Two pictures

Gunny’s two favorite things in the world here at my parents’ house are Tori and Lily.  They don’t like him much.  They are three pounds each.  He is thirty pounds and has the energy of a crazy puppy.  This morning he was in mom’s room and could see Tori and Lily through the fireplace.

Then when I let the big dogs out of the bedroom, they were actually kinda sweet with the littles.  Danger even cuddled with Lily.

Wishing Dave was here….he would love this!  So proud of my man at training!



So today.  How to start this?  Today.  We have dogs.  Dave is at training.  Thus I have dogs.  Oh my goodness dogs.

I adore Danger and Gunny.  They are the smartest, sweetest dogs on the planet.  I even love them when Danger gives me attitude and Gunny “explores” furniture with his teeth.  Today though.  Oh my goodness the dogs today.

It rained for twenty four hours.  It got cold after the front moved through.  The dogs had to go to the bathroom.  One of the many conveniences about staying with my parents is the fenced in area out the basement door.  I let the dogs out to go to the bathroom while I got dressed.  When I called them to come in I was prepared with a towel to wipe off their feet that I was sure would be wet.  I was not prepared for the dirtballs that came running to the door.  They were both covered in mud and leaves.  Covered.  Slimy.  Happy.  Gross.

Knowing there were two dog baths in my future, I took the dogs on a long walk.  Long.  Like one and a half miles.  Not long for a run, but pretty long for a walk with two active pups attached to my arm.  They had so much fun.  They were so happy.  They were so filthy!!

I love my adorable, exhausted, CLEAN dogs!

Long time…

Hmmm….it has been a while.  Gotta get back to my blog!  Wanna see what we did over Thanksgiving weekend?  












I have a fabulous photographer!!  Love my momma….and my sweetheart!

In the Club

It is Saturday.  It was set to be a pretty calm and quiet Saturday.  Dave had a parade gig this morning and then he was going mountain biking with friends.  Busy Dave days leave me open to doing anything I feel like doing.  Interestingly, the last several months have been chock full of busy Dave days that left me open to do anything I felt like doing.

I’m getting better at it.  At first I would just sit, stare, and relax.  Now I make good use of these days, mostly.

Today I got up and made a semi-delicious cup of coffee.  Truly delicious cups of coffee are only made by my sweetheart barista.  Then I watched an episode of a rather stupid television show.  Minor waste of time.  Then I did some fabulous reading.  I love to read.  The sun was streaming through the blinds.  In that pattern that creates strange levels of distraction by alternating shadows and light stripes.  Worship music was playing on my stereo.  It was a seriously peaceful and encouraging environment.

It gets better and lest you think this is just a run down of my day, well, it was a particularly interesting day.

I did yoga.  Had to set up two space heaters in my yoga studio to make it comfortable enough to do all that stretching.  Gotta be a funny picture.  Definitely a rigged set up.  After I finished my practice and got all cleaned up, I chilled over a half ham sandwich.

Then I got the phone call.

Dave’s mountain biking trip had not gone as planned.  One of his buddies had fallen and Dave was taking him to the emergency room.  Mountain biking is better than road biking, according to Dave, because the trees don’t move like cars do.  I think this is an extremely good point.  It does not help when one goes slipping on the fresh fall leaves covering the trail.  He hit his head, but hopped up and jumped back on his bike like he was fine.  About ten minutes later he asked Dave if he had fallen.  Dave put him straight in the truck and headed for the hospital, calling all important parties, like for instance, wives.  His wife couldn’t find a babysitter, so I volunteered to hang with the little ones while she went to pick up the injured biker.  He ended up with just a concussion.  So grateful he is okay!  I got to play with four super kids for the afternoon.  They were full of laughter and creativity.  The older girls rode bikes and played outside until the sun went down.  The five year old was particularly into me.  She sang me songs, showed me dances, gave me tours, and decorated me with her stamp collection.

It’s like I went to a hip night club….with a low age limit and a dinosaur stamp at the door!

Childhood memory

Let me tell you something about my childhood.  Just one little snapshot memory.  Much more than that and I would exceed the bounds of a single blog post.

Daddy’s sneaky smile always gave it away.  Before the smell had a chance to get to you.

Daddy has a lot of smiles.  There’s the someone-is-taking-my-picture smile.  Grr!  The I-think-I’m-hilarious smile.  The half-face-smile you’d get if something were just mildly funny.  Or if he was sleepy.  There’s seriously a hundred different smiles from Dad – and I know the meaning behind each one of them.  You become adept at reading faces over the years I suppose.  I liked his smiles too.  It was fun to figure them out.

But the apple crisp smile – good things were always coming when he smiled the apple crisp smile.  For some reason, and I honestly do not know what it is, Daddy makes apple crisp.  I can remember sitting “on the line” in the kitchen, that tile line that marked whether you were in the kitchen or out of it, and watching him slice what seemed like 35 apples.  Sometimes I helped peel them.  Beautiful memory, but I hate peeling apples!  haha!  He had a magical recipe.  He always put piles and piles of crumble topping.  Must be where I developed my lifelong love affair with all things crumble topping.  There were often surprise ingredients.  Like nuts.  Or more recently, craisins….yum.

I have never, ever, ever ordered apple crisp at a restaurant.  Why bother?  It’s not gonna measure up.  I have never even had a serving of it at a friend’s house.  Seriously, there is no point in putting it in your mouth if Daddy didn’t make it.  His apple crisp smells the best of all apple crisps I’ve ever smelled.  It’s that warm, cinnamon-y, apple-y, joyful, comfortable, happy smell.  It’s the smell of Daddy’s home.  It’s the smell of fall/winter/spring….whenever he felt like making it.

When I was home last week Daddy made apple crisp with craisins and lots of crumble topping.  It was like eating a bowl full of happy childhood memories.

I love my Daddy…and his apple crisp.

Judging my Judge

She sits on the yet unpainted piano bench by the window in my yoga studio.  I stand on the end of my yoga mat.  I take a few deep breaths.  She does too.  Then I begin.  She follows suit.  I raise my arms high above my head and fold into Half Moon Pose.  She tells me to straighten my hips, to pull my shoulder blades down and back, to engage the muscles in my legs.  She tells me it’s almost good enough.  I tell her to shut up.  I release on an exhale, separate my feet six inches apart, and inhale into Awkward Pose.  She says “You’re not engaging your core!  Tailbone back, BACK! Goodness gracious would you BREATHE?!?”  I glare at her.  I tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.  I insist that she CUT IT OUT with all the gosh darn JUDGEMENT!

Have you met her?  You might have spent many hours with her.  You might have had some of the same ridiculous conversations with her.  She’s my judge.  She is the part of me that picks apart everything I do.  She provides the daily Chinese water torture analysis of my existence.  She is me.  Don’t worry, I do not need psychotherapy.  I am talking about the tendency of women to strive for perfection.  We pursue meaningless and unachievable standards of accomplishment, body shape, and success meanwhile inwardly telling ourselves we are not measuring up.  We constantly remind ourselves of what we are doing wrong.  Why do we judge ourselves?

But wait, it gets better.  My yoga instructor has a saying he likes to use in class.  His goal is to help the class focus and avoid thoughts of the rest of our day.  He says “if you begin to have thoughts, allow them to float by you like clouds in a clear blue sky”.  I don’t know about you, but if I am outside looking up at the sky and there is one cloud, one singular cloud in a clear blue sky, it gets 100% of my attention.  Forget about all that clear blue, check out that CLOUD!  My thoughts get treated similarly.  As a judgmental thought comes into my head, I notice it and I respond to it.  Usually with anger.  So now, not only am I refusing to accept where I am in life and be grateful, I am judging my judge!

By engaging our inner judges, don’t you think we give them more power?  When I respond to a judgmental thought with anger or frustration, isn’t that wholesale acceptance of what my judge is telling me?  Am I truly buying into the very thoughts that I find so despicable?  Am I affirming the negative beliefs about myself?  Am I ultimately doing the same damage to my soul that we argue fashion magazines and television are doing to the soul of society?

As I have been pondering this I have come to a few conclusions.

In the case of sin in our lives, responsive repentance is necessary.  Jesus says in John 14 “But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you.”  There is an inner voice that is the prompting of the Holy Spirit to bring us to turn away from our sin.  This is not the judgmental voice we have been discussing.

I must treat the judge with gentleness.  She is throwing a two-year-old temper tantrum in the aisle of the grocery store.  Keep walking.  She’ll calm down.  I must be kind to her because, well, she is me.  She is not the attractive, ready-for-my-closeup part of me, but she is me.  I must let her go on her merry judgmental way.  I must remind myself that I am fearfully and wonderfully made as David says in the Psalms.  I must remind myself of the Sovereignty of God, not the sovereignty of me.  I must not give in to the illusion that my judge somehow makes me a better person.  Her voice cannot change me.  Only the way I respond to my judge can make a difference in my life.


I have so much that I have been pondering.  Probably like 5 different posts going in my head right now.  I am not a super blogger.  It is official.  If I were a super blogger, I would have stayed up until 3am working diligently with the light of my computer screen guiding me.  I would have carefully thought through these blogs.  They would be wordsmithed into reality.  You would be reading something far more interesting than my rambling about not writing blog posts.  Yes, I do see the irony there.

They are coming, these posts.  I just have to finish thinking about them.

And then write them.