Goodbye Shelby, the WonderMutt

Yesterday was a hard day.  We had to say goodbye to our sweet dog, Shelby.

I've posted several times about our genial, but less-than-energetic family pet.  You can read those here, here, here, here and here.

I've obviously been a little critical of our little mutt.  Okay, more than a little.  Mostly because humor at her expense was so abundant and so dang easy.  But our easy, content, whiny dog had declining health (she was somewhere between 13-16 years old) and finally got to a place where we had to let her go.

She had a cough that wouldn't go away, had seizures, she could barely see, could hear only really loud noises (which was kind of nice, because she no longer barked like a mad woman when the doorbell rang), had such stiff, sore hips that she would sometimes fall over just walking through the house - or even standing still.  She couldn't make it up the steps most of the time, and was even losing her sense of smell.  So we put her out of her misery and sent her to the carpeted home in the sky, with never-ending and never-fattening dog treats always at the ready.

Through all of it, she was a good pup.  We adopted her from a rescue shelter, and didn't know for sure what we were getting, but she was always good with our girls, and became an integral (if comic) part of our family.  She never nipped at us, was always glad to see us, and even if she wasn't the most energetic of canines, she was loyal and she made us laugh.

Farewell Shelby.  We already miss your clicking toenails on our wood floor.

An Update

There's a lot going on.  It is the middle of December, after all.  So I'm going to jot it all down, but I think no pictures.

First, Anya is home!  She returned to us on Thursday eve, having successfully completed her first semester of college at Utah State (Go Aggies!...or at least, Do Something Mildly Good Aggies, since you're getting such a large percentage of the Smithereens annual income).  She came with a long list of meals that must be cooked, and in a few cases restaurants that must be visited.  Evidently, the food on campus leaves much to be desired, at least in Anya's opinion.  She has often marveled at her college friends who praise the deliciousness of the college fare, making her ask, "What exactly were you served at home?!?  Because this slop can't even come close to the stuff my parents made." 

We blush contentedly.

But it does make us wonder:  is the food really that bad? Does Anya just prefer the way we cook?  Is someone following her around to the food courts and spiking her food with some taste-altering substance?  Okay, that last one might be a little conspiracy theoryesque, but I say it's still worth considering. 

I wrote about our unfortunate event while on vacation -- the semi smashing that seemingly slightly crumpled the rear end of our Santa Fe.  Turns out it wasn't so minor.  Once they started taking it apart and prepping it for repair, they realized it was in much worse shape than previously predicted.  Worse to the tune of total loss, as in your-car-looks-fine-but-the-amount-of-money-it's-gonna-take-to-put-it-back-together-makes-us-insurance-guys-wet-our-pants-so-we'll-just-cut-you-a-check. 

We mourned, we lamented.  We did a little dance of joy that the semi that managed to total our SUV did not simultaneously bring lasting damage to our frail houses of skin and bone.  And we started hunting for a new car.  Settled on this one:

Okay, well it's not exactly this one, but ours looks like it's twin.  It's a 2006 Toyota Sienna.  (yes, I'm fully aware I said no pictures, but since all I had to do was google the image, here it is).  Yeah, we're back to being minivan owners.  But it's in great shape, our mechanic gave it the thumbs up, and best of all, we bought it outright so no car payment.  Which is great, due to the previously mentioned money tunnel that is college.  We call it our swagger wagon.  If you don't know why we call it that, click here.  That's totally how we roll.

Em & Jen have three more days of school - their last day is the 19th.  Why?  Because, of course, they're going to get some really quality, in depth, life-changing instruction on these three days before Christmas break. 

Or their going to be surrounded by hellions clamoring for vacation and making their instructors long for the days of in-class corporal punishment. 

I am fighting a cold - my second one in the span of 10 days.  I don't think it's a relapse of cold #1, because this one seems to have a special vindictiveness quite set apart from the first version.  I feel like someone strapped me to the machine in the pit of despair from The Princess Bride, then wrapped my legs around the back of my neck and tied my arms behind my back, bounced me on a trampoline in a snowstorm, and finished my special spa day with a ride behind a pickup as I was dragged through a gravel pit.  Thank you, precious Lord, for inspiring someone years ago to dream up the chemical compound known as ibuprofen, for without those happy little maroon tablets this blog post would most likely resemble a Charlie Sheen interview during his tiger's blood period -- without the coherence he demonstrated so masterfully.

Of course, maybe it already does approach that level of readability and I'm just too mushy headed to recognize it.  If so, feel free to comment, critique, ridicule.  I'll read the comments when my torturous escapade is over.

And I'll reply to you all.  Fear the typing fingers of revenge.

The other big news:  G'pa arrives on Friday.  Oh frabjous day!  We've missed him way too much, and are sooo looking forward to 9 specatacular days of Christmas fun with him around.

Thanks for reading.  I wish you could hear this in my current voice.  Think the love child of Barry White and Gilbert Gottfried, and you'll get a close approximation.

The Parents Escape

This week, Karen and I celebrated our 20th anniversary -- almost 5 months late.

We had our 20th on June 13th, but we had other trips and activities planned this summer, so we put our anniversary trip on hold.

I did actually celebrate with my wife on our anniversary; I'm not an idiot or a clod.  Although I don't remember right now what we did.

But this week was the real celebration we were looking forward to.  We rented a small two-bedroom home in LaVerkin, UT, halfway between St. George and Zion Nat'l Park.  On Monday, once the girls were off to school and we'd squeezed in one more workout at the gym before we started the vacation calorie binge, we headed south!

Can I just say, that though I love, love, LOVE my daughters, it was so fabulous to get away without them, just Karen and me, no schedule, no constant questions about the possible hikes and their respective lengths, no choosing restaurants with 5 tastes in mind, only 2, no listening to sighs when we are amazed AGAIN at the sheer majesty of every vista we see.  I love them dearly...but it was really good to be away from them.

And it was simply spectacular to be alone with the woman I STILL love after 20 years together.  I've given her plenty of reasons through the years to give up on me, but she's stayed by my side, even when I wasn't very fun to be around.  I'm so grateful for my gracious, supportive, always-game, beautiful, determined partner.  And so very glad we got to spend almost 5 uninterrupted days together in one of the most fabulous places God created.

Our first day in Zion, we embarked on a hike we'd never done during our previous trips to Zion (mostly due to the extra bodies tagging along and their unwillingness to tackle it).   Angels Landing.

The top of that craggy monolith is where we were headed.  It's about 2.5 miles of hiking to get there, climbing almost 1500 vertical feet from the valley floor.

It's only more intimidating as we grew closer.  We'd have to take a winding trail up the side of this cliff...

before we head into a narrow canyon.  As we scaled the cliff, we glanced back down to see from whence we'd come...

And we were only just beginning.  After a gentle climb through a narrow canyon, full of shadowy fall beauty...

 

we approached Walter's Wiggles, a series of short, tight switchbacks carved into the mountainside. 

Once we reached the top of those, it was time to scramble over a lot of rock, in some pretty narrow places, with sheer drop offs always reminding us that one misstep and we'd really be landing with the angels.

 

We finally reached the summit, and...wow.

 This is how it looks to climb 1500 feet and gaze on indescribable wonder.

We stayed for a while, and ate a small lunch.  Incredibly, the top of Angels Landing is thick with chipmunks, and these chipmunks are brave little rodents.  They've evidently learned that the people who make it up there bring food with them, and so the little guys are fearless.  Five or six at a time would surround us, getting within inches of us, climbing on our packs, trying to get to the baggies we had our food in.  They were even brave enough to brush up against us.  It sounds kind of cute, but it was actually more creepy.  We kept expecting them to run up our backs, or get into our packs, or jump into our hands and steal our food.  We were not fans of Chip & Dale.

But we were fans of this awesome view.  

It was a perfect day.  About 78 degrees, just a gentle breeze at the top, and clear skies as far as we could see.

We made it safely back down, and decided to head into St. George for dinner.  Once we got onto I-15, traffic was stopped for an accident, so we stopped, too.  Unfortunately the semi behind us didn't stop quick enough...

Ouch.

Both Karen and I were fine, but our poor car was badly wounded.  It was the semi driver's fault, so unless his insurance does something underhanded, we should be able to restore her to her former pristine glory.  And even if his insurance is shady, our insurance is good, so we'll be fine.

I did get a good bump on the head. 

Merely cosmetic.  But noticeable enough that Karen feared it would look like she was abusing me.  Well, she wasn't really afraid of that, but I threatened to tell that story to anyone who asked.

No one asked.

Big fun on our first full day of celebrating 20 years!

Flying Squirrel

On Halloween, my good buddy Pete kidnapped me for an unknown adventure to belatedly celebrate my birthday.  After picking me up in the morning, grabbing coffee (a necessity for ANY adventure), we made the trek up to Ogden, UT.  Along the way, we talked about a lot of stuff, except about where we were headed.

Pete was familiar with my sincere disappointment several years ago, documented here, that Utah weather harshed on my skydiving groove and prevented me from experiencing the wonders of falling several thousand feet.  So, he decided to unharsh my groove by taking me to an indoor skydiving experience.

 

There would be unruly weather in the specially designed wind vortex, only the glorious sensation of free falling!  And also, none of the uncomfortable binding straps of a parachute, as described in the skydiving fail.

Sweet!

After watching a short training video and getting tips from my wind-tunnel buddy, Ben, I was ready to hop into my suit.

Stylish, yes?

Next, I added goggles and ear plugs, as the vortex of wind is bracingly loud.

Add a helmet to keep my noggin from splitting open should I fly into the plexiglass walls...

 And I'm ready to fly!  First some instruction from trainer, Ben.

What you can't tell clearly from the above picture (but which is quite evident in the video below) is the instructor Ben is wearing fleece footie pajamas with dinosaurs on them.  It was Halloween after all.  He informed us that he was dressed as a paleontologist.

Ben was one of my favorite things about the whole experience.  You couldn't help but be happy and enthusiastic around Ben, and even more so as he sported the dino-laden sleepwear.

So, I was ready.  Ben stepped in first and helped me as I leaned in to fall into the forceful updraft.

And next thing I knew, I was flying!

It was quite a rush.  Not really scary, just exhilarating.  It's a strange thing to float like that, and I never had the sensation that I was going to drop or fall.  It was just extremely fun -- like a roller coaster on steroids.

Here's the video...

Awesome day with an awesome friend!  Alas, Pete could not share the experience as he is still recovering from shoulder surgery.  Greater love has no man than this:  that he would take his friend to indoor skydive even though he is on the injured list.

Thanks, Pete, for being Bullwinkle to my Rocky.

Slavery and freedom

Note:  If you attend CenterPoint Church, you've probably already seen this post I wrote in our online community.  But for those of you who live else where, thought I'd post it here.

I’ve been reading a book called “Redemption” by Mike Wilkerson.  It’s a call to be set free from the wounds that we carry and the idols that we worship, as examined through the Exodus narrative.  One of the themes is that we are created to worship, and if we don’t worship Jesus, then we will turn that worship towards someone or something else.

One thing that struck me (and honestly, this book has been hitting me HARD upside the head…repeatedly) is the response of the Israelites once Moses comes, sent by God, to set them free.  They’ve been enslaved, persecuted by Pharoah not because of anything they did, simply because he was afraid of them and the potential power they wielded by their sheer numbers; they were enduring an unjust punishment.  Israel cried out to God, begging to be set free.

And then God answers, sending Moses to Pharoah on Israel’s behalf, exhorting Pharoah to let His people go.  Israel is relieved, rejoicing, excited that God has listened and has made a way for their freedom!

Pharoah reacts to this by making their work harder: instead of just making bricks, they now have to gather the straw to make the bricks, while still producing the same amount as when the straw was gathered for them.  And how does Israel respond?  They lash out at God, blaming Him for the difficulty that comes with His promised freedom.  They shake their fist at God, and beg to fall back under Pharoah’s “good graces”, to live again under his slavery but at least not have to gather straw, to have the easier verision of servitude.  Instead of recognizing the slave owner as the one who is making life hard (which is what he would be expected to do, since he doesn’t want to lose his slaves) they blame God for making their life difficult, and neglect seeing that He is setting them free!

So how does this apply to us?  When we are set free, or begin the path to freedom, whether that’s accepting Christ and His forgiveness, moving away from addictions, or finding healing for our emotional wounds, there is going to be opposition.  If we place our faith in Christ for the first time, our former way of thinking is going to continue to pull at us.  If we’re ready to turn aside from an addiction that controls us, that substance or attraction is not going to suddenly dissolve.  If we’re ready to embrace the Father and His love for us, the wounds we carry are going to continue to whisper that we aren’t worthy of His love and forgiveness.

And when the former continues to pull at us, we shake our fist at God and say, “Why are you doing this to me?!  Why am I still tempted?  Why do I still feel the hurt?  Why won’t my family leave me alone?  Why don’t You make everything go away?”  And when we ask those questions, we’re just like Israel, blaming God instead of recognizing that He is setting us free, and that the things we’re enslaved to don’t want to let us go.  Will we believe God that “it is for freedom I have set you free,” or will we believe Pharoah (Satan) who says we will not be free, a slave is who we are, what we deserve, what we’re destined to be?

I’m going to choose to believe God.  That doesn’t mean I won’t hear the other voices.  It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy along the way.  But when it is hard, when temptation continues to pull, entice, and accuse, I’ll choose to believe what God says: I am not a slave, I am His beloved child, who He as made to be free, and that my freedom will be costly and maybe even take time.  But I am free.

And you are free as well.  Believe what He says and does, not what Pharoah says and does.

Jenna is 14!

It was 14 years ago today that our sweet Jenna came into the world!  And so I, after a great absence, return to regale you with tales of her celebration.

Or at least to post some pics.

The celebratory meal:  Greek chicken on flatbread, rice pilaf and steamed cauliflower.

  

A beautiful gaggle of girls, yes?

Then the presents...

Gpa sent a gift card to be used for crafty things, and everyone's favorite card of the night.  If Shelby got hold of gum, I doubt she'd be skilled enough...or smart enough...to blow a bubble.

From los padres, a dock for her iPod.

 

Dove caramels, nail polish and lip stuff, in festive pails.  Note the Very Hungry Caterpillar - because Jenny is almost always a very hungry girl.

She's also getting her ears pierced, so Emily gave her some new rings with which to decorate her new holes when they come.

 

Emily enjoying a glass of sparkling juice to celebrate.

And since this post is about Jenna, I thought I'd include a gift that Jenna made for me, on my birthday two days ago.

Jenna always makes her gifts.  She likes to create and says it doesn't feel like a present if she doesn't craft it.  And we've been needing a new fall wreath for our door as our previous one was looking a little sad.

So...voila!

She saw the idea on some website and thought, "I can do that,"  and she did!  Isn't it just fab?

Happy birthday, Jenna!  We love you tons!

Graduation

Tonight, my little girl will walk across a stage and descend the steps on the other side with a diploma in hand.

I don't think I'm an overly sentimental guy. 

Well...I did tear up during the season finale of Modern Family.

I cry every time George Bailey stands by the Christmas tree, ZuZu's petals in hand, as all of Bedford Falls gives him cash to make up for the missing money.

I can't help but choke up when I read about Scout realizing just who saved her and her brother, Jem, and she simply says, "Hey, Boo."

And I turn into a complete mess during the last 10 minutes of Toy Story 3.

Okay, I am overly sentimental.

But given that, I'm still surprised by how melancholy I'm feeling over Anya's impending graduation.  She just turned 18 a little over a week ago.  And I swear she was 10 years old just a few months before that.

I suppose it's not the graduation itself.  It's what's next.  And no, we're still not sure what exactly is next.  But whatever it is, it means our family as I know it now is going to change.  Anya will be on her own in some way, whether she's away at school or living with us next fall.  I won't have three girls coming home in the afternoon from school, telling tales at dinner about the great story a teacher told, or the annoying thing that know-it-all in the next row did, or the dork-o-riffic thing the students did on Channel One that morning.  I'll have two girls sharing those events, and one who's beginning the next chapter of her own story.

Yeah, I know, she's still part of our family, she might even be living with us, we have too much fun for her to abandon us completely.  That's all true.  I'm really grateful that, by the immense grace of God, we've raised a girl who not only wants to be with us, but is a quality girl that we really like being around, too.

But no matter what, she's growing up.  Her life, while forever intertwined with ours, is slowly spinning outward in new directions, into unseen territories.  Home will be an anchor, a cornerstone, a comfy couch even.  And eventually, she'll establish her own home, start her own family, her own traditions, ones hopefully informed and influenced by her time with us, and hopefully expressive of her own unique wants, desires, and attitudes.

It feels like it all begins tonight, as Pomp & Circumstance plays, and she marches in a green robe, a tassel swinging before her face.

I know it doesn't begin tonight.  It began 18 years ago.  It's just all very present tonight.

But I can tell you for sure -- I am NOT watching Toy Story 3 anytime in the near future.

What Fifty-One Looks Like

This weekend was a big one.

Friday was "May the Fourth Be With You" day.

Saturday was Cinco De Mayo.

And Sunday was the most glorious day of all -- my beloved's 51st birthday.

However, Sundays (and this one in particular) are a little crazy in Smithereens land, so we chose to mark the anniversary of Karen's birth on May 5th.  And what better way to celebrate a birthday on Cinco De Mayo than by eating Mexican food.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We spent the celebratory birthday morning eating oatmeal pancakes.  Why?  Because they are so dang tasty.  And they're made with oatmeal so they're healthy!  And no, you paleo fanatics, they're not even close to caveman approved.  We don't care.

After breakfast, the girls did a whirlwind round of chores (I'm not sure anything got super clean...although Jenna did show me the vacuum dust bin after doing the living room and it was disturbingly disgusting.  I'm both exhilarated that our vacuum sucks up that much stuff after just one week and appalled that our carpet accumulates that much in one week.  It's not like we live in Oklahoma in the 30s), and once we were all cleansed, dressed, and coiffed, we piled into the Santa Fe and headed to Park City.

Why Park City?  Because, as I previously mentioned, Karen wanted Mexican food for her birthday, her fave mexican place is Loco Lizard (only in Park City) and it was Cinco De Mayo so perhaps there would be some sort of spectacular fiesta special -- like half-price nachos, or bottomless margaritas, or free college tuition.  Turns out there was none of the above...although I think if our girls had offered to do some sort of line dance on a table, there were some patrons there who had the resources to give  tips that could have definitely helped out with college.  For whatever reason, they did not volunteer to perform any sort of tango, salsa or meringue for the edification of Loco Lizard's patrons. 

Pity.  It would have been a riveting retelling, I assure you.

Instead we ordered our food (full price, mind you.  Why were they not celebrating Mexican independence...or whatever it is that Cinco De Mayo commemorates?  I thought it was a requirement:  you serve chips and salsa, you give away something free on May 5th.  Okay, I'm letting it go now), and commenced the opening of the gifts.

She got several lovely cards, a couple of coffee gift cards, some chocolate and some cash.  We didn't sing happy birthday, and our waiter (the less-than-friendly, but very capable, Matt) did not put a sombrero on her head, bring her a calorie-laden dessert, nor gather his compadres to sing some sort of uncomfortable but mildly entertaining proprietary version of the birthday song.  We just enjoyed the festivities on our own in the booth.

Soon, our delectable meals arrived.

They really were delicious, although I'm not sure this picture is evidence of such.  You'll just have to trust me on this one.

And what takes place after such delights?  A trip to the outlet mall, of course, just a stones throw from the restaurant.  Because nothing says "birthday celebration" like a trip to Eddie Bauer outlet.

After the five us dug through clearance racks and discounted merchandise at several stores, and walked away with bargains in hand for everyone, we headed to Starbucks to obtain fuel for the long drive back to Orem.

And because Starbucks is having a special, although not for Cinco De Mayo.  I'm not sure exactly why they're doing it, but every day until May 14, they have half-price frappacinos from 3-5pm.  And since we were leaving town about 4pm, that marvelous mix of espresso, sugar and milk was on the menu. 

Coffee (or coffee flavored shakes -- I mean, let's be honest, that's what they are) in hand, we loaded up the SUV again and headed back down to reality.

Happy birthday, to my sexy, strong, kind, and enthusiastic wife.  You make our lives more fun just by being around.