bigdirtycity

Desperate Pleas, Cajoling, Guilt Trips Etc

2009-05-21T20:08:00.002-06:00

Below is a copy of a letter I've been sending around to friends and family. Pleeeaaase consider giving. Yes, it's rather pathetic to break a two month blogging hiatus with a fund raising plea...but I guess that's how I roll.

_________________

Dear Family,

As you know, I’m always looking for an excuse to ride my bike. Recently, I found what may be one of the best excuses out there—the MS-150 bike tour.

The Colorado MS-150 tour is a two day event held on June 27-28. I (and 3,499 others) have committed to riding 150 miles during those two days (or 175 if I'm feeling extra ambitious). Why would I do such a thing? Well, why else? The money!

The Colorado MS-150 is an attempt to raise 3.2 million dollars for the National MS Society—an organization that seeks both to fund research that will hopefully lead to cure for Multiple Sclerosis some day in the future and, in the mean time, provide valuable programs and services for those who suffer from this disease (more than 400,000 in the United States alone). As I've heard the stories of those who have had their lives affected by this disease and have learned more about the work of the National MS Society, I've become increasingly convinced of the importance of this cause. That's why I have committed to raising $500 (and hopefully a bit more) for this wonderful organization.

And (you knew it was coming!) that's where you come in. I realize that there are many good causes asking for your help--but would you please consider sponsoring me in this endeavour by making a donation to the National MS Society? Doing so is easy. If you wish to pay with credit card, you can either view my personal page by clicking here, or go to my Facebook profile and follow the link on the left hand bar. Or, if you would prefer to use a personal check, simply send it to me at home (checks can be payable to NMSS, Colorado Chapter).

If you have any questions about the ride, the MS society, or anything else, please feel free to ask. Thank you for seriously considering this opportunity. Any help you can give is greatly appreciated!

Joel

PS: If you know someone who may be interested in contributing to this cause, please feel free to pass on this email!

Half Empty

2009-03-15T20:12:00.010-07:00

I've never wanted to be that guy. The one who can rain on every parade, who can find the cloud that comes with every silver lining, who always sees the glass as half empty. And I'm sure that anyone who knows me well will attest that, ordinarily, I am not. "He has a sunny disposition," they'll say. "He's so pleasant to be around. A real joy. Look up 'good natured' in the dictionary, and you'll see his picture." It's true. Ask my mother. She'll tell you.

But even I have my limits. Lately, I've had quite enough. My patience has run out. I'm up to "here" (please imagine me waving my hand somewhere above my eyeballs). Consider the following image (captured from weather.com a few minutes ago) and I'm sure my problem will be obvious:

That's right. Another week of 65+ degree temperatures in Denver. I think they forgot about winter here because it seems that's all we've been having here for the last two months. And I, for one, am sick and tired of it.

For one thing, there's the skiing--or lack of skiing. Yes, there is still snow in the mountains.* But nothing that makes a ski snob like me want to drive an hour. So, not knowing what else to do with myself on a Monday, I've been forced to ride my bike and to endure sights like this:

Can you see why I've reached my limit?

And that's just the beginning. Because do you know how hard it is to dress for a bike ride on a sunny 65 degree day? Shorts or knickers (yes, I sometimes where "knickers")? Short sleeves or light jacket? Or would short sleeves and a vest be best? And do I need sunscreen? (Don't even get me started on sunscreen. I mean, sunscreen? In March? Seriously?!)

Of course, those things are merely scratching the surface. The real problem is much more fundamental. The real problem is that that I feel compelled to ride my bike in the first place. In my experience, bikes are not meant to be ridden from, say early October to early March. That's the time for packing on a few winter pounds, maybe catching up on some reading. And that's the way I prefer it.

Take today, for example. What I really wanted to do with my Sunday afternoon was sit around in my comfy chair and read my book until I fell asleep. Maybe eat a plate of nachos and an Oreo or seven. But could I do that? Noooooo. That's the kind of thing one does when its twenty-five degrees, overcast, and drizzling (like it probably was in Michigan, or Western New York today). You can't do that when it's 65 degrees in March. They have a word for that: "Sin." So I had to skip my nap. I had to go for a ride.

And what's worse--I'll probably have to tomorrow, too. Oh, the things we endure.

*At least in some places. A couple of weeks ago Jill and I attempted to snowshoe @ 11,000 feet and had to carry our snowshoes. Every once and a while we'd see a little patch or two and strap them on out of principle, but it really wasn't what we had hoped for.

2009-03-15T20:00:00.001-07:00

2009-03-15T19:55:00.002-07:00

Friday Photos, 3.13.09

2009-03-13T21:33:00.001-07:00

A few before bedtime...note the teeth.
In other news, Jill found Adrian standing in his crib today.

Friday Photos

2009-03-06T19:05:00.004-07:00

Yep. Been a while. Three things on the agenda today.

First the pics:

Cups/glasses have long been a favorite toy.

First trip to the litterbox, er, sandbox at the park this week.

He can apparently sit up on his own. Too bad he hasn't learned how to lay down properly yet. (Thankfully, somewhere in his genetic pool is a rubber neck.)

Second, the Adrian Updates:

No crawling yet (which is fine with me--that sounds like a lot of work.) However, he is definitely getting up on his hands/knees and rocking.
Cheerios are apparently his new favorite food (after that one thing...). And bread--he's like Daisy that way.
Teeth! Two, in fact. We're thankful that there has been some apparent reason for the (slightly) fussy nature he's had on occasion as of late.

Finally, the obligatory half-hearted promise:

One of these days I'll post something more than a picture of my son. Maybe a video of my son?

Friday Photos

2009-02-06T20:10:00.001-07:00

Friday Photos

2009-01-30T19:21:00.002-07:00

Enhance the Romance

2009-01-26T19:47:00.001-07:00

One crisp January night ten years ago, I set my studies aside, walked out of my North Hall dorm room, and made the drive to my parent's house thirty minutes away. There I spent several hours hunched over a cookbook and a counter top, cracking eggs, sifting flour, greasing pans. It was the night before Jill's birthday and I wanted make my new girlfriend feel special. So I made her a three-tiered chocolate cake--frosting and all--from scratch. Even though Jill later noted that the frosting I had so painstakingly made and applied was a little rich for her taste (hard to believe), it was a rather romantic gesture, if I don't say so myself.

But, oh, how the mighty have fallen.

This year I spent the night before and the night of Jill's birthday in meetings. And Jill baked her own cake. I had thoughts of frosting it for her (though I had no intention of making any frosting from scratch), but instead, my secretary did it while she baby-sat Adrian. Some (who are easily impressed) might think that impressive--a sign of my great importance--but I'll admit it's really rather pathetic. So even though we're old codgers who have been married seven and a half years (we're experts now), I probably ought to do something to step it up a notch--some gesture to enhance the romance.

Then again, I managed to sit through two really bad chick-flicks that Jill picked out (Because I Said So and The Holiday) while keeping the my groans and sarcastic comments to a minimum (sleeping through the last half of The Holiday helped in that regard). That has to count for something, doesn't it?

Friday Photos

2009-01-15T22:33:00.001-07:00

Why I Won't be Blogging Until February 5*

2009-01-12T20:07:00.001-07:00

I got an email the other day from my local library notifying me that an item I had placed on hold had arrived. Tonight, I went to pick it up. Much to my delight I discovered not one but six items. And note, dear friends**, what those items include. The complete third season of Arrested Development, the complete second season of The Wire, TWO David Sedaris books, and a John Hodman and Ken Grimwood for good measure. They're due February 2, which means that I should be done with them by February 5 or so (and have them back to the library by February 12). It also means that, if the people here*** are right, I should be in middle-class-nerdy-white-guy heaven.

* I don't really mean that. Please keep checking back and inflating both my counter numbers and my ego.
**Has John McCain faded far enough into the recesses of our memory that I can again use that phrase?
***Do a search if you're really curious. I know they have entries on Arrested Development, David Sedaris, and NPR. Odds are good that they've covered the others as well.

Michelin Man

2009-01-12T15:32:00.002-07:00

We took advantage of morning snow in the Front Range and took Adrian on his first snowshoeing adventure. Good times.

Double Ought Nine

2009-01-04T12:57:00.006-07:00

I'm not usually one to make New Year's resolutions. At least not out loud. But since I already resolved to post more on my blog this year, I thought a resolutions post would do well to fill some space.

Or maybe not resolutions, exactly. Resolutions sound so serious. Sin less, pray more, eat less ice-cream, stop wasting time on the Internet--that sort of thing.* Those serious things have their place and I do aspire to them, but I won't include them here since they violate the rather not-so-serious nature of this blog. So let's just say the things listed here are "aspirations"--at most--for the year.

Bike more miles than last year. I won't say what I'm gunning for since some people (especially those who don't regularly bike) will undoubtedly find it a little obscene and wonder why I'm not using my time to do something more useful (like read to my son, or wash my car, or plant a garden, I suppose) --but I do have a number in mind. I also have an event in mind. I've once again shelled out the big bucks so I can suffer through the Triple Bypass.
The sub-aspiration that goes along with the Triple Bypass is to get that nice skinny/bobble-headed biker looking going for me so that I can be faster and stronger--but I know that probably won't happen. But even so, I could probably stand to cut down on how many trips I make down the hall to the secretary's candy dish. I'd like to say one a day. But two sounds more reasonable.
I'd also like to ride my bike more with other people. I rode alone way too much this year and discovered that I'm really not that good of company. I'm hoping to get a weekly tandem ride in with Jill and also to take a day to pull Adrian to the park in his bike trailer (I will be sorely disappointed if he doesn't like his bike trailer). If things go my way, I'd also like to find some fellas to MTB with most weeks (CL--are you listening?).
Learn to like running. No, I'm not going to run a marathon this year. I pushed things a little too hard last month after spouting off my mouth here and ended up with very sore knees and ankles for about three weeks. More proof that I'm not a kid any more, I guess. But even so, I'd like to work a light jog (or lope) into my weekly exercise schedule.
Grow a beard. Or at least try. I'll have to see if I can arrange a few weeks away from work so that I can pull it off, but I'm thinking that since my body is no longer putting much energy into growing hair on top of my head, it might have something extra to put into my face. Or maybe that's all going to my nose, ears, and eyebrows. Time will tell.
Read a classic (or two). Maybe it's finally time to check "Crime and Punishment" off the list.
Sweep the floors. Someday, I'll have to post on all the things that make me a lousy husband--my regular failure to sweep the floors would have to be on the list. I really hope to rectify that this year.
Keep a budget. We kind of do this--but I want to be serious about it this year. Get software. Balance the check book. Refrain from buying something that's not in the budget or get stressed when we don't. The works.
Call my grandmas more.
Get a news magazine (Newsweek? Time? Any recommendations?) and read it regularly. I know next to nothing about what is going on in the world these days and am tired of faking it.
Go to a play. I like Shakespeare--and I'm not just saying that. I think it's time to check out another production of the Bard's work. Then I can quote him in sermons and people will think I'm both up to date on current events and cultured. Won't I be impressive?
Floss. I won't say daily (let's be reasonable here!). But enough so that my dental hygienist doesn't scold me after my next appointment. I just can't stand her scorn any longer.
Drink less coffee more. What's reasonable? Seven, eight cups a day?
Find a babysitter we can trust (and not feel guilty about asking). Use this babysitter to go on occasional non-church related dates with my wife.
Go camping more than last year. That means go camping some. And even if we don't camp, spend more Mondays (my day off) in the mountains with Jill and Adrian. One of those Mondays, I'd like to climb another 14er.

That's probably more than enough--any more and I'll start to sound like Ben Franklin. And besides, there's coffee brewing here that needs drinking, apple crisp that needs eating.

I'll report back in ought ten and see how I did.

*(Good thing I proof read sometimes--I had those first two switched around for a moment making it sound like I aspire to pray less and sin more.)

Blue Shoe

2009-01-01T12:04:00.003-07:00

Author's note: Like thousands (millions?) of other bloggers, I'm resolving to update my blog more this year. Seriously. The goal, however, is more about quantity than quality--which means I may be posting random thoughts throughout the day or, quick snapshots of my son, or today, a book review. Today's review is a book by Anne Lamott-a book Jill claims I read a couple of years ago but one that I had (apparently) completely forgotten. This is one of the reasons I want to write about what I read--so that I may actually remember it. Anyway, as always, skip if you're not interested. I won't be offended. Or at least I'll pretend not to be.

_______________

Eight years ago, I sat in the bleachers of the Calvin College Gym and listened to a middle-aged woman with dread-locks, a sense of humor as dry as a corn husk in October (as she might have said), and a voice that sounded like a bad imitation of a sixties stoner, tell a story about a recent flight where she was given a seat between a small Pakistani woman and a Christian man fingering a cross and reading a Left Behind novel. Like nearly everybody else in the packed gymnasium, I laughed--really, really hard. Of course, having finished that author's recent set of memoirs (Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies) I expected nothing less.

A year ago, Jill and I leaned against the back wall of a packed book store and listened to this same woman tell another story. I don't remember exactly what that one was about--but I remember that there were more than a few jabs at the current political administration. I also remember being disappointed that night--I laughed a lot less than I had eight years before. On the train ride home, Jill and I commented that Lamott had crossed a line somewhere. It's not that we were such huge fans of the Bush administration and were offended. It was more that her voice was no longer funny. It was just bitter. And annoying. Of course, having just read her most recent set of memoirs (both Plan B and Grace (Eventually)), I should have expected nothing less (or nothing more).

With both of those experiences in mind, I picked up Lamott's novel, Blue Shoe, byat the library this week with a sense of guarded optimism. Which Lamott would I be getting? The Lamott who could make an audience laugh until they teared up just before making them murmur with appreciation for her insight? Or the bitter, angry Lamott who would leave audiences rolling their eyes and murmuring about what she once was?

Much to my delight, Blue Shoe, was the old Lamott. Lamott shows genuine insight into a woman who is dealing with an aging mother, crumbling relationships, and growing children. Like much of Lamott's work, she has wonderful one liners and a way of expressing--with honesty and humor--what real people think (or real people really want to think). As in Traveling Mercies, Lamott's voice comes through clearly--and for the most part, is a joy to read. This is probably the book's greatest strength.

This great strength, however, might also be perceived as Lamott's greatest weakness. It just sounds so much like, well, her. While reading the book, I had the image of Lamott sitting across the table and saying, Well, I have this "friend" I'd like to tell you about...I wondered, were these just more stories about Lamott--another set of memoirs--thinly cloaked as a novel? How much was coming out of her imagination--and how much was coming straight from her life?

I suppose that's a silly criticism. Good authors write what they know (or so I'm told). No matter where this story came from, Lamott makes wonderful observations of human character and has a great way of describing the ordinary moments of our lives. But even so, there's just a part of me that wants to think that Lamott is capable of coming up with something different--that she can imagine into being a world that is not her own (more like Marylin Robinson, for example).

Regardless--this is a worthwhile read. If you've never read anything by Lamott, check this one out(and Traveling Mercies). I think you'll enjoy it.

First Christmas

2008-12-29T06:50:00.003-07:00

Thought I'd throw up (maybe I should just say "post") some video of Adrian's first Christmas with us. Enjoy! Time to pack my bags!

Christmas 08 from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

Thanksgiving Video

2008-12-28T22:18:00.004-07:00

Yep, just in time for the New Year, it's a video of Adrian from Thanksgiving weekend.
He has, of course, changed a lot in the last month. But I still get a kick out of watching his little tricks (it could be that I haven't seen him in a few days--be still my beating heart). My favorite is the way he chases his toy, Daisy, and us in his walker. He's much better at it now than a month ago--but still running into walls a lot.

Thanksgiving Weekend from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

Keep Yer Nose Clean

2008-12-26T15:30:00.006-07:00

It's occurred to me recently that I'm getting older.

Of course, that's true for all of us. Time, like an ever rolling stream, bears all its sons away--and all that. Most days, we overlook it. Yet there are certain moments in a person's life when the truth--I am no longer as young as I once was--becomes inescapably evident. Consider some examples:

I've gotten into the habit of ordering Diet Coke whenever Jill and I go out to eat (which isn't often).
I can no longer eat Starbucks Cappuccino Chip ice cream after, say, 7pm* and expect a decent night of sleep. (Although I've had to cut back on ice cream in general lately--for the same reason I've taken to ordering Diet Coke--I'm old, but not quite old enough for comfort fit pants.)
This morning, when I had the chance to sleep in, I had the coffee pot going at 6:03--a half hour after I woke up.
While writing a sermon a while back, I wanted to make a pop culture reference to a movie that came out just a few years ago (Enemy of the State)--you know, back when I was in high school (or was it the beginning of college?). When I looked up the release date for the movie, I was rather shocked to discover that it was over ten years old. Needless to say, the reference was completely lost on my high school students (They are equally clueless about any reference to Ferris Bueller's Day Off (Bueller? Bueller?) and Seinfeld. I tell you--kids these days).
Speaking of high school kids--I've also caught myself saying the following to them: When I was your age (insert story of hardship and suffering here)...These anecdotes are, without fail, met with blank looks and eye rolls.
Last week when I got my haircut, I noticed that the woman who was to do the deed is no longer shy about asking if I need my eyebrows trimmed. (The answer, of course, is yes.)
Did I mention I have a child of my own?

I think my case is already quiet solid. I am getting old. But in case there's any doubt, I submit one more piece of evidence--Christmas.

The youngsters these days are asking for all sorts of fun toys. Wiis. Wizbangers. Watchyamakallits. And who knows what else. Of course, when I was a boy I only got sticks and dirt for Christmas. But never mind that. This year, I got a nose hair trimmer.

That's not what it's called on the package, of course. On the package, it's called a "personal groomer" and there's a picture of a man trimming his sideburns. Nothing old about that. But we all know the truth. It's not just for sideburns. It's for nose hair. Okay, and ear hair. And neck hair. And maybe upper back hair. But mainly nose hair.

I suppose there might be some who would be offended to receive such a gift from their spouse. After all, it could be argued that it's not a lot different than a man who gives his wife a Thigh Master. Here you go, honey--I just want to make sure you're not letting yourself go. And while I'm at it, here's some Fen Phen and a six pack of Slim Fast. Yes, some might try to read in a not-so-subtle critique into such a gift. But not me.

I ripped open the package, went straight to the bathroom, and declared war on those nose hairs. And it was even better than I had hoped. There were no cries of agony or tears of anguish (as I experienced when I would try to pull out my those pesky nose hairs with a tweezers--something I'm pretty sure they don't even allow in Gitmo). Instead, there were only shrieks of delight, tears of joy. I was thrilled. Absolutely elated. Because I had gotten exactly what I asked for.

You see, I know that I'm getting older. I realize that my hair is migrating to strange (and useless!) places. But hey--I'm not that old. I have not yet let go of all my vanity. I have not quite accepted fuzzy ears and sprouting nostrils as inevitable. I'm still young enough that I want to keep my nose clean.** And now--thanks to Jill--I can!

*This is further proof that I'm old--but not that old. Certain parents of mine can't eat it after noon.

**I've found this to be especially important for taller folks like myself. You never know who is looking up there!

***PS: That is not a picture of my nose. It was bad, but not that bad.

Adrian UnCut

2008-12-09T08:03:00.003-07:00

I've been meaning to get some Adrian vidoe up for the past three weeks but editing has been a little slow (I really need to retire). So to appease the Grandmas, here's some video of Adrian eating (and not eating) his supper. Note the tongue action--a new discovery it seems. Feel free to skip ahead as you desire.

Adrian Uncut from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

The Sioux Falls Airport

2008-11-17T18:23:00.007-07:00

Sitting here in the Sioux Falls Airport, waiting for our delayed plane to take us “home” to Denver, my mind drifts back to my first time here. It must have been some twenty-two (or so) years ago. I was standing on a window ledge at the end of a long, abandoned hallway (probably the same window ledge I sit near now--near gate 8). I stared out at the tarmac and the runway lights and craned my neck, trying in vain to catch one last glimpse of my Grandpa and Grandma as they boarded their plane. When I began to feel the tears creep up from somewhere deep inside and threaten to spill over my eyelids and down my cheeks, I must have reached up for my father's hand.

On the way home that night, Dad stopped at a truckstop just off I-29 and bought me some Rolos. He handed them to me with a promise that we would see Grandpa and Grandma soon enough.

_____________________________________________

Less than a half hour ago, I removed my contented son from his Grandfather’s (my father's)arms. His little hands made one last exploratory grasp for Grandpa’s earlobes and cheeks and then, with a quick hug, we said our good-byes and headed for airport security. Deep in my gut, it feels a lot like that day some twenty-two years ago. Only this time, we’re the ones leaving. Grandpa and Grandma are the ones staying. And this time, there are no Rolos.

We’re grateful for a good week in Iowa. A good week with Adrian’s Grandpa and Grandma and the rest of the family. But sometimes, it’s hard to be reminded of what we (and Adrian) are missing.

My Big Mouth

2008-11-13T13:23:00.011-07:00

Back in Jr. High, when older brother Micah was qualifying for state track meets in high school and brother John was shattering the records in grade school, I decided I wanted to be a runner too. So every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a showed up in the grade school gym with a few dozen of my classmates for track practice. We'd slog out a couple of miles together and then return to the gym, wheezing, to do sit-ups and push ups under the watchful gaze of (my then hero)Coach Landstra . And then, every other week or so (or maybe more often, I've tried hard to blot this time of my life out of my memory) we'd climb on the bus and drive to Orange City or Hull or Rock Valley for a meet.

The meets did not go well for me. Mr. Landstra always put me in the mile (which is not to say I was an actual "miler"). Back then I liked to think it was because my coach/hero saw some potential seeded deep within me--a gift that would blossom at any moment and result in a beautiful bouquet of ribbons and trophies. In retrospect, I've realized that it was most likely because the mile race always had a fountain start. This meant that Mr. Landstra could enter as many runners in the event as he desired--which is really a way of saying that he could have me "participate" in the meet without having to worry about my liability to the team.

I'm not bitter.

At any rate, I donned my blue "SCCS" t-shirt and lined up with the other slow guys (and a few fast guys) for every mile race for two years. As you might have guessed, I did not win any of them. There were, however, personal victories. One of the greatest came that cool spring day in eighth grade when I not only managed to finish without getting lapped (a first)but also came home with a fourth place ribbon. Never mind that there were only three other participants that day. It was still a victory for me.

Some day, I may write about my brief foray into high school track. (Being the brawny fella that I am, I naturally signed up to throw the discus, which really means that I signed up to ride around in the van and hang around in the weight room with my pal, Dave). This lasted for three weeks, until the coaches threatened to make me run. Then I heard other duties calling my name and quit.) But suffice it to say, running and I don't get along well. We never have. Probably never will.

All of which might make you wonder why I'm considering running a marathon.

That's right. I'm considering running a marathon. There are probably a lot of reasons for this (Dealing with my demons? Being white?). I'll leave those for the professionals and say that the the main one is that I told Jill that I would. To be more precise: I told her I would if she would.

This, of course, was a foolish thing to do. Jill has a much better history with running than I do. Not only does she voluntarily run on a regular basis, she's actually finished a marathon, and a half marathon (trail!), and several 25k races. She's reallly quite something.

But back last March, when I heard this sentence coming out of my big mouth, all that seemed like a distant memory. Jill was eight months pregnant and, um, not exactly in peak running form (though she was actually very fit--for a pregnant lady.)In fact, she was wondering if she would ever get back to running again. So, being the loving/encouraging husband that I am (and going through my annual three week flirtation with running, where I pick it up, try to convince myself that I like it, and then drop it again), and being a man with little or no ability to think before I talk, I told her that, if she wanted to get back in shape and needed a training partner, I'd be that guy. I would run a marathon with her. (I don't know why I didn't offer to do something more pleasant with her--like make a practice of climbing mountains on our knees with our hands tied behind our backs, but I digress).

So, long story short, Jill is looking at doing the Ft. Collins Marathon in six and a half months. The question is, should I be true to my word? What if I ran with her for four hours--but only covered a mile or two? Would that honor the sprit of the thing? Is it even physically possible for me to cover marathon distance in less than, say, nine hours?? Or should I say to my beloved wife, in the indelible words of the great Meatloaf, "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that?"

Please tell me what you think. And then go and conduct my pants experiment and report back (you bums).

Adrian Update

2008-11-08T07:13:00.003-07:00

More video of our little boy. I'm impressed that I managed to cut thirty plus minutes down to five. You should be too. This is all from October, which was full of "firsts." He now sits, is working on eating solid foods, went in the jumper. Oh yeah, he's also huge.

The six month stats are:

Height: 28.5". 95th percentile
Weight: 19 lbs. 75th Percentile

In other words, my sixth month old can beat up your six month old. Probably.

A few other notes on the video:

For some reason, I'm in most of the shots and Jill is not. This is not because I'm a more active parent (Jill is probably caring for Adrian over 90% of the time). Its so that when he's nineteen, full of resentment, and in therapy, we'll have at least some proof that his father was around.
We do talk to our son. Quite a bit, actually. However, I hate the sound of my voice, so I've managed to cut nearly all of the adult chatter out.

Adrian, Oct 08 from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

Fall Photos

2008-10-25T07:23:00.001-06:00

I'm a little concerned that these pictures are going to cause you all ot overlook my last post. That wouldn't be so bad, but I really need your participation in my "Pantastic" experiment. So please, look at the pictures, get your fill of Adian, and move on.

Pantastic (A Public Service Announcement)

2008-10-24T18:32:00.008-06:00

Author's note: Yes, this post is long. As I've noted before,
brevity is not my strong suit. But even if you choose not to read it all
(thats your choice), please catch the last full paragraph and participate in my
little experiment.

_________________________________________________________

I hate shopping. Especially for clothing.

Of course nearly every guy says that. It's one of the requirements for getting your man card.* In fact,I'm told they'll take it away if you don't scratch yourself, spit a lot, and say things like this: Oh, the wife wants to go down to the mall again. You know those broads, always spendin' the money on shoes and fancy purses. Not me. I'd rather hang out in front of the big screen with my Buddy Weiser. I'm just a fine wearin' my blue jeans and an old Metallica t-shirt. That's all I need to work on the truck anyway. At least that's what I've been told (so I do say something like this, at least quarterly.)

So yes, my Y chromosome compels me to declare my disdain for shopping. But it's not just that. I really hate shopping. And not for all the regular reasons (what are the regular reasons?). I hate shopping because I'm tall. As a tall person living in a ground-huggers' world, I can't walk into a store and expect to find, say, a pair of pants that will fit me. Inevitably, I'll end up standing under the florescent dressing room lights in something that resemble Capri's, wondering if I can pull it off in the name of faux Euro styling. (I can't.) Or I'll stand in front of the mirror tugging down some other extra baggy pair as low as I can around my waist to get an extra inch or two (or three or four) of length, all the while wondering what the old ladies will say about this young buck they now have for a pastor.

All that is to say that I don't shop much. At least not in stores. Shopping for me usually involves a half hour in front of the computer (give or take an hour) , clicking through the sale pages of a few select stores that I know stock tall sizes, guessing what I think will fit. It's still not my favorite--but it's a lot better than going through the mall and striking out for three hours.

That's my regular routine. But a couple of weeks ago I decided to depart from it and risk a trip to the mall. A local store was advertising a 40% of sale and I figured it was worth a shot. I wasn't optimistic, but I needed a new pair of jeans and I'll do most anything to save a few bucks.

Upon arrival at said store, I was more than pleasantly surprised. I was elated. I found not one, not two, not three, but four pairs of pants (jeans, actually) in my regular size. Giddy as a school girl, a loaded them into my arms and headed to the dressing rooms. I figured the only question for me that day was How many will I take home?

Well, it took about two minutes for it all to come crashing down. Not one, not two, not three, but four pairs of jeans failed to fit correctly. And this time, they weren't too small. They were too big. I nearly crumpled into a ball in the dressing room with a wail. The humanity of it all! How could it possibly be!

As a shuffled back to the shelves cursing the cruelty of it all and wondering, once again, about size inflation** in the U.S, I was caught by a sales guy in an argyle sweater. Clearly, he read my emotions well. I hate trying on pants, he confided in a hushed tone. But I've found a secret. You don't need to try them on. You simply take a pair of pants and you wrap them around your neck like this. If the two sides meet at the back of your neck with little or no overlap, they'll fit just right. Trust me on this. I never try on pants in the store. And they always fit.

I couldn't help but stare at the sales guy. Then I couldn't help but check out his pants. They did look good. But I was pretty sure he was just screwing with me--that he had some bet with his buddies in the back room about how many people the could get to perform this ridiculous stunt. But nevertheless, I grabbed another pair of the shelf (things were looking up again--they had some a size smaller) and headed back to the dressing room. And, of course, I didn't try them on right away. Instead, I ducked my head low (to make sure no body could see me over the dressing room door--another problem tall folks run into in this short world), held the jeans to my neck, and tested them out. Things looked good (and I felt like a fool). So I whipped off the jeans I was wearing and tugged them on. One leg, then the other. Perfection!***

This is where I need some audience participation. Was the sales guy putting me on? Was this just a fluke? Please, go find your best fitting pair of jeans or pants, wrap them around your neck (see photo), and report back in the comments section. What is the correlation between how they fit around your waist and how they fit around your neck? Please do it! This could be a pants-fitting revolution!

*Along with having propane and propane accessories in your garage

**This is my theory that retailers are catering to the fattening up of America by making their sizes bigger (so a XL today is more like an XXL of fifteen years ago).

*** Or near perfection. They were actually a little long, but since they were only twenty bucks, I figured I could put up with it. Of course, there was a time when I'd have been thrilled to find jeans that were too long (the sheer novelty of it all!). But now I'm not so sure. As I noted to an old friend, while the extra length is clearly deemed fashionable right now, people in my position aren't supposed to be fashionable. We're supposed to sport what I've heard referred to as "Pastor's Pants"--best seen in people in my profession who cross their legs and have their pants pulled up to about mid-calf, exposing their milky white legs and grey socks. With the right length pant, I can pull this off with astounding flare.

The Sitter

2008-10-19T20:11:00.004-06:00

It was a Friday night back in the fall of 1993. I was slumped awkwardly in the front seat of an old Buick Century that belonged to a man name Mike. Mike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he explained bedtime routines and emergency contact information. He rolled through a stop sign and added, "There's pizza in the fridge."

Normally, that news alone would be enough to make me ecstatic. But I hardly heard. I was too busy worrying about what the night would bring.

I was to be the babysitter for the evening. I liked kids, but I had never done any babysitting before (at least not officially). So as we drove down Sioux Center's Main Street--past the recently erected Centre Mall--questions raced through my mind. How was I going to entertain a ten month old child for more than, say, four minutes? And when was the last time I'd ever changed a diaper (if ever)? More importantly, did I really know how to do it?

I was pretty sure I didn't. But I figured I'd try almost anything for a $1.75 an hour.

Things ended up going just fine that night. I put the diaper on frontwards (At leas I assume that I did. The Pooh Bears go in front, right?). I got little Justin to bed on time and without too much crying. And I was extra vigilant. I made sure to stay awake until Mike and Michelle returned home--even if it meant fighting off sleep all the way through Letterman and halfway through O'Brien. Then, sometime before midnight, my eyes heavy with sleep, the couple returned and Mike drove me back home. As I prepared to leave the car, he shook my hand, thanked me, and gave me my paycheck for the night. Seven dollars and fifty cents.

I thought about Mike and Michelle last night while we were doing our last minute search for a babysitter. At first I thought, "Wow, I wish I could find a babysitter for that cheap!" Then I thought, "Wow, what kind of parents were they?! I can't believe they actually allowed me--at the ripe old age of thirteen--to assume responsibility for their child?! Someone should have called social services!"

Needless to say, we have yet to enlist the services of the local jr. high students. And it's not only because they charge much more than $1.75 an hour--though that probably has a little to do with it (we're far too cheap to go out for dinner and pay someone 8+ dollars an hour to watch our child). It has more to do with our own fears and paranoia. Jill's doesn't make a habit of saying things like: "Over my dead body." But I expect she would if I suggested we leave Adrian under the watchful (or not so watchful eye) of a seventh grader.

But that does leave us in something of a bind. Lots of folks from church offer to babysit, of course. But it's one thing for them to offer on a Sunday morning. It's another for us to ask for a Saturday night. If they were family--or family family--we wouldn't hesitate. But they're not. So we do.

Thus far, Jill and I have come up with a fairly simple solution: we don't get out much. At least not together. When we do, it tends to be some church event that we really can't avoid (such was the case last night). But most nights, we end up sitting quietly in our living room. Maybe watching Law and Order (or The Office if it's a good night). Maybe reading a book or writing blog posts. It's a far cry from the wild night life we once new and loved.

Okay, it's really not that at all. But still, it would be nice to have the option from time to time. So--anybody (preferably anybody related) want to move to Denver and be on standby Adrian duty? The pay is not great--but I'm sure the rewards are.

Puppy Love

2008-10-17T22:35:00.001-06:00

Role Model

2008-10-14T18:31:00.004-06:00

Sunday morning, a couple of little boys from church were riding home with their Mom. They were chatting away in the back seat of the minivan when she heard one say to the other: "My dad is really tall, but when I grow up I want to be tall like Pastor Joel, because did you know he is the tallest guy in the world."

You heard it here first.

Brevity

2008-10-05T22:08:00.008-06:00

When I was in the fourth grade, I wrote a fourteen page book report on George Washington Carver. Title page not included.

I'm not sure what I wrote about for all those fourteen pages (Any chance you still have this Mom? I'm sure it's gold.) Maybe I pontificated a bit about what it would be like to share a name with a president. Or what I would have done with the money Mr. Carver could have made. But I expect it was mostly about peanuts.

I recall thinking that my teacher, Mrs. Andringa, would be delighted to read those fourteen pages--all written out in my careful but cramped cursive. In retrospect, I was probably wrong about that. And wrong abut the teachers who followed in her footsteps--those poor souls who were forced to endure the pages and pages (and pages) of my rambling. Somehow, I doubt my 1.5 spacing, 10.5 font, and .8" margins succeeded in convincing them that my papers were within their assigned page limits.

All that is to say: brevity is not my strong suit. Of course, if you regularly read this blog, or if you took Comm 110 with me in college, or if you've ever heard me preach, you probably know that already. So I was rather impressed with myself for condensing our latest collection of Adrian videos down to a mere five and a half minutes (one minute of which is him sleeping--and I'll understand if you skip that part). I know it's still a little long--unless you are one of his grandparents or a parents--and some of you might want to skip to one of the high point at 4.15 (I won't blame you). But it's the best I could do.*

Adrian, Late Sept 08 from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

*I really don't feel that bad because (a) It's my blog and I'll post what I want to (b) my last Adrian video had twice as many hits as the moose video--which was short, and not about Adrian.

Mooses!

2008-09-27T19:49:00.002-06:00

As Jill and I pulled off the highway onto the side road leading up to the cabin we stayed at last weekend (what can I say, we know how to pick our friends) we saw this fella and his family. We saw five more throughout the rest of the weekend--which makes the natives who have yet to see their first jealous. "Beautiful" may not be the right word, but pretty cool nonetheless.

Untitled from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

How to Make the Big Bucks

2008-09-15T09:51:00.004-06:00

I think I've figured out away to make the big bucks. Maybe pay for a new bike, and/or Adrian's college, and/or a mountain home.
I'm going to spend my evenings creating/editing videos of my son--like the one below--and refuse to release them until his grandparents pay up. If Brad and Angelina can get a few million just for a couple snapshots, there's no telling what I could get for these videos.
First one is free. Next time, I'm sending a bill.

Untitled from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

PS: Yes, I posted two days in a row (in case you failed to realize that the post below is also new).

Grays and Torreys

2008-09-14T19:25:00.004-06:00

Yep. It's been a while. That happens.
I really haven't done much in the last month. The big highlight was hiking "Grays and Torreys" (two 14ers* in the Front Range) with pal Pico last Monday. I also got to try out the new camcorder and my video editing skills--which are elementary, at best. One moment I wish I'd managed to capture came from a woman who must have been around 45-50 at the top of Torreys. We were talking about how nice the day had turned out (despite rain in Denver in the morning) and she said, "Well, I heard the weather report during my workout this morning..." It was one of those: "You-know-you're-in-Colorado-when" moments.

At any rate, here's my travelogue for the day. I had hoped to get a kickin' 80s soundtrack (featuring Boston's "Walkin' at Night", of course) but Movie-Making skills aren't quite there yet. Just imagine the power riffs as you watch...

Untitled from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

*A "14er" is a mountain peak that reaches over fourteen thousand feet.

Nostalgia

2008-08-03T15:01:00.003-06:00

I transferred a bunch of old pictures from our old computer--and thus "old" life--to our new computer this week. Jill and I had a fun time flipping through them and remembering bike trips, backpacking trips, seminary apartments and family visits. It occurs to me that there are still a few significant moments that aren't depicted (like our bike ride around Lake Erie and the thousands of hours studying in seminary), but I thought someone out there might also enjoy them (especially siblings with growing children!).

Nicaragua Vacation

2008-07-23T19:36:00.002-06:00

Earlier this month, Jill, Adrian and I flew down to Nicaragua to spend a week with Jill's family (her brother works there as the director of Nicaragua Christian Academy). Since I've included more photos than anyone really cares to see, I'll just give a brief overview by answering the FAQs about our trip.

1. How did Adrian do on the plane?
Just fine. He slept more or less the whole way. He was actually kind of fun--people's faces would light up when they saw him, and then their smiles would get even bigger when they saw our seats were not by them. And of course, we got plenty of helpful childcare tips from complete strangers (including a flight attendant who had strong opinions about where babies should and should not be changed.)

2. Did you stay at Liam's house?
We love each other--but not that much. While Liam's two bedroom home serves its function for him and his family, it would have been a bit snug for all of us. Instead, we rented a three bedroom, three bath home just outside of San Jaun del Sur--a small village on the Pacific. Among the homes many perks were plumbing that allowed us to flush our toilet paper and showers that provided hot water without the threat of severe electrical shock.

3. What did you do?
As the pictures suggest, we sat around and read, splashed in the pool, played board games (I even let my in-laws win a game or two of Ticket to Ride), sweat, and stared at babies most of the day. San Jaun del Sur is known for its surfing--and I had brief visions of taking a few lessons--but that never materialized. I'm sure I would have dazzled them all with my sweet farmer/biker tan and cat-like agility.

4. Did you stay healthy?
Yes. Thankfully. Last time we were in Nicaragua that was not the case. All that needs to be said about that is that there are better ways to spend your vacation. Oh, while we stayed healthy, we had a close encounter with a scorpion (found one on a car seat, inches away from baby Judah's elbow) and I may have feared for my life when I was forced to drive on Nicaraguan roads while trying to keep up with my Nascar inspired brother-in-law.

Trail Ridge Road

2008-07-05T14:06:00.003-06:00

Jill and I spent a few days at the beginning of this week (what we consider our "weekend) in Grand Lake, Colorado. We were at a friend's cabin just outside of Rocky Mountain National Park--not a bad location, if I don't say so myself. While we were there, I decided to take a morning to accomplish something I've wanted to do for a long time (okay, a year, not really that long)--ride my bike up (and down!) Trail Ridge Road, which is the highest continuous paved road in North America, topping out at (approximately) 12,138 feet. Great weather, great scenery, great time. Maybe this will become an annual event...

How to Give the Perfect Man Hug

2008-07-02T11:25:00.001-06:00

If any of my friends want to give me a hug for my birthday, I'm now prepared.

The Power of Logic

2008-06-23T14:47:00.006-06:00

It was going to be a two hour affair. No more.

I'd get up early with Adrian. Slug some coffee in the car. Ride my heart out. And be back mid-morning.

That's what Jill and I decided last night while we sat on the front porch, discussing what to do today (before we got interrupted by the fire department, who were called over by a neighbor who hit a gas line while digging in his front yard. He was embarrassed (or should have been) because it was his second offense in six months. I was grateful because it turned out to be an excellent opportunity to meet half the people on our block who came out to gawk. Maybe I should do more digging in the name of evangelism...). We had initially talked about me cashing in my Father's Day present and riding the "Peak to Peak Highway"--a 70 mile jaunt through the mountains from Blackhawk (were Jill could spend the morning gambling and eating at casino buffets) to Estes Park (were Jill could eat Carmel apples and find lots of delightful souvenir t-shirts, mugs, and "collectibles). However, we didn't want to take the time today. So we decided on the previously mentioned two hour ride, which was to be up a little (13 mile) climb south of town.

And then I got to thinking. Why spend an hour driving (round trip) when with just a bit more time (okay, another hour), I could ride my bike to the beginning of the climb ? I'd save gas, be a half a step closer to fitness, and get an extra thirty miles in my mileage log. It made perfect sense. So (with Jill's blessing) that's what I decided to do.

And then I got to thinking. Once I'd already ridden the thirty miles to the top of Deer Creek Canyon, why turn around there? With just another hour of riding, I could loop through Conifer and Evergreen--perhaps stop for a good cup of coffee--and get another fifteen miles in the mountains. It sounded like too good of a plan to pass up.

And then I got to thinking. If I was already going to be spending the time to ride 75 miles, why wouldn't I just spend another hour and a half and log a full century? It'd be nice to roll through Red Rocks and maybe check out Golden and say "Hi" to the folks at Coors. I had to admit--it sounded like a most reasonable idea.

Apparently, I can rationalize anything.* Because as I rolled out the door this morning (an hour later than expected, of course) I had half an intention to do all that. It just seemed to make so much sense. It's hard to trump the power of logic.

But not impossible, of course.

When I got to the top of Deer Creek Canyon, I just had to turn around. And though I blamed the looming thunderheads (looks like rain, tut tut), the real reason I decided to head home was that I knew my little boy and my lovely wife were waiting for me. How could I stay away from a face like this?

*I think I'm understanding credit card debt--and sin--a little better from this experience!

Ride Around Town

2008-06-21T20:06:00.005-06:00

CL and I took a ride around Denver this morning. All said and done, he put in 52 miles, I put in 58. It was CL's second longest ride ever--the only one longer being a ride around Lake Okoboji we did in Jr. High (A day we both remember for different reasons as well. It was the day Chris got his beloved cat, Buddy. Also the first (and I think last) time that I experienced the unpleasant surprise of sour milk on my Raisin Bran. And I just thought it was frozen...). To commemorate the big day, I decided to take my camera and snap a few random shots from the bike.

Also a shot of the local wildlife...regrettably, I missed the other notable bit of wildlife--a man riding bike with a parrot on his shoulder.

Bath Night

2008-06-18T22:40:00.001-06:00

Anything for Love

2008-06-16T16:41:00.006-06:00

I like Mexican food--a lot. However, I have long been of the opinion that many of the restaurant varieties taste more or less the same. There's not a lot of exceptional Mexican food, no really bad Mexican food. You get some hot sauce, some sour cream and guac, some cheese and you're good to go.

I had this in mind last week as we ventured to one of Denver's classic tourist destination (a favorite for 36 years!)--Casa Bonita. I had heard that the food wasn't great (after I mentioned it in a sermon once, a pimple-faced seventh grader came up and said You'd be better off staying home and eating re fried beans from a can). But I figured, "How bad can it be? It's Mexican!"

It turns out I was wrong. It wasn't just bad. It was really, really, bad.

I thought for a moment that I was being taped on a Fear Factor episode. Or that I had fallen asleep and woken up in, say, Guantanamo Bay (although I think forcing someone to eat this food may violate the Geneva Conventions, so they clearly wouldn't do that there). The tortillas? Slimy. The "cheese"? Fake (generic Velveeta?). Everything else? Unidentifiable. It was an all you can eat affair, but none of us had seconds. Given the heritage and usual "thrifty" behavior of those adults gathered (me and Jill plus both sets of parents) that alone should speak volumes. Oh, the depths of human depravity that could produce such an abomination!

At the end of the meal, Jill said, "Well, on the bright side now we can say we've done it and never have to do it again." (She said something remarkably similar after finishing her Marathon a few years ago.) I heartily agreed.

But today, I realized we probably will do it again. Today, we got a wonderful postcard from my niece and nephew (the guests of honor and our excuse for going) thanking us. "We had a lot of fun", they said. And I suppose that made it all worthwhile. If another niece or nephew comes to visit--or if my own child(ren) just have to go--I suppose I'd do it again.

It's an amazing thing, I'm realizing, the lengths we will go to for those little people that we love!

Happy Father's Day to Me

2008-06-16T16:24:00.004-06:00

Happy Father's Day to me. I got it started right with a little smile from my boy (I'm going to assume it was for me--not just the gas factor). Ended with a guilt free long-ish bike ride (or at least as guilt free as they get for me these days.)

I Refuse to Apologize.

2008-06-04T21:49:00.004-06:00

Somewhere around 83.7% of the blogs I come across have "Sorry I haven't written for so long..." in the first line of their latest entry. I won't go there. That's right. I refuse to apologize. Instead, I'll simply post the pictures I know Grandmas and Grandpas are pining for (the rest of you--well, you'll have to put up with it. It's my blog and I'll post all the pictures of my son that I want...). Oh, and I'll offer a few lines of defense--I have a job, I have other hobbies, I have a new son, I have to go to bed....

PS: We now have computer/internet at home (as of this week). I'm hoping to have more regular updates in the future. And with some text, if anybody cares about text...

Looks just like his Dad?

2008-05-05T20:58:00.001-06:00

Hiccups

2008-05-04T19:01:00.002-06:00

You have to listen closely...but this was our lunch time entertainment today.

First Bath

2008-05-04T17:13:00.002-06:00

Here's me, "bonding" with Adrian by giving him a bath. He seems to enjoy Jill's form of bonding a little more.

Firsts

2008-05-04T16:46:00.004-06:00

I got peed on for the first time yesterday. Golden arches.
Adrian got his first "bath". More or less.
He also got licked by the dog for the first time. Don't tell his mother (or his grandmother.)
He also went to church for the first time this morning. There was much ooohing and aaahing. (Over him, not the sermon.)

Holler!

2008-05-02T21:48:00.002-06:00

The boy has some lungs....

Adrian, a day and a half

2008-05-02T21:46:00.001-06:00

Here we are this morning...typing while holding a baby is not easy...

Adrian Addict

2008-05-01T19:31:00.002-06:00

More pictures of our little boy. Amazing to see him changing already--some natural (head reshaping), some not so much (we didn't wait for the eighth day to perform the sign of the old covenant).
We're still giddy with it all. And happy to have Grandpa and Grandma Starkenburg here.

Whooot!

2008-05-01T08:46:00.007-06:00

Adrian Paul was born Wed night at 10 pm. 7 lbs 12 ounces. 21 inches long (the cone head adds some, but he wasn't standing up straight, so I figure it more or less evens out). Everyone involved is doing well...

Going for a trip

2008-04-25T16:43:00.003-06:00

With Baby Schreurs apparenlty taking her/his sweet time to enter the world, we've been trying to think of ways to speed things along. People at church have (seriously) offered offroad jeep rides, herbal teas, and advice on a certain "other" method (wink wink, nudge nudge. I'll write a nice thank you note to anyone who convinces Jill "it" actually works).

Those are all fine, but I'm thinking the best way to bring it about is to tell Jill that it's not going to happen anytime soon, scoot off on some adventure that takes me deep into the mountains (or perhaps to Moab--there is a group from church going this weekend) and find myself well out of cell-phone range and hours (days?) from home. I predict that if I did that, Baby wold be here within moments of my falling off the grid.

The Ol' Ball Game

2008-04-24T19:02:00.003-06:00

I gave up baseball in the fifth grade. I don't remember all my reasons (I'm sure my motives were complicated) but I know it had something to do with (a.) my fear of hard, spherical objects being hurled at me by wild-armed eleven-year-olds and (b.) the fact that baseball is boring. Very boring. Standing out there in right field*, I wanted little more than to take my glove of, lie down, and take a nap.

All that's to say that I'm not Denver's biggest Rockies fan. True, I had a mild case of "Rockies Fever"--just like all the other fair weather fans in Denver last fall (sorry for the mixed metaphor). But that passed fairly quickly (about half way through game three of the World Series). It's also true that we've gone to a few games--but that was primarily about (a.) the food and (b.) the culture up in the cheap ($4) seats. In addition to being mooned several times one pleasant evening last spring, we also got to listen in on some "interesting" conversations. My personal favorite was the twenty-something sitting ahead of us--a guywe'd seen spend at least fifty bucks on Coors Light--attemptinig to pick up a girl by giving her several innings worth of free financial advice. I think that's called irony.

Well, pal Pico (actually pal Pico's wife) had an extra ticket Tuesday night--so I went along. By most counts, they were great seats. Okay, they were phenomenal seats. Not only was the food as good as ever, we were also seated three rows behind the home dug out, meaning that we could hear Clint Hurdle yell at the umps and see Matt Holiday's glistening dome, and yes, the streaker in the 7th inning (Hey, I'm just reporting the facts.)

*Okay, reason (c.) I wasn't good at baseball. Everyone knows the worst players get stuck in right field, except when lefties are up to bat...

**Yes, this post means no baby news. We'll let you know.

39.5 Weeks

2008-04-22T08:17:00.001-06:00

If I'm counting correctly, Jill is at 39.5 weeks--the due date is Friday, but our Doc has suggested that may be a false hope.

Here is Jill this morning, dressed for her work as a pregnant ninja.

She's smiling for the picture, but really, she'd just been yelling Come out of there already!

I like it when Jill laughs and the whole belly shakes.

I think this is around or before Christmas. We were so proud--thinking that Jill looked so very pregnant. Silly us.

In other news: signs of spring include the bird nest on our back porch. I thought it was cool at first, but Momma bird has taken to dive bombing my head whenever I walk out the back door. Now I'm considering the purchase of a bb gun. (Not really.)

Trouble

2008-04-11T17:11:00.001-06:00

The trouble with skiing with Luke (pictured) is that he regularly says things like this: Hey, don't worry about it...it's only a double black this time.

Yes, that means I went skiing again today. With 14 inches of new snow (sorry, freshies) and an invitation from a parishioner, how could I say no?

And yes, I'm fine..despite a day of double blacks, and double black e.x. (I think that's what they're called--I tried not to dwell on them too much) runs . Perhaps my ego is bruised, but I'm fine.

Freshies

2008-04-07T19:51:00.005-06:00

I went to the mountains and found some "freshies" today. At least that's what the kids say. If you're over 26, hold a full time job, and don't call everybody "brah" (that's "Bro", as in "brother"), you might say that I went and found some fresh snow. You might also call it "powder".

This is the second week in a row that I got to ski the previously mentioned "Freshies". It was fantastic in both instances. Last week, however, I experienced the odd sensation of losing the distinction between ground and sky. It's a strange sensation to be sliding down a mountain and not know when it's going to take a sudden dip.

I find that skiing the "freshies" means that I have more wipe outs--but also that they're less painful. Last week, I ended up sliding down a rather large bump on my back with my skis straight above me. I'm sure those who were riding the lift directly above me were greatly entertained. Today, I took a good face plant, dropped a ski, and watched it slide 200 yards down the mountain. Thankfully, no one else was around to watch me hike/slide down after it.

Today, while eating my $9 piece of pizza and trying to not think about how I was being extorted, I was doing some counting. Apparently, I've skied somewhere between fifteen and twenty days this year. Perhaps I should be embarrassed by that. But more than anything, it strikes me (not for the first time) that I have a great wife. Not only did she let me go all those days (and that's a huge sacrifice since I'm so much fun to spend time with), today, when I told her I might come home early, she encouraged me--nay, insisted--that I stay longer.

This very well may be my last ski day of the year. I'm hoping to get a few in next year, but we'll have to see what Fatherhood brings. I know nothing is going to compare to having a baby, I'll never look back, and all those other things things that people say--but I also know that

I'm going to miss the skiing, the biking, the reading, the napping...

Prego Pics...4.6.08

2008-04-06T14:10:00.003-06:00

Under three weeks to go (we hope)...Jill and Baby are as glorious as ever.

We had intended to take one of these together comparing Jill with baby under shirt to Joel with basketball under shirt. However, we didn't want to ask the neighbors to take a picture--they probably think us odd enough already. For the record, the two would have been very similiar (although, depending on what Baby is up to, the belly is sometimes more the shape of the deflated/lumpy basketball in the back corner of my garage)

The view from below.

We still like our dog.

Fumes...

2008-03-29T20:14:00.003-07:00

Seems to me this blog is running on fumes (if that). I guess I'm settling into life in the bigdirtycity--ski days and bike rides no longer seem blog-worthy. Thankfully, we have a baby coming in a month (give or take) so I'll be able to keep it going with a few thousand pictures of the little person. I know that's what folks really want anyway.

Until that time comes, a few random thoughts from on my bike ride yesterday. Read them at your own risk. I can't guarantee your entertainment (you get what you pay for).

Pregnant ladies can't be trusted--at least not about the weather. They have a core temperature of approximately 187 degrees and will tell you it's warm enough to bike without gloves--even when it's 35 degrees. For the record, that is not warm enough.
Homeless guy playing trumpet. I saw one yesterday--he wasn't very good, but at least he was practicing. I had a flashback to fifth grade trumpet lessons--sitting next to CL in Mr. VH's garage on hard steel folding chairs blurting out our rendition of "Oh When the Saints." And then I wondered what life was like for him in fifth grade, pictured his mom signing him up for music lessons, wondered about the dreams she had for him, he had for himself. Just a reminder that the homeless are people. And that they never pictured life turning out that way for themselves either.
The creepy guy in the white van. He's been showing up on a daily basis this week, parking on the street--just in view of my office window. I think he lives down the block. I also think he's a drug dealer. I'm basing this on the fact that strange people pull up next to the white van, in their zippy little Civics, he (the driver of the white van) gets in the car with them for about five seconds, something happens (I haven't gotten out the binocs yet), then they both drive away. I'm wondering when this necessitates a call to the cops--I hate to waste their time. Plus, I enjoy watching him--this keeps me entertained at least ten minutes a day.
Ethical dilemmas. As every Seinfeld fan knows, we (cyclists, drivers, humankind) are supposed to have a deal with the Critter Kingdom--especially pigeons and squirrels. The deal is: we approach, they move. Well, the pigeons on the bike path haven't been cooperating. One nearly hit me last week. So, I've been trying to help them out--when I get close, I bark like a dog (this works well for squirrels, geese, and deer as well). So here's the dilemma. These particular uncooperative pigeons are under the bridge--right by a homeless guy. I don't want the homeless guy to think I'm barking at him--but I also don't want to get hit in the face by a lazy pigeon. What should I do?

That's about it. Hey, it was a short bike ride.

St. Patty's Day

2008-03-29T20:13:00.001-07:00

Our latest (not really that up to date) pics of Jill--these taken on St. Patty's weekend (2 weeks ago?). A friend commented that her belly looks "glorious". The Doc insists she's really not that big. I, of course, agree with both.

In other prego news--one month to go. This week, we took a tour of the hospital where baby will (hopefully) be born . I think it made Jill more, rather than less, nervous. Other than that it was good. (Although it wasn't very nice of them to make all those pregnant ladies ride the freight elevator. They claim it was for convenience, but I don't know...)

Guilty as Charged?

2008-03-12T10:38:00.002-07:00

I'm not sure if I'm allowed to think that this blog is amusing, but I do. I haven't read them all, but think you may want to check out #87, 81, 80, 73, 64, 61, 60, 44, etc. etc.

Going Native

2008-02-29T21:22:00.004-07:00

It's Friday night. Jill's at work. There's really no good T.V. on (except the Gypsy Kings on PBS--which I'm watching/listening to so pardon my typos. It's really very distracting). I figured I might as well catch up on my blogging--finish that post I started about a year ago (when I first started this blog, actually) and never got around to wrapping up.

The post (started March 6, 2007) was originally prompted by a comment made by someone at church. I was asking him if it's possible to take one's dog along mountain biking on Front Range Trails when he interrupted me. "Wait a minute", he said. "You got a dog and you mountain bike? Wow, it didn't take you long to go native, did it?!"

I'll get into that in a minute. First a note of explanation.

The state of Colorado has one of the fastest growth rates in the nation. In fact, the growth rate of this great state is actually closer to that of a developing nation (or so the folks at NPR tell me). During the next decade, it's estimated that approximately 1,000,000 people will move to the Front Range area. That's a lot of people. No wonder one of the first questions that comes up in any conversation is "Where are you from?"

So not many of us are natives. But those who are take great pride in their status. They even have bumper stickers that proclaim to all the world their superior birth. The rest of us--well, we can only pretend. We do our best--we try to go go native", as my friend said. But some of us do better than others.

So, how am I doing? Here's what I've managed to come up with:

First, here's what I'm missing:

An "Impeach Bush" bumper sticker/sign on my front lawn (somehow, I don't think this would be popular with a fair portion of my congregation).

Single digit body fat percentage. (Denver claims to be the thinnest city in the U.S. I'm solidly in the double digits)

SUV/Subaru Outback/4 Wheel Drive. (Somewhere, I have a picture of my street early on a Sunday morning--each of the 20-30 vehicles parked on my street fell into this category.

$2,000 a month mortgage payment.

Buddhist prayer flags and sense of vague, smorgus board "spirituality". We're down right particular in our spirituality, thank you very much.

Leathery, Colorado Mountain tan. Still as pasty as ever.

Large camper/trailer to be used every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day.

Wow. That's a lot of strikes against me. Come to think of it, the only thing I really have going for me is the previously mentioned dog/mountain bike, my willingness to wear spandex in public places, and my smug attitude about my new lightbulbs/compost bin. Not very impressive at all. I guess I'll have to settle for this bumper sticker f0r now:

PS: If any Coloradians can think of something I'm missing, let me know!

For Cat Lovers

2008-02-26T07:56:00.001-07:00

A video for your viewing pleasure since I've got nothing to say today (except that the snow in Keystone yesterday was phenomenal. If this pastor thing doesn't work out, I'm going to be a ski bum. You heard it here first.)
PS: No--I don’t spend my free time looking through YouTube. It’s not so much that I find them as they find me.

Best. Monday. Ever.

2008-02-19T20:51:00.013-07:00

Okay, maybe not the best Monday ever. But top five. Or top ten. I've had some really good Mondays.*

Here are some highlights:

The French: My parents came out for a quick visit this weekend. We decided to send them off in style with breakfast at a local bakery: Trompeau. Real French folks serving real French pastries. Oiu oiu! I don't care if it's unpatriotic (or unmanly). I love their ham & swiss croissants. The pear/chocolate are also good.

Hot Deals: We had to go to Runner's Roost to exchange some things for Jill. We were delighted to find a 40% of sale and--best of all--shoes in my size. Apparently, my size is now 14D. I never knew that. They are really, really white--but I'll work on that.

Smart Barbers: I got my hair cut yesterday. My hairdresser theorized that I spend a lot of time outside. Her reasons? My wild, bushy eyebrows. Apparently, she thinks there's a connection. No longer are they a mark of shame. Now they're a badge of honor declaring to the world that, despite my soft pastor's hands, I am indeed a rugged outdoorsman. Who wouldn't want that?

Celebrity Sightings: I think I spotted Josh Blue on my bike ride. He was standing shuffling along the Cherry Creek bike trail. Of course, I can't be certain. It may have been a homeless guy who bore a striking resemblance. Do you think Josh Blue spends a lot of time outdoors?

High Calories: Jill and I finally got her birthday date in. Cheesecake factory! Tiramisu cheesecake is, in fact, very delicious.

High Culture: We want to Plainsong last night at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. I love legitimate theatre. And it's not just because the theatre crowd makes me feel tough. Great story. Great actors. Great night!

The Tax Man: We had our taxes done yesterday. In reality, this didn't start out so great. Our accountant--who seemed blissfully incompotent from the start--looked at us at the end of our hour and said, "Uhm, sorry to have to tell you this--but you owe another $2,500. I guess we goofed last year when we estimated your payments." This was not a highlight in our day. In fact it was something of a low point (Despite the fact that it gave me a good sermon illustration for Sunday's message on Matt. 6:24-34). But things got better--both for the reasons mentioned above and because of the phone call we got twelve hours after our appointment. Turns out the tax man goofed. We're getting a refund! Or we think we are. We're trying not to get too overly optomistic in the (likely?) event that he goofed again.

Wow--seven things. It seems biblical to stop there!

*I know people are supposed to hate Mondays. But as they are my day off, I really, really like them.

Adventures with Daisy

2008-02-17T08:38:00.001-07:00

It was a beautiful day in Denver last Sunday (55+ degrees) so Jill and I decided to go to the mountains and find snow. Something about wanting to feel like we're still in the midwest, I guess.

Anyway...we took Daisy along. She's been gaining some sympathy weight with Jill and it was time to get her some exercise. She loves running around in the snow, and at times reminded me of those cartoons where Bugs Bunny is tearing around under ground and you can only see a trail of dirt popping up on top of him. It was like that--but with snow. In this little clip, she actually gets stuck in a rather deep drift. And then I do. I thought snow shoes were supposed to float on top of the snow?!

No animals were harmed in the making of this film.

Prego Pics

2008-02-14T07:53:00.001-07:00

A few pics of Jill and baby's growth for your viewing pleasure.

I'm not really sure what's going on here.

Jill's new hobby: naval gazing.

Sunday morning.

Apparently, we (being Jill and Baby) are making progress. Jill had someone ask her when she was due a week or two ago. When she told them it wasn't until the end of April, they looked at her in disbelief. "Really?! I thought you only had a few more weeks!" I'm not exactly sure why people say such things, but I know others have had far worse.

Nine Years

2008-01-24T21:56:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, Jill and I are doing our level best to live simple, more environmentally ("Creation") friendly lives. We've made some progress, but still have lots to feel guilty about. We still drive the five blocks to the grocery store, buy fruit in January, forget to bring our own mugs to the coffee shop/church, eat red meat and seafood (occasionally), keep the house cozy warm, use a clothes dryer, build fires for the sheer joy of it, shower and flush the toilet daily, water our lawn, reproduce, and on occasion, drink coffee and beer (really, this is bad for the environment).

But we've taken some baby steps. For example, I walk the nine steps to my work (and Jill bikes/buses the seven miles to her work). If it's yellow, we let it mellow (except when we have company, because that seems to gross people out). We cast condescending looks at people who waste energy with their plasma TVs (as we can't afford one) and complain about lawn mowers and all "those people" who clog up the interstate driving into the mountains. We think about unplugging our dvd player when we're not using it. And, above all, we watch--and quote--An Inconvenient Truth.

And the last few weeks, we took two more steps. First, we set up the composter Jill got for Christmas in our backyard. This isn't your grandmother's composter (chicken wire and a pile of manure). This is deluxe. Hard plastic, strategically placed removable vents, a self-opening lid. It's a real hoot. Not only is it good for the environment, it has the added benefits of entertaining us on the nights when NETFLIX won't cut it (yes, watching leaves compost would make an exciting Friday night for us) AND helping us eat healthier (its so much fun it makes me want to eat a banana just so I can toss the peel in).

Jill also replaced many of our light bulbs with the long lasting mini-florescents. The good part is that we don't have change our light bulbs for nine years (I hate changing light bulbs, particularly because people expect me to do it all the time. Tallists.) The bad part is that we accidentally got the wrong ones ("Daylight Bright*") and now our bathroom glows. The yellow that's mellowing looks like nuclear waste. Our humble throne room now radiates like the Throne Room of the Almighty. It's really quite something. And, as I said, we have at least nine years to enjoy it. Lucky us.

*There is one that looks "normal", but "Daylight Bright" is not it.

Overheard

2008-01-20T22:12:00.000-07:00

We spent another day at the National Western Stock Show yesterday with the Young-ish Adults from church. We saw a lot of what you'd expect. Livestock, mostly. Also a lot of very large, shiny, belt buckles (Cowboy bling?). We even got to go to a lama show--which was actually less exciting than it sounds (if you can believe that). One of the more droll* events was a conversation I overheard near the RV/Trailer display. A man--clearly not from these parts if I'm allowed to say so--stood there gesturing at one of the dazzling new RVs. Apparently, he was in the midst of lecturing the wide eyed children who huddled around him. The topic? The strange ways of this foreign land. "In America" he said in his thickly accented English (Een Ah-marre-eak-ah), "when you are old, you leave your family, sell your house, and buy one of these."

I only wish I had stuck around to hear the rest of that conversation. And I can't help but chuckle(inside) at the thought of my parents spending their golden years rolling across the U.S. of A at 53 mph. Dad's hunched over the wheel and Mom's playing co-pilot--reminding him of the fast food places with the cleanest restrooms between naps in her captain's chair. When they need a break, they pull into the extra long parking spaces on the "Trucks/RVs Only" side of the rest area and spend some time chatting with the Billy-Bob and the other boys while they stretch their legs (Mom doesn't care for the smoke, but can't get enough of the conversation). They spend their winters sweating in Arizona and their summers swatting mosquitoes in a commercial camp ground in the Wisconsin Dells. To pass the time they tend their portable garden, watch satellite TV, and polish their gnome collection.

Ah, yes. Only een Ah-marre-eak-ah.**

*This word brought to you courtesy of Mr. Bill Elgersma and his sophomore English vocab lists.
**Disclaimer: No offense intended here. I do consider the RV comment a rather humerous example of the the trouble with sterotypes. I'm sure the comment was not intended maliciously or to offend, and do not mean to say anything offesnive myself...

fifty-one fotos.

2008-01-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's a lot of pictures. But we had a greeaat weekend with with Brother John and family (Jessica, Levi, Laremy) and wanted to share.
Here's the rundown:
Saturday: National Western Stock Show and Rodeo. Yee-haw!
Sunday: Church, long naps, Denver Museum of Nature and Science, Train (Light Rail) Ride.
Monday: Duffy Rolls, Keystone (Loveland Pass, Gondola Ride, Pool), Beau Joes Pizza.
Tuesday: Up Early and out the door.

A miracle?

2008-01-15T13:26:00.000-07:00

Returned home yesterday to find this in my fridge. Still deciding if it was indeed a miracle, a sign...or just a neighbor/friend with a good sense of humor.

Shameless Plug

2008-01-11T14:35:00.000-07:00

Can't get enough of me? Well, I can't either. Just a reminder that I have another blog (with my more serious thoughts)... http://www.revsramblings.blogspot.com/ . It's also updated sporadically but if you get "Google Reader" and set it as one of your home pages, you don't have to worry about that. Of course, if you get Google Reader, then my page counts get messed up and my ego will be crushed. You decide if it's worth the cost.

Sophisticated Humor.

2008-01-05T09:46:00.001-07:00

Yes, I know I'm very high-brow.

In Case You Missed It.

2008-01-03T22:06:00.001-07:00

Obama won for the democrats in Iowa tonight. Maybe Oprah helped.
Mike Huckabee won for the Rupublicans. Undoubtedly, this helped.

I can't decide if I think not taking yourself too seriously is a good trait for a presidential candidate or not.

Back "Home"

2008-01-03T16:55:00.001-07:00

After a week in Iowa, Jill and I are back "home".

At least I think that's what we're calling it now.

We're happy in Denver--we (obviosly) enjoy the many recreational opportunities, we love our jobs, enjoy lots of sunshine and our great neighborhood (complete with great coffee shops within walking distance that are probably a little too hip for us). But we're still adjusting to the idea of calling it "home."

For the first five or so years of our marraige we were always anticipating our next move (summer assignments, year long internships etc). It's taken a bit for the reality to sink in that we could be here for a long time (five years? twenty years?). It's odd enough to think about it for ourselves, but its even more strange to think that our child(ren) will call this place "home"--will say they are "from" Denver--in a way that we never can.

There are a lot of things I miss about Iowa. There's the appeal (probably easily sentimentalized) of living in a small town--of running into people you know in the grocery story and being able to ride your bike or walk almost anywhere. They beauty of the plains (you may need a trained eye to see this, but trust me, it's there). And more than anything, family.

On the bright side, however, there are a few perks about no longer living there. For one, it doesn't get "freeze-yer-booger-cold" in Denver (it was something like 2 degrees the day we left). I also don't get thirty-seven phone calls a day telling me why Mike Hackabee should/should not be president. Furthermore, if my weight gain last week was any indication, if I moved to Iowa this week I would weigh approximately 438 lbs by next Christmas (so much food!). While this would open up the possibility of me being the heaviest contestant ever on "The Biggest Loser" and would also mean that I could actually find clothes that fit at Big and Tall stores, it would also mean my new pants wouldn't fit. I like those pants. So, all things considered, it's probably best that we stay here.

On a slightly differen note, I should say that some things have changed in Iowa during fifteen months since we were last there. Some changes are good (a bookstore in Sheldon), some not so good (a Super Wal-Mart in Sioux Center), and some are just strange. In this latter category, I place the appearance of a multitude of what I formerly new as bank signs--those electronic signs that show the time, date, and some inspirational message. Well, they aren't just for banks anymore. They are everywhere. Taco Johns, Demco, the furniture store, Fanatasia Gifts, McDonalds (oh yeah, they have McDonalds now too). No one in Iowa has an excuse for not knowing the current time and temperature. Here are two examples of said signs--located within about fifty yards of each other (and I think there's another one or two just down the block).

Your Dog is Dumber than My Dog...I Hope

2007-12-31T12:59:00.000-07:00

Jill and I are finishing up our week visiting family in Iowa. That means we're getting ready to go "home" to Denver (it still sounds a little strange to say that). It also means that we're bracing ourselves for the report we'll be getting from our friends Kevin and Lynn, who have been watching Daisy-the-Wunder-Mutt while we've been away. We're preparing ourselves for the worst--but consoling ourselves with the knowledge that their dog Zeke(whom we watched during Thanksgiving break)is dumber than our dog. At least we hope he is.

Here is the standard Zeke set--the one we hope Daisy will not quite be able to attain.

1. Zeke cannot poop in one spot. This is not as endearing as it sounds. Zeke (who is one of those big dogs who looks hunched over and awkward to begin with) walks in circles as he poops. It's the first thing he does when he hops out of the back of the Robert's Subaru. And he does it at night, on our walks, too. Believe it or not, squinting in the pale moon light as I hunt for stray dog turds is very low on my list of favorite things to do. As this is a family blog, I won't get started on what happens to the rest of his anatomy when he's working on all this.

2. Zeke is prone to anxiety attacks. When we had him at our house for a few days this summer, the Roberts dropped off a few pill bottles with his leash, dog food, bed, and water bucket (by they way, he needs a bucket, not a bowl, as he drinks/drools an incredible amount. This could easily be point three, in my opinion.). They explained that one was a prescription for the really serious attacks--the Fourth-of-July-Fireworks type. The other was an over-the-counter drug for the less serious thunderstorm-induced attacks. Well, I'm glad we didn't have Zeke around for fireworks, because the "minor" attacks are annoying enough. Zeke cowers in a corner, shaking, or sticks to your side so closely that you can't go to the bathroom without him following you there. Thankfully, the drugs do a sufficient job of knocking him out.

3. Zeke is a delicate sleeper. We first discovered this delightful idiosyncrasy when we tried to gate him into a room downstairs. This was successful for a few hours. But sometime around 4 am, we heard a loud CRASH as he came through the gate (not over it). The next night, when we let him sleep upstairs in the hallway with Daisy, we couldn't keep him from pacing in and out of our room and up and down the stairs, whimpering, trying to crawl under our bed, and generally acting very nervous (see pt. 2, above). After a few hours, we discovered that one of the things that was bothering Zeke was a very subtle "chirp" from one of our smoke alarms. I still don't know which one (or why it was chirping, since they don't run off of batteries), but I did look. Eventually (around 2 am), I ended up standing on a chair in my boxers muttering less than affectionate things about old Zeke as I yanked out the smoke alarms--only to discover that that makes them chirp even more. In fact, they just may be possessed, since the keep on chirping even when the back-up battery is removed. By 2:30 am, all of our smoke detectors were piled outside on our back porch. I consider it evidence of spectacular self control and restraint that I managed not to throw them into the street where I could back over them--repeatedly--with the car.

There are a few others--but that should give you a sense of the standard that has been set for Daisy. Like I said, I really hope that Zeke is dumber than Daisy so that we don't have to feel too bad about whatever terrors she's inflicted upon the Roberts. And I also hope that, if the Roberts read this, they know that, really, we love Zeke, he's wonderful, and we'll happily take him again. At least if you're willing to take Daisy.

Flashback 1993

2007-12-29T16:42:00.000-07:00

Here's some more video of Jill at work. I missed the intro, but with the stage, music, and mic, I think I'd have a good audition tape for Ron Popeil(were he not bankrupt). The first video introduces the show ("Mission Super-Chill!"), the second will take you back in time to your seventh grade science experiments. I suggest you don't watch them if you have problems with motion sickness.

One Smart Lady

2007-12-28T08:28:00.000-07:00

I spent a good chunk of the day Monday (Christmas Eve) at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science watching Jill do what it is she does there. I've seen her at work before, but never in this particular department. This was quite possibly my last chance for a while as the space suit is starting to get a bit snug around the middle. Depending on how this works, tomorrow I may add some exciting footage of her simulating the conditions on Tritan. No doubt about it, she is one smart lady.

Untitled from Joel Schreurs on Vimeo.

Give the People What They Want

2007-12-20T12:04:00.000-07:00

I recently installed a cool new feature on my blog. It's called "sitemeter" and it tells me how many people are visiting my blog and--the best thing--where they are from (you can look for yourself by clicking on the icon on the left). In addition to raising some questions (who do I know in Kentucky? Or Manitoba? Where is Manitoba?), seeing how many visitors I get has also done great things to feed my vanity (which is, of course, what blogging is all about*). It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that there are more than two people who check out this blog. It also makes me feel a little guilty about not updating more often.** So, in an effort to give the people what they want, I'm going to offer a few blurbs summarizing the posts I could have written during the last month. These will be short, so you'll have to insert your own jokes/witty comments. Also, you may want to pace yourself. I may not update again for another month.

The End of Summer: It came the week before Thanksgiving here in Colorado (78 degrees at the end of November!). I celebrated by going for a mountain bike ride and then heading out to a Monday Night Football game with a few guys from church (Broncos vs. Titans). It was a hoot--so much fun that I could almost become a football fan if I did that more often (and if the Broncos were still playing). I stayed away from the nachos but caved in and had a brat. I love stadium food. Tasty AND good for you.

Holiday Cheer: The Sunday after Christmas Jill and I went out hunting for a Christmas tree. We headed deep into the mountains, hiked over hill and dale, and then chopped it down and took it home, Griswold style....Okay, not really. We went to the basement and pulled out the enormous box containing the eight foot tree someone gave us last year (our first tree, by the way). It's a little thin around the bottom--but I think it looks nice. I also put up lights--which was not all that frustrating because they were all new and neatly wrapped. I'm sure next year will be more, um, entertaining.

Daisy gets a bath: Nothing really that special here--Daisy is just so cool I'm sure that anyone with a little sense would want to look at a picture of her. That, and I though you might like to see how we get Daisy to stay in the tub. In case you can't see it, that's peanut butter smeared around the edges. Mmmmm. Maybe this will be a tactic we will use when our child gets old enough to protest bathing.

Observations from a day at the mall: In addition to realizing that people will stand in line a long time for mediocre coffee (yes, I'm talking about Starbucks here), I observed that I am perhaps the easiest person in the world to shop for. Jill, on the other hand, may be the most difficult. The key difference between us has something to do with our obedience to the 10th Commandment ("Do not Covet", if you weren't already aware). You see, I can walk into almost any store and find something I'd be happy to have--and many stores where I really want something. Pen store? Check. Sports store? Check. Pet store? Check. Western store? Maybe (I could go for a stetson). Apple Store? Don't even get me started. Jill, on the other hand, would apparently be a great Buddhist (which would make her a bad pastor's wife, but I digress). She seems to have all her desires under control. So really, don't feel bad if you don't know what to get her. In fact, don't get her anything--she doesn't really want it. You'd be better off getting me something instead.

Ski Bum: Last year, I went skiing for the first time as a resident of Colorado. I greatly enjoyed it. This year, I caved in and got a season pass--which means I can go as much as I want (or, more realistically: I can ski as many times as I (a.) have time for and (b.) am allowed by my pregnant wife, who probably shouldn't ski.) Here's a picture of me in my new helmet and goggles. The helmet is white and has me half way down the road to looking like a storm trooper.

*Face it, you have to be a little narcissistic/vain to think that people actually care about the latest picture of your dog, what you did last weekend, blah blah blah.

**Did I mention that I want my very own home Internet connection for Christmas? This business of "sharing" with church just isn't working any more.

Tummy.

2007-12-18T07:31:00.000-07:00

There it is. Finally bigger than mine.
There's a real live baby in there. One that likes to swim, kick, and eat (a lot, apparently).
As of last Friday, we're half way there!

P.S. Note the rosy glow.

Baby Bump.

2007-11-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

Here's a picture of Jill-"Showing." Quite exciting.

Here's me--"practicing" with Daisy.

Family Time

2007-11-13T20:19:00.000-07:00

My parents were here this weekend--which was great. But since it wasn't the first time, and since we didn't really see much new (other than a good Vietnamese Restaurant), I didn't take any pictures. Oops.

However, my brother (Micah), his wife (Shannon), and their kids (Caleb, Joya, and Stephen) came out a few weekends ago. It was their first time out since we've lived here, and we had a great time. They managed to fit in a rather impressive amount of activities in their blitzkrieg tour of Denver. They:

Went to the museum where Jill works (Denver Museum of Nature and Science)
Spent time on the 16th Street Mall
Made friends with Daisy
Toured the Coors Brewery (where they make a depressing 1.5 million gallons of beer a day. Oh, and 14 million aluminium cans).
Stopped by Buffalo Bill's grave
Saw Buffalo Bill's herd
Went to church (twice)
Hiked at Three Sisters near Evergreen
Toured the Denver Mint
Visited Rocky Mountain National Park
Visited a mechanic in Estes park (this was not a part of the plan, but Micah's van window was not cooperating)
Ate at KFC (while previously mentioned mechanic worked his wonders)

Not bad for three and a half days! Here are the pics*

*If you're viewing this via Facebook, you'll have to click the "see original post" link to see the pictures.

Computer Geek?

2007-11-12T13:44:00.000-07:00

I'm realizing today I may very well be a computer geek--or at least an aspiring one. I don't necessarily consider this a bad thing as long as it doesn't get too out of control In fact, I've attempted to be a computer geek before. It happened in 1995 or so, when I went to Radio Shack spent my heard earned money on an IBM Aptiva--a computer with a whopping 100mb of memory and a 166 mhz (or so?) hard drive.

It didn't really take then. But several interrelated factors have led me to believe that I may be further down the path now.

First, there is the existence of this blog. In some ways, it has nothing to do with the computer. It has more to do finding a diversion and trying to connect with folks I've lost contact with. Yet, since I started blogging a half a year ago, I find myself spending more of my free time in the interweb--both writing, sorting pictures, and fiddlin' with things. And I'll admit, I like it.

Second, there's the fact that I recently signed up for a facebook account. Again, this is partially out of a desire to get connected with folks (there's a theme here). But I also like the fiddlin'. And by the way, the 65 confirmed "friends" I have there suggest that I'm moderately popular, at best. I'm no where near a certain "Riets", who is rapidly approaching a whopping 300.

Third, I find myself frustrated when I can't get an Internet connection at home. As in: swear-under-my-breath-and-say-lots-of-things-pastors-shouldn't type frustrated. This is rather pathetic, I realize. After all, I do have a good book (or two) to read. But regardless, I'm actually thinking about shelling out the cash so that we can get our own service at home.

Finally, I've found myself coveting (yes, I know that's a sin) a new computer for our home use (currently I tote my church lap top back and forth). And not just any computer, but an imac. I've always wanted one--just so I could be like the cool kids. But today, I actually took the time to watch a video tour of the new operating system ("Leopard", grrrr) and was convicted that they really are better. Much, much better. (And soon, when the tour of "ilife" gets downloaded to my humble PC, I'm sure the case will be made again.) I may even be starting to believe that my life will be better if I attain this wonderful piece of technology.* Ooooh, the websites, the photos, the filing systems, the music, the video conferencing. Someday, it will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.**

PS: If you like to read a lot of blogs,"Google Reader" is the greatest thing since bagels .

* That reminds me of something Anne Lamott once wrote. After lamenting with her friend that her friend's husband, Eddie, blew their vacation money on an air conditioner, Lamott confesses: “…I wanted air, too, and believed that if I had it, my house would be perfect. I’ll go to my grave convinced that you can find happiness out there, somewhere, with the right someone or good financing. If you could just get things to line up properly, you could relax, learn to experience life in all its immediacy, reconnect with who you really are, with the soul or spirit, the divine whatchacallit deep inside that sparks when it hears certain music./// We’re not stupid, Eddie and I. We are Americans.”
**That's a Wayne's World reference, in case you missed it.

Amusing (to me)

2007-11-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

Jill and I have had a great time telling folks our big news. Generally, the reactions have been quiet satisfactory (though I'm not sure why people say things like "Well, I wondered..."). However, some deserve to be recorded for the ages.

Like tonight. We had a group of folks from church over for supper--including Andy and Ruth. I really love Andy and Ruth. I'm not sure how best to describe them other than to say they're very sharp--and at least a bit eccentric.

Okay, I'll try to do better.

Andy is 89--tomorrow. He made sure to slide into conversation that it's his birthday November 4. Because he loves holidays--when it was their 65th Anniversary this year and we announced it at a church potluck, he pumped his fist in the air and whooped for joy. They dress up for Halloween (Andy as a convict, Ruth following some sort of Hawaiin theme). In their house they have miniature sphinxes and pyramids--just because they think they're interesting. They're always at the front of the line at church potlucks. Andy wears string ties (Lanyards?) and a belt with his name on it. He calls me "short stuff" (and I call him "Young Man.") Forty years ago, Andy and another guy from church took their teenage sons to Mexico--and had them ride in the back of the pickup the whole way to Mexico city. Tonight, he teared up as he told us about his trip to Israel--and the way his athlete's foot was cured after he waded into the Jordan with his Sunday shoes on.

Okay, they really are hard to describe.

Anyway, tonight we announced to Andy and Ruth that we're expecting. Andy's reply was classic. "Well, what do you expect? That's what happens when people get together....happens all the time!" (They have six kids.)

----------------------

Also good was the response of my niece, Emily. We didn't actually tell Emily ourselves. My sister, Leah, broke the news. "Joel and Jill called last night," she said. "And they had some exciting news. What is the most exciting thing that could happen at Joel and Jill's house?" Emily didn't need to think about that one. "Daisy is having puppies?!"

Well, that would be exciting...

Moab!

2007-10-31T20:17:00.001-07:00

A few weekends ago (after Jill and I took our trip to Creede) I jumped in the car with two buddies (Chris and Nick) for a couple days of mountain bike. It sounds cruel to leave Jill at home, but she really wanted to go to work.

Here's the cliffnotes version of our trip:

Friday:
6:54am--Stuff junk in the car. Neatly of course.
7:18--Drivin' drivin' drivin.
12:34--Stop at Wendy's for lunch. This would prove to be a poor choice.
2:07--Set up camp.
2:18--head out to Slick Rock Trail. A little scary. A lot steep. Mucho fun.
Dusk--Grocery store. Delcious noodle supper. Beer. Diet Coke. Cool Ranch Doritos.
Later--Bed time. Animated discussion about "Blankin' Robert Plant" in the back ground.

7:08am--Rise and shine to heated debates in next campsite.
7:32--Start water for coffee.
7:56--still waiting for water to boil.
8:02--Pour water into nelgean with great haste. Ponder Nick's new french press. Make with haste.
8:04--Spit out large chunks of coffee. Acknowledge our ineptitude with the french press.
8:28--Catch Shuttle that drops us @ 25 miles into desert at the top of porcupine Rim trail.
9:47--start riding.
9:52--whoop with delight.
10:01--pass crazy guys "doing some drugs" (their words not mine) along side of trail
10:07 Whoop some more.
11:48--Hunt for trail. Trust hightened sensory perception of aforementioned crazy guys.
11:57--question sensory perception of crazy guys.
12:43--more whooping.
1:51--accept oatmeal from crazy guy. "It's all natural...I mean no green, man." (Imagine Otto like voice).
2:35--laughter as I endo (flip over handlebars)
2:42--grimace when discover that bike is not functioning properly.
2:55--CL miraculously fixes my bike (mostly).
Later--finish ride.
4:37 (ish)--Discover toppled tent. Chuckle.
4:41--discover bent poles on new tent. Swear under breath. Consider leaving to beat storm.
4:53--Make comfort food--brats.
5:01--Contented by brats, decide to stay.
5:06--wind changes.
5:07--decide to leave.
5:41--stuff remaining goods in car and leave.
Later--eat Taco Bell. This is also a poor choice.
Much later--grind teeth, hunch over, squint, and pray as we drive over Vail Pass in snow.
2:30am--arrive home.

Okay: Here's the good part. The pictures...

Rocktober.

2007-10-27T18:32:00.000-06:00

In case you haven't heard, it is no longer October. Its ROCKtober. Why? Because the fine folks at 9 News Denver said so (and a few other notable Denver characters, I guess.)

This renaming of months all has to do with the World Series. If you haven't heard, the Rockies are in this particular series (which doesn't really appear to be a World series from what I can tell, but I digress). And in case you don't know, the Rockies are from Denver. And since I'm from Denver (in case you didn't know), I guess that means I'm supposed to root for the Rockies too.

Truth be told, I've resisted hopping on the Rockies band wagon. Like most other Denver residents, three months ago I was fairly apathetic about the fate of the Rockies this year. I don't know all the history--there's a lot of bitterness about the Rockies ownership, from what I understand--apparently they're too intent on making some money, which bothers a lot of people and they've lost a lot of fans in the last ten years. But that's not really my issue--it's more that I'm generally apathetic about all sports. I suspect that has something to do with my being bad at them.

At any rate, I've not been an overly enthusiastic Rockies fan. I've gone to a few games. But I've also enjoyed poking and prodding the real fans. For example, last spring, I put in a bulletin announcement that said, "Young Adults: Come watch the Rockies lose with us" or some other such thing. Perhaps an abuse of power, but I was right (they lost something like 9-2). So given that history, I didn't think it would be right for me to pretend that I'm overly interested in the fate of Denver's new sweethearts.

But I have a confession to make. I've actually watched TV baseball (and am doing it right now, in fact). I want to yell at the screen (and occasionally do). I think I care.

But I still don't think that they're going to win the series.

But oh well. I'll still lay it on the line. For the record: Go Rockies!

Opinion Poll

2007-10-22T20:59:00.000-06:00

I know I'm not supposed to covet, but I do spend a lot of time daydreaming about what my next bike purchase will be. A delicious Vanilla from Portland? A classic Kirk from Montana? A pricey Pegoretti from Italy to hang on my wall?

Well, probably not this year (probably not ever, actually). But I do have something in mind. Here are three options...in an attempt to engage my readers I'll let you take a guess which is most likely.

Is it the traditional Dutch transportation bike, built to carry loads up to 125 lbs. Elegant, understated, and practical?

Or will I roll like John Dorian on the fuel efficient (but wildly pollutant) Buddy scooter?

Or will it will it be the updated classic--the Radio Flyer Twist Trike?

If you guessed #3, you're the lucky winner! Of course, I won't be riding it--but some young Schreurs will be...

We're Back

2007-10-22T08:18:00.000-06:00

Well, we're back--"We" being me and my computer (which has been undergoing major surgery the past few weeks but is finally fixed--I think) and, more importantly, me and Jill from our vacation.

The short version is that Jill and I went to Creede, Colorado for a few days and had a great time. We did all those things married people do--you know, went to bed early, went for a few walks, played games (I taught Jill Yatzee!) and read (for the record: Jill and I listened to The Last Juror, I finished Whale Warrior, and also completed Terrorist and Lone Survivor). Then we came home so that Jill could go to work on Friday and Saturday and I could go for a little bike ride in Moab, Utah.

Here's the longer version:
Jill and I headed out after church Sunday afternoon on what turned out to be about a five hour drive down U.S. Highway 285. We chatted a lot, ate "Pull and Peels" (more my thing than Jill's), and then had a jaw dropping moment when we came around a bend and suddenly had a huge mountain range (the Collegiate Peaks, I believe) extending before us. The pictures never capture it, but we paused for a few tries anyway.

Monday, we headed from our little cabin on the Rio Grande to the town of Creede. In the summer months, Creede is supposed to be a happenin' little town--it has a lot of theatre, artsy-fartsy stuff. But in the fall (as we expected), there wasn't much to do there but sit around in the local coffee shop and talk about high-powered rifles, camouflage, and musk (its hunting season, in other words). Not really our thing. But that was okay. We had a very greasy burger, stopped by the Forest Service to get some maps and recommended hike routes, and then headed out of town to take one of the recommended hike. A good time was had by all, but a better time would've been had if the place we ate for lunch had put a little more hamburger in with their grease. And if we had Daisy along (sniff, sniff).

Tuesday Jill and I drove a little ways up from our cabin so that Jill could hike and I could bike. The goal (for me) was to make it to make the 14.5 mile MTB ride to Wheeler Geological Area and see the sights. I made it--eventually. And in retrospect, I'd even say I had a good time. But for much of the ride, I could only think, "Wow, I'm not very bright. This was not a good idea."

Here's a few free cycling tips for you from one who's been there. First, elevation makes things harder. (Yes, very good, I know). And on a related note: 11,000 feet (the elevation of my ride) is much higher than 5,000 feet (where I live). And the second tip: if you make it about 5 miles into your ride (okay, 3.5 miles into your ride) and you're wondering if it would be best to turn around--if you really have what it takes to mountain bike 30 miles over tough terrain with much less oxygen than you're accustomed to--you've probably bitten off more than you can chew. You're probably going to have a miserable couple of hours ahead of you. At least, that was my experience. I made it to my destination, but for a good two thirds of the ride home I felt lousy. I don't want to scare my mother or sound overly dramatic, but I was cold. I was tired. I was exhausted (I had to stop and push my bike up several small hills). Like I said, I wasn't very bright in choosing to do that ride. But of course, I'd do it again in a heart-beat if I had the chance.

That was Tuesday. Wednesday was a bit more laid back. We had intended to go "somewhere", but it looked like snow, so after going out for an even greasier burger than Monday, we hunkered down at the house. Perfect.

Thursday we made the drive back home, swinging by Great Sand Dunes National Park. There are sand dunes there. They are very great. So I guess the park is aptly named. We didn't spend much time there, but some day we'll go back, hike up them, and get lost in the wilderness

That's all for that portion of the trip. I'll tell about my little bike ride in Moab later this week. For know, here are some more pics of the rest of the trip (push the play button if you haven't figured that out already).

Excuses

2007-10-09T07:46:00.000-06:00

No blogging for a while. I will return when my laptop does (hopefully the end of this week). I like to blog, but not enough to sit at work extra time and do it here...

Little Pocket of o' Sunshine

2007-09-24T17:58:00.000-06:00

Mondays are a weird day for me. They are my official day off--but I usually feel like garbage for a good part of them. I think I suffer from what I once heard Rob Bell refer to as a "Preacher's Hangover" --I feel exhausted, may or may not have a headache, and can't help but thinking "Oh my, what did I do?" and more to the point, "What did I say yesterday?"

In order to deal with this condition--and for our general mental health--Jill and I do our best to get out of town for a while on Mondays. We usually head up to the hills (it seems like a more entertaining option than heading out to the plains)and do some hiking and biking. That was the plan this morning, but a dark cloud was hanging over Denver when we awoke. We thought it might end up being a quiet day at home reading.

However, thanks to the wonders of the Internet, we discovered that the place we wanted to go only had a 30% chance of rain for the day (and not until the afternoon). So we loaded up the dog and headed out.

Things looked bad on the way out of town. We couldn't even see the mountains that we were driving towards because they were covered with thunderheads. Jill commented that it looked like they were being devoured by "the Nothing" in The Never Ending Story (great book, lousy movie). However, because we believe absolutely everything that we read on the Internet, we persevered on. And we were glad we did.

The place we went to is known as "Buffalo Creek" and is part of Pike National Forest. The biking was mediocre, but the scenery was great. And the interent didn't fail us--we got our little pocket of sunshine.

The place was basically wiped out by a forest fire ten or so years ago and is now in various stages of re-growth. There are also a lot of interesting rock formations etc. The pictures don't really do it justice (it seems nearly impossible to take good mountain pictures) but here are a few attempts...

PS. Sorry to you who check this regularly the lack of updates lately. I blame Harry Potter and the way my computer has been acting up. Grrr.
In the spirit of true repentance, I will do my best to do better in the future. .

Victory or Defeat?

2007-09-08T20:41:00.000-06:00

I think I began a new chapter* in my reading life this week--I quit a book. The offending piece of literature was the latest by Jane Smiley, Ten Days in the Hills. I picked it up on a whim at the library (by the way,after 50 weeks in Denver, I finally got a library card). I got it because I remember enjoying A Thousand Acres--it was a great modern version of "King Lear", had an engaging plot, intriguing characters, and even took place in Iowa. What's not to love?

Well, Ten Days was not quite so charming. A bunch folks staying together in a house in Hollywood ranting about the war and talking about the sex. It was boring. If I'm allowed to say such things--even the sex was boring. But I stuck with the book for @160 pages. I really thought I was going to make it to the end (400+ pages), but it was just too much. If it were only 300 pages I might have made it. But not 400. I couldn't bare it. And I gave up.

I'm not sure if that's a victory or a defeat in the reading world. I'm leaning toward the former. After all, I heard a book critic on NPR says she only finishes one out of twelve. And as everybody knows, NPR people are SMRAT. So apparently I'm in good company.

In case you're really interested in my reading life, I should say that the one caveat here is that this was a library book. I'm not sure what I would have done if I owned it. I suspect I would have persevered. Perhaps I would have put it back on my "To Read" shelf for a while, but it certainly wouldn't have gone on my "Books Completed Shelf." Does that sound as OCD as I fear?

In other book news, I read Jodi Picolt's latest novel last weekend (instead of Ten Days). Its called Nineteen Minutes, and I personally like it better than My Sister's Keeper. Less predictable, but still a little "chicky" at times.

Now I'm reading the fifth Harry Potter book. I think there may be something mildly depressing about the fact that, page-wise, this is likey the longest book I've ever read (longer than The Brother's Karamazov!). That J.K. Rowling does spin a great tale, however.

*Yes, that's a terrible pun. But as I may have mentioned to my church golfing buddies today--those are par for the course.
Okay, that's was just an act of desperation.

Jill, Joel, and Jan?

2007-08-31T19:53:00.001-06:00

They’d once gone to the woods together, where he tried to enter her world of absorption as she fixed her gaze on lichen—but his mind had wandered like a free-range chicken, and he ended up thinking through a sermon based on Philippians four-thirteen. (From Jan Karon, "Out To Canaan")

Jill and I have been doing some camping the past few weeks. Nothing serious--quick overnighters with our dog, big tent (to accommodate the dog), and shiny new Coleman stove. We sit around some, hike some, read some, and--when Daisy allows--sleep some. It's good.

Two weekends ago Jill's brother Luke joined us on a whim. We camped near the top of Guanella Pass (@10,500 ft). Memorable moments included waking up at 2:30 am and looking at the stars--they were amazing. Like handfuls of salt sprinkled on a dark canvas. The next day, we tested Luke's flat-lander lungs and hiked our first "14er"*--Mt. Bierstadt. Luke was a champ.

Last weekend, Jill's folks were out and we rented a cabin in the mountains. Except for our dog deciding that she had to hunt mice in the middle of the night, it was a good trip. Again-=-hiked some (Rocky Mountain National Park), read some, sat some, slept some. Oh, and we gamed some. I didn't win every game of Settlers, but two out of three isn't bad. (Of course, I'd rather not talk about Ticket to Ride.)

Here are some pics of the past month...

*A "14er" is a mountain that is over 14,000 feet. There are 54 (56?) in Co. Some people make it a goal to climb all of them.

Bachin' It: An Ode to Jill

2007-08-15T07:55:00.000-06:00

I've been "bachin' it" the last few days. Jill has been in NY visiting her family since last Friday. That means that I've spent a lot of time doing "sermon research" (watching movies and reading), going for long bike rides*, eating nachos and drinking Pepsi One (that one calorie really does make a difference).

But she's finally coming home today.

That's probably good--on many levels. It's good because I miss her, of course. But it's also good because our household probably can't tolerate her absence much longer. Things just seem to go down hill when she's not around. And it's not just the fact that she has a much lower threshold for messiness than I do (why put in the dishwasher today what you can put in tomorrow?). Here's a short list of the (minor) catastrophes that occurred while Jill was gone.

On Saturday, I went for a road ride with a local bike club. 60 miles should not have been a big deal. But I forget to take food (I thought we were out. Talking with Jill Sat. night, she reminded me that we were not--I just hadn't looked in the right spot). Well, I blew up--big time. I've never felt so awful on a bike. Toward the end, I even wanted to puke going downhill. Sunday, my lungs/chest still hurt. I'm sure this would not have happened if Jill were around.
Food wasn't the only thing I forgot on Saturday. I also forgot sunscreen. I got my first burn of the year (pretty good, really). Saturday night my increasingly "noble forehead" had little strips of burn where the sun snuck through the vents in my helmet.
Sunday, I decided to make myself a frozen pizza for supper. Frozen pizza is usually one of life's little pleasures for me (I even splurged and got Digornoes). But it's less pleasurable when you forget to take the cardboard out from under the pizza when you slide it in the oven. Thankfully, no fires.
Monday night, I read a spooky article on rattle snakes right before bed. I tossed and turned and had bad dreams all night. I suspect my beloved wife would've censored my reading material (or, more likely, told me to go to bed earlier) and prevented this too.
Even Daisy has been affected by Jill's absence. Last night, I had to let the distraught pup out three times. This morning I discovered that it was because of a nasty case of diarrhea. It could've been from her snarfing of the neighbor's peaches. But I think it was because she missed Jill. Regardless, it was very nasty. But even that wasn't the worst of it.
The worst of it happened on Sunday. I decided to pick up some ice-cream with my Digornoes. Coffee/fudge = good. The bad part was that I didn't realize until I got home that it was "fat free." What a disaster. That too, I trust, would have easily been avoided if Jill were at home.

*CL: I road the first section of the Colorado Trail on Monday. It's sweet. I'll post pictures when my computer starts cooperating. That may or may not be after the Second Coming.

Things I DON'T LIke About Living in CO

2007-08-09T14:05:00.000-06:00

One of my dreams is to live in a place that is "safe." No crazy weather (hurricanes or earthquakes). No venomous snakes. No scary bugs.

Apparently, CO is not that place.

Aside from an occasional blizzard and a perennial drought, the weather is great. But I'm not a fan of the wildlife.

Two weeks ago I saw a rattle snake while mountain biking. And today, I was told that a woman from church got bit by a black widow while looking for something in her garage.

Yikes. THAT's creepy.

Bad Timing

2007-08-01T08:02:00.000-06:00

Jill and I got new neighbors this week. My pal Pico (from seminary) and his lovely wife Kim (from Kenosha, WI) moved into the house on the other side of church. They'll be living there for the next year while Pico (AKA"Chris") does a chaplaincy internship (AKA "CPE) at a local hospital (AKA "Swedish"). Jill and I are delighted at the prospect of having friends our age around--but we're trying not to be overbearing or creepy about it.

Chris and Kim, on the other hand, are probably just happy to have had their worldly goods arrive. They've been waiting for almost a week for the moving truck to get here, and Monday it finally did. But apparently, they weren't the only fresh faces to move into the neighborhood. How do I know this? Well, on Friday some concerned citizen went around stuffing pieces of paper into mailboxes and behind screen doors, informing all that a registered sex offender had just moved into the area. Yeesh. That's some bad timing.

Hopefully, Chris (and Kim) don't get too many dirty looks.

Lessons Learned

2007-07-23T20:47:00.000-06:00

I didn't get to go for a bike ride last week Tuesday (the day after my last post). I was too sore. But it probably wasn't what you think.

You probably think that I was sore from my bike ride on Saturday . But that wasn't the real trouble. The real trouble started on Monday, when I decided NOT to ride. Instead, I thought it would be a better idea to relax in the hammock chair. Maybe read a book. Perhaps take a little nap.

The only catch was that my hammock chair was sitting in the basement. I had not quite gotten around to hanging it in that perfect spot above the back patio.

"Well," I thought to myself, "I'm no mechanical genius, but I think I can hang up a hammock chair ."

I clearly overestimated myself. Because that's where my trouble began. Big, big trouble. The kind of trouble that starts with T , which rhymes with P, and that stands for pool....but I digress.

With great gusto I marched to the garage, and with childlike glee I grabbed my drill (a rare occurence), gave it a few revs and checked the battery, and then located what I was sure was the perfect hook for hanging a hammock chair. I figured I'd be relaxing in minutes.

And much to my delight, I was.

It was pure bliss.

For about two and a half seconds.

But then, my world (or maybe just my self) came crashing down. Before I knew it, my chair was no longer suspended the three and a half feet above the cement patio. It was on the cement patio. And so was I. I had landed quite squarely on my tailbone. And that hurt. A lot.

That's why I didn't go on a bike ride on Tuesday.

But on the bright side, all was not lost. I did learn some valuable lessons through this (painful) experience.

Perhaps the most important lesson was "Listen to your wife." You see, Jill had been watching with mild interest (amusement?) as I attempted to hang the chair. And at one point, she gave the hook and had taken from the garage a wary look and said, "Are you sure that thing will hold you? Because I sure don't think it will..." I don't remember my exact reply. I either said, "What, is that some sort of fat joke?" or just shrugged my shoulders and gave a little "meh." But either way, the end result was the same. I continued what I was doing, ignored her advice. And ended up in a world of hurt.

Next time, I'll listen.

Maybe.

Lesson number two was a reminder that I'm married to a very gracious woman. When I came crashing to the ground , Jill didn't say, "I told you so. " She didn't make disparaging (but accurate?) comments about my intelligence or mechanical ability. Nor did she fall to the ground in a shoulder-shaking, breath-taking boute of laughter. In fact, she didn't laugh at all. Instead, the first thing she blurted out was what we might consider the third lesson learned from this experience:

"Wow, gravity sure is strong!"

And there you have it. A sore butt and bruised ego. But I'd say, some very important lessons learned!

Piece of Cake

2007-07-16T14:41:00.000-06:00

Well, Saturday was the big "Triple Bypass" . Some of you may recall from an earlier post that I was somewhat apprehensive about the ride. But it turns out, things went better than I dared hope.

I came. I rode. I rode some more. I conquered.

But I think I got off easy.

For one thing, there was the weather. It was perfect. "The best ever", is what I'm told. Partly cloudy. 70s. No raging headwinds (only mild ones). Only a few minutes of rain (and that during the last 30 minutes of the ride. This is unusual---people usually expect a good thunderstorm at some point during the day.) Compare that to last year, when there was so much rain, snow, cold, and carnage that at least half of the riders quit. I can just imagine what those who actually finished will say when I tell them I rode this year. "Yeah...well, back in MY day, in ought 6, it was so cold we got hypothermia coming down Squaw pass. And that was just the beginning.."

But the weather wasn't the only unfair advantage I had. You might also consider the distinct advantage my body type has for around half of the miles of the TBP. Weighing in at around 220, I am able to descend much more quickly than your typical 140-150 pound cyclist. I easily cruised down Loveland pass, for example, at speeds of 45mph before tapping the breaks (my riding partners who weigh about the same cracked 50.) Clearly, with nearly half of the ride being down hill, I had it easy here too. I can just hear the skinny guys say: "Yeah, you Clydestales may have to carry an extra hundred pounds on the way up. But it sure pays off on the way down!"

And then there was my gear. Compared to most people on this type of ride, I have nice, but not outrageously nice, cycling gear. But compared to the guy I passed going up Loveland pass, mine was completly over the top (no pun intended). If you look closely at the pictures to the right, you'll notice that he's riding up Loveland Pass on an old Schwinn Stingray.* It has a bannana seat. Chopper bars. According to the old Schwinn catalogues, it was around 39 pounds.** And you'll also notice that this fine gentleman is riding without padded shorts etc. Instead, he's dressed for comfort in cut-off jean shorts, a Rolling Stones t-shirt (taking with him at the top he was quite proud of that shirt!), and boots. Ouch.

Like I said, with the exception of the 120 miles, 10,000+ feet of climbing that the ride involved, I had it easy.

Now about that.

For those of you interested in the details, we left Evergreen around 6:20 and immediately started climbing the 18 miles up Squaw/Juniper Pass. That took a little under 2 hours. Coming up was great, but to tell the truth, going down was a little cold (the west side of the mountain doesn't get much sun at 8 am!). Once we got to the bottom of that (Idaho Springs), we started the loooong, slow climb up to the top of Loveland Pass. This seemed to be typical for the last two passes. A fair amount of elevation gain spread out over a lot of miles. This could make for a long, slow grind, but I rode conservatively and I felt fine for most of it. It was only toward the end of Vail Pass (Pass number 3) that I wondered what on earth I was trying to prove. However, at the top I had some oreos and watermelon and felt revived for the 25 mile descent to the finish. That was a good way to end.

Here are the stats, which I'll be determined to beat next year:

Start time: 6:20 ish.

Finish Time: 4:20 ish.

Average Moving Speed: 14:3 ish.

Time on Bike: 8 hours and 25 minutes ish.

Max Speed: 45 mph ish.

Total Mileage: 121 miles (ish)

And here are some random pics from the day, including the actual piece of cake referred to in the title of this post (the ride really was not that). It was my birthday cake, two weeks late, because I was trying to hold off on the ice cream in order to keep in nice, svelte climbing shape.

One of the five (?) reststops on the route. Somehow, me and the guys I was riding with managed to find each other at these.

Going up Loveland Pass.

"Silent Bob", chatting it up Loveland Pass.

Me: at the Top of Loveland Pass. Only a little lightheaded.

Crazy Guy: at the top of Loveland Pass. No more lightheaded than usual.

MMMM. Cake. What Jill did while she pined away for me...

*I don't know if he rode from the beginning. But I am quite certain we saw him roll into Avon some 60 miles later a few hours after we got in).

*My bike probably weighs about 23 with all my stuff. The real "Weight Weenies" (read: "rich guys") get their bikes down around 15lbs

Things I like about CO: Part III

2007-07-09T09:36:00.001-06:00

Now that I'm an old codger of 27, I'm not sure what the kids these days would use to describe my last post. "Lame" seems apt. But you'd have to ask someone more "down" with the slang.

At any rate, in an effort to redeem myself (and in an even bigger effort to put off getting to work), I'm going to post the third in my compelling series: "Things I like about CO." Today's feature? "Dates with Jill." Of course, I could have dates with Jill anywhere we lived, but never mind that. As you can tell, we have some wild and crazy fun out here. I mean, a Friday night at the greenhouse? Outrageous.

The one* picture that's missing that has become a new thing for us is playing cribbage on the front porch in the cool of the evening. Has anyone noticed that the first person to deal always wins? Or is that just us?

*Oh, and our all too regular "Netflix" dates. And nights reading (Jill's plowing through the "Mitford" series now). Anyone have any good recommendations for books/movies?

Non-Bike Content

2007-07-08T18:08:00.000-06:00

Heading out the door the other night on our way to a soccer game/fireworks, Jill told me to grab the camera. "Then you can blog about something other than bikes," she said.

Ouch.

So, in keeping with my constant desire to please my wife, no bike content here. So, what else to write about?

Hmmmmm.

Work? Nope, that violates the strict code I've established for this blog: No work allowed.

Dog? She's awesome. But I shouldn't say more. Dog-crazy people are worse (I think?) than bike-crazy people.

Grill? Still cooking. Mmmmm. Brats. They're really tasty after a good, long bik...oops. Never mind.

Jill? Better than Daisy and brats. But I don't want to write about her and give her the satisfaction (after that comment and all).*

Well, that's pretty much my life. Not sure what else there is to tell folks about life here. I guess I'll have to settle on the weather.

We've been told more than once here: "If you don't like the weather, just wait a few hours." That is, and is not, true.

Hey, is that a paradox?

It's not true because the weather here for the past several weeks has basically been hot, hot, and more hot (90-100). Of course, when I say "Hot", I'm talking about a different sort of heat than I'm used to in the midwest. It's "dry heat." It's a strange phenomenon--it can be 95 degrees out and you (or I) won't be visibly sweaty/sticky. Apparently, it just evaporates. Amazing.

At any rate. It's been hot. And dry too. However, you'd never be able to tell it by looking at our lawn. We have a sprinkler system and have caved in to pressure from our landlords to use it. So here we are, in the middle of the hot, dry, desert (ish), with a green lawn. Sheesh.

But back to the point. I haven't witnessed a whole lot of change in the big picture of Denver weather. Hot and dry pretty much sums it up.

But then again, it does change. Say the other night, when we went to the fireworks/soccer game for the 4th. (Oh, by the way, we went to a soccer game--Colorado Rapids vs. Columbus Crew. A good time was had by all. We saw mascots playing each other at halftime. But I can't write any more about soccer. It only dredges up painful memories from my youth). When we left for the game around 7:15, it was 87 degrees and the sun was blazing. Two hours later, we were shivering, wishing we hadn't left our sweatshirts in the car (that just wasn't smart. The temperature regularly drops 15- 20 degrees here in the evenings). In another twenty minutes (after the game, before the fireworks) it was raining. A lot. Then, it stopped and we got to watch the fireworks in relative peace.

The fireworks, by the way, were quite good. The show was at least a half an hour (bit of a crick in the neck) and they boasted (truthfully, I assume) having the loudest fireworks in CO. Amazing.

Back to the changing weather. This afternoon is another case in point. I was at work, catching up on some things (oops, guess I broke my code), when it suddenly got very dark outside (it was sunny and, suprise, hot). Within fifteen minutes, there was lightening cracking outside my window (almost literally), the water was pouring down, the gutters overflowing. This lasted about twenty minutes, and then Jill and I went outside on the front porch to play cribage. This time, we had our sweatshirts on. But that only lasted another twenty minutes. Then the sun came out, we got too hot, and came back inside.

Again: amazing.

That's all I have to say about the weather. That was even more boring than I feared. But I never promised it would be interesting.

If you read this all, I'm not sure if I should commend you or tell you to get a new hobby. At any rate, now when I do a very long write up of the perils I encounter on the Triple Bypass next weekend, you'll all be grateful for some bike content (or may never come back here again!)

*That, and I'm planning on doing a "Jill" post after I get more pics of her at work.

**PS: If you want to know the current weather in Denver, check out the new "Weather Pixie" on the Left Panel. He/she even changes clothes to fit with current conditions (or at least conditions within the last hour or two.)

Things I like About CO, Part II

2007-07-01T15:24:00.000-06:00

Another thing I like about living in CO is that it's usually not too much trouble convincing others to come vacation here. A couple of weeks ago Jill and I went up near Estes Park/ Rocky Mountain National Park with my parents, sister, and her family. A good time was had by all. Here are many, many, many pictures to prove it.

P.S. Consider this an open invitation to anyone who would like to come.* We have two extra bedrooms that we're happy to fill (hint hint dear brothers).

*Well, not really anyone. But if you actually take enough of an interest in our lives to read this, chances are we like you enough that this invitation applies to you.

Things I Like About CO, Part I

2007-06-24T16:49:00.000-06:00

I've been doing my best to enjoy some of what CO has to offer, so here (and in the following few posts, as I get time) are a few shots of things I like about living here. Note the theme: mountains, bike rides, mountains.* These shots are from a few bike rides a did before going to M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i. They include a road ride up Deer Creek Canyon, and some mountian rides with pals CL and Nick. Warning: by viewing this slide show, you risk seeing me in all my spandex-clad-biker-glory. View at your own risk.

*Note: These are not all the things I like about living here. I also love my job, my church, my dog, my house, my grill, etc etc....

Look elsewhere

2007-06-02T22:33:00.000-06:00

If you're really, really curious about what I'm doing this week, you can check my other blog and read about my adventures in Mississippi. Probably won't post anything new here until I get back.

Book Guilt

2007-05-25T12:25:00.000-06:00

I feel (a little) bad about being so critical of Lamott's latest book in my last post. After all, I'm probably partly to blame here for reading such "chicky" literature. So to redeem myself, I'm going to post a few of the good quotes from Lamott's book. Because, really, I'm not such a crabby/cynical/crotchety/mean/bitter person. So here goes:

“ Believing [in God] isn’t the hard part; waiting on God is.” (p. 56)
After lamenting with her friend that her friend's husband, Eddie, blew their vacation money on an air conditioner, Lamott confesses: “…I wanted air, too, and believed that if I had it, my house would be perfect. I’ll go to my grave convinced that you can find happiness out there, somewhere, with the right someone or good financing. If you could just get things to line up properly, you could relax, learn to experience life in all its immediacy, reconnect with who you really are, with the soul or spirit, the divine whatchacallit deep inside that sparks when it hears certain music./// We’re not stupid, Eddie and I. We are Americans.” (133)
“If you are mesmerized by televised stupidity, and don’t get to hear or read stories about your world, you can be fooled into thinking that the world isn’t miraculous—and it is.” (154)
“Then I said the stupidest thing to God: I said, “I’ll do anything you say…” (192)
“If there were no other proof of the existence of a bigger reality than birds, they would do it for me.” (237)

See--that wasn't so bad!

Book gripe

2007-05-21T21:30:00.000-06:00

A loooooooooong time ago, waaaaaaay back in my college days, I read Anne Lamott's first book of memoirs/essays--Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith. It was great. At least I think it was. Like I said, that was a long time ago (7 years?) so honestly don't remember many details. But I remember laughing a lot. I also remember hearing Lamott speak at Calvin College's Festival of faith and writing and laughing some more. In fact, I remember being so impressed with the book I even considered rereading it someday (something I rarely, if ever do).

But now I don't think I will--in part because of I'm afraid of what I'll find there (in other words, I'm afraid the book will, uhm, suck.) For one thing, there was Lamott's second book of memoirs/essays that was released a few years ago, Plan B: Further thoughts on Faith. Not so hot. But I was willing to let it go. I remembered my fondness for Traveling Mercies and figured it was a fluke. But then, a month or two ago, Jill and I went to a local bookstore to hear Lamott speak/read. Lamott was (how do I say this kindly?)...annoying. (oops, that's probably not kind). Those two things probably should have been good clues that its time for me to give up on Lamott, but I didn't. Instead, I got myself a copy of her latest book, Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith. I guess I was still hoping for redemption. But I didn't find it. The book was really not very good. In fact, I might even say it was lousy. Here are a few of the things I found lacking.

The content: Lamott subtitles her book "Thoughts on Faith." The truth is that there are actually very few thoughts on faith. Now, if she had called it "Thoughts on being middle aged", or "Thoughts on the Bush administration," or "Thoughts on weight gain" (or some combination of the above) the title would've fit. But she didn't.
The concept: Speaking of the title--those of you who are especially observant may have noticed that the three books mentioned above are all variations on a single theme (according to the titles): "Thoughts on Faith." I have to say, enough already. I suspect that the good material made it into the first book and the last two are full of the leftovers. Time for something new...
The comparisons: as one of my acquaintances points out, the low point of the book may be the line--"I sat tight. As tight as a sphincter." Ugh.
The criticisms (sorry, I'm stretching for a "C" here): Lamott has some harsh words for people who are conservative/"fundamentalist" in their faith and in their politics. That's fine with me. But what really gets my beef is that even while she speaks so strongly against folks who see the world in black/white on one end of the spectrum, she does the same thing herself on another end (I think this is called a double standard). You dislike Bush, protest the Iraq war, vote pro-choice etc etc and you're in and one of the good guys, if not, you're out...there's no middle ground.

So those are a few. I shouldn't make it sound like reading the book was complete misery, and pardon me if I sound like a book snob. Or (in keeping with the "C"s) a cranky old cynic. It's really not my usual practice to rip apart books (I usually choose indifference when I don't care for a book). But hey, I need something to write about.

Saying Good-bye

2007-05-16T07:42:00.000-06:00

Last week, Jill and I said good-bye to an old friend. She was only 19 years old. We'd been together five years. We've been through a lot together--even seen (a small part of) the world together. I'll admit, she wasn't perfect. She was a little ugly. Some would say "gutless." Or even "worn out."

But she was so faithful, so dependable, so...low maintenance.

Our friend, an '88 Toyota Corolla wagon (aka: "The Beater Wagon") has gone to a better place now. At least I hope it's better. We decided that we didn't need her* services anymore and so we passed her on to someone who would get more use out of her. So I guess for the Beater Wagon, our parting is not so much an ending as a new beginning. Not so much "goodbye" as "hello."

As the first car either Jill or I ever owned, she probably deserves a more moving eulogy. Maybe I should write a poem. Or a funeral dirge. But alas, the grief is too great. The pain too deep. So I'll just list off a few things that I'll miss...

Being able to sing "Big guy in a little car."

The cloud of blue smoke she'd belch out after sitting idle in our driveway a few days.

Hauling couches, dogs, lamps, bikes, grills, mattresses, and about anything else you can name...

Being able to say that I drive a station wagon.

The smug feeling of self-satisfaction and moral superiority I get knowing that my car is crappier than your car.

The great free advertising I was giving to Dordt College with my "Alumni" sticker in the back window (I took the sticker off). What better proof could there be than that car that Dordt alumns are very successfull?
The duct tape that held the blinker/light switch together.

The long list of "quirks" I'd have to tell people who wanted to borrow the car.

The raw power of that four cylinder engine.

The great connecting point I had with my neighbor as we talked cars: the points of comparison between the Corolla and his new Porsche were endless. Really.

*Why are cars always personified with the feminine pronoun?