A Bit of This and That

This summer is going by so fast, like all summers do.  For me, it felt like it started earlier than usual this year.

Derrick's parents came up from Mexico for visit us around the first part of May, and for me that seemed to kick off summer.  They stayed a week with us, and then flew to Seattle to spend a week with David and Tara.  It was great to get to see them.

We had our International Convention in Seattle in the beginning of July, and the first part of summer was the build up and excitement of that event.  We had a great time over there.

The convention was at the Husky Stadium, which officially made it the first outdoor assembly we (as in Montanans over there- I hear a lot of other states do have outdoor assemblies quite often) have ever been to.

There were delegates from all over the world there.  It was great to see them in their native garb, and we were able to at least say hi to quite a few of them.  We were able to sit with all of our family all three days.  It was very hot and sunny, which partially made me happy because for once I was completely prepared for it with umbrellas, tons of sunscreen, sunglasses, hat.  It all went by too fast.  It was a beautiful event in our lives, and I am so glad that we all got to share it together.

Beyond that, we have been enjoying the regular fun times of summer in Montana.  So far we have been camping twice, once up Painted Rock with friends, and once in T. Falls with family.

This is the third year we have done the family camping trip in T. Falls.  The first time we went there we were all a little disgusted that we hadn't put a little more forethought into reserving a camping place at any of the lakes we like to go to in Montana.  Everything was all filled up, so out of desperation we decided to go to T. Falls.  It seemed ridiculous, like doing a big camping trip in your backyard (since we all grew up around there and some of us still live there).  But when we actually settled into the state park there, we realized the water was great, the fishing was better than most other places, and it was genuinely one of the most beautiful places we'd ever camped.  It also just seems a bit appropriate that for our family camping trip we all gather at where our roots started.

The last two years have been completely sunny and perfect for playing down by the river, but this year it was a bit cooler.  It was still warm enough to spend some time by the river, but on Sunday it drizzled most of the day and cooled off.  We took advantage of that weather to drive way up into the boonies and pick huckleberries.

Last weekend, Derrick, the kids, and I went on a day hike back into the Bitterroot National Forrest.  This time we hiked about three miles in to three little lakes.

We first stopped at Baker Lake to have a snack.  Since it was the closest lake in, there were more people there, and I could see why.  It is high enough that even on a warm July day, we were surrounded by snow capped peaks.  There were fish jumping everywhere as we walked along it shores, and you could actually see fish swimming around in the shallower edge water.  We continued walking further in, and eventually hit Middle Lake and then Gem Lake.

We'd been wanting to see Gem Lake ever since reading about it in our hiking book.  The book described it as having aquamarine waters.  Honestly, it didn't quite live up to the hype of the book, but it was still a lovely little lake and we were able to play in some of the snow piles around it's edges.

I think Kloe enjoyed this hike a bit better than last years big hike.  There were still some moments when she was not loving it (mostly the going up up upward moments) but over all she seemed happier with it.  Derrin just plugged along.

There was one part on the way down when Derrick and the kids started playing on these crazy rock formations that looked like pure death to me.

I am insanely afraid of heights, and watching them climb on those things had my hands sweating and trying to hold myself back from begging them to come down.  It's one of those mom things I think:  On one hand I want them to be fearless and able to explore the world.  On the other hand, I want to wrap them in bubble wrap and keep them locked up in their rooms where nothing can ever hurt them.

I felt the same way the very next day when we took them inner tubing down the Blackfoot River.  Both kids have had years of swimming lessons and are honestly better swimmers than I am, and the stretch of river we were going down was a fairly calm one.  It still scares me, even as I want them out there.

I remember my poor mom worrying like that, especially when we were playing on the river.  I'm talking about her worrying when when I was already an adult with kids of my own.  I have been assured by lots of other mothers that this worrying thing does not just go away.  Reminds me of an Elisabeth Stone quote, "Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body".

There is only one more day of July after today.  It is hot out there.  Kloe and I went to Splash MT yesterday to beat the heat.  It was only the second time we have been there.  Both times we met up with Sabrina and her kids and had a great time.  I am hoping for more of those good times in August.

Derrin didn't go with us this time because he was riding bikes with his buddy Austin.  This summer has been one of increasing freedoms for my boy.  He's been allowed to go riding with Austin into town, and to have more exploring time.  He has thoroughly enjoyed it, and although he still likes to hang out with his fam (I think?), I can tell he's really itching to just head out with friends.  It's a normal thing- I can very much remember feeling that way when I was his age.

We have more things planned for August.  More hiking, more camping, and Derrick has signed up to pioneer that month (and I am still thinking about it).  Dustin, David and Tara are coming next weekend, and we are very excited for that.  The three brothers are planning a backpacking trip for the weekend, and I am excited for them.

Sooo, here is to hoping that August doesn't zip by as fast as the rest of summer has!:)

Monkey Business

Upon waking this morning, it occurred to me that my poor little blog has been utterly abandoned by myself for quite awhile.  Deciding to poke around in here and stir up some ideas to write about (I even made a new "Idea Bank" for myself!), I realized that I had started a post around the middle of June, and then promptly forgot that I had written it down.  So, here is the first post of summer 2014:

Today was the first real day of summer vacation for the kids. Normally, I have mentally prepared myself for this day, but there has been a lot going on around here.  Actually, I only returned last night from my sis's big move day (well, not exactly THE big move day, but they have sold their big house and moved into the apartment they own in T. Falls to buy some time while they hunt for a house in Zoo Town).

As soon as I was driving back into town, Derrin was messaging me that he wanted his friend to be able to come over in the morning because it was the only way that his friend would be able to go to the movie later that day with Derrin and all of his pals.

It was fine with me, except for my plan of going to the gym this morning since I had missed my work out day yesterday.  It would mean leaving Derrin, his friend, and Kloe on their own for a little while.

Honestly, I don't worry too much.  They are all good kids, and they are getting old enough that a couple hours on their own is okay.  The problem is, they are also getting old enough that I need to worry about 'boy/girl' stuff now.  This is one of the issues any family with both sexes of kids is eventually going to face, especially when they are close in age.  I've talked to both my kids about it at one time or another.  'Tis the facts of life.  Unfortunately for them (if they ever do develop a crush on their sibling's friends), I have been there myself, and very much understand what can happen.

With that in mind, I pulled Derrin aside before taking off to the gym and gave him another 'lecture' about how he needs to look out for his sister (Someday I will give her the SAME lecture.  Fair play and all.) around other boys...  Even the nice boys... Even the nice friends.  The big rule is no boy/girl combination ever goes by themselves into private rooms.  Today, I told Derrin he gets to be the watch out for anything like that where his sister is concerned (and someday *once again* Kloe will be bestowed with the same honor for her brother).

After taking care of such 'business', I took off and went to the gym and didn't come back until noon.

When I did come back, all three kids were playing MineCraft, Kloe's very favorite game.  I'm pretty sure they were in a world she had created, which is always amusing because she totally has the upper hand on her brother.

As I watched her, I realized she is NOT in that teen zone yet.  She was still in her pj's, her hair was crazy, she was barking out orders to both boys about how to play the game, and as I walked toward her I sniffed and there was this onion.... aroma.

I asked her if she'd been in the chives again.  "Oh yeah Mom", she said,"and you know what you SHOULDN'T do?  Eat a whole purple chive flower.  Whoo!"  

My girl, if you ever read this, you made your momma laugh really hard today, just by being your adorable eleven year old self who just lives in the moment with crazy hair, chive breath, all while beating the boys at Minecraft. I couldn't adore you more:)

Eventually, we took off for the movie.  Today it was "The Fault in Our Stars", which in my opinion was a really great Chick Flick.  It was NOT, however, a movie I would have picked out to take 5 boys ages 15 and under to.  The only reason I could decipher for all of them wanting to go to this particular movie (because the fact that one of two of them, including Derrin, actually read the John Green book the movie was based on did not seem to curb ANY adolescent boy behavior during the movie) was the fact that there was a certain very cute 15 year old girl there (who shall remain anonymous) who had announced that she would like to see it.

The seating arrangement of our raucous group was this:

BOY:BOY
BOY:BOY:BOY:CUTE 15 YEAR OLD GIRL:KLOE:MYSELF

Notice how somehow I ended up clear on the far edge.  This created two issues for me:

 #1- I could not yell at, get the attention of, kick the back of the seats of, or flick the ears of any of the boys who chose to exhibit these behaviors during this emotionally charged movie: talking, throwing popcorn, and making fun of sobbers (and this movie had a lot of them).  We were THAT group.  The group women throughout the theater would recall to mind whenever this particular movie comes up in conversation.  We were The Ruiners of a Good Cry group; the most hated movie group of them all.

#2- Because of my close proximity to this group of monkeys and the fact that I was the only adult, I ended up looking like the adult monkey. 

I learned two lessons from this experience:

#1- Never, ever sit BY a group of silly boys during any movie (but especially a movie that causes icky uncomfortably weepy feelings that must be combated with militant mockery), and

#2- Instead, either choose the sit BEHIND said group for the aforementioned kicking of the back of the seats and flicking of ears, or even better, sit far far away where there is NO guilt by association attached to myself.

Eh, summer lessons, they begin early around here.

No More Shufflin'

(Written Friday, March 14th.)

Wednesday marked my first run in a long time.  After running for far longer than I thought I would be able to, I was feeling pretty proud of myself.  That was about the time my knee started to ache.  

Pushing through, I focused on a house not too far ahead along the magic dirt road, and thought I could at least make it that much further.  Within a few steps, my ankle and hip started speaking up as well.  Grrrr.  

Slowing down to a walk, I realized the reason I had been able to run so far initially was I had been employing my usual shuffle/run.  This style of running has allowed me to run long distances for years, but it's also messed up the right side of my body in the process.  

My whole running process was broke down by a physical therapist I went to a couple of summers ago.  He actually recorded me running so I could see what I was doing wrong.  I basically run straight up and down, with no leaning forward, and my right knee/ankle turns inward every single stride.  I got away with it for a long time, but eventually my body started fighting back with pain.  

When the PT tried to teach me a better way to walk (because I've apparently been doing that wrong too) it just felt wrong.  Because doing anything a new way after years and years of doing it a different way always feels wrong.

Walking his way, I feel like a cowboy/gun fighter making my way into a saloon.  My legs are wider, and I am swinging my hips in an exaggerated swagger.  My arms swing in an intentional symmetrical motion, never missing a beat (normally, I only swing my left arm and my right arm stays glued to my side, which I am sure looks completely natural).  Running his way, I feel like a prancing pony.  My knees swing up high, and I can actually feel the moment both of my feet are off the ground between strides (this never happens while shuffling along). The problem is, the way I feel comfortable walking/running hurts me, and his way (although it hurts my pride) doesn't.  

This morning I went out there to give it another go, determined I was going to figure this out.  I would love to do another 1/2 marathon, but it's never going to happen if I can't stop the pain!  So, I put on my music and started my fast paced cowboy swagger up the road.  No pain.  Eventually, I broke into my 'high knee pony prance jog', and again no pain.  

The no pain part is good!  The bad thing (besides feeling a little silly) is that to achieve the right form, I have to run faster than I am used to.  I also have to focus on taking a higher stride each step, and the extra lifting of my thighs demands a lot more effort from me.  So, so much harder than my chillaxin shuffle/jog.  The walk to jog ratio was not as impressive today as it was on Wednesday.  Not at all.  It's going to take some stubbornness on my part to keep it going.  

One thing I've had to decide is that Jessy isn't going to be my walking/running buddy anymore.  It does make me sad, but I can't achieve the focus I need on my form with her by my side.  Between the physical pain of running with the bad form I have when I can't concentrate, and the frustration of running with this obstinate little creature who is yanking me all over the place in her distraction (so many things to smell and check out while out and about), it makes it VERY difficult to have the drive it takes to go out my front door and hit the pavement.  Little Jessy is a good girl, but when you walk with her, it is about her and keeping HER focused.  I'll just have to make time later in the day for her walks, and also the kids can get her out there.

ANYHOO, we (Derrick, Derrin and Kloe as well as a group of very good friends) are signed up for The Color Run May 3rd.  I also got a notice that The Tree Run 5k (did this run a couple of years ago) is April 12th, and I am thinking about signing up for that one as well.  Hopefully, having a couple of runs like this on the horizon will be enough to get my butt out the door running throughout this Spring and on into Summer.

A Few Scars of Life

 Once when I was about three years old (my mother told me), I was running across our living room, and in an early incident of what eventually became my trademark clumsiness, I ran into our wood stove.

It was in the middle of winter, so the stove was hot.  As my mom always did like a very warm house, I am sure that the iron of the stove was just a touch shy of being orange with heat (oh, for the good old days *non-sarcastically thought*).

Instead of jerking away like a normal person (Mom also recounted), I stood there a touch longer than a rational mind would have demanded before pulling away and screaming (I've been told I had an especially nerve shattering scream in my early youth).

As I sit here 34 years later, I still have the scar that runs across the top of two of my fingers on my right hand.

Around age 4ish here...
sporting a classic backwards wig.

Once when I was about nine years old, I decided that I was going to take my cat Sophie fishing with me.  Whether she wanted to go with me or not (and she didn't), I did not care.  Finding anyone else to go with me that particular day had proved impossible, and I wanted company.  Plus I had this romantic vision of future summer days, with Sophie trotting along my side as we made the trek down the railroad and through the bushes to my favorite fishing spot.  She was going to be better than ANY dog, because she was the one pet of our family that only belonged to me.  I just had to be persuasive and show her how great it could be. We were going to break through all of the stereotypes of how "cats hate water" and "cats follow no man (or girl)".

There was no way she was just going to follow me that day (first try and all), so I decided a leash was probably my best bet.  Unfortunately, carrying my fishing pole and gear while dragging my cat by the neck proved to be somewhat difficult.  Sophie responded not at all to my coaching and encouragement.  Eventually, she stopped pulling away from the leash, and instead let herself be drug like dead weight.  My "compassion" and frustration finally kicked in about two blocks away from my house.  Picking her up, I awkwardly held the still docile (probably oxygen deprived) cat under one arm, while trying to hold on to my fishing pole and tackle box with the other hand.

Our house was about seven (?) blocks from the dirt road that eventually led to the place where I cut across to the railroad tracks where I would normally do a tight rope walk across a railroad beam for about a half mile before bush whacking my way down to the edge of the first pond.  I would then bypass the first three ponds to the very end pond where all of the best perch and sunfish were.  I would then walk the whole length of that pond to the very end, where the BEST best fish were.  What I am trying to express here is that it was no small jaunt to my favorite fishing spot, even in the best of circumstances.

Another one of my personality "trademarks" often commented on as a child was my stubbornness (other variations I often heard:  tenacious, willful, strong willed, pig headed).  This particular trait added to the stupid circumstances (limp cat + fishing pole + tackle + epic journey to fishing pond) was nearly the death of me this day.  By the time I made it to my destination, I was sweaty and mad and in no mood for fishing for anything.  The troubles of my trek had begun to make me doubt my original vision of  Sophie as the perfect fishing companion, so I was disillusioned and a little depressed.

The sun was hot that day.  I remember laying down along the edge of the water, letting my feet soak in it's coolness while I lightly pinned Sophie to the ground with one hand so she wouldn't be tempted to escape.  My recovery time in those days was quick.  I had only been laying there for around five minutes, when I started to hear the sounds of the pond over my own heavy breathing.  Realizing that some of the sounds were very close to me, I forced myself to breathe softer and quieter.  Slowly lifting myself to my elbows, I carefully scanned the water directly in front of my soaking feet.

Predatory excitement quickly filled me.  Not even four feet in front of me perched about four little frogs, croaking without a care in the world.  Visions of catching them filled my head.  Hope also filled my heart because perhaps these frogs, once presented to Sophie as a plaything to share (I realize my treatment of animals in this story is one step shy of sociopathic), would finally make her understand my dream of a girl and her cat playing by the pond all summer.

Sophie- The Non-Avid Fishercat

There was a dilemma, however.  If I released Sophie so I could actually go into the pond to catch the frogs, she was sure to dash off and miss the awesome bonding opportunity that the frogs presented.  The only answer I could come up with (other than trying to find a tree to tie her to, and there weren't any close enough) was to carry her with me into the pond and try to catch a frog one handed.  This seemed like a legitimate idea to me because a) I was a REALLY good frog catcher with a lot of experience and b) up to this point, Sophie had been extremely compliant and docile.

Gathering her back under my arm, I took a very slow cautious step into the pond, not wanting to scare the frogs.  They stayed right where they were, filling me with the confidence that this could be done.  The rocks under my feet were slimy, but if I curled my toes around their sharp edges just right, I could move along fine.  Slowly I picked my foot up for my next super quiet covert step.  THAT was the unfortunate moment Sophie seemed to snap into full awareness.

It was the perfect storm.  Under my arm, the cat who had been so inert suddenly burst into a panicked hurricane of claws and teeth.  This sudden attack/distraction made my careful toe gripping falter.  As soon as my toes lost their grip on the edge of the rocks, I began to slide backwards.  I'm sure it happened in the blink of an eye, but the moment felt much longer as my arms flailed around wildly, trying to keep the inevitable from happening.

The first casualty was Sophie.  The moment she hit the water, I'm sure that all of her suspicions were cemented that my 'girl + cat +fishing together during summer' plans were in fact a terrible idea.  The next casualty was my foot.

As I crawled out of the pond completely drenched (Sophie had got out of there in mere milliseconds, and was no where to be seen already),  I lay down at the edge before taking stock of any damages.  Since my foot felt a little funny, I sat up to look at it, but at the sight of the thick red stream running down the side I had to lay down again.  I laid there for awhile, waiting for the black spots and dizziness  to recede (the sight of my own blood had me panicked).  When I felt I could handle it, I sat up and looked closer at the injury.  Gingerly I bent over to see how bad the damages were, and as I brushed away the blood and pulled against the cuts (there were two), they spread wide open.

Black and red spots again filled my vision.  After taking some time to insure I wouldn't pass out, I got up and hobbled to whole journey back home again, only this time unencumbered by either cat (who eventually made it home all by herself), or fishing pole/tackle (I was FAR too injured to carry anything, at least in my own mind I was).

About a block from my house, I looked back and saw the small trail of blood from my foot peppering the streets of Paradise.  It occurred to me that this was a very dramatic situation.  I hadn't felt much pain up to this point, but the constant hopping on my good foot during the journey home was really starting to emphasize a throbbing pain in "the injury".  I began to imagine the shock on my mother's face as I limped through our door; her fallen daughter who had lost so much blood.  The whole thing started to make me feel weepy.

By the time I actually walked through the door for real, I had streams of panicked tears running down my face.  Mom was in the living room watching TV, so instead of hearing me open the door and and then running to me in a wave of motherly worry (as envisioned),  I had to alert her to my emergency with a panicky "I'M DYING" voice that was sure to get the appropriate response for the seriousness of the situation.  Before the shrill "MOOOOOOOOM" had finished leaving my mouth, she was was already in front of me with a very satisfying took of terror on her face, chanting "WHAT'S WRONG?"  over and over.  It was a very dramatic moment for me.

Finally a look of clarity came over her face (I had been her daughter a long time, and this wasn't the first occurrence of a freak out from me).  She stepped back and took in my wet/smelly, dirty appearance, and then noticed the red stream leaking out of my foot onto her kitchen floor (mixed with dirt, with several blood/dirt foot prints already stamped around me from the times I had forgot to hold my injured foot up to avoid the extreme pain that was sure to follow touching it to the ground.  As I openly wept, I began to hear my mom's then calm voice telling me things like "calm down Rachel", and "You'll be alright, it's just a little cut".  This wasn't my mom's first rodeo.  I was her kid number five; she'd had plenty of moments just like this.

I soon found myself in the back seat of our Dodge Aries with a towel wrapped around my bloody appendage, en route to the emergency room at our local hospital.  Long story short, I had to get about thirteen stitches that day (which, if memory serves me, I took very nobly and without crying).  The wounds actually healed up very quickly, but to this day I still have two straight little scars running down the side of my right foot.

And that is the story of how I caused my second set of scars.

Gorgeous Woes

This morning before I left for work, I was full of scathing and semi-witty thoughts about the general state of being buried alive with all the snow we've been getting this February.  I should have wrote this blog at that point.

I was mad.  Mad about snow.  Mad that my house doesn't magically clean itself every day.  Mad that I had to wear pants instead of getting to hang out in my pajamas all day.

The only way to fix all of my woes would have been to:

• Have had a visit from a future me who now knows the secret of time travel, and who has decided to have mercy on this past version of herself by pulling me forward in time by about four months (I choose late May or early June, if you are reading this, Future Version of Me with time travel capabilities).
• Act out on my impulse to buy a ticket to Hawaii, throwing caution to the wind about any ramifications this would create.
• Find a housekeeper willing to work for hugs and the love of doing my laundry and housecleaning.
• Find a new society that despises the wearing of pants as much as I did this morning (and I wasn't feeling any happier about possibly wearing a skirt or dress).
• Wear stretchy pajama pants to work, whatever the consequences may be.

None of these things happened, sadly.

What DID happen, is I put the danged pants on, got in my car (leaving my messy house behind), and drove out on the snowy roads.  It quickly became apparent to me that although I still hate all of this crappy white stuff and the fact that we are in my LEAST favorite month of the year, it is still incredibly gorgeous out there.

In terms of beauty, today is every bit as beautiful as a day in mid-June.  I was fighting the same urge to pull over every ten seconds to take pictures (didn't bring my big cam though, just my phone, per usual), but couldn't really do much with that impulse as I didn't want to either a) park in the middle of the road to take the pic, as the sides are nothing but giant berms at the moment, and then b) get rammed by anyone coming up behind me who is unable to stop, or c) brave some of the more shallow side areas for parking, but then get stuck.

Anyways, by the time I made it to work, my bad mood was pretty much gone.  No witty burns on either snow or the month of February.

SO, I did take a couple pictures of the snow, and also a few pics of some of the projects I'm working on to help pull me through this month.

Down our street.

On the way to work.

I've pulled out all of my jewelry making supplies.  I'm loving the whole coral, turquoise, copper combo at the moment.

Dad gave me this guitar last time I was down to visit him.  It's old and very damaged- perfect for doing a guitar mosaic.  Going to start this project soon (hopefully this week).

The Passing of Angst

"Don't confuse genuine peace of mind with the passing of angst that follows the demise of a dream but precedes a mounting wave of regret."

*sigh*

Quote of the week off of facebook.  Dang it.  There were about fifty other quotes on the meme with this quote that my auntie posted this week, but this was the one sentence that caught my eye.

And it did catch my eye.

Just a minute ago I was on facebook again, and saw this beautiful portrait of a couple dancing at their daughter's wedding.  I thought "that is a beautiful picture" about five seconds before I realized it was a picture I had taken five years ago at a wedding.

I love to capture moments like that in photography.

So does everyone else on this planet of ours.

*sigh*

I'd given up on that achy, angsty part of myself that actually ever wanted to do something with it.  But a couple of weeks ago at an epic party I had the pleasure to be part of, I happened to take a lot of pictures.  I liked them.  A lot.

Reminded me that I used to really like to do this sort of thing.  And then I saw that picture I'd taken at that wedding all those years ago.

Then this feeling resettled in my bones.  Oh my friend, Angst!!  It's been awhile.  Come on in.

Cancun- The Trip Over

Oh Man.  I am so far behind.  My intention had been to write every single day we were in Cancun (my brain no so good, and I will forget details so quickly if I don't write them down), BUT I ran into a wall.  Internet access at the resort in Mexico was an issue.  So, here we are, a first entry for a trip that started and ended days ago.

As I write this, I'm realizing that I'm noting more details of some of the more... "less positive", or shall I say "adventurous" parts of the trip. I think that is because the details of the wonderful parts (i.e. beach time) are memories of feelings of hazy pleasure, warm sun, sand under my toes, having tasty drinks and food, and just a sweet time with my husband and friends. Hard details hardly seemed necessary to remember in those moments. 

The bad parts actually made me giggle as I wrote them down, but the good parts are the ones that are sustaining me until we finally pass this grey winter and head into Spring.

SO, here we go:

 THE TRIP OVER

We woke up super early (3:00 in the morning) January 30th, because we had to be at the airport super early.  We were dutifully there about two hours early, checked our luggage, were scanned, and loaded onto the plane right on time.  Then we sat.  And sat.  And then we sat some more.

An hour and a half later we finally took off, but this delay started a series of events that completely changed how our day was supposed to flow.  We had been scheduled to fly from our town to Salt Lake City to Atlanta and then land in Cancun (where we were stay at The Dreams Cancun Resort)around 6 that night.  Did not happen.

Turns out that our pilot had been trying to land at the LAX airport the night before, just as the first lady was flying out of that airport.  The rule is no other planes are allowed to land or take off when the President or his Lady are in the middle of transit there.  Our pilot was unable to stay on his schedule that night, and didn't get home until very late.  The FAA has another rule that says that a pilot must have 10 hours between flights, ensuring that the pilot gets enough sleep.  His misadventure the night before, and his resulting lateness, added with the 10 hour rule equaled us taking off exactly one and a half hours late. Despite our best efforts of running frantically through the Salt Lake airport, we arrived to our next plane about 10 seconds after they had closed the door.  Because of another rule that says once the doors are closed they will not reopen for anyone, we officially missed our flight to Atlanta.

They signed us up for a different flight, but for some unapparent reason (at the time), our flight kept getting pushed back.  We eventually learned that there is another rule that says an engineer needs to sign off on every plane leaving the airport (I approve of this rule), but unfortunately there were no engineers available to sign off anything.  It was looking more and more like we were either going to be stuck in Salt Lake City, or we were going to be stuck in Atlanta at some unknown point in the future.  There were really bad storms hitting all of the major northern US airports that day, and the thought of getting stranded at any of them was super depressing after all the Cancun anticipation.

We all started feeling a bit desperate, and eventually it pushed us to action.  Rob and Derrick doggedly waited in the endless Delta help line.  I got in touch with our travel agent, Jackie.  Deana called her sister who is gifted in all things arranging travel.  With all of our powers combined, we restructured our trip.  Jackie was also able to arrange one more day in Cancun since the travel debacle was costing us a day, and Deana's dear Mom and my dear sweet sister both said they wouldn't mind watching our kids one day longer.  Things weren't going as planned, but at least they were going again.

We ended up flying to Las Vegas first, where we had a 8 hour layover (we actually had a lot of fun there- went to the Postrio Bar and Grill at the Venetian for dinner *Salmon to die for*, and walked down the strip enjoying the sights), then at around 11:30 that night we did an overnight flight to Miami (It's worth mentioning that both the Salt Lake to Las Vegas flight and the Las Vegas to Miami were extremely rough, and while I was able to sleep on the long flight, poor Deana suffered greatly).  We finally boarded the Miami flight to Cancun that morning, and landed in Cancun around 8:00 that morning.

We were worn out travelers.  Fortunately, the insurance we'd bought from the travel agency handled rescheduling our ride to the resort as well as extending our stay for a day to replace the day we'd missed with our interesting journey (This trip taught me both the value of a travel agent and travel insurance.  We would've been sunk without them).

Upon entering the Cancun airport, a Mexican man in airport gear swooped in and put Deana in a wheelchair (Mexico does such weird things for tips...) and wheeled her all over customs and over to luggage claim where we discovered our luggage had not made it.  Having ones luggage not make it is a much more distressing situation that I formerly would have thought.

Finally we were finally in our room at the resort. Derrick and I just sat there enjoying the sudden calm after a whirlwind trip.  He finally got up and got us both a Corona out of the little refrigerator in our room, and I ordered room service for breakfast.

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur.  We eventually did receive our luggage later that night, which was nice because then we had clean clothes to go to dinner in.

The beginning of the day had been hectic, the luggage thing a bit stressful, but ultimately we were in Cancun and it was beautiful, warm and just the place we wanted to be. Vacation was officially ON.

Just before Vegas

Flight to Salt Lake

Just made it to Vegas

Dinner at the Venetian

Bellagio

Saturday- A Day at the Beach

The First REAL Day in Cancun (Saturday)

The water in Cancun is unlike anything I have ever seen in my life.  It's not like I've been able to travel the whole world (yet), but I have been to three of the Hawaiian Islands and up and down the west coast of Mexico, as well as all along the west coast and the northeast coast of the United States.  I always love to get my eyes on (and my toes in) the ocean whenever possible.  But this water in Cancun... crystal clear and all shades of aquamarine.  In this Montana girl's life, it is one of the two most beautiful sights I have ever seen (the other being the view from the top of St. Mary's Peak in the Bitterroot National Forrest right here in Montana).  The water was warm but cool enough to be refreshing, and saltier than anywhere else I've been (or at least that's how I perceived it).

Derrick and I woke up that morning and ordered room service for breakfast again, mostly because the novelty of having someone bring food to us while we are still in our jammies never gets old. It does make me pine for a personal cook and butler when I get home, however.

We eventually ambled our way down to the beach.  First we walked along the beach in front of our motel, admiring to calm beaches that we were planning on swimming in later.  We were staying on a little peninsula, and on one side the water was open ocean and very rough and the normal dark grey/blue ocean color, and on the other, the water was more more protected, calm, and that aquamarine color.  The calmest part of the beach was right outside the steps closest to our bedroom, and as we left our motel and walked down the rest of the motel strip, the water was a little rougher, but still very beautiful and safe to swim in.

We were taking pictures of each other a long the way, when a surfer lady asked if we'd like her to take our picture.  She'd obviously spent a lot of time in the sun, and while she looked in her fifties, she easily could have been closer to late thirties(sunscreen people!).  She made several comments about the hunky windsurfer she was watching at the moment (not quite a boyfriend, but...), took lots of pictures of us, and then advised us to take public transportation whenever possible because the motel excursions were a total ripoff.  She also advised making a trip to Akumal where we would be able to swim with turtles.  A very informative woman was this surfer gal, and it was great to have run into her.

The beach was our home for the rest of Saturday. The spot where we parked ourselves was right in front of our favorite part of calm ocean.  We were right between two huts that served drinks, and there were folks walking along the beach asking if we would like anything else.

I will miss those folks asking for what we'd like while we are at the lake this summer.

We went to dinner at Himitsu that night. We all had their sushi, which was pretty good.  I ordered a squid salad, thinking it would be like the squid salad we get in our sushi restaurant back home, but this salad was a lot more squid-y.  I ate most of it anyways (choked down some gnarly tentacles).  They made great chocolate martinis.  We stayed there a long time, trying new food and talking.  After that, we went dancing.

Deana can get down with her bad self on the dance floor, and Rob and Derrick were no slouches either.  We danced and danced and... you guessed.  The four of us drank gallons of water, and then got back out there.  For the first time ever, I found myself wishing I knew how to Salsa (Upon leaving Mexico this time I decided I wanted to learn #1 Spanish (Being in such a multi-lingual environment really makes me kick myself for barely being mono-linguistic) #2 Salsa Dancing #3 Scuba Diving).  Derrick got out there and learned a few Salsa moves.  Watching him was my favorite part of the whole night.  It's been awhile since I've seen him laugh so much, dance so much, and just generally have a great time.

First day to wander along the beach.

View out our door.

First Day in the Sand

Sunday- Superbowl in Cancun

Sunday- Beach, Super Bowl

We actually ventured out of room for real breakfast by the third morning.  We ambled down to the beach afterwards, and laid our towels out on the sand again and played in the ocean.  Another day of Paradise.

Since it happened to be superbowl Sunday, they had screens set up outside so all the Football Faithful could watch (Broncos and Seahawks- what a disappointing game, even for the Football Uncaring such as myself).  But we had a great time (and a great day), regardless.

Monday- Market and Spa

Monday- Market and Spa

By the fourth day we decided that it was a fine idea to venture into town.  We wanted to explore the idea that the Surfer Lady from the first day had given us; to ride a bus to Talum and Akumal, instead of booking and expensive excursion from the motel (Monday was just about exploring the idea.  We didn't follow through until Wednesday).  We grabbed a ride from a cabbie by the name of Fransisco to the Cancun Ado Bus terminal.

Upon getting into his cab (where Deana was able to sit in the front seat to avoid getting carsick, a luxury no bus would give us), Fransisco offered the price of $200 for a whole day of his services to where ever we wanted to go instead of using a bus.  This was still a deal, because just an excursion to Talum was priced at $100 each from the motel.

The bus turned out to be quite a lot cheaper, but it would also put us on a stricter schedule, and most likely make Deana miserably sick for the whole day.  So, after checking out the bus schedule and prices, we instead took Fransisco up on his offer.  Fifty bucks each for a driver/interpreter/freedom to do whatever for a whole day in Cancun/Talum/Akumal.

After that (for me), this day took a nose dive.

We made our way to a local market, Mercado 28.  I researched it after getting home, mostly to see of I was too sensitive in my perception of the place.  One commenter on TripAdvisor.com expressed it better than I think I can: "My wife and I spent about 20 minutes there constantly harassed by merchants and "assisted" by unsolicited "guides" looking for tips who seem to have cousins and uncles running most of the shopping stalls.. Stay away unless you do not enjoy being left alone to view the the wares. You will get no respite whatsoever. It was like being in an Amsterdam red light district. OK, maybe not, but we left quickly anyway... Trust me, you will not enjoy this place. I would rate this place NO stars if I could."

To my fellow unknown traveler, I say "Amen Brother!!"  It was like a Saturday Night Live Roxbury skit with Will Farrell and Chris Kattan, only instead of getting bounced between two geeks at a nightclub it was being yelled at by dozens of aggressive merchants rudely trying to make you buy their wares.  YUCK.

After the market (cause) and my subsequent near panic attack (effect), we drove back to the part of town where our motel was located.  Deana and I had been planning on doing a semi-spa day, but since the spa services at our motel were crazy expensive, we had decided to find one in town instead.  We ended up going to a place called Bamboo Spa, located about five blocks from where we were staying.

The guys went back to the Hotel, Deana went into the spa to choose what we were going to do, and I sat outside the shop, still trying to calm myself down.

At this point, I should have taken stock of where I was mentally/emotionally and hauled myself back to the motel, put on a swimsuit, and went to the beach with a drink in my hand.  The sound of the ocean and the sand under my feet would have been the perfect balm to my soul.  But... I also really wanted to do the Spa Day.  A facial and massage seemed like they would also be a pretty good balm.  In theory.

The lady who did my pedicure, the first part of my manicure, and my facial was Marianne.  She spoke a little English, so that was nice (After rereading this, I feel compelled to once again interject that I NEED TO LEARN SPANISH.  Going into another country without knowing their language is seriously crippling.  Every time I meet a person in Mexico who has gone through the trouble to learn even a little English, I am grateful and a little sad with my inability to reciprocate very much).  She was blond haired and green eyed; not your typical Mexican woman.  She also, turned out, had the strength of ten men.  I found that out during my facial.

I had never had a facial before.  We were off by ourselves in this quiet darkened little room, with me laying down on a table and covered with a sheet.  Marianne was sitting on a high stool at my head.  She placed a super bright light about a foot from my face, and when I looked up at her, she had super strong magnifying glasses on, peering down closely at my magnified pores.  I closed my eyes, hardly daring to open them again as she would (in English) tell me to close them again immediately anyways.  At first the facial felt nice.  She massaged some stuff on my face, and rinsed gently.  She did some sort of mask on my face and then left the room for around fifteen minute.  I actually fell asleep while she was gone.  At that point I was thinking that Facials Are The Bomb.

But then she came back.

After rinsing my face, she donned the big glasses back on and shined the ultra bright light back in my face and ordered me to close my eyes.  Then then squeezing started.

I'm not talking light, playful squeezing.  I'm talking about a woman with the strength of ten men holding two small squeegees in her powerful hands, and scraping them together along every sensitive inch of my face.  She seemed especially keen on tearing the skin from my forehead.

After about 30 seconds of this torture, I involuntarily blurted (somewhat loudly) "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?"

Marianne stopped for a moment, and in her sweet accented voice asked,"Um, You... you not have this done before?"  When I admitted I had, in fact, NOT ever had this done before (if I had ever experienced this, you can bet I would not be alone with her in that room at that moment), she explained as best she could that she was removing the impurities from my face.  She said it with an enlightened voice, as if she finally knew why my face was so toxic that she was actually going to leave work with sore arms that day from all the work of squeezing years of back build up from it.  And then she went back to work.

As she worked and I held my screams inside, I resigned myself to the fact that for the rest of the trip (if not my life), I was going to most likely have purple skin (in the places where skin was left), a bulbous nose, and most likely would have a break out of cystic acne from all of the skin torture.

Fortunately, when she was done with the squeezing, she laid a piece of gauze over my face (ironically to protect it), and brought out a zappy machine that was supposed to close pores and heal capillaries (??? I think that is what she was saying it did when I asked her).

When she left the room, I sat up and looked in the mirror and was very relieved that my face was mostly just red.  However, even as I write this around ten days later, I still have bruises on my forehead from this very very very strong woman.

As soon as I was done with my facial, they moved me to a different room for a massage.  I liked this room better.  There was soothing spa music, aromatherapy, it was a little warmer than the other room, and the lights were a soft warm glow.  I felt confident that this was going to be the room where I would finally be able to calm down.

I can't remember the masseuse's name.  She was a smallish, sweet looking woman with a soft voice.  In retrospect, I think that this particular spa hired women on some sort of strength scale. As small and sweet as she looked, if I were to bet on her and Marianne in a fight, I would have a very hard time choosing.

She had me take off my clothes and lay face down on the table with a sheet over my body.  I love massages, and I can honestly say she was very good.  It takes a lot to physically hurt me (regardless of how I reacted to my facial), so I quite enjoyed a lot of the massage, even with her inhumanly strong hands and elbows.  The only part that was too intense for me was when she was working my forearms.  She seemed to be squeezing certain pressure points and then pulling away, all the way to my wrists, over and over.  It was the only point of the massage where I was unable to hold in the sounds I wanted to make. Instead of the yell/gasp that would have made more sense, I started to laugh.

I think she'd been waiting for some sort of feedback from me, and I started to regret not having been more vocal through the rest of the massage (although she spoke no English), because she then started to focus on my arms more than any other part of my body.  She'd massage a little on my legs (nice), then back to my arms (torture).  She'd massage my lower back (heaven), then back to my arms (screaming silently inside).

I started wondering how many minutes had passed, and I was conflicted as to how much more I could take.  Finally, however, on the last pass along my arms, the pain wasn't there.  I don't know if it's because she achieved her goal with the massage, or if the nerves in my arms had finally snapped off, or if my brain had finally sent me some sort of chemical to shut off the perception of pain.  I do know that around ten days later, I still have a small bruise on my right wrist.

I was a bit dizzy as I wobbled into the main lobby.  I still had to get my fingernails shellacked, and as I sat there having them done I realized it was after five and I hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning.

When my nails were done, Deana came out briefly and we realized she still had another hour to go with her massage (there had been some sort of snafu with the polish they'd used on her manicure, which had taken much longer than normal) while I was essentially done with my spa day.

When she left for her massage and I was once again the only English speaking person in the room (besides the somewhat somewhat fluent in  English speaking lady at the front desk), I realized that my brain had hung up it's "Closed For Business" sign, and I was done braining for the day.  The words, they did not come.  No words.  Trying to pay for the services rendered that day, with the exchange of  pesos to American money, my brain no like.  Brain want food and quiet.  Brain want someone else to do talking.  Brain search for solution.  No file found.  Finally, brain remember husband.  Brain messages Rob to have husband call (instead of calling husband in the first place).  Husband call, but words still no work.  Husband knows brain is broke, has seen brain like this before.

Husband and Rob rush to where brain is, but they can't quite remember WHICH Spa we are at.

At this point in their journey to find us, a man approached Derrick and Rob and asks them "You looking for ladies?"  Derrick's brain is also a little out of commission at this point, because what he hears is "You looking for YOUR ladies?" and is surprised and a bit touched that this random man is going to help them out with the finding of their ladies.

Derrick looked at the man, and while I am not sure if he actually said 'Yes Indeed, I am looking for ladies', the look on his face said 'Yes' to the man's question.  It was at that point the man pulled out his book of available "ladies", and pointed up to the windows where the said ladies were.

Rob and Derrick started doing the 'quick, get-away shuffle' that we all got in the practice of doing when out in town, talking about "Espouses" and then bolted off, fortunately right in our direction.

When Derrick and I finally got back to our room, instead of eating right away, I finally was able to shampoo my oil saturated hair (from the massage), and wash the day off of myself.  I was starting to feel human again when we made it down to the beach.

They were having Mexican food and a show that night.  In retrospect, I think that was my favorite food while we were at the resort.  I had some pretty good chicken mole.  We also had some pretty good tequila shots and margaritas.

We decided at dinner that the next day would be nothing but beach time.

Group at mexican food night on the beach

Tuesday (Beach Bliss)

Tuesday- Beach Day

Tuesday was my favorite day while in Cancun.  We woke up, went to the World Cafe for breakfast (it was a pretty good buffet place), put our swimsuits on, and then did very little but lay on the beach until dinner time.  The next time I go to Cancun, I want most of the days to resemble this particular day.

We got there early enough in the day to actually get chairs to lay instead of toweling it on the sand, so that was nice.  We put on layer after layer of sunscreen, because the sun was just that big, bold, and in our face.  We'd warm up to just about too hot, and then jump in the ocean for a swim.  Repeat.  Repeat.

We'd take turns going to the tiki hut for drinks (we tried a lot of different kinds of drinks), or grab the waiter as he made his rounds by us.  We discovered a hermit crab gathering just outside a little hermit grab forest.

We flipped from side up to the sun and side down to the sun, over and over and... over.

We swam out to the trampoline they had set up in the ocean (marked KIDS ONLY), climbed up and laid on it- true rebels.  Then Rob pushed and Derrick pulled me into the ocean.

We snorkeled along the dock and found a surprising amount of cool fish to look at (and I got stung on the arm by some coral when I swam too close- still itching from that incident).  This was THE day of bliss (for me).  

Fixture in the motel lobby

"Liquid Marijuana"- prettier than it tasted 

Red Snapper. "Go ahead, eat me.  I DARE you!"  So I did.  Right after I covered his head with onions.

"Blue Hawaiian"

Group shot in front of the Hermit Crab Forrest

Wednesday- Talum and Akumal

Wednesday- Talum and Akumal Dancing

After spending Tuesday recovering from Monday, we decided Wednesday (and our last real day in Mexico) we were going to call Fransico up and take him up on his deal to drive us to Talum to see the Mayan ruins, and then to Akumal to swim with turtles.

Fransisco was awesome.  He knew right where to take us, and he took so much travel pressure off of us.  Deana chatted him up, and found out that he himself had Mayan origins, and the Mayan language was actually his first language.

As I drifted in and out of their conversation, I watched as we passed all of the other places we had dreamed of visiting.  Swimming through caves, zip lining, going to Cozumel...  Someday I hope to go back and experience more of what Cancun has to offer.

My favorite things about the Mayan ruins in Talum were all of the giant lizards who made their home there.  That, and how green and lush everything was, and that the turquoise ocean was right at the edge.

It was very hot and humid, so we slowly ambled along, took our time and just enjoyed the experience.  If I'd been in more of an imaginative mood, I might have considered more closely what kind of civilization had once made their home there.

Mostly I just looked at lizards, took a lot of pictures, and goofed off with my friends.  It was a good day.

I actually enjoyed the market in Talum.  The merchants there were way more laid back, and they actually let me just look.  I bought some jewelery from the quietest one of all.  I just appreciated so much that he let me think without any interjection or interference.

After eating at Subway (Subway?!?) in Talum, we headed over to Akumal.  We took turns swimming with the snorkel gear (that way there was someone to watch our stuff on the beach).  Derrick and I saw a couple of turtles and sting rays before coming back in, but Deana and Rob saw a lot more.   We were glad we went.

That night we had the "last supper of Cancun", and then Derrick and I went for a little last night walk along the beach.

We eventually made our way back, and met up with Deana and Rob to do a little dancing.  Some sort of soccer conference was going on that night, and towards the end of our night dozens of young Mexican folks started streaming into the club.  Abruptly the music switched to all salsa.  All of a sudden, the random jumping and twirling (my style of dance), turned into graceful, controlled, and sexy Salsa dance.  We watched for awhile (the seed of wanting to learn salsa dancing being pressed into my brain), but eventually cried Uncle and went to bed.

With Fransciso!