One day, when I'm filthy rich (it's just a matter of time, right?), I'll have to decide how I'm going to spend all that money.
I'm a simple guy, and my Want List is equally simple:
As you know, I have a touch of the diabetes. I was diagnosed just over four years ago. I’ve learned a lot, but there’s also a lot of territory I’ve left unexplored.
Frankly, I have no interest in discovering those parts of the diabetic map. They are marked, “Here there be monsters.” But I strayed into that region on Monday night. Let me ‘splain.
No, there is too much. Let me sum up.
As I was getting ready for bed, I felt like my blood sugar was low. I tested and, sure enough. So I went downstairs and downed some orange juice. Went back up, finished getting ready, and settled down to read a bit.
In what would turn out to be Divine Providence, Liz decided she needed a drink. I still felt a little low, so I followed her downstairs.
She got out a glass for herself, and I pulled my previous glass from the dishwasher and set it on the counter. I then started feeling a little woozy. I leaned on the counter, and to my surprise, she had been nice enough to get me a glass.
Wait, no. That was the glass I had just gotten myself. Or not? Now I was confused, and she could see it. She poured me a glass of orange juice, which I dutifully drank.
The next portion of our story is hearsay. I don’t remember any of it, but Liz swears this is how it played out.
After I drank the OJ, she said she was going to the bathroom. Apparently I begged her not to leave me and threatened that, if she did, I would extricate myself from my undergarments and sit on the carpet.
She went to the bathroom, and when she came out, there I was—sitting on the carpet, bare-bummed and grinning.
Note: The saddest part about this whole story is that she didn’t know anything was wrong with me at this point. Yes, friends, this juvenile display is something I might actually do, even when lucid.
Anyway, she claims I started saying weird stuff and my speech was slurred. She started getting mad because she couldn’t tell if I was being serious or not, and she tried to make me drink more juice.
She handed me a full glass, which I spilled on the floor because my hands had started shaking. She made me get up and go to the sink, at which point my hands started really jerking and I was spilling juice everywhere.
She then handed me the whole bottle, which I dropped in the sink because I couldn’t hold it. She put the bottle back in my hands and helped me down several gulps.
I stood there for a few seconds, and then the sugar from the juice started to kick in and I began coming back around.
Liz was visibly shaken, and it slowly dawned on me that something was wrong and I had just ventured into unknown territory.
We sat down on the couch and I slowly regained my senses. I started asking her what had happened—what was real, and what had I imagined?
I remembered the confusion over the glass and the convulsing hands. I also remembered carousel music, a big crowd, and lots of lights. I guess I visited Lagoon or something when I checked out.
Long story long, it was a scary night for both of us. She had watched me descend into insulin shock and then pulled me out of it. I was forced to acknowledge the fact that things aren’t always going to be within my control.
I’m grateful we were being watched out for. Had I wandered downstairs by myself, it might have been 10 minutes before Liz thought to check on me. And she might have found me completely out of sorts, or seizing, or worse.
Then again, she may have just found me with my bare butt planted firmly on the couch.
For our first anniversary, we made a weekend dash to Vegas.
We saw a Cirque de Soleil show (Mystere), watched Terry Fator (the ventriloquist), ate at the Mirage buffet, rode the roller coaster at the New York New York, walked everywhere, hit the outlets, and more.
It was just a quick little trip, but we packed in quite a few things and had a lot of fun.
What follows is a pictorial recap of our 2.5 days in Vegas.
Our view of the Strip. We stayed at Treasure Island, which I was afraid would be ghetto, but actually turned out to be quite nice.
Our view in the daylight.
The Paris Hotel.
Waiting for the Terry Fator show to start. Definitely worth seeing. We really liked it.
We spent an afternoon at the outlets. The Puma outlet was offering particularly impressive discounts.
Liz standing below a replica of the David at Caesar's Palace.
Liz was so disappointed that Serendipity was closed during the week we were there.
My take on one of the fountains at Caesar's Palace.
Waiting for the Bellagio fountain show to begin.
The Bellagio fountains, this night set to the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah.
Watching the 3D movie at the M&Ms Store.
A view of the Bellagio and Caesar's Palace.
I think I'm going to make it.
I ate a real breakfast this morning, and everything seems to be staying where it's supposed to, so...back to our regularly scheduled programming.
These are from Monday morning, which dawned foggy and hazy, but beautiful.
The fog was just beginning to lift as the sun rose
over the fields in Pleasant Grove.
Looking south over I-15 as intrepid drivers disappear
into a white oblivion.
I know, I take way too many pictures of the Lake Side Power Plant in Lindon, but that column of steam looks so fascinating to me.
Especially when it's backlit by the rising sun.
Editor’s Note: This post isn’t completely fair, since I was the only one of our four-person party who got sick. But that’s the dark side of the Internet, my friends.
When I came home Friday, there was a little orange paper on our door announcing that the first 50 people to call would get free dinner at Rodizio Grill. I knew there’d be a sales pitch attached, but free dinner is free dinner.
We poor folk have to make tradeoffs sometimes.
So last night, along with my brother and his wife, we went to Rodizio Grill, ate free dinner, and listened to a presentation about fire safety. Pretty cool info and very good food, so I was glad we went.
As the presentation ended, the sales guy tried to get us all to commit to an in-home “evaluation” by someone from his company so they could show us what their alarms and detectors could do for us.
I’m pretty sure my brother and I were the only two out of about 50 that wrote down “No thanks” on the card, and the sales guy was visibly miffed.
Dude, I was there for the free dinner. The knowledge was a bonus. But definitely not interested in spending $150 each on fire alarms, thank you very much.
Bad call on my part, because this guy is clearly some kind of black magician.
We came home. Around nine o’clock, I started feeling a little woozy, but fell asleep reading a book. I awoke at 11:30, stumbled into the bathroom, and moaned and groaned for half an hour. At midnight, my defenses finally broke and I surrendered up a portion of my free dinner.
As we used to say when we were Scouts, I was drivin’ the old porcelain bus, if you know what I mean.
Went to bed, woke up at one o’clock, and offered up more Brazilian delicacies. Now I know the evil sales guy has hexed me.
Wash, rinse, repeat. Three o’clock. Five o’clock.
At six o’clock, my poor wife—who had slept little thanks to me—went to the store and bought me some easy-to-eat food. Then she went to work. She loves me way too much.
So I been sippin’ Gatorade, that Great Cure-all, and chewing on ice chips all morning. I’m not a wuss, I promise.
Why, Rodizio Grill??? Are you and the evil sales guy really so petulant that you would continue to put me through this macabre scene of suffering? Loose your draconian grip on my poor stomach! So I didn’t want to buy ridiculously expensive fire alarms—so what?!?!
In return, I promise never to enter one of your establishments again. Never even go anywhere near. Ever.
I’m begging you. Stop the voodoo. End the suffering. PLEASE!!!
Alright, it's picture time again. Got a few from the last couple weeks that I've been wanting to post.
I took this one on Christmas morning as we were heading for dinner with my family.
It's a shot of the Lake Side Power Plant in Lindon. I call it "Toxic Plume," for obvious reasons.
They claim it's just steam, but who knows. The Man never tells it like it really is, right?
I'm sure you remember that John Mellencamp song about Jackie and Diane, wherein John laments: “Oh yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of livin’ is gone….”
Today was kinda like that. Luckily, it was only the thrill of recycling that was lost, not the thrill of life itself.
You see, back in November the good folks at Pleasant Grove City said we’d be getting recycling cans in January. As a budding recyclist (which has nothing to do with being a cyclist), I was stoked.
I marshaled the family forces—Liz and I, my parents, and both my sisters—and we began collecting recyclables. I gather them regularly from my family and have been stockpiling them in my garage in anticipation.
The new year dawned, and with it came the promise of our shiny new recycling can. I called the city this morning to find out exactly when the cans would be delivered, and that’s when the series of unfortunate events began.
