Half Empty

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.

Michelin Man

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

Double Ought Nine

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.)

My Big Mouth

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).

Mooses!

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.

Grays and Torreys

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.

Trail Ridge Road

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...

The Power of Logic

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

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.

Anything for Love

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!

Going for a trip

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

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.

Trouble

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

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...

Fumes...

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).

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.

Best. Monday. Ever.

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

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.

fifty-one fotos.

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?

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.

Give the People What They Want

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.