The One Ring

You know that scene in LOTR: Fellowship of the Ring when Frodo gets knocked down in the tavern, sending the One Ring spinning end over end for what seems like three solid minutes? And then it lands securely on his finger? Replace the One Ring with my engagement ring, and Frodo's finger with the kitchen floor air vent, and you have Rob's and my post-lunch adventure.

Both of us watched, frozen, as the ring disappeared into the vent and clanked down the air duct. Silence. Then I'm on my knees, peering into the into the vent, exclaiming, "Oh my gosh!" and "Honey, I'm sorry!" over and over. Rob is telling me that everything is okay and we're going to get it back. I gamely rip the cover off the vent, but balk at putting my hand inside (I don't know what's down there!). Rob doesn't hesitate and begins fishing in the duct for the ring. Bad news: the duct curves gently about six inches under the floor, then drops straight down. What now?

Rob is still telling me that everything's okay, and he's hunting for a flashlight. He heads under the house to have a look. I follow him (note to Mom and Deedo: it's safe, I promise!) and we see the duct. It's accessible, and looks like there's a joint right where the ring is most likely lying. Rob begins to unpeel the duct tape around the joint...he pulls the joint apart...he reaches inside...out pops my ring!

As soon as Rob found the ring, and began to retape the joint, the scene became comical to me, and I ran to get the camera. This is my hero, pointing to the offending duct:

All's well that ends well, right?

Lynda

Generation Gap

As most of you know, Rob and I are a few years apart in age. We've never felt the difference to be significant or challenging, though from time to time it does yield some good comedy, as it did the other day as we made plans for Levi's room.

We've had to be creative with our new, smaller home here in Colorado, and we're converting what used to be a small office 'nook' into Levi's nursery. We laughed the other day as we imagined Levi growing up in this space. A toddler or young child would be more than comfortable, but it seemed ridiculous imagining a pre-teen or teenager in the same room. Rob quickly seized on a solution. "You know, when he's older, we could turn the attic into a bedroom. You know, kind of like..." Simultaneously, Rob said "Greg Brady" and I said "Mike Seaver".

Gosh, he's old.

Lynda

Bears With Semi-Fine Motor Skills

Bear sightings are not uncommon here at the ranch. We've seen several this summer, big and small, in broad daylight and at night. They come for our trash, mainly - they know that during the summer, there are three full dumpsters on the property. They're capable of quite a mess, and so we electrify the dumpsters with a low current as a deterrent. There isn't any way to electrify the grease trap, unfortunately, so the bears can make a very sticky and stinky mess when they choose to dig around in there.

Now that the summer is over, the bears have acquired a new target: the vehicles on the property. They have a special affinity for Toyotas; the affinity is not based on aesthetics, though I think the Toyotas are rather attractive. Rather, the draw seems to be the ease of the door handles, which are different from any other door handles on the property. A bear has only to reach over the handle and pull outward to gain access, as opposed to reaching under and pulling upward, which has proven too difficult so far. We are careful not to leave any food in our cars; there's no sense in giving the bears a good reason to go inside. I wondered out loud why we do not lock our car doors at night, and I was reminded that the bears are capable of ripping off the doors to gain access if they wish. There's also no sense in frustrating a bear.

Cowboy Nick found my Corrolla's doors open one morning last week, as well as the doors to the ranch's Forerunner. The doors were open, without any signs that the bear had crawled in or touched anything inside. Nick also found that the bear had gotten into the grease trap. Kindly, the bear chose to hit the grease trap after nosing around in my car. Evidently, the bears here also have a sense of decorum.

To change the subject, I am now eight months pregnant and about four weeks from Levi's due date. I feel really good most of the time. I haven't had any swelling, and I've had an easier time sleeping over the last week. The wicked heartburn I experienced has been tamed. In other words, I'm having an easy time of things. Levi's movements are stronger and more pronounced. It's rare for him to just jab or kick, now it's more like turning from one side to another. He hiccups a lot. I have weekly OB appointments now, and the doctor will start checking next week to make sure that he's head-down and stays that way. I'm happy to be in the homestretch now. Rob took this picture Sunday night:

There's definitely a belly now...

Lynda

A Slower Pace

It's a balmy 30 degrees here at the ranch. We've had some snow flurries and there's frost on the pines. We're snug and warm in the house; Rob is putting together Levi's changing table, I'm monitoring a pot of beans on the stove, and Aggie is napping in a chair. I like the off- season!

Last week, I went hiking for the first time time since we moved. Rob and I hiked Ouzel Falls in Rocky Mountain National Park. It's not an intense hike, but it is a little long (5.4 mi). I felt fine until the last half mile, when I began to believe that my legs just might fall off my body. Here's a picture from early in the hike:


Yesterday, we said goodbye to our friends who came for the inaugural Spousetacular. For the past few years, Rob has come up to the ranch for a week in the Fall with some guys to hike and do other man-things - I call it the Mancation. This year, the guys brought their wives (yay!), and the Spousetacular was born. We spent the last three days hiking, dining out, talking, and learning to play Forty-Two. I hope that there are many returns of the Spousetacular.

We hiked Emerald Lake with our friends this week. It was a beautiful hike full of golden aspen and views of three other lakes along the way. The lake water is crystal clear and we watched several trout swimming close to the shore. This is Emerald Lake:

I know that in the last post I said I was ready for the baby to arrive, but now I'm really ready for the baby to arrive. I had to use my legs as leverage, swinging them over the side of the bed, to get up each of the 1,000 times I had to use the bathroom last night. I realize that I'm only mildly uncomfortable most of the time, but should a girl really have to use her legs as leverage to get out of bed? For those who have asked, here is the latest belly picture, taken last night. I am now in my 33rd week.

Feel free to admire my supercool new thermal shirt - it has stars on it! I'm afraid there's only so much stretch in the yellow tank top...

Lynda

Cat Crack

Aggie. She's the queen of all she surveys in our little home in the mountains. Rob and I got home late last night and all in all, we were both impressed with how well Aggie handled the trip. She spent most of the trip snoozing on the floorboard of the car next to my feet, and occasionally hopped into my lap for some attention. When we got to the ranch, I took her in the house first and watched as she walked over almost every surface in the house (save the kitchen counter; she knows better than to do that in front of me), meowing and taking stock of her new home. She's already selected her favorite spots (the window seat and the computer chair) and has resumed her life goal of sneaking in our room to find the cat crack.

What is cat crack? It's whatever causes Aggie to paw and cry at our bedroom door for hours. She did this at our home in Houston, and she's doing it here at the ranch. She hides near our door and tries to slink in when we open it to go in or out. She is persistent and cannot be deterred, and so we reasoned, "There must be some kind of cat crack in there." If she ever gets in, she sniffs the air like a bloodhound and stoops under every piece of furniture. That cat crack is well hidden, and she's not giving up the hunt. We keep telling her that we don't have any cat crack, but she doesn't want to hear it.

On a different subject, is it bad that I'm already counting down to my due date? Up to now, I've enjoyed having a relatively small baby bump, but this child is running out of room! I'd much rather him move out a little than continue to grow upwards, putting more pressure on my ribs. I feel much better when I lay on my back, but I can't lay on my back all day...no, this little boy has got to do his mother a favor and move out a little more. It's unfortunate, too, that my due date is only an estimate. It's not like counting down to your wedding, an event that has an exact date and time. No, this is just wishful counting down...forty seven days to go!

Lynda