Winning an Award and Going a Little Crazy

Saturday morning I received some exciting news. I had placed third in the best local blogger category in Boise Weekly's "Best of Boise 2013." I think that's cool. I haven't published anything, other than my blog posts, for over a year. I don't advertise on my blog, so all of this without corporate sponsors or print media, just my 128 likes on Facebook and me.

"Great, now more people will read about me," was my husband Dan's response.

When Dan looked up from his phone to find me running around the living room sofa, he suggested we go for a jog around the neighborhood.

He regretted that decision when I shouted down the street, "Woo hoo! Go pick up the latest Boise Weekly! Third place, best local blogger! That's me!"

"I should write edgier," I said to Dan as we rounded a corner. "Maybe I should swear more, you know, be more like I am at home."

I continued to chatter on nonsensically throughout our run. (It's what I do when I'm excited . . . and nervous, happy, frustrated. Actually, it's pretty much how I handle most situations.)

"Don't make eye contact!" I said, punching Dan in the arm as we ran by our Tea Party neighbors whose bumper stickers on their SUV read, "Silence is Consent" and "Yes! Yes! Yes! For Education."

On the other end of the spectrum: "Yes, more liberals in our neighborhood!" I yelled as we ran by a car with a bunch of tree-hugging bumper stickers.

"They're from California," Dan said, pointing to the license plate.

I ignored him.

"Conversations kill . . ." I sang to Dan. (It was playing on my iPod and seemed appropriate at the time.)

Dan regarded me in silence as I muddled through the lyrics of the chorus and then nodded his head, "Yeah . . . "

And that crazy, muddled display of strangeness, my faithful readers, is meant to illustrate how excited and honored I was to win third best local blogger in Boise Weekly's "The Best of Boise." Just think, you technically have just read an "award-winning" blog.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan

Best Local Blogger, Third Place

The Day iTunes Kept Me from Blogging

The last twenty minutes, time I could have spent blogging about something witty and uplifting, was instead spent yelling at my computer (and my husband, Dan the Software Engineer—guilt by association). The source of my frustration was an iTunes update that lists every single podcast on the iCloud, in other words, every single podcast I have ever downloaded. I listen to a lot of podcasts, and I now have titles from 2007 (we're talking hundreds) listed in my podcast library.

This happened after an update to my iTunes music library a while ago, and Dan figured out how to hide the iCloud listings. I am pretty sure he would have figured out the podcast thing too except that I spent twenty minutes stomping around the house, shouting about the clutter on my computer screen.

"Don't yell at me," Dan said, claiming no responsibility for the computer world whatsoever. "It's not my fault. I don't work at Apple."

I really hate clutter.

"It's probably just a bug. iTunes usually breaks stuff in its updates and then fixes it later in another update."

Before you assume that I am just an old gen-Xer Luddite who doesn't like change and can't adjust to yet another technological innovation, let me say that iOS 7 is just fine with me. I downloaded it the other day onto my iPad which, by the way, I still call the i-Maxi-Pad because I haven't bought into the whole corporate monopoly Apple tries to create with making you buy its products to run its software. (Dan and I do not own iPhones.)

I also don't tape my mouth shut and throw my body in front of a bulldozer in protest every time Facebook changes it interface. In other words, I can go with the flow . . . just not this morning when I was trying to blog.

Here is how I solved my problem for the time being. I switched to the "My Podcasts" tab (although they probably don't call it a tab in the Apple world since everything is so slick and innovative). It looks different from the "List" option, but it works the same. Perhaps, if I don't yell at him or the computer anymore, Dan will figure it out eventually. If not, I'll adjust like the perfectly-comfortable-with-changing-technology gen-Xer I am.

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It's Time to Start Acting Like an Adult . . . Sigh

This year, I have had to accept the fact that I am now an adult. It's probably about time considering I'm thirty-six years old. But it's amazing how easily one can put off adulthood when one does not have children.

I have flown under the radar for about twelve years. It helps that I still look pretty young, so people are often unaware that I have been living in the adult world for a while now. But I guess a person can only be "new to the profession" for so long.

Over the past year or so, I have been encouraged to take on more adult responsibilities in my job, such as leadership and organizational roles. Occasionally, people even come to me for advice . . . to me who still feels like the young, new kid on the block. What's that all about?

When I was given the choice between two columns of professional duties—a mentor column verses a need-to-be-mentored column—I was encouraged to sign up under the mentor column. I did, a little flattered and a little under duress. My "But I don't know anything" protestations were met with "You silly girl" shakes of the head.

Just in the last month, I have received asked three times for my input on department issues. I have been asked to explain and present on two different occasions in front of my peers. I hate speaking in front of adults. I will perform, sometimes half-naked, on stage in front of 1000-member audiences. But when it comes to sharing my expertise, if it could be called that, I much prefer the younger generation (i.e. five-year-olds, etc.)

One of my former student's parents caught up with me this year and was telling me how much her children missed me at their new school.

"Mrs. Duggan was the best . . . " they would say when they came home.

"You have quite a reputation, you know," the parent said.

I guess I should just accept the fact that I finally know what I'm doing, and I should also be flattered that other people think I know what I'm doing.

I read once that every professional's biggest fear until retirement is that he/she will be found out, that he/she will be revealed to be a fraud, that everyone will eventually know that he/she never really knew how to function in his/her job.

I've got a ways to go until retirement, and that just doesn't sound like a very pleasant existence, so I guess I had better sit back and start enjoying this adult responsibility thing.

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The Mountain Biking (Almost) Disaster

Last weekend, I crashed while mountain biking. Actually, because I am not a thrill-seeker and probably have no business biking on hilly surfaces, I really just fell over. But the fall gave me some gnarly-looking scratches that have elicited sympathy from adults and children alike.

My husband, Dan, and I loaded up the car Saturday morning for one last mountain biking trip before the end of the season.

Or as I put it, "This is the last time we will have any fun, ever!" (I get a little dramatic when summer comes to an end.)

I had to go to a quick rehearsal that afternoon before hitting the road, and as I was leaving the rehearsal I was sent away with several disconcerting comments.

"Be careful," "Don't hurt yourself," and "Don't break your leg."

I shook it off, knowing that most of what I do consists of riding under five miles an hour. I am not above 'bailing' (or jumping off my bike) if I feel too out of control.

Dan and I rode the first trail without any problem. It has a fairly steep incline, and I used to struggle with it when I first started biking. So when Dan offered to scope out a second, more technical trail for me, I said, "No need to scope! I think I can just do it!"

The truth is, I could do about two-thirds of the trail. I had to take it slow because the path was riddled with large tree roots and rocks. It wasn't until the rocky, root covered path started to climb and wind around that the adventure began.

On the easier part of the trail, I told Dan he could go on without me since, as I have already established, I am slow and very cautious.

"The tree roots and I are fine. You can keep going."

Then I hit a tree root while trying to maneuver a switchback on a steep uphill, lost my momentum, and fell into a tree on the left side of the trail. Again, I wasn't going that fast, so it was more like I leaned into the tree. But my balance was thrown, and I started to topple off the ridge.

Most of my faithful readers will recall my gut-wrenching fear of heights, and the two things about mountain biking that terrify me most are that a) I will lose control of my bike because I hate losing control, and I am a control freak and b) I will fall down a mountain.

I began to do "b."

Luckily, the underbrush on the side of the hill caught me, and I didn't fall very far.

"Dan!" I yelled.

I had almost caught up with him by this time, and he was able to hear me right away. He rushed over and pulled me (and my bike) out of the trees. I walked the rest of the trail.

As we pedaled down the gravel road back to our car, I started feeling something weird on my leg.

"Is there a bug biting my shin?" I asked Dan. "It feels really tight down there."

"I don't see anything, but I can't really see your shin right now."

Back at the car, this is what we found.

This picture does not do my injury justice. It looks much worse in person.

It was after this that I started hearing about the dangers of mountain biking. I never thought of my type of mountain biking as dangerous at all. Daring and dangerous don't exist in my lexicon.

But, nonetheless, a lot of people had stories of fractures, broken necks and backs, road rash, and trips to the emergency room. Some people insisted that they would rather their children dirt bike than mountain bike.

"I don't think I'm that aggressive on my bike," I replied, but in the back of my head I was reminded of the surprised look on our doctor's face when Dan and I told her we were mountain bikers, but we had never broken or sprained any bones.

The friends who had cautioned me when I left rehearsal said things like, "I thought we told you not to break a leg."

I am proud to say that I got right back on my bike and rode several other trails that weekend without mishap. I did get lost one day when Dan and I split up on a trail, but that is another story altogether.

I went back to school the Tuesday after Labor Day, and all of the kids and teachers at school were very concerned.

"What did you do to your leg?" and I told them the whole terrific story. I realized I was sounding quite adventurous.

"I thought your cat got you," said one kid.

"No, it was much cooler than that."

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