Chaz: 3... Jamie and Kyle: 0

This morning when Kyle got out of bed he was greeted with a pile of dog puke in the middle of our area rug. And we were just getting used to the pea-green stain left by the larger pile of dog vomit I found on Wednesday.

Our house is entirely floored in hardwood and tile except for the 4X6 area rug in our living room. There are a million places that Chaz could barf without leaving permanent scars. I'm beginning to think that selective puking is his only means of revenge for all the injustice and indignity he suffers at our hands: listening to my songs about how much he stinks, not being allowed to sleep in our bed, insufficient belly rubbing...

And the time before the two carpet puking incidents? He barfed on our bed, soaking through the duvet cover, down duvet, sheets, and matress cover. As I write this he's probably skulking around, trying to figure out how to unzip the garment bag that holds my wedding dress.

And Now for Something Completely Different

I've had enough of snow and cold. It's time for Spring and I'm willing it into existence!

Good Friday

Typically Good Friday has just been another long-weekend holiday for me but as I lay in bed this morning, I found myself thinking about how I might mark this day and make meaning of it for myself.

Unfortunately, I'll be spending much of the day writing a paper. But sitting at the computer, I've let my mind wander around the idea of the crucifixion, wondering how Good Friday fits into my faith.

A few years ago, I read about a controversial photograph taken by Andreas Serrano. The photograph is called "Piss Christ" and it depicts a crucifix submerged in a jar of the artist's urine. While many touted this piece as important to freedom of expression, others were offended, hurt, and angered by it.

But I am moved by this image. It cuts to the heart of what Christianity and Good Friday are about - an unsanitized God who joins with humanity in our vulnerability to dirtiness, pain, suffering, and abuse. And a God who responds to the ugly parts of humanness with love, compassion, and grace.

In his poem about the piece, Andrew Hudgins describes Piss Christ as depicting:
"the whole irreducible point of the faith,
God thrown in human waste, submerged and shining."

And so I am taking time today to meditate on Jesus ... submerged and shining.

How to Disgust Me

Ask me to smell your hand after it's been in your ranky old hockey glove for two hours. And then gaze at me innocently, as though you haven't made this request a dozen times over the past five years.

Little Lovelies

Today as my bus was crossing over Crowchild I spotted a gopher and got really excited. I love gophers! I know that they're really "Richardson's Ground Squirrels" but that has too many syllables so I'm going to stick with gopher.

I had never seen a gopher before moving to Calgary, probably because they can't escape the thick cold death that covers Northern Alberta all winter. The first time I ever saw gophers was with Jonathan and Marina Aicken at Fish Creek Park and we fed them pretzel sticks from between our toes.

It's as though Calgary has a million squirmy little pets. Pets that routinely get gassed, shot, and squashed by car tires. Now I understand that they are a pest and I don't really have a problem with people killing them. I know that their holes bust the legs of many innocent cows and elementary school kids. Even though I've rolled my ankles numerous times in gopher holes, I just can't stop loving them. I love their skittishness, their little whistles, the way the kick dirt behind them when they dig holes.

I mean look at him.
No really. Look. And feel the cockles of your heart warming.

Warning to All Who Enter Here

As some of you may know, I'm a bit of a germ freak and there isn't much logic to my fear of contamination. One thing that bothers me the most is touching things on the bus. Stranger still is the fact that I get more weirded out if I touch the bus with my hands (which I wash a lot) than with my fabulous Heather-made mittens (which I never wash and jam into my purse with my gum, cell phone, lunch).

I'm also uncomfortable touching door handles, especially ones in really busy areas or bathrooms. And that brings to my next fear...the crazy revolving door at my practicum. My entrance to the building has three doors. Two ordinary doors possessing germ-town handles on either side of an insanely fast revolving door. I used to love revolving doors as a kid. They made me happy because they conjure up memories of every cheesy movie/episode of "Perfect Strangers" where someone goes around and around in the door, delighting in its endless turning.

But this revolving door is more sinister and self-aware than any of those happy TV-land doors. It lies motionless until it learns of your presence from the sensor attached to it's door frame. Once is senses you and smells your fear from about 3 feet away, the door kicks into high gear. It starts furiously slapping its partitions in the air, warning you to stay away and take your chances on the disease-riddled door handles beside it. But my fear of pooh particles is much greater than my fear of being mercilessly dragged around by a revolving door. So I watch the door as it spins around and I time my steps as I approach, running at just the right pace so that the door can't catch my face or arms between its partition and frame. Once I'm in the door's domain, my heart races and I run furious little steps to avoid being smacked around by the door as it races to catch up with me. And then I speed out of door as soon as there's a space big enough to fit my body through. Victorious and breathless, I pump my fists in the air and skip away.

One morning, I was in the middle of the door, running my tiny fast steps when it almost got me. Instead of speeding up to crush me, it decided to stop moving all together. The jig was up. I should have risked getting hand-herpes from the other doors. I stood there at a loss as to what to do until someone on the the outside took pity on me and tripped the sensor, foiling the evil door. When I got home that evening, I told Kyle about what happened and he asked, "Why didn't you just push on the door and make it turn?"

Strangely, I didn't even think of that. That's the secret of the evil revolving door. It steals your mind...

Oral Hygiene

"Kyle, I hate brushing my teeth. It's so boring."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. How much would you be willing to pay to never have to brush or floss your teeth again? And to never worry about tooth decay or going to the dentist."

"Um...I'd say $50, 000."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."