaining that I'd been to the Urgent Care place and would be out of it for a day or two.
While I was awake, I noticed something disturbing. I still had the headache. Not as bad, but still there.
Now, since the last post, my household has changed. My sister has arrived with her kids and dog. All three ADHD kids, ages 7, 11, and 13. While trying to sleep on Monday, I realized something. My sister is a loud person. I mean, LOUD. Louder than the five kids and two dogs running around the house. And Rock Band is a LOUD game.
Ugh. No one really surprised that the headache was back on Tuesday. I called the doctor.
My doctor wasn't in, but her partner was. Ranger took me again. I told this doctor all about the past migraines and how this one was different, in that it didn't go away with the narcotic shot. She checked me out and decided I had a sinus infection. She prescribed Phenergan for the nausea, Azythromycin for the infection, Claritin for the sinuses, and Vicodin for the pain.
Vicodin didn't touch the pain. On Wednesday, about noon, the nausea overpowered the Phenergan. Eight bouts with the porcelain altar, and Ranger put me back in the car for another trip to Urgent Care.
A different doctor frowned at the sinus infection diagnosis. She scolded me for sleeping through two doses of insulin (like I did it on purpose). She said I needed to see my doctor (who I already had an appointment to see on Friday for my diabetes) and get on a migraine preventative. She gave me another shot of Phenergan and a bigger shot of Nubain.
I was LOOPED.
Imagine my surprise when I woke the next day to an even bigger headache. But no more worshiping at the altar, so there was something to be happy about. My sister took the kids to the mall. Another thing to be happy about, until my big white dog came and sat on me. I think she was worried, too.
I had to deal with reality for a little while, though. Thursday morning, I showered and dressed in business clothes. The college president was meeting with my department that morning. We didn't know what he was going to say, but it was going to be about the budget. I had to be there to hear it myself.
I explained to my boss that this was all I was showing up for. Everyone commented on how pale I was. I wanted to lay down in the floor and squeeze my skull, but I kept my composure. At least, I think I did and no one is looking at me funny, so I think I did okay....
They had scones at the meeting. My stomach liked those, so I swiped two. Let's hear it for large purses!
Then, I went home and collapsed. I kept trying the Vicodin, thinking that even if the headache was bad, it could be worse.
Friday morning, Ranger took me to my regular doctor. I told her the whole story. When I got to Wednesday, she said, "OH MY GOD!" She looked. She agreed that the sinus thing needed to be treated first. However, she wanted me to get some relief from the pain. "It's hard to get ahead of it when you can't get a break from it," she said. Agreed.
So, she wanted me out for the weekend. Flat-on-my-ass out. "Don't take the Vicodin with this," she said. "Or you'll do a Heath Ledger and not wake up." She handed me the prescription.
Morphine.
I had dinner with Ranger early. Then, I prepared to be out cold all weekend. I made everyone aware that I would be out cold. I stocked my room fridge with Jell-O, string cheese, and ginger ale. Then, I took my first dose.
The weekend is a little blurry. But not as blurry as I'd hoped.
I remember my mother whistling incessantly. I remember my sister hollering all the time. I remember the front door slamming and slamming, until I shouted downstairs for it to stop. Then, it became hollers of "Don't slam the door!" every time a child went in or out.
And I remember my dear, sweet nephew. He's the middle child. He has some serious psychiatric problems, and I worry for him. But I'm Favorite Aunt in his book. He sends me video texts, and texts, and picture texts all the time. And this time, he wrote me a note. It says, "I'm wrighting this for you especially. I hope you get better soon. I also love you very much. You are the one I'll miss the most, and that's a secret between us." The back of the note is covered with "I love you!"
I didn't know that his frequent visits to me were being reported back to Ranger. My nephew texted him all weekend, with updates on how I was feeling. He was a good little soldier all weekend!
I also remember my niece. Standing in the doorway to my room. With the neighbor girls. Staring at me.
"Hello?" I'd say to her.
"Hi," she'd say. "I just thought you'd want to say hello to the neighbors."
I was asleep under a thin quilt with skimpy pj's because it was hot in my room. My hair hadn't been brushed recently. "Uhm...no, thank you," I said, making sure the blanket covered me. The little girls ran off, until it was time to stare and the drugged lady again.
The headache never went away. I took the Morphine as prescribed, every six hours. Sunday afternoon, I thought my head was about to split open.
I woke at 3:00 AM today, without pain. I went back to sleep for three hours. Took a shower. The pain was hovering in the background, but I avoided the drugs. I called and updated the doctor. Since it's not completely gone, I'll see her again this week. I've finished the antibiotics. So now, we wait.
I'm not good at waiting. Ranger is worried. We'll see how this goes the rest of the week.
Literally. A migraine.
A week ago last Saturday, Daughter and I were getting ready to go out shopping. My head was starting to ache, so I took a couple of Excedrin and out we went. I thought maybe the headache was starting because I hadn't eaten yet, so we grabbed some lunch. A couple of hours later, the pain was getting worse, so I took a couple of ibuprofen.
Daughter has a clothing allowance now. She's been saving it to have a good chunk of change to shop with, but she knows that's all she gets. She budgeted her money wisely, made good purchasing decisions, and still have some dough left over. Good girl. Her personal style is emerging, too, and I'm glad to see she has a sophisticated edge that I didn't gain until much older than she is. Again, good girl.
So, we get home, and I start getting ready for Date Night. The one night a week when Ranger and I can go out without anyone bugging us. Unless it's an emergency. The headache was still there, so I popped a couple more Excedrin before leaving.
It only got worse. Ranger and I went to dinner. I took more ibuprofen. Ranger worried over me. He gave me something soft to relax in, put on one of my favorite shows, an darkened the room. He pet my head and let me rest quietly. By the time I headed home at midnight, I'd had two Aleve and no relief.
I woke Sunday to pain. "You have something wrong with you every Sunday," Mom said. Thanks. I'd just been dismissed. Everyone else left for church, and I curled up in a darkened room.
When 10:00 AM came along with nausea, I'd had enough. Only twice before had a headache gotten this bad for me. Each time, I ended up in the emergency room, begging for a shot of Demerol. It was time. I called Ranger, and he drove me to the Urgent Care place that shares my doctor's office.
I kept my sunglasses on the whole time. Even the dimmed room wasn't dim enough. The doctor went over my history and examined me. Yep, I had a migraine. The trouble was that only the hospitals carried Demerol now. These little places were afraid to keep the big-time narcotics on hand because it made them a target for robberies. So, they wanted to try the little guns first. I got two shots, one of Phergan for nausea and one of Toradol for pain.
Twenty minutes later, no one was surprised that I was still hurting.
The strongest thing they had was something called Nubain, a "low-level narcotic." I got another shot, with this medicine and more Phenergan in it. Twenty minutes later, the pain was dulled. Not gone, but close. Keep in mind, Phenergan is the stuff that knocked SC on his ass, the first weekend we met. So, they released me into Ranger's capable hands, and sent me on my drug-induced-merry-way.
I tried to sit on the couch with Ranger at home, but the sleepiness took over. He helped me up the stairs, kissed me goodbye, and went home. I tucked myself into bed and stayed unaware until the next morning. I woke up long enough to leave a voicemail for my boss, explaining that I'd been to the Urgent Care place and would be out of it for a day or two.
While I was awake, I noticed something disturbing. I still had the headache. Not as bad, but still there.
Now, since the last post, my household has changed. My sister has arrived with her kids and dog. All three ADHD kids, ages 7, 11, and 13. While trying to sleep on Monday, I realized something. My sister is a loud person. I mean, LOUD. Louder than the five kids and two dogs running around the house. And Rock Band is a LOUD game.
Ugh. No one really surprised that the headache was back on Tuesday. I called the doctor.
My doctor wasn't in, but her partner was. Ranger took me again. I told this doctor all about the past migraines and how this one was different, in that it didn't go away with the narcotic shot. She checked me out and decided I had a sinus infection. She prescribed Phenergan for the nausea, Azythromycin for the infection, Claritin for the sinuses, and Vicodin for the pain.
Vicodin didn't touch the pain. On Wednesday, about noon, the nausea overpowered the Phenergan. Eight bouts with the porcelain altar, and Ranger put me back in the car for another trip to Urgent Care.
A different doctor frowned at the sinus infection diagnosis. She scolded me for sleeping through two doses of insulin (like I did it on purpose). She said I needed to see my doctor (who I already had an appointment to see on Friday for my diabetes) and get on a migraine preventative. She gave me another shot of Phenergan and a bigger shot of Nubain.
I was LOOPED.
Imagine my surprise when I woke the next day to an even bigger headache. But no more worshiping at the altar, so there was something to be happy about. My sister took the kids to the mall. Another thing to be happy about, until my big white dog came and sat on me. I think she was worried, too.
I had to deal with reality for a little while, though. Thursday morning, I showered and dressed in business clothes. The college president was meeting with my department that morning. We didn't know what he was going to say, but it was going to be about the budget. I had to be there to hear it myself.
I explained to my boss that this was all I was showing up for. Everyone commented on how pale I was. I wanted to lay down in the floor and squeeze my skull, but I kept my composure. At least, I think I did and no one is looking at me funny, so I think I did okay....
They had scones at the meeting. My stomach liked those, so I swiped two. Let's hear it for large purses!
Then, I went home and collapsed. I kept trying the Vicodin, thinking that even if the headache was bad, it could be worse.
Friday morning, Ranger took me to my regular doctor. I told her the whole story. When I got to Wednesday, she said, "OH MY GOD!" She looked. She agreed that the sinus thing needed to be treated first. However, she wanted me to get some relief from the pain. "It's hard to get ahead of it when you can't get a break from it," she said. Agreed.
So, she wanted me out for the weekend. Flat-on-my-ass out. "Don't take the Vicodin with this," she said. "Or you'll do a Heath Ledger and not wake up." She handed me the prescription.
Morphine.
I had dinner with Ranger early. Then, I prepared to be out cold all weekend. I made everyone aware that I would be out cold. I stocked my room fridge with Jell-O, string cheese, and ginger ale. Then, I took my first dose.
The weekend is a little blurry. But not as blurry as I'd hoped.
I remember my mother whistling incessantly. I remember my sister hollering all the time. I remember the front door slamming and slamming, until I shouted downstairs for it to stop. Then, it became hollers of "Don't slam the door!" every time a child went in or out.
And I remember my dear, sweet nephew. He's the middle child. He has some serious psychiatric problems, and I worry for him. But I'm Favorite Aunt in his book. He sends me video texts, and texts, and picture texts all the time. And this time, he wrote me a note. It says, "I'm wrighting this for you especially. I hope you get better soon. I also love you very much. You are the one I'll miss the most, and that's a secret between us." The back of the note is covered with "I love you!"
I didn't know that his frequent visits to me were being reported back to Ranger. My nephew texted him all weekend, with updates on how I was feeling. He was a good little soldier all weekend!
I also remember my niece. Standing in the doorway to my room. With the neighbor girls. Staring at me.
"Hello?" I'd say to her.
"Hi," she'd say. "I just thought you'd want to say hello to the neighbors."
I was asleep under a thin quilt with skimpy pj's because it was hot in my room. My hair hadn't been brushed recently. "Uhm...no, thank you," I said, making sure the blanket covered me. The little girls ran off, until it was time to stare and the drugged lady again.
The headache never went away. I took the Morphine as prescribed, every six hours. Sunday afternoon, I thought my head was about to split open.
I woke at 3:00 AM today, without pain. I went back to sleep for three hours. Took a shower. The pain was hovering in the background, but I avoided the drugs. I called and updated the doctor. Since it's not completely gone, I'll see her again this week. I've finished the antibiotics. So now, we wait.
I'm not good at waiting. Ranger is worried. We'll see how this goes the rest of the week.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A touch of Reno
So I went to Reno a couple of weeks ago. This trip has been in the making since November, when I went to my usual conference (the one I suggested be named DILDO).
"We want you to come review our program," my friend from Reno said. Her two colleagues nodded. They listed four areas they needed experts in, to serve on the review committee. They picked me for one of the areas. As an expert.
An expert. Me. Ahem. World, Blogget is a expert.
I recommended another expert for them. A friend from Lubbock. One who actually witnessed the 10-drink night. Her name is Maria. She's actually damn good at what she does, so she was a good fit for this panel.
The ladies in Reno like to have fun. So, I packed business clothes and fun clothes. I had been told that we'd be business people by day, and party people at night. We were staying at Harrah's, which is a little lost on me because I'm not a gambler. Remember this conversation from Las Vegas?
"Have you gambled while you've been here?"
"Yes."
"How'd you do?"
"I lost a dollar."
"Hey! You're doing good!"
"No. I only bet a dollar. I've lost everything I wagered."
"oh."
Okay, so I had to try again in Reno. I wagered three dollars. And promptly lost it. Blogget is a bad gambler.
I was the first to arrive. I caught the hotel shuttle on a Sunday morning, and was the only passenger. The sweet driver gave me the nickel tour of the town as we headed to the hotel. "There's a good buffet. And if you want snacks and sodas, go to that liquor store. Watch your step when you get out - they'll run over you."
Yeah.
I checked in and wandered the hotel a bit. I signed up for Internet access and did some of the work I'd be missing over the following three days. I checked out the online course they gave me to review, and made notes.
The second person to arrive gave me a call as soon as she got in. "Let's get something to eat," she said. We headed to the hotel's 24-hour diner. Not a bad place, although we were challenged by a language barrier with the waitresses. We took a walk by the Truckee River and watched people reveling in the River Festival. We found a delightful bookstore. I peered into the windows of closed shops, looking for souvenirs to take home to my folks, the kids, and Ranger.
After I stepped away from one window, she said, "You have a shopping habit, don't you?"
I thought that was bitchy. Bitchiness noted, and I'd be watching my back.
On the way back to the hotel, we talked shop, about administrators and our other panel members. She didn't know Maria well. We're all members of the DILDO group, but Maria has only been to one conference. The other three of us are DILDO Board members. (Okay, so that cracks me up to a ridiculous degree. What can I say? I have an inappropriate sense of humor.)
And speaking of....I'd brought a little toy with me, since I was traveling sans kids. Thought I'd have a little phone fun, while I had a hotel room to myself. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men...but more on that later....
I waited up late for Maria that night. I was so glad to see her! We had much to talk about. When she checked in, they put her in the room next door to me. We went to the 24-hour diner, too.
Once in my room, I started to change into my pj's. Sitting on my bed, I contemplated the toy and the phone call, wondering if it was too late on the other end.... Then, I heard it.
The unique ringer of Maria's cell phone. Through the adjoining door between our rooms. I could hear everything in her room. I do mean everything.
I looked at my phone. I looked at my toy. And put it back in the suitcase. Damnit. So much for privacy.
Our agenda for the next couple of days was grueling. We interviewed everyone related to distance learning there. The only time the tables were turned was in the first breakfast meeting with the college's administrators. Provosts, vice provosts, deans...oh my!
The Provost comes up to me and says, "You're from Mesa? I'm not familiar with Arizona. Where is that?"
"In Colorado," I said, smiling. "Grand Junction."
"Oh! In the south!"
"No, in the west. Pretty much due west of Denver, just before you hit Utah."
Here's the funny thing about this conversation. I later learned he was from Colorado. WTF, right?
So, he sees me put salsa on my eggs. He laughs. "Oh! Salsa on eggs! That's a Colorado thing!"
"No," I winked. "It's a Texas thing."
I've rarely seen such a bewildered look.
After the breakfast meeting, the four panelists were left alone. The one I'd had lunch with the day before said, "I'm sorry! I don't know anything that the Dean said! I just kept thinking how much he looked like Bill Clinton!"
She was right. He really did. "Did you keep thinking of cigars?" I said, laughing.
She was shocked. So was the other one. Maria about fell out of her chair laughing. See, she gets my inappropriate sense of humor. But guess which two I didn't share my DILDO joke with last week?
On the second day, they took us to lunch at an Italian restaurant that's to die for. I mean it, folks. If you're in the Reno area, you have to go to Casale's Half-Way Club. It doesn't look like much, but it's FANTASTIC! Apparently, one of the student workers in the office is the grand-daughter of the owners, who started the place in 1937. The kind of place where the grandparents start making meatballs in the wee hours each morning, and the whole place is staffed with family. The student came to lunch with us. We met her grandma, who left the kitchen long enough to greet us. Her grandpa sat at the bar. Her cousin waited on us. Her brother did the dishes. The flavors were unbelievable. Really...don't miss this place!
Travel log over. But I wanna go back.
We worked hard. Interview upon interview got wearing. They picked my brain, and I picked theirs. Then, we had a few minutes to talk together and give our debrief of our findings. It would not be comprehensive, but the administration wanted an idea of what our official report would bring. As an instructional designer, I had a few tips and tweaks to recommend for their online courses. And I chastised their IT department like I chastise ours -- communicate, people! No excuse for not giving these ladies the tools they need to succeed, when you already have them in your back pocket.
We stayed up too late that night, not wanting to say goodbye to everyone. Maria and I went to the market/souvenir shop across the street. I picked out t-shirts while she perused the selection of liquor.
"Oh my! i haven't seen that stuff in years! Oh look! That's back-in-the-day...."
Ranger called. "What are you doing?"
"Maria is walking down an alcoholic memory lane."
"Oh, like Mickey's Wide Mouths?"
"Yes! There they are!" And they were.
We went back to the hotel with little bottles of wine and Kahlua Mudslides. Two hours later, the bottles were empty, we'd caught up on all the old gossip, and I was sleepy.
Maria and I gave them an extra morning, on the day we left. The other two left early, but Maria and I came to their offices for a couple of hours. I talked shop with the administrator and instructional designers, while Maria worked on the system itself.
Soon, one of the ladies came in dancing. Literally, dancing! "Maria talked to our programmer," she said. "And it was...lingo...lingo...lingo....and poof! Pretty reports! We have pretty reports!" More dancing.
They sent Maria and I lovely candles the next week, for giving them extra personal time with our expertness. Wow. I'm bowled over by all this.
However, we left without our compensation checks. Two weeks later, no check. This bugs me. It's a bureaucratic-red-tape kind of thing, but it's bugging me. Checks are nice things to get, even though I like the candle a lot.
"We want you to come review our program," my friend from Reno said. Her two colleagues nodded. They listed four areas they needed experts in, to serve on the review committee. They picked me for one of the areas. As an expert.
An expert. Me. Ahem. World, Blogget is a expert.
I recommended another expert for them. A friend from Lubbock. One who actually witnessed the 10-drink night. Her name is Maria. She's actually damn good at what she does, so she was a good fit for this panel.
The ladies in Reno like to have fun. So, I packed business clothes and fun clothes. I had been told that we'd be business people by day, and party people at night. We were staying at Harrah's, which is a little lost on me because I'm not a gambler. Remember this conversation from Las Vegas?
"Have you gambled while you've been here?"
"Yes."
"How'd you do?"
"I lost a dollar."
"Hey! You're doing good!"
"No. I only bet a dollar. I've lost everything I wagered."
"oh."
Okay, so I had to try again in Reno. I wagered three dollars. And promptly lost it. Blogget is a bad gambler.
I was the first to arrive. I caught the hotel shuttle on a Sunday morning, and was the only passenger. The sweet driver gave me the nickel tour of the town as we headed to the hotel. "There's a good buffet. And if you want snacks and sodas, go to that liquor store. Watch your step when you get out - they'll run over you."
Yeah.
I checked in and wandered the hotel a bit. I signed up for Internet access and did some of the work I'd be missing over the following three days. I checked out the online course they gave me to review, and made notes.
The second person to arrive gave me a call as soon as she got in. "Let's get something to eat," she said. We headed to the hotel's 24-hour diner. Not a bad place, although we were challenged by a language barrier with the waitresses. We took a walk by the Truckee River and watched people reveling in the River Festival. We found a delightful bookstore. I peered into the windows of closed shops, looking for souvenirs to take home to my folks, the kids, and Ranger.
After I stepped away from one window, she said, "You have a shopping habit, don't you?"
I thought that was bitchy. Bitchiness noted, and I'd be watching my back.
On the way back to the hotel, we talked shop, about administrators and our other panel members. She didn't know Maria well. We're all members of the DILDO group, but Maria has only been to one conference. The other three of us are DILDO Board members. (Okay, so that cracks me up to a ridiculous degree. What can I say? I have an inappropriate sense of humor.)
And speaking of....I'd brought a little toy with me, since I was traveling sans kids. Thought I'd have a little phone fun, while I had a hotel room to myself. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men...but more on that later....
I waited up late for Maria that night. I was so glad to see her! We had much to talk about. When she checked in, they put her in the room next door to me. We went to the 24-hour diner, too.
Once in my room, I started to change into my pj's. Sitting on my bed, I contemplated the toy and the phone call, wondering if it was too late on the other end.... Then, I heard it.
The unique ringer of Maria's cell phone. Through the adjoining door between our rooms. I could hear everything in her room. I do mean everything.
I looked at my phone. I looked at my toy. And put it back in the suitcase. Damnit. So much for privacy.
Our agenda for the next couple of days was grueling. We interviewed everyone related to distance learning there. The only time the tables were turned was in the first breakfast meeting with the college's administrators. Provosts, vice provosts, deans...oh my!
The Provost comes up to me and says, "You're from Mesa? I'm not familiar with Arizona. Where is that?"
"In Colorado," I said, smiling. "Grand Junction."
"Oh! In the south!"
"No, in the west. Pretty much due west of Denver, just before you hit Utah."
Here's the funny thing about this conversation. I later learned he was from Colorado. WTF, right?
So, he sees me put salsa on my eggs. He laughs. "Oh! Salsa on eggs! That's a Colorado thing!"
"No," I winked. "It's a Texas thing."
I've rarely seen such a bewildered look.
After the breakfast meeting, the four panelists were left alone. The one I'd had lunch with the day before said, "I'm sorry! I don't know anything that the Dean said! I just kept thinking how much he looked like Bill Clinton!"
She was right. He really did. "Did you keep thinking of cigars?" I said, laughing.
She was shocked. So was the other one. Maria about fell out of her chair laughing. See, she gets my inappropriate sense of humor. But guess which two I didn't share my DILDO joke with last week?
On the second day, they took us to lunch at an Italian restaurant that's to die for. I mean it, folks. If you're in the Reno area, you have to go to Casale's Half-Way Club. It doesn't look like much, but it's FANTASTIC! Apparently, one of the student workers in the office is the grand-daughter of the owners, who started the place in 1937. The kind of place where the grandparents start making meatballs in the wee hours each morning, and the whole place is staffed with family. The student came to lunch with us. We met her grandma, who left the kitchen long enough to greet us. Her grandpa sat at the bar. Her cousin waited on us. Her brother did the dishes. The flavors were unbelievable. Really...don't miss this place!
Travel log over. But I wanna go back.
We worked hard. Interview upon interview got wearing. They picked my brain, and I picked theirs. Then, we had a few minutes to talk together and give our debrief of our findings. It would not be comprehensive, but the administration wanted an idea of what our official report would bring. As an instructional designer, I had a few tips and tweaks to recommend for their online courses. And I chastised their IT department like I chastise ours -- communicate, people! No excuse for not giving these ladies the tools they need to succeed, when you already have them in your back pocket.
We stayed up too late that night, not wanting to say goodbye to everyone. Maria and I went to the market/souvenir shop across the street. I picked out t-shirts while she perused the selection of liquor.
"Oh my! i haven't seen that stuff in years! Oh look! That's back-in-the-day...."
Ranger called. "What are you doing?"
"Maria is walking down an alcoholic memory lane."
"Oh, like Mickey's Wide Mouths?"
"Yes! There they are!" And they were.
We went back to the hotel with little bottles of wine and Kahlua Mudslides. Two hours later, the bottles were empty, we'd caught up on all the old gossip, and I was sleepy.
Maria and I gave them an extra morning, on the day we left. The other two left early, but Maria and I came to their offices for a couple of hours. I talked shop with the administrator and instructional designers, while Maria worked on the system itself.
Soon, one of the ladies came in dancing. Literally, dancing! "Maria talked to our programmer," she said. "And it was...lingo...lingo...lingo....and poof! Pretty reports! We have pretty reports!" More dancing.
They sent Maria and I lovely candles the next week, for giving them extra personal time with our expertness. Wow. I'm bowled over by all this.
However, we left without our compensation checks. Two weeks later, no check. This bugs me. It's a bureaucratic-red-tape kind of thing, but it's bugging me. Checks are nice things to get, even though I like the candle a lot.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
"Sorry"
"I heard from Old BF today," I said. "He says he needs to have a serious conversation with me some time."
"About what?" Ranger asked. He knows I still hear from Old BF and only minds it when he upsets me.
"He says to make amends for the hurt he caused me."
Ranger considered this a moment. "Sounds like he wants reconciliation."
I laughed a little. "Sounds more like part of a 12-step program."
Honestly, how he phrased it to me sounded very much like what I saw and heard at AlAnon, AA, and NA meetings I attended in college. Now, before you think I've been holding out an addiction past on you, understand that my minor was Substance Abuse Studies as part of my counseling degree.
Old BF comes from an addict household. His mother did all manner of drugs before, during, and after her pregnancy with him. Then, she resented him for being a "difficult" baby. Oh yeah...all kinds of issues there. He has photos of his folks sitting behind a table covered in pot, while strangers regularly tucked he and his sister into bed at night.
So, we had the conversation he wanted.
"I've been thinking a lot about us," Old BF said. "I was such an asshole to you the whole time. It's a wonder you didn't leave me sooner. I lied to you a lot. I was mean a lot, talking to you through my teeth and snarling at you so often."
"Yeah," I said. The talking through his teeth and curling his lip at me (what he called snarling) was a pet peeve of mine. He did it in annoyance and anger, like I was beneath him, and it sent me through the roof. I watch my dad be condescending to my mom, and I just won't tolerate it.
And of course the lying....always lying. That broke my heart.
"I just wanted you to know I'm sorry," he said. "If I could take it all back, I would, but I know I can't. I know you're not coming back. I really am glad that you're happy now."
I was quiet for a bit. "I appreciate that," I said. "I have to wonder, though. What brought this on?"
"I've been going to AA meetings for some time," he said. Ah, there it was. This WAS part of a 12-step thing! We'll leave alone the fact that I know he still drinks now and again....
"What made you decide to do that?"
He took a deep breath. "There's something I haven't told you. I got a DWI last year. I was at Billy's and had a few because I was all upset about losing you. I got lost coming home and got pulled over."
"I see," I said. It was inevitable. He drinks a heck of a lot, and I would see significant impairment in him after three beers. He never needed an excuse to drink, like he was trying to say now. I didn't want chase the bait he'd just hung out there, implying the drinking was somehow my fault, so I changed the subject. "What do you think of the meetings?"
"They're okay," he said. "But those people are a lot more messed up than me. I can still drink. I just can't drive when I do."
And that was about it for the conversation. His phone got turned off a couple of days later. I've gotten a couple of emails from him, but not much else has been said.
It's good to hear he's sorry. I'm not sure if he's sorry for my sake or his. In the past, whenever I've mentioned that he hurt me, he doesn't want to hear it. Is it an attempt at reconciliation? I don't think so. He still calls me by the pet names he's had for me, but still....I don't think so.
Would I reconcile? Hell no. My wounds have become scars. No need to reopen them.
"About what?" Ranger asked. He knows I still hear from Old BF and only minds it when he upsets me.
"He says to make amends for the hurt he caused me."
Ranger considered this a moment. "Sounds like he wants reconciliation."
I laughed a little. "Sounds more like part of a 12-step program."
Honestly, how he phrased it to me sounded very much like what I saw and heard at AlAnon, AA, and NA meetings I attended in college. Now, before you think I've been holding out an addiction past on you, understand that my minor was Substance Abuse Studies as part of my counseling degree.
Old BF comes from an addict household. His mother did all manner of drugs before, during, and after her pregnancy with him. Then, she resented him for being a "difficult" baby. Oh yeah...all kinds of issues there. He has photos of his folks sitting behind a table covered in pot, while strangers regularly tucked he and his sister into bed at night.
So, we had the conversation he wanted.
"I've been thinking a lot about us," Old BF said. "I was such an asshole to you the whole time. It's a wonder you didn't leave me sooner. I lied to you a lot. I was mean a lot, talking to you through my teeth and snarling at you so often."
"Yeah," I said. The talking through his teeth and curling his lip at me (what he called snarling) was a pet peeve of mine. He did it in annoyance and anger, like I was beneath him, and it sent me through the roof. I watch my dad be condescending to my mom, and I just won't tolerate it.
And of course the lying....always lying. That broke my heart.
"I just wanted you to know I'm sorry," he said. "If I could take it all back, I would, but I know I can't. I know you're not coming back. I really am glad that you're happy now."
I was quiet for a bit. "I appreciate that," I said. "I have to wonder, though. What brought this on?"
"I've been going to AA meetings for some time," he said. Ah, there it was. This WAS part of a 12-step thing! We'll leave alone the fact that I know he still drinks now and again....
"What made you decide to do that?"
He took a deep breath. "There's something I haven't told you. I got a DWI last year. I was at Billy's and had a few because I was all upset about losing you. I got lost coming home and got pulled over."
"I see," I said. It was inevitable. He drinks a heck of a lot, and I would see significant impairment in him after three beers. He never needed an excuse to drink, like he was trying to say now. I didn't want chase the bait he'd just hung out there, implying the drinking was somehow my fault, so I changed the subject. "What do you think of the meetings?"
"They're okay," he said. "But those people are a lot more messed up than me. I can still drink. I just can't drive when I do."
And that was about it for the conversation. His phone got turned off a couple of days later. I've gotten a couple of emails from him, but not much else has been said.
It's good to hear he's sorry. I'm not sure if he's sorry for my sake or his. In the past, whenever I've mentioned that he hurt me, he doesn't want to hear it. Is it an attempt at reconciliation? I don't think so. He still calls me by the pet names he's had for me, but still....I don't think so.
Would I reconcile? Hell no. My wounds have become scars. No need to reopen them.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
I'm just so tired....
Ranger had to appear in court on Monday. He had a hearing to change his not-guilty plea to guilty.
See, he admits to stealing some money, but not near the amount they are claiming. His lawyer's office reviewed the surveillance tapes and agrees, but the postal center's owners want their bad accounting covered by this, too. That way, they are not responsible for the larger shortfall they show. Ranger is.
I know...that's not fair. So, his lawyer approached the prosecutor with what he found. The response? Challenge this at all, and they'll go for jail time. Keep quiet and take it, and they'll go for probation. And restitution.
I have to pause here. The back of my brain is screaming because of what I'm talking about. I don't have vocabulary like "appear in court," "jail time," and "probation" in my life. I broken up with Old BF once because he was arrested for shoplifting. Oh, and he was cheating on me. Again. This is not shit I'm accustomed to handling. And I don't like it at all.
So why am I handling it for Ranger? Because he loves me like no one else has. Because I love him like no one else has, and he lets me. Because our relationship is how I've always dreamed two people should be together, but thought it was an idea in my own head.
And this makes me feel like those women I despise on Jerry Springer, when he asks, "Why don't you leave him?" And she says....
"Because I LOVE him!"
Am I that pathetic? Really?
A dear friend asked me what my breaking point was. I'm not entirely sure, but I know I cannot handle jail time.
I keep asking myself, can our dreams still come true? Did he put that on the line, too, when he did this?
I tried not to think too hard on that, sitting in the courtroom on Monday. Yeah, I went with him. It was in Denver, so it was a little road trip. We went Sunday and stayed at a hotel that I had a coupon for. Pretty nice place, actually. It all felt weird, though. It felt like we were on a little vacation....as long as I didn't think about why we were going.
So, I sat in the back of the courtroom and watched the man I love confess to something awful. I listened to the judge tell him what the sentence could be and then go over his plea agreement. I listened to her set a sentencing date. It was 45 minutes of tearing my heart out. 45 life-altering minutes. His life could never be the same after that. Some of his freedom would then be gone. He'd just had a felony laid over his shoulders.
He had to meet with the probation officer, who will do an investigation prior to the sentencing. She'll basically investigate his whole life before making a recommendation to the court. In the meantime, he has to get a few things in a row. He has to get a job, which are few and far between right now. He has to find a new place to live because one roommate is a felon. If he doesn't find a new place to live, they'll make him live in Denver. Five hours away from me.
On the way back, it didn't feel like a vacation anymore. We were quiet. I was sad. And oh-so-tired. He put on a radio show to listen to. It annoyed me.
I'm still sad, but I've kept it under wraps. I need to talk to him about this, but I don't want to depress him or make him feel worse. But it needs to be known. It needs to be out there for the both of us, and not just festering in me.
My folks got a hot tub. When I got home, I soaked in it and watched the bats fly around the yard, in the fading light of dusk. I sure wish I could forget for a little while. I tend to be a Pollyanna as it is, but this is challenging my look-on-the-bright-side superpowers.
While I was still in Denver, I noticed several missed calls from my ex-husband. Then, my mom called. "I thought you needed a heads-up before Ex calls you," she said. See, Son has been ignoring his calls for weeks. He just got tired of being chewed out every time they talked. Ex even asked me about it, so I told him. "Well, tell him I won't do that anymore, if he'll answer," Ex said. I relayed the message, but Son didn't care.
Until Monday. He answered the phone on Monday. His lying-sack dad proceeded to chew on him. Son lost it. Combine the mood problems with the stress of finals, and you get supernova. My mother could hear him screaming at his dad: "This is why I don't answer you! All you do is chew on me!" Then, Son hung up on him.
According to Ex, Son let him have it, about what rights he did and didn't have in his life, about backing off, about....well, I don't know it all. But Ex is pissed. He called back and left Son and voicemail, telling him that he wasn't putting up with that behavior and it was now up to Son to do the calling and contacting. He wouldn't bother anymore.
I texted Son to see if he was okay. His response?
"I don't care."
Oh man. He's been in a foul temper ever since.
I do feel a little bad for my Ex. I know this is hurtful, whether or not he caused the rift. Actually, believe it or not, I think he's blaming me for a lot of it. I didn't include him enough as a father....when he moved 10 hours away. My dad stepped into the father-figure role in Ex's absence, and Ex resents it. So, that's my fault. Apparently.
But still, I feel bad because I know how it feels to catch the brunt of Son's temper. I haven't told my Ex that the boy has actually hit me. He'd mess up what threads of a relationship I'm building back together with Son. The man just doesn't get what a "father" should be.
See, he admits to stealing some money, but not near the amount they are claiming. His lawyer's office reviewed the surveillance tapes and agrees, but the postal center's owners want their bad accounting covered by this, too. That way, they are not responsible for the larger shortfall they show. Ranger is.
I know...that's not fair. So, his lawyer approached the prosecutor with what he found. The response? Challenge this at all, and they'll go for jail time. Keep quiet and take it, and they'll go for probation. And restitution.
I have to pause here. The back of my brain is screaming because of what I'm talking about. I don't have vocabulary like "appear in court," "jail time," and "probation" in my life. I broken up with Old BF once because he was arrested for shoplifting. Oh, and he was cheating on me. Again. This is not shit I'm accustomed to handling. And I don't like it at all.
So why am I handling it for Ranger? Because he loves me like no one else has. Because I love him like no one else has, and he lets me. Because our relationship is how I've always dreamed two people should be together, but thought it was an idea in my own head.
And this makes me feel like those women I despise on Jerry Springer, when he asks, "Why don't you leave him?" And she says....
"Because I LOVE him!"
Am I that pathetic? Really?
A dear friend asked me what my breaking point was. I'm not entirely sure, but I know I cannot handle jail time.
I keep asking myself, can our dreams still come true? Did he put that on the line, too, when he did this?
I tried not to think too hard on that, sitting in the courtroom on Monday. Yeah, I went with him. It was in Denver, so it was a little road trip. We went Sunday and stayed at a hotel that I had a coupon for. Pretty nice place, actually. It all felt weird, though. It felt like we were on a little vacation....as long as I didn't think about why we were going.
So, I sat in the back of the courtroom and watched the man I love confess to something awful. I listened to the judge tell him what the sentence could be and then go over his plea agreement. I listened to her set a sentencing date. It was 45 minutes of tearing my heart out. 45 life-altering minutes. His life could never be the same after that. Some of his freedom would then be gone. He'd just had a felony laid over his shoulders.
He had to meet with the probation officer, who will do an investigation prior to the sentencing. She'll basically investigate his whole life before making a recommendation to the court. In the meantime, he has to get a few things in a row. He has to get a job, which are few and far between right now. He has to find a new place to live because one roommate is a felon. If he doesn't find a new place to live, they'll make him live in Denver. Five hours away from me.
On the way back, it didn't feel like a vacation anymore. We were quiet. I was sad. And oh-so-tired. He put on a radio show to listen to. It annoyed me.
I'm still sad, but I've kept it under wraps. I need to talk to him about this, but I don't want to depress him or make him feel worse. But it needs to be known. It needs to be out there for the both of us, and not just festering in me.
My folks got a hot tub. When I got home, I soaked in it and watched the bats fly around the yard, in the fading light of dusk. I sure wish I could forget for a little while. I tend to be a Pollyanna as it is, but this is challenging my look-on-the-bright-side superpowers.
While I was still in Denver, I noticed several missed calls from my ex-husband. Then, my mom called. "I thought you needed a heads-up before Ex calls you," she said. See, Son has been ignoring his calls for weeks. He just got tired of being chewed out every time they talked. Ex even asked me about it, so I told him. "Well, tell him I won't do that anymore, if he'll answer," Ex said. I relayed the message, but Son didn't care.
Until Monday. He answered the phone on Monday. His lying-sack dad proceeded to chew on him. Son lost it. Combine the mood problems with the stress of finals, and you get supernova. My mother could hear him screaming at his dad: "This is why I don't answer you! All you do is chew on me!" Then, Son hung up on him.
According to Ex, Son let him have it, about what rights he did and didn't have in his life, about backing off, about....well, I don't know it all. But Ex is pissed. He called back and left Son and voicemail, telling him that he wasn't putting up with that behavior and it was now up to Son to do the calling and contacting. He wouldn't bother anymore.
I texted Son to see if he was okay. His response?
"I don't care."
Oh man. He's been in a foul temper ever since.
I do feel a little bad for my Ex. I know this is hurtful, whether or not he caused the rift. Actually, believe it or not, I think he's blaming me for a lot of it. I didn't include him enough as a father....when he moved 10 hours away. My dad stepped into the father-figure role in Ex's absence, and Ex resents it. So, that's my fault. Apparently.
But still, I feel bad because I know how it feels to catch the brunt of Son's temper. I haven't told my Ex that the boy has actually hit me. He'd mess up what threads of a relationship I'm building back together with Son. The man just doesn't get what a "father" should be.
Friday, May 15, 2009
What's in a name?
I'm a member of this particular professional organization in my field. The same one through which I met South Carolina. The organization has grown beyond it's original mission and the name doesn't reflect it. It's time for a change. Let the debate begin.
Some people want to acknowledge the history and make sure "independent study" is still acknowledged. All agree that we fall under the broader umbrella of distance learning now. Some want to be sure we're clear that both K-12 and higher education are part of the group. Some remind us that it was originally founded for professional development in the field.
Names are being debated. Acronyms are being thrown about. Some want something catchy in the acronym.
So, here I sit, watching the debate rage in email. I submitted a few suggestions of my own. I tried to be very professional about it, but my dirty little brain keeps churning on. The little devil on my shoulder keeps whispering. Finally, I had to share my name idea with a few people who understand how terribly inappropriate I can be.
Here it is....
Distance and Independent Learning Development Organization, or....
DILDO.
Some people want to acknowledge the history and make sure "independent study" is still acknowledged. All agree that we fall under the broader umbrella of distance learning now. Some want to be sure we're clear that both K-12 and higher education are part of the group. Some remind us that it was originally founded for professional development in the field.
Names are being debated. Acronyms are being thrown about. Some want something catchy in the acronym.
So, here I sit, watching the debate rage in email. I submitted a few suggestions of my own. I tried to be very professional about it, but my dirty little brain keeps churning on. The little devil on my shoulder keeps whispering. Finally, I had to share my name idea with a few people who understand how terribly inappropriate I can be.
Here it is....
Distance and Independent Learning Development Organization, or....
DILDO.
Friday, May 08, 2009
I am not an idiot
But some people persist in treating me like one. More specifically, our IT department. Okay, even more specifically, one particular bitch in IT. In fact, that's what I'll call her here. IT Bitch.
This is the same woman who would not give me access to the server where the backups I needed are housed. She wanted me to email her each time I needed a file, so she could send it to me herself. That's stupid on so many levels, but she has control issues where I'm concerned. It started Day 1 of my job, I swear. I used to share an office with her then.
See? My eye is twitching just thinking about those days.
Here's the thing. If I was just one of the non-techie people running around here, that would be completely understandable. But I'm not. I have a Master's degree. In Technology. With a 4.0 average. For pity sake....
So, I have two instructors with problems. I go as far as I can go with them, then I have to send it to IT for help. I write to IT Bitch and explain:
"1. Instructor #1 swears he submitted his request for his SUMMER course to be set up. I have his two requests for the Fall, but none for Summer. I watched him submit the Summer one again today, but it never appeared in our system. I submitted a test request and it worked. What's up with that?"
"2. Instructor #2 swears his course disappeared. It didn't. But now he wants a confirmation email when he requests his courses be set up. Can our system do that?"
Still with me? I know...a lot of details, but hang tight. There's a reason.
Two days later, IT Bitch answers me, but manages to be no help at all.
On #1, she says: "I'm forwarding you two requests from Instructor #1, dated 4/19/09. You need to search the system for these, and here's how...."
Guess what she sent me? The two requests I TOLD HER about. They're in my email to her. She completely ignored that I said the requests were from "today." Then, she proceeds to tell me how to search a system I've been using and searching for two years now. It's a simple search. Anyone who uses Google can do it.
Let me say again here, I am not an idiot.
On #2, she says: "Courses don't disappear. Our system has worked fine for a long time, and still does."
Wow, that was helpful. Not only did she ignore that I said the course did not disappear, but she also managed to ignore the question I was really asking.
IT Bitch and reading comprehension are not on friendly terms. I think I side with reading comprehension.
Anyhow, all of this just adds layers to my frustration with IT. I had another very important problem happening with our online courses. I asked for help many times. No answer. Finally, after months of this, I sent the question again, as high priority, and copied the IT Director. I got a response.
They'd come up with a solution, but planned to implement it this summer. Why they decided not to tell me is anyone's guess. In the meantime, I'm dealing with angry faculty and I'm empty-handed for an answer.
Thanks, fellas. And IT Bitch.
((Blogget fumes))
This is the same woman who would not give me access to the server where the backups I needed are housed. She wanted me to email her each time I needed a file, so she could send it to me herself. That's stupid on so many levels, but she has control issues where I'm concerned. It started Day 1 of my job, I swear. I used to share an office with her then.
See? My eye is twitching just thinking about those days.
Here's the thing. If I was just one of the non-techie people running around here, that would be completely understandable. But I'm not. I have a Master's degree. In Technology. With a 4.0 average. For pity sake....
So, I have two instructors with problems. I go as far as I can go with them, then I have to send it to IT for help. I write to IT Bitch and explain:
"1. Instructor #1 swears he submitted his request for his SUMMER course to be set up. I have his two requests for the Fall, but none for Summer. I watched him submit the Summer one again today, but it never appeared in our system. I submitted a test request and it worked. What's up with that?"
"2. Instructor #2 swears his course disappeared. It didn't. But now he wants a confirmation email when he requests his courses be set up. Can our system do that?"
Still with me? I know...a lot of details, but hang tight. There's a reason.
Two days later, IT Bitch answers me, but manages to be no help at all.
On #1, she says: "I'm forwarding you two requests from Instructor #1, dated 4/19/09. You need to search the system for these, and here's how...."
Guess what she sent me? The two requests I TOLD HER about. They're in my email to her. She completely ignored that I said the requests were from "today." Then, she proceeds to tell me how to search a system I've been using and searching for two years now. It's a simple search. Anyone who uses Google can do it.
Let me say again here, I am not an idiot.
On #2, she says: "Courses don't disappear. Our system has worked fine for a long time, and still does."
Wow, that was helpful. Not only did she ignore that I said the course did not disappear, but she also managed to ignore the question I was really asking.
IT Bitch and reading comprehension are not on friendly terms. I think I side with reading comprehension.
Anyhow, all of this just adds layers to my frustration with IT. I had another very important problem happening with our online courses. I asked for help many times. No answer. Finally, after months of this, I sent the question again, as high priority, and copied the IT Director. I got a response.
They'd come up with a solution, but planned to implement it this summer. Why they decided not to tell me is anyone's guess. In the meantime, I'm dealing with angry faculty and I'm empty-handed for an answer.
Thanks, fellas. And IT Bitch.
((Blogget fumes))
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Yeah, dude....that would be me
And only me. I can't begin to guess how many times I said that last week.
One bit of housekeeping, first: I added pictures to the previous post. So if you read it without the pics, you might scan it again. I think it helps!
Anyhow...on with the show.
My college has these professional development seminars for the faculty, twice a year. This time, they wanted to focus on online learning. Cool beans. That means I get to reach more faculty and, hopefully, recruit more instructors in my program. Grow, grow, grow, little online program.
The speaker they brought in was from an east-coast school with literally 10 times the students we have. We have 6,000, so you do the math and you'll see that their program certainly has more budget, personnel, revenue....everything. I had to give this fella a heads-up that we deal with limited resources here.
"So, I'd like to meet with your instructional design team," he said to me, in a conference call. My boss snickered.
"Yeah," I said. "That would be me."
"Oh, ok," he said. "How about the people who maintain the course system?"
"Me. Again."
"I thought you were the program administrator?"
"Yeah. That would be me, too."
Pause.
"How about your media specialist?"
"Hi. Again."
And I explained to him that "media" in our courses is a touchy thing. We don't have a good media server. It's on the IT agenda this year, along with 99 other important things to get done. So, we have to house media on an outside source, like YouTube or iTunesU, which causes other issues because people don't like to share their stuff. Like it's gold or something, that someone else will get rich for stealing. Uhm...no.
"I'd like to have a conversation with your president," he says. Comes across a little like "Take me to your leader," but okay.
So Speakerman arrives in Western Colorado and makes his way to our lovely, but small, campus. I decide to sit in on all of his sessions, so I can hear what's said and answer questions. I also need to know what questions he's going to generate for me, when he's long gone.
The first flare went up when the issue of media came up. One of my faculty piped up: "I want to use video in my course, but I don't know where to put it or how. What's the best way to accomplish that?"
"No, no, no," he said to her. "You shouldn't have to worry about that at all. You want to use a video? You should be able to hand that to someone in distance learning and say, 'I want to use this. Make it happen.' Then, they do it for you."
WTF?? I think I just felt that bus roll over me. You know, the one I was just thrown under.
The faculty person looks at me like You never told me this.
"Wait a minute," I said. "The person you're saying to hand it to is me. And there's just me. They do have to learn how to upload and such themselves."
A friendly faculty voice said, "Yeah, she's gotta do it all. She needs help." Thank you.
Later that day, the IT folks and department heads loved to hear that each department needs their own media specialist who "makes it happen" for faculty. Sure, that's gonna happen. I mean, we're being told to cut budgets here, not increase personnel costs. Get real.
The second flare went up when he was used an example of his own course development process: "So, I might contract an instructor for a course, pay him the usual $10,000 to develop it...."
Heads turned to me. They get $900 for developing a course. If they speak up soon enough and the money isn't gone for that year.
In some of our one-on-one time, Speakerman and I talked shop. I inadvertently gave him the falre gun for this one. I mentioned that we're starting the process to replace our online system. We'll start a campus-wide discussion of it in the Fall. We have a two-year timetable for migrating to whatever new system we choose. I've already visited with a couple of vendors.
So, imagine my dismay when he said to the faculty in his last session: "You need to build your content outside of your online system. Because here's what's going to happen. Your system is going away in a couple of years. You'll have a new system. What will happen to all that work you've put into your content? It will disappear. They say they'll 'migrate' it, but it doesn't happen that way. I know because we did the same thing two years ago."
Did I say "dismay"? Oh, by that I mean, royally pissed off.
Panic ensued.
I think the bus backed over me. He advised them to build content on their own Web pages, using Drupal.
Do they know anything about Drupal? Do they know anything about Web pages? No. Who do they want to teach them?
No.
Boy oh boy, do I want to do these seminars again....
I'm going to Reno next week. I get there at 9:30 AM. Is there a bar open then?
One bit of housekeeping, first: I added pictures to the previous post. So if you read it without the pics, you might scan it again. I think it helps!
Anyhow...on with the show.
My college has these professional development seminars for the faculty, twice a year. This time, they wanted to focus on online learning. Cool beans. That means I get to reach more faculty and, hopefully, recruit more instructors in my program. Grow, grow, grow, little online program.
The speaker they brought in was from an east-coast school with literally 10 times the students we have. We have 6,000, so you do the math and you'll see that their program certainly has more budget, personnel, revenue....everything. I had to give this fella a heads-up that we deal with limited resources here.
"So, I'd like to meet with your instructional design team," he said to me, in a conference call. My boss snickered.
"Yeah," I said. "That would be me."
"Oh, ok," he said. "How about the people who maintain the course system?"
"Me. Again."
"I thought you were the program administrator?"
"Yeah. That would be me, too."
Pause.
"How about your media specialist?"
"Hi. Again."
And I explained to him that "media" in our courses is a touchy thing. We don't have a good media server. It's on the IT agenda this year, along with 99 other important things to get done. So, we have to house media on an outside source, like YouTube or iTunesU, which causes other issues because people don't like to share their stuff. Like it's gold or something, that someone else will get rich for stealing. Uhm...no.
"I'd like to have a conversation with your president," he says. Comes across a little like "Take me to your leader," but okay.
So Speakerman arrives in Western Colorado and makes his way to our lovely, but small, campus. I decide to sit in on all of his sessions, so I can hear what's said and answer questions. I also need to know what questions he's going to generate for me, when he's long gone.
The first flare went up when the issue of media came up. One of my faculty piped up: "I want to use video in my course, but I don't know where to put it or how. What's the best way to accomplish that?"
"No, no, no," he said to her. "You shouldn't have to worry about that at all. You want to use a video? You should be able to hand that to someone in distance learning and say, 'I want to use this. Make it happen.' Then, they do it for you."
WTF?? I think I just felt that bus roll over me. You know, the one I was just thrown under.
The faculty person looks at me like You never told me this.
"Wait a minute," I said. "The person you're saying to hand it to is me. And there's just me. They do have to learn how to upload and such themselves."
A friendly faculty voice said, "Yeah, she's gotta do it all. She needs help." Thank you.
Later that day, the IT folks and department heads loved to hear that each department needs their own media specialist who "makes it happen" for faculty. Sure, that's gonna happen. I mean, we're being told to cut budgets here, not increase personnel costs. Get real.
The second flare went up when he was used an example of his own course development process: "So, I might contract an instructor for a course, pay him the usual $10,000 to develop it...."
Heads turned to me. They get $900 for developing a course. If they speak up soon enough and the money isn't gone for that year.
In some of our one-on-one time, Speakerman and I talked shop. I inadvertently gave him the falre gun for this one. I mentioned that we're starting the process to replace our online system. We'll start a campus-wide discussion of it in the Fall. We have a two-year timetable for migrating to whatever new system we choose. I've already visited with a couple of vendors.
So, imagine my dismay when he said to the faculty in his last session: "You need to build your content outside of your online system. Because here's what's going to happen. Your system is going away in a couple of years. You'll have a new system. What will happen to all that work you've put into your content? It will disappear. They say they'll 'migrate' it, but it doesn't happen that way. I know because we did the same thing two years ago."
Did I say "dismay"? Oh, by that I mean, royally pissed off.
Panic ensued.
I think the bus backed over me. He advised them to build content on their own Web pages, using Drupal.
Do they know anything about Drupal? Do they know anything about Web pages? No. Who do they want to teach them?
No.
Boy oh boy, do I want to do these seminars again....
I'm going to Reno next week. I get there at 9:30 AM. Is there a bar open then?
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
So, I decided....
....to hide. In Colorado mountain resorts.
But first, an update on Son: Son saw the psychiatrist the other day. It seemed to help. I saw the man size up Son before they went back to his office. He took in the shorts and leather coat ensemble (in 70+ degree weather), the stringy hair, the baseball cap, the unshaven face, the iPod firmly inserted in the ears. But Son came back smiling.
Two little girls, about 2 years old, were running around the waiting room. Psych said to Son, "You used to be cute like that."
Son said, "Yeah, so I hear. But I was a weird kid."
Psych looked at me. I said, "He built a catapult of Tinker-Toys when he was 18 months old."
The man turned a shocked look on Son. "Wow."
So, Son asked me to take him to lunch. I did. He told me some of the superficial things they visited about, but didn't dive deeper. He seemed up-beat. Later that night, we'd made dinner and called for him to come down. As has become the norm, he did not appear.
In a few minutes, he came down the stairs and said, "Uhm...lunch didn't set so well with my stomach. So, I'm letting it calm down before eating anything else. But I knew you'd made a dinner I'd like, so I wanted to let you know why I wasn't coming to eat."
You coulda knocked me over. That's the most communication we've seen from him in weeks, and it was actually considerate. Wow. I'm praying it's a new trend.
Okay, so back to me running away for a few days....
It wasn't a complete run-screaming-into-the-woods moment. It was planned. I had to attend a conference in Vail. I know, what a hardship, right? I've never been there, but a company-paid visit to a place with "resort and spa" in the name sounds like a good idea.
I'm still sorting out the Ranger situation. One thing is for sure(well, among others) -- when he's with me, I'm pampered and cared for like at no other time in my life. As corny as it sounds, he makes sure I'm cocooned in love. So, we planned this getaway together. We left a day early and stayed at the Lodge in Glenwood Springs, right by the hot springs pool. Ranger is a regular fish when you get him near water, and he's been dying to get me in the water, too. So, he was ecstatic!
I'm self-conscious in a swimsuit. I haven't worn mine in years. Even being 60 lbs lighter, I'm self-conscious. So, I tried it on, and it's a little gappy at the edges. I figured out how to adjust it, but still wasn't so sure about being seen in public in it. I mean, Colorado seems full of healthy, pretty people. I'd get a look at that pool and see how covered up I needed to be.
So, Tuesday morning, we head down the road. I have my playlist of songs I want him to hear all keyed up on my iPod. He assures me we won't have a repeat of the Vegas trip, where he dismissed my playlist. He realizes that I put as much thought into my 60-song list as he put into his 300-song list. He just has more music than I do.
We can't check in until 4:00, and Glenwood is one hour away. Hmmm....time to kill. Ranger gets an idea and we head south, in the direction of Aspen. Instead of heading to the tourist trap, though, we take a couple of turn-offs and end up wandering among the little towns in the mountains. Blink and you'll miss 'em, folks, but they're worth a stop. Or maybe a weekend getaway. Hmmm....
I'm particularly fond of the little town of Redstone. It's on the Register of Historic Places, apparently. For me, it just smells like the mountains. Has shops and terrain to explore, and a little general store for your basic needs. Now all I need is a secluded cabin nearby and I'm a happy Blogget.
Redstone was established as a mining town, for the coal mine workers. By the highway, you see this row of dozens of coke ovens, for the coal. These are over 100 years old! Click to see bigger pics.
A little further down the road is the thriving community of Marble. As you get closer, the name becomes obvious. Huge blocks of beautiful marble are scattered alongside the road. People have mounted mailboxes on them. The town has one restaurant, a barbecue place. It was closed for a few more days, until the summer tourist season starts. You can take tours of...what else?...the marble quarry.
And someone had a sense of humor.
Ranger, being the rock hound he is, was ecstatic! We're certainly going back to explore. We drove through the smaller roads that wound through the aspens, past some local residences that made me incredibly jealous.
Some had cute names.
Some had the ruins of previous homesteads.
Their stories intrigued me, and I wish I knew more about the place. Something to research when I fired up the laptop at the hotel.
We also stopped along the way to explore Hays Creek Falls. It's a little turnout in the road, but has the most spectacular waterfall. I have a bum knee and couldn't climb to it, but Ranger could. You see him climbing here, and it give you size perspective with the falls.
And he got these lovely close-ups of the water:
Checkin time was coming, so we headed back up to Glenwood and the promise of hot springs relaxation. By this time, though, relaxation wasn't an issue. I was breathing mountain air. Ranger was holding my hand and softly crooning love songs to me. I settled deeper into my seat, let the breeze blow on my face, and let it swep away the things that elevate my blood pressure when I think about them.
We checked into the hotel. Incidentally, they'd pissed me off a couple of days before. I made my reservation and asked for a fridge in the room, to keep my insulin cool. I told them why I needed it. They responded by saying I'd have to purchase a more expensive room in order to have the fridge. Okay, lemme get this straight....diabetics can only stay there and have insulin refrigerated if they book the more expensive rooms. Lovely.
So, the room was....okay. It was nice. We had a small balcony that overlooked the hot springs pool. I stepped out and checked out the view. Well, what I was really doing was checking out the bodies at the pool. I wanted to see how self-conscious I needed to be among the beautiful people of Colorado.
Know what I found? Bodies that shouldn't be in bikinis, but were anyhow. Sagging, wrinkled, aged, cellulite-ravaged bodies. My self-consciousness melted away a bit. Obviously, no one was worried about themselves or others. And I learned. Quit worrying about how you look to others. Ranger thinks you're beautiful without a stitch on, Blogget. He thinks you're beautiful when you're feverish and stuffy and mucousy. Get into the swimsuit and relax, kiddo.
So I did.
We strolled to the pool. I checked out the shop there, looking for some campy souvenier. Oh! A towel! Perfect! Big, fluffy, white, with the pool logo....and $40. I'm not paying $40 for a towel. And I'm not paying $60 for a purse, no matter how cute, so we headed to the dressing rooms. I changed and rinsed off (as they request), and stepped out to see Ranger.
He smiled. His eyes moved over my suit, and my form. "You look so lovely," he said. I smiled, feeling ridiculous about feeling relieved.
You actually have two pools to choose from. The smaller one is hotter, and nearer the spring's source. The bigger one is cooler, in many ways. One end has slides and diving boards. This is where the kids and families gather. Then, it has lap lanes. This is where the exercisers gather. Then, the pool becomes still and tranquil. This is where the floaters are.
We stepped into this part of the pool. The sky was overcast and the breeze was cool. We glided into it, Ranger going all the way under as quickly as he could. My fish. We half-waded, half-swam to deeper waters. The water is dark and salty, full of minerals. Good-for-you stuff. We got deeper and Ranger swam to me, coming up under me. Gently, he swept me up into his arms, floating me, carrying me like a groom carries his bride over the threshhold.
I dropped my head back, soaking my hair in the water. I slowly kicked my feet and let my hands drift. He bobbed me a little, making waves, floating me to the deeper end of the pool. I looked at the clouds. I soaked in the warmth of the water.
Bliss.
Ranger dropped his arms, and I swam away. He followed, doing underwater flips beside my lazy breast-stroke. I flipped onto my back and watched him, kicking slowly to keep moving along. I do love him.
"Ready for the serious stuff?" he asked. We made our way back out of the cool-pool and crossed over to the hot pool.
Dang, it's hot!
This is the therapeutic pool. They warn you not to stay in it more than twenty minutes. We sat in the bubble-chairs for awhile, then followed the path of the steam to the hot-hot end. Benches are there to sit on, your back just feet from the spring's source. You can feel the flow of it into the pool, if you put your feet over the right places on the bottom. We lingered our twenty minutes, then hauled our bodies from the water. Your limbs feel heavy with relaxation, as the heat has permeated to your bones. My back felt good. My knees felt good. We showered and headed back to the hotel to collapse.
Well, not exactly collapse. Okay, we intended to collapse. The balcony door was open, letting the breeze stir the sheers. We stretched out beside each other and made love. Then....I was starving.
When in Glenwood Springs, there's only one place to satisfy an appetite that's gotten so worked up. Juicy Lucy's. Probably the best steakhouse in the state. No kidding. Steaks for dinner and creme brulee for dessert. The most professional wait staff anywhere. Perfection.
I couldn't sleep that night. Asleep. Awake. Asleep. Awake. I was relaxed, full, and happy. I have trouble the first night in a new place, anyhow. It was a rough night, though, and I was not ready to get up in the morning. I checked my conference schedule. I needed to be at a luncheon at noon, an hour up the road. I climbed back in bed and let Ranger wake me up properly.
I ended up running late for the luncheon. Go figure. About 30 minutes outside of Vail, my boss texts me: "Are you here yet?" Oops. I just about ran into the hotel lobby to get checked in, so Ranger could unload the things from the car. I about tripped, though, when I looked around.
The place was gorgeous. Quite possibly the most gorgeous hotel I've ever been in. It was everything you think a mountain lodge would be. Wood, leather, stone gorgeous. The clerk was smiling at me in a way that said, "You are the most exciting guest I've ever seen and I'm completely overjoyed to help you."
I handed her my reservation and gave her my name. "Oh, I see you're one of our rewards members," she said, tapping away at her computer. "We thank you so much for your loyalty, as we know you have a choice when you travel." Tappity-tappity. She handed me my room keys. "We have a lovely room for you with a mountain view and balcony."
Mountain view and balcony. I love those words.
I strolled back out to Ranger and the valet. The parking is valet only. The valet wrote down the room number and my name on the tag. "Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Jones," he said. "I'll meet you upstairs with your luggage." Ranger shot me a look. He was assumed to be Mr. Jones. I laughed, and hoped he thought it was funny, too.
Ranger assured me he could get everything from the car, and shooed me away to the conference. I got checked in and went to the luncheon, just in time for the keynote speaker. Whew. My boss was busy visiting with someone and didn't see me slip in. Double whew.
As conferences go, it was a good one. I learned a few new things, like the educational applications of Twitter, Ning.com, and how cool the GE Smart Grid virtual holograms are (if you haven't taken a look at Plugintothesmartgrid.com and tried the hologram thing, you gotta!). We saw a cool demo of a 3D environment for education. Cool, but too pricey to be useful in this economic climate. I stated that to more than one over-zealous vendor. Listen, bud...when we're being asked to cut budgets, telling the administration we want to spend money is a tough sell.
Another thing conferences are good for are door prizes. This conference does them during the breaks. So, they hand out little numbered tickets -- a new ticket each drawing. I memorize the number and tuck it in my name tag, so I can do other things. Like make myself a cup of coffee or eat my snack. I'm standing beside this one vendor named Nick.
"What's your number?" says Nick.
"136688," I answered, without pulling out my ticket.
"You memorized it?"
"Yeah," I said, then saw his look. "It wasn't a hard one. It starts with 13, which is a number that follows me around, then just two 6's and two 8's."
I won a shirt.
"Wow, that's amazing. So, what's with 13?" asks Nick.
I explained the whole weird thing. The number literally follows me. It started when I was about 5 and was number 13 on my softball team. Since then, it's everywhere. Any drawing, I have a 13. My house has 13 steps in it. Right now, my parking tag number adds up to 13. My office key is inventory #1613.
So, the next drawing happens. I notice all the tickets start with 13 now. It's that way throughout the conference. I hear Nick say, "Watch....she memorizes it." I won a CD and a tri-color highlighter.
Next drawing, we're at the final luncheon with my boss. Nick is sitting beside me again. They call my number and I get up. I won a mini-microscope. Behind me, I hear this:
Boss: "She didn't look at her ticket."
Nick: "No kidding, right? She memorizes it."
Boss: "Seriously?"
Nick: "Yeah. She's data-driven."
So, I've jumped way ahead. Back at the ranch...I mean, back with Ranger, he's having a ball with our hotel room. The beds are just doubles, but he doesn't care. Makes for good snuggling!
"Look at this!" he's saying as I come through the door. I'm in our foyer. Foyer. I hang up my jacket on the rack, and walk in. The place is gorgeous, like the lobby. The bathroom is huge, and marble. The beds are fluffy and fold me into sweet softness when I stretch out. We have a balcony that looks right at the ski runs. It's sunny and nice outside. Not too cold, but that changes.
We get hit by a major snowstorm that week. No one can go east of Vail. Skiiers are flocking to the town for the end-of-season celebrations, as huge snow falls on them. Five floors below us, we hear revelers enjoying the outdoor hot tub, and lots of beer. Lots and lots of beer.
Ranger brought many soft, silky things for me to sleep in. We cozy up and sleep with the balcony door open. We watch the snow fall and keep each other warm. While I'm in the conference sessions, he's building his web sites for the business he's starting.
This is what the snow looked like from our balcony:
We went to dinner with my boss twice. The first time was with one of our instructors. They started talking about a survey that was done on our campus recently, about our distance education program.
"You were mentioned quite favorably," my boss said to me.
"Really?" I said. I hadn't heard about this survey.
"Oh yes," said the faculty person. "I think you're due for a title change."
"I think so," my boss said. "How about 'Queen'?"
I'll get the new business cards ordered.
But first, an update on Son: Son saw the psychiatrist the other day. It seemed to help. I saw the man size up Son before they went back to his office. He took in the shorts and leather coat ensemble (in 70+ degree weather), the stringy hair, the baseball cap, the unshaven face, the iPod firmly inserted in the ears. But Son came back smiling.
Two little girls, about 2 years old, were running around the waiting room. Psych said to Son, "You used to be cute like that."
Son said, "Yeah, so I hear. But I was a weird kid."
Psych looked at me. I said, "He built a catapult of Tinker-Toys when he was 18 months old."
The man turned a shocked look on Son. "Wow."
So, Son asked me to take him to lunch. I did. He told me some of the superficial things they visited about, but didn't dive deeper. He seemed up-beat. Later that night, we'd made dinner and called for him to come down. As has become the norm, he did not appear.
In a few minutes, he came down the stairs and said, "Uhm...lunch didn't set so well with my stomach. So, I'm letting it calm down before eating anything else. But I knew you'd made a dinner I'd like, so I wanted to let you know why I wasn't coming to eat."
You coulda knocked me over. That's the most communication we've seen from him in weeks, and it was actually considerate. Wow. I'm praying it's a new trend.
Okay, so back to me running away for a few days....
It wasn't a complete run-screaming-into-the-woods moment. It was planned. I had to attend a conference in Vail. I know, what a hardship, right? I've never been there, but a company-paid visit to a place with "resort and spa" in the name sounds like a good idea.
I'm still sorting out the Ranger situation. One thing is for sure(well, among others) -- when he's with me, I'm pampered and cared for like at no other time in my life. As corny as it sounds, he makes sure I'm cocooned in love. So, we planned this getaway together. We left a day early and stayed at the Lodge in Glenwood Springs, right by the hot springs pool. Ranger is a regular fish when you get him near water, and he's been dying to get me in the water, too. So, he was ecstatic!
I'm self-conscious in a swimsuit. I haven't worn mine in years. Even being 60 lbs lighter, I'm self-conscious. So, I tried it on, and it's a little gappy at the edges. I figured out how to adjust it, but still wasn't so sure about being seen in public in it. I mean, Colorado seems full of healthy, pretty people. I'd get a look at that pool and see how covered up I needed to be.
So, Tuesday morning, we head down the road. I have my playlist of songs I want him to hear all keyed up on my iPod. He assures me we won't have a repeat of the Vegas trip, where he dismissed my playlist. He realizes that I put as much thought into my 60-song list as he put into his 300-song list. He just has more music than I do.
We can't check in until 4:00, and Glenwood is one hour away. Hmmm....time to kill. Ranger gets an idea and we head south, in the direction of Aspen. Instead of heading to the tourist trap, though, we take a couple of turn-offs and end up wandering among the little towns in the mountains. Blink and you'll miss 'em, folks, but they're worth a stop. Or maybe a weekend getaway. Hmmm....
I'm particularly fond of the little town of Redstone. It's on the Register of Historic Places, apparently. For me, it just smells like the mountains. Has shops and terrain to explore, and a little general store for your basic needs. Now all I need is a secluded cabin nearby and I'm a happy Blogget.
Redstone was established as a mining town, for the coal mine workers. By the highway, you see this row of dozens of coke ovens, for the coal. These are over 100 years old! Click to see bigger pics.
A little further down the road is the thriving community of Marble. As you get closer, the name becomes obvious. Huge blocks of beautiful marble are scattered alongside the road. People have mounted mailboxes on them. The town has one restaurant, a barbecue place. It was closed for a few more days, until the summer tourist season starts. You can take tours of...what else?...the marble quarry.
And someone had a sense of humor.
Ranger, being the rock hound he is, was ecstatic! We're certainly going back to explore. We drove through the smaller roads that wound through the aspens, past some local residences that made me incredibly jealous.
Some had cute names.
Some had the ruins of previous homesteads.
Their stories intrigued me, and I wish I knew more about the place. Something to research when I fired up the laptop at the hotel.
We also stopped along the way to explore Hays Creek Falls. It's a little turnout in the road, but has the most spectacular waterfall. I have a bum knee and couldn't climb to it, but Ranger could. You see him climbing here, and it give you size perspective with the falls.
And he got these lovely close-ups of the water:
Checkin time was coming, so we headed back up to Glenwood and the promise of hot springs relaxation. By this time, though, relaxation wasn't an issue. I was breathing mountain air. Ranger was holding my hand and softly crooning love songs to me. I settled deeper into my seat, let the breeze blow on my face, and let it swep away the things that elevate my blood pressure when I think about them.
We checked into the hotel. Incidentally, they'd pissed me off a couple of days before. I made my reservation and asked for a fridge in the room, to keep my insulin cool. I told them why I needed it. They responded by saying I'd have to purchase a more expensive room in order to have the fridge. Okay, lemme get this straight....diabetics can only stay there and have insulin refrigerated if they book the more expensive rooms. Lovely.
So, the room was....okay. It was nice. We had a small balcony that overlooked the hot springs pool. I stepped out and checked out the view. Well, what I was really doing was checking out the bodies at the pool. I wanted to see how self-conscious I needed to be among the beautiful people of Colorado.
Know what I found? Bodies that shouldn't be in bikinis, but were anyhow. Sagging, wrinkled, aged, cellulite-ravaged bodies. My self-consciousness melted away a bit. Obviously, no one was worried about themselves or others. And I learned. Quit worrying about how you look to others. Ranger thinks you're beautiful without a stitch on, Blogget. He thinks you're beautiful when you're feverish and stuffy and mucousy. Get into the swimsuit and relax, kiddo.
So I did.
We strolled to the pool. I checked out the shop there, looking for some campy souvenier. Oh! A towel! Perfect! Big, fluffy, white, with the pool logo....and $40. I'm not paying $40 for a towel. And I'm not paying $60 for a purse, no matter how cute, so we headed to the dressing rooms. I changed and rinsed off (as they request), and stepped out to see Ranger.
He smiled. His eyes moved over my suit, and my form. "You look so lovely," he said. I smiled, feeling ridiculous about feeling relieved.
You actually have two pools to choose from. The smaller one is hotter, and nearer the spring's source. The bigger one is cooler, in many ways. One end has slides and diving boards. This is where the kids and families gather. Then, it has lap lanes. This is where the exercisers gather. Then, the pool becomes still and tranquil. This is where the floaters are.
We stepped into this part of the pool. The sky was overcast and the breeze was cool. We glided into it, Ranger going all the way under as quickly as he could. My fish. We half-waded, half-swam to deeper waters. The water is dark and salty, full of minerals. Good-for-you stuff. We got deeper and Ranger swam to me, coming up under me. Gently, he swept me up into his arms, floating me, carrying me like a groom carries his bride over the threshhold.
I dropped my head back, soaking my hair in the water. I slowly kicked my feet and let my hands drift. He bobbed me a little, making waves, floating me to the deeper end of the pool. I looked at the clouds. I soaked in the warmth of the water.
Bliss.
Ranger dropped his arms, and I swam away. He followed, doing underwater flips beside my lazy breast-stroke. I flipped onto my back and watched him, kicking slowly to keep moving along. I do love him.
"Ready for the serious stuff?" he asked. We made our way back out of the cool-pool and crossed over to the hot pool.
Dang, it's hot!
This is the therapeutic pool. They warn you not to stay in it more than twenty minutes. We sat in the bubble-chairs for awhile, then followed the path of the steam to the hot-hot end. Benches are there to sit on, your back just feet from the spring's source. You can feel the flow of it into the pool, if you put your feet over the right places on the bottom. We lingered our twenty minutes, then hauled our bodies from the water. Your limbs feel heavy with relaxation, as the heat has permeated to your bones. My back felt good. My knees felt good. We showered and headed back to the hotel to collapse.
Well, not exactly collapse. Okay, we intended to collapse. The balcony door was open, letting the breeze stir the sheers. We stretched out beside each other and made love. Then....I was starving.
When in Glenwood Springs, there's only one place to satisfy an appetite that's gotten so worked up. Juicy Lucy's. Probably the best steakhouse in the state. No kidding. Steaks for dinner and creme brulee for dessert. The most professional wait staff anywhere. Perfection.
I couldn't sleep that night. Asleep. Awake. Asleep. Awake. I was relaxed, full, and happy. I have trouble the first night in a new place, anyhow. It was a rough night, though, and I was not ready to get up in the morning. I checked my conference schedule. I needed to be at a luncheon at noon, an hour up the road. I climbed back in bed and let Ranger wake me up properly.
I ended up running late for the luncheon. Go figure. About 30 minutes outside of Vail, my boss texts me: "Are you here yet?" Oops. I just about ran into the hotel lobby to get checked in, so Ranger could unload the things from the car. I about tripped, though, when I looked around.
The place was gorgeous. Quite possibly the most gorgeous hotel I've ever been in. It was everything you think a mountain lodge would be. Wood, leather, stone gorgeous. The clerk was smiling at me in a way that said, "You are the most exciting guest I've ever seen and I'm completely overjoyed to help you."
I handed her my reservation and gave her my name. "Oh, I see you're one of our rewards members," she said, tapping away at her computer. "We thank you so much for your loyalty, as we know you have a choice when you travel." Tappity-tappity. She handed me my room keys. "We have a lovely room for you with a mountain view and balcony."
Mountain view and balcony. I love those words.
I strolled back out to Ranger and the valet. The parking is valet only. The valet wrote down the room number and my name on the tag. "Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Jones," he said. "I'll meet you upstairs with your luggage." Ranger shot me a look. He was assumed to be Mr. Jones. I laughed, and hoped he thought it was funny, too.
Ranger assured me he could get everything from the car, and shooed me away to the conference. I got checked in and went to the luncheon, just in time for the keynote speaker. Whew. My boss was busy visiting with someone and didn't see me slip in. Double whew.
As conferences go, it was a good one. I learned a few new things, like the educational applications of Twitter, Ning.com, and how cool the GE Smart Grid virtual holograms are (if you haven't taken a look at Plugintothesmartgrid.com and tried the hologram thing, you gotta!). We saw a cool demo of a 3D environment for education. Cool, but too pricey to be useful in this economic climate. I stated that to more than one over-zealous vendor. Listen, bud...when we're being asked to cut budgets, telling the administration we want to spend money is a tough sell.
Another thing conferences are good for are door prizes. This conference does them during the breaks. So, they hand out little numbered tickets -- a new ticket each drawing. I memorize the number and tuck it in my name tag, so I can do other things. Like make myself a cup of coffee or eat my snack. I'm standing beside this one vendor named Nick.
"What's your number?" says Nick.
"136688," I answered, without pulling out my ticket.
"You memorized it?"
"Yeah," I said, then saw his look. "It wasn't a hard one. It starts with 13, which is a number that follows me around, then just two 6's and two 8's."
I won a shirt.
"Wow, that's amazing. So, what's with 13?" asks Nick.
I explained the whole weird thing. The number literally follows me. It started when I was about 5 and was number 13 on my softball team. Since then, it's everywhere. Any drawing, I have a 13. My house has 13 steps in it. Right now, my parking tag number adds up to 13. My office key is inventory #1613.
So, the next drawing happens. I notice all the tickets start with 13 now. It's that way throughout the conference. I hear Nick say, "Watch....she memorizes it." I won a CD and a tri-color highlighter.
Next drawing, we're at the final luncheon with my boss. Nick is sitting beside me again. They call my number and I get up. I won a mini-microscope. Behind me, I hear this:
Boss: "She didn't look at her ticket."
Nick: "No kidding, right? She memorizes it."
Boss: "Seriously?"
Nick: "Yeah. She's data-driven."
So, I've jumped way ahead. Back at the ranch...I mean, back with Ranger, he's having a ball with our hotel room. The beds are just doubles, but he doesn't care. Makes for good snuggling!
"Look at this!" he's saying as I come through the door. I'm in our foyer. Foyer. I hang up my jacket on the rack, and walk in. The place is gorgeous, like the lobby. The bathroom is huge, and marble. The beds are fluffy and fold me into sweet softness when I stretch out. We have a balcony that looks right at the ski runs. It's sunny and nice outside. Not too cold, but that changes.
We get hit by a major snowstorm that week. No one can go east of Vail. Skiiers are flocking to the town for the end-of-season celebrations, as huge snow falls on them. Five floors below us, we hear revelers enjoying the outdoor hot tub, and lots of beer. Lots and lots of beer.
Ranger brought many soft, silky things for me to sleep in. We cozy up and sleep with the balcony door open. We watch the snow fall and keep each other warm. While I'm in the conference sessions, he's building his web sites for the business he's starting.
This is what the snow looked like from our balcony:
We went to dinner with my boss twice. The first time was with one of our instructors. They started talking about a survey that was done on our campus recently, about our distance education program.
"You were mentioned quite favorably," my boss said to me.
"Really?" I said. I hadn't heard about this survey.
"Oh yes," said the faculty person. "I think you're due for a title change."
"I think so," my boss said. "How about 'Queen'?"
I'll get the new business cards ordered.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Understanding my place
I got a text from Greg the other day.
"So, they offered me a management position," he said. "I'd be at a new store in Houston."
Okay, so this is exciting. Greg has a chance to move his life forward, get something steady, and start living the way he wants to.
"That's great!" I typed back.
"Yeah," he said. "My family is there, too."
"I assume you're taking it?"
"I'm debating."
What?? What is there to debate?? He has nothing but misery in Lubbock.
"What are you debating?" I asked.
His answer was long in coming. "If I go there, will I see you again?"
You could just hear the brakes squealing in my mind. I shouldn't be that big of a factor in his decision-making process. I'm not that significant in his life. Or am I?
Apparently so. Outside of anything romantic, I'm still the only mature adult friend he has. And he's also apparently not willing to go without that. Even though he sees me once every six months now.
"My ex lives in Houston," I said. "I'll still go with the kids when they see him."
So, Greg packed his things and moved to Houston. Where he promptly went to a different Friday's than the one he's managing....
....and got food poisoning.
"So, they offered me a management position," he said. "I'd be at a new store in Houston."
Okay, so this is exciting. Greg has a chance to move his life forward, get something steady, and start living the way he wants to.
"That's great!" I typed back.
"Yeah," he said. "My family is there, too."
"I assume you're taking it?"
"I'm debating."
What?? What is there to debate?? He has nothing but misery in Lubbock.
"What are you debating?" I asked.
His answer was long in coming. "If I go there, will I see you again?"
You could just hear the brakes squealing in my mind. I shouldn't be that big of a factor in his decision-making process. I'm not that significant in his life. Or am I?
Apparently so. Outside of anything romantic, I'm still the only mature adult friend he has. And he's also apparently not willing to go without that. Even though he sees me once every six months now.
"My ex lives in Houston," I said. "I'll still go with the kids when they see him."
So, Greg packed his things and moved to Houston. Where he promptly went to a different Friday's than the one he's managing....
....and got food poisoning.
Friday, April 03, 2009
The tough post
So my folks and son left about two weeks ago to go help my sister get her house ready to sell. They're back now, but those 10 days they were gone were bliss. Except for the fact that I promptly got sick. I mean sick. I haven't been that sick in years. I haven't had a fever for a week now, but I'm still coughing up a lung every 15 minutes, and I have no energy.
Ranger and Daughter took good care of me, though. For a few days, it was like we were a family. Very happy to just be together. Daughter was ecstatic. Son was not there, and that was a good thing....but I'll explain why later.
I was still sick when I got a message that they had decided to move my office again. I'm in the IT suite now, which a little closer to appropriate. It's a weird-shaped triangular space, but my crap will fill it nicely.
Still I have a lot of ground to cover still, so here goes. I'm stalling. This is the post I've been avoiding because it's a rough ride. Make sure your seat belts are securely fastened.
It started the day I got back to work, after my glorious Spring Break with my daughter. I got a call from Ranger.
"Can we have lunch today?" he asked. His voice sounded strained. Something was wrong.
"Sure," I said. "What's wrong?"
A pause. My heart sank. He didn't say "Nothing's wrong!" so my gut reaction was right. The pause meant it was something bad.
His voice got small. "I'd rather talk to you in person about it."
Okay, see, you can't do that to me. I start to panic. I obsess. What can it be? Another woman? He's leaving me? He's moving away? He's been jobless for awhile, doing things here and there to stay afloat. He applies and applies, but there's not much to be had....as anyone who watches the news knows.
So, I say so. "You can't do that. Please tell me what's wrong."
He paused again. I heard him sigh. "Okay. I got a call from a Federal Marshall. They want to prosecute me."
I got a chill up my spine. My mouth went dry. This shit just doesn't happen in my life. I don't hear these words. "What for?" I asked.
Another sigh. "Theft of public funds. From the mail place."
Do you all remember that fiasco? They had $10,000 in inventory and transactions missing, but they're also the world's worst at managing their books. So, upon hearing this, I'm instantly furious.
"You've gotta be kidding!" I said. "You said they messed up their own end-of-day balances all the time. What evidence can they possibly think they have to do this?....." I was in full furious tilt, but Ranger stopped me.
"Sweetie," he said softly. "They have video evidence. I did it. They got me."
I think I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating. "What?" I finally said, in disbelief.
His words were coming in a torrent. "They'd cut my hours back so bad, when they'd promised more. I thought I'd borrow some and put it back when I got more money coming in. But they did an audit before I could. It's not near the amount they're saying. Not even close to that."
I sat silent. I didn't know what to say. I was trying to breathe again, much less think and speak intelligently.
"It was stupid," he continued. "I knew it was. I thought if I did that, then I would be able to stay near you. And now I've ruined my life."
Okay, there's a discrepancy I haven't ever pointed out. He's referring to his job search, which has had to expand past this area. But that didn't happen until after he left the mail center. He was looking for another job at that time, but it hadn't expanded to that.
"Is it a felony?" I finally said. I really don't have any experience with this kind of thing. I'm at a complete loss.
"Yeah," he said. "I won't ever be able to be a park ranger again. I let myself compromise my principles, and I've really ruined my life."
Okay, so I didn't realize he still wanted to be a park ranger. But that's a discussion for another time. It's a moot point at the moment.
We met for lunch. He's seriously depressed, and understandably so. I'd had some time to think, in the meantime.
First things first, though. He was to appear in court on the following Friday, in Denver. He'd been assigned a public defender. He'd already looked into bus fare versus gas costs and they washed out. The bus schedule didn't work out, though. Buy a ticket, get there at 2 AM, and just hope there's a seat for you. Often, there isn't. Not a good option when you have a court date.
My folks and Son were leaving for my sister's on the same day Ranger had to go to Denver. I wished I could go with him, but I have a daughter to take care of. I told Ranger he couldn't let his depression over this take over. He had to keep moving and keep thinking. I can't do it for him, and I won't. He knows how I had to "babysit" Old BF, and that it's a bad place for me to be.
"I'll try," he said.
"No," I said. "You'll have to DO it. I really try not to tell you what to do, but I'm going to now. If you're going to have my support in this, this is what you'll have to do."
He blinked at me. He'd never seen me in full Bossy mode before. But I was at the end of my rope. I'm not coddling this. I can't. I have to admit, I was angry. I have my hands full enough with trouble with Son and what his moods do to our household. I don't need to be dragging Ranger along, too.
So, I talked about getting ahold of his lawyer. I told him what he needed to ask and what needed to be done. A, B, C. He might have done something wrong, but he shouldn't be held to task for things he didn't do. Go through the video evidence. Make them prove the amount, and take responsibility for that.
He nodded. Okay. Sounds good. You're right.
Then, we talked about getting him there. I didn't know it, but he'd already sold some of his things, to get the money he needed to go. He'd handled that. I was relieved. I needed to see that. I needed to see action on his part, and not just moping on his ass.
Then, we talked about his joblessness. The time had passed for sending applications and waiting to be called. "I need you to be aggressive about this," I said. "I can't do it for you. And even if I could, I wouldn't."
"I know," he said. "It's hard for me to be that aggressive, though."
I shook my head. "That doesn't matter. You have to be. You don't have a choice. I've watched you be passive so far and I've let it go, but no more. You either swim now or sink."
He heard me. He agreed. He would go talk to a friend of mine with a computer business. My friend does in-home "how to" help, but he gets more calls for things he doesn't do. These are things Ranger can do. It's not his favorite, but the referrals will be instant income. He agreed and made the call, and set up a meeting.
But the buzz in the back of my head kept going. He's a felon now. What will the future be like? For now, we need to get him through handling this. He showed me the rest of the week that he was stepping up to the plate with this situation, and not making me handle it. He's aware of my burdens, aware of having added to my stress, and feels bad about it. So, he's handling it.
And I think he knows the only thing keeping me with him right now is that I love him so very much, and that he loves me in a way no one ever has. But if he pushes me more, I'll break.
So, I make it through the rest of the week. Mostly, I'm having to deal with Son. He's moody and difficult. He's gotten behind in his schoolwork, and I'm pushing him to get it taken care of. He's been playing video games instead of doing his work. Lovely.
"Let me handle it," he says, angry. He's already tried telling me it's none of my business, but that doesn't fly. As you can imagine.
"I can't just turn it over to you," I say. "You have to show me you can handle it before I can back off. I let you handle it so far, and you have missing assignments. If you want me to treat you as a mature and responsible person, then you have to act like one."
The day before they are to leave for my sister's (and the day before Ranger goes to Denver), I have to take Son to a chiropractor appointment. He hasn't been in a long time, and he's stiffened up. Not good when he's about to go help move things.
He's being belligerent about going. He's belligerent about everything, though, so I just press on. I'm so tired of dealing with how attached he is to being angry. I tell him to quit being difficult because he's about to push me too far.
Son has several "weapons" in his emotional arsenal. Why he wants to piss me off, I don't know. Maybe it justifies his own anger in some way. I'm not sure. But his iPod is one such weapon. I have told him, "When you plug into your iPod when we're together, it offends me. It's rude to me. Stop it." And if he does it anyway, I know he's trying to offend me. We've talked about this ad nauseum.
After the appointment, we needed to go to the grocery store. ironically, it was a stop to get things Son needed for the trip. Ranger was coming over to help my dad load the trailer with stuff to take, so he met us at the store to get some things of his own.
Before we got to the door, Son had the iPod plugged into his head, blaring. He walked way ahead of me, ignoring me calling to him. Ranger's face tensed, but he didn't say anything. He makes a big effort to not get between me and my kids. They have a dad. They don't need another.
I got the things we needed and went to the checkout. Son made an appearance and actually helped put things in bags. Ranger was at another checkout. He'd catch up to us.
As we walked to the door, Son said something. With background noise, though, I have trouble hearing people if they aren't looking at me. He wasn't.
"What?" I said.
He kept his head turned and said whatever it was again.
"What?" I repeated. "I can't hear you."
"Yes, you can," he turned on me. Angry, nasty, venomous. "Nevermind."
At nearly 6'3", he knows he can be physically intimidating. He tried to bow-up over me and make me back down. I don't respond well to that. I'd had it. My temper broke. I chewed his ass out as we went out the door. "I'm here, doing you a favor, and all you can do is act like a complete butt?" I deliberately didn't say "ass." I thought about it, glanced at the old woman following behind him, and decided "butt" was better. Ranger was coming up behind the woman, and saw the trouble brewing.
We got in our respective cars and headed to my house. Ranger was ahead.
Son was still pushing me. He cranked up the iPod louder, practically in my face with it.
"You can either turn it off or I'll throw it out the window," I said.
"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he sneered at me.
I thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I would," I answered. "So just give me a reason. You use that stupid thing as a weapon. You deliberately offend me with it, even when I'm doing you a favor. That's really stupid. Why would you want to piss off the person who makes the life you have possible?"
Then, I made mistake #1. I said, "Idiot."
Now, I have never, ever called my children names. I don't know why this came out of my mouth this time, but it did. Was I overstressed? Maybe.
He got in my face and said, "Dumb fuck."
Then, I made mistake #2. I'm driving and he's in my face, calling me a dumb fuck. So, I slapped at his head. I remember thinking, if I knock his hat off, he'll have to bend to get it and will get out of my face.
WHAM!
That's when the first punch hit me, in the face.
I think I hit back while I was trying to pull the car over. I was afraid his hitting me would put us in oncoming traffic.
I remember seeing my glasses on the floor. I remember turning towards him so I could put up both hands. His hat was off, so I grabbed his hair and pulled back with all my might. He stopped hitting me, but his fist was raised. We were nose to nose, and I said the only thing that came to mind.
"If you don't put your fist down, I'll pummel the shit out of you." I didn't mean it. I could never do that to one of my children. But I had to get him to back down and stop hitting me. He looked into my eyes for a moment. I saw the shadow of doubt cross his face as he glanced and saw how close I'd gotten. He wasn't sure I couldn't hurt him. He put his fist down.
However, as I spoke, I noticed something else. Blood splattering his cheek as the words came from my mouth. I glanced in the mirror and saw my teeth and lips bloodied and swelling.
So, we turned to a battle of words. Ranger texted and said, "Did I lose you?" They were wondering why we weren't home yet. I wiped the blood from my face as much as I could. I didn't show Son how shocked I was at the amount of blood on my hands.
Ranger was helping my dad in the driveway when we got there. I kept my face down as I went past them. Son went in and started yelling at my mom about what had happened. I wasn't sure if he was lying deliberately or if he didn't really remember what happened. He was saying he was defending himself. He has stuck to this story, to this day.
However, it was a little hard to believe it when he's unscathed and I walk in, with blood on my face and hands. My mouth was swelling badly. It would turn purple the next day. My ear was swelling. That whole region would turn dark purple and swell so much my ear stuck out like Baby New Year's. Bruises would appear on my chest and arm.
It's a good thing I got sick the next week because going to work like that would be very difficult.
Ranger texted when Dad wasn't looking to see why Son wasn't coming out to help. I replied, "Shhh around my dad. Son hit me. We're having a problem."
I got a wet washcloth and stepped out on the back porch. Son eventually came out and said, "I didn't mean to hurt you." He apologized. I asked if he realized that if he'd done that to anyone else, he'd be in jail. He said yes. We talked.
After Son went in, Ranger came outside. He was worried beyond belief. He wiped some blood I'd missed. He looked inside my mouth. "Looks like hamburger in there," he said. He held me and I cried, and cried. It didn't help the swelling at all. He was angry and protective, but he stayed out of it, knowing his intervention wouldn't help. It might actually make it worse. He was torn, though, with his feelings of needing to protect me from my own son.
I dodged everyone the rest of the night. Later, I comforted Daughter. She slept in my room, afraid to be across the hall from her brother. I had to be on a conference call the next morning, so I got to the office early, kept my door closed, and used a lot of makeup. It hurt so much to talk. I kept ice on my mouth, to keep the swelling down long enough to get through the call.
Greg called early, though. I didn't answer. The more I talked, the more it swelled. I texted back and told him what happened, and why I didn't answer. He asked if I'd called the cops. I said no. He made me promise to do so if it happened again. I don't know if I can. The conversation made me feel like a stereotypical abuse victim, making excuses for why I couldn't call the police.
My folks and Son left while I was at work. I'm still at a loss. My mom told me he repeated to her that he was defending himself. She said, "Really? Show me your bruises." That made him stop.
Now, three weeks later, we have superficial conversations. I don't know what to do about it. I'm so weary of tiptoing around his moods. I won't do it anymore. If he wants to act nasty, he can do it alone. My mother says things like, "We need to ask his opinion or he'll be mad..." or "If you do such-and-such with Daughter, you have to do it with Son...." No, I don't. His need to be angry isn't going to rule the household. His need to be nasty to me isn't going to earn privleges. I'm not coddling this.
I feel very protective of my daughter, at the same time. She's very scared of her brother. She shouldn't have to live that way. I want to take her away from it. I'm working on improving my financial situation so that I have that option. Son will be 18 soon, and he can choose where he wants to live. Odds are, it will be with his grandparents, where his behavior gets lots of attention and coddling.
Ranger gets angry when he hears that Son has repeated his "defending myself" story to someone. "Oh yeah, right," Ranger says. "That's why I spent the next week being careful to not hurt her bruises when I put my arms around her. Why I had to be careful not to hurt her ear when she cried on my shoulder. And why I had to kiss her carefully so I didn't touch the swollen side of her lips."
Ranger had to go to Denver that following day. It hurt him to leave me like that. His court date went well. His defender is making them prove the amount. They aren't pursuing jail time. We'll see how it pans out.
We'll see how all of it pans out.
Ranger and Daughter took good care of me, though. For a few days, it was like we were a family. Very happy to just be together. Daughter was ecstatic. Son was not there, and that was a good thing....but I'll explain why later.
I was still sick when I got a message that they had decided to move my office again. I'm in the IT suite now, which a little closer to appropriate. It's a weird-shaped triangular space, but my crap will fill it nicely.
Still I have a lot of ground to cover still, so here goes. I'm stalling. This is the post I've been avoiding because it's a rough ride. Make sure your seat belts are securely fastened.
It started the day I got back to work, after my glorious Spring Break with my daughter. I got a call from Ranger.
"Can we have lunch today?" he asked. His voice sounded strained. Something was wrong.
"Sure," I said. "What's wrong?"
A pause. My heart sank. He didn't say "Nothing's wrong!" so my gut reaction was right. The pause meant it was something bad.
His voice got small. "I'd rather talk to you in person about it."
Okay, see, you can't do that to me. I start to panic. I obsess. What can it be? Another woman? He's leaving me? He's moving away? He's been jobless for awhile, doing things here and there to stay afloat. He applies and applies, but there's not much to be had....as anyone who watches the news knows.
So, I say so. "You can't do that. Please tell me what's wrong."
He paused again. I heard him sigh. "Okay. I got a call from a Federal Marshall. They want to prosecute me."
I got a chill up my spine. My mouth went dry. This shit just doesn't happen in my life. I don't hear these words. "What for?" I asked.
Another sigh. "Theft of public funds. From the mail place."
Do you all remember that fiasco? They had $10,000 in inventory and transactions missing, but they're also the world's worst at managing their books. So, upon hearing this, I'm instantly furious.
"You've gotta be kidding!" I said. "You said they messed up their own end-of-day balances all the time. What evidence can they possibly think they have to do this?....." I was in full furious tilt, but Ranger stopped me.
"Sweetie," he said softly. "They have video evidence. I did it. They got me."
I think I stopped breathing. My heart stopped beating. "What?" I finally said, in disbelief.
His words were coming in a torrent. "They'd cut my hours back so bad, when they'd promised more. I thought I'd borrow some and put it back when I got more money coming in. But they did an audit before I could. It's not near the amount they're saying. Not even close to that."
I sat silent. I didn't know what to say. I was trying to breathe again, much less think and speak intelligently.
"It was stupid," he continued. "I knew it was. I thought if I did that, then I would be able to stay near you. And now I've ruined my life."
Okay, there's a discrepancy I haven't ever pointed out. He's referring to his job search, which has had to expand past this area. But that didn't happen until after he left the mail center. He was looking for another job at that time, but it hadn't expanded to that.
"Is it a felony?" I finally said. I really don't have any experience with this kind of thing. I'm at a complete loss.
"Yeah," he said. "I won't ever be able to be a park ranger again. I let myself compromise my principles, and I've really ruined my life."
Okay, so I didn't realize he still wanted to be a park ranger. But that's a discussion for another time. It's a moot point at the moment.
We met for lunch. He's seriously depressed, and understandably so. I'd had some time to think, in the meantime.
First things first, though. He was to appear in court on the following Friday, in Denver. He'd been assigned a public defender. He'd already looked into bus fare versus gas costs and they washed out. The bus schedule didn't work out, though. Buy a ticket, get there at 2 AM, and just hope there's a seat for you. Often, there isn't. Not a good option when you have a court date.
My folks and Son were leaving for my sister's on the same day Ranger had to go to Denver. I wished I could go with him, but I have a daughter to take care of. I told Ranger he couldn't let his depression over this take over. He had to keep moving and keep thinking. I can't do it for him, and I won't. He knows how I had to "babysit" Old BF, and that it's a bad place for me to be.
"I'll try," he said.
"No," I said. "You'll have to DO it. I really try not to tell you what to do, but I'm going to now. If you're going to have my support in this, this is what you'll have to do."
He blinked at me. He'd never seen me in full Bossy mode before. But I was at the end of my rope. I'm not coddling this. I can't. I have to admit, I was angry. I have my hands full enough with trouble with Son and what his moods do to our household. I don't need to be dragging Ranger along, too.
So, I talked about getting ahold of his lawyer. I told him what he needed to ask and what needed to be done. A, B, C. He might have done something wrong, but he shouldn't be held to task for things he didn't do. Go through the video evidence. Make them prove the amount, and take responsibility for that.
He nodded. Okay. Sounds good. You're right.
Then, we talked about getting him there. I didn't know it, but he'd already sold some of his things, to get the money he needed to go. He'd handled that. I was relieved. I needed to see that. I needed to see action on his part, and not just moping on his ass.
Then, we talked about his joblessness. The time had passed for sending applications and waiting to be called. "I need you to be aggressive about this," I said. "I can't do it for you. And even if I could, I wouldn't."
"I know," he said. "It's hard for me to be that aggressive, though."
I shook my head. "That doesn't matter. You have to be. You don't have a choice. I've watched you be passive so far and I've let it go, but no more. You either swim now or sink."
He heard me. He agreed. He would go talk to a friend of mine with a computer business. My friend does in-home "how to" help, but he gets more calls for things he doesn't do. These are things Ranger can do. It's not his favorite, but the referrals will be instant income. He agreed and made the call, and set up a meeting.
But the buzz in the back of my head kept going. He's a felon now. What will the future be like? For now, we need to get him through handling this. He showed me the rest of the week that he was stepping up to the plate with this situation, and not making me handle it. He's aware of my burdens, aware of having added to my stress, and feels bad about it. So, he's handling it.
And I think he knows the only thing keeping me with him right now is that I love him so very much, and that he loves me in a way no one ever has. But if he pushes me more, I'll break.
So, I make it through the rest of the week. Mostly, I'm having to deal with Son. He's moody and difficult. He's gotten behind in his schoolwork, and I'm pushing him to get it taken care of. He's been playing video games instead of doing his work. Lovely.
"Let me handle it," he says, angry. He's already tried telling me it's none of my business, but that doesn't fly. As you can imagine.
"I can't just turn it over to you," I say. "You have to show me you can handle it before I can back off. I let you handle it so far, and you have missing assignments. If you want me to treat you as a mature and responsible person, then you have to act like one."
The day before they are to leave for my sister's (and the day before Ranger goes to Denver), I have to take Son to a chiropractor appointment. He hasn't been in a long time, and he's stiffened up. Not good when he's about to go help move things.
He's being belligerent about going. He's belligerent about everything, though, so I just press on. I'm so tired of dealing with how attached he is to being angry. I tell him to quit being difficult because he's about to push me too far.
Son has several "weapons" in his emotional arsenal. Why he wants to piss me off, I don't know. Maybe it justifies his own anger in some way. I'm not sure. But his iPod is one such weapon. I have told him, "When you plug into your iPod when we're together, it offends me. It's rude to me. Stop it." And if he does it anyway, I know he's trying to offend me. We've talked about this ad nauseum.
After the appointment, we needed to go to the grocery store. ironically, it was a stop to get things Son needed for the trip. Ranger was coming over to help my dad load the trailer with stuff to take, so he met us at the store to get some things of his own.
Before we got to the door, Son had the iPod plugged into his head, blaring. He walked way ahead of me, ignoring me calling to him. Ranger's face tensed, but he didn't say anything. He makes a big effort to not get between me and my kids. They have a dad. They don't need another.
I got the things we needed and went to the checkout. Son made an appearance and actually helped put things in bags. Ranger was at another checkout. He'd catch up to us.
As we walked to the door, Son said something. With background noise, though, I have trouble hearing people if they aren't looking at me. He wasn't.
"What?" I said.
He kept his head turned and said whatever it was again.
"What?" I repeated. "I can't hear you."
"Yes, you can," he turned on me. Angry, nasty, venomous. "Nevermind."
At nearly 6'3", he knows he can be physically intimidating. He tried to bow-up over me and make me back down. I don't respond well to that. I'd had it. My temper broke. I chewed his ass out as we went out the door. "I'm here, doing you a favor, and all you can do is act like a complete butt?" I deliberately didn't say "ass." I thought about it, glanced at the old woman following behind him, and decided "butt" was better. Ranger was coming up behind the woman, and saw the trouble brewing.
We got in our respective cars and headed to my house. Ranger was ahead.
Son was still pushing me. He cranked up the iPod louder, practically in my face with it.
"You can either turn it off or I'll throw it out the window," I said.
"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he sneered at me.
I thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I would," I answered. "So just give me a reason. You use that stupid thing as a weapon. You deliberately offend me with it, even when I'm doing you a favor. That's really stupid. Why would you want to piss off the person who makes the life you have possible?"
Then, I made mistake #1. I said, "Idiot."
Now, I have never, ever called my children names. I don't know why this came out of my mouth this time, but it did. Was I overstressed? Maybe.
He got in my face and said, "Dumb fuck."
Then, I made mistake #2. I'm driving and he's in my face, calling me a dumb fuck. So, I slapped at his head. I remember thinking, if I knock his hat off, he'll have to bend to get it and will get out of my face.
WHAM!
That's when the first punch hit me, in the face.
I think I hit back while I was trying to pull the car over. I was afraid his hitting me would put us in oncoming traffic.
I remember seeing my glasses on the floor. I remember turning towards him so I could put up both hands. His hat was off, so I grabbed his hair and pulled back with all my might. He stopped hitting me, but his fist was raised. We were nose to nose, and I said the only thing that came to mind.
"If you don't put your fist down, I'll pummel the shit out of you." I didn't mean it. I could never do that to one of my children. But I had to get him to back down and stop hitting me. He looked into my eyes for a moment. I saw the shadow of doubt cross his face as he glanced and saw how close I'd gotten. He wasn't sure I couldn't hurt him. He put his fist down.
However, as I spoke, I noticed something else. Blood splattering his cheek as the words came from my mouth. I glanced in the mirror and saw my teeth and lips bloodied and swelling.
So, we turned to a battle of words. Ranger texted and said, "Did I lose you?" They were wondering why we weren't home yet. I wiped the blood from my face as much as I could. I didn't show Son how shocked I was at the amount of blood on my hands.
Ranger was helping my dad in the driveway when we got there. I kept my face down as I went past them. Son went in and started yelling at my mom about what had happened. I wasn't sure if he was lying deliberately or if he didn't really remember what happened. He was saying he was defending himself. He has stuck to this story, to this day.
However, it was a little hard to believe it when he's unscathed and I walk in, with blood on my face and hands. My mouth was swelling badly. It would turn purple the next day. My ear was swelling. That whole region would turn dark purple and swell so much my ear stuck out like Baby New Year's. Bruises would appear on my chest and arm.
It's a good thing I got sick the next week because going to work like that would be very difficult.
Ranger texted when Dad wasn't looking to see why Son wasn't coming out to help. I replied, "Shhh around my dad. Son hit me. We're having a problem."
I got a wet washcloth and stepped out on the back porch. Son eventually came out and said, "I didn't mean to hurt you." He apologized. I asked if he realized that if he'd done that to anyone else, he'd be in jail. He said yes. We talked.
After Son went in, Ranger came outside. He was worried beyond belief. He wiped some blood I'd missed. He looked inside my mouth. "Looks like hamburger in there," he said. He held me and I cried, and cried. It didn't help the swelling at all. He was angry and protective, but he stayed out of it, knowing his intervention wouldn't help. It might actually make it worse. He was torn, though, with his feelings of needing to protect me from my own son.
I dodged everyone the rest of the night. Later, I comforted Daughter. She slept in my room, afraid to be across the hall from her brother. I had to be on a conference call the next morning, so I got to the office early, kept my door closed, and used a lot of makeup. It hurt so much to talk. I kept ice on my mouth, to keep the swelling down long enough to get through the call.
Greg called early, though. I didn't answer. The more I talked, the more it swelled. I texted back and told him what happened, and why I didn't answer. He asked if I'd called the cops. I said no. He made me promise to do so if it happened again. I don't know if I can. The conversation made me feel like a stereotypical abuse victim, making excuses for why I couldn't call the police.
My folks and Son left while I was at work. I'm still at a loss. My mom told me he repeated to her that he was defending himself. She said, "Really? Show me your bruises." That made him stop.
Now, three weeks later, we have superficial conversations. I don't know what to do about it. I'm so weary of tiptoing around his moods. I won't do it anymore. If he wants to act nasty, he can do it alone. My mother says things like, "We need to ask his opinion or he'll be mad..." or "If you do such-and-such with Daughter, you have to do it with Son...." No, I don't. His need to be angry isn't going to rule the household. His need to be nasty to me isn't going to earn privleges. I'm not coddling this.
I feel very protective of my daughter, at the same time. She's very scared of her brother. She shouldn't have to live that way. I want to take her away from it. I'm working on improving my financial situation so that I have that option. Son will be 18 soon, and he can choose where he wants to live. Odds are, it will be with his grandparents, where his behavior gets lots of attention and coddling.
Ranger gets angry when he hears that Son has repeated his "defending myself" story to someone. "Oh yeah, right," Ranger says. "That's why I spent the next week being careful to not hurt her bruises when I put my arms around her. Why I had to be careful not to hurt her ear when she cried on my shoulder. And why I had to kiss her carefully so I didn't touch the swollen side of her lips."
Ranger had to go to Denver that following day. It hurt him to leave me like that. His court date went well. His defender is making them prove the amount. They aren't pursuing jail time. We'll see how it pans out.
We'll see how all of it pans out.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Spring Break cometh (and goeth) too soon
For some reason, our Spring Break comes earlier than everyone else's. Maybe it's because people here are more worried about catching good snow than catching good waves. In any case, Spring Break came quickly on the heels of the Lubbock trip.
I decided to take a trip to Salt Lake City with my kids. The youth at church were planning a trip there at the end of Spring Break, to go to the open house of the new temple in Draper, Utah. Daughter very much wanted to go, so I thought it a good opportunity to go back to SLC and do all the things we missed last year when we went.
However, Son is rather belligerent about all things spiritual right now. I think it's his brand of rebellion. He'll go, after much trouble and arguing, put for a hour, then he leaves in a good mood. Rinse and repeat, one week later. He also had to take the SAT that week, so he took the excuse to not go with Daughter and I.
Well, he's actually belligerent about all things. Period. He's developed a nasty disposition that seems to revolve around either (a) pissing someone off deliberately, or (b) manipulating someone into taking him somewhere to eat. It's wearing, really. Each day, I have to find a way to not get pissed about something offensive he's pulling. I think it's a control thing with him. If he can make you mad, then he's exacted some kind of control. It's making me nuts, though.
Ranger was a little sad that I'd be gone again so soon, and for so many days. But he know the importance of my relationship with my kids, so he hands over the GPS and kisses me good-bye, and waits for updates.
Daughter and I had a plan, of sorts. We'd go early on a Tuesday. Sight-see until her friends arrived on Friday, when we'd all go to the open house. We'd drive back with the caravan of giggly gal-pals on Saturday. And a good time would be had by all.
We cruised online travel sites for a deal on a snazzy hotel, near the sights in downtown Salt Lake City. The place we stayed last year had gone up. No deals to be had and I'm not paying $219 a night! Finally, we found the Radisson, which is about a block from Gateway Mall in one direction and Temple Square in the other. Perfect. I just had to make sure they had hot cocoa via room service, so we'd be sufficiently spoiled. Double perfect.
So, off we went, early on a Tuesday morning, bee-bopping down the highway with the tunes playing and singing at the top of our lungs.
Son barely raised a brow to say bye to us. I'd double-checked with him the day before. "Are you sure you don't want to go?" He sneered and said no. I stayed awake a good bit of the night worrying about him. He's started to see a therapist, but I don't know if it helps. It's too early to tell.
We made our first stop in Wellington, Utah. It's a cute little town, with over-zealous cops who interpret speed limits very strictly. We went into the big truck stop to use the facilities, get fresh drinks and snacks, and call Ranger to let him know our progress.
"Why does he want to know that?" Daughter asked.
"Because he wants to make sure 'his girls' are safe," I said.
She smiled big. "I like that," she said.
We saw lots of snow, but none on the roads. Daughter started getting excited as we hit the freeway at Spanish Fork and headed north to SLC. The GPS guided us straight to the door of our hotel.
I love this GPS thing. I like to pre-load our favorites destinations, so they're easy to call up when needed. My list included:
* Our hotel.
* Our favorite Mayan restaurant. The one with the cliff divers.
* Hard Rock Cafe.
* Squatter's microbrewery (they brew their own root beer and have a killer artichoke dip!).
* Heritage Park.
* The address of our meeting place on Friday, to see Daughter's friends.
* The nearest Wal-Mart.
We checked out the cushy room, stretched out on the cushy beds, perused the menu, and decided to go shopping at Gateway Mall. It was a cool, clear day, so the walk was lovely. I'd forgotten that the crosswalks in SLC all have a big "LOOK" painted in front of them, with eyes for O's and arrows pointing both ways. I don't know why that's so amusing to me!
Gateway Mall is a long outdoor mall, with a water feature with the SLC Olympic symbol on it that plays to music every few minutes. We watched that and cruised the shops. Pretty quickly, my daughter spotted her ideal souvenier shop - Build-a-Bear Workshop.
Now, we've been in Build-a-Bear wannabe shops, but never a "real" one. We went in and she zeroed in on a soft bunny to make. As she worked on it, I picked out a scruffy dog for Ranger. It kinda reminded me of him. I was going to make a "rock hound" for him. I sent Daughter off to find an outfit for her bunny.
I heard a squeal and looked up to see Daughter's delighted face as she rushed to me.
"Look!" she said. She held up a little outfit on a hanger. Only in SLC. It was a Mormon Missionary outfit.
Here's the finished product:
Elder Bunny.
He had a busy week. We now have a whole series of pics of him in front of SLC sights, having dinner at the Lion House, working out at the hotel gym, and taking a nap. She posted them online so her friends could keep up with her activities that week.
It was a glorious week. Daughter discovered a new favorite treat. Creme Brulee. Each night, just before bedtime, we ordered up creme brulee and cocoa. Wow.
And we talked. Oh, did we talk. About boys and why she is glad I won't let her date until she's 16. About school. About family. About her brother. About Ranger. About me marrying Ranger and having a house of our own. About being a unique personality. About being a "woman of quality." About how excited she is to take Seminary as a class in high school. About music. About how much being a mom means to me. About how we prayed for her to come to us, when it wasn't supposed to be possible. About the day she was born. About what I wish for her and Son. About everything.
We went to the cliff diver restaurant. They'd changed the menu and her chile-pepper pasta was gone. It was still fun, even if it kinda skewed the experience to eat a hamburger among the Mayan "ruins."
And one night we got all geared up for the Hard Rock Cafe and headed out...to find it dark. The sign was gone. No Hard Rock in SLC anymore. Dangit. So, we went to Squatter's. Their root beer is wonderful.
After spending Friday afternoon and evening with her friends, Daughter asked if we could just drive back on our own Saturday. Just us. No caravan of gal-pals. One last day of just the two of us, before we went back to normal life.
Who could resist that?
So, we took our time leaving SLC. One more look at Temple Square. One more lunch at the Garden Restaurant, high atop what used to be the Hotel Utah, a beautiful view of Temple Square from our table.
Then, home again. Bee-bopping down the highway with the tunes playing.
I decided to take a trip to Salt Lake City with my kids. The youth at church were planning a trip there at the end of Spring Break, to go to the open house of the new temple in Draper, Utah. Daughter very much wanted to go, so I thought it a good opportunity to go back to SLC and do all the things we missed last year when we went.
However, Son is rather belligerent about all things spiritual right now. I think it's his brand of rebellion. He'll go, after much trouble and arguing, put for a hour, then he leaves in a good mood. Rinse and repeat, one week later. He also had to take the SAT that week, so he took the excuse to not go with Daughter and I.
Well, he's actually belligerent about all things. Period. He's developed a nasty disposition that seems to revolve around either (a) pissing someone off deliberately, or (b) manipulating someone into taking him somewhere to eat. It's wearing, really. Each day, I have to find a way to not get pissed about something offensive he's pulling. I think it's a control thing with him. If he can make you mad, then he's exacted some kind of control. It's making me nuts, though.
Ranger was a little sad that I'd be gone again so soon, and for so many days. But he know the importance of my relationship with my kids, so he hands over the GPS and kisses me good-bye, and waits for updates.
Daughter and I had a plan, of sorts. We'd go early on a Tuesday. Sight-see until her friends arrived on Friday, when we'd all go to the open house. We'd drive back with the caravan of giggly gal-pals on Saturday. And a good time would be had by all.
We cruised online travel sites for a deal on a snazzy hotel, near the sights in downtown Salt Lake City. The place we stayed last year had gone up. No deals to be had and I'm not paying $219 a night! Finally, we found the Radisson, which is about a block from Gateway Mall in one direction and Temple Square in the other. Perfect. I just had to make sure they had hot cocoa via room service, so we'd be sufficiently spoiled. Double perfect.
So, off we went, early on a Tuesday morning, bee-bopping down the highway with the tunes playing and singing at the top of our lungs.
Son barely raised a brow to say bye to us. I'd double-checked with him the day before. "Are you sure you don't want to go?" He sneered and said no. I stayed awake a good bit of the night worrying about him. He's started to see a therapist, but I don't know if it helps. It's too early to tell.
We made our first stop in Wellington, Utah. It's a cute little town, with over-zealous cops who interpret speed limits very strictly. We went into the big truck stop to use the facilities, get fresh drinks and snacks, and call Ranger to let him know our progress.
"Why does he want to know that?" Daughter asked.
"Because he wants to make sure 'his girls' are safe," I said.
She smiled big. "I like that," she said.
We saw lots of snow, but none on the roads. Daughter started getting excited as we hit the freeway at Spanish Fork and headed north to SLC. The GPS guided us straight to the door of our hotel.
I love this GPS thing. I like to pre-load our favorites destinations, so they're easy to call up when needed. My list included:
* Our hotel.
* Our favorite Mayan restaurant. The one with the cliff divers.
* Hard Rock Cafe.
* Squatter's microbrewery (they brew their own root beer and have a killer artichoke dip!).
* Heritage Park.
* The address of our meeting place on Friday, to see Daughter's friends.
* The nearest Wal-Mart.
We checked out the cushy room, stretched out on the cushy beds, perused the menu, and decided to go shopping at Gateway Mall. It was a cool, clear day, so the walk was lovely. I'd forgotten that the crosswalks in SLC all have a big "LOOK" painted in front of them, with eyes for O's and arrows pointing both ways. I don't know why that's so amusing to me!
Gateway Mall is a long outdoor mall, with a water feature with the SLC Olympic symbol on it that plays to music every few minutes. We watched that and cruised the shops. Pretty quickly, my daughter spotted her ideal souvenier shop - Build-a-Bear Workshop.
Now, we've been in Build-a-Bear wannabe shops, but never a "real" one. We went in and she zeroed in on a soft bunny to make. As she worked on it, I picked out a scruffy dog for Ranger. It kinda reminded me of him. I was going to make a "rock hound" for him. I sent Daughter off to find an outfit for her bunny.
I heard a squeal and looked up to see Daughter's delighted face as she rushed to me.
"Look!" she said. She held up a little outfit on a hanger. Only in SLC. It was a Mormon Missionary outfit.
Here's the finished product:
Elder Bunny.He had a busy week. We now have a whole series of pics of him in front of SLC sights, having dinner at the Lion House, working out at the hotel gym, and taking a nap. She posted them online so her friends could keep up with her activities that week.
It was a glorious week. Daughter discovered a new favorite treat. Creme Brulee. Each night, just before bedtime, we ordered up creme brulee and cocoa. Wow.
And we talked. Oh, did we talk. About boys and why she is glad I won't let her date until she's 16. About school. About family. About her brother. About Ranger. About me marrying Ranger and having a house of our own. About being a unique personality. About being a "woman of quality." About how excited she is to take Seminary as a class in high school. About music. About how much being a mom means to me. About how we prayed for her to come to us, when it wasn't supposed to be possible. About the day she was born. About what I wish for her and Son. About everything.
We went to the cliff diver restaurant. They'd changed the menu and her chile-pepper pasta was gone. It was still fun, even if it kinda skewed the experience to eat a hamburger among the Mayan "ruins."
And one night we got all geared up for the Hard Rock Cafe and headed out...to find it dark. The sign was gone. No Hard Rock in SLC anymore. Dangit. So, we went to Squatter's. Their root beer is wonderful.
After spending Friday afternoon and evening with her friends, Daughter asked if we could just drive back on our own Saturday. Just us. No caravan of gal-pals. One last day of just the two of us, before we went back to normal life.
Who could resist that?
So, we took our time leaving SLC. One more look at Temple Square. One more lunch at the Garden Restaurant, high atop what used to be the Hotel Utah, a beautiful view of Temple Square from our table.
Then, home again. Bee-bopping down the highway with the tunes playing.
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