The Great Christmas Light Caper (Re-Post from 12/29/06)

In Jill's Words is taking a break for the holiday and for Becky's tenth anniversary. Enjoy reading this Christmas re-post.

Like many Christmas-celebrating Americans, I look forward to my annual holiday light-viewing experience. I love the myriad of mini multicolored luminaries that twinkle in the nighttime sky at this time of year. I have yet to trim my own house with lights, but I certainly enjoy the prolific radiant fruits of other people’s labors.

After marrying my husband three years ago, my Christmas light-viewing jaunts have become much more adventurous.

My husband takes a militaristic approach to looking at Christmas lights. About three or four days before Christmas Eve, he plans our route by looking up addresses in the local newspaper’s holiday light insert and website. Then he draws up an itinerary that includes the most logical order of houses within a ten-mile radius of our own home.

On Christmas Eve, I navigate as Dan roars through the neighborhoods, making sure we see every house on our list, careful not to backtrack or look at any house twice.

From my perch in the passenger's seat, I watch the blur of lights whiz by as my husband whips around the cul-de-sacs, entertaining himself by slamming on the brakes on the icy patches, sending our car into fishtail down the street.

This year, I convinced Dan to split our trip into two evenings. We looked at lights once on our anniversary, conveniently five days before Christmas, and once on Christmas Eve. The light-viewing during our anniversary proved to be rather disappointing for Dan, however, since the streets were too dry to do any “Tokyo Drifting.”

The icy roads on Christmas Eve were much more rewarding for Dan, and I was able to see many kaleidoscopic displays. Every once in a while, Dan interjected, “Ha ha! That was a good one!” when our tires would slip around on the glacial neighborhood streets. Sure, my knuckles turned white as I clutched the car door handle in terror, but it was all worth it to hear the enthusiastic Christmas spirit in my husband’s voice.

Never mind that we did backtrack and pass a few houses more than once or twice, typically at least a venial sin according to Dan’s logic. In fact, we drove by the nice couple, who were passing out candy canes dressed up like Santa and Mrs. Claus, three times. They stood in the driveway to their house and waved and smiled at us, never indicating that they thought we were at all crazy. By the third time, I buried my head in my black pea coat and sank down into my seat as Dan said, “I think we’ve seen these houses before.”

In truth, driving around to look at Christmas lights with my husband is far more fun than looking at them alone. For one thing, Dan has a better sense of direction than I do. Yes, we saw a few houses more than once this year; but when I used to go out alone, I would drive by the same house at least six or seven times, probably looking more like a stalker than a Christmas light-seeker.

Every activity as a married person is an adventure. Even something as simple as looking at Christmas lights takes on a life of its own with a spouse. But I can’t think of a more amusing and enjoyable way to create Christmas traditions and memories.

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

Confessions of a Failed Gift Wrapper (Re-post from 12/29/10)

In Jill's Words is taking a break for the holiday and for Becky's tenth anniversary. Enjoy reading this Christmas re-post. 

I am the worst gift wrapper in the world. Most of my gifts are wrapped in pieced-together paper. My excuse is that I am recycling scraps of wrapping, but the truth is I just have a habit of underestimating the amount of paper needed.

My husband is a gift wrapping master. I think it has to do with his engineer brain. That meticulous, patient, visual-spatial brain that allows him to spend hours staring at computer code also transforms him into the Martha Stewart of gift wrapping at Christmas time.

"Look at the fancy design I made with this ribbon," Dan says proudly, holding up a perfectly wrapped present, topped with a cutely looped red bow.

I admire his work and smile at him encouragingly, thankful that he has so eagerly completed this task which means there is one less item on my holiday to-do list.

Dan and I barely made it through our first Christmas together as husband and wife before he started taking on all of the gift-wrapping assignments. Whenever we have to wrap gifts for family or friends, Dan immediately volunteers his talents before I can even offer.

His gifts are the only gifts I am permitted to wrap anymore. A typical Christmas morning finds Dan examining his presents from me - the wrinkled paper, the scraps of jagged wrapping on those troublesome ends that have to be folded up like a paper airplane (I was never very good at making those either), the gobs of tape with bits of hair and rug debris stuck to the bottom.

"That looks pretty good this time . . ." he says, furrowing his brow.

Not only am I the worst gift wrapper, but I am also the most conspicuous gift wrapper.

First of all, Dan knows exactly where all of his gifts are hidden, and it's only because of a strict code of honor that he does not go looking for them (and because he already knows what he is getting year after year since he closely monitors our credit card statements - another byproduct of his engineer brain).

"You'll never find them. They are hidden somewhere you would never go," I boasted this Christmas.

"You mean under the bed in the doll room?"

It didn't help that when I went to hide his presents this year, I slammed the garage door and ran past him in a blur, shouting behind me, "Stay where you are!"

Along the same lines, when I go to wrap his gifts, I hop over to wherever he is in the house and say in a sing-song voice, "Don't follow me . . . I'm doing something secret . . . I'm locking the door . . ."

"The doll room doesn't have a lock . . ."

"Shoot!" I say. "Well then, don't come in any closed doors . . ."

By contrast, Dan disappears (which doesn't alarm me at all because Dan disappears quite often - refer to my blog post entitled, "My Husband, the Ninja"), secretly emerges a few minutes later, and sets his elegantly wrapped gifts under the tree.

Once, I told Dan a story about one Christmas during my early college years when my mother forced me to volunteer at the Salvation Army. I was spending a lot of time sitting around the house, whining about my weight and my appearance, and my mother was tired of my self-absorbed ramblings.

"You are going to spend some time helping others who have real problems," my mother said.

She sent me to the Salvation Army. I was assigned to gift wrapping duty.

“They actually let you wrap gifts?” my husband asked incredulously.

"That’s not the point. My mother taught me a lot about the detriment of self-pity that year."

“Still," muttered Dan, "they let you wrap gifts . . . Did they see the finished product?”

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

The Secrets to a Successful Marriage

This Friday, Dan and I will celebrate our ten-year anniversary. Now I realize what you are all thinking.

"You look way too young to have been married ten years. You must have gotten married when you were just kids."

Yes, yes, I know. Dan and I have good genes. And we didn't get married right out of high school, by the way. We didn't even get married right out of college.

As my brother said at one time, lamenting the fact that he had not yet found "the right girl," "I'll just have to wait until I'm old to get married . . . kind of like you did." Ultimately, he married a wonderful person.

Dan and I weren't that old when we married anyway. We were in line with the national average at the time. By Idaho standards though, we were considered ancient. (For Idaho women, the average marrying age is 23.4, the second youngest age in the nation. Yikes!)

I guess the real question is, how happy has our marriage been these ten years? And the answer is . . . very happy.

I can just hear the counterarguments.

"Well, Becky, if my husband talked as little as your husband, I'd have a happy marriage too."

Let me set the record straight. Dan talks a lot . . . to me. We are both oldest children. Believe me. We know how to stand up for ourselves. We are both stubborn. We are both certain that we are one-hundred-percent right about everything at all times. Our home is very vocal.

"Well, Becky, you and Dan live a very comfortable life without many challenges."

That is not true. During our first year of marriage, my mother died. And a few years later, my father remarried, and our family structure completely changed early in our marriage. We have dealt with the death of loved ones in other capacities throughout our marriage. And just last year, a cold case from my college days was solved, dredging up lots of old emotions from an extremely traumatic time. A few months ago, Dan had a bit of a health issue that at the moment was frightening but in the end turned out alright. So Dan and I have gone through "stuff" over the years.

Not to mention, Dan lost two wedding rings within the first couple of weeks of our marriage. Now some people would take that as a sign of doom and destruction. But not us. We thought it was hilarious. And here we are, ten years later.

So like any young, arrogant couple, we feel wise enough to share our secrets to a happy marriage. (In other words, we'll probably be much wiser in another twenty years. But right now, we think we know everything.)

1. If your spouse is a computer genius, give him/her all your passwords.
Last night, I told Dan I changed the pass code to my school's iPad.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I can't tell you. It's a secret."

"I have to know all your passwords so that I can fix stuff for you."

He was right. Having a computer geek spouse who can prevent you from throwing the latest technologies against the wall makes for a very happy marriage.

2. Don't have kids.
CRINGE. I can already hear the nasty comments. And for some of you, it's too late, and your family is  probably very happy. But children complicate things, including marriage. I am sure Dan and I could still be happy with kids (if my birth control stops working for some sad reason), but we don't have to test that theory right now. It doesn't mean everyone has to make the same choice, and maybe having kids made your marriage happier. So stop! Step away from the send button.

3. Move out of your parents' house way before you marry. Move out of your parents' town if possible.
Uh oh. Here is another controversial one, especially in Idaho. Things have changed since I was eighteen. I realize that nowadays this is not always economically feasible.

But in my house, here were the expectations. You graduate from high school; you leave home at eighteen; you work or go to school out of town and learn how to live on your own; you are completely financially independent by the time you graduate from college if not earlier.

Dan's path was the same. By the time we got married, we both knew how to pay our own bills, create a budget, cook for ourselves, go grocery shopping, and do laundry. That's not to say it never works any other way. But boy, it made that ultimate adult transition into marriage so much simpler for Dan and me.

Again, step away from the send button!

4. Have your own hobbies. You don't have to do everything your spouse does.
Dan and I are happy because we maintained a certain level of independence. He plays video games while I rehearse for the latest production. I stay at home and read or write while he goes snowboarding. We are supportive of one another too. When I got viral laryngitis a few months ago during a production, Dan offered to help out backstage, something he typically would avoid like the plague. But he knew my absence would cause some holes in the production, and spouses support each other in sickness and in health.

Those are my keys to a happy marriage after ten years. This list will probably change in another ten years. Please don't say, "The real key to a happy marriage is to have God as your foundation" because all I hear is "blah, blah, blah, cliché."

Step away from that send button!

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

Zip Lining For Turkey

Last year in my post "Trotting for Turkey," I wrote about running in a 5K every Thanksgiving with my husband, Dan, who is less than enthusiastic about running but still beats me every time.

This year, my indifferent husband and I received an e-mail after registering for the race, claiming that the event would "have a few new, fun twists including carrying a turkey and riding a zip line."

Each participant will receive a duffel bag with the event logo. Several frozen turkeys will be placed along the route. Runners and walkers who find and manage to carry them to the finish line are welcome to keep them. The race will end at the Challenge Course where participants will sail to a finish on the course’s zip line.

First of all, if you remember from "Trotting for Turkey," Dan and I rarely make it there in time to get the free swag, and even though they promise they will mail it to us, we have yet to receive several articles of Turkey-Trot-logo-imprinted clothing. So the duffel bag is in the mail . . . apparently.

But the "new, fun twist" that really didn't sound much fun to me, the acrophobic mountain biker, was "sailing to a finish" on a zip line.

"I'm sure it will be optional," my dad said in an e-mail.

"I think I'll pass on that option," I replied.

Dad: "Thought you might. What about Dan?"

Me: "Yeah, Dan. What about you?"

Dan: "I'll probably try it."

Me: "Just don't die."
 
In fact, not very many people opted to zip line which had probably less to do with serious cases of acrophobia and more to do with it being quite a process to prepare for a zip line, and no one wanted to stand out in the cold that long.

First, Dan had to sign his life away, and I had to sign as his witness—not the most comforting thing in the world.

Then, he had to "gird his loins" in some weird-looking harness. One of the course workers told him to make sure his furniture was in the right place.

He put on a helmet and was finally ready . . . to stand in line for about sixty minutes. And there were only about eight people in front of him.

Some of the other people in front of Dan had to be coaxed up to the platform, a set of two-by-fours held together by a few nails here and there. Dan, on the other hand, shimmied up the pole with no problem at all—like Nightcrawler from X-Men—and flew down the line, smiling . . . but not too big.

Calm and collected Dan wouldn't want to show too much enthusiasm for something now, would he?

Of course, not everyone had such a zen reaction to Dan's zip lining adventure, as you will hear in the video below. Just remember he is married to an acrophobe after all.

Dan The Zip Lining Machine

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

A Worthy Attempt at a Gratitude Journal

At the church Dan and I have been attending for the past few months, the minister suggested we keep a "Gratitude Journal" this week. As you might remember from last year's "The Obligatory Gratitude Post," I never seem to take these things too seriously despite my initial intentions.

At least I attempted the "homework" assigned by the minister. That's more than I can say about my husband, Dan, who rebels against organized religion by refusing to even fill in the blanks on the sermon notes. For ten years now, the church-homework-related conversations have gone a bit like this:

Me: "Are you going to do what Reverend so-and-so suggested this week?"

Dan: "Pssh! No."

Me: "It might be kind of fun or enlightening."

Dan: "Pssh! That's silly."

If Dan completes church homework 0% of the time, I probably do it about 5% of the time. And I like to fill in the sermon notes, not because of some guilt-ridden sense of duty, but because I am anal and a blank must be filled in or life just isn't worth living.

In honor of Thanksgiving, I decided to share the one church challenge I did finish. I apologize in advance for the superficiality of my gratitude journal. I'm just not very deep.

Sunday, November 24
I am grateful for high Cs and that I can hit one again.

Monday, November 25
I am grateful that my husband doesn't actually hate me like he did in that dream I had last night where he wanted to stay in separate hotel rooms. (A little insight into my neurotic dream issues.)

Tuesday, November 26
I am grateful for enthusiastic sixth graders who actually want to be in a musical this spring. (I must have written this after I spent much of my Thanksgiving break compiling materials and writing a script for this year's production.)

Wednesday, November 27
I am grateful that I did not see a cougar on my run this morning. I am not grateful for yellow air quality. (Boiseans will sympathize.)

Thursday, November 28
I am grateful that my husband is excited about zip-lining today even though I am scared too death for him here on the ground.

Friday, November 29
I am grateful that Dan and I had a quiet Thanksgiving, regardless of Dan's zip-lining.

Saturday, November 30
I am grateful that I boycotted Black Friday.

Yeah, that about covers it. If you want something more philosophical, I suggest you check out Facebook. It's a very thankful place right now. 'Tis the season.

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