Merry Christmas & Happy New Year

People tend to believe that the Advent/Christmas season is the most difficult for pastors. This pastor creates most of his own grief this time of year, heaping on expectations I cannot possibly meet. Even though I gave myself some space to not work as much, I still tried to do too much. This week I have paid a price. I think I have been sick in the month of December at least 80 percent of the time since 1995. I think I need to learn something about how I care for myself and what I expect from myself. I hope that with age, comes wisdom, but I keep doing the same thing. With old and new surroundings in the Pacific Northwest can come better life practices.

At least when I exhale upon arrival in Minnesota on December 28th, I won't have to do much. I can't do any home projects, or do much financial planning--all I can do is read and write, talk with family, run in the snow and ice, and play with my kids. I look forward to giving you more posts to Madhousegazette, or at least figure out the direction with this blog. One thing I won't do is let it sit with "Merry Christmas & Happy New Year" with a 2009 date until July of next year.

May your holidays be full of peace, joy and a connection with what is holy.

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.

Listening...(November 23, 2009 edition)

General Taylor-Great Big Sea
The Chemical Workers' Song (Process Man)-Great Big Sea
England-Great Big Sea
What A Wonderful World-Louis Armstrong
16 Days-Whiskeytown

The first two Great Big Sea songs address my new discoveries after my first GBS concert Saturday night in Bremerton at The Admiral Theater. My dear wife and I enjoyed that the sound wasn't at ear bleed level. The venue was intimate, but not too small. GBS played for nearly 3 hours, and didn't just hit the songs of their newer release, Fortune's Favour, but a wide-variety of their discography. The first two songs of this list were not previously known for me, but their harmonies were instantly addictive and the stories of the songs were compelling. I love Great Big Sea songs for their narrative value as well as the musical quality. I will write more on GBS on a later post.

Daughter #2 has picked up on GBS as well, and her favorite song is "England." I haven't identified the trend that gets her attached to a song. She focuses on one line and gives incorporates that into the title. She calls the Louis Armstrong song "I Think To Myself." She calls "England:" "Wind Cuts Like A Knife." She calls "16 Days:" "Ghost Has Got Me Running." She is not bashful about letting me know, "I don't like that song, play Wind Cuts Like A Knife." We spend about 5-10 hours per week in the car, so we're sharing a lot of music together, though she prefers we listen to a song about 3 consecutive times before we move on.

Getting back on track (literally and figuratively)

Grief and lack of exercise mean lack of writing in my life. It was a strain to put out what I did in the last week. I had to force myself to write something, lest the memories of Hunter drift away into abstraction. Writing makes those memories tangible.

I've run three consecutive days now, which is no small feat considering my recent schedule. I know that exercise is supposed to take priority in daily life, but good habits dwindle quickly, especially when tens of thousands of dollars are on the line in the closing of a house and a beloved dog dies. I've learned that I can't get my running habit established in the winter without a set alarm clock--one of the big transitions between warm and cold weather running in a northern area of the country. I usually wake up on my own, but I also take my time getting up and moving. It's one of my few peaceful times alone during the day--so I like to savor it in the time I carve out around the run. I hate the quickie brand of run.

Writing and running go hand in hand for me, I suppose those linked variables are related to expanded blood flow to my brain and what that combination does for my outlook on life.

Politics (entry #6 in the Madhouse Gazette South Dakota Lexicon)

South Dakota has a strange love affair with U.S. Senator John Thune (at least as seen by the rest of world). Many people can't understand why South Dakota would vote out Tom Daschle, someone with seniority, clout, influence and good leadership (okay, he had a hard time doing his taxes, but what politician doesn't), and vote in John Thune.

For any South Dakotan, the political move from Daschle to Thune makes perfect sense. The folks of the Northern Great Plains strongly believe in their values and way of life, yet they struggle with their image when their perspectives move to a national stage. This conundrum of belief and identity are residual effects of the Scandinavian concept of Jante Law. Jante Law is an interesting variable considering Daschle's political fall: I remember that South Dakota public discourse and conventional wisdom said that Daschle was getting "too big for his britches." He needed to be voted out. It didn't matter that Daschle was Senate Majority Leader, accomplished much for South Dakota through his position, and was a marginal presidential candidate--Daschle had to be taken down a peg or two. It didn't help matters that he was a Democrat, either.

The love being articulated for Thune sounds a little like Brokeback Mountain, with which people in the state tried to distance themselves through vitriol and condemnation. I had to laugh when I read the commentary on Thune's rising prominence in the aforementioned link. While I lived in South Dakota, I found the politics maddening. Now that I'm on the outside looking in, South Dakota politics are interesting.

Thanks to Allison Kilkenny's recent blog post referencing Thune for the inspiration to reflect upon my life with South Dakota politics.

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.

Waiting for Klosterman

I have a short list of authors whose books (in various genres) I would buy soon after release, in hardcover, and possibly at regular price (but with Amazon, this is foolish).

1. Chuck Klosterman
2. Douglas Coupland
3. Bill Bryson
4. James Wellman
5. Nancy Ammerman

Klosterman makes great appearances on Bill Simmons' B.S. Report Podcast at ESPN.com. Pastors generally don't get into weddings, but I would have loved to officiate at Klosterman's wedding. He tells about the event in his October B.S. Report podcast interview. My favorite part was the music at the reception done by an ELO tribute band. That would have been AMAZING. If money was no expense, I imagine that my wife might have enjoyed an ABBA tribute band at our wedding reception, maybe someone like Bjorn Again. I'm considering taking her to one of their shows in the Puget Sound region.

I ordered Klosterman's new release Eating The Dinosaur and should cruise through it in a few days, probably wanting more, and wishing Klosterman would blog, tweet, something. He has great material, but my voracious web appetite leaves my expectations too high, thus he is able to get me to buy a hardcover copy of his book. Nice move on Chuck's part, he can get people to pay for his content, while Bill Simmons writes about stuff I can't care about anymore, the NBA. I hope he enjoys his book tour--at least he stuck up for the Seattle Sonics.

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.

Giving Thanks for the Family Dog, Hunter

Hunter is a our 12 year old chocolate lab who is personally crushed when he disappoints someone, especially his people/my family. It may seem to him that he has let us down over the past two years as his health has declined. He throws up relatively often, been incontinent several times in the last few weeks, he has challenging food allergies that make his skin a mess (literally and figuratively), his joints have significantly deteriorated, he has declining liver function, his body is covered in benign tumors, his cataracts are worsening, his anxiety is growing, and maybe he has a little doggie dementia (he walks and stands in unusual places in the house over the last several weeks). He paces throughout our home in the evening (a recent development), and has lost about 25 pounds in the last two years--he can't seem to keep quite enough food down. Because of his increasing anxiety, he now barks most of the day while we're gone at school and work (we heard from the neighbors, and noticed that he's barking when we get home). Hunter has never been much of a barker in his life, usually only when the doorbell rings. All of these changes have been hard to manage while we have moved and tried to make a stable and healthy environment for our family. The hard part has been making life good for Hunter--and attempting to do so has become an extremely expensive venture. We are at the point where the only option for Hunter to have a peaceful life is to keep him on heavy drugs most of the time, and that is no way for him to live. In the past two years I have learned new lessons (for me) about patience and compassion. I have become easily frustrated with Hunter, and I haven't been very fair with him. He would never intentionally do anything to disappoint any of us (unlike some of the cats I have known)--and I took his good nature for granted. He truly doesn't ask for much, only a little food,love and attention. I could have been much better to him.

My dear wife and I have been seeing the writing on the wall about Hunter. We have been about pushed over the edge when it comes to his anxious behavior related to separation anxiety. The barking is a bad situation in a rental. If the barking was the only problem we were facing with Hunter, then we would find a way to deal with it. The problems are mounting, and they aren't getting any better. This post is the first time I've written them all down--it's quite a list. We're going to have to say goodbye, and it breaks my heart. I try to keep my emotions directed to places like showing Hunter a little extra love, or taking some time to myself. I don't know what it is about Louis Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World" and death, but that is one of the greatest pastoral care songs I know. I've heard it used at multiple funerals as a pastor, and I played it 7 times on my morning run. The experience of physical exertion, that song and reflection this morning was cathartic, thankful, but also deeply sad. I don't ever remember a time in my life when I ran and cried at the same time.

Hunter is truly the first child for my dear wife and me. We have so many memories of him. Putting him down is going to be really hard. In the end, I hope he knows he is loved. In the midst of that love and the questions about life, I know that God is there. That is what really matters. I was planning on writing out some of the memories, stories and lessons from Hunter's life, but I can't do it right now. I knew this transition wasn't going to be easy, but I'm hitting waves of sadness that are difficult to bear. I wish I could be at home, outside, playing with him. But it is raining outside to the tune of a downpour, and Hunter hates the rain. I think we know each other well.

Adding insult to injury

While traversing the Kitsap Peninsula for work this weekend, I wanted to catch a little bit of the Washington-UCLA game. Having them on television is still a novelty to me after 20 years in the Midwest. When the Huskies were good during that stretch--I might be able to get a nationally televised game, but for many years I was stuck with mediocre Big Ten football, and once in awhile I could occasionally watch the Jayhawks, but would usually get stuck with Nebraska or Iowa State. Yawn.

I finally found the Applebee's in Silverdale and caught most of the fourth quarter. I found myself hopeful, even after a big missed field goal. UCLA was not playing the role of a juggernaut, and Washington had the best player on the field in Jake Locker. Having seen in person "The Drive" against USC, I thought good things were possible and the Huskies would mature and pick up a needed road win.

Interesting crowd at Applebee's at 3pm on a Saturday afternoon--not the Dawg-watching hotspot I was hoping for, more like the elderly early-dinner crowd. My cheers for the Huskies were somewhat muted, but I could at least watch the game. I wanted a beverage, but not a pop--I was already strung out on caffeine for the day. I still needed to work and drive, so I opted for an O'Doul's. Even the taste of beer and football sounded good. I was about halfway through that near-beer when Locker threw the interception and the game was essentially over. Throwing the bottle through the television would not be an appropriate response.

I reconsidered the beer throwing position when I got the bill. $4.60??!?!?!? For a 12-ounce O'Doul's???? I am not a bar patron often enough to know what the going rate for a beer is, but that price was brutal. Go ahead and kick a Husky fan when he's down, Applebee's.

Action-packed week

Closing on a house, attended a conference, leading a stewardship campaign, preparing to lead a retreat. I think family laundry needs to get done at some point. Mercifully, someone else is preaching this Sunday. I didn't deal with too many deadlines outside of getting my daughter off to school in the morning and picking her up after school. I don't mind the deadlines--I am only recognizing the big mental shift. I am thankful for the peaceful moment this morning staring at the Pacific Ocean waves and listening for the sound of the surf as I walked in between each conference activity. I am a West Coast guy.

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.

Deepening theological poverty

Looking back on my posts over the past two months, I've noticed that my posts have become less explicitly theological. Now that I'm preaching again on a regular basis and talking about God with adults--my need to write about these things has shifted to other forums. This blog has been an outlet for me when I had no congregation and I needed to keep my sanity in the midst of moving and talking with a three year old for most of the day. I may still hit some theological themes on occasion, but today I wanted to reflect the deeper theological poverty of my writing.

Autumn (Entry #5 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)

Autumn in South Dakota is a season that can produce some of the most glorious colors on the planet--about every 6 or 7 years, or if you don't blink during a few choice days in the month of October. South Dakota specializes in Earth tones, especially Eastern South Dakota--with the dearth of evergreen trees and lack of sizable aqua-topography--one has to learn to appreciate Earth tones or go crazy.

The leaves changing color can be quite beautiful. However, multiple variables must align:

1. Wet summer. Possible.
2. Cool and/or low wind September. Less likely than #1.
3. Low wind October once the leaves actually turn color. Almost impossible.

In order for autumn beauty to last more than 3 days, these three variables must align. A stiff wind (almost constant) can take down awe-inspiring color in about 3 days. I remember being thankful to be in South Dakota during the autumn months--when the cool down finally comes (ahhh)--then I have my hopes dashed with the first big wind from the Northwest comes and the leaves fly through the air in a Technicolor (fall version) display (amazing in its own right) and the landscape turns to a depressing drab that is only moderated and made peaceful and calm by the first beautiful snow.

I didn't realize the brevity of glory in a South Dakota autumn until I returned to the Pacific Northwest, where the fall colors have surrounded me in what seems to be like strategic stages of color turning for about 3 weeks--with one tree on WA-16 that continues to greet me in varying lipstick shades of red for going on 2.5 weeks. I keep waiting for the autumn glory to be complete, but it keeps on going. South Dakota colors are comparable, but maybe their short annual visit has made me appreciate my return to the PNW even more.

Not sure I will make a purchase at The Sports Authority again...

My running and fitness habit was in a shambles after a packed vacation week and general chaos about the house in preparation and recovery from the trip. I needed a plan to make positive changes.

Logistics were not working in my favor for reinvesting myself in running. It didn't help that my gear was no longer functional or appropriate. I need gear for cool weather, but not frigid. I really needed new shoes--the cushioning was shot and holes had developed in the forefoot region. Unfortunately, I never found myself near a place to buy my trusted Asics 2000/2100 series, the shoe I have purchased as many as 3 times per year for about 14 years. Running an errand in a different part of the metro, I thought I might find a store that carried my shoes. I found The Sports Authority near Southcenter Mall in Tukwila. I found everything I needed at a fair price (not great, but fair). While checking out, the clerk offered me a buyer protection plan for my new Asics 2140 running shoes for the low, low price of $10. She told me if anything goes wrong with the shoes over the period of one year, then I could get a refund for the shoe. A supervisor came to the register to affirm the great offer The Sports Authority was making me. Now, I know that one year for a running shoe is a long and productive life, and with regular use, one year is a bit too long. For me, I can only afford about a six-month life span for my running shoes, though about 4 would be ideal. If I had a shoe that went kaput after 6 months of good use, I wouldn't return the shoe--because I had received what I paid for--an above-average quality trainer (in a category just below top of the line). I couldn't in good conscience return the shoe after getting what I paid for.

What bothered me about this "protection plan" was why they wouldn't give me a refund if the shoe was defective without an extra 10 dollar payment. These protection plans are scams in the first place to separate you from your money. That was irksome enough. What is more troubling is that basic knowledge and trust in the products a store carries and relationships with customers has mutated into a faux assurance gesture. With all of the running enthusiasts in Western Washington, I think I'm going to find a specialty running store and buy my gear there. I would rather build a trusting relationship with a quality merchant that costs a little more than deal with someone who is trying to dupe me out of extra money with a bait and switch.

Though I'm sure the clerk was well-intentioned and was only given a flow chart to sell this awful air of assurance, I had to let her know, "I've been buying these shoes for 14 years and have never had a problem. No thank you, I am not buying the protection plan." If the shoe falls apart too early, I'm taking it to the manufacturer, not The Sports Authority. I'm sure the size of the company makes it that they don't care about my business, but I will not make a purchase at The Sports Authority if I can at all help it.

I'm practicing to be a curmudgeon. How did I do?

The fun and joy of college football

This is one of the reasons I enjoy college football.

Of course one could complain about the resources wasted on bottled water, or that football is a game that causes brain injuries (something I still attempt to reconcile in my somewhat healthy brain), but sometimes it's really fun to watch Nebraska lose, and to see a jubilant team see the fruits of their labors and that team work really matters. I'm with Pat Forde from ESPN--this is a great celebration for college football.

I thought we've had her much longer...

Check out our growing little girl scooting around our vacation in South Dakota and saying good bye to our former home.

Daughter #2 celebrated her third birthday yesterday. She's hit a language explosion--and I can hardly keep up. The conversations are a little repetitive, but I am thankful for the conversations. We still talk about messes and things that are broken along I-5, the Tacoma Dome and the "castle (cathedral)." We talk about school, which direction we can go, the merits of an immediate hamburger purchase, inquiries about the day's schedule involving Mommy, her sister, church, grandparents, great-grandparents, uncles and aunts, etc. All the talking she's doing and the words and phrases she accumulates makes me wonder what I'm missing during the day--and I miss her. Though its years before I do some serious letting go, she is in the beginning stages of going off and having some conversations of her own. Yet I love that when I walk in the door to pick her up, she drops what she's doing and SPRINTS toward me with a smile on her face and a shout of "Daddy!" from her mouth.

Daughter #2 received a scooter for her birthday, fulfilling a longtime desire to do something like her sister. Now they can scoot together at the park. We might have done that today before the Husky game, but there are bigger fish to fry today. Another birthday party and a trip to the pumpkin patch. I think the girls like Halloween more than Christmas. In some ways, it's debatable. I love autumn--but I've already written that.

The treats have been a challenge so far as the celebrations of fall and early winter accumulate, with Daughter #1 remaining on the Feingold Diet. Dr. Oetker baking products have helped us keep desired treats in the house. The girls don't like them as much as the additive-laden treats, but they are marginally acceptable. There's not a strange ingredient in Dr. Oetker products, and I don't feel funny after eating them. But they do taste different--and actually pretty good once aware of the original differences. I think they added to the celebratory nature of a third birthday--she's having a good time.

It seems like longer than three years with Daughter #2--in a good way.

Favorite Autumn Drives and the Fall Soundtrack

I have driven copious miles recently. Some open road driving with my family (about 3500 miles) and the most frenzied set of back and forth, traffic-weaving, kid-toting, commuting I've ever done. What keeps me more than sane in that environment is my favorite time of year--the fall color display. I will plan my life around seeing some fall colors. Sometimes I take pictures, sometimes I soak in the cool atmosphere with those I love. I could easily say the Northeast US has the best fall colors (always great, but somewhat impractical for me), but I also have other favorites:

+ Northern Minnesota around Bemidji
+ The Minnesota River Valley between Mankato and New Ulm
+ The Cumberland region in Middle to East Tennessee
+ Virginia, especially around the Blue Ridge Mountains
+ Heading toward Northern Wisconsin from the Milwaukee metro toward Ripon and Green Lake.

I forgot how great the fall colors could be in the Puget Sound region. WA-16 on the Kitsap Peninsula has quite a display of fiery orange and red fall maples with a nice contrast to the evergreens. This display reminded me of how much I did take for granted--Mt. Rainier with the Puget Sound, color burst maples, evergreens and the Olympics--all mysteriously cottoned with fog, as if Bob Ross and God worked together to burn the images in my brain. My photography can't do this justice. I need to stop and at least try.

Some songs play better for me during the autumn months. I like bluegrass this time of year and almost anything with steel guitar. I don't know why. There's a few other songs that seem to register as well. My Fall Soundtrack:

Let Me Touch You For Awhile--Alison Krauss
Gravity--Alison Krauss
Jessica--Allman Brothers
Ramblin' Man--Allman Brothers
September--Earth, Wind and Fire
Avenues--Whiskeytown
Best of Luck--Nickel Creek
Lonesome Wind Blues--Rhonda Vincent
It'll Never Be Thru With Us (Until It's Thru With You)--The Wilders
That Old Time Religion--The Wilders
Green and Gray--Nickel Creek

Worn-out blogger (the October 19th edition)

I spent over 50 hours in a car this past week. I know some ride for a living, so I know the amount of time in car travel is relative. We took a fun family trip. It's the getting to the fun family trip that can be painful. Amazingly, I think they still love me.

We were a few degrees away from a blizzard, so I will consider us blessed to be home alive. I'm looking forward to returning to the writing rhythm.