Kitty shopping!

Okay, I think it is time to make the official blog announcement. WE HAVE A NEW KITTY! Several months after we lost our young friend Joe to some weird, disgusting attack on his lungs, we finally have another furry housemate. We adopted her from the Sioux Falls Humane Society on March 6th, but I dared not blog about her until my excitement had somewhat abated, lest I should sound like a 6th grade girl (right, Noelle?). For several weeks Kathy had been monitoring the Sioux Falls Area Humane Society website to see what cats they had on hand. It is a great site that has a list of dogs and cats that are up for adoption, with a small description, a photo and usually a short link to a YouTube video. The actual trip to Sioux Falls, however, kept getting put off. Finally, in early March, my niece Nicole and her husband Todd invited Kathy along for a shopping trip to Sioux Falls. I seized the opportunity and sent a text to Nicole, encouraging her to suggest a stop at the Humane Society while they were in town. It was decided that a pet carrier would be slipped into the back of the vehicle just in case. The plan was hatched and when Saturday came, I waited in painful anticipation for word from Sioux Falls that Kathy had made an adoption. After several texts and calls to my cell phone, I learned that she just couldn’t make a decision, and they were coming home empty-handed. I was bummed. Apparently, however, Kathy was also bummed, and when I suggested a return trip the following day, she consented. Ninety minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Sioux Falls Area Humane Society building east of town. It was hard not to get caught up in the excitement before we even entered the building. Jubilant children (and adults) were outside giving a test drive to several dogs who were bubbling with happiness at the prospect of making a new friend. Once inside, Kathy led the way to the kitty room, and I was about to fall in love…somewhere around six or seven times. A room with maybe 35-40 cages awaited me, filled with kitties passing the time as best you can in a cage. Half of the inhabitants barely noticed me walk by. The other half vied for my attention. We opened many of the cages—with a required trip to the Purel bottle between each—and held, petted and struggled to make a decision on which of these needy felines we would take home. The one Siamese mix kitty named Piper that Kathy had fallen for the previous day sealed her own fate by taking a bite out of her hand. Probably more a result of a long day of strangers handling her than her regular demeanor, but when you are making a choice that you have to live with for many years, the smallest thing can make you turn your attentions elsewhere. Unfortunately, as of today, poor Piper is still waiting to get adopted. (Maybe we should go back and rescue her?) In a cage near Piper was a small orange and white kitty named Fallyn that was doing everything in her power to get my attention. She meowed and meowed and stretched her “arms” out the front of her cage as far as she could, and fairly begged to be hugged. I could not resist her charms. When I opened the cage she fairly jumped into my arms and a round of purrs began immediately. She scaled every inch of the ample real estate that I call my body and made the most of her trip outside the cage. We took her in the “Get To Know Them Room,” and the hyper fluff ball jumped and played and spun. She was a handful, to say the least. Since we wanted to see all the kitties before we made a choice (and since Kathy didn’t really seem all that enamored with my frisky little orange friend) we tucked the reluctant tabby back in her cage. She immediately pressed the side of her furry face against the front of the cage and thrust her little arms out to me, meowing excitedly. It seemed that another potential owner who failed to succumb to her adorable presence was about to walk away, she no doubt was thinking. I wondered if all the previous potential owners who walked away experienced the same tug in his or her heart that I did. Next week: We added to our family…and you should too.

My January, The Final Chapter: Ready to do it again…

As I mentioned last week, I was out of the training classes early on the final day in California. While it would have been fun to lollygag around in the 60-degree weather, my hopes were to make the drive back at a bit more leisurely pace than the trip out was. I decided to split up the travel over an extra day on the way back.
On Thursday, January 20th, after finishing my obligations in California I pointed my vehicle east. I was surprised how much less intimidating the Sierra Nevada mountains were heading home than on the trip out. While it seemed like 50 miles straight down hill when heading west, it actually wasn’t nearly that bad, I noticed, when I didn’t have to worry about a deadline.
I drove past Reno and well into Nevada before stopping for the night. I remember from my trip out, a sign caught my eye that said “Downtown Lovelock.” I contemplated how a town could get a name like that, and tried to remember the last time I myself had had a good downtown lovelock. That was enough to make me pull into Lovelock, Nevada and bed down for the evening. Turns out, Lovelock appeared to be a long-time casino town. There were several older hotels that all seemed to have been constructed some time back in the 1950s. I chose one at random and checked in for the night. It turns out, according to the signed photograph on the front counter that Merle Haggard had stayed at the motel at one time. I figured if the place were good enough for the Okie from Muskogee, it was good enough for me.
While it was most definitely an older décor, it was clean and comfortable, complete with a kitchen and a nice, fast internet connection. This seemed incongruous considering the TV channel lineup still listed “The Nashville Network” on the list. There hasn’t been anything called “The Nashville Network” for many years (it is now called Spike TV).
All in all, though, a pleasant stay, and now, if anyone asks, I can say, “yes, I actually had a downtown lovelock in January…it was great.”
On Friday, the 21st I hit the road again, with the goal of getting to Salt Lake City and picking up a new supply of insulin. It was my misfortune that I was arriving in Salt Lake City at about 5:00 in the afternoon, and the traffic was crazy. My GPS decided to display its sense of humor again, and after several times around several blocks and some very narrow streets, I finally found the Walgreens and scored the rest of my drugs. The bad news was that it was closing in on 7:00 by the time I made my way back to Interstate 80 and resumed my return trip.
With a more flexible travel schedule on my way home, I had the opportunity to stop occasionally and take some pictures that I wished I had taken on the way out. I scored my Tree of Utah picture, but mostly pictures of signs I found amusing. Weird, I know.
Some of my favorite signs I saw during my travels included the sign marking Old Woman Creek and an eating place called 9 Beans and a Burrito. Signs throughout Utah that lectured me about driving drowsy were somewhat entertaining. One sign I saw, I think it was Lusk, Wyoming, was a sign that encouraged people not to drive drunk. It said, “Santa Claus is coming to town. Don’t hit him.” Unfortunately, I was in traffic and didn’t get a picture of that one.
Another of my favorites was a sign marking the Boner Ranch. Owned, I presume, by Mr. and Mrs. Boner and inhabited by several little Boners. Another 50 miles down the road I saw another sign for a ranch. I don’t remember the name of the ranch, it was something like “The Triple R Ranch.” It was the small print at the bottom of the sign that caught my eye. “One of the proud family of Boner Ranches.”
My trip back was mostly uneventful, but I did finally run into some bad weather. Not long after I turned off the interstate in Wyoming, I drove into some whiteout conditions. A group of four or five of us crawled the last five miles into Lusk, Wyoming. It was about 4:00 Saturday afternoon, and the weather had been perfect up until that point. When I learned that teams from a local basketball tournament had been instructed to spend the night in town, I decided I would cut my day short. I checked into a Best Western motel, braved blizzard conditions to make it to the Subway and back for a sandwich, and kicked back to watch a couple of movies on my laptop.
This made my final day of travel, on Sunday, longer than I had hoped and I arrived home at around 7:00 with a back seat full of laundry and a need to sleep in my own home.
People still look at me like I’m nuts when they hear I drove to California and back, but I would make that choice again in a snap. I love driving to begin with. I like being alone with my thoughts or with an exciting audio book. I like the fact that nobody tells me where to sit or when I have to board or when I will be rationed a beverage. I fit into my seat…that’s a big one. I can carry on as many bags as I wish. I can sleep in until I’m rested and entertain myself as late as I wish. If I want an Egg McMuffin for breakfast, then by golly that is what I’ll have.
Never once during my trip did I look down, outside my window, and see lightning. Yikes!
I got to see the U.S.A in my Chevrolet, and thankfully it was somewhat dampened by a bum leg, or I may not have come back. There are thousands of signs out there just waiting to be photographed!

My January, Part V: The search for drugs continues…

My two days in California were relaxing. My purpose for the trip was to get educated on how to train new hires in the company in general policy and safety issues. The organizers were very gracious and made sure I had an extra chair on which to perch my swollen right leg.
Speaking of the infamous leg…the infection was doing all kinds of crude things, reminiscent of the great plagues of biblical times. It gradually went from blisters to open wounds to crusty protrusions over the span of the trip, covering about 50% of my leg from toe to knee. One night I woke up and I believe I saw locusts circling. It reminded me of what some of the zombies looked like on the recent AMC “Walking Dead” series. The swelling, however was going down, and I would find on my way home that the coverage of the disgustingness gradually decreased.
You may recall from about three or four blogs ago, I was prescribed lovenox as I headed out on my trip, and they could only find three days of dosage in the entire city of Sioux Falls. That means I had to find some more in California.
In addition, I had horribly misjudged the amount of insulin I would need to get me through until I got home.
A quick call to Dr. Snow’s sidekick Nurse Linzie, and she called ahead to a Tracy Wal-Mart with a prescription. Having an hour for lunch during the training, I thought I would make a quick run to pick up the meds. Of course, nothing goes quickly when you need it to go quickly. I arrived to a very long line at the Wal-Mart pharmacy counter. About 45 minutes later, I found myself at the front of the line, ready to grab my stash and make a run for the training center. Yeah, right.
We are sorry, we don’t have any lovenox in stock, if you would like we will make some calls to other pharmacies to try to locate some,” the beleaguered young counter jockey told me. I thanked her and said I didn’t have enough time but would come back later in the day. “And,” she added “you will be able to pick up your insulin on February 3rd.”
I told her that yes, I had plenty at home, however I needed one vial to get me back to Minnesota, as I had not brought enough with me to make it home.
She apologized that there was nothing she could do about it.
I told her I would be back later in the day to attempt to resolve the issues, and made a beeline back to the training facility.
After another two grueling hours of training we were released for the day, and I returned to the friendly local Wal-Mart.
To my dismay, I found another long line. I plopped myself down between a funny-smelling old guy with a walker and a young mother with two very vocal babies on one of those metal benches the store provides.
I was hardly there for more than a couple of minutes, thinking I would really like to move, but didn’t want to look rude, when one of the pharmacists came out to talk to me. Things were starting to look up. He recognized me from earlier in the day, and remembered that I left wanting, but couldn’t remember the specifics. I explained the lovenox issue and he escorted me to a different window, where a young woman was asked to find me some of the elusive drug in the surrounding area. I stood at the counter for a long period of time while the pleasant attendant repeatedly made calls and was rejected by stores that normally are their competition. After maybe 20 minutes, another lady came by and offered to help make calls. I was impressed that they were taking these great lengths to find me some blood thinner. After a few more minutes, the second lady handed the phone to the first lady, and told her she found some. A Walgreens a few miles down the road had the other four days of dosage I would need. I thanked them multiple times and headed for Walgreens, where I scored my stuff.
Still looming was the problem that I would be running out of insulin by Friday evening.
Being the procrastinator that I am, I left the issue until Thursday.
Originally, my plan for Wednesday evening was to take the one-hour trip to San Francisco and do a bit of sightseeing, but I had promised to behave myself, and I headed to my room to put my leg up and watch a couple of movies.
Thursday was a shorter day of classes, and at about 1:30 I stepped out into the glorious 60 degree sunshine, and started my long journey home.
When I finally remembered I still had drug issues a couple of hours later, I placed a quick call to Dr. Snow and he recommended that we switch to another type of insulin that would get me past the Aetna issue. Forgetting I was two hours earlier on the West Coast than the Midwest, I placed a call for Nurse Linzie and was told she had left for the day. After I realized my mistake, that I was still mired in Pacific Time, I resolved that I was going to have to wait until Friday and cross my fingers. The unlucky person who answered the phone, another of my fine care-givers, Nurse Laura, listened patiently to my painful story. We were about to conclude, when she spotted Linzie trying to head home and pulled her from the verge of freedom. She was summoned to the phone and I explained my plight. I gave her the name of a pharmacy I would be driving near in Salt Lake City, and she assured me she would fix my problem; as I mentioned last week she literally saved my life. Imagine me driving on the return trip through Utah, my blood sugar goes nuts I start sweating, my hands slip on the steering wheel, and I end up driving headlong into the Tree of Utah. I still get a shudder just thinking about it.
Next week: Salt Lake City during rush hour…the trip home continues.

My January, Part IV: California at last

One nice thing I discovered during the course of my trip was the fact that gas in Wyoming and Utah was 40-50 cents per gallon cheaper than in Tyler, but that started to change once I crossed the Nevada border. Just across the state line I pulled into a gas station in West Wendover, and the gas was suddenly up over three dollars a gallon. I would learn that the prices would continue to rise and would get to a ridiculous $3.35 per gallon once I crossed the California state line. Of course as of this week, we wish gas were only $3.35 per gallon here in southwestern Minnesota.
The other thing I noticed was the lack of rural dwellers. Here in our quaint little area of the country you don’t have to drive far to pass another farm place. You can head out past the Johnson place, turn left at the Hansen farm, wave at the Petersen’s on your way by and pull into the Anderson’s driveway all in the span of a few miles. Out in the Wild West, you can go many miles between towns and never see a yard light. That reality combined with sporadic cell phone coverage and it can make a gimpy post-hospital stay old fat guy a bit uneasy.
Nevada, while it also has its share of sagebrush, provided a labyrinth of twists and turns in the interstate, circumventing numerous small mountain ranges. The ups and downs traveling through valleys and mountain passes provided a stark contrast to the flatness of Wyoming and much of Utah. I had expected to be more in awe of the sight of the “mountains majesty” during the trip, but while fun to look at, they weren’t nearly as intimidating to drive through as I had imagined.
The whole intimidation part was ratcheted up a few notches, however, once I passed Reno. For about 50 miles it was a head rush of a half dozen semi trucks and me heading downhill. It was more than a little disconcerting.
In addition to being swept down the mountainside, there was a string of road signs that didn’t exactly get me in my comfort zone:
Trucks Must Have Chains
8% grade next 20 miles
Wildlife Crossing
Curve ahead-45 MPH!
And my favorite:
Beware of Falling Rocks.
It was kind of like playing Super Mario Brothers, except you only get one life.
Somewhere during that downhill slide, I crossed into California, and the trip turned creepy when I saw the sign announcing I was approaching the “Donner Pass.” On the bright side, I guess, nothing I would be encountering would approach the travails of the Donner Party members, who were snowed in the mountains in the mid-1800’s and began to eat each other to survive. Probably the worst-ever scenario as a result of lost cell phone reception. (Let’s pray nothing like that ever happens up in Hendricks.)
In the area surrounding Truckee, California, they are apparently quite proud of their Donners. If you spend enough time there, you will come across signs for Donner Way, Donner Lake, Donner Creek, Donner Peak and Donner Memorial State Park. I vowed if I came upon a sign for the Donner Diner I would be taking a different route home.
I didn’t.
Still hurtling downhill well past Truckee, I finally came across a sign for the Foothills Motel.
I could finally take my foot off the brake.
It wasn’t long before I was obviously in California. For the first time in my long life, I found myself being swept along in eight…count them…eight lanes of traffic all going the same direction. Crazy! If I wouldn’t have had both hands clutching my steering wheel, I would have loved to have brought back a picture of the sign that said, “Right 5 Lanes Must Turn Right.” Wow! Back home that would cover Highway 14, Highway 19, and half of Highway 68.
So, for the final leg of my trip, there was little chance to survey the scenery as I was forced to concentrate on driving 70 in a large crowd.
At that speed it wasn’t long before I reached the end of my 1800-mile journey and arrived in Tracy. The Travel Gods did get to enjoy one more jab, as my GPS, programmed to take me to the Hampton Inn, instead led me to Taco Bell, on my left, with the announcement, “arriving at Hampton Inn, on left.”
I swear I heard the GPS lady’s voice giggle just a bit.
A half hour later I finally found my hotel and it was time to relax.
I even had the good fortune of being next door to a Sonic Drive Inn, and scored a decadent double cheese burger and chili tots before retiring for the evening.
Well past the mid-point of my life, I finally found myself in California. Home of…um…the California Burger, I guess.
The temperature outside was just under 60, which I didn’t mention to Kathy, who was home scooping the driveway every day in temps hovering around 0. She reminded me of this each time we talked on the phone over the span of seven days, hardly noticing how good she was making me feel.
So the segment of my trip that worried me the most, getting to Tracy in time, was over and it was time to enjoy a couple of days of classes in sunny California.
Next week: Nurse Linzie saves my life. (This blog topic, incidentally, was suggested to me by the aforementioned Nurse Linzie.)