tirathlon? triathlon? tire-athlon?

There's a freudian slip if I've ever seen one.

I was all over the place today, learning about computer speech recognition, child psychology, what part of New York the La Quinta Hotel is in, what a good ringette goalie ought to know, the difference between ECC and non-ECC 512 meg 168 pin SDRAM DIMMs, the need for reverse-lookups on your domain when you're running a mail server, and lots of other stuff.

I'm also reminded that switching tasks involves driving from place to place, and driving from place to place is a terribly inefficient way to spend your time. Better to stay in one place and get everything done. I'm gonna try to do less for everyone and more for just a few.

Had a great workout today, too. I think (because I've been told) that today is the first day of tirathlon season training.

Experiencing cerebral difficulties.

Please stand by.

People keep adding to my 'gotta do' list while I'm trying to get rid of 'gotta do's so I can get some of my 'wanna do's done.

Amidst all the noise, confusion and craziness that is our family, Banana turned 12 today.

It is still dark as I rise from a warm, comfortable position and venture into the day. I sit on the edge of the bed and s-t-r-e-t-c-h, bringing blood and life into muscles that have laid dormant for the past few hours. The cool air of the house isn't prickly enough to penetrate the warm fog of tired that I wear. Feet are jammed into my heavy, comfortable slippers before I stand, then walk to the hallway and down to the shower.

I gently introduce my eyes to light - first the dim glow of the range hood light (a mere 15 watts), then the distant brightness of the light above the stairs (a 60 watt bulb here) and down the stairs and round teh corner to the twin-60-watt-luminosity of the bathroom. I reach into the shower and turn on the water, adjusting the water pressure lever to a position that I know will produce a soothing-but-not-scalding temperature. I allow the hot water time to reach the shower stall before I venture in. A quick pee, then I'm ready, as I prepare to step into the coursing stream, eyes still squinting to block out the harshness of white lights against white tiles. The basement floor is cold and I surrender my slippers begrudgingly.

Soon, the water envelops me, fifty tiny streams hissing into my scalp and running in rivulets through my hair and down my neck, back and chest. It's right about here that I start to wake up and realize what is going on.

It's morning.

The Missus is gone off to work already, and I begin my breakfast of oatmeal, apples, brown sugar and a glass of milk. If I'm really hungry, I'll steal a bit of the kids' cereal for a second bowl. By now, I have woken Banana and McMonk up and they are having breakfast with me. We are talking about what we have planned for the day, what we are doing that night, what is coming up on the weekend. It's a great ritual that brings me closer to them and helps wake us all up before leaving the house.

I have shaved before breakfast in my comfortingly traditional routine. I make two passes over my face with the Braun, going with and against the grain of my whiskers, making sure to be smooth and thorough. I dab on a discrete amount of aftershave balm (Perry Ellis 360) - I know razor burn will follow if I don't. I try not to use too much as to be aromatically intrusive. Next, a few quick swipes with an industrial-strength deodorant, just in case, then open my razor and tap the whiskers into the sink (four taps, always) then close up the razor and wash the whiskers down the drain.

Onwards into my routine - I next find myself in front of a my closet. I pick something comfortable as my job demands, but always clean and (preferably) pressed. I like shirts that button up with button-down collars. Denim or at least cotton pants and always, always a belt. When I'm not feeling like a dress shirt, I'll sometimes choose a sweater, or sometimes a t-shirt - perhaps a vest overtop. My sleeves will be rolled up by the end of the day. I may roll them up as I put on the shirt. I like having my hands and forearms free of fabric, to the point of choosing shirts without sleeves, and not wearing watches or jewelry. I mentioned this to my mother one evening, and she noted that as long as she can remember, her father was the exact same way. How peculiar.

With lunches made and placed in backpacks, I leave the house with the girls and head up the alleyway to school. As soon as we get to the end of our property, Banana and McMonk see their friends and rush off to walk with them. I stop at the end of the driveway and watch them walk the 1/2 block to the chain-link fence surrounding school grounds, then they dissappear into the gate.

Then I turn to go back into the house and see the sky.

It's beautiful. A thin, high layer of cloud has lit up with purples, oranges, reds and other colours that there aren't names for yet. Even though the crisp January air isn't the least bit warm, the fire in the sky touches something deep within me and I send out a "thank you" to God, the Collective Good or whatever it is that brought me to this spot and made me aware of all of this. The sun is still lingering under the horizon.

So, I stood for a full minute and drank in the moment. And that's why I was late for work yesterday morning.

Someone asks you to do something.

You hesitate before saying you'll do it. Then they ask you, "Oh, do you mind?"

What they're really asking is, "Do you want me to be all pissy at you for the rest of the day?"

Answer accordingly.

This evening, at the dinner table, my youngest daughter informed me that I don't have a bum.

She tells me I have a gluteus maximus. What are they teaching these kids in school these days?

Sweet like maple sugar on pancakes.
Sweet like a long stalk of grass that you just picked on a warm summer afternoon.
Sweet like a recently-cut Granny Smith apple while it's still cold from the fridge.
Sweet like hot chocolate afer you've been outside tobogganing.
Sweet like a bit of icing that you gently remove from the corner of your lover's mouth.
Sweet like juicy watermelon slices, dripping and running down your fingers.
Sweet like brown sugar on warm oatmeal after sleeping in.

That's the kind of sweet I'm talking about.

Contentment and a busy work schedule don't do much for blogging fodder.

Every dog has it's day, and Devon (our dog) has had a few extra. Her time with us is just about up. She is no where near the active, friendly, ever-barking dog she once was. We've noticed that her energy level had dropped substantially as of late. Devon is quiet, almost to the point of not knowing where she is in the house, even if she is right behind you. Her fur is looking awful - it is thinning out substantially and has bald spots along her spine, on her hindquarters and around her neck. Her back legs shake when she stands still and she finds it hard to jump up onto the sofa (which she's not supposed to do anyways but does). She's lost about 30% of her adult body weight and feels quite bony when I pick her up. Her stomach is quite weak as evidenced by the dog puke she leaves for us when she gets a treat that she can't handle. She can only eat dry kibbles (regular dog food) and not much else. Devon has always been a dog that has loved her treats (dog biscuits, toast crusts and the very occasional scrap of cheese) are the only treats she gets, but lately, unless it is something really tasty, she's not too interested in taking it when it is offered.

Is she enjoying life? That's something I wonder about all the time. I feel she is definitely at the end of her days on this mortal coil, but when will the end come? And will that end come quickly, or will she get to the point where she can't get around comfortably, or can't keep any food down? I've considered that she might be close to that point, as I've sat beside her when she was resting, and heard her wheezing (in pain or discomfort?) as she lay still. Is she at the point now that life is no fun for her? She constantly needs to be around a family member when we are home, even more than she did in her adult years. I'm almost scared to take her to the vet, as they may recommend a bunch of intrusive medications or procedures to prolong her life, but not add to the quality of it. Devon has already had a bunch of teeth pulled and I fear that she may need more dental work. If she had more pulled, I doubt that she could eat solid food, and her stomach couldn't take anything else - she'd throw anything else up.

One of the things that I have considered is euthanizing her. I'm uncomfortable with this for one reason - I would have to be the one to make the decision and the one to actually take her to the vet for the final time. Also, the question comes to mind of "how much suffering is too much suffering?" We enjoy her company, but I don't want just her existence to be a burden to Devon. The girls would miss her (as I would, too).

Life is something that is a great gift - even for a dog.

Fool me once, ...

The air is crisp and clean. Snow crunches under my feet. My daughters and their friends chatter happily away as we walk along the sidewalk, where melting snow has caused oozes of ice across the once-clean-shoveled concrete. The weight of the ringette stick that carries several pairs of skates including my own presses down through my heavy jacket onto my shoulder. I shift the load to the other side. My brisk pace causes the girls to fall behind slightly, but they don't seem to notice. Evening comes quickly and the last bit of the day is used to travel to the outdoor rink near our house.

Lacing up four pairs of skates in the cool January air brings out the age in my hands - the skin stretches across my knuckles and my fingers become cold and white from the effort. I feel the night nip at my ear, making me wish I'd brought a toque. One by one, the girls rise from the wooden bench that has been painted red too many times. Helmets are hastily added and shoes are left where they fell in the snow as everyone makes their way to the ice. The frozen plywood acts as a sounding board for the solid "ka-chunk" of a puck. The click-clack of the hockey sticks punctuates teenage laughter and conversation as we make our way onto the ice under the bluish-green rink-light glow.

I move across the ice in ways that feel familiar. Childhood has different memories of skating - cold, pinching feet and awkwardness. Now, I glide comfortably, smoothly, as my legs do as they're told. The girls busy themselves, working out child rules for sharing the three sticks that were brought along. Oldest passes on tricks to youngest - raising, where to shoot, when to pull back and fire. They shoot at a goal with a tattered, old shawl of a net, hanging forlornly on the metal frame. A group of teenage boys and girls have silently given up half their ice to our little group. I, like a lumbering old patriarchal bear, circle about on our half of the rink. The biting sound of steel on ice pleases me, as foot crosses over foot in the corners. There's no wind to carry away the warmth I feel at this moment.

The evening is perfect. My children are at play.

Tonight, I'm feeling old. The last of my wisdom teeth is causing me some discomfort (I'm off to the dentist tomorrow). My skin is definitely losing it's elasticity - my eyes are getting wrinkles in the corners lines underneath.

I don't know why I've been so tired lately. It certainly isn't from over-exercising.

If you don't think 45 seconds is a long time, that's because you're not a burrito that has already been in the microwave for a minute and a half.

BLAM!

It's probably a good thing that my coworkers think of me as staid, respectable, family-oriented and boring.

I'm less likely to get into trouble that way.

As we did last year, our family decided to ring in the New Year with a healthy activity - an 8 km run.

It's an organized event called The Resolution Run. We ran from the Eau Claire Market to the Crowchild Trail bridge and back. There were over 1400 runners out and the temperature (according to the clock/thermometer display at the CBC office on Memorial Drive) was -5c. Banana and I made up words to Christmas carols, modified to match the conditions ("Walking in a Winter Wonderland" became "Running in our Winter Underwear"). As McMonk wasn't up to doing the run, we decided it would be best for her to volunteer on the route, so she stayed with Shawna, one of the Missus' friends. When we met up with Shawna in the Eau Claire Market, the first thing Shawna said was, "Hi McMonk. We should go get some candy to eat while we're out on the course." Right there and then, an instant bond was formed. We ran past McMonk and Shawna twice. Shawna smiled and waved, while McMonk was shouting at the runners to stay on their side of the pylons. They both seemed to be having a good time.

After the run, we headed out for pizza at a Greek restaurant. The girls impressed the owner of the restaurant be thanking her in Greek (it's fun to do stuff like that). After dinner, we headed home and watched the big countdown to 2004 on TV. The Missus was beat, so she headed for be at 10 pm. I could have been out at any number of big events, dancing the night away, but I was home with my daughters, cuddled up on the sofa. It was a quiet way to end 2003, but a comfortable one.

Happy Hogmanay Day, to all my dear, old (and not-so-old) friends of Scottish descent.

Papa Moa has a new view. We're in an office with a window and some paint that is much more flattering for his complexion.

The gift greedies got my daughter yesterday, and I wasn't impressed.

The whole "giving and getting" emphasis has rubbed me the wrong way more and more as I've grown older. As a kid, I remember looking forward to getting some presents, but as I've aged, the gift desire (and pressure to get just the right gifts) seems to have become more and more pronounced in society. The merchants(by way of the media) have been happily pouring fuel on the fire, aiming at the most vulnerable and easily-swayed of the population - children. Almost all of the children's' programming has some sort of commercialistic tie-in. Some of the television programmes (Yu-Gi-Oh, Bayblades, Card-Captors, to name a few) are barely entertainment, and totally aimed at selling the accessories, not even *trying* to disguise their consumerism.

"Gotta catch 'em all, Pokemon!" Right?

"Grandma? Grandpa? I need 'em all for Christmas, just like the theme songs says. Please?"

Hmmmph.

So here it is, Christmas Day, and I'm watching my kid have a meltdown because she didn't get *one* of the gifts on her list. To her credit, she made an astute comment in the car ride home from my parents house (where we had Christmas dinner). She said that she "must be tired, that's probably why I feel this way." Good for her. That shows a lot of self awareness. I was totally beat, which wasn't helping my mood and tolerance of the situation, either.

I was pretty disappointed in my daughter and fear that I took it out on her by being extra-stern and very, very unsympathetic that she hadn't got one of the gifts (of the many) that she asked for.

I have to remember that kids don't have the power (money, access to stores, etc.) to get the things that they want. They have to rely on benevolence (in the form of events like Christmas) to get those things that they desire. Maybe I had misjudged which of the items on her Wish List she had placed the most importance on. I, as a parent, have to have to temper my judgment with this knowledge and remember what it was like when *I* was a kid.

Reason and empathize, Sean, reason and empathize.

I spent my Christmas Eve on the ski slopes with my family. A much calmer skiing trip than the previous one, but no less enjoyable. I rode up the gondola with a family from Dover who had made the trek over to Banff (we were skiing at Sunshine Village) to spend the holidays. They mentioned castles and battle re-enactments around their home town - sounded like there was a lot of dented armour being produced on the east shores of England in the summer.

After skiing, we made the hour drive back and prepared for the big day. One thing I insisted on was a trip to church. Normally, I'm not that fervent to push a religous experience on my family, but I enjoy singing Christmas carols and the usual candlelight procession that happens at the end of the service. I don't insist that they attend, but they decided to tag along.

The church that we attend most regularly is the United Church. Although I don't (unquestioningly) subscribe to the Protestant religion, I find that the United Church is the most accepting and welcoming of all the Christian faiths. The experience was wonderful. Being with a group of people that are feeling love for the whole of humanity does something nourishing for your soul, no matter where your spiritual idiologies run. The sermon was a message of acceptance, welcoming all who came to the sanctuary that evening. I found it very satisfying being there.

After church, we came home, got ready for bed and Banana and McMonk crawled back into their nest to settle down for the evening. As I was putting the last few goodies in the Christmas stockings, looked out the back window and saw the pine tree in the back yard. It was a small cone of warm lights in the darkness.

I felt all Christmas-y. Everything was as it should be, me in my warm, little, un-renovated house, amongst the clutter that I've carefully accumulated and can't seem to get rid of, with my occasionally misbehaving children that I love so much.

This weekend, I bought a Wayne's World DVD and now I can't bear to give it away.

Does that make me evil?

"... and the children were nestled all snug in their tents ... "

Hang on a second. That's not how it goes.

But, look. There they are. Banana and McMonk have created a waiting place, where they plan to hedonistically wait for Christmas to arrive. They've taken every spare blanket and sleeping bag and made a nest under Banana's loft bed, thus blocking out all light coming into the area. They've taken a small TV and set it up just outside of their nest, so they can watch Christmas videos of the Muppets, Veggie Tales and even some of the classics that I used to watch as a child on broadcast TV. From this little sanctuary, they will venture out only for bathroom breaks, to get food and fresh videos or to stroke another day off the kitchen calendar.

The one positive thing about the Big Christmas Wait is that the two of them typically get along wonderfully. Go figure.

Sometimes gift-giving events can be downright embarrassing.

We had a White Elephant gift exchange at work on the last day that everyone was going to be there. I was fourth person to choose in the draw and had a brilliant strategy. I was going to go for the biggest and heaviest gift.

On the fourth draw from the selection of names, I was picked to go and choose from the pile of wrapped, non-descript, unmarked gifts and was rewarded with a 750 ml bottle of Baileys. It was quickly stolen (we had a one-swap-and-the-gift-is-permanent rule) and so I went back to the pile and picked the next-biggest gift, which turned out to be a gag gift. It was a very nice apron with a big flap that lifts up in the front and artificial (but very authentic looking) naughty bits under the flap. It looked like I was flashing people when I put my hands in the pockets and lifted the pockets up.

I thought it was funny, but not really appropriate for work. I made the best of it, though. I put the apron on and taunted the male co-workers a bit when they went to choose their gifts, trying to get them to come and "steal" my gift. I was acting as the ham, but I surprised myself with a flush of modesty.

I know I offended at least one of the people in the office and I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with that.

Today a friend invited me (via e-mail) to create and send to him a list of my ten favorite moments in 2003. Normally, I save my birthday as a reflective time, but I decided to take him up on it. I made a quick list at work (lots to keep me busy there and I'm a bit self-conscious about wasting time at the company's expense) and fleshed out my favorite moments (with stories behind what led to the moment and how I was feeling at the time) once I got back home.

Creating the list was harder than I anticipated. There were lots of moments and incidents that stood out in my mind, but not all of them were memorable for positive reasons. My blog was a good starting point, but didn't have all the incidents and happenings that I wanted. It just helped with timeframes.

It ended up being a good exercise that left me feeling grateful for all that the year has brought me.

Christmas is a good time for being grateful.

Almost all the gift buying has been done. It is going to be a lean Christmas.

=

A Double Quarter Pounder with cheese, large fries and a bucket-sized Coke is cheaper than a day pass to the Talisman Centre, enabling you to swim, run on a track, play basketball or volleyball, lift weights or otherwise workout.

Hardly seems fair. If you had a day that was free of obligations, two litres of water and only 10 bucks to spend, which would you go for?

Okay, I guess it's about time to wash my gym clothes.

The idea of purchasing a G5 keeps popping into my head.

Do I need one? No.

Could I make use of one? Yes, sometimes.

Could I just use one at work when I did need one? Yes.

It just wouldn't be the same as having one around the house. One that I can learn on, blow up, fix and goof around with late at night.

Hmmmmm.