Zoom Zoom

Not long ago in a blog post I lamented how my job schedule (mostly two weeks on and two weeks off) was less than ideal. At the time I was feeling sorry for myself, and saw only the negatives. Today it occurred to me how happy with it I am.

I got out of bed when I woke up, not when the alarm told me to, and smiled at the thought that I had no one to please but myself. Not that I mind pleasing others, per se. If I like you, I want you to be happy. But not "having" to do it is special.

Around lunchtime I saw that New Frontiers in Solvang was featuring Irish Potato soup. Because that sounded yummy, and Solvang is a scenic 30 minute or so drive away, and I have a fabulous new car, I set out to get soup.

I vented my moon roof because that's all that's necessary here on the coast, and worked at maintaining 30 mph through town. It used to be easy in the Saturn, but now I have this strange thing called "good pickup" and I so want to use it -- often. Heading out of town I enjoyed the gold and green hills in the distance and the occasional patch of wildflowers along the road.

Nearing the sleepy 'burb of Buellton, I closed the moon roof and turned on the air conditioning. There was no discernible dip in the car's power which made me giggle for the hundredth time. New cars rock. I also slowed down, as I seem to pass a cop every time I drive into Buellton, and today was no different. I cruised by the gas stations, motels and Pea Soup Andersen's, then sped up again as the countryside opened up in front of me. There is a wonderful stretch (can't remember if it's before the ostrich farm or after), that's lined with coastal pines. They've been pruned over the years so they don't grow into the road, and what's been created is a comforting cocoon of green that isn't claustrophobic in the least.

Solvang is architecturally the Tudor capitol of California, and it has a clock tower and windmills (plural!), so you almost don't mind having to slow to the 25 mph speed limit throughout the town. Perversely, you can't really enjoy the kitschy wonder of it all because you're too busy watching for idiot tourists who step into the street as if cars don't exist and won't crush their bones and squish what little brains they possess. Okay, I'm a little protective of my shiny new paint job. When in a bad mood, I wish all the Solvang tourists could be beamed straight to Manhattan, where they'd last 30 seconds. But my car has me in a good mood. So today I inched along to the far side of town where the very cool grocery store, New Frontiers, is located.

Irish potato soup had beckoned me, and I was prepared to deal with what it'd do to me if I ate it. Lately, while my taste buds still enjoy dairy, the latter part of my digestive system has decided to say no to the cow. So imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered the soup had a broth base, not a creamy one. It was delicious. So was the naan bread with roasted veggies that I got to accompany it. Yum.

The ride home was even more enjoyable. Traveling toward Lompoc literally makes me sigh with appreciation and contentment. The mist hanging over the mountains, the ten degree drop in temperature, and the knowledge that, if I keep going a few miles past my apartment, I will arrive at the ocean, puts a huge smile on my face. Sometimes I do keep going, just to say hi to the waves before I go home. There just happens to be a nice stretch of open road that isn't heavily traveled as you go to the coast, too. Zoom zoom.

Instead of looking at the possible downside of having an odd schedule, I'm looking at all the positives it allows me. Freedom, time to write, time to explore, and time to enjoy the hell out of my wicked fun new car.

Thanks again, boss!

Peeved when not Perfect

I am not a control freak. I do have a few control freak tendencies, though. For instance, I prefer to drive myself, rather than be a passenger. You have to be an excellent driver for me to be comfortable in your passenger seat. That's just smart, right? I also dislike, no can't stand, no hate being sick (out of control) and having to see a doctor.

So when I go out twice in as many days to seek medical assistance, there is something wrong with me. The big question is what, and I'm not thrilled with being sent home with a "probably" diagnosis. But I'm so much happier than I was when I thought I was going to die that "not thrilled" feels pretty good.

I woke up on Monday with a very swollen nose. It was red and it hurt and I stared at it, in a small bit of horror, thinking that my nose was impersonating Ted Kennedy's (while alive) and wondering why. At the same time, my neck was swollen on the ride side and I had what looked like a spider bite there. I took a hot bath and thought positive thoughts. And I napped a lot, since I was tired.

Yesterday I could barely drag myself out of bed and when I did I discovered that the swelling was under my right eye, too. Possibly because I've needed glasses since the 4th grade, I'm a bit sensitive to anything that affects my eyes. I was too tired to deal with begging the VA for a same day appointment, and definitely too tired to drive to Santa Maria, so I went to an Urgent Care walk-in clinic here in town.

The average person is polite, so I guess that explains the receptionist asking what brought me in. I pointed at my nose, which is twice its normal size. She nodded and told me that I'd need to give her a $200. deposit and if my bill came to less she'd refund the difference.

The nurse who took my vitals asked me what brought me in. Why do they have you fill out those forms?! I'd written it all down, and anyone with normal sight could see my Elephant Man nose! This guy actually said I looked okay to him. I was just too tired to smack him.

Then I saw the clinic's PA. Not a doctor. That was annoying. He had an absurd professional manner. He looked extremely concerned, and asked me questions ("Does it itch? Does it hurt when you chew?) in a way that suggested a wrong answer on my part would land me in isolation. He looked up my nose with one of those black pieces of equipment that have a name I'm completely ignorant of and probably couldn't pronounce (like the blood pressure thingie). He said something like "Oh my" and informed me it was red and infected in there. He guessed I had a bacterial infection and told me the "spider bite" was a nodule that had come up due to the infection being over there, too. He gave me a prescription for antibiotics and told me to come back if I got worse. Total for that sage advice turned out to $130.00. For not even a doctor. My inner frugal beast called my nose several nasty names, but my nose just remained red, swollen and hurting, uncaring about finances.

I went home, I took my first pill, and I laid on the couch like any sick person (except that I brought my bed pillow out so as not to get germs on the nicer, couch pillow). My body started to ache. Then the chills hit me. I took my temperature and found I had a fever. I took it again, obsessively, every fifteen minutes for a while as it rose a couple of tenths of a degree each time. Since eating held absolutely no appeal (thereby ruling out ibuprofen), I took a couple of Tylenol and went to bed.

I didn't sleep much because the swelling kept waking me. I was so tired I just wanted to ignore it, but when I finally got up and looked in the mirror I went into a bit of shock. I took a picture of my nose and eyes in case the swelling went down as I got up and moved around and no one believed me. Problem was, the swelling didn't go down all that much as the day progressed. And I didn't want to go back to the clinic because I had the feeling that the PA didn't know enough and a real doctor was needed.

Still too tired to drive to Santa Maria, I went to the ER in town. When the nurse told me that the PA, David, would be in to see me, I said I'd rather have a doctor. I think David heard me, since he acted offended when he walked in a moment later. Perhaps that explains his lack of thoroughness and the way he purposely tried to scare me. Or maybe he's just incompetent.

I told him how the situation had worsened (and I was getting really tired of people acting as if my nose might actually look like this normally, or that I have huge pouches of skin around my eyes, and having to point out the obvious), and that while my neck was no longer swollen, I'd felt some discomfort in my right armpit -- and isn't there a lymph node there? David reached under the gown they'd had me put on, apologized for his hand coming into contact with my breast (I told him I'd barely felt it, and I meant it) and poked me. At that moment nothing hurt and he didn't feel swelling. He looked down my throat and in my ears but, oddly, not in my nose. The big, honkin', sign me up to fill in for Rudolph on Christmas sleigh duty nose. Didn't look in it.

He did, however, tell me that they'd run some tests. I'd give a urine sample and they'd take blood and they'd see if they could rule out -- are you ready for this? -- kidney failure or lymphoma. For that bit of ridiculous overkill he was punished by having to watch me cry. As if my nose wasn't red enough already. He made me feel like I was being hysterical (I don't cry that way), and kind of said I should've gone to my primary physician. I told him my primary was the VA and asked if he had time to drive me to Santa Maria.

I was left alone. Then a blood-letter came in and took several vials. The nurse provided me with a cup and pointed to the bathroom. Then I waited (not in the bathroom, but back on the gurney). A woman came in whose job it was to make me sign papers and warn me that this was going to be expensive. She smiled too much. She called me "dear." Once. After my eyes went into full slit mode (not far to go), she didn't do that again.

Then the curtain was pulled back and a doctor came in. Dr. West (not his real name) must've heard that I wanted to see someone with a level of education and training above PA. But I guess he never considered that I wanted it because I was scared and alone. Because he made matters much worse. He felt my neck, and my armpits (hmmm, he managed to do it without touching my breasts), and he looked in my nose. He reacted strongly to what he saw in there. I think he said something like, "Whoa!" He told me it was red and angry and obviously infected in there, and went on to explain how you can get a nose hair that becomes ingrown and causes it. But he kept staring at my eyes. Or, rather, the swelling around my eyes.

He told me that swelling of the eyes is one of the first symptoms of nephrotic syndrome. I laid/sat there (more like lounged, except that implies comfort) on the gurney and coughed to ward off more crying. It works. He talked about kidney failure, and sodium, and how protein comes out in your urine so they'd know from the tests, and mentioned the names of two nephrologists in Santa Maria with rhyming names who were related to each other in some way though he wasn't sure how. Obviously my brain had gone into panic and I was remembering the important details.

I did manage to ask if there might be some other, more innocuous reason for the swelling. He said I might have conjunctivitis in both eyes. But I've had that, and I knew this wasn't that. He said that they could also be swollen simply because of the infection inside my nose. WHY HADN'T HE STARTED WITH THAT OPTION??? I felt like I was being punished for asking for a doctor, or not having normal insurance. As if I should be a good little patient and take what I'm offered without speaking up. But then I tend to personalize things.

He left and I sent a text to my friend, Lola (not her real name), who'd texted me to ask how I was doing. I passed along the worst case scenario, but then had to stop because David came back in. The test results were back and all looked good. Seriously. Maybe five minutes had passed. The doctor had struck terror in my heart when, if he'd waited five more minutes, I wouldn't have been put through it.

David, who had either realized he'd missed it or had been told he'd missed it, wanted to look in my nose. He had an "Oh, jeez" type of reaction, too. He said that the infection was likely causing all my other symptoms, including the eye swelling. Likely because they just don't know for sure. But the only thing that was off in my results was my creatine level. It was a little high, indicating inflammation somewhere in my body. And the vagueness just keeps comin'.

He prescribed a topical ointment for my nose, and said that and the antibiotics should cure me. Come back if I'm worse.

I texted Lola, whom I'd left hanging.

"Labs came back okay. No kidney failure, just a creative level that shows inflammation somewhere in my body."

Lola: "I always knew you were creative."

"CreatiNe"

"Damn autocorrect."

Lola: "Does it hurt to laugh?"

"Shut up."

"I'm getting topical for my nose and a huge bill and will be lea bing."

"Leaving!"

Lola: "Call me when you can."

"Okay, clearly I can't type."

It did make me laugh. But the interaction with her, and the subsequent phone call where she reassured me that I wasn't being hysterical or overreacting, made me so sad about being alone.

The woman who had made me sign papers had asked who my next of kin is. I didn't know what to say. I don't have parents anymore. I don't have kids. I don't have a husband. I picked an aunt. I have friends. I know a lot of people who care whether I live or die and who are a treasured part of my life. But they don't live here. My family and friends are far flung. I don't have someone to go to the ER with me and make me feel better just by being there. Or, for that matter, to drive me to the VA so that I don't end up paying God knows what. They didn't give me the bill today. That they mail it must mean they don't want to deal with the screaming and crying.

I like where I live. But I don't have a normal life. I'm here for a couple of weeks then up north for a couple, usually, with changes to that schedule as circumstances dictate. I can't get involved with any regular activity here, or take a class, because I'm not always here. Same thing when I work. I know it takes effort to make new friends when you're an adult, but I feel handicapped to begin with. And no, Panther, if you're reading this, I'm not moving to L.A.. I'll never be an L.A. sort of gal.

Being alone just sucks. Being alone in a hospital ER sucks even more. All fears are amplified when there's no one there to say, "P'shaw! He's just talking about nephrotic syndrome because he's a doctor and bored and wishes he had something interesting to diagnose." I know I would've felt better because of what happened as David the PA and the nurse questioned me. I am sure I turned my phone to vibrate only when I went to the ER. It acknowledges my doing so by displaying a little "vibrate only" icon. But when a friend called me, not knowing where I was but knowing I was feeling sick and wanting to check on me, my phone rang. It rang softly, but I heard the ring tone and knew who it was. And I swear I could feel my blood pressure go down just a little. I apologized for the call, assuring them I'd intended to silence the phone, and when they left me alone I took the phone from my purse to see what I'd actually set it on.

It was set to vibrate only. And I had a voicemail that I hadn't heard a tone to announce since it was on vibrate. Why did it ring when it very clearly shouldn't have rung? Because it's that important not to be all alone, especially when you're scared, and sometimes the universe gives me gifts like that.

But I am really going to have to start dating, if I can find a guy who'll put up with my schedule, because being alone sucks.

I'm going to have to wait till I have my normal nose back, of course.

Cliffhanger

Do you ever watch The Amazing Race? The couples vying for a million dollars often have difficult tasks to complete, tasks that require getting over a fear (of heights, the water, etc.), or are physically exhausting. As I watch, someone will inevitably give up partway through, whining and complaining that they can't do it -- that it can't be done. Of course it can be done, and if they don't do it they will go home a failure and have no shot at the prize. I mock them from my couch. I tell them to stop saying it can't be done and just do it. Since they can't hear me, I feel free to show this total lack of empathy. I doubt I'll talk to the TV anymore, after today.

This morning I met a friend of mine, Alex (name possibly changed due to blog and privacy issues), to explore a fairly remote area of the wilderness. By explore I mean ride along as a passenger in his big truck with the high clearance and four wheel drive. By explore I mean go beyond where the public normally goes, but I don't mean backpacking to the ends of the earth or anything. Just a three hour tour, you might say.

We were miles away from any people, on a "road" that hasn't seen traffic of any kind in years, and we could only go so far, no further, due to a rock slide. But that didn't stop us from continuing on foot, walking down the road, down the mountain, to see where it would lead us. The road had pieces of pavement in random places, but more rocks and tall grasses and holes caused by erosion than any semblance of a street. Possibly for that reason, the "shortcut" looked appealing.

We were overlooking a lake as we walked along, and while it didn't appear that the road would lead to the water, a dry stream bed just might. We stepped off the long lost beaten path and onto the ankle-twisting sized rocks. They weren't boulders and they weren't stones. They were medium to large river rocks and tumbled into what only looked like a surface to walk on. In reality every other step felt slightly off kilter which slowed me down considerably. I like Alex and didn't want him to have to help me hobble back to the truck if I stepped wrong and sprained something. With care and consideration he held branches away from my face as we picked our way through the overgrowth. This was not a trail. But after a little effort we came out near the lake, and I for one was happy to have a meadow-like surface under my sneakers and an open space to walk freely and comfortably in.

Alex pointed out the various animal tracks, like mountain lion and bear and deer, and assured me that the critters were all likely sleeping and not interested in us at all. We sat near the lake and communed with nature and took in the gorgeousness around us. Here are two pictures that don't do the area justice.

Because I didn't know what the immediate future held in store for us, I had no interest in backtracking our way to the truck. Onward! Just because the road and the entire area hadn't been used by the public in who knows how long, "there must be a trail around here somewhere." I'm not sure who said it, probably me. I think it's a safe guess that Alex wanted to find me a nice, easy walk back. I wasn't whining (yet), but I had dressed for a drive in the big truck, not a hike. I wore sneakers and I was carrying my purse (for the love of God why is it always so heavy?). We walked along the shore until it disappeared. Rudely, I thought, there were just rocks. A hillslide (not a typo, but what I consider an apt description) of rocks all the way to the water. The choice was go back ("never give up! never surrender!"), or walk like some demented crab over the rocks while hoping they didn't come loose to land me, and them on top of me, in the lake. We were having fun now. Seriously. I felt excited by the unknown factor, and was literally giddy on the inside every time I stepped and didn't turn my ankle or fall down the slope. Okay, when I had to use my hands (call it crawling if you must) to keep my balance the giddiness may have been a bit manic, but I was getting it done!

The second or third time that Alex claimed that we'd be done with the rocks "just after the next bend" I realized that some of the whiney thoughts I was having might have been verbalized in something louder than a mutter. He was very nice, very encouraging, but all I could think about was how embarrassing it was that I was breathing heavily while he wasn't. I didn't want to be that part of the Amazing Race team that slows them down and gets yelled at and told to hurry up. I didn't want to be the weak link. It wasn't a race, and Alex wasn't suggesting there was anything wrong with our pace. But in my mind, where all the drama happens, the stress was building.

When we finally reached a clearing I was both relieved and slightly horrified. I was thrilled to be done with the unstable rocks but saw only a wooded slope and then more rocky shore ahead. I rather stridently, or so it seemed to me though Alex didn't react as people normally do to my stridency, said I'd had enough of the rocks. I didn't want to keep going along the shore. I wanted to go up to the road. And in my mind it should be a simple matter of walking up the wooded slope, possibly with some branches needing to be held back from hitting me in the face. It should've been like that.

First I pointed to an area that looked almost like a mini trail. It was. It was an animal path, and Alex didn't think it was a good idea for us to go that way. He was clearly being polite and not saying, "Do you want to wake up the napping bear, Mare?" He doesn't call me Mare, but it rhymes with bear and I had to write it that way.

So we found a different spot and started up. The *road* awaited. Road should be sung in a heavenly sounding voice in that sentence, followed by a deep *ahhhhh." Work with me.

It did not take long for disappointment to set in. The dirt was, quite possibly, even more slippery than the rocks. It skittered away and down the hill with each sneaker fall. I had started praying back on the rocks. I specifically requested several guardian angels be sent immediately to help us and get us safely back to the truck. We'd had an incident with St. Anthony earlier in the day (not worth going into -- suffice it to say that he took his sweet time helping us find what was lost), and I feared I might've taken a tone with the universe. As we went up the hill that wasn't really a hill, but a freakin' CLIFF, I apologized for the St. Anthony thing and stressed, stressed, stressed the need for angels. Roll your eyes if you like, but there were a couple of times when I'm sure the only reason I didn't pull a Romancing the Stone slide was because something supernatural held me in place.

I had been dealing with nervous laughter for some time. It's a vicious cycle. I'd get nervous, laugh, the laughter would weaken me and make me lose whatever grip I had, I'd get even more nervous, and I'd laugh some more. Alex must've thought he'd brought a lunatic along with him. He didn't show it, though. He kept trying to create toeholds for me by picking into the dirt with his boot. He was rewarded with a shriek of, "Hey, you're SIX feet tall! I'm five foot, four and three quarter inches here and when I leave off that last quarter inch you know the importance of how much shorter I am!" I normally like to round up to sound "taller" at five foot five. He'd apologize and try to accommodate me, and offer me his hand for a helpful pull up. I'd reward him with, "Forget it, I'll just pull you down to your death. Leave me and save yourself."

Alex: This is poison oak. Don't touch it.

Me: I can't remember that! I can't possibly remember what that looks like! Point out all of it you see!"

Alex: Don't touch the plant to your left.

Me: Oh my God! I can't touch anything! It's everywhere!

Alex: Don't touch this rock. It isn't stable.

Me: That rock? I wanted to touch that rock! You can't keep telling me not to touch things when I need to grab onto things!"

Alex: We're almost there. The road is close.

Me: You're lying! You're just saying that to try to make me feel better and keep going and it's not going to work, mister!

He never yelled at me. He never took a tone. He never left me to die.

As we got closer to the top of the cliff (I'm not kidding, it really was a cliff), I had tunnel vision. My adrenaline was pumping and I'd gone into a full-fledged panic mode. I saw a tiny tree, just the beginning of one really, but it seemed to have a firm grip on the earth. I grabbed it. Alex took a very large side step and then went up a bit. I didn't move. I tried not to say that I couldn't move, but the words came out anyway. I think it was about that time that he slipped a bit. Not a lot, and he quickly recovered, but he joked about what to do to call for help if he should go flying past me and land somewhere at the bottom. I don't know what I said, but I don't think it sounded appreciative of his humor.

I looked down. I have no idea if I vocalized what I thought or not but it was, "No no no! Looking down was a bad idea, a very bad idea!"

Poor Alex. In that kind of situation only one person can panic and I'd clearly called dibs on it. He had to be the strong one. And he was. He was a hero, even though he couldn't have known I saw him that way as I called him names and refused most of his offers of help. I do recall him saying something about my "trust issues" once when I couldn't take his hand. But he managed to say it with a smile.

Somehow he got me to let go of the tiny tree, take his hand, and he pulled me up and over to another precarious position that was a few feet closer to the top. Of course, I had only Alex's word for how close to the top we were. And I didn't believe him. I thought he was handling me, because I clearly required handling at that moment. He said he'd throw my water bottle up onto the road to show me. He threw it. I said something like, "What does that prove? So you threw the bottle. It could've gone anywhere!" He smiled and said I was doing great and I was almost there. The man has the patience of a saint.

I advanced to a medium sized tree. Tree is being kind, actually. It was several branches poking out at lots of angles, most of them hitting me in the face or chest, but it had a couple of sturdy limbs. I grabbed them and, again, couldn't move. My rational brain said I had to move, but my lizard brain said that sitting there forever was just the thing, made perfect sense, and was truly the only option. Alex worked his way around me, claimed to be at the top, (he was, I could see it with my own eyes, but panic does strange things to your logic), and took my purse (which I got off my body somehow without choking myself and handed to him) and threw it to safety. After I calmly told him that I couldn't move, that I meant it, he somehow convinced me to move. And I slipped.

I had absolutely no purchase under my feet at all. I was hanging on to the tree limbs with just my hands and knew I wasn't going to last long doing that. I don't remember clearly how Alex was next to me, then behind me, holding the tree and keeping his body between me and oblivion as he kicked at the dirt to make toe holds for me. I do remember that I couldn't wait for those holds and something told me to lean into the dirt. I did, and my knees somehow took hold. You don't have to believe in divine intervention if you don't choose to, and Alex certainly gave me support and time, but I believe an angel guided my panicked body into a position of temporary safety. Why the angel couldn't just lift me up and place me on the road is a mystery. Maybe they're drama queens at heart.

Alex got back into position between the tree and the top and made suggestions about where I should put my hands. I came back with things like, "The tree is in my way, Alex! I don't know how you expect me to do that! I'm going to kill part of this tree and I don't care!" I think the nervous laughter might've mitigated my stridency a tad, because he really should've been annoyed with me, but he wasn't. I did attack a few of the branches with one hand while keeping a death grip with the other. I managed to get my hands the way Alex wanted them, so that I was holding on but would be able to let go and grab his hand when ready. And that would be never. The lizard brain was firm on that. Letting go of the tree was not going to happen.

My rational brain decided to think about The Amazing Race again. Oh, so that's why they stop mid-way through a challenge. They're scared. They can't think logically. They may have safety harnesses on, but they probably don't feel safe at all. I have to stop mocking them. Finally, I realized that Alex would never leave me and save himself, that the only way out of the situation was to do what he said, and even though the idea of him hoisting me up and onto the flat, safe surface without both of us just crashing to our deaths seemed illogical, I had to trust him. The part where I let go and took his hand is a blur. The part where he pulled me up as if he did that sort of thing all the time and it was no big deal is crystal clear.

I laid on my back, barely able to speak because fear had taken all the saliva out of my mouth, and whispered, "I love you, I love you, I love you, you saved my life, I love you, I love you, I love you." Alex laughed and told me that I'd done well, that I'd climbed a cliff, and I should be proud of myself. Hero. Definitely.

He even seemed to think he should've found us an easier way back to the road. I guess the stress of getting me up that cliff had made him forget that I'd wanted to go that route. I'd been afraid of the rocks and didn't want to go another way. Afraid of the rocks. Oh, hindsight.

But if I hadn't had that fear of the rocks and falling into the lake I never would've conquered the cliff. So I'm glad we went that way. I'm grateful for guardian angels. And Alex will always be my hero (even if he doesn't want to take me hiking again).

What a day.

Making a Run for It

When Deb and I checked in at the airport in St. Louis yesterday we found that the first part of our trip back, the flight to Phoenix, was delayed. It meant we'd have only 35 minutes to transfer in Phoenix, and the gates we'd arrive at and leave from were nowhere near each other. Not comforting.

Once onboard we had to wait to be de-iced again, as it had been a certain length of time since the last de-icing, with precipitation (snow) falling in the meanwhile, and those rules are there to protect us as the cheery pilot explained. Having a window seat for the de-icing procedure is like having a window into how disgusting a sliming experience must be. The pilot said it would smell like "pancake syrup." I don't ever want to eat with that pilot.

Finally we were on the runway. And we stayed there. I don't know how long we waited, though the sniffing impaired pilot explained why. If there's a lot of traffic, and it might get backed up in the air, they hold you on the ground. It costs less than circling would at your destination. He didn't, however, explain why we didn't need another de-icing after an equally long amount of time and that pesky precipitation still falling.

Once in the air Deb and I leaned forward in order to do our part in helping to "make up time." It did about as much good as leaning forward in my Saturn does as it chugs up a grade. It goes no faster, but you sometimes can't help yourselves. I'm kidding here. I'm the only one of us who leaned.

As we taxied to the gate in Phoenix, the flight crew made an announcement. They said there were those of us who had very iffy connections to make (some time had been made up, but it was laughable to think we could still get on our flight), and if you had plenty of time to please let us out first. The flight attendant serving us said that if we got a cart, we might be able to make it. All we had to do was go nearly all the way down one wing, across to another, and nearly all the way down it to the other gate. Just, you know, an impossible distance. We got off the plane, a man was there with a wheelchair (Deb isn't up for long treks at high speed), and he took off with Deb at a fast clip. I looked at the time and it was 5:24.

The young guy pushing Deb was strong and fast and clearly motivated to get us there in time. I was motivated not to be left behind in the Phoenix airport. Literally running to keep up with him was one of those "damn, I wish I worked out regularly like I used to" moments. It was also an "I'm so glad I have this huge sweatshirt on" moment since I hadn't expected to need a jogbra on this trip. Every so often the guy would glance back to see if I was still there and flash me a thumbs-up sign. I hated him. There was one section of the airport that had a moving ramp. I got on and managed to come even with, then get slightly ahead of Deb. I panted out a smartass comment about her keeping up. Big mistake. The moving ramp ended and the young guy took it as a challenge to go faster.

Here's how sick my mind is, though. I'm running along, past all these shops and restaurants, and my thoughts went like this, "I'm so out of shape. How did I let this happen? I used to swim every morning and walk every night. I have to get back into the habit of doing cardio. I have to lose weight. Ohhhhh, there's a Carvel! I wish we had time to stop!" It is very hard to laugh at yourself when breathing has become a chore.

We skidded to a stop at the entrance to the jetway, and the ticket agent gave us some attitude about being late and the door should be closed already. As she scanned Deb's boarding pass I looked at the time and it was 5:32. Less than ten minutes to go what was quite obviously a mile or longer (I can't be certain, of course). As we headed down the jetway a man ran up behind me. He'd also been delayed on a flight and had made a run for it. We couldn't high five each other as it would've required energy we were using to catch our breath.

The second we were in our seats (it took a little longer for the man, as he was farther back in the plane), they shut the door. We were on our way in five minutes. So, while we marveled at how wonderful it was that we'd made the flight, we were prepared to get to San Jose and not have any luggage. We knew there was another flight, hours later, and I thought I'd have to drive back to the airport to get our stuff whenever it came in. Still, we weren't stuck in Phoenix, we were on our way back, and we were glad.

Obviously we went to baggage claim anyway, just being hopeful, when we got to SJC. The conveyer belt started moving, the little light flashed, and bags came up from the Great Below to be collected gratefully by their owners. Mine was third up, and Deb's was fourth. Now that's impressive! I know they have carts and can drive from gate to gate, but they have many to take off and transfer and they had about 15 minutes to do it in.

Air travel is stressful, but all in all it was a good trip. The big snow was over with before we got to St. Louis, I only had to clear the rental car off once, and the roads were clear the whole time. There were obviously still back-ups and issues leftover from those cancellations due to the couple of storms that hit a week or so ago, but the airlines are handling them. Deb got to feel snow on her face (something she apparently likes to experience once every decade or so), and I got to wear my heavy, cable-knit sweater. Both of us got to see Mary Lou again, and we returned home very happy.

I'm devising a new exercise regimen right now. I have to start burning a lot more calories, 'cause I'm never going to stop wanting Carvel.

Color me Irish

I used to think being frugal was a good thing. I could be nearly self-righteous about it, in fact. As if not buying the latest gadget or shopping at thrift stores made me a better person. Obviously that's just wrong thinking. Of course, my FICA score does make me better than most of you, but that's a different matter entirely. No, no, I shouldn't joke like that or the universe will teach me another lesson.

Last week, after I'd been back from Deb's for a couple of days, I colored my hair. This is not a new or strange activity for me. My Irish genes turned my hair prematurely gray long before I was 40, and I've been covering those pesky strands with auburn dye ever since my girlfriends forced me to see that nothing bad would happen if I did so. Until now.

I used the wimpiest form of color for a decade. The kind with no ammonia or peroxide or whatever makes it permanent, but that washes out after several shampoos. Then Clairol, for no good reason whatsoever, stopped making it. Just stopped. And while I was busy with issues like debt and death, enterprising and evil persons bought up the available inventory. Oh, I could still buy my beloved #80, but not for $50. a bottle on eBay. I'm quite mystified why anyone would pay that amount, but people did, and then there was none. I had to choose another option. Going natural was not one of them.

I spent a great deal of time in the beauty aisle, reading packages until I had to admit that no "safe" dye was available. They all had the dreaded chemicals that made the color last longer (apparently what the masses want), and I no longer had Gwennie to tell me I was being silly and reassure me it would look fine. I managed to pick one and do it anyway. Except for the awful smell, it went well. And everyone seemed to like the slightly darker auburn my hair became with this product. This new dye came out of the bottle in foam form, and cost a couple of dollars more ($8. a bottle), but I got used to it.

Last week, after I draped myself with an old towel and put the plastic gloves on, I mixed the nasty smelling formula and squeezed the bottle. Instead of a palm full of foam, I got liquid. I squeezed again, and again no foam. The directions say to keep squeezing until foam comes out. They don't cover what to do if foam never comes out. A less frugal person (or, you might suggest, a smarter person) would simply throw this malfunctioning product away and get another one. But my thought process was that the old stuff never foamed and it was fine, and I wasn't going to waste eight dollars, so what the heck. I poured the liquid on, covering all strands, making sure to get more near the roots. Then, even though the directions don't call for it, I put a plastic cap over my hair to really bake it in. It's what I always did with the old stuff -- the stuff without the harmful chemicals. I am thorough in my stupidity.

By the time the requisite 25 minutes were up, and I stepped into the shower to rinse and condition, I was dizzy. I was so dizzy I had to hold onto the shower door frame with one hand and rinse with the other. I made it out of the bathroom, managed to get dry and dressed, and laid down on the couch. When I closed my eyes, vertigo hit. For those lucky enough not to know the difference, dizzy is bad and vertigo is God's warning that Hell is real. The room spun as if I'd jumped onto a souped up carousel. Unfortunately, I know what this is like from previous experience, and I knew that keeping my eyes closed wouldn't help. Also, opening your eyes while the room is twirling is dangerous without an emesis basin handy.

I'm not sure how long it took for the vertigo to settle back down into dizziness, but once it did I carefully reached for my laptop and Googled "hair dye dizzy." I learned that the ammonia can, in fact, mess with one's head. I would have slapped myself, but I'm not a total masochist.

I talked to Deb, who is a font of knowledge, and she suggested ways for me to detox. The scariest one was to wash my hair again. I have always understood, intellectually, why old and/or frail people are afraid of bathing. Falling is a legitimate fear. Last week I got it on an emotional level. I couldn't get back into the shower. I got on my knees outside the tub and leaned over, using the hand-held shower to wash and rinse, scrubbing as if I could somehow lift the chemicals out of my scalp hours later.

I still didn't feel well the next day. A friend who visited took my mind off my head temporarily, but a general wonkiness had set in that isn't entirely gone, even now, a week later.

I will never be that frugal again. If something is off, I will buy another one. I've come to appreciate my overall good health even more, and to be thankful for a friend like Deb, who gave good advice and continued to email me and check on how I was doing. The friend who visited, who knew I felt so bad that I couldn't even go to the post office to mail a card to my aunt? Never called, never emailed to ask if I felt better, until yesterday. So, see, there's always good with the bad. I learned how little that person really thinks of me. It hurts, but it's useful to know.

I appear to be happy, or happier, to some of my friends. What I am is more thankful for my blessings and more willing to learn lessons. I'd still rather learn them without pain, though. So not so evolved, after all. :-)