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It started with a nonchalant conversation in the LifeTime steam room (where Myah and I solve all the worlds problems) as my ever prepared 15 year old announced that despite it being most teens dream, her father and I, in fact, do not have to purchase a car for her 16th Birthday.  Clearly confused I wrongly assumed she didn't want the responsibility of paying for the insurance and gas of said vehicle, but not she adamantly assured me that the reason was because she is going to attend Georgia Tech for college and planned to ride the MARTA for her transportation needs. While relaying this bit of information to Bob, just as nonchalantly as his daughter, mused at the idea of packing up and moving south. By March our house was on the market and we were in full 'move mode'. Showings and a couple offers we didn't entertain arose while we waited for the right buyers. We waited. And waited some more. In May we decided that since we weren't in a position to HAVE to sell, we'd take it off the market on June 1st and consider trying again next year. Two weeks leading up to the 1st, all house activity ceased to exist, we'd reconciled within ourselves that we'd be spending another winter in MN, and we were ok with that. 

June 1st, 2014

I came home from church to be greeted by Bob shaking his head announcing we received a request for a showing that night and since it was technically within our timeframe he felt we should go through with it. And so we did. During that showing another realtor called to set up a showing for the following day. Bob again felt that we should let it happen (since the call came in on June 1st) so we did. They loved it and put an offer the next day, within the week we had addendum's and a purchase agreement signed. By no human coincidence, Bob had already planned to drive to GA with our friend Bob and his son Colin; and so that Saturday the Bob's (dubbed by a Jamaican as Sexy Bob and Cool Bob) set off on a road trip to the Empire State of the South. Arriving on Monday Sexy Bob set out on a two-day date with Becky the Realtor in search of the perfect house. With Skype-style showings for me and my brave husband taking on the daunting task of describing (in great detail) the look and feel of the features he knows I'm most interested in, we decided on our new home. So here we are with closing dates set, a house to be packed, and another southern road trip on the books. #futureGApeach 

In a Heartbeat

What started out as a typical Wednesday morning in the Vogt house quickly turned to anything but; I had decided to work from home due to an appointment in the afternoon.  While making breakfast Myah called for me from the living room, I found her lying on the floor with her feet propped up on the chair breathing deeply and feeling dizzy.  She recalled that last time she felt this way was in March and the feeling then had passed quickly with little notoriety.  So not wishing to miss her bus she pushed past the feeling and headed out the door. I asked her to text me because I wasn’t confident she was really ok. Within 10 minutes the first text came – she was definitely not feeling well, she was still quite dizzy and having a hard time focusing her eyes.  We agreed it would be difficult to intercept the bus so I would meet her at school. Having rushed out of the house I was later glad I had opted to trade my yoga pants for jeans, however I neglected to brush my teeth and hair.  The car ride from school to the clinic was a tricky one; motion caused her dizziness to increase and yet pulling over would only delay our need to see her Doctor - stat.  We made a swift entrance to the clinic only to be slowed down by Front Desk Fran (no, that’s probably not her real name).  “Yes, my address is still the same as it was 10 minutes ago when I alerted you we’d be coming in.” Yes, we still have the same insurance” (again from the recent verification via telephone). “Yes, I’m aware of the $20 co-pay” this is why I’m standing her waving my credit card at you…  and “yes, I know what HIPAA is (by evidence that I already signed it before you asked) oh, and no I don’t need the sheet explaining it.” At this point Fran realizes I am keeping one eye on Myah who is holding her head in her hands as she sits in the chair I had previously deposited her in, and one eye on her as I was jumping through administrative hoops and proclaims “she really doesn’t look well, take this portable vomit bag.” Thanks Fran. We’re finally off to Care Unit C and we are quickly ushered into a room.  Nurse Nancy (unlikely that is her real name) tries four times to take her blood pressure and fails each time. She then wheels in the digital reader which errors out after three additional attempts. Nurse Nancy asks Myah to stand so she could try again.  This works and Myah is now the unlucky owner of a 74/48 blood pressure.  Unfortunately the standing causes more dizziness and brings on the vomiting (seriously, thank you, Fran for the timely vomit bag). At this point Dr. S. (yes, that is her real initial) comes in and recommends IV fluids. They put a heart rate monitor on Myah's finger and then the panic sets in…her heart was beating 198 times per minute! Nurse Nancy and Assistant Nurse Annie (no, that’s probably not her real name either) fail miserably at their attempted to insert the IV but are thrilled to be able to cover up the needle mark with a shiny band aid which was supposed to make it all better.  I decided to not be the parent that explains that a 14 year old in this condition couldn’t care less that her band aid could double for a disco ball.  Enter Dr. McSomebody (I assume this is Dr. S’s boyfriend because I watch too much Grey’s Anatomy), who tells us Myah could have sepsis and we should head to the ER NOW.  911 is dispatched and we are now awaiting EMS.  Within 5 minutes there is a gurney outside the room and the two EMT’s strap Myah down to prepare her for her very first (and hopefully last) emergency vehicle transport.  Despite the stress of the moment, I did snap a picture to memorialize the occasion which earned me the hairy eyeball from Myah which in turn also told me she was feeling a little better already.  In the ambulance she was hooked up to a 4-lead EKG which revealed nothing out of the ordinary.  EMT Moustache cracked jokes about snow on May 1^st while EMT Slim Shady verified that I am in fact Myah’s Mom.  Since the EKG was normal we were deprived of wailing sirens and flashing lights which is kind of a bummer.  The medical bill we’ll likely get should at least include a good story about whizzing through Coon Rapids as if we were in a high speed chase in my book!  Needless to say our arrival to Mercy Hospital was underwhelming but we made it nonetheless.  We were escorted to Room 23, instructed to have Myah don the ever fashion-less hospital gown and wait for the nurse.  By this time Bob found us and we all settled in for what would end up being a very long day. Nurse Guy (not his name, just his gender) was the first to assess the situation and request a urine sample.  Myah has long been a very private girl but in this instance had no problem requesting that I join her in the restroom to provide a step-by-step tutorial on peeing in a cup (I, of course was designated the pee courier as well).  Eventually Dr. Taj (real first name) came in to see us citing concern over her still low blood pressure and high heart rate.  He ordered the first liter of saline hoping it would bring her heart rate to an acceptable level.  In the meantime a lovely phlebotomist arrived to retrieve blood samples for further testing.  It is important to know at this point that Myah out right belly laughs when getting her blood drawn – it is her own special brand of coping. We apologize in advance that we will both be partaking in fits of laughter as soon as the alcohol swap touches her skin.  I watch as the needle is removed from its sterile packaging and the giggling begins, she tries not to laugh right along with us; after all she was the one with sharp objects!  Once complete and the laughter subsided she informed us this was her last blood draw…ever.  After 23 years in the Allina HealthCare System she was packing up and moving to England and that Myah had been her first and last patient to giggle profusely while blood was being syphoned from her arm.  At this point a battery of tests was completed; kidney function, blood cell counts, diabetes, liver, the whole gamut – with little in the way of an explanation to her condition.  Dr. Taj reappears to deliver the “normal” results, chat a bit more, and order another liter of saline – surely this time it will bring her heart rate down. Not so.  He explained that in rare occasions a person’s heart could be enlarged causing it to work harder therefore a heart ultrasound was on tap.  Wanting to rule out all possibilities before ordering a D-dimer test, which could result in an unnecessary MRI, we agreed to all other avenues of investigation first. I will come back to the events of the ultrasound because it is, in fact the reason for this entire story.  As a courtesy to the Reader, I should tell you her heart is just perfect for a healthy 14 year old – no issues at all.  Since her heart rate was still high (my guess having a young and cute doctor that close didn’t help her cause), a third liter of saline was ordered.  When that failed to produce the results the good doctor was hoping for and all blood tests came back normal we were forced to do the D-dimer; and needed more blood.  Again we warned the new phlebotomist of the impending fit of laughter and delivered on it with a hearty display. Unfortunately Blood-taker Tony (his name was really John) was not as experienced as her previous one and her tears of laughter quickly turned to tears of pain and frustration.  Having to resort to a vein ultrasound machine to draw two more vials of blood she was officially over her ER adventure.  9.5 hours, multiple blood tests, ultrasounds, IV fluids, hospital cafeteria food, and too many episodes of Bones later, we were given the green light to head home. The D-dimer was normal and we had finally exhausted all life-threatening possibilities for why we found ourselves in the Mercy ER on a snowy day in May. Charged with keeping close eye on her and returning if necessary, we left with the assurance that Myah is healthy coupled with the pang of still wondering why we ended up here in the first place.

The moment crafted just for me…

With the room illuminated only by the picture on the ultrasound monitor and not even the sounds of us breathing I watched as the Doctor searched for Myah’s heart with the gelled wand. I could hear it before I could see it; her heartbeat.  Seconds later there it was, on the screen, whooshing and pumping in a rhythmic symphony.  All at once I was fighting back the tears.  Most Mom’s get to hear and see their baby’s heartbeat for the first time before they are born; a sigh of relief at the sign of life. For me, I had long ago given up the anticipation that I would ever have the chance to stare into a monitor with a silent prayer on my lips waiting for the Doctor to proclaim “everything looks great!” but in that hospital room, on a most peculiar day, I got to see my baby’s heartbeat for the very first time and that piece I was missing found its place securely in my own heart.

What the heart has once known it shall never forget ~

It started about a month after the accident, I was in Florida sitting alone on the patio near our leafless and seemingly dying Silk Floss tree he had planted from seeds (illegally pilfered from Disney World on a previous family trip!).   As I was contemplating our "new normal" a dragonfly caught my attention as it landed on a branch of the tree which was occupied by at least thirty other dragonflies simply resting on its branches.  I didn't think much of it beyond the intrigue of seeing so many on one place and on that sickly looking tree of all places.  Alas, in the following months I began to see dragonflies everywhere I went. They would dart in front of me, fly into my car windows, rest on near-by chairs, and generally make their presence known. I would see pictures, art work, and trinkets emblazoned with images of dragonflies regularly.  A couple weeks after the dragonfly-covered Silk Floss tree scene, my Mom called to tell me that our tree was budding leaves!  I told her about the dragonflies and how I’d been seeing them literally everywhere since that day on the patio- dragonfly sightings had become so prevalent in my everyday life that I couldn’t deny the fact that they had to be there for a reason.  

So one night I retreated to my office with a hot cup of coffee and after cuddling into a blanket, settled in for a little research.  Before long I was sifting through stories and symbols, meanings and significances of this newly remarkable creature in my life.  The most common theme arose quickly; dragonflies are symbolic of the souls of those no longer with us.  Other significances include their aerodynamic (airplane-like) shape and penchant to graceful flight. “They are fantastic flyers, darting like light, twisting, turning, changing direction, even going backwards as the need arises”.  My Dad had aviation in his blood (as did his Dad) and loved flying; his airplane wings were practically an extension of his own body.  Countless stories of flight, beauty, life, and inspiration filled my computer screen.  It was becoming quite clear that my heightened awareness to their presence was a frequent and gentle reminder to celebrate, like the dragonfly’s too short life, my Dad’s all to brief stay with us.  I knew my search for their meaning was complete with the five final words, while reading a brief snippet describing their short life and innate aspiration, I could almost hear my Dads voice echoing his favorite motto “live life to the fullest.”

It’s hard to believe that it’s been 5 years since he’s been gone; and though I still recoil from the pain I find myself thankful for the time I did have, grateful for the memories, and privileged to be his daughter.  

If you happen to look into the Anoka sky tonight and see 3 lanterns glowing as they gracefully skim the skyline, I hope you smile knowing they are in honor of an amazing Father-in-law, Dad, and Grandpa.

Thankful - (the short and sweet of it)

As I sit on the edge of my 38th Thanksgiving I find myself humbled by all I have to be thankful for. And its not just the grateful sense of appreciation one feels for acquired goods like houses, cars, and shoes (yes, shoes. You realize who is writing this, right?) but an awe-inspired heart-twisting thankfulness for the people I have been privileged to do life with. You know who you are - you are the wise words in a confusing situation, the gentle spirit in the harsh realities, the words of encouragement in the midst of defeat. You are the honest opinion even when I'd prefer a lie, you are the celebrator of life's tiny victories and the ever-present shoulder during life's struggles. You are laughter, support, loyal, and you are constant. And I am THANKFUL for my place in your lives!

Chicago

Day one:
After a 7 hour drive (ok, ride) across the Midwest with my dear friend, Nichole, her husband, Steve, and Bob I find myself in the midst of a quaint but clearly privileged neighborhood. The house is decorated perfectly paying respect to the 1920's builder while in contrast, illuminating the spirit of it's inhabitants. Victorian florals amidst the deep cabernet wood and rich marble accented by modern technology create a symphony of stunning traditional and contemporary style. The only thing surpassing its beauty are the inhabitants, whose genuine love for life is apparent upon first greeting. Immediately I am drawn in by their hospitality, a rare and coveted trait by any standard. As stories are shared and otherwise very separate lives intermingle over the infamous Nancy's Pizza; I marvel at the way lives intersect leaving an etching on your memory and if you're lucky, on your heart. Tonight, the etching is immortalized by the gift of a photograph - a captivating piece captured by the keen eye of Bradley Warren; one half of the the houses occupants, and Lori, the other half, as she dazzles us with her natural magnetic charm. As the night closes in, each couple retiring to their respective rooms for what promises to be much anticipated slumber, I am grateful to reflect upon such sweet memories of my first night in the Windy City.


Day two:


It should come as no surprise that uninterrupted sleep eludes me but alas I wake far too early for a vacation day and contemplate the days events. I don't get far because I have absolutely no idea what we have planned, just that I am on board for whatever the day brings. I rise, collect some reading material and head out to the patio to take in the freshness of the early morning. Except for the occasional jetliner passing almost low enough to see its passengers, it is a serene setting complete with fragrant flowers silently ushering in a new day. The day commences with shopping where the only damage worse on our pocketbooks is the astronomical toll fees.  After the tolls and paying tax on clothing, we have single-handedly supported the state of Illinois, you're welcome, residents.


Day three:

CHI Town or bust! Brad has graciously offered to be our tour guide in the city. We begin with a sight-seeing excursion aboard the public transit system known as the Metra where, as with any transit, the people watching is always a highlight. We make our way through the city with Brad occasionally summoning us to "gather 'round children" so he can share information nuggets about the waterways, buildings, and fixtures. We make our way to what the residents begrudgingly announce as the Willis Tower but quickly add that any true Chicagoian will always regard it as the infamous Sears Tower. Thanks to Lori's connections we escaped the long lines and Fast Passed our way to the 103rd floor. The 360 degree view of the city is nothing short of spectacular but what really got me excited was standing on The Ledge. Stepping out on to what I can only liken to a plexiglass box jutting from the side of the building I catch my breath as I look all 103 stories down as if I'm standing in mid-air. What a rush! If it wasn't for the crowds of people clamoring in to get their chance at standing the in the clear box I could have lost myself in the magnificence of it all. Brad chooses The Artists Cafe for lunch because of its non-tourist, authentic Chicago fare. I, of course choose the menu item that makes me giggle; its called Yaya's Spankopita - funny, right? It's a Mediterranean spinach dish that hits the spot! On our way through the city we stop and take in the sights and sounds of children playing in the Millenium Park waterfall. Next we head to Grant Park where Bob and I make a mental note to return one day. Around the park we find The Bean...it's a 23 million dollar stainless steel...well, bean! Amazed at the sights in its reflection, one of them being us, I joined the hundreds of others in a photo frenzy attempting to capture just the right reflective bean pic. Navy Pier welcomed us afterward where we took a speedboat tour of Lake Michigan aboard the SeaDog while the spunky tour guide ended each segment with a hearty "rrrr-ruff ruff!" It was entertaining to say the least. I've never been so thankful to not be a college student taking odd jobs to supplement my tuition.  We end our quick trip to the pier with a Ferris Wheel ride and as the car rotates us through the air I am struck with appreciation toward our car-mates for their request to join them on this adventure. Dinner is at a great Mexican restaurant called Catina Lardeo where the only thing better than the handmade guacamole and mojito's was the impeccable service - thanks, Chuy for making it such a memorable experience!


Day four:
After a much needed run due to the countless (as in, I took a vacation from counting them) calories and a breakfast that could wow Julia Child, the girls and I take a trip to do some boutique shopping which quickly results in once again stimulating the Illinois economy. Because we have been told that this evening is a surprise in honor of celebrating the Vogt and Dillner Anniversaries (June 26th for both), Nichole and I are chomping at the bit to ready ourselves for whatever the night has in store. Settling on cute sun-dresses and fancy jewelry we are set for our night. With Brad at the helm we pull into the Ravinia parking lot unload our picnic wares and set a course to find some prime real-estate on the lawn. Upon finding the perfect spot, Lori sets out a homemade picnic-style spread fit for royalty and soon we are basking in the warm weather with full bellies and enjoying the company of our different worlds intersecting. Tonights entertainment is Garrison Keillor and I finally understand what all the fuss is about - that's one crazy-looking funny dude! After Ravinia we set out to stalk the wealthy neighborhoods and drool over their homes - I think Bob "Bub" as he was dubbed this night, was in his glory taking in all that "old money" can buy. Since we are heading back to MN in the morning, our last stop was Portillo's for an authentic Italian beef hot dog - it was worth trip, yum!


Day five:


A quite drive home in a car of exhausted friends is how this trip ends but not before we stop in for some Wisconsin cheese curds via Nichole's request... unfortunately, they were out of curds that day. No, really, the cheese place in WISCONSIN was out of cheese. If you ask Nichole about it, you may have to wait until the absurdity-induced laughter subsides.


A million thanks to Brad and Lori for opening your home and being incredible hosts. If there was an award for this, you'd be the reigning champions. To Nichole and Steve, thanks for the new memories on the road to becoming old friends.

Father's Day

I'm quite sure bloggers across the nation are preparing their Father's Day posts at this very moment; many to express their heartfelt gratitude to the men who helped raise them, some complain about the short-coming of theirs, and still countless others to, in some way simply share the impact of what this day means to them.  Today, I join the multitudes in our quest to share a glimpse into the psyche of a child on Father’s Day.

Normally I’d say it’s best to start from the beginning, but the beginning is not what sustains me it’s the middle, so I’ll start there.   I am 14; he has just come from sunny Florida to visit me in the dead of a Minnesota winter.   Ever the adventurer, he takes me out on a frozen lake – in the car – I imagine paying homage to his teen years when he lived here and this was commonplace.  As the adrenaline coursed through my veins I recall a fleeting thought that I should be terrified at the possibility of falling through our icy playground but an unexpected emotion took over; security.  I was, after all with my DAD.  I didn’t know at the time how important this revelation was – for it was new, welcomed, and oh so sweet.  But looking back on the years, it became the cornerstone of how I knew I wanted my daughter to feel in the presence of her Dad.  I am 15; we are flying, yes, in an airplane that my Dad is piloting.  Once again the adrenaline has released a thrill I am unfamiliar with but embracing because I am with my Dad and that unspoken bond reassures me that I am safe.   I am 18, 24, 33…; the stories change but the message is constant, I am loved, I am his daughter.  I recall the first time I heard him introduce me as such.  The pride and confirmation of belonging solidified something deep within, that even though my father-daughter story was not as I would have written it if given the choice, it was my story.  Few of us can look back and not want to re-write a few of life’s chapter’s – it is nevertheless what gives us material to write the future. 

I am 37; and on this Father’s Day I am reflecting on all that is good.  No longer is the safety of a father’s provision available to those of us whose Dads were taken from us too soon, but the memories of lives touched live on.  I enjoy seeing glimpses of him in the generosity of my husband, I find solace in the unconditional love of my Mom, I marvel at the ingenuity of my daughter, and I take comfort in that still quiet place deep within reminding me that this life, is a pretty good story.

In loving reflection of the life of my Dad, Dale Anthony Shallbetter.

In The Beginning...

Blogging is so interesting, don't you think? We post our personal thoughts in a public forum open to others' thoughts, feedback, and yes, sometimes criticism. I have to admit that this vulnerability goes against my natural grain and will, at some point, likely cause a scuff in my otherwise well polished psyche. But, we cannot grow without being stretched nor can we learn without being challenged. Therefore as I embark on this "public journal" of sorts, I find myself armed with nothing more than the simple desire to step out of my comfort zone and an industrial power buffing machine.

The first thought that nudges its way past all the positive ones sticking it's tongue out in mock defiance is "who, if anyone, will read this?" And is quickly replaced with the more stern-faced "it doesn't matter" (accompanied with a shoulder shrug) thought. Which is then followed up with the ever-faithful "who ever is meant to, will" reasoning... and so goes the internal dialog of a self-professed approval seeker on her journey to appeal to the masses with a genuine love of people and the goal of a masterpiece woven with finest threads of the thoughts from those very interactions.

Now...

Since I've always been a firm believer in ripping the band-aid off swiftly and painfully, in effort to get the worst over quickly, I will not wuss out and tug gently here either. That being said I would like to issue the following disclaimer:
-Though every attempt will be made to not offend the reader, the author shall not be held liable for hurt feelings or misunderstandings that go unmentioned.
-The reader should bear in mind that contrary to what may have been heard, the author is not a professional blogger and may, at times be required to issue a retraction or correction.
-The author will respectfully listen to feedback and respond accordingly to the aforementioned indiscretions but undoubtedly prefers accolades... and the occasional box of chocolate.

Welcome to my virtual diary, you're invited to snoop.