Thursday, August 23, 2007


I took Emily and Kaylee out for lunch yesterday. In order to reaffirm my status as an uncool dad, I told Emily she had to eat one more carrot before finishing. Heavy negotiations lauched at this point. Emily's earnest contention was that her carrot had pepper on it (she does'nt like pepper). She was right ... it had precisely one grain of pepper on it. I told her I would wipe it off; she balked; I re-iterated; she protested; and then Kaylee reached over, licked off the carrot and handed it to Emily.

Emily happily ate the now pepper free carrot.

PS: The guinea pigs have nothing to do with this story. Although I'm sure they too would eat a licked carrot over a peppered one. And no, we don't now own these gentle, marijuana-eating rodents. These were loaners from Stacey's cousin's family.

Sunday, August 12, 2007


I returned to Calgary for one night a few days ago and sent out an email declaring that both Stacey & I would be blogging all sorts of wonderfully weird stuff while on holidays. Then I went back out to Rosen Lake and discovered that we had somehow failed to put in a cable conduit when we had our telephone and electricity put in. So in order to get internet access I would have to dig a 175 foot long, 18 inch deep trench in rocky ground.

I'm not going to do that and you can't make me, no matter how much you want to me to annoy you with useless drivel.

So now I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Cranbrook with Stacey, busily typing this single blog entry. It may be my only one before returning to Calgary (or maybe not ... oooo suspense).

The picture of Emily on the dock was taken a moment before she stuck her foot in the bucket full of minnows she had just caught. She was putting pancakes in between her toes and feeding them to the fish (Stacey taught her this ... she's a talented lady).

The Santa pics are from Nicole's famous annual Christmas in July bbq at our place a few weeks ago.

The link between the pictures can be discovered only through intense meditation, hickups and running around in circles with baloney on your head.

I haven't seen a single cran in Cranbrook (nor a brook for that matter). But I have witnessed a great communal distain for razors-on-the-male-face. I would viciously mock this … if I had shaved in the last week.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Porcelain Pugilism

Here are the highlights of this year's Canada Day toilet attack. It was a good day: 49 people, 60 burgers and hotdogs, 1000 child-size happy squeals, 10,000 toilet fragments and one big mess.


I sat on the dock early this morning, undisturbed, until the neighbour’s dog sidled up beside me and began to lap at the lake. The calm, glassy water broke in concentric circles. For several minutes, ripples continued to flow out from where he drank. Out and out they went until, on the edge of my vision, I could still see them almost a third of the way across the lake. And he kept on lapping until hundreds and hundreds of waveforms occupied all the water around me.

Perhaps you’ve seen infrared images of the heat signatures humans emit, or the more exotic images of the air turbulence we create simply by breathing and moving. We have a tremendous, yet barely visible influence. Simply by being alive, we impact our immediate environment in a profound, and far reaching way. What would otherwise be dormant is filled with motion and engraved with the signature of life.

I wonder at the spiritual significance of this physical process. I don’t believe we are divided beings. I don’t believe we are imprisoned in an evil material world, with a virtuous spiritual world separately clicking along underneath it. We live as part of an integrated whole. Body, mind, spirit: where one leaves off and the next begins is beyond our discernment. And enshrined in the centre of this integration is the dogged assertion of ancient Christians that their Savior was raised from the dead … physically. A spiritual mystery, that they will not permit us to ghettoize into the unseen realm. And so in a world where physical realities exist among, and mirror spiritual realities, the idea of far reaching ripples consumed my morning.

An insect hit the lake shortly after the dog had left. It made a ripple. The ripple flowed out across the lake. But it was a singular act; One circle radiating out. It lacked the consistent pattern created by the dog’s thirst; a pattern that covered an immense area without break; a pattern that made me think of the consistent efforts of so many people of faith that I’ve encountered over the years. They’ve thirsted. They’ve rippled the waters. And most people paid no attention. But for those few who stopped and looked, a massive area was patterned in perfect, consistent waves by their efforts.

The fifteen minutes of fame that so many of us long for is a bug hitting the water. The sudden rippling of the mirror stands out for a shot time, radiates out, and is gone. Even while it can still be seen it’s almost impossible to trace back to its origin.

Consistent, faithful, thirsty lapping at the water radiates out just as far, but also focuses us on the centre. The act in the middle of the waves can still be seen because it is still being enacted. To be washed over by the large circles compels us to seek out the smaller ones, the ones with higher, less diffused waveforms, until we find the point of impact from where they arose.

And so I sit here contemplating, looking out at the low, wide circles that have washed over me, searching out the centre. And in those places where I can track all the way back, I see thirsting people. I see living water. I see small acts of faith, service … love. And I see consistency.

And as a weary man with little impact, and not even fifteen seconds of fame, I’m comforted. Perhaps my thirst, my tiny, weak, but consistent lapping, radiates out. Perhaps, if someone stops and is quiet and watchful, the waves may even compel them to seek out the centre and quench their thirst as well.

Mind Meld

Stacey & I were travelling back to Calgary yesterday, listening to music. "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" by Bob Dylan came on and she said, "Bob Dylan is U2 for old people." I thought that was a great line and told her I was going to use it. She then told me that I had coined the line and blurted it out to her a week earlier.

It's strange in a comfortable sort of way how after ten years of marriage, I can no longer tell which thougths in my head are my own and which are Stacey's (But I'm pretty sure the thoughts that have kept me out of prison are Stacey's).

Saturday, August 04, 2007

The Secret (When Pantyhose Become Books).

Here's a hilarious Macleans review of the popular self-help, new age book "The Secret" that someone on the Resonate discussion shared the link to:The Secret Revealed.

(Warning: It's a little junior high locker-roomy).

Trading My Blog for a Log

I'm heading out to Rosen Lake with the dare-to-dream hope of achieving internet access out there this week. Of course, for a variety of tech vs. middle-of-nowhere issues, it may not happen, and all my leisure-time moronicisms will never be given life as blog entries. So stay tuned, cross your fingers, intercede on our behalf, get jiggy with it, eat a Joe's, don't take any wooden nickles & fight the power (what was I writing about anyways? ... Oh, yeah ... mixing drugs, whiskey, Cheetos & salad for breakfast has no affect on my coherence ... none at alllllllll lalalalalala - lapidary has nothing to do with dairy or laps ... I'm gonna eat a bug, and become bug-man. Hey, you, get into my car! Why do bird's suddenly appear, every time you are near? I have another thought coming, it' sz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz).