Duggan Family Christmas Card 2015

For my blog post this week, I am publishing the Christmas card I sent through the snail mail to my family and friends. Now I am sharing it with my faithful reader friends. Enjoy this sneak peek into my daily life! 

Dear Friends and Family,

Happy Holidays from the Duggans! We hope that you are having a healthy and safe winter. In putting together our annual recap, I am reminded that yet another busy year has flown by!

Dan is still a software engineer at Hewlett-Packard. He recently volunteered for the Hour of Code, helping out in a 5th grade classroom in one of the local school districts.

I still teach K-6 General Music in the Boise School District and direct 60+ 4th, 5th, and 6th graders in the Grace Jordan Elementary Choir.

In 2015, I also had the opportunity to perform in Into the Woods as Cinderella and Chess as Florence Vassy with the Music Theater of Idaho. I was nominated for a local Broadway World award for my role in Chess, as well as for my portrayal of Johanna in 2014’s Sweeney Todd.

(Voting is open through December 31 at http://www.broadwayworld.com/boise/vote2015region.cfm if anyone is interested. Wink. Wink. ;))

I will continue performing this year, first as Rose Lennox in musical version of The Secret Garden and then as Laurey in Oklahoma.

Dan and I spent a lot of the summer mountain biking and hiking in McCall and Sun Valley. We took a trip to the Oregon Coast and spent some time at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival for the second year in a row. We also went to Seattle and visited a Star Wars costume exhibit from the Smithsonian.

We had an addition to our family in early August . . .

Don’t get your hopes up! He’s not ours. But he is my new, adorable nephew, Desmond Revis Turner, born to Steve and Kali Turner (my brother and sister-in-law).

Dan and I are celebrating our twelfth wedding anniversary this December. We are participating in a Christmas Fun Run with my school’s running team the weekend of our anniversary. It’s a great way to send my school kiddos into break after two long weeks of winter concerts and holiday programs!

We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Love, Becky and Dan 

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

Crazy Program Time!

Dashing down the hall,
Excitement in the air.
Hear the joyful sounds.
Is that another gray hair?
Christmas time at school.
One more class to teach.
Then a meeting after school.
Wish Friday was in reach!
Oh, Christmas time here at school
Tensions growing higher.
One more week until we’re through.
I wish I could retire, oh,
Christmas time here at school
Everyone is stressed.
Hope we get some time to see
How much we all are blessed!

by Kim Thompson 

("Sing to the tune of 'Jingle Bells,'" she says. "Yes, you must sing!")

Music teachers are a strange breed. We kind of thrive on the stress of putting together winter concerts, getting up in front of hundreds of parents and family members, and directing hundreds of kids dressed in festive clothing, Santa hats, reindeer antlers, elf hats . . . use your imagination.

And most of us in this chosen profession are crazy enough to enjoy all of it.

In the days leading up to my programs, my husband, Dan, thinks I am funny.

Often times, I wake him in the middle of night talking in my sleep, saying things like, “You’re not the one who has to do a concert tomorrow.”

While awake, however, I find it difficult to construct a normal sentence and process most of what Dan says to me, even if he is answering a question I just asked him.

This year, some of my favorite moments came from the first and second grade winter program.

My choir kids also provided me with some entertainment the week before, during their concert. They are quite theatrical.

But I've chosen to focus on my little kids' program since it is freshest in my mind.


1. A few weeks ago, one second grader asked me if my husband was going to wear a wig again.

The kids all know my husband, Dan, because he sets up for the programs and videotapes the performances. (Yeah, Dan's pretty awesome.)

Dan has long hair. The second grader thinks my husband wears a wig.


2. One of my first graders has been apprehensive about walking up and down the risers all year long.

"I'm kind of scared of heights, Mrs. Duggan," she says to me in class.

"You and me both," I always respond.

During the program practices, I had been helping her up and down the steps to the stage since I knew about this phobia of hers.

In the middle of the morning program, she announced to the audience, "I'm actually not scared of heights anymore," as she descended the stage steps.

(I wish it were that easy for me, to simply not be scared of heights anymore.)

During the afternoon performance, the same little girl got distracted by the ribbons on the mics and forgot to say her line. The child next to her had to remind her.


3. The first graders sang a song called "Hip Hop Elves."

They were allowed to bring "hip hop accessories," and, the definition being somewhat ambiguous, we ended up with an interesting variety of hip hop elf costumes.

But my favorite part was the little girl on the second row, moving her arms and chanting, "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!" during the dance break.


4. Even the younger siblings wanted to join us.

A couple of little sisters, toddler or preschool age, wandered to the front of the gym and froze, staring at the kids and me. I leaned over at one point and asked one little girl if she was lost.


5. The sixth grade boys loved it.

And that's saying something. Most sixth grade are too cool to admit liking anything.

But one of my students said, "Mrs. Duggan! That was THE BEST Christmas program I have EVER seen!"

Another boy commented on how adorable the kids were.

(I do have sweet group of sixth graders this year.)

So . . . yes, I am crazy enough to enjoy this job. But I think I'm ready to take a nap for the next two weeks.

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

Making the Case for Frozen (RE-POST FROM 12/14/14)

Around this time last year, I saw Frozen for the first time and wrote about the experience in my blog. Enjoy this re-post from December 2014!
 

Last summer, Dan and I saw Gracie Gold skate in the Sun Valley Ice Show. During one of her solos, she floated out onto the ice, dressed in a glittery, robin egg blue leotard. A hush fell over the audience, and the music began.

All of a sudden, the parents in the audience collectively groaned, "Oh . . ." while the little girls beside them squealed and started to sing along.

Gracie Gold was skating to "Let it Go," the smash hit from the phenomenon known as Frozen.

I finally watched Frozen last weekend. I know. I'm about a year behind everyone else in the world.

I am not a mom, but I try to stay hip to kids' stuff because of my job. Even Dan watched it with me.

"I'm curious," he said.

I think it was mostly because he wanted to see what Robert Lopez, who composed the songs with his lyricist wife, Kristen Anderson-Lopez, would do with a kids' movie. Robert Lopez composed the music for Avenue Q and The Book of Mormon. (If you're not sure why this is significant, just Google it. You'll find out quickly.)

And the Lopez team did have some fun with the lyrics. Case in point: "Why have a ballroom with no balls?"

This year, I bought a Frozen songbook for my music classes. My choir students (even some of the boys) make me lead a Frozen sing along before rehearsal most mornings. I try to avoid the ballroom-with-no-balls song.

I have heard from parents that siblings fight over who gets to like Elsa and who gets to like Anna. One parent I talked to was relieved that one of her little girls was on Team Anna and the other was on Team Elsa.

The other day, I was trying to appear cool to a three-year-old, and I mistakenly pronounced "Anna" with a short vowel (rhyming it with Hannah). I was immediately corrected.

"It's Anna," the three-year-old said with a royal air, pronouncing the "a" vowels "ah" (like in father).

I decided I had better watch the movie so that I didn't lose all credibility with the six hundred kids that darken my classroom door everyday.

The verdict?

I thought it was a great story, surprisingly focused on the strength of the female characters, although their waists are still too small.

One of my Frozen fanatic students said with a knowing grin, "I bet you loved the 'Let it Go' scene."

I did and not just because of the awesome animation sequence where she flips her hands around and creates the best ice palace ever.

I had heard a lot of my music friends complain about "Let it Go" being poorly written and overplayed and badly sung by amateurs. But the song is about a woman's coming of age, and she doesn't even have to get married at the end, like in most Disney princess movies.

In fact, Anna, who takes the typical Disney princess route and falls in love at first sight instead of getting to know the guy first, actually finds out Prince Charming is not so charming.

Elsa, however, is going to do things the way she wants, not the way her society wants. She is not going to hide the feminine power that makes her unique and a little dangerous. The song's message is one of women's liberation, except her waist is still too small.

My students know Idina Menzel now. They think they discovered her. Never mind her almost-twenty-year theater career. But Frozen has made this Broadway veteran a household name for my kiddos. I love it.

I have deep conversations with my kindergartners now on the science of Olaf and how he loves the warm summer, but if he gets too warm he will melt, so Elsa gives him his own cloud, and that is so exciting. And then we get up and pretend to melt like snowmen to music. I am teaching high and low, and the kindergartners don't even know what hit them.

The kids at school keep telling me about a Frozen sequel. I'm not sure how that will work out because . . . you know . . . origin stories.

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

It's Cozy Clothes Season, Folks!

Everybody has been complaining about the cold weather that has settled upon us, but I have been waiting for Cozy Clothes Season all year long.

I live in my yoga pants during the winter . Am I wearing underwear? Probably not. I try to underwear as little as possible while donning yoga pants. But you will never really know because I won't tell you.

I love winter hats that cover up crazy wind hair, although during the school day, I am not supposed to wear them. I'm required to be a good example for all of my preteen students who constantly sneak into my classroom wearing hoods.

I'm with you, kids. I want to wrap up in my sweatshirt at this time of year too.

I love my (faux) furry winter boots, an especially comfy pair of shoes when your profession requires you to be on your feet all day.

Just yesterday, one child blurted out, "I like your boots, Mrs. Duggan!" right when the kids were in the middle of clapping a four-beat rhythm.

So . . . I get compliments on my awesome boots, especially at inappropriate times.

At home, I change into flannel pajamas immediately before I cook dinner. And I live in yoga pants and hoodies on the weekends when I don't have to look professional.

One time (and only once) my husband, Dan, questioned my Cozy Clothes Season fashion choice.

"Are you really going out in public wearing yoga pants?" he asked.

My response to his scrutiny ended up in a blog post entitled, "Yoga Pants and Feminist Experiments."

Occasionally though, a concerned Dan will ask me, "Didn't you wear your yoga pants to bed last night?"

"Who knows?" I answer. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's Cozy Clothes Season. Anything goes." 

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

Go Ahead . . . Have That Extra Cookie

My husband, Dan, is really skinny. I promise he eats, and I promise I feed him. Sometimes, he even eats off of my plate.

For years, people kept telling him, "Wait until you get into your thirties. It will catch up with you."

We are both less than two years away from forty, and it hasn't caught up with him yet.

I'm not saying it won't. But in the mean time, it makes for interesting visits with his doctor.

"You can't stand to lose any more weight," she told him one year when he had accidentally lost a couple of pounds.

I wish I could accidentally lose weight. When I turned thirty-eight earlier this year, something weird happened to my metabolism. Now I look at a piece of cake or a cookie and instantly gain five pounds.

Dan, on the other hand, has started wearing heavy sweatshirts and tennis shoes when he steps on the scale at the doctor's office.

He eats healthy when I cook because I have to eat healthy. (Like I said—Oops. I looked at a chocolate bar. Better add five more pounds to my vitals, Doc.)

"Just because he is skinny doesn't mean that he is healthy," one of my colleagues said in an attempt to raise my self-esteem.

But he is healthy. He passes his blood work with flying colors. No blood pressure problems. No cholesterol or glucose problems.

I got my cholesterol checked for first time when I was thirty for insurance purposes, thinking I was still young and it wouldn't be a problem. It was super high. I tried to keep it down naturally with fish oil and flaxseed for a year. It didn't work, and I've been on medication ever since.

The doctor always looks at petite-mostly-vegetarian me sympathetically and says, "It's genetic in your case, Becky."

Dan eats anything, and his numbers are great. I go vegan and cut out sugar the month before my appointment, and my triglycerides are still borderline most years.

This year, Dan dressed in his heavy sweatshirt and tennis shoes. After the nurse weighed him, she asked if he knew his waist size. She needed it for his insurance form.

"I told them thirty inches, but I was going off of my pant size. And my pants pretty much fall off without a belt," Dan said.

Then he added, "Oh, and the doctor said to go ahead and eat a few extra Christmas cookies this year."

My face when the doctor tells Dan to eat extra cookies

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

I Am Grateful For . . .

Here we are again. Social media is blowing up with posts about gratitude and thankfulness. I have tried my hand at the gratitude frenzy in the past. And one year, I attempted a gratitude journal as part of a church homework assignment.

This year, I did it for the health insurance. I just completed a wellness activity, and during the course of the week, we were encouraged to write down one thing we were grateful for each day.

As an added incentive, wellness activities lower our insurance premiums. I can be thankful for one thing everyday for lower insurance costs.

Here is what I recorded:

MONDAY: Dan
I guess I was thankful for Dan that Monday. Maybe we had a fun weekend. Maybe he had efficiently finished my honey-do list that Saturday. Who knows? But he was the first thing that popped into my mind that week. That's probably appropriate since he is my spouse.

TUESDAY: My choir
I am grateful for my choir most Tuesdays (and Thursdays). My day starts with a smile every choir morning, partly because the kids sing so well and we have beautiful musical experiences, partly because the choir is a cast of characters who, despite all of their crazy antics, crack me up every rehearsal.

WEDNESDAY: Coffee
It's no accident that I was grateful for coffee on a Wednesday. I mean, how else does one get through the middle of the week? I'm grateful for coffee everyday. It may be the other reason my early morning choir rehearsals are so pleasant.

I was probably grateful for chocolate on Wednesday too. Coffee and chocolate. 

THURSDAY: Health
I was grateful for my health on Thursday. I'm not sure why I chose Thursday to be grateful for my health, but that's what I wrote down. Maybe I was running out of witty ideas. I usually run out of witty ideas by Thursday.

FRIDAY: My job
On Friday, I was thankful for my job. Funny how I waited until the last day of the week to be thankful for my job. I also love my job on Saturdays when I don't actually have to be at my job.

Just kidding. My job is the greatest. Where else do you get to stage musicals with five hundred kids? It beats playing all of the characters myself and dancing around my living room.

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

All I Want For Christmas . . . is an American Girl Doll?

Would it be weird if I asked for an American Girl Doll this Christmas? I know I'm pushing forty, but still . . .

I feel like I missed out on part of my childhood because I didn't know American Girl Dolls existed until 2010 when my husband, Dan, and I visited the New York store.

That's when I signed up on the mailing list just so I could receive the catalogs and peruse the pictures longingly.

I'm not sure how I missed out on the American Girl craze. Other Gen-X friends of mine have mentioned that the AGD Bandwagon somehow passed them by too. Wikipedia claims the dolls have been around since 1986, but maybe it's because Mattel didn't take over in 1998, and I was a poor college student at that time.

I'm ready now though.

I can easily discuss American Girls with my elementary kids. I know that Julie is the hippie, Kit Kittredge was portrayed by Abigail Breslin in the film version, and Molly McIntire has glasses and hazel eyes, something my four-eyed nine-year-old self would have really related to.

And you can customize the dolls to look like you. They even have brunette, freckle-face options (hint-hint).

When I was a kid, my mother would sneak into my bedroom and play with the dolls in my Barbie dollhouse.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" I asked her the first time I caught her.

"What?" she said, completely unfazed. "I still like Barbies too."

Me too, except I don't have a daughter whose dolls I can steal.

I do have "The Doll Room" though, a spare bedroom dedicated to my old Cabbage Patch Dolls and miniature dollhouse. Let me tell you, Dan loves it.

I also have a curio cabinet filled with Madame Alexander Dolls, figurines, and collector Barbies. My father built the cabinet to display my dolls after I was married, so it must not be too weird for an adult woman to own a bunch of toys.

So . . . no judging, and somebody get this girl an American Girl Doll already!

Wouldn't an American Girl Doll look great in this display case?

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

I Totally Have Issues

Guys, I totally have issues.

If you have been reading my blog for a while now, you have probably figured this out. You might remember that I suffer from the occasional night terror. That lovely neurosis evolved from my childhood sleepwalking habit.

I also have weird dreams about my teeth chipping away and falling out. My scariest recurring dream is the "Out-Of-Control Classroom" where I resort to throwing erasers and screaming at the kids because they just won't listen. (I would never do that, by the way. Please don't get me fired!)

I can recall most of my dreams with such vivid detail that one of my friends bought me a dream dictionary several years ago, maybe to prevent me from constantly asking her, "What do you think that means?"

And, yes, I do have naked dreams. Why wouldn't I have naked dreams? We have already established that I totally have issues.

Usually, these dreams start out with me believing that being naked is the newest fashion trend, that it's perfectly acceptable to walk around nude. Then I realize it isn't, and I try to magically manifest clothes on my body, but this doesn't work. No one points out my lack of clothes, but people give me lots of strange looks.

Not too long ago, I dreamt about being naked while dancing on stage because, in dreamland, I thought we were supposed to dance naked on stage. But no one else was dancing naked onstage. A few seconds later, I looked down, and I was wearing a shirt and underwear.

"Well, that's better," my dream self said with a sigh of relief, and I kept dancing.

At the time of the dream, I was performing in a theater production. And, no, I never went onstage naked during the run of the show.

"You know, naked dreams usually mean you are experiencing anxiety about something," one of my cast mates said.

He was right.

According to my dream dictionary, naked dreams signify "anxiety and vulnerability."

Another online source puts it this way:

Becoming mortified at the realization that you are naked in public, reflects your vulnerability or feelings of shamefulness . . . You are exposed and left without any defenses. Thus your naked dream may be telling you that you are trying to be something that you really are not. Or you are fearful of being ridiculed and disgraced.

Other reasons I may have naked dreams include:

• Afraid of being exposed
• Shame with yourself
• Guilty in a situation
• Vulnerable with friends, business or relationship
• Trying to be something that you are not
• Not comfortable with your body
• Scared of being noticed

"I have night terrors too," I told my cast mate. "What do those mean?"

I was told that night terrors are, apparently, a real sleep disorder. In other words, I totally have issues. And I'm totally screwed.

"It means you're a mess," my theater friends said. "But we love our mess."

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

Confessions of a Candy Addict

I have a love-hate relationship with Halloween. I love it because, as an elementary music teacher, I get to sing fun Halloween songs with all of my cute students.

I hate it because it reveals my darker alter ego: Becky the Candy Addict.

I have always had a sweet tooth. I probably inherited it from my grandmother who always ate her dessert first.

Last month, I went on a sugar fast and limited my dairy intake to only non-fat varieties (I already eat mostly vegetarian) right before my annual doctor's appointment. My numbers were fantastic this year, and I felt really good too.

But then Halloween rolled around, and the candy showed up in the faculty room.

The faculty and staff put on an event called "Ghouls at School," and the students return to school in the evening to trick-or-treat at all of the teachers' classrooms. A few hours before, a huge box of candy is delivered to our doors, and we, teachers, have been know to partake before the kids show up.

The morning after Ghouls at School, I found two of my choir students pointing to my trash can with looks of amazement.

"Mrs. Duggan, look at all of the candy wrappers!" one of them exclaimed.

"Um . . . yeah?"

"Have the kids eaten that much candy already this morning?" she asked. (Several of my choir students had smuggled candy into the music room that day.)

"I think that may have been from last night . . . You know, the teachers eat candy too sometimes."

And by "teachers," I meant "your music teacher, Mrs. Duggan."

"You guys ate a lot."

I sighed, "I know . . ."

That afternoon, I realized I had a problem. I was having a pleasant conversation with our custodian, but I wasn't listening.

All I could think about was, "When is he going to leave so that I can eat all of that leftover candy in my desk?" I couldn't eat it in front of him because that would be embarrassing.

When I walked out to my car at the end of the day, I thought for sure that people could tell how much candy I had eaten that day just by looking at me. I felt ashamed. So I did what any reasonable person would do.

I took the rest of the candy home to my husband.

I may look healthy in my mountain biker costume, but that pumpkin full of candy was not safe around me. My husband, Dan, and I have already decided we will start avoiding sugar again the day after Halloween.

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

The Ghost in the Music Room: Part 2

 

Halloween is upon us, and the school ghost is wreaking havoc once again. Last year, I told you about "The Ghost in the Music Room (also re-posted last week)." Well, as it often happens with our paranormal counterparts (I guess), she is still hanging out.

One second grader, new to our school, insists that a ghost follows him from the music room. When his teacher picks up the class, we watch him slowly turn his head and warily glance at the empty space behind him, as he tiptoes away from my classroom.

"Okay, that's creepy," the second grade teacher whispered hoarsely one afternoon.

"And I haven't even mentioned my ghost to your kiddos," I hissed. "I quit doing that a year ago when I realized I was traumatizing the classes."

Two of my teacher friends were alone in the building one weekend. One of them walked down the hallway and turned on the laminator. She heard a male voice coming from the third grade classroom down the hall, but when she reached the room, the door was locked, and everything was off.

(The next Monday, she and the third grade teacher made sure nothing electronic had accidentally been left on over the weekend. Everything was completely shut down.)

She raced to the other teacher's classroom, and the two of them ventured back down the third grade hall. On their way past the room with the laminator, they realized the door, that had been open just minutes before, was closed and the machine was off. Nobody else was working in the building that weekend.

The night custodian swears that, every once in a while, she hears someone press the handicap button on the playground doors. When she goes to investigate, one of the doors has opened like someone has exited the building.

But she is the only one there at that time.

One morning, I came to school to find the lights flipping on and off throughout the building. In my classroom, the top bank of lights went off, while the bottom bank stayed on.

Another day, the surround speakers in the music room wouldn't work unless someone held down the button on the sound box the entire time.

Oh, and the LCD projector turned on by itself when I walked into my room one day. At least, the ghost is trying to be helpful.

I have a friend who does some amateur ghost-busting. She says it sounds like a manifestation of certain energies rather than a specific benevolent (or malevolent) spirit. She even offered to ghost-bust our school. But I was too scared to asked the principal for overnight access. He already thinks I'm kind of crazy.

Maybe someday though, my school will end up on Ghost Hunters or something. How cool would that be?

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

The Ghost in the Music Room (RE-POST from 9/13/14)

I thought this would be an appropriate with Halloween approaching. Enjoy! (Originally published 9/13/14)

I have a ghost in my music room. I'm not kidding. I don't even believe in ghosts, and my school is only six years old. But there is seriously a ghost in my music room.

A couple of years ago, I was teaching preschoolers. Two other teachers were also in the room. My guitar sat on its stand near my far wall. No one was near it. We weren't bouncing around or doing anything that would have caused sympathetic vibrations. All of a sudden, the guitar played. It was as though someone strummed his/her fingers right over each string.

No joke.

I have credible adult witnesses.

Something played a glissando on one of my glockenspiels while I was alone after school one day. Again, all of the instruments were tucked away safely on the shelves. No one was even near them.

One spring afternoon, my third grade students were dancing "La Raspa," and the CD player started slowing down like a warped record on a turntable. (I'm sure some of you remember those old things.) The kids froze and stared at me. Normally, they would have giggled at the silly sounds coming from my stereo.

But my students take the ghost very seriously. In fact, after telling them the hilarious story about my guitar playing on its own, I realized, from their anxious expressions, I might be freaking my kids out. So I named the ghost "Fred."

That was until the opera singing incident.

"I swear I heard a woman's voice coming from your room at around ten o'clock," one of the night custodian's told me last year. "She was singing opera. She sounded just like you, but no one else was even here."

So it's unlikely that the ghost would be a "Fred," unless he's a countertenor.

Our current custodian told me she was cleaning near my room when she heard someone whisper her name and then break into laughter. Again, it was late evening, and no one else was in the building.

"I've been cleaning your room for a week, and I haven't heard anything," scoffed the other night custodian who was listening in on our conversation.

"Just wait," we said in unison.

This week, I've heard a knock on my exterior door twice while teaching class. Both times, the kids and I looked out the window, and no one was there. No wayward children were wandering around the courtyard either or running away guiltily after playing a little ding-dong ditch.

My husband, Dan, thinks that the music room might have an opening to a parallel world.

"Think about it," he said. "The woman is an opera singer who sounds just like you. She laughs, which you do a lot. She likes music and hangs out mostly in your room. The ghost could just be another you."

"Because that's so much more believable than a ghost," I said.

"It's quantum physics," he said. "You know, string theory?"

"You mean like Fringe?" I said. "Are you the Peter Bishop to my Olivia?"

"Do you want me to build you a window to the other universe?"

 

For more school ghost stories, check out "The Ghost in the Music Room: Part 2."

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

Latte With Love

My husband, Dan, and I finally bought an espresso machine. After realizing how many punch cards we had at every coffee shop in Boise, we decided it was time. In other words, we were spending way too much money on four-dollar lattes.

We have been researching machines around Christmas. That's how long it took us to make a choice . . . just shy of one year. And by "we" and "us," I actually mean "Dan."

Dan was originally going to surprise me with a new espresso machine when I got home from Chess rehearsal one night. But he kept telling me about research findings, and in the end, it wasn't much of a surprise.

"I thought maybe we should get the [insert any coffee/espresso machine here because we considered all of them], but then I watched a video, and the [again, insert any machine] has a built-in frother."

This was the conversation every night until a machine magically appeared on the kitchen counter upon my return home.

We (mostly Dan) settled on the Mr. Coffee Café Barista. He had also picked up a package of Dawson Taylor coffee. But he was worried that the drip grounds he had bought wouldn't be fine enough for an espresso machine, and we were holding off on purchasing whole beans until our grinder, also an extensively researched piece of equipment, arrived in mail.

The other evening, I found Dan watching an infomercial about another coffee maker, "The Ninja Coffee Bar."

"What if that's a better machine?" Dan said. "And it's called 'Ninja!'"

"It's not better."

"What if it is?"

"It isn't."

Of course, despite all of my husband-teasing ways, our machine (and Dan) makes very good coffee every morning. Since Dan is the only one who knows how to use it, and I haven't bothered to learn yet, he has my mug waiting for me every morning.

"Here is your 'Latte With Love,'" he says as he hands it to me on my way out the door.

One day, I asked if I could try a cappuccino.

"But I don't have an alliterative name for it," he said.

"How about a 'Cappuccino With Care?'"

"That doesn't sound as cool."

But I've noticed he has started using it anyway.

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

Banned Books Week

Last year, I wrote a blog post about a book banning controversy going on in one of our local school districts.

This year, to mark the end of "Banned Books Week," I thought I would challenge my blog readers to take the quiz, "Which Banned Book Fits Your Personality?" just for fun . . .

Then let me know your result in the comments!

I got Slaughterhouse Five. 

"Slaughterhouse-Five has been banned for being everything from psychotic to vulgar. The book continues to be banned in schools, most recently in 2011 in a Missouri school district. The book follows unreliable narrator, Billy Pilgrim, who is a Chaplain’s Assistant before being brought into World War II. The science fiction book takes the reader from psych wards to outer space and is perfect for the open-minded bookworm."

I do love this book, but I'm not sure what it means that it "fits" my personality. Psychotic? Vulgar? Makes me sound pretty edgy. I do have issues. But that is another blog post for another time.

I am interested to know what banned book fits your personality.
‪#‎BannedBooksWeek‬

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

Bug Attack! (RE-POST from 7/11/15)

 I've been enjoying the final weeks of mountain biking, and it reminded me of this blog post from the summer. Ah, the summer . . . It seems so long ago now. Have fun rereading this adventure from 7/11/15.

My husband, Dan, and I spent the fourth of July hiking and mountain biking. But (surprise, surprise!) this is not a post about my debilitating fear of heights.

Bugs hate me . . . or maybe they really like me. Either way you look at it, they are annoying. And, no, I don't wear a bunch of perfumes and lotions when I am being outdoorsy. Bugs do not hate/like Dan as much as me. Maybe my sweat is sweeter. I do sweat a lot.

A typical scenario after any given outdoor adventure goes like this:

"Becky," Dan will say pathetically, "look at this bug bite."

"You call that a bite?" And I will reveal about five or six bites on the back of my shoulder or my calf or underneath the seam of my sports bra. "This is a bite!"

The bug bite ratio in our relationship is about five to one.

I am pretty sure I have built up immunity to West Nile by now. They should probably think about using my blood to develop an antidote.

And I always douse myself in bug spray before venturing into the great outdoors.

Over the fourth, the fun started when I was adjusting my backpack. I felt a strange pinch and something with a hard shell on the back of my neck, right at my hairline.

"Dan," I said fairly calmly, "I think something's on me."

"Whoa!" (When Dan reacts with a shocked, "Whoa!" not a smirk, a stifled laugh, or a snort, I know it's bad.) "Hold still."

I, of course, did the exact opposite.

I threw off my pack and jumped around, shouting, "Get it off me! Get it off me!"

The thing that eventually came off of me looked something like this:

"This is not a good start to our ride," I remarked. 

By the time we stopped for a water break, three bugs had flown into my mouth, two had landed on my legs, and one had landed in my ear. The bug spray was not working.

"I think that bug might still be in my ear. It's awfully itchy," I said.

Dan pretended to examine my ear, "Nope, bug free."

"Yeah, you know nothing, Jon Snow . . ." I grumbled.

The next day, we went hiking, and Dan spent much of the time shooing away the flies that kept circling my head.

"I think this fly thinks you're a horse because of your ponytail."

"Great."

"At least you can flip them away with your ponytail . . . just like a horse."

"Thanks, Dan."

When he swatted my butt for the fifth time, I turned around and said, "Are that many flies landing on my butt, or are you just swatting it for fun?"

"A little bit of both," he replied with a grin.

 

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

Funny Kid Stuff (or So Begins the School Year)

The first thing I realized a few weeks ago, as the summer drew to a close, was that I would have to stop swearing so much. I develop bad habits when I am not around children. But I am glad to report that nothing has slipped out yet, and I have been back in Elementary School Teacher Mode for almost four weeks now.

If you have been reading my blog for a while, you know that my job is entertaining at times. And I have once again collected my share of interesting anecdotes over the first month of school. Here are a few of my favorites to start off the year.

1. Just Making Sure You're Aware, Mrs. Duggan . . . 
I was standing outside my classroom door, which happens to be next to the boys' and girls' bathrooms, when a kindergartner wandered up to me.

She announced (not in her "inside voice"), "I have the boys' pass, but I'm using the girls' bathroom because the other pass is gone, and I REALLY have to go potty!"

2. When in Doubt, Call Me Mommy . . .
I have my name posted by the music room door, and I was showing the second graders where to find it because kids tend to forget my name from time to time.

One little girl had her own solution to this problem.

“Once I got confused and called you ‘Mommy.’ Remember?” she said.

3. Take the Bucket With You . . . 
During the first week of school, the kids started dropping like flies. You know the stomach flu is going around an elementary school when children walk to the nurse's office, carrying a trash can under their chins.

4. No Laughing Matter . . . 
As I was heading to my car after school, one little boy walked past me with his mother.

He greeted me with, "I think I got centipede poop on my nose!"

His mother immediately said, “You were just told not to say that word anymore! That is not funny! Do you understand me? You are not being funny!”

I actually thought it was a little funny. But I also don't have to listen to him talk about poop twenty-four-seven.

5. Philosophical Discussions About Underwear . . .
I was reading Froggy Goes to School by Jack London to my first graders. In it, Froggy goes to school in his underwear, but then he wakes up and discovers that it was just a dream, and all of the kids in the class breathe a sigh of relief.

This year, one of my boys was very concerned, “But what if it was real?” 

"It wasn't real though. It was just a dream," I explained.

"But what if it wasn't a dream? What if it was real?"

"I guess he'd be pretty embarrassed. I think his mom and dad would stop him before he got on the bus. Don't you?"

"I don't know . . ."

6. More Truth To This Than You Think . . .
I always get the most interesting answers to the question, "Why are we learning music?"

This year, one of my students responded with, "Just in case we want to be 'magicians' when we grow up."

That's actually more accurate than you know, kid . . .

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

How I Really Survive My School Year (RE-POST 9/15/12)

This is a blog post I wrote during the first few weeks of the 2012 school year. I plan to publish a new "funny kid stuff" piece after Chess the Musical is over. Stay tuned!

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote quite a witty post, if I do say so myself, on How I Survived the First Week of School. Of course, as witty as it was, I left out the real way I survive my school year. And really, it's less about survival and more about why I chose my career. (It sure isn't the mad-crazy-huge paycheck I get every month.)

Here are a few anecdotes that remind me why I love what I do. These happened over the last couple of days. Just think how many of these cute little stories I accrue by the end of the school year.

What's in a name: 
One little girl told me she was named after a wildflower "because sometimes I'm kind of wild."

Animal lessons: 
My student teacher called on a kindergartner who told him, "Do you know that lizards are hard to catch with your big hands?"

"Yes," my student teacher responded as though it was the most normal question in the world.

The observations of children:
One teacher told me that she was standing in front of her classroom projector the other day. The image that was being projected onto the screen, and incidentally onto her face, was green.

One child called out, "You have lettuce on your face!"

Pointing the finger:
A second grade class had to return to the risers the other day when they couldn't handle one of the activities.
One student said, "Everyone is causing trouble . . . except me!" 

Teacher titles:
When I tell them my name is Mrs. Duggan, what I am actually called is like a lesson on Theme and Variations. 

• Mrs. Doostan
• Mrs. Doogie
• Mrs. Doodans
• Mrs. D
• Music Teacher
• Music Guy (This is what the kindergartners call my student teacher. I am Music Teacher. He is Music Guy.)
• Mrs. New Teacher (This is what the first graders called a teacher who filled in for our PE teacher at the last minute on Thursday.)

Where did you get that idea?
Maybe we teachers make it look too fun, and kids get the wrong idea about our profession. One of my sixth graders told me that he has already decided to be a teacher when he grows up. But his reasons weren't quite as altruistic as I hoped.

"Great pay and summers off," he said.

Boy, is he in for a rude awakening. Neither of those things are true. Neither of those things make the profession worth it.

Here is why I do it . . .
One of my students, an immigrant from Africa, wanted to join choir so badly this year. Unfortunately, his parents have no way of getting him to school by 8:00 a.m. His father leaves in the family car at 5:00 every morning, and the little boy has no way of getting to school other than by bus. (The bus doesn't usually get the kids to school until right before the bell.) As my student told me all of this, his eyes welled with tears. I wracked my brain as to how I could get him to school in time for choir. Deciding that driving to the opposite side of town and picking him up myself at 7:00 a.m. was probably not the best option, I told him to jump off the bus and run to my room as soon as he got to school the next morning, even if he was a little late for choir. On Thursday, he showed up to choir twenty-five minutes late, but we still had twenty minutes of singing left.

His ear-to-ear grin is what really makes my profession worth it.

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

The Night I Learned to Play Chess (RE-POST from 8/8/15)

Enjoy this re-post from 8/8/15! The production I reference in this blog post opens next weekend. If you are in the Boise area and would like to see it, tickets are available online at www.mtionline.org.

 

Once upon a time, a kid I used to babysit tried to teach me to play chess. Because he was eight and had the attention span of a Labrador puppy, he just laughed at me when I didn't remember all of the crazy rules.

Fast forward twenty-plus years, I have been cast in a musical called Chess about a Cold War chess tournament between a Russian and an American (Boris Spassky vs. Bobby Fischer, anyone?). My character in the show is the American player's "second," a sort of assistant who researches opponents and helps prepare strategies. And if the first player dies (I guess a chess match can last so long that the game outlives the players), it's up to the second to finish the player's chess commitments.

Disclaimer: I am going to make light of something that I have realized some people take very seriously. I might even simplify some definitions. A while back, I posted a glib Facebook message about two guys playing chess next to me in a coffee shop, and I immediately received how-to-play-chess links and words of caution about orienting the chess board correctly on stage because apparently chess aficionados care a lot about these things.

So . . . no angry e-mails about how I truly don't understand the chess experience.

"I should teach you how to play chess," said (guess who?) none other than my husband, Dan, when I was cast in the role.

He was much more patient than that eight-year-old I babysat.

He taught me terms like en passant, promotion, check, and checkmate, none of which I execute successfully yet. Sometimes though, I yell out "En passant!" mid-game just for fun.

He taught me "white on the right," meaning that the white square should be to the right of the opponent playing the white pieces, and the queen is on its own color for both players. How's that for orientation, friends?

There's also this thing called "castling," and it sounds totally dirty but it's not because . . . well . . . it's chess, and as the American player says at one point in the musical, "I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine." (Get it? Chess players are too cerebral to bother with . . . you know what?) But "castling" is my new code word for "sex."

I've also gained a perspective on some of the vocabulary in the musical. I've learned the arbiter is a sort of referee.

When one character refers to a gambit (an opening in which a player makes a sacrifice, typically a pawn, for the sake of some compensating advantage), are we talking about a literal gambit, or are the people the sacrificed pawns in this case?

A chess game is divided into three parts, an opening, middlegame, and endgame. It just so happens that "Endgame" is also the title of a four-part song at the end of the show. It signifies the end of the chess match, but it also serves as a metaphor for the Russian players' psyche when he has to make an ultimate, definitive choice.

I learned how to move each chess piece, which is much more complicated than checkers.

Dan quizzes me before each game on each "character"—Dan: "chess piece"—and how it moves.

Me: "This is the horse"—Dan: "knight"—"and it moves in an L-shape, two squares to one, and it can jump over 'characters'"—Dan: "chess pieces."

Me (after the game): "That was kind of fun."

Dan: "It takes a lot of strategy. I can only think one or two moves ahead."

Me: "I can only think of how to get away from you and, even then, I'm not so successful."

So far, Dan has beaten me every time.

 If you are in the Boise area this fall and would like to see Chess the Musical, here are the dates:

September 10-12 at 7:30 pm & September 12 at 1:30 pm

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

Calvin and the Dinosaur Museum (RE-POST from 9/3/11)

While I am preparing for my upcoming performance, Chess the Musical, I am rerunning this beginning-of-the-school-year post from 2011. Enjoy!

With the Labor Day holiday approaching, I have had less time to craft a post full of clever witticisms. So I decided to let my students do the work this week. The following anecdote occurred during a second grade class while my student teacher was attempting to introduce herself to the kids. For those of you who have children or work with children, you know you can't make this stuff up.

My student teacher had just shown the kids some pictures from her trip to Italy when little towheaded Calvin raised his hand. She called on him, and he wagged his finger at her, saying authoritatively.

“I’m Calvin with a C. Okay. When I grow up, here's what I'm going to do. I’m going to travel the whole entire world and find every dinosaur fossil in the whole entire world and bring all of them back to Idaho and put them in a huge museum, and I’m going to build it on the plains. I'm going to call it the World Museum, and it's going to have three rooms, Cabella’s size.”

All of a sudden, another second grader named Hank became very excited. He turned around to face Calvin.

“Are we friends, Calvin? Are we friends?"

"Well, yes," Calvin answered Hank abruptly.

"Can I help you now that we're friends?”

Calvin turned his wagging finger on Hank and said sternly, “Now, Hank, here’s how it’s going to be. You can help me find the fossils.”

As the class walked out of the music room, Hank bounced over to me.

"I’m going to help Calvin find fossils because I’m his friend now!”

Later that day, I told Calvin's teacher about the unusual entertainment in music class that morning.

"Oh yes," his teacher said as I finished my tale through a fit of laughter. "I've heard about this dinosaur museum. Calvin's got it all planned out!"

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

As Summer Draws to a Close . . .

My summer is drawing to a close in the best way possible. Unfortunately, because I am having such a great time, I am also finding it difficult to update my blog. I will just share a few of the highlights from the past couple of weekends. Maybe I'll be able to go into more detail later (especially about the cutie in the middle of the page) . . .

1. Rise Against: My husband, Dan, and I went to the Rise Against concert. Dan (yes, quiet Ninja Dan!) actually asked some strangers if we could share their table. This was mostly for my benefit since I have a hard time seeing at concerts. They were happy to share because it meant they could take smoke breaks, and we could save their seats. They also told us we looked about their age . . . twenty-four.

Best. Concert Friends. Ever.

2. Visiting My New Nephew: The morning after the concert, Dan and I drove to Pocatello to meet Desmond, my new nephew. He was only five days old at that time, and I am hoping to go into more detail in the next few weeks, once my schedule calms down. (P.S. I did get permission from my brother and sister-in-law to plaster these adorable photos all over my blog!)

This picture raised some eyebrows on Facebook, like, "Hey, look what happened to Dan and me over the weekend!"

This is the father, guys, calm down.

3. Rehearsals for Chess the Musical: Rehearsals are in full force for the latest production. I chose this as a highlight because I get to be in a show with, not only gorgeous music, but some of my favorite people as well. You may remember my "chess experience" blog post from a couple of weeks ago.

4. Shakespeare: Dan and I watched our penultimate Idaho Shakespeare Festival production for the season. It is always sad to have to wait another year for more Shakespeare, but we really enjoyed watching King Lear last weekend.

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

[Don't] Ring My Bell (RE-POST FROM 7/19/13)

Tonight, my husband, Dan, and I spent some time crawling around the living room floor in an attempt to avoid some guy who rang our doorbell. It made me think of this blog post from 2013. 

It's summer, and that means I am more likely to be at home when people come to our door, for one reason or another. Some of you might be thinking, "I don't like solicitors either." But it's not just the solicitors that make my husband and I roll our eyes. It's everyone, even the Girl Scouts.

(NOTE: I am not a Girl Scout hater. I was a Girl Scout. I just don't like answering the door. I buy at least $36 worth of cookies every year from my Girl Scout students at school.)

Dan and I don't just get annoyed. We deny the doorbell even rang.

I have been known to stay in the office or hide silently behind the refrigerator door in the kitchen until the doorbell ringer leaves.

And if the bell rings while Dan and I are in the living room and visible from the the front door, we hit the floor and spend the next five or six minutes hidden behind our couch.

One time, it was a neighbor friend of ours who knocked on the door, without the least intention of selling us anything. Finally, he called my cell phone. I blamed it on the fact that I was listening to my iPod. (I was actually listening to my iPod.)

"You are entitled to not answer your door, I guess," the neighbor said.

The other afternoon, the doorbell rang, and I fell to floor like I was on a black ops mission. I turned off the TV from my prone position. It turned out it was just a package, and the delivery person had left as soon as the bell sounded.

That same day, a guy with a clipboard had knocked on the door earlier, and I was writing in the office. Perhaps, that is why UPS made me a little jumpy.

The clipboard man came back that evening while Dan was washing dishes and I was reading on couch.

At the doorbell, I crouched beneath the sofa. Dan crawled over to me.

"Is he gone?" he whispered. (Later, Dan said he was only crawling around the floor to make fun of me.)

I don't know what is wrong with us (or, probably, mostly me). Maybe we don't like answering the door for the same reason we don't like answering the phone. Leave a brochure, and we will think about our decision to give money to your cause.

Otherwise, we end up with fast food discount cards we never use or $5 "cookie mix" that consists of a bag of flour and Quaker Instant Oats.

"Maybe we should just get a sign that says, 'No Solicitors,' so we don't have to crawl around all the time," Dan suggested the other day.

"Maybe we should just get a sign that says, 'No People in General,'" I said.

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

The Night I Learned to Play Chess

Once upon a time, a kid I used to babysit tried to teach me to play chess. Because he was eight and had the attention span of a Labrador puppy, he just laughed at me when I didn't remember all of the crazy rules.

Fast forward twenty-plus years, I have been cast in a musical called Chess about a Cold War chess tournament between a Russian and an American (Boris Spassky vs. Bobby Fischer, anyone?). My character in the show is the American player's "second," a sort of assistant who researches opponents and helps prepare strategies. And if the first player dies (I guess a chess match can last so long that the game outlives the players), it's up to the second to finish the player's chess commitments.

Disclaimer: I am going to make light of something that I have realized some people take very seriously. I might even simplify some definitions. A while back, I posted a glib Facebook message about two guys playing chess next to me in a coffee shop, and I immediately received how-to-play-chess links and words of caution about orienting the chess board correctly on stage because apparently chess aficionados care a lot about these things.

So . . . no angry e-mails about how I truly don't understand the chess experience.

"I should teach you how to play chess," said (guess who?) none other than my husband, Dan, when I was cast in the role.

He was much more patient than that eight-year-old I babysat.

He taught me terms like en passant, promotion, check, and checkmate, none of which I execute successfully yet. Sometimes though, I yell out "En passant!" mid-game just for fun.

He taught me "white on the right," meaning that the white square should be to the right of the opponent playing the white pieces, and the queen is on its own color for both players. How's that for orientation, friends?

There's also this thing called "castling," and it sounds totally dirty but it's not because . . . well . . . it's chess, and as the American player says at one point in the musical, "I get my kicks above the waistline, Sunshine." (Get it? Chess players are too cerebral to bother with . . . you know what?) But "castling" is my new code word for "sex."

I've also gained a perspective on some of the vocabulary in the musical. I've learned the arbiter is a sort of referee.

When one character refers to a gambit (an opening in which a player makes a sacrifice, typically a pawn, for the sake of some compensating advantage), are we talking about a literal gambit, or are the people the sacrificed pawns in this case?

A chess game is divided into three parts, an opening, middlegame, and endgame. It just so happens that "Endgame" is also the title of a four-part song at the end of the show. It signifies the end of the chess match, but it also serves as a metaphor for the Russian players' psyche when he has to make an ultimate, definitive choice.

I learned how to move each chess piece, which is much more complicated than checkers.

Dan quizzes me before each game on each "character"—Dan: "chess piece"—and how it moves.

Me: "This is the horse"—Dan: "knight"—"and it moves in an L-shape, two squares to one, and it can jump over 'characters'"—Dan: "chess pieces."

Me (after the game): "That was kind of fun."

Dan: "It takes a lot of strategy. I can only think one or two moves ahead."

Me: "I can only think of how to get away from you and, even then, I'm not so successful."

So far, Dan has beaten me every time.

If you are in the Boise area this fall and would like to see Chess the Musical, here are the dates:

September 10-12 at 7:30 pm & September 12 at 1:30 pm

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

How a Couple of Clumsy Incidents Could Be the End

Last year, I published a post about my klutziness, mostly a description of a bunch of stuff I had dropped like it was hot and broken. One thing you might not have known about me, or maybe you have already rightly assumed, is that I'm fairly klutzy with my body as well.

Let me preface this by saying that I am a physically active person. I run regularly on both dirt trails and pavement. I hike and mountain bike (acrophobia be damned). And in the winter, I have been known to do a little cross-country skiing.

But it was after one of my four-and-a-half-mile runs a few weeks ago that I found myself in real danger. I slid and fell into the splits as I was exiting the shower. My foot hit the frame of the shower door, preventing me from completely toppling to the ground, and I ended up with a purple bruise on the arch of my foot for a few days. I thought maybe I could pass it off as a running injury if necessary.

When my husband, Dan, and I go hiking, it's always entertaining (more for him than for me) when I walk over logs.

"Come on, ballerina," Dan will say, reminding me of my fourteen years of classical dance training that doesn't seem to have made a difference in my current ability to balance, as he snaps pictures of me awkwardly stumbling across fallen trunks.

Most of the time, I end up scooting across on my butt.

A few weeks ago, Dan rode his bike home from work in a surprise thunderstorm. That was funny, but I am the one who almost died.

I posted the photo below along with the following story:

Dan, biked home from work in a thunderstorm on Wednesday. I was getting ready to call him and find out if he wanted me to pick him up, but he had already left, right before the storm hit.

The truth is, I was a little delayed in calling him because I ran outside to stand up the watering can that had gotten blown over. (I wanted to catch the rain water.)

When I came back inside, my wet feet slipped out from under me, and I ended up on my butt, stuck underneath the kitchen chair. Hence, I did not get around to calling him as quickly as intended.

One thunderstorm and my whole world becomes very dramatic.

My arms and tailbone ached for a few days after that excitement.

I predict falling off a mountain (one of my biggest fears, by the way) won't be the end of me.

I'll probably just take a spill on the sidewalk, hit my head, and that will be it.

(Oh, wait! I already did that once when I was about seven. Ended up with a slight concussion.)

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

Fear of Heights Strikes Again

I have an issue with heights. Most of you know this already. My husband, Dan, is aware of this as well, but he still tricks me into situations that involve heights from time to time. In fact, Dan lured me into one of these predicaments over July 4th weekend.

"There's this cool waterfall past Trail Creek Summit. It's only a mile hike, and it has wheelchair access. It would be a nice leisurely trail before we head back to Boise. We should go," Dan said from our hotel room in Sun Valley.

Little did I know that "past Trail Creek Summit" meant driving a winding gravel road, over one thousand feet in elevation, with no railings protecting the sides. On the way up, I started to dread our return. I knew I would be the one dangling over the edge of the cliff that I could see out the driver's window as we crept up the mountain.

I was right. Coming back down was horrifying. During the times I dared peek out from between my fingers, it looked as though there was not even a lip of road protecting me from falling into the green and golden depths below.

As we drove down the gravel road, my meltdown started with me covering my eyes.

"Look at how pretty it is though," Dan said.

Pretty soon, my face was buried in my hands.

Dan had a difficult time hiding his amusement.

A few moments later, I turned my body away from the window and started bawling.

By this time, he was a little more sympathetic, "Oh no, Becky, don't cry," but he couldn't completely hide his amused grin.

Cars drove by us in the opposite direction. Each time, Dan had to pull over closer to the edge in order to let them pass us on the narrow road.

Once, we stopped by a group of motorcyclists, who were enjoying the view at one of the scenic overlooks and who didn't look at all bothered by the fact that they could easily stumble into the valley below. They did take a moment to stare at me though, the crazy passenger crying in the 4Runner driving past them.

"Oh no, this is embarrassing!" I moaned through my fingers.

I can't prove how horrendous this experience was because I have no pictures from the actual drive. All of our pictures during that trip were taken on flat land at the waterfall.

Later, Dan told me with a sigh, "I wish we could have stopped and gotten a picture, but that would have really sent you over the edge."

Asking myself, "Is the waterfall worth it?"

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