The Rake Magazine

Instead of giving you the day-by day-reports of Melly in Aspen, here are a few of the highlights.

Swiller decided that we all should get a little high from mother earth, and we did — a super cold, wet, and intense high, care of Blazing Adventures.

After the 45-minute bus ride, in which we made friends with the other adventure seekers, we were dropped off next to a port-a-potty on the side of the road next to the Roaring Fork river.

Brad K — our life line guy if anyone falls overboard, and a cutie pie in an adventuresome kind of way — was very specific about the instructions: "Pee now if you have to because it's two hours in the raft, and I don't want anyone taking a leak in my wetsuits or on my rafts!"

You really get to know people when you are all taking off your clothes, putting on stinky wetsuits (which the Blazing Adventure crew told us were washed the night before, yet still smelled like sour feet), and lining up to use the port-a-potty that had one roll of toilet paper for all 30 of us.

Being the outdoorsy gal that I am... "Screw the instructions; I need some bathroom privacy and a moment to question whether or not I should be participating in a whitewater raft when the river is at the highest it's been in 20 years."

Well, I sat my crack next to the crack part on the raft (Brad's advice and words, not mine) and took my spot right behind Aimée Sedley (Cleveland Mike's wife) with Bobby Swiller at the helm and Missy and my husband on the right. Brad, the sassy adventure guide, was in charge of steering.

Every five seconds it was Swiller telling us to row (even though Brad said not to) with Aimée snapping at Swiller because she actually knew what she was doing and Missy smiling politely while Cleveland Mike was getting soaked and my husband was off on Planet Howard.

After making our way through Barking Dog — almost getting decapitated, thanks to the high waves and large tree in the middle of the river — through Toothache rapid (the name given by all of the people that have lost half their teeth, and I am sure a few Veeners since they're Aspen people after all), and finally ending up at our destination, all I could think of was getting me off the raft. I had three bottles of water that were about to explode out of my wet suit if I didn't get to a bathroom quick.

As I was squeezing myself to hold it, however, Swiller thought it would be funny to have Melly help get the raft and equipment up the hill and over to the bus.

Yes, I made it; and could be wrong about this, but there were a lot of people jumping in the river right after we were done... I'm just sayin', I think I know where the bad smell of the wetsuits comes from.

Taking off the Sleestacks-looking garb in the hot sun felt so good that I didn't even care that my 40-year-old butt was hanging out of my swimsuit for all my new adventure friends to see. I did, however, feel bad about the two huge bins full of snacks —particularly the granola bars — being passed over by those who caught a glimpse of my mushy backside.

"Well, at least I won't be seeing any of these other people again," I thought to myself.

Yeah, well, on the bus ride back I learned that one of my new adventure friends used to live in Minneapolis and was responsible for negotiating one of the biggest business deals my father has had in his career. Terrific. It was time for Melly to cover up quickly and try to act and look halfway respectable.

To check out what happened to the group that went out after us go to "Fast water leads to river rescue," Aspen Daily News, Saturday, June 21, 2008.

After getting settled into the "Swilly Suite" and meeting up with the girls, we all decided that we should check out and meet the other guests at the Hyatt.

A few lobster rolls, sparkling water—and, yes, white wine—later, it was
clear that Aspen was not just going to be any old vacation; it was a place in which I felt (for the first time in a long time) completely comfortable — no BS, just a place where I could wear the PJ's from the outlet (in public), have good food and drinks with people who were (like me) not trying to impress anyone, and most important, learn to "vacation" and trust good friends again.

The first night was nothing short of amazing: great food, a lot of (inside) Jewish jokes on the left bed, and sleep on the right bed.

Day 1 begins.

When my husband and I were asked to go on vacation to Colorado as a guest of our good friends the Swillers, how could we say no?

Last week was filled with good memories and a lot of REALITY. After landing in Denver with the guys, we still had a three hour drive to Aspen ahead of us. Swiller was the designated driver of the upgraded rental car, an Escalade. I guess Swilly figured that, since I (the JAPrincess of the bunch) was on board, it would be important to have a vehicle that gave me and the guys some room.

We all were getting along great until Cleveland Mike said, "Hey, there's an outlet store over there." Big mistake, Mike, to tell the one chick on board that there was a shopping mall calling her name — especially when the clothes she was wearing were binding and uncomfortable. "I promise you guys that I only need five minutes at the Polo Outlet Store."

Forty-two minutes later I was running around some random downtown area in Colorado looking for the Escalade with my JAPrinces. When I finally found them, I got "the look" of complete disgust. "What the hell happened to the five minutes? And your cell phone keeps ringing!"

"Sorry, guys, but the customer service (men and woman) were a little bit confused by my presence and rotating wardrobe."

Back in the car, I in my newly purchased Car Clothes, we resumed our journey to Aspen, Colorado. Bobby Swiller, who I have known since I was a very little Melly, was the perfect driver and information guy. Everything I needed to know about Colorado, from the minute we landed in Denver until the time we pulled up to Aspen, Bobby knew.

It was the perfect long drive, except for the two-and-a-half mile Eisenhower tunnel, where I tried to hold my breath and make wishes without passing out. FYI: two of the three wishes came through on my trip. The family is happy and healthy. (Yea, yea... don't share your wishes. But at this point, too late.)

We arrived at our home away from home, the Grand Hyatt in downtown Aspen (guests of Bobby and Missy Swiller). The accommodations were perfect. Howard and I had our own room with two queen sized beds (you do the math on that deal) and a bathroom with products by Portico Spa. The first thing I did was jump into a bath filled with Eucalyptus essential oils and drown out the smell of Cleveland Mike, Swilly Willy, and Howie Hankie. I felt like such a guy that it felt good to see the girls after my bath. We were all together with our significant others and on our way to a fun-filled five days of Aspen, Colorado. Part two comes tomorrow.

—Melly

This painting — a wedding present from my parents — was done by an artist who met me and Howard only two times at my parent's home. I would love to give the artist credit, but after he painted several originals for my family... well... Lets just say that he's not the most honest business man.

How do I tell at this point in my life if someone or something is real or not? How do I distinguish what is Counterfeit?

I use the only tool I have that doesn't cost $$$$$$ — my instincts.

On so many occasions I should have put my foot down, like I did for this photo yesterday.

But I caved to my vulnerable side, wanting everyone that I love and care about to have the same advantages I have.

My heart has been in the right place since I was but a little Melly — except when I've placed it in the hands of Counterfeit people, who are nothing short of hurtful and dangerous.

It is perhaps a characteristic of humanity to feel sad when someone we see is hurting, and to feel frustrated when we don't get our way; but the worst part of being human is the jealousy we feel when someone has something that we don't have.

I have been there myself at times, I suppose; but in truth, I don't have green blood running through my veins. I have red blood that bleeds through my skin when it's cut.

Yesterday was one of those days that I wish I could bottle and sell. First, I shared a delicious lunch at Red Stag in Northeast Minneapolis, with people that I like, admire, and respect. (Sharing a nice meal with people with whom you can be yourself is one of life's greatest pleasures!)

After lunch, I caught up on the phone with some good friends who I know have my back.

And then I went shoe shopping with my son and daughter, giving them the freedom to buy shoes that THEY feel comfortable in — at the Foursome in Wayzata. They were, unfortunately, unsuccessful; but I got some great deals on Uggs, Cole Haan's, Merrell's, and shoes that make you feel like you're floating on air—AQUATALIAS.

Finally, after a great lunch, great conversation with authentic people, and great shoe shopping with my children (resulting in shoes I can actually walk in), my daughter and I picked up a special treat from Byerly's, so that when my husband and son got home late last night, we all had a chocolate pie party.

Late last night and into the early morning hours it was hard for me to let go of a most comforting and comfortable day. This was one of the most relaxed and content days I have had since I was that little Melly wanting to give the people I love and care about the advantages that I had. You can't counterfeit that!

I went to sleep in one of my husband's cotton T-Shirts, still wearing Jewelry (well worth the investment), and slept blissfully for four straight hours — making it really difficult to wake up this morning and start a new and realistic day.

A tip for those of you who think that knock offs are just as good as the real deal: When I was a kid, I was told that if you don't have the money to pay for something in cash, it's best you don't purchase it at all. The same lesson goes for life. If you are Not the real deal and you try to wrap yourself in a Tiffany Box (with nothing inside), you too will be exposed.

I used to think that having POWER meant a better night's rest and less worrying. I was again Wrong.

In MY life I get to see a lot of things that most people don't get to see. And there are times when I am so grateful for that window of lights, cameras, action — and other times when I am just at a loss for words.

Yesterday, I wanted my daughter to see something to which I have been privy much of my life — a dignitary parade of sorts — and get her perspective. Oh, I got it all right, but not what a Mom wants to hear from her teenage child who, like her mom, has seen too much — The Truth.

As we sat outside, watching town cars round the bend, my daughter fell silent, stunned by the production, by the number of people it takes to transport one dignitary to a private event, and by the way any resident's needs or comfort falls to the wayside in these circumstances. What happens to a man when he no longer has his caravan? And what of the seemingly wasted man hours? — so many people just standing around.

I spent many years chasing stories in the same way that everybody else in the media does — trying to make sure I was asking the questions that the viewers wanted answers to. Now that line between asking the wrong and right questions — and taking a story too far — have become even more blurred. This is my life. And I have people to protect, just like the dozens of agents standing around.

I am a human being, right? And I eat, work, and use the restroom like everyone else, right? So what is the difference between me and, say, the Secret Service, the State Trooper, and the cop who makes a living protecting what the public should know and not know?

What makes me different from these people is that They, as PUBLIC SERVANTS, pay a hell of a price for their Jobs. Imagine waking up in the morning, saying goodbye to a family that you love and protect, leaving your home, and saying hello to people you are PAID to protect — only, instead of a hug or kiss you get complaint after complaint after complaint.

Yesterday, the story wasn't inside, with the dignitaries (where the cameras would be, if only "they" knew), it was just outside, where I was standing. It was in the herds of people Paid to Protect.

As Melinda Jacobs from "Action News" discovered, these people are nothing short of Heroes. Despite having to spend their day in idleness, they were wonderful and kind ALL day, hour after hour. (Only one Female State Trooper gave me "the look" on property that is rightfully mine.) And I could do nothing but be nice back.

"We finally got some nice weather today."
"I am going to get some coffee. Would you like some?"
"Are you hot? Because I would be happy to run and get you some water."

That is all that I could do with MY Power, but with Their Power they looked me in the eye with a nice smile and gave me that extra feeling of security that comes from being in the hands of people we as taxpayers are LUCKY as HELL to employ. This truly makes me glad that the harder I work, and the more money I make, the more money goes to a workforce of people that Deserve to wear their badges proudly, turn on their sirens, go through stop signs (because they Have to), and put on a uniform that carries the power of life or death.

If only more of my tax dollars went to the workforce that serves and protects, and less to the ones that abuse freedom... Oh, I would sleep so much better.

To the Republican Party: I have evidence that I will protect in a safe place.
To the Democratic Party: I have evidence that I will protect in a safe place.
To the Independent Party: I have evidence that I will protect in a safe place.
To those who are undecided: While you fight it out I will be at Dairy Queen having a turtle sundae.

COPS ARE MY ROCK STARS!