She has friends who jump into the shower and help her wash herself and shampoo her hair. Friends who bring flowers and feed her and help her go to the toilet and laugh with her as they fight back the urge to burst into tears.
The friends have become foot soldiers in Randee's fight against a disease that kills half of its victims within three years of diagnosis.
When Randee was diagnosed in July 2000 with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS, often referred to as Lou Gehrig's disease, her family and friends immediately offered a lot more than their sympathy.
Randee, 41, had had symptoms for a year: unexplained arm twitches, a fall in her bathroom, overall clumsiness. It was hardly what people expected from this graceful, athletic dancer who had a loyal following at the studios where she taught.
She had quit her two jobs teaching dance and aerobic classes at El Gancho and Studio East, thinking she needed a break. A series of doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong. Then Randee's husband, Mark, vividly remembers a Denver neurologist telling the couple she had ALS. The doctor said Randee would have been better off if she had an inoperable brain tumor. The news sent ripples of shock through Randee's immense network of friends.
And it did something else. It galvanized them into action.
Friends at Studio East set up a sign-up sheet for people who were willing to bring food to Randee's family, which includes sons Wyatt, 16, Shay, 13, and Sam, 8. Randee was slowly losing her ability to walk and talk as the disease, which ultimately kills nerve cells, progressed. That led to Randee's and Mark's mothers taking turns feeding her in the mornings.
Still, as the disease progressed, people kept asking what else they could do. Mark read the book Share the Care, which describes how friends can organize to help care for someone, and then this past summer, he consulted longtime friend Kathy Waters.
Kathy and Patti Bott, both of whom danced and worked with Randee at Studio East, gathered 35 friends - people Randee knew from her kids' schools, fellow dancers and clients, and family members - for a meeting in September.
Randee's Rangers grew out of that meeting. Kathy and friends wanted to keep their assistance as light-hearted as possible, so they dreamed up clever titles for the helpers. The largest group by far is the Food Fairies, who bring dinner to Randee's family practically every day of the year.
There are also the Giggling Girlfriends and the Audacious Angels, who feed her, wipe her mouth or accompany her on outings. Morning Maidens prepare and feed Randee breakfast before the Vivacious Valets arrive to shower and dress her.
"The most important thing is to give Randee the ability to run her house and be mom. That's the whole purpose, to give her control," Kathy said.
Kathy, like most of Randee's friends, never thought about why she was taking on such an important role in Randee's life. "That's what friends do," she said.
It was important to Randee for everyone to contribute the way they wished, and she wanted her friends to get something in return for helping her. At the meeting, she told people, "I am so grateful to have all of you in my life. I have learned so much from all of you. I respect your fear and questions. Please don't hesitate to ask. We will all be more comfortable."
That day, Randee communicated with her friends with a computer that talks for her. Her disease had progressed far enough that she could no longer speak. Today, she guides the computer by aiming a tiny dot on her forehead toward the letter or phrase she wants to type. A camera mounted on the computer senses the dot, which reflects light.
The nature of her disease frightened some. At times, she sounds like she's choking because she can't get rid of phlegm in her mouth. Often, her body stiffens as her legs cramp and shake.
"It's been beautiful to watch people overcome their fears," Kathy said.
Each Ranger shares her strengths with the family, whether she makes Randee laugh or talks with her or runs errands or helps Sam with his homework. Some, like Kathy and Patti, help Randee carry on with life. They always arrive at her house armed with potato chips and gossip. And Randee still helps them choreograph aerobic dances by prompting them with her computer.
Most of these friends had no idea how crippling ALS was until Randee was diagnosed with it. They might have heard about Stephen Hawking, the famous physicist who is one of the rare ones to live more than 20 years with the disease. Or they vaguely knew about Lou Gehrig, the Yankee baseball player who died of ALS.
But suddenly this disease has become a big part of their lives, leading them to face demons and develop strengths, to share their time and love with a friend they say would do the same for them.
Ann Brunson, otherwise known as Decorating Darling, arrives with three red poinsettias in hand and a booming Southern voice that carries through the spacious home Randee designed. Leslie Shipman, Mark's older sister, is feeding Randee Chai tea and fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies and teasing her about her sweet tooth.
"She has to think about how to eat, where her tongue is, and it takes so much effort," Leslie said. "She's burning energy the entire time, so she constantly needs more."
Randee's weight, about 95 pounds, is a sensitive topic. People with ALS have a hard time maintaining weight because the muscles used to swallow become weak. Randee tries to joke about it, prompting the computer to type, "I'm a skeleton."
Cynthia and Ed Rector drop by with posole for dinner. They aren't that night's usual Food Fairies, but Kathy Waters has organized the Ranger list so efficiently, there are substitutes for every task.
Ann putters around the living room, placing greenery as she playfully sings, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas." Randee's face shines as she smiles and watches her friend transform the window-filled home into Christmastime. It's the third year Ann, an interior decorator, has contributed her decorating skills to Randee's house.
"This is my thing. You don't want my cooking," Ann says with a delightful laugh.
The house is full of rambunctious blondes, as usual on Friday afternoons. Ann Bodelson Brown, the official "Fetcher of Sam" and the mother of six children, has picked up Randee's 8-year-old son from Wood Gormley Elementary, and she's back at Randee's, feeding her salmon and a brownie. This Ann is married to Mark's brother and business partner, Merritt.
Sam and Ann Bodelson Brown's son, 7-year-old Soren, are running around when Soren's 14-year-old brother, Jensen, asks Randee whether they can cut a snorkeling tube to make a scope for a gun.
Randee looks at him and then looks in the direction of Sam. Jensen thinks for a moment, then says, "Ask Sam?" Randee indicates, "Yes," with her eyes and by slightly tilting her head. She doesn't have much control over her neck, so she mainly communicates with her expressive eyes. Her friends and family have learned how to read her face.
Ann Bodelson Brown and her sister, Susan Fishback, laugh about playing make-believe games with their brothers when they were all youngsters and being forced to be the injured person or the scout who got killed first. Randee laughs so hard she starts choking, and some of her brownie seeps out of the corner of her mouth.
Later, the sisters lift Randee to a massage table. Susan taps on Randee's ankles, practicing moves that Randee's physical therapist taught her. Randee needs therapy a few times a week to remind her muscles how to move. Randee groans and grimaces when they try to move her legs, which hurt from being in the same position all day.
In the back yard, Eric Fishback, Susan's son, practices using the high-powered wheelchair that most of Randee's friends say has a mind of its own. Eric proudly knocks on the window to show his mom how well he can maneuver it.
Nothing stops Randee from being as adventurous and active as she can be. Susan Smith and Robin Gavin, Audacious Angels on Wednesday afternoons, took Randee swimming every week at El Gancho this summer. Since her diagnosis, she's also been horseback riding, adaptive skiing and whitewater rafting, and taken trips to Cancún, St. Martin, Jamaica and California.
And she's more organized and efficient than most people, with her Christmas gifts stowed away in her bedroom closet weeks before, thanks to Dodie Ellis and Dawn Schackel, her Wednesday-morning angels. They showed her various items and waited for her eyes to indicate yes or her nose to wrinkle, meaning no.
Randee's friends laugh over stories of trying to haul her around town. Susan Smith and Robin almost pushed Randee out the other side of the car once when they energetically boosted her into the vehicle.
"She doesn't act like an invalid, and she's willing to put up with whatever we do," Robin says. "Luckily, she has a great sense of humor."
Laughter is a constant in Randee's home. Dodie jokes she can't feed Randee because the two of them laugh so much, none of the food stays in Randee's mouth.
They also say it would be easy to burst into tears if they thought about why they were now her caretakers.
"I think we so deal in the now that when we're there, it teaches you to really enjoy that time," Kathy says. "I think we all look at Randee's courage and her ability to stay happy, and I think we feed off that."
One fall afternoon, Mark yells from the sidelines, encouraging Wyatt and other St. Michael's soccer-team members in a game against Santa Fe Prep. The day started out sunny, but clouds crept in, and Mark bundles Randee under friends' coats in case it rains.
As Randee watches the game, Casey Clendenin, a new Ranger who is learning how to shower and dress her friend on Sundays, pulls out a bag of hair goodies she has bought. She shows Randee each item, declaring how cute her long, brown hair will look. "Now this is one for two pony tails. Wouldn't that be a hoot?" she asks Randee.
Randee smiles an open, sweet smile that her friends have come to understand is her way of expressing happiness or gratitude, her way of saying yes, of appreciating moments and sharing in the conversation.
When the crowd erupts after a goal is made for St. Michael's, Randee silently cheers from her chair, the smile stretched bigger.
At another outing, Patricia Brewer, another of Ann Bodelson Brown's sisters, keeps up an ongoing commentary about the kids racing across the ice at Genoveva Chavez Community Center. Randee, sitting in a portable wheelchair that can be folded when it is transported, is as close to the ice as she can get.
She soaks up the kids' energy, watching Sam slide across the ice and her sister-in-law support her 4-year-old daughter, Greta, as she moves around the rink in her first effort to skate.
They return home to decorate Randee's Christmas tree, even though 26 members of the Brown family will be in Hawaii for a family vacation this Christmas. Randee watches the kids search for their favorite ornaments, visibly tired from being carted in and out of the car.
Before Randee became sick, she and her sister-in-law led busy, parallel lives, watching their children growing up, supporting their husbands in their development/construction company, SF Brown Inc., and working part-time jobs, Ann at Nedra Matteucci Gallery and Randee at the dance studios.
"All of us and my kids embrace this horrible disease because it's affected someone you love," Ann Bodelson Brown said. "You make room for this in your life. You let it in and embrace it. You may not get home and cook dinner on time, but it's all part of embracing, accepting and conquering it."
One Friday afternoon, the kids tore apart the living room designing a fort, which included Randee's wheelchair as part of one wall. The kids sat there giggling in the dark. "That's part of a mom enjoying the afternoon with her kids," Ann Bodelson Brown said. "It was life. I don't think of the disease first. She's another soul out there like me trying to guide our families."
Growing up with nine brothers and sisters, Ann Bodelson Brown learned the value of giving and getting in return. But she credits Mark and Randee with being the reason she devotes so much time to Randee.
"You feel good about being around certain people," she said. "And Randee inspires you to give as much as you can and makes you want to be as strong as she is."
Randee has always thought of others first, so it made sense to Leslie Shipman that so many people are lending a hand. "It's the ultimate what-comes-around goes around," she said.
Mark and Randee met when they were University of New Mexico students. Mark's buddies pointed out the cute aerobic instructor teaching near the gym where they were working out. The couple will celebrate their 19th wedding anniversary Dec. 30.
Mark might sometimes complain about a lack of privacy - his house is never empty. But he knows what these women mean to Randee, and he knows he couldn't take care of her without them.
"I knew I could always count on my family because I have a strong family," he said. "It's surprised me that friends can do so much, but it's not surprised me that they'll do it for Randee."