My baby girl

On July 8th, my little girl turned 14. She was 12 the first time a waiter offered her a wine list. To say she's growing up too fast is a huge understatement.

I'm amazed by her, daily. She tries so hard to do the right thing all the time. In fact, the other night, she was updating her iPod and came to me to ask which songs on a particular album would be "appropriate."

She's an incredibly talented artist. Her art teacher at school saw her first drawings for his class and said, "Are you sure you're not some 35-year-old artist, planted here to spy on me?" Here's her self-portrait and "nickname":


Yes, she's a percussionist, with the personality to match!

Here's her rendition of me, as an anime character:

It's very flattering. Ha.

If you're familiar with the TV show NCIS, then you might recognize these characters. She drew them as "chibi" characters, which are cute little chunky things.


You get the idea. She's also an imaginative writer, which delights me to no end. She very much has the creative personality, which causes her to have one foot in the world of her imagination most of the time. I'm afraid something had to give, and it was the tidiness factor. My darling Daughter leaves a trail of stuff everywhere she goes, which comes as a huge surprise to her each time someone points it out.

The fact that she isn't a little girl anymore was driven home to me last week. No, not because of her birthday, but because of something she said.

With my sister visiting with her kids right now, Daughter has given up her room. She stays in my room now, sharing my bed each night. I look forward to getting ready for bed every night, and the wondrous chatter of the day that she lets loose on me. I love every syllable, even as I wonder if the child breathes.

So, we're laying in bed, watching "Ghost Adventures." The guys are about to go into lockdown in an abandoned prison. They are looking through a ledger that lists each death that occurred at the place, and the cause of death.

One poor bastard is listed for eternity as having died of masturbation.

They point this out and move on. I'm a little thankful she hasn't asked about it, when Daughter says, "So, how does someone die of that?"

I laughed. "I don't know," I said. "Probably, this poor guy had a heart attack or something during it and was found that way, so they wrote it down for all of the world to remember him for it."

Daughter is laughing hysterically, "Poor guy!" She settles down and the room is quiet again, except for the TV.

"So," she says. "Now, I want to see them get one of their creepy voice recordings of a man's voice, saying, 'Let's get something straight here...I did not!'"

Now, I'm laughing hysterically. I didn't realize she knew what masturbation was in the first place, and now she's making jokes about it.

See? Constantly amazed. Our home is a crowded and over-run place right now, but I treasure the nights and weekend mornings with her and our peas-in-a-pod moments.

I watch her now, and she's a young woman. A spectacular young woman, with a bright, sensitive personality that I pray serves her well. And I especially pray that she finds a man who appreciates all of that about her, encourages her and never squelches her, inspires her, and truly is by her side for the journey.

She still calls me Mommy.

And no matter what the years bring, I will always see her as she is in this photo.

Everyone, sing along!

All together now!

Ding! Dong!
Drama Queen is gone!

(insert gleeful laughter here)

I think the end started with a fishing trip. No, that's not exact right. I think that was what finally pushed the issue. See, DQ was acting weird before that. The symptoms were:

1. Coming to our house only once a week.
2. During the week.
3. But not every week.
   
4. But she had to be home before her mother got home from work.
5. And she just sat in the den, using Son's laptop for her summer school homework. (Note: DQ does not have a computer at her house.)
6. And she never spoke to the adults in the house. Particularly, she never even looked at me, if I ended up being home while she was there.
7. And she never saw Son during the evenings or weekends, or in public.

Yep, we could see this coming. Well, "we" except Son. He still talked about getting married to her next summer.

So, Son and my Dad plan this fishing trip. Drive a couple of hours up the highway. Go another hour on a 4WD only road, to meet up with the guide and camp personnel (cooks, horse wranglers, etc.). Ride horses for another hour to the camp and fishing site. Fly fish for a couple of days, under the tutelage of a fly fishing expert. Then, reverse and come home.

Son discovered two things during this trip, besides how to fly fish. First, absence does not always make the heart grow fonder.

Second, he thinks girls from Denmark are pretty damn cool.

She was one of the helpers at camp, doing the cooking, cleaning, etc. She's older than him, but they got along quite well. And she was easier to talk to about his interests than DQ. Who hated them.

I really don't know if DQ flipped out about Denmark. All I know is the story she told.

DQ's mom doesn't want her to see Son. They are too much drama, and she's sick of it. DQ has to stop talking to him and seeing him, and she must - MUST - go on dates with other boys.

This is what I read between the lines: "I want to see someone else, but I'm blaming my mom so you don't get mad at me, and I can still yank your chain if I want to."

So, he updates his Facebook to say he's single now. We anticipate a grumpy, difficult couple of days and give him some space. Know what he does?

Gets up early the next morning and mowes the lawn. Starts going to the movies with friends he hasn't seen in a long time. Talking to his female friends again. Going to the youth group activities at church.

It's all good.

Getting better....or trying

Apparently, the car is not going to be totaled. The other driver's insurance company is "accepting full responsibility," though, and my deductible ing waived. I spoke with my insurance people this morning, and they've authorized the collision place to do the work. They'll get it all written up by Monday, and I'll have a better idea then of when I'll get it back.

I can't wait, either! I'm in a rental. A PT Cruiser, to be exact. Going from a Ford Edge (small SUV) to a PT Cruiser makes the world look bigger. I don't much like that. And I'm a nervous driver now. Someone pulls up to a stop sign as I approach, and I start slowing down until I see them looking at me. I avoid driving as much as I can.

This morning, I had a diabetes follow-up appointment with my doctor. She's been chewing me out a lot over the last few months, for not taking care of it properly and for having too much stress.

I've gotten back on the ball with my treatment in the last few months, but my diabetes tends to be hard to control. Should say something about it that losing 60 pounds didn't help the diabetes any.... So, I'm back to two pills twice a day (the max dose of Glyburide/Metformin), and am now up to 45 units of insulin twice a day. If that doesn't get the numbers low enough in two weeks, then it's 50 unites twice a day. Ugh.

It's deja vu, from when I was trying to control it while I was expecting Daughter. I apparently hit a full-blown diabetic state (without being diabetic previously) by 10 weeks. They tested at 27 weeks. They got it under control at 38 weeks. A couple of days before she was born. That's why she was 9 1/2 pounds, and two weeks early. Thank God for C-sections!

As far as the stress goes, I don't know what to do. Work just accelerates all the time. But my boss said we might just get approved to hire TWO people to help me, including a media specialist. Woo hoo! That one doesn't relieve the current load, but they'll keep me from having to add more to my plate.

"Maybe then I can work only 40 hours a week," I said to the doctor.

She chuckled, but said, "Yeah, and you've just got to manage the stress you have. I mean, do you need to take yoga? Or a vacation? Or just alone-time every day?"

"I don't get alone-time," I said. "Nine people and two dogs live in my house right now. The only alone-time I get is when I drive to work. Remember my niece staring at me while I was on the morphine?"

She laughed. "Oh yeah. Well, maybe you need some time off alone. Or with your boyfriend. Not combined with work, like conferences, but real time off. To do nothing."

Those words sounded like magic. "To do nothing." Wow. If I can pull that off.....well, I don't know how I would. But we'll see. Maybe I'll get this huge settlement from the insurance company.... Yeah, dream on, Blogget!

In the meantime, I'm just trying to feel better and stop hurting from the accident. Then, I can see what's real again. At the moment, I'm learning that I love my chiropractor, and that "massage therapy" isn't necesarily the delightful thing it sounds like.

Here's something that doesn't help....

We've been looking forward to the Fourth of July for weeks. We planned on taking my sister and her kids to Ouray, where we had such a great time last year. Nothing like blocking off Main Street USA, in a little mountain town, to carry on a decades-old tradition: fire hose water fights. Topped off with an excellent fireworks display. Add the fact that Drama Queen is not coming along to pull a repeat of her drama act, and you have a great holiday, indeed!

Excited? I was over the moon!

We loaded up in two cars. Six people in my dad's Suburban and four in mine. Ranger rode with me, with Daughter and my 11-year-old nephew in the back seat. It's about a two-hour drive to Ouray, which is south of where we live. It's a pleasant drive, skirting the Grand Mesa and going through some fun little towns. We had no plans to stop, but it's a nice drive.

Daughter had control of my iPod. She picked fun songs that we could sing along to. We laughed a lot. I'd picked up a drink and a can of Pringles in each person's favorite flavor. It was a festive mood indeed! I was even getting a break from the pain for the day. Woo hoo!

Ranger's birthday was July 2nd. Son had given him a book of GPS waypoints for things to see in Colorado. He was entering some of these sights into his GPS, so we could see some around Ouray.

We pulled into Montrose, and I asked Daughter to stop the music for awhile. With busier traffic for the holiday, I didn't want the distraction while we went through town. Dad had mentioned stopping there so my sister and Son could switch seats in his car. I thought about making a bathroom stop, but decided it wasn't necessary. Dad decided not to stop, either. On to Ouray!

Let me set the stage here. My Dad is well ahead of me, disappearing around a bend. A pickup truck is ahead of me and another is behind me, a few car lengths. The one ahead signals to turn right at the next cross street and starts slowing, so I move to left lane. A car was sitting at the cross street, at the stop sign. It was something like a Ford escort. I see her start to punch it to cross the highway. I start saying "don't do it...." and slow down a bit. I figure if she jumps out and stops when she sees me, I'll need to swerve around her a bit.

She didn't stop.

She never ever saw me. Her head was turned, looking for traffic from the other direction. She was accelerating and starting into the arch to turn left. We were going to t-bone her, right into her driver door.

I remember yelling something, as I slammed on the brakes, hit the horn, and swerved left. I didn't want to hit with us going head-on. I knew we would hit, but wanted the right-front to take more of the impact. I heard Ranger yell "Look out!" I think he meant it for her because I was already reacting, and she still wasn't looking at me.

My right-front collided hard with her left-front. She was already starting to turn left, so she hit more on her front, which just about peeled completely off. The momentum of the impact threw my car across the highway and into the close oncoming lane. Luckily, no one was coming.

We stopped. I started asking if everyone was okay. Ranger was trying to open his door, but it wouldn't budge. Daughter was repeating, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." Ranger turned around and took her face in his hands.

"Are you all right?"

She looked at him, like breaking a trance. "Yes."

"Good," he said. "Then move over. I have to climb out your door." She scooted over to where my nephew was starting to cry, and she put her arms around him. Ranger leaned his seat all the way back and climbed out the back door, to go check on the other driver.

I turned the car off and opened my door. A man was running across the road to me, holding a cell phone. "Is anyone hurt?"

"No," I said. "We're all okay."

"I just called 9-1-1," he said. "I'm going to check on the other driver."

I nodded. A woman with an American flag on her t-shirt told me she was going to direct traffic, since I was in the oncoming lane just past a bend in the road.

I opened my nephew's door and saw my daughter cradling him. Tears were streaming down his face. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Noooo," he said through tears.

I thought for a moment. "Is your body hurt?"

"No," he said. "I'm scared."

"I know, sweetheart," I said. "Your mom will be here in a moment."

I called my mom's cell phone. They were ahead of us, around the curve, and didn't see what happened.

"Helloooo?" she said, being funny.

"We've been in a bad accident," I said. "We're all okay, but you have to come back."

"What?" she said, as though in disbelief.

"Come back! We've had a bad accident."

"So, do we need to come back?"

"Yes! I have to go."

Apparently, she turned to my dad and repeated what I said, but left out the "we're all okay" part. He turned around and sped back to us.

In the meantime, Ranger came back to my car. "There's a nurse here, helping the other driver. she's in and out of consciousness. Bleeding a lot."

"Someone called 9-1-1, so an ambulance will be here," I said. I told my nephew his mom was on the way, kissed him on the head, then looked at the front of my car.


The wheel is about a foot behind where it should be. Looking inside, though, the compartment where Ranger's feet were isn't invaded at all. I love this car.

My dad arrived. I had Daughter escort my nephew to Dad's car, and to his mother.

Son was in my face immediately. "What can I do to help?" I stared at him for a moment. He looked worried, scared. It touched me for a moment, this little sign that he just might care. I set him to work, cleaning out the car of all of our possessions. The car had to be towed, so we had to vacate it.

An ambulance arrived and started loading up the other driver. Looked like about six paramedics milling around. My sister called to me that my nephew was complaining of pain in his chest. I snagged a paramedic to go look at him. He advised us to take him to the hospital to be checked.

A State Trooper approached me. "Are you okay?" I was starting to feel aches, which I told him. "You go get checked out," he said. I promised I would. He gave me paperwork to fill out for him.

He came back in a few minutes. The ambulance was gone. I gave him the clipboard, and he said, "Unfortunately, I'll have to cite you for driving on the wrong side of the road."

I froze. My car was sitting in the oncoming lane, but only because we got knocked there! I said, "WHAT?!"

The Trooper furrowed his brow and said, "Aren't you glad I'm kidding?"

I took a deep breath. "I was about to totally go off on you...."

"Hm," he said. "I guess it wasn't so funny."

He proceeded to tell me the other driver was getting a citation for failing to yield right-of-way. He advised me again to go get checked out, and added that I should expect to be really sore in a couple of days. He handed me a piece of paper with his information, the other driver's name and address, her insurance information, and the towing company's information. My dad came back to pick up Ranger and I, and we went to the hospital.

I got checked in, then hugged my nephew. I said I was sorry he was hurt. He said, "I'm feeling better. It's okay. Not your fault." He went back to doing a puzzle with Daughter. I hugged her, too. She was worried about me.

They took me back to triage. My nephew had already been assessed and determined to be non-critical. The nurse took my vitals. "You are calmer than your pulse says you are."

"Yeah, I'm surprised," I said. "I haven't had a freak out moment yet. I've been pretty clear through the whole thing." I told her my history and my medications. I told her what hurt. She put me in a neck brace and had me lay down in a room with a backboard on the bed. "Wait here for the doctor," she said. Like I had a choice.

I texted Ranger and told him what was happening. In a moment, he was at my bedside.

"Your mom told me to come back here," he said. "I read the text to everyone. Your sister is throwing a stink fit that you got back here before her son. I guess I looked worried, so your mom told me to go to you."

I smiled. "Good. It looks worse than it is. Really."

He looked like he was going to cry.

The doctor came in and checked me out. He took off the neck brace and said he'd order x-rays. "Want to watch TV while you wait?" He turned it on and started changing channels. "Tell me when."

Flip. Flip. Flip. And...ah-ha!

"Captain Andy!" I exclaimed.

"Her favorite show," Ranger said. July 4th "Deadliest Catch" Marathon. Gotta love it.

The x-ray technician showed up. "My finger is starting to hurt," I said. My left middle finger was turning purple.

"I'll have the doctor add that to the orders," she said. She crossed the hall and said to the doctor, "Her finger is hurting." She stood showed him which finger, which meant she was effectively flipping him off. She grinned.

"Seriously?" he said.

"Yep," she said. And flipped him off again. She seemed to enjoy it way too much.

In the end, we found out nothing was broken and pain medicine is a blessing. My neck is pretty well messed up, so I'm seeing a massage therapist and chiropractor for that. Other bruises have emerged. Most notably, across my breast where I slammed into the seat belt. Sexy, I tell ya.

Ranger asked about the other driver. She's fine. She was released before I was. The Trooper called me and asked a few questions.

"Were you planning any stops between Grand Junction and Ouray?"

"No. I thought about stopping to pee, but if I had, this never would have happened."

He laughed. "Were you planning on stopping at the Ute Indian Museum?"

"The what?"

"Nevermind, that answers my question," he said. "See, the other driver is saying you were stopped at the turn-off to the Museum with your blinker on, turning right, but you changed your mind and smashed into her."

"What? No, no, no...."

"I know," he said. "It's not even possible. But she got her bell run pretty good, so I don't believe what she's saying. But I had to ask."

Three days later, I'm in a lot of pain. We were going to bowl this afternoon. I think not.

The Trooper said the second or third day is the worst. It is. At least, until I see what tomorrow is like. I'm counting on it being better. It's my daughter's 14th birthday, after all!

Be prepared...I'm about to get sappy-sentimental.

It gets funnier....

So Drama Queen finally saw Son's car. His current pride and joy, mind you. When I heard she was coming to see it, I got a very specific picture in my head of her standing beside the car, arms folded, scowl firmly in place, making snide comments. Sucking the fun out of it for him.

Last night, my sister described the scene for me. DQ stood beside the car, arms folded, scowl firmly in place, making snide comments. I was wrong on one point. She did not suck the fun out of it for him. He sat in the car, revving the engine, goofy grin across his face. In absolute heaven.

As DQ stood there, she said, through curled lips, "It's so out-dated."

Hello? It's a 1968 Thunderbird. 1968 Thunderbird! How much of the point of "classic car" can you miss? Yoo-hoo!

I find this nearly as hysterical as "Does it have side curtain air bags?" Count your blessings that it has seat belts, sweetheart.

So, she declares it's out-dated. What does Son do? Revvv...revvv..... Grin.

"Oh good," she sneers. "It's loud, too."

More grinning from Son. See, in testosterone language, she just complimented his car.

He loves it so much, he got a haircut so he can find a job. He went from hippy to yuppy in about 15 minutes. This is love.

It's like I told my sister last night -- in life, you pick your battles. DQ might have just picked the hill she dies on.

Tolerance

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.

Update of "First cars"....

It's official. Here's the latest addition to the family.....

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.

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.

An overdue update

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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.

"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.

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.

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.

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))

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?

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.