Atlantic to Carroll, IA

Okay, I've definitely been procrastinating on blogging about the rest of my Ragbrai adventure only because the next part isn't as nearly as glamourous as the beginning.  It makes me feel like a slacker. I sagged for the next two days.  Sagging is when you help out with the logistics of the team instead of riding; such as loading bags on and off the trailer, helping to set up camp, running errands for riders, etc. 

The first day was completely by choice.  There was no way I was going to be able to make it the whole way on day 2 and honestly, I felt bad about holding Katie back.  She's a great cyclist as is her brother, and I could tell how badly she wanted to ride with him instead of more slowly with me. 

Because there were so many other people sagging that day, we had four SUVs full of riders and pathetically, it was the very first day that I realized how many people on the team were battling Parkinson's disease themselves.  I learned so much about the disease on the car ride that day and was completely enthralled by the stories these patients were telling about being diagnosed and how biking was doing so much for them in terms of keeping their symptoms at bay.  It was humbling.

Jay is the guy who started Pedaling for Parkinsons. He is a biker as well as a doctor who specializes in Parkinson's disease.  One year, he casually asked one of his patients if she was interested in participating in Ragbrai on a tandem.  The patient agreed and astonishingly enough, when the ride was over, Jay noticed a huge reduction in his patient's tremors.  Even her handwriting had improved dramatically!  It's been several years now, and Jay's study continues to gain momentum.  If you are interested in his website, click here.

Anyway, I couldn't have spent that day anymore perfectly.  I was falling in love with these people.  And to top it off, when we arrived at our next campsite (another retirement home) we learned that there was an empty apartment with two air-conditioned bedrooms that our team would be allowed to use.  Of course, the Parkinson's patients had first dibs on these rooms and one of the guys, Jim, was sweet enough to allow me and Katie to crash on the floor of his room!  I was grateful to the point of giddiness!  Katie and I even unlawfully scouted out a washing machine in the common area of the facility and did a load of laundry. 

(My stuff on right.) 

That day too, we even got to go to Wal-Mart for a minute to run errands which was awesome not only because Wal-Marts are air-conditioned, but because they have huge, fairly clean bathrooms.

Here's a little secret about me:  I am hugely repulsed and scared of public toilets.  Infact, as a kid, I wouldn't even use the bathroom at school and instead would wait until I got home; my bladder on the verge of explosion.  Hell, I still would prefer to pee in our portable baby potty than at a gas station. (This may or may not have happened at least a handful of times.)

The first night, I was grateful to have the use of someone's home bathroom.  The second day, I avoided the port-a-potties at all costs by begging a staff member at the retirement home for the access code to the employee's restrooms.  (I was so grateful to have gotten it too!)  By the third day, I was more than happy to have my own stall at Wal-Mart and you can bet that I was happily sitting flat-assed on any public toilet by the end of the week, so long as it wasn't a putrid dump hut of a port-a-potty.

Camp at a retirement home in Carroll, IA

Carroll was such a cute town too with less than a handful of buildings in total.  We went to the local golf course 'clubhouse' (and I use that term loosely) that night for dinner.  The restaurant staff treated us all amazingly.  They doted over us as if we were celebrities! I think we all walked out of there a few inches taller than we had when we came in.  It was pretty cool.

Happy Humpday!

  

Let's talk about Waldo.

So, Tony died.  And, although I'm not ready to talk about it, I will say that I feel like I lost a child. I'm sure some of you can't fathom how losing a pet is even remotely close to losing a child, but for those of you who really know me, know that regardless of the shape of your physical body (and whether or not you're covered in fur), everything under this roof is defined as family.  Tony blurred that line more than any pet I've ever had.  He was my furry soulmate.

Moving on. I just wasn't right when I lost him and I knew I could never fully fill that void again for the rest of my life.  Getting another cat seemed ridiculous.  For one, we still had three animals which, to me, is amply infested.  For two, Tony, with his special needs, required constant care and attention.  Cats are generally pretty aloof and another cat just wasn't gonna cut it.  I decided that we didn't need another animal.

But the hole was huge.  And it was nagging.  I cried for months.  Still do sometimes.

A couple of months went by and I found myself daydreaming about getting a little dog.  I'd see little dogs in outfits and in their own strollers and stuff and I completely related to the concept of babying a critter.  That's how it was with Tony - sans the outfits and stroller, of course.  (Although, if it wasn't for his severe asthma, I may have considered the stroller.)  :)

Eventually, I became obsessed with finding the perfect little dog and would spend hours each day stalking ads online, calling breeders, scouring newspapers...  I didn't even care that with three dogs and one cat, we might end up on the next episode of Animal Hoarders.  I was getting a dog and she needed to be perfect.  Finally, I found one.

Enter Sophie.

In June, we brought home Sophie.  She was stinking cute!  So happy and crazy too.  She brought the sunshine back into this house for a minute.  Brent was head-over-heels in love with her the moment he saw her and she was such a doll baby.  For me, it was weird though, because no matter how much I tried to love her and accept her into our family, I just felt like she was a puzzle piece that wasn't perfectly fitting.

I knew I had issues with the loss of Tony, so I struggled to fight through it.  But, after only a week of having to run home to let the puppy out to pee, chewed toys, and cleaning up puppy accidents (typical puppy stuff - not her fault at all), I knew in my heart, that this wasn't our puppy.  And wow, did I feel like the biggest piece of shit for bringing her into the house, seeing Brent and the kids fall in love with her, and then having to explain to them why I didn't think we should keep her.  Man, I struggled with that!  Was I being selfish?  Was this solely my issue? Or, was she really something that was hindering our freedom to be gone all day, go on road trips, etc?

Brent and I went back and forth for days. Finally, we placed an ad in the paper and found her a new home - a newly retired couple who would be with her all day.

It burned us.  Our house was empty once again.  Two losses.  First Tony and then the sweet puppy, Sophie.  What the hell was my problem?!  I felt like the worst mom ever.  Brent probably thought I was going schizo.

I decided, no more animals.

So, it shouldn't shock you in the least that two months later, we ended up with "Waldo".

His name is Frankie and from the very first moment he walked into this house, you would have thought that he had always been here.  There was no adjustment period, no slowly 'fitting in' kind of a thing.  He was just here, as if he had been here forever.  He brought an immediate comfort and contentment to our house.  It was as if he was a little gift.

It was a long road to finding our balance again in this house, and although he could never replace Tony, all four of us couldn't be happier or more thankful that Frankfurt Anthony is a new part of our family.

Where's Waldo?