Last night we met Julie's dad and brother after our flight home. Julie went ahead while I used the bathroom, and when I caught up I found her talking with a man I didn't know. I figured he was hitting on her. So I puffed up my chest, put a "Don't mess with me" look on my face, and strutted over to her.
I was quickly deflated when I got close enough to hear what he was saying. I won't try to quote him, because it wouldn't do him justice. He spoke eloquently. The bottom line was that he was recently laid off from Boeing where he worked as a machinist. His daughter had recently moved in with him, and brought an infant with her. He apologized for being there, apologized for even having to ask, but he asked nonetheless. He just needed a little money for baby formula.
I asked his name, and he replied, "Warren." I introduced myself and shook his hand. His hand was clean and he had a firm handshake.
Having worked in a manufacturing facility, I at least know what a machinist is and what one does. So I casually asked a couple of questions about his job, just conversationally. Isn't it terrible that my initial instinct is to not trust? I know I'm not alone in that, but...isn't there something messed up about that?
I used to live close to a shopping center where you could almost always count on running into the same guy begging for a handout. I knew his name, and I knew that he had a cocaine addiction. These things I learned through talking with him.
The first time I met that guy, I gave him a few dollars. And I can't tell you how many times after that he asked, not recognizing me. I'd address him by name, and ask him how he was doing with his cocaine problem.
"It's hard." "Not very well." "I'm working on it."
More than once I told him I wouldn't be giving him any money, and to come back to me when he really wanted help. He never did.
I don't know why I tell that story except to paint a stark contrast between that person and the one I met last night. It's not just that Warren was clean and pleasant. It was that he was incredibly lucid, and more importantly, there was a real pain...a shame in his expression that you couldn't miss. And I'm not saying he had any need to be ashamed.
We gave him some money, and I prayed with him. As I prayed, he gripped my hand tightly and began to quiver. Afterward, he wiped away tears and said the prayer was worth more than anything I could have given him. He thanked us for feeding his family and went on his way.
We got in the truck and started driving off when Julie realized we'd forgotten to give something to her dad. So I walked back to the restaurant and went in to drop it off, and I was expecting to see Warren back at the door, talking with someone else. But I didn't.
After we left, I wished we'd given him more, despite our own tough financial situation. Then I realized that what we gave him was enough, because he'd left the parking lot.
I don't really have a moral lesson, and I realize that just telling that sounds like bragging for doing the right thing. I'm really just telling you because I'd never seen something like that happen. And I know as a man how difficult it is when you can't support your family. It feels like you've been castrated of your manhood. Men that have been there understand.
I wonder if I'd be so brave as to stand outside a restaurant and beg to feed my family. I'd like to think I would, but I'm not so sure. So maybe that's my point. That guy was a hero. At least I think he was. So maybe, if you're the praying type, or even if you're not, pray for Warren. Pray for his family. Pray that he'll have a job by the end of the week. I believe he will.
And thanks for listening. Maybe I just needed to get that out.
Spiritual Journal, entry 5:
God, come in power and move in Warren's life.
Provide for his family, and go before him in every job interview.
Grow his faith and his character now like only You know how.
Give him a testimony to share.
Make us thankful for your provision.
In Jesus Name,
Amen.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
On the Road Again
I'm trying to remember if I mentioned how much we've been traveling lately. You may have heard about Jet Blue's All-You-Can-Fly offer, where for $599 you can take as many Jet Blue flights as you want between September 8 and October 8.
We were planning on doing a big trip to visit all our potential Ph.D. schools around this time of year anyway, and since that would invariably cost more than $599, we jumped on the offer. And we figured, while we're at it, that we might as well plan a few additional trips as well.
So in the past month, I've already been camping, ridden on a subway, swam with sharks, and slept two nights on a plane. And we're just getting started.
Tomorrow we leave for Chicago, where we'll get in a car and drive North to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the home of Marquette University. Then we fly to Boston, where we have a number of appointments scheduled at Boston University. Along the way we may stop at Boston College and Harvard, cause...hey, why not, right? Then we fly to Austin, Texas, make a three hour drive to Waco, meet a few people at Baylor, drive back to Austin, and then... Wonder of wonders... We get to come home.
Along the way I'll be meeting with some of the top researchers in my focus area of theology, seeing one of the most historic cities in our country, and going to Waco. We've been working toward this for over two years now. And all I can do is think about how great it will be to be home again.
I like home. My stuff is here. Given the choice, I'll pick home over travel almost every time. (Though I've got to admit, my recent trip to the Bahamas was pretty fun too.)
But enough of that... (Good transition, huh? I'm such a great writer.)
On to more important things.
MY BIG TOE: A Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter
Which toe comes first of all the toes I know?
It is the big one on my own left foot.
Superior among the toes I've grown.
To find a lov'lier one you'd be hard put.
"It looks like many other toes I've seen!"
So many have pronounced it commonplace.
But few have been so erudite to keen,
Its eleganct uncomplicated grace.
How fortunate a gentleman am I
To have this wondrous toe all to myself.
It needs no help from leg or foot or thigh,
To be impressive in and of itself.
No other digit sets my heart aglow,
For poetry in motion is my toe!
We were planning on doing a big trip to visit all our potential Ph.D. schools around this time of year anyway, and since that would invariably cost more than $599, we jumped on the offer. And we figured, while we're at it, that we might as well plan a few additional trips as well.
So in the past month, I've already been camping, ridden on a subway, swam with sharks, and slept two nights on a plane. And we're just getting started.
Tomorrow we leave for Chicago, where we'll get in a car and drive North to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the home of Marquette University. Then we fly to Boston, where we have a number of appointments scheduled at Boston University. Along the way we may stop at Boston College and Harvard, cause...hey, why not, right? Then we fly to Austin, Texas, make a three hour drive to Waco, meet a few people at Baylor, drive back to Austin, and then... Wonder of wonders... We get to come home.
Along the way I'll be meeting with some of the top researchers in my focus area of theology, seeing one of the most historic cities in our country, and going to Waco. We've been working toward this for over two years now. And all I can do is think about how great it will be to be home again.
I like home. My stuff is here. Given the choice, I'll pick home over travel almost every time. (Though I've got to admit, my recent trip to the Bahamas was pretty fun too.)
But enough of that... (Good transition, huh? I'm such a great writer.)
On to more important things.
MY BIG TOE: A Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter
Which toe comes first of all the toes I know?
It is the big one on my own left foot.
Superior among the toes I've grown.
To find a lov'lier one you'd be hard put.
"It looks like many other toes I've seen!"
So many have pronounced it commonplace.
But few have been so erudite to keen,
Its eleganct uncomplicated grace.
How fortunate a gentleman am I
To have this wondrous toe all to myself.
It needs no help from leg or foot or thigh,
To be impressive in and of itself.
No other digit sets my heart aglow,
For poetry in motion is my toe!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Moderation powers.... Activate!
Well, it's a sad day on this blog when I have to moderate comments. You may have noticed that I deleted a few yesterday, not because they made me mad, but because they made Julie mad. That's not ok with me.
Let it therefore be known that for the immediate future I reserve the right to remove any comment that I do not deem constructive. Who am I to make that decision? Well, it's my blog, see. If I decide I want to pick a day and only post pictures of my big toe with commentary in iambic pentameter, I can do that. (Actually, that would probably be funny. Maybe I should do that.)
Spritual Journal, entry 4:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
And please help me to get off my butt and write my thesis.
Thanks,
David
Let it therefore be known that for the immediate future I reserve the right to remove any comment that I do not deem constructive. Who am I to make that decision? Well, it's my blog, see. If I decide I want to pick a day and only post pictures of my big toe with commentary in iambic pentameter, I can do that. (Actually, that would probably be funny. Maybe I should do that.)
Spritual Journal, entry 4:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.
And please help me to get off my butt and write my thesis.
Thanks,
David
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Prayer
Spiritual Journal, Entry 3:
Dear Lord,
Please help me not to freak out over the stupid GRE, even though my entire future hangs on my score, and I only get one shot, and I have to do well in math even though I haven't had math in over twenty years and theologians don't need math anyway, and where do they get off...!!
I digress, Lord.
Guide me to the right private tutor, and not some goofball that thinks he's smart cause he has a BA in math from San Diego State and scored in the 90th percentile on the GRE. Cause him to stumble; entangle him because I have not the time for his idiocy.
And Lord, help me to be less sarcastic in my Spiritual Formation class, even though it's so hard not to make jokes in there. Or just give my teacher a better sense of humor. Either way, Lord. I don't really care.
Bless the leftover pizza I am about to eat for lunch. Let it not clog my arteries or bring me to an early demise.
Bless my wife. Bring her favor in her job, and humble her boss so that he might understand his bellybutton is not, in fact, the center of the universe. Thank you for her job.
Thank you, gracious God, that in my recent trip to New York City I did not get mugged, nor did the subway come to ruin, even though I don't think I've ever seen a subway in a movie where something bad did not happen.
Thank you for the hidden blessings in that trip, like the unplanned detour to Coney Island because I got on the right train but headed in the wrong direction.
God bless our puppy. Help me not to beat the crap out of him, even if he deserves it. Help him to understand, oh Lord, that pooping on the carpet is not ok, and that chewing on my nose to wake me up is not ok, and that chewing on electrical cords is not ok, and that sleeping on top of my face is not ok, even though it's cute and makes me laugh.
Bless my friends across the world. Starving children, blah-da-blah, the President, etc., so on and so forth.
Yours truly,
Solid
Dear Lord,
Please help me not to freak out over the stupid GRE, even though my entire future hangs on my score, and I only get one shot, and I have to do well in math even though I haven't had math in over twenty years and theologians don't need math anyway, and where do they get off...!!
I digress, Lord.
Guide me to the right private tutor, and not some goofball that thinks he's smart cause he has a BA in math from San Diego State and scored in the 90th percentile on the GRE. Cause him to stumble; entangle him because I have not the time for his idiocy.
And Lord, help me to be less sarcastic in my Spiritual Formation class, even though it's so hard not to make jokes in there. Or just give my teacher a better sense of humor. Either way, Lord. I don't really care.
Bless the leftover pizza I am about to eat for lunch. Let it not clog my arteries or bring me to an early demise.
Bless my wife. Bring her favor in her job, and humble her boss so that he might understand his bellybutton is not, in fact, the center of the universe. Thank you for her job.
Thank you, gracious God, that in my recent trip to New York City I did not get mugged, nor did the subway come to ruin, even though I don't think I've ever seen a subway in a movie where something bad did not happen.
Thank you for the hidden blessings in that trip, like the unplanned detour to Coney Island because I got on the right train but headed in the wrong direction.
God bless our puppy. Help me not to beat the crap out of him, even if he deserves it. Help him to understand, oh Lord, that pooping on the carpet is not ok, and that chewing on my nose to wake me up is not ok, and that chewing on electrical cords is not ok, and that sleeping on top of my face is not ok, even though it's cute and makes me laugh.
Bless my friends across the world. Starving children, blah-da-blah, the President, etc., so on and so forth.
Yours truly,
Solid
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
David faces a giant
Spiritual Journal, Entry 2:
Dear Lord,
WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Cordially,
David
Folks, I'm feeling in over my head again. A few months ago I was put in contact with Donald Hustad. If any of you know who that is, you get a cookie. For the rest of you, I'll explain.
There is a particular branch of theology that deals with the practical application of music in church. My first masters degree concerned itself primarily with this topic, and now in my second, I find I am approaching many of the same issues from a different angle.
Donald Hustad has been the leading figure in the evangelical church's work on sacred music for the last half century or so. He is also one of the primary figures in the global church's study of sacred music. In his spare time, he spent a few decades touring with Billy Graham.
Ok, let's stop right there and just consider that. For years and years, Billy Graham went around the world leading millions to Christ while "Softly and Tenderly" played gently in the background. And the guy playing "Softly and Tenderly?" His name was Donald Hustad.
A few years ago he went into retirement, and now, in the winter of his life, he has taken time to review my thesis.
Cool, huh? Scary too.
After reading my first chapter, he encouraged me to read some of his previous writing and critique it with regard to the thesis topic.
Holy #@&&! How am I supposed to do that?
. . .
Ok, pointless post. Have a good night, folks.
Dear Lord,
WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Cordially,
David
Folks, I'm feeling in over my head again. A few months ago I was put in contact with Donald Hustad. If any of you know who that is, you get a cookie. For the rest of you, I'll explain.
There is a particular branch of theology that deals with the practical application of music in church. My first masters degree concerned itself primarily with this topic, and now in my second, I find I am approaching many of the same issues from a different angle.
Donald Hustad has been the leading figure in the evangelical church's work on sacred music for the last half century or so. He is also one of the primary figures in the global church's study of sacred music. In his spare time, he spent a few decades touring with Billy Graham.
Ok, let's stop right there and just consider that. For years and years, Billy Graham went around the world leading millions to Christ while "Softly and Tenderly" played gently in the background. And the guy playing "Softly and Tenderly?" His name was Donald Hustad.
A few years ago he went into retirement, and now, in the winter of his life, he has taken time to review my thesis.
Cool, huh? Scary too.
After reading my first chapter, he encouraged me to read some of his previous writing and critique it with regard to the thesis topic.
Holy #@&&! How am I supposed to do that?
. . .
Ok, pointless post. Have a good night, folks.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My name is David.
Well, reader, if you haven't done so already, go to the bathroom, grab some potato chips, and get comfortable. I have a feeling this is gonna be a long one. As for me, I'm going to try to be coherent, but even as I sit down to this blog for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what's gonna come out.
Let's start at the beginning.
My name is David. What happened to Solid, you ask? He got broken.
A few weeks ago, I went to see the movie "Julie and Julia." I know, I know. But I love Julie. Oh yeah, did I mention I have a wife named Julie? We also have a dog named Zeke, although he also goes by...
Zekey
Zekeypants
Zeke E. Pants
Ezekiel Edward Pants
Pants
The Pants
Señor Pantalones
Señor
Mr. Pants, sir.
Puppy
Puppy puppy
Puppy puppy puppy
There may be more. I can't remember. Zeke is a mix between a Yorkshire Terrier and a piranha.
Trust me. He's more dangerous than he looks.
Anyway, we were watching "Julie and Julia," which is a movie about a girl named Julie that blogs about her experiences going through the entire Julia Child cookbook one recipe at a time. And right in the middle of the movie, I started crying.
Let's back up a little.
I don't cry. I do have a strange medical disorder that causes my eyes to leak a watery tear-like substance from time to time (particularly during sad movies), but I do not cry. It's not a choice. I won't fault anyone who does cry. I just don't. I try sometimes and it doesn't work.
And "Julie and Julia" isn't a particularly sad movie. Unless you're a lobster, of course.
Julie (my Julie) asked if I wanted to leave the theater. I pulled myself together and said no. But as soon as we got to the truck, I lost it.
The movie made me remember how much I enjoyed writing this blog. And I'd like to say those tears were for you, dear reader, whom I have missed so terribly, but such is not the case. I was crying because I realized that Solid wasn't Solid anymore.
I still don't really know what happened. Within a period of a week my mother-in-law died and I was laid off from my job. Then there was the pressure of the Ph.D. applications I'm trying to pull together, which... Well, I'll leave that for another day. Let's just say it's traumatic in and of itself. And then one day I found myself in front of a computer, unable to even edit a paragraph in my thesis.
My name is David. I live in San Diego. I don't have all the answers.
There. I said it. I feel all squishy and vulnerable now.
Tonight I started the Fall quarter. It's Spiritual Formation this quarter. We're supposed to keep a journal. My teacher didn't think it was possible to express myself honestly in a blog, but I'd like to give it a shot.
I don't remember if I've ever mentioned this, but two big reasons I started blogging in the first place were my pastor encouraging me to share myself more and a friend challenging me on the fact that I don't readily open up my life to people. I really want to open myself up too.
So let's get started. My spiritual journal, day 1:
I'm a friggin' mess. Even as I write that, I must congratulate myself because friggin' was actually the word I said in my head, and not the other one. Some of my readers have known me for a very long time. Those that know me best will tell you that I don't cuss unless things are pretty messed up in my life.
Let me get judgmental for a minute. Is the rule that I can be judgmental as long as I admit I'm doing it? That should be the rule.
What's up with Christians that say they don't drink because they don't want to set a bad example or give people the wrong idea about them, and then they'll get their picture taken with a glass of sparkling cider? Dude! Didn't you pretty much just defeat your own purpose there?? If you're not drinking because of appearances, then don't appear to be drinking!
That's not really the point though, is it? What I meant to say is why would you use foul language if you're so concerned about appearances??
Let's just save that rabbit trail for another day. And I shouldn't be judgmental like that anyway. Please, drink your apple juice and use whatever words you want. What do I care?
Anyway, I've started cussing again. I'm not exactly a potty-mouth, mind you. We're talking two or three rated-PG words a week. But as I've told many people in the past, my language is a window into my spiritual condition. This is true for no one in the world but me, as far as I know. But if you ever hear me using a four-letter word, I'm probably pretty messed up inside.
And I'm really messed up right now.
I do have to say that it's getting better. I can write again. I can do my work, such as it is. But if my head is above water, it's only barely there.
Oh yeah. Y'know that picture I have of myself swimming in the Caribbean off the shores of St. John? The one that's probably to the left of this very post? Yeah... That was me two-and-a-half years ago. I tipped the scales at about 200 then. Now I'm almost 250.
How's that for honesty? And yes, that's Zeke. As long as I'm being honest, I should admit that I really love that little fluffball. Even if he is part pirhana.
Anyway, we were watching "Julie and Julia," which is a movie about a girl named Julie that blogs about her experiences going through the entire Julia Child cookbook one recipe at a time. And right in the middle of the movie, I started crying.
Let's back up a little.
I don't cry. I do have a strange medical disorder that causes my eyes to leak a watery tear-like substance from time to time (particularly during sad movies), but I do not cry. It's not a choice. I won't fault anyone who does cry. I just don't. I try sometimes and it doesn't work.
And "Julie and Julia" isn't a particularly sad movie. Unless you're a lobster, of course.
Julie (my Julie) asked if I wanted to leave the theater. I pulled myself together and said no. But as soon as we got to the truck, I lost it.
The movie made me remember how much I enjoyed writing this blog. And I'd like to say those tears were for you, dear reader, whom I have missed so terribly, but such is not the case. I was crying because I realized that Solid wasn't Solid anymore.
I still don't really know what happened. Within a period of a week my mother-in-law died and I was laid off from my job. Then there was the pressure of the Ph.D. applications I'm trying to pull together, which... Well, I'll leave that for another day. Let's just say it's traumatic in and of itself. And then one day I found myself in front of a computer, unable to even edit a paragraph in my thesis.
My name is David. I live in San Diego. I don't have all the answers.
There. I said it. I feel all squishy and vulnerable now.
Tonight I started the Fall quarter. It's Spiritual Formation this quarter. We're supposed to keep a journal. My teacher didn't think it was possible to express myself honestly in a blog, but I'd like to give it a shot.
I don't remember if I've ever mentioned this, but two big reasons I started blogging in the first place were my pastor encouraging me to share myself more and a friend challenging me on the fact that I don't readily open up my life to people. I really want to open myself up too.
So let's get started. My spiritual journal, day 1:
I'm a friggin' mess. Even as I write that, I must congratulate myself because friggin' was actually the word I said in my head, and not the other one. Some of my readers have known me for a very long time. Those that know me best will tell you that I don't cuss unless things are pretty messed up in my life.
Let me get judgmental for a minute. Is the rule that I can be judgmental as long as I admit I'm doing it? That should be the rule.
What's up with Christians that say they don't drink because they don't want to set a bad example or give people the wrong idea about them, and then they'll get their picture taken with a glass of sparkling cider? Dude! Didn't you pretty much just defeat your own purpose there?? If you're not drinking because of appearances, then don't appear to be drinking!
That's not really the point though, is it? What I meant to say is why would you use foul language if you're so concerned about appearances??
Let's just save that rabbit trail for another day. And I shouldn't be judgmental like that anyway. Please, drink your apple juice and use whatever words you want. What do I care?
Anyway, I've started cussing again. I'm not exactly a potty-mouth, mind you. We're talking two or three rated-PG words a week. But as I've told many people in the past, my language is a window into my spiritual condition. This is true for no one in the world but me, as far as I know. But if you ever hear me using a four-letter word, I'm probably pretty messed up inside.
And I'm really messed up right now.
I do have to say that it's getting better. I can write again. I can do my work, such as it is. But if my head is above water, it's only barely there.
Oh yeah. Y'know that picture I have of myself swimming in the Caribbean off the shores of St. John? The one that's probably to the left of this very post? Yeah... That was me two-and-a-half years ago. I tipped the scales at about 200 then. Now I'm almost 250.
How's that for honesty? And yes, that's Zeke. As long as I'm being honest, I should admit that I really love that little fluffball. Even if he is part pirhana.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
How's my new grandpuppy?
I think I've been reluctant to start writing again because I'm worried about opening a floodgate of raw emotion from the last few weeks. Like I said before, my wife's mother passed away unexpectedly on June 25th, and it's been one of the toughest things I've ever had to go through. Seeing my wife hurt so much for so long, not to mention the rest of her family. There have been a few good things to come of this too though.
For example, two days ago I saw a smile on Wifey's face that you usually don't see on anyone over the age of twelve. She'll be so mad at me for putting up this awful cell phone picture, but you've gotta see it.
What's that she's holding? That would be her new puppy. His name is Zeke. He's a Yorkshire Terrier, and I'm the world's biggest softy. Here's another picture of him...
He's really much cuter in person too. This morning I got a short email from my mom. It inspired my return to the blogosphere, after almost a month of absence.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Just had to share this one with you! How's my new grandpuppy?
cm [Incidentally, "cm?" Are those your initials, or an abbreviation of "Congenial Mother?"]
[Attached: forwarded email about the Texas heat, which becomes a huge conversational topic this time of year]
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Asleep! YAAAAAAAYYYY!!!! Last night we made a run to Petsmart and a lady there told us that babies are much easier than Yorkie puppies. We thought that was ridiculous, and then I thought about it a little bit. He won't sleep through the night, requires attention every moment he's awake right now, and has stinky poop you have to clean up (and wipe his bottom). BUT! No diapers, and he can run.
Last night he did pretty well. He decided we were ready to go to bed about eleven, and then slept until one, when he decided it was playtime. He was adamant about that. So Wifey tried to work her magic, and then I took him out to the living room, let him run on his leash, and played, "I want up I want down" for a while. (Remember that game?)
So about 1:50 I decided to just block off everything I didn't want him to get to in the bedroom. I used plywood scraps, large books, and a chair turned on its side while Julie held him in the bed. When I finally finished, I turned to Julie. She shrugged and gestured to the puppy, who had just laid his head down and gone to sleep, snuggled up against her belly. Fortunately, he made it through the rest of the night.
A couple more interesting things...
His favorite food is my sweat. We have no air conditioner, so I'm constantly covered in puppy slobber.
He thinks my feet are his natural prey. He must attack them on sight, especially when they try to run (walk) away from him.
Finally, he's convinced my nipples have milk. So much for walking around the house without a shirt.
He's really cute though. Especially when he's asleep.
Love you,
Solid
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dear Readers,
Thanks for your patience with me while I've been gone. It's unlikely I'll be going back to posting every day right now, but I'm going to try to write something at least two or three times a week. Bear with me though. Life hasn't really returned to normal, but I guess I do have a lot to talk about.
Peace,
Solid
For example, two days ago I saw a smile on Wifey's face that you usually don't see on anyone over the age of twelve. She'll be so mad at me for putting up this awful cell phone picture, but you've gotta see it.
What's that she's holding? That would be her new puppy. His name is Zeke. He's a Yorkshire Terrier, and I'm the world's biggest softy. Here's another picture of him...
He's really much cuter in person too. This morning I got a short email from my mom. It inspired my return to the blogosphere, after almost a month of absence.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Just had to share this one with you! How's my new grandpuppy?
cm [Incidentally, "cm?" Are those your initials, or an abbreviation of "Congenial Mother?"]
[Attached: forwarded email about the Texas heat, which becomes a huge conversational topic this time of year]
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Asleep! YAAAAAAAYYYY!!!! Last night we made a run to Petsmart and a lady there told us that babies are much easier than Yorkie puppies. We thought that was ridiculous, and then I thought about it a little bit. He won't sleep through the night, requires attention every moment he's awake right now, and has stinky poop you have to clean up (and wipe his bottom). BUT! No diapers, and he can run.
Last night he did pretty well. He decided we were ready to go to bed about eleven, and then slept until one, when he decided it was playtime. He was adamant about that. So Wifey tried to work her magic, and then I took him out to the living room, let him run on his leash, and played, "I want up I want down" for a while. (Remember that game?)
So about 1:50 I decided to just block off everything I didn't want him to get to in the bedroom. I used plywood scraps, large books, and a chair turned on its side while Julie held him in the bed. When I finally finished, I turned to Julie. She shrugged and gestured to the puppy, who had just laid his head down and gone to sleep, snuggled up against her belly. Fortunately, he made it through the rest of the night.
A couple more interesting things...
His favorite food is my sweat. We have no air conditioner, so I'm constantly covered in puppy slobber.
He thinks my feet are his natural prey. He must attack them on sight, especially when they try to run (walk) away from him.
Finally, he's convinced my nipples have milk. So much for walking around the house without a shirt.
He's really cute though. Especially when he's asleep.
Love you,
Solid
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Dear Readers,
Thanks for your patience with me while I've been gone. It's unlikely I'll be going back to posting every day right now, but I'm going to try to write something at least two or three times a week. Bear with me though. Life hasn't really returned to normal, but I guess I do have a lot to talk about.
Peace,
Solid
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