This year I was looking forward to the Midwest Clinic more than usual because Teacher promised to take me to Frontera Grill – a restaurant owned by Rick Bayless, a Mexican food god.

We were hoping to go Thursday night, but when we talked to the concierge we discovered that Frontera doesn’t take reservations, and the wait was three hours.

Three hours is a long time to wait when you’re hungry.

Next to Frontera is one of Rick’s other restaurants, Topolobampo. Topo does take reservations but was all booked up for Thursday. Friday there were openings at 7:30 and 9:00, but almost as soon as the concierge had told us that, the 7:30 reservation was snapped up by someone else.

“We’ll take the 9:00 one!” Teacher quickly told the concierge. I was both excited and nervous, hoping Topo wouldn’t be as expensive as it sounded.

Topolobampo and Frontera Grill share one entrance, with a hostess counter and waiting area in Frontera. Off to one side of the waiting area is a display of Frontera food products, T-shirts, and Rick Bayless cookbooks for sale. Teacher looked over the goodies while I just sat and inhaled: the aroma of freshly baked corn tortillas and Mexican spices wafting through the air was simply incredible. My mouth started watering and my stomach growled – loudly. Luckily no-one else was near enough to hear it, or I would have died of embarrassment.

When our table was ready we followed the Maître d’ to our table. He reminded me of Alfred from the 1960’s Batman series: white-haired, tall, thin, and extremely dignified.

If you’re too young to remember the 1960s Batman, this is Alfred.

We followed “Alfred” from from the colorful and festive Frontera to the restrained elegance of Topolobampo. I concentrated on not tripping on my own feet or gaping at the surroundings like a backwoods Wisconsin hick. I’ve been in nice restaurants before, but Topolobampo is the nicest I’ve been in – so far.

Entering Topo was like walking through a wall of cotton – sound died behind you as you passed between the wall-to-ceiling shelves that divided the hallway from the dining room. White-clothed tables filled with well-dressed diners stood in two columns near the walls and glowing candles were everywhere. We were seated at a table very near the kitchen – close enough that I could peek into the kitchen through the gap in the curtains.

As we were nibbling cucumbers and jicama with guacamole and sipping our margaritas, Teacher suddenly leaned over to me and said in a low voice “Is that him over there?” he asked, indicating the corner booth on his right.

“Him who?” I don’t always catch on quickly – especially when I’m focused on guacamole and tequila.

“Him – Rick Bayless”

I looked closely at the man in the booth… thin, light brown hair, beard, glasses, wearing a baseball shirt. He was listening intently to the person across from him.

“I don’t know… maybe…” it was hard to tell. I kept watching furtively over Teacher’s shoulder. Suddenly the man laughed and looking at the familiar smile I knew without a doubt.

“Yes! It’s him!” I hissed. Teacher turned his head to peek over his right shoulder. It WAS Rick Bayless! We were star struck.

I wanted to rush over to the table and beg for a photo of him and Teacher together, but he seemed to be with his family and I didn’t want to intrude. Besides that, no-one else else in the restaurant seemed to notice he was there, and I had been raised to never make a scene in public. I settled for keeping a close eye on the corner table, waiting and watching. If another fan made the first move I was ready to spring out of my chair and be second in line for whatever they were getting!

“Look at that – he’s signing a book for someone” Teacher pointed out. Ah-ha – someone else knew that Rick Bayless was in the house. And… my mind connected the dots… if he’s signing a book for someone else maybe he’d sign one for us too!

“I wonder if he’d sign a book for you?” I suggested to Teacher.

He shook his head, “I couldn’t ask him to do that” he said.

Teacher never ask for things for himself, but I knew how much a signed copy of Rick Bayless’s cookbook would mean to him. The next time our server stopped by I smiled up at him, “Would Mr. Bayless autograph one of the cookbooks that are up front for me?” I asked. I seriously considered fluttering my eyelashes for good measure but decided it would be overkill.

“I ask my manager.” he accented and ducked into the kitchen.

Time passed and I watched our server pass in and out of the kitchen without a glance at our table. I was beginning to wonder if my request had been blown off when a woman in a black pantsuit stopped at our table. “I understand you’d like an autographed book?” she asked.

I nodded as she went on, “All the cookbooks up front are already signed, but I can ask him to personalize it for you. What’s your name, and which book would you like?”

I was so excited I could hardly form a coherent sentence. “We’d like ‘Mexico One Plate at a Time’ please. I’m Amy, but could you have Mr. Bayless make it out to my husband? It’s a Christmas present… shhh, don’t tell!” I joked, covering Teacher’s ears. Teacher made an innocent face as the manager laughed and walked toward the front of the restaurant.

I kept sneaking peeks at Rick. “I wish I could get a picture”

“Do you have your camera?” Teacher asked. When I nodded he held out his hand.

Feeling like a kid about to steal from the cookie jar I sneaked my camera out of my purse under cover of the tablecloth. Checking to make sure the flash was off I handed it to Teacher under the table. We held our breath as he put the camera on his lap, angled it at the corner table, and pressed the button. He hurriedly made sure the photo worked out and had just handed the camera back to me when our server came by to refill our water glasses. Close call, but we had the goods!

I admit it’s not the greatest photo ever, but considering the circumstances I think it’s pretty fantastic. Here’s proof that we were within spitting distance of Rick Bayless!

As our heart rate returned to normal I noticed the manager approaching Rick’s table with a book. Look hon, he’s signing your book now! Rude or not, I couldn’t take my eyes off Rick as he signed Teacher’s book.

Shortly after we had finished dessert the manager brought the signed book to me with a smile. “Thank you so much!” I gushed at her, opening the book to see the autograph. “It’s perfect!”

I’ve given Teacher many Christmas presents over the years, but this is definitely one of the most special. Not because of the great meals he’s made from it, or even just because of the autograph, but because of the special memories that go along with it. Merry Christmas, my Love!

Act TWO

I searched for a solution online, trying everything on the Dell support site and combing forums for answers before finally giving up and contacting Dell Support. Despite an extensive list of possible solutions, there was only one thing I hadn’t tried. I tried it, but the poltergeist wouldn’t leave. “Zha-zha-zhee! zha-zha-zhee! zha-zha-zhee!” There was nothing else I could do – my new laptop had to go back to Dell for repairs. Nooooooooooo! I just GOT it, and now it’s going to be gone for TEN business days?! That’s like TWO WEEKS real time! Waaaaaaahhhhh!! I didn’t take the news well.

Sadly I packed up my new laptop, my PURPLE laptop, and sent it back to Dell to get a new optical drive. After waiting patiently for two gazillion years, and commandeering Teacher’s machine the minute his back was turned, my new laptop came back home again. Carefully I unpacked it and started it up… no weird sounds. I gingerly put a CD in the drive. No weird sounds! I pressed the Eject button… and the disk popped back out. My laptop was cured – hooray!!

Life was good in technology-land, until… the very next day. Out of the blue the optical drive started trying to spit out a CD that wasn’t in there. “zha-zha-zhee! zha-zha-zhee! zha-zha-zhee! zha-zha-zhee!” My heart sunk. There was NO way I was keeping a computer that had the same problem TWICE within a week of being in my possession. “zha-zha-zhee! zha-zha-zhee!”

I tried the old “shut-down-start-up” trick a couple of times, but it didn’t help. I tried to put a CD in, but it wouldn’t go. Teacher tried to force one in, but it only got halfway and came back out all scratched up. Fortunately it was a blank one

Wondering if maybe Little Guy put a CD in the drive when I wasn’t looking, I asked him if he put anything in mama’s computer. He nodded his head. “What did you put in mama’s computer?” I asked “A Backagaengked Coweg” he answered. “A what?” I asked again. No answer. “What did you say, Honey?” Silence. “Sweetie – look at mama; did you put something in mama’s computer?” He shook his head and ran into the other room. Frustrated, I shut the computer down and tried not to think about it.

Several hours later I instinctively reached for my laptop to check my email, and remembered that it was acting up again. In frustration, desperation, and figuring that it was broken anyway, I… umm… plead the Fifth since the laptop is still under warranty… then started the laptop up. Nothing but blessed silence. Had I fixed it??? Holding my breath I inserted a CD…. it went in. Still holding my breath I touched the Eject button… nothing. Dammit, the stupid laptop ate another CD. Wait! A second later the CD popped out. All-righty – CD in, CD out, and no more freaky noises. I’m not going to complain about the delay, it could be worse.

That afternoon Teacher came home and immediately noticed that my laptop was quiet. “How did you get it to stop?” he asked. As I was explaining what I’d done with the nevermind and hoping he wouldn’t yell at me for it, he bent over to look into the optical drive. I watched in amazement as he reached over and delicately pulled something out – a cloud-shaped flap from a Backyardigans book! The “Backagaengked Coweg” Little Guy had told me about!

All’s well that ends well, right? Since then my PURPLE laptop has been working perfectly, and although Little Guy was sternly told to NEVER, EVER put anything in mama’s computer again, he’s none the worse for wear. Me? I’ve learned to listen more carefully to him when he tells me things – and next time get a laptop with a more accessible optical drive.

Moms will do anything to keep their kids safe – ANYTHING! I discovered how strong this instinct is one night when three-year-old College Boy started screaming in his bath.

College Boy was a wonderful little boy, smart and happy-go-lucky… I’m not exactly sure what that means, but I like the sound of it. He wasn’t one to see monsters under the bed or to be afraid of new places or things.

When he was three we lived in a small two-bedroom apartment that had the bathroom basically in the middle. I could easily hear College Boy playing in his bath from anywhere in the apartment so I often put him in the tub and listened while I worked. One night while he was taking a bath I was listening to him from the living room when suddenly he started screaming hysterically Mommy! Moooommmyyy!! Mmmmoooommmmyyyy!!! There was screaming and crying and splashing and more screaming and more crying.

I flew across the living room and into the bathroom so quickly that I barely remember moving; suddenly I was standing at the bathroom door. I looked around frantically for blood, guts, whatever it was that was hurting my baby.

College Boy was standing in the tub, tears streaking down his face, his eyes wild and his hands stretched toward me. Taking two quick steps into the bathroom I reached my hands out to him, anxious to take whatever it was that was hurting him. Give it to Mommy! I held out my hands for… a pile of poop! Eeeeeewwwwwww!! My firstborn had just started potty training and pooping in the tub scared the heck out of him.

I stood in the middle of the bathroom staring at a handful of poop; grossed out but glad that my baby was OK. I flushed the poop, obsessively washed my hands, then drained and scrubbed the tub. After a good scrub-down in a fresh bath and some cozy jammies, College Boy and I settled in the rocker to read books before bed.

He was none the worse for wear. I learned to take a second to look before holding out my hands.

Teacher and I met 21 years ago today, and in honor of the occasion I thought I’d tell the story. Sit back, grab a bowl of popcorn and enjoy!

It was Friday, October 24, 1986, and I was a freshman at Valparaiso University in Indiana. I was four hours away from my hometown in Wisconsin, on my own for the first time in my life and reveling in the freedom. Freedom to go where I wanted when I wanted, to eat what I wanted and not have to do the dishes, to use four-letter words, to stay up late without a curfew, to have a drink away from my parents’ watchful eyes… Not that my parents were overly strict, but they had certain expectations of their children and since I was the oldest they made me stick to the rules. My younger brother was allowed to do pretty much whatever he wanted, but that’s a different story…

My first week at “Valpo” was jam-packed with parties, dances, comedy shows, and other events to welcome the freshmen to campus and the upperclassmen back to school. There was at least one party or dance going on every night; many nights my friends and I visited several parties before falling into bed at the wee hours of the morning. Once classes started the parties moved to the weekends, but there was still plenty of them.

On this particular night my fellow music-major friends and I planned to check out the music fraternity – Phi Mu Alpha. The guys were performing a short concert in the small chapel then hosting a wine and cheese reception at their fraternity house. I love listening to men sing, but was more excited about the party afterward and the chance to meet new guys. I’d had a serious boyfriend for the past year and a half, but he was hours away at college in Iowa. I wasn’t looking for a date, but I wasn’t going to turn down the chance either.

I dressed in one of my favorite outfits: purple scoop-necked sweater with silver threads, pleated grey cords that tapered at the ankles, and saddle shoes. I slid about a hundred bangle bracelets on my arms and added large silver hoop earrings to match. Hey, this was the 80’s, remember? After damaging the ozone layer with a ton of hairspray and glossing my lips I took off to meet my friends.

We snagged seats near the back, I was the last on in so I had a great view of the stage area. During the concert I scanned the guys’ faces; looking for ones that were cute and ones that weren’t so I’d know who to try to meet later and who to avoid. At the end of the concert the fraternity president invited everyone to the frat house for a “wine and cheese reception.” I was impressed, thinking that these guys had more class than the other fraternities I’d been to. Little did I know – when we arrived at the frat house it turned out to be wine-in-a-box and processed cheese. But hey, they tried more than other frats.

I filled my plastic cup with wine, moved near a wall by my friend Gretchen, and scanned the crowded dining room. Sipping the wine I felt a thrill of forbidden pleasure – I had never gone drinking in High School; the only alcohol I’d had besides communion wine was at special holiday dinners with the family.

Over the din my ear caught the sound of male laughter and I looked around the room to see where it came from. Through a break in the crowd I spied the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen in my life! He had dark brown eyes with incredibly long eyelashes, tousled brown hair and a face that was rugged enough to be manly, but not too chisled. Broad shoulders and a solid chest filled a navy t-shirt, and worn jeans covered one of the cutest tushes ever. (Sorry if this is TMI for family members, but it’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.) One finger sported a shell ring and the opposite arm wore a cuff of thick braided rope – the kind that tightens when it get wet so you have to cut it off. My breath caught in my throat and I choked on the wine I’d been swallowing. “He’s really cute” Gretchen said, staring at the guy I’d just been drooling over. “Yeah” I stammered, hoping she wouldn’t call dibs. While I was figuring out how to approach him another guy came up, said something to the gorgeous one, and they both left the dining room.

This is where a romance novel heroine would have made up a reason to follow the hero and throw herself at his feet. I would like to say that I followed him and finessed an introduction, but that would be a lie. I’m here to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. What really happened was that I stayed where I was. With Gretchen. By the wall. Sipping wine-in-a-box and nibbling processed cheese.

After meeting just about every member of the fraternity except the one I was looking for, I saw him later that night. I was talking to a fellow freshman music student in a little alcove that connected the dining room, bathroom, and two studies. Brad was kind of cute and I would have gone out with him if he’d asked, but at the time he was looking for advice about another girl. There wasn’t much chance of an invite from him. “Excuse me…” said a male voice as someone carrying stereo equipment brushed past us. My eyes widened and my heart went pitty-pat – it was the gorgeous one! I watched him walk away for as long as I could without obviously leaning and craning my neck while making “uh huh” noises to Brad who was still talking. “Excuse me again…” the gorgeous stranger walked back into the study to pick up more equipment. He went past us several times; each time I watched him from the corners of my eyes, Brad almost forgotten. Suddenly he stopped in front of us and I stopped breathing.

“I don’t know you, who the hell are you?” he asked with a cocky grin. “Uhhhh…” I stammered, looking into his brown eyes. Oh gosh he’s right here looking at me. Say your name, stupid, say your name! “Ummm…” Brad came to my rescue and introduced us. It turned out that Brad was his fraternity “little brother” so the three of us chatted a little longer. Eventually Brad left to find his girl and I was alone with my heartthrob. He looked at me and I almost drowned in his eyes. He was a little taller than me, but not so tall that I’d have to crane my neck to kiss him. Kiss him? Why was I thinking that? I just met him, I have a boyfriend, he probably has a girlfriend…

“Want a tour of the house?” he asked.

To be continued…