Seeing the forest among the trees of writing

I developed this blog four years ago to rekindle a writing life. Writing is something innate to me. Though I don't consider myself an entrepreneur, constructing my own newspaper as a second grader came naturally to my existence, a fire fed for most of my life. The name of that newspaper was The Madhouse Gazette (sounds like a name created by second grader, right?).

The second plant of The Madhouse Gazette served two purposes. First, it provided me a place to sort out ideas not spoken from a pulpit or written in a newsletter. Occasionally I whittled an idea from a rough thought eventually carved into a sermon, but the blog turned into a place among the trees for me to rebuild a love for writing.

The second purpose sprouted after a vocational shift involving a move from pastoral work to parenting. I found myself missing the frequent theological wranglings among the work of diapers, naps, tight grocery budgets, and other topics for a home economist. The blog became my theological discourse in addition to my reflections of living as (mostly) stay at home Dad. The New Calvinists are shuddering somewhere...

My life has changed once again, and I now serve in a congregation that values my writing and me as a person. I live more as my true self in this congregation than any other I have known. Writing and ministry have an oak-like quality. Rooted, solid, branching out in interesting patterns and directions. Madhouse Gazette served a good purpose for four years, but the time has come for the blog to lay dormant--not to merely think about it, but write it down. Madhouse Gazette is going into hibernation, in a wooded cave. Maybe the dormancy will last a few weeks, months or years. I don't know.

I do not share my identity on this blog. Not that anyone cares, and not that it's too hard to figure out. It was a way to share my thoughts. If you want a more public side of my life and more regular writing, you can check me out at my other blog, your average pastor. The writing is more theologically oriented, without prominent references to pop culture or my children. I miss writing about those things, but this became more challenging in my crazy commute. I spend around 8-16 hours in the car per week--and my time in front of my desk top computers is limited. Regularly blogging on Madhouse Gazette is one aspect of my life that is pruned.

Something may grow stronger in the months ahead, especially if I can lay my hands on an iPad without going into debt.

Valentine Spider Attacks!

Above you will find a picture of the rare Pacific Northwest Valentine Spider. Only to be found near the southern waters of the Salish Sea, this spider can camouflage itself by hiding in blond-haired little girls. They must be removed by knife or scissor.

I don't think it matters that I never enrolled in one of those "Daddy learning daughter hair care" classes--there wasn't much that could have been done about this little trick. I can't seem to get hair care right for my daughters. I hope they're able to at least work with their mother. They're particularly strong willed about their hair. They'll probably end up doing something I find strange--but I guess it's their hair. Daughter #2 liked this PNW Valentine Spider in her hair. Her mother eventually removed it with a scissor.

Fascinated by their play

When we discovered Daughter #1's challenges around the age of three, one thing we noticed after reflection and meeting with the doctors is how much she struggled with pretend play. Most of her play involved physical play with others, stacking, carrying around piles of toys, and scripting (repeating large chunks of dialogue) movies or television shows. She enjoyed art projects of all kinds, so we figured she would be an artist. Sometimes it was hard to watch.

In the past few years, she has been able to do a lot more pretend play. This is a good thing--pretend play is not only a path to greater brain development, but also a benchmark for brain development. The challenge to this path was the pretend play was by herself. For the most part Daughter #1 has played alongside kids and struggled to maintain a conversation.

Our daughters are best friends. Daughter #2 has been the greatest gift imaginable to her older sister. For the past several weeks, the girls have played WITH each other for hours upon hours. Sometimes for 2-3 hour stretches, with a minimal amount of tears. Their favorite activity is playing doctor and hospital. Daughter #1 should be doing a lot of things. She should be doing extra activity for speech therapy, homework, reading, etc. I can't stop these kids from playing to do what the adults think is important. For years I have wondered whether Daughter #1 would have the joys of playing with another child, while giving joy to another child simultaneously. I have seen the reciprocation of joy, and there's enough left over for me.

A New Old Citizenship

When I attended McKnight Middle School in Renton back in the early 1980's, my report card gave other grades besides performance. One of those other grades was "citizenship." I wasn't exactly sure what that meant and how one teacher who saw me for a few hours per week (and worked hard to keep me occupied and learning) could observe my life as a citizen, let alone give me a grade. I think even the most self-aware of my classmates could attach this grade to behavior rather than performance. After leaving McKnight, I never saw this grade for citizenship again.

I once had very high and positive expectations for President Obama--though I wouldn't go so far as to call it "hope." Though I've always had interest and passion about politics, I never held an illusion that politics and politicians were a place to invest the energy of hope. For me, party politics has sunk to a new low. I've haven't taken well to the two-party system in the United States since my college days, and the actions of Democrats and Republicans in my adult life have not inspired me to draw any closer to political life outside of being an educated voter. It's hard to advocate for misguided or power hungry leadership.

However, I am still a citizen of the State of Washington and the United States. I am not required to support a political party to be a citizen. To be a good citizen, I can participate in public life, independent of decisions of Republicans and Democrats--to make lives better for my family and other people. Ideology does not come in to play. Democrats or Republicans will not prevent me from volunteering at my daughter's school. I volunteered at my daughter's elementary school last Friday for the first time, and I had an awakening to the meaning of citizenship. I realized that my energy toward Republicans and Democrats was misplaced for all of these years. My energy will be placed toward being a good citizen.

More on this topic later--but today I had to make a proclamation of a personal investment in a new old citizenship.

My evolving relationship with coffee (Part 9)

I stopped drinking coffee recently--I can't tolerate it's bitter earthen taste without sugary or chemically laden additives. I've switched to my brother's Yerba Mate methodology for keeping alert via beverage consumption.

Daughter #2 questioned the change. On the way home from church on Wednesday, she asked me "Daddy, where's your iced mocha?"

I explained to her that I'm now drinking tea instead of iced mochas. She replied, "Oh! We'll have a tea party!"

Even though our family is looking for a better home base so we have less family commuting, I am going to miss the longer conversations in the car with my three year old. I will need to make sure that we find other forums for our conversations.

Football, music, and my evolving relationship with coffee (part 8)

I recently accounted for Daughter #2's assertive calls for particular songs. Stephen Colbert is probably the favorite now. The other night we had some good friends over to our home for a little surf and turf. We thanked them for being on our team of hospice respite caregivers for our late dog, Hunter. While playing some music to enhance the festivities, Daughter #2 had to chime in for her own requests. It was easier to heed those requests. Once we made it through most of her own personal play list, she made another request, a bit far afield from the usual songs. I didn't understand what she was saying, until I discovered she wasn't asking for a song at all. She asked for the "College Football Podcast." I wonder who taught her to listen to that?

Also from the "where did she get that?" file, we were shopping at Fred Meyer yesterday, and Daughter #2 had the privilege of riding in a shopping cart/toy bus. She extends her neck out of the bus window and shouts, "I NEED and iced mocha!" I had a hard time containing my laughter thinking of her observing me trying to keep my energy up while taking on my new work life. I've had way more coffee than I'd ever imagined I would drink, and at least enough for Daughter #2 to engage in her own brand of mockery. The folks in Fred Meyer weren't exactly sure what she was saying, but someone told me she's getting early training as a Pacific Northwesterner with coffee acumen.

Song Watch for Daughter #2 (December 4, 2009 edition)

Another Christmas Song--Stephen Colbert
Cold, Cold Christmas--Stephen Colbert
Alright--Darius Rucker
What A Wonderful World--Louis Armstrong
General Taylor--Great Big Sea
England--Great Big Sea

Daughter #2 is an assertive little girl. She doesn't hesitate to ask for a song. The problem lies in that she has to hear the same song loop several times, making it hard to introduce new songs, and making me tire a little of my own favorites. She almost always says to a new song, "I don't want that song. I don't like that song (which means, 'I want to hear an (relatively) old favorite'). If I sing the song with enthusiasm and the song has an understandable tag line, she will ask for it, and it will make it on the loop. Louis Armstrong has stuck, and she knows to ask, "Daddy, do you miss Hunter? Is he with the angels?"

Tough to say the exact reason she likes the Stephen Colbert songs. Is it because we used to watch The Colbert Report while I folded laundry as a stay at home dad? Is it because she recognizes his voice? Is it because she likes the big band sound of "Another Christmas Song?" The funny thing for me about listening to Colbert Christmas is its Ray Stevens quality. My Dad and I used to listen to albums often--I think it was cheap entertainment during my youth. One of my favorites was Ray Stevens' Guitarzan album. I just liked the songs as a child, they were probably funny for my Dad. Good family entertainment has a little something for everyone--I wouldn't have classified Stephen Colbert as family entertainment, but I'll take it.

The Hunter Chronicles (part 2)

I couldn't write anymore about Hunter today. The grief is exhausting. In place of writing a longer entry of The Hunter Chronicles, I sent a donation to the place where we adopted Hunter in Waukesha, Wisconsin. I sent the accompanying note with the donation (I also sent the above pictures):

Hunter was a 2-year old (almost 3) chocolate lab my wife and I adopted at HAWS in April 2000 (29th? 30th?). He was about the best birthday present I ever received. I had never had a dog in my home. He was the best dog I could ever imagine--great with everyone in our growing family. He loved rides in the car, walks, chasing a ball and cuddling. We had two daughters while we had Hunter--he loved them and tolerated them (very necessary).

We were his third owners, and my wife told him we would be his "forever family." All he ever wanted was to be with us. His health declined over the last 2 years, he lost about 30 pounds, and we put him down on Veterans Day (Nov. 11) after 12 1/2 years of life. We had a good day together to say goodbye. We took Hunter on some of his favorite nature walks, gave him some of his favorite treats, a trip to the beach on the Puget Sound, and a bath. He wasn't alone his last 72 hours of life. We have holes in our lives and hearts because he is gone.

I've dedicated a song to Hunter's memory in my own daily living, "What A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong--I think of him all the time. If I knew what Hunter was thinking, the song seems to match his thoughts. I wanted to share a little bit of Hunter's story and offer a small donation because of the great experience we had at HAWS, and thank you for holding on to Hunter for us before he became part of our family. We are thankful for what you do.

The Hunter Chronicles (part 1)

The story of our life with Hunter began like this: my dear wife had been dropping hints during the first few years of our marriage that she wanted a dog. It wasn't going to happen during our time in seminary, but the hints became more frequent as we moved into a large parsonage in Wisconsin. There were times she walked into a dark, empty house with fear about what awaited her. With a dog, she wouldn't have to worry as much. When she called me upon entering our home while I was at work, I knew that she wasn't kidding around. Security is important.

I learned that getting a dog as a gift for my wife, either for a birthday, Christmas, or an anniversary wasn't going to fly--so I volunteered the idea of receiving a dog for my 30th birthday. Even though my dear wife wanted the dog, the dog would be mine. I don't recall how we decided to look for a Lab, but I think it had something to do with the size and temperament. I merely didn't want a yippy barking dog. Protection and security, but not dangerous to the household. We decided to go to the Waukesha County Humane Society to find our new family member, our first child, our training in team parenting. This was a new experience for me--my brothers and I never owned a dog in our childhood household--and I was a little bit afraid of dogs. I had German Shepherds and Dobermans in my neighborhoods as a child that terrified me. I also had relatives who owned dogs with temperaments not suited for children--a Poodle, a Chow, and some German Shepherds. I have memories of them growling behind closed doors near the bathroom, or nipping at me, or chasing after me in a yard, or savagely barking at me from behind a fence. For years I wanted nothing to do with dogs.

Hunter changed my attitude of dog fear rather quickly. One day I went to look at dogs on my own and found a dog that seemed interesting. Almost every dog in the Humane Society was barking or yipping or jumping up and down as I walked by. Cheyenne was a 5-year old female black lab. She wasn't barking in the cacophony of dog conversation, but she was active and excited to greet me in a playful way behind her cage. Cheyenne had been there awhile--I think I read somewhere that they keep dogs at that Humane Society for approximately two weeks (?) before they are euthanized. Cheyenne had been there for over a week. Her time seemed short. The Waukesha County Humane Society set up dog interviews for their prospective owners and had a few rooms to accommodate these interviews--an opportunity for owners to meet and interact with an animal. When my dear wife and I walked through the Human Society and saw Cheyenne again, we were both interested. We also notice one more dog who didn't bark. His name was Hunter, and he sat there, sitting down watching us walk by. He didn't jump, he didn't bark, he only looked at us. He was 2 years old--a beautiful Chocolate Lab. We thought we'd take a look at him as well.

Cheyenne came into the interview room first and was a nice dog, very playful and energetic. I can't say we were particularly drawn to her. Hunter came in the room next, gave us each a little bit of a sniff, curled up in a compact ball and laid down in between our chairs in the room. We knew Hunter was the dog for us. After a two day waiting period, Hunter joined our family on April 30, 2000. We bought him a few accessories--a large burgundy dog bed, a leash, a collar, some good food (Eukaneuba), and some chew toys. He was always sad to see us leave the house, and exceedingly excited to see us return from wherever life took us, almost singing every time we were reunited. We originally set up his bed in a spare room near our bedroom, but quickly learned that he wanted nothing to do with separation--he wanted to be as near to us as possible. We placed his bed near ours--sometimes that wasn't even good enough--on chilly evenings he would move his way from the drafty floor to inside our bed. He wanted to be by our side--a common theme for his behavior and how he became a part of the family.

As I remember the details of Hunter becoming part of the family, I remember another young man, about my age, carrying a dog and sobbing as I sat waiting to talk to someone from the Humane Society. It was clear the young man was giving up his dog because he couldn't care for him anymore. This appeared to be a normal occurrence--we were Hunter's third owners before he turned 3 years old. His previous owners both wrote they didn't have time to take care of him anymore. My dear wife reminded Hunter that we were going to be his "forever family." I wonder if he knows that. We were brought together for a reason. I've learned much from Hunter. This morning as we took a longer walk in the woods than normal, I realized how much more I have to remember. These days have been devoted to remember someone who has been in our family longer than our children. I don't know how long The Hunter Chronicles will be, but the memories are filling a blog library. Such is life with my first dog. I am continually awed by my relationship with God's creation--and Hunter expanded that understanding.

My relationship with the National Football League

After 11 years of ordained ministry, with much of my weekend energy devoted to be ready for Sunday worship services, and fatigue taking most of my energy from Sunday afternoons, I have realized that the NFL and I are drifting apart.

To the NFL: it's nothing personal. It's not you. It's me. Listening to constant breakdown of a Seahawks game that I either don't have the energy to watch, or I completely miss, only emphasizes that we don't have much of a relationship. Our relationship really started to fade when the officials became the game during the Seahawks-Steelers Super Bowl. I'm sure you didn't plan things to happen that way. But I look at that and see that event as the beginning of the end.

Sure, you, the NFL, have more popularity than ever before. You are the best run professional sports entity in the world. Good marketing, good executive leadership, good product on the field. I don't have time anymore to follow you. My relationships have been better cultivated with the Edmonton Oilers, Kansas Jayhawks basketball and football, the Seattle Mariners, anything with the University of Washington (especially football). I will smile when I see Huskies and Jayhawks play in your league and I will pull for their success. I will occasionally peek and listen to bits about the league. I know I'm missing out on one of the biggest leisure activities in the world. I no longer have the time. It doesn't mean I won't watch a portion of a game or even a whole game if time allows, the calendar aligns, and the Seahawks are interesting. But I cannot carve out any time for us to have a relationship anymore. We will be acquaintances with memories from our past.

Maybe after my children move out of the house and I am retired from ministry, maybe you and I can get together a little more often and even be friends again. I might even jump on a bandwagon briefly if the Seahawks surge back into relevancy (I have no shame in that--we at least have a history together). I realized that we weren't really friends anymore when I turn the radio station or turn on my iPod whenever the talking heads start talking Seahawk intricacies.

I wish you well, NFL and Seattle Seahawks. I am thankful for what we had, and hopeful for what you can be, but I cannot give you my passion or energy any longer. God speed.

Getting ready for another vacation

After almost 6 weeks of solid work in the office and the community, I'm getting ready for another trip. Six weeks of working outside the home has turned me back into a morning person. I am way too tired at night to function. I gather rally my gumption and give the girls a quality evening for bath time, homework, reading and prayers. I could barely bring myself to fold any laundry last night. I feel like I'm making up for lost time in adult conversations--so work energizes me at this point, even though I'm an introvert. I haven't earned a vacation in terms of time served, it will be good for pacing to get away. I'm glad my congregation gave me some grace so I could travel back to South Dakota with my family. My dear wife has a reunion to attend, so we're making a family trip out of it.

Thinking it's been almost 6 months since we came to the Pacific Northwest, it sometimes feels like a long time, yet other times--we just departed. Days have rarely flown by for me--I don't know if it's a gift I have, something I have yet to experience, or what it is about my brain that gives me an even pace to my days. I'm looking forward to seeing a few friends and watch my dear wife enjoy the glory of her college days and friends.

What needs to be accomplished before departure is what feels oppressive.

+ Dog needs a major health check up and prep for being kenneled.
+ Honda Element needs new tires. Especially with all the mountain snow across the Cascades and Rockies in recent days.
+ My home office is in a shambles. I barely know which end is up in there.
+ Small thing, yet still time consuming--I need a haircut, for what hair I have remaining.
+ Pack for the 1500 mile drive--kid provisions, dog provisions, contingency scenarios, temporarily cleaning the vehicle.
+ Communicate with service providers and educators about absence.

I will be adding to this list, no doubt.

I've learned enough lessons over the years that I provided a preaching-free zone for 2-3 weeks around my trip so that my all-consuming weekly task of speaking in front of 400-plus people, plus a television audience, will not eat me alive while I try to haul my family across hundreds of miles. I'll be glad when we actually get in the car--but it's really time to buckle down.

The barfing has subsided, but we took a trip to the ER anyway

Daughter #2 gave my mother and father a barfing show yet to be matched in her short lifetime--my dear wife and I managed to avoid it (though not intentionally), we were working. With lethargy, a low grade fever, and crankiness still present, we were concerned about H1N1 or flu in general. I tried comforting the little squirt, but she frowned at me and said, "Stop being nice to me, Daddy."

Off to the ER--I had flashbacks of my last trip there with her--we were there around 7 hours. I wasn't in the mood to relive that episode and wanted to hold out for the pediatrician. My dear wife persuaded me that it was the right thing to go in last evening. For an ER visit, we had an expedited process. Great nurses, great doctor--the anti-nausea medicine and the intravenous fluids did the trick. She wasn't jumping for joy when she got home--but that 3 hour ER visit was a good investment. We even had more TV channels available, and the hospital was a lot cleaner this time. It doesn't look like influenza of any strain, but we still need to be vigilant.

Thanks to my Mom and Dad for being on the front lines this weekend. Wow.

More barf, with a bonus gift

Usually I get home to meet Daughter #1 at the bus with anywhere from 0-25 minutes to spare, depending on traffic in Tacoma. Today it was closer to 25 minutes, so I stopped to pick up a snack. Daughter #2 is in the back seat--I have my snack and she starts crying, for no apparent reason.

Then I realize what is wrong. More barf. No projectile vomiting, but it's bad enough, covering her body and of course, the car seat. One small benefit, taking the seat out to clean it took the smell out of the car. Here I have my child screaming, "Daddy, I barfed again! I'm sad!" Figuring out what I'm going to do and realizing I have less than 10 minutes to fix the issue, I get home, leave the child in the car and pull out our worst beach towels so I can wrap the child and clean her up in time to either: a) give her a bath or b) wipe her down well enough to get her into the stroller and pick up Daughter #1. I didn't think I could pick up Daughter #1 given the circumstances because I thought I could end up with a Stand By Me style "barf o rama." While I went up stairs to triage clean, I discovered that the dog pooped all over the upstairs spare bedroom.

What a bonus gift.

I managed to get Daughter #2 cleaned up and the upstairs bedroom and we made it to the bus with zero time to spare to pick up Daughter #1. Adrenaline can work really well in a tight situation.

Post Script: After all that trauma, Daughter #2 asked me if she could have macaroni and cheese for supper...