Eeeeeww! I went to use the washroom today and found the seat totally wet. As I don't have a sense of smell to use as a reference, I could only judge by the color of the liquid that it was just water. Still, the idea that someone would somehow wet the seat and just walk away was pretty gross. We are in a small office of 25 or so males, and we don't have a designated janitor. This means that someone got up from making that mess and walked away, thinkng someone else would clean it up.

Yuck!

I walked the girls up to school this morning as I usually do. The sun was shining and the day hadn't yet heated to it's full radiance, but it held promise. We'd had a slow start to our day, as I am trying to get the girls to use their alarm clocks to wake themselves up and the experiment hasn't been successful yet. We'd rushed through breakfast, dressing, getting our teeth brushed, making lunches and finally getting out the door before the school bell. I had been pushing them all morning, but I had done it in a gentle manner this particular morning and felt I had done a good job at balancing between grumpy, overbearing dad and fun, playful dad.

I walked them all the way through the park behind our house and up the hill to the school, right to the door. When we were within 15 feet of the door, I stopped and let them continue on into this world that they experience without me. Even though things are rushed in the morning, I love the time that I spend with them. I'm watching these two young girls get older and more independent. Even though I want them to be able to handle themselves and do all the things that self-reliant people can do, I still cherish the times when they looked to me for all the answers and relied on me to provide their world and all its parts.

Just as Banana was about to cross the threshold into the school, she hesitated and turned back to me. Sheepishly, with her head down, she trotted back to me and gave me a hug. No words, just a hug, from a slightly self-conscious, soon-to-be-teenager.

Somehow, she knew I needed one. The hug said that she appreciated me, she appreciated that I came all the way up to the doors of the school, she appreciated that I'd woken her up gently and had sure her lunch was in her backpack. That one hug made my whole day better.

I'm still awake, and I'm learning how to make DVD's.

Of course, my first one must be perfect.

A more cheerful day all around. Plans are being made for our hostelling trip this weekend in the form of a menu and a shopping list. Banana and McMonk are inviting a friend (each) along.

The weather is looking promising so far - sunny and 24 celcius. We're starting at the Ribbon Creek Hostel on Friday and staying at Rampart Creek on Saturday night. The guitar is coming along, as are some sugary treats - specifically, graham crackers, milk chocolate and marshmellows - s'mores ingredients! Yum!

I expect to do a lot of nothing during the evening. I'm pacing the weekend gently, hoping to have the girls explore and entertain themselves. I'm looking forward to having some reflective time to do some reading and journalling. Much to think about these days and I find the mountains to be a calming place where I can hear my own thoughts.

Friday was a hard day. Not a bad day, but a hard day.

Devon, our dog, had a rough morning. I was awakened by her having a choking fit that lasted close to twenty minutes. This seemed to be a signal that she had suffered enough with her failing health. It was time to have her put down.

I'd been to the vet with her about a month ago, and he gently suggested that it was time to have her euthanized back then. Now, she was trying to tell me the same message in her own way. It was going to be so hard, saying goodbye to someone that I loved so much. To think that I was the one that had to make the decision to proceed with such an action was going to tear me up inside, too.

I called and booked the appointment that morning. I called Jenn at 1 pm and told her what was going on. At 2 pm she came and picked me up from work. Jenn had tears in her eyes as she opened the back door of the van and showed that she had brought Devon along. Devon sat in the back, a shadow of the dog she had once been. The grey hair on her face and the cloudiness in her eyes spoke to a constant fatigue and dimming of her once-sharp senses; her fur had pretty much all fallen out due to an adrenal gland problem; her body had mostly wasted away due to inactivity (bad hips) and the pain that must have been caused by eating anything that required chewing (periodontitis and infected gums). She was weak from malnutrition and looked tired. The fact that she sat listlessly on the seat when I saw her told me that her health had failed in so many ways. I know that had she been a healthy dog (as she was when she was young), she would be hyperactive, pawing at the door and window upon seeing a recognizable face. Having us, her pack, around wasn't much comfort compared to all that was wrong with her.

It was time.

We went and got the girls out of school 1/2 an hour early. McMonk was very perceptive - she immediately asked what was wrong. We waited until we got out of the school building before we told her what was up and where we were going. Banana was brave and tried hard not to let her sorrow show. Weeks before, Jenn and I had discussed this with the girls and spoke of the inevitability of it. There had even been a date set once that we didn't have the courage to follow through with. The girls knew, and they had told us that they wanted to be with her when she went to sleep for the final time.

We had 45 minutes until the appointment, so we stopped at the park behind our house. We all (Devon included) sat in the grass as we talked about how much fun we had with Devon as a family. We talked of our favorite memories of her as a young dog. Devon had walked over from the van with us, but at a slower pace. She didn't find pleasure in exploring the field like she might have - perhaps she sensed the sorrow that we all felt and for that reason wanted to be physically close to us. She always was good to cuddle when you were feeling down. We all took our turns crying and telling funny stories until finally, it was time to get going.

We piled into the van, Devon coming along slower than the rest, as we had come to expect of her these days. We drove to the vet clinic and all went inside. I took care of the payment details as I knew I would be in no shape to do this on the way out. Jenn had been thoughtful enough to bring Devon's blanket that she slept on, so when we went into the examination room, she wouldn't have to sit on the steel table. We all gathered around Devon and petted her. The doctor explained that he would give her two injections - the first would tranquilize her and would take about 15 minutes; the second would quickly make her heart stop beating and she would fade away without any pain or awareness. We told him we were ready, and stood and cried softly as Devon was given the first injection. After the initial pinch of the first needle, she just lay down like she usually did and became comfortable on her blanket. We all petted her and showed our love for her as her consciousness faded.

-----------------

I have Devon to thank for so many things. Comfort when I was feeling blue. A playmate for me when she was a puppy and I had too much energy. A reason for Jenn and I to come back to the house in the days before we had children. A constant source of material for my banter with the girls, as she did normal dog things and I put human emotions and ulterior motives to them. Boundless energy in her role (in younger days) as a portable alarm and exercise device for Banana and McMonk on our trips to the playground. Patience with my daughters as they carried, dressed, chauffeured and ordered her through all of the things that they needed a canine pal for.

Finally, I have Devon to thank for seeing my two daughters, holding and comforting each other as their best friend (apart from each other) gently drifted away from them.

Devon, your presence was a blessing to us. We promise to keep you dear in our hearts.

There's a statue downtown that I really like. It's of a big farmhorse, and it's built to be larger than life. The statue is made of rusty, well-worn metal that's been welded together, and the pieces are all things that you would find on a farm here in Alberta. Plow pieces, metal tractor seats, bolts, scythes, barbed wire, ... that sort of stuff.

It's a beautiful statue and I enjoy examining the detail of the work. The size of it speaks to the bigger-than-life-ness of the horse, and how important this strong-backed animal was to a pre-mechanical farm. I like that the horse is made of bits of the farm, as the farm was created (partially) due to the existence of the horse.

Victorious, I return from my very first Masters' National swim competition.

Well, not quite victorious, but I did put in a good showing. Second place in the 50 breaststroke, 3rd in the 50 fly and a somewhat respectable 7th on 200 freestyle. Very good, considering the meet was representing all of Canada.

One of my teammates broke a Canadian record and of course the whole team was thrilled for her. She was floored - she had no idea her times were even close to the record. It got me to thinking, "Maybe I have a chance at one of these records for my age group." I was quickly brought down to earth.

One of the competitors in my age category has a natural gift for swimming. At age thirty-seven, he is going to compete against 18 and 19 year-olds at the Canadian Olympic trials in July. He got into swimming on a lark, starting when he was 18 years old. When I was eighteen, I had been training for five years, doing 11 two-hour practices a week. Yet this fella, after just four months of fairly low-key training, set a city record that stands to this day, twenty years later, for 100 metre butterfly (1:01.32). After all the training I had done when I swam age-group, I was barely able to go 1 minute and 12 seconds for that race.

Phew.

I have to be at peace with the fact that I will never be a record holder in swimming. That's not why I swim. I swim because it is a healthy thing to do while I spend time with my buddies. It's not too expensive equipment-wise, you don't get all sweaty while you're doing it, and it's a gentle sport on your body (especially your joints). I sleep well after hard workouts. Swimming can be done at your own pace and no one gets left behind on the trail or road becuase they're not as fast as the others. Those that swim tend to be comfortable with their bodies. You can't help it after standing face-to-face with each other, hour after hour, in nothing but lycra.

I admit that a competitive fire burns within me when I am in motion. When I am swimming a length and I look over to the next lane and see someone swimming at the same pace (or a bit faster), I'm compelled to beat them to the end of the length. That little spark makes me train better and work harder. It also makes me appreciate having teammates, as I wouldn't be pushed to the same degree if I swam alone, even if it is me doing the pushing.

I am at peace with my performance when I am done. I see others setting records and reaching other great personal achievements due to natural talent, or perhaps just dedication and drive. I know I balance all the other important things in my life (including goofing-off time for myself) and give what I can to swimming. One of my teammates noticed that I seemed happy with my reasonable showing at the meet and commented on it this weekend. They said that I seem to always be accepting of my swims, be them great or not-so-great. I took that as a wonderful complement.

After a busy, busy day on Sunday, I decided to kick back and watch a mindless film. Preusing our collection brought me to a videotape of Dana Carvey's Master of Disguise - perfect for the involving task of sorting odd socks. The first fifteen minutes of the film almost turned me right off. I thought it was insipid comedy, but watched on. After an hour I was enjoying the goofy antics, strangely drawn in by the predictable gags and slapstick.

Goes to show, you need to be in the right frame of mind to watch certain types of shows. You gotta be ready to laugh at a guy quizzing a waiter to see if he's got "a leee-tle weener and some tiny nuts."

Summer feels like it is here. We've dispensed with what we hope will be the last of the spring snowfalls and the grass and trees are greening up quite nicely here in Calgary. I'm making plans to replace the fence between Mr. G and my house, but the project is experiencing feature-creep.

As well as replacing the fence, I'm considering building a new garden shed. The tired, old metal shed is just not cutting it for a place to store all our sports equipment, gardening supplies, Christmas stuff and other, outside junk we seem to have. It is the sports equipment that seems to be accumulating. Jennifer has been pining for a greenhouse, ever since we moved from a place that had one. I'm looking at the condition of the lawn and considering putting a walkway between shed and house, too. Our once-thick-and-luscious lawn has become pretty beaten-up under the feet of many playing children. Having a concrete walkway at the entrance to the garden shed would change it from its present grassless mudbath state. Also, what kind of foundation is this new shed going to sit on, in our soft, sinky-soil back yard?

All of this has left me felling overwhelmed, and I am trying to collect the enthusiasm necessary to tackle planning for this, never mind actually doing the work.

To compound things, I've been struggling with some personal issues as of late and I'm finding it hard to focus on moving forward. I am pinning my hopes on some deep thought, some soul-searching, some time (which I never seem to be able to find) spent journaling and perhaps a divine signal or two.

Wish me luck.

As we are all learning, I'll share two tidbits I picked up today.

You don't have to be just like someone to like them.

The word "chinook" is derived from a Native American word meaning "snow eater."

Yo, mama. Happy Mothers Day. You deserve it.

Thanks for having me, too.

I should know better than to eat salami for lunch if I know I am going to be around other people.

I had the farts all afternoon. The fact that I have no sense of smell means that I have no way to gauge if farting squarely into the foam of my office chair was actually muffling the smell. I understand that this ploy works.

I pity the foo' dat work in my office space.

Before and After:

BEFORE	AFTER

OK, ok, there is a bit of age discrepancy between these two photos, but you get the idea that a big change of appearnace took place. This weekend included a fund-raising event where my eldest daughter ran 5 kms AND shaved her head to raise money for equipment for a cancer ward at a local hospital.

This kid has no fear.

A cold has wrapped its tendrils around my windpipe this week and decided to grow into my sinuses. I'm suffering, but the weekend gives no hint of slowing down. Kids need to be delivered to various places, relatives need to visit (and be visited), so off I go. How come I don't get to phone in sick as a dad?

Devon, the faithful and (as far as the kids are concerned) omnipresent dog, is not well. I learned from our vet that Devon has a hyperadrenal disorder, which will require blood tests and (at best) daily medication or (at worst) surgery. Before that can happen, she needs to have some teeth extracted and needs antibiotics prior to the teeth coming out. The fact that she can't keep food down, let alone medicine, doesn't bode well. I have decided that Devon's time is up.

What a hard, hard decision. I've never taken a life or encouraged someone else to take a life, even for humane reasons. This is quite a step for me, but one that seems so, so necessary. Devon is in discomfort, as evidenced by her demeanor (snarling and snapping when people pet her in the wrong place or try to pick her up). She sleeps most of the day and eats very little. I'm sure it's her teeth that are the main source of her pain. When she seemed to be eating less and less of her hard crunchy food and losing weight, I started adding softer food (like toast, cheese and hotdog bits) to her bowl in the mornings. Even these treats (that used to be consumed ravenously) are remaining now. Poor thing - she's slowly starving as well as existing in pain.

Her fur has been coming out over the past six months, leaving her looking ratty and ill-cared for. Embarrassed to take her to a groomer before diagnosing the actual problem, we traveled to the vet yesterday. He diagnosed the problem (along with her voracious water consumption and numerous pee breaks) as a hyperactive adrenal gland. We both agreed that the required surgery on her decayed teeth and infected gums would be hard on her. The vet correctly left the decision in my hands.

I thought of just having Devon put to sleep without consulting or informing the rest of the family, but I decided against it. This sort of thing is a family decision. This evening, at the dinner table, I explained our trip to the vet and Devon's ailments and the condition she's in, as well as the possible options and the price it would extract from Devon. I told them of what I thought would be the best course of action and asked if they agreed. Teary-eyed, we all agreed that Devon needed to be euthanized. The girls, even at 10 and 12 years old, need to understand the humanity of this act. I preach to my kids that love can be defined as actively working to help someone's situation improve, even if that means going through some mental anguish yourself.

Banana surprised me by wanting to be with Devon when she is put to sleep. That will be a hard thing for Banana to be part of, but it is a request that I'm going to honor. It will be good for both of them.

Tossin' and turnin',
turnin' and tossin',
Tossin' and turnin' all night!

---------------

Head's full of thoughts. Trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing here. Options are before me, complex and beguiling options, intriguing and enticing options, wonderful and frightening options, and I gotta pick. Wish I could say more, but I can't. Suffice to say that I'm a man with lots on his mind.

The paperwork for my life never seems to end. Utility bills, Geek bookkeeping (even after hiringa bookkeeper), school forms to fill out, ...

Arggh!

Tonight, I won a prize for being a rowdy drunk.

Hooray, I think.

I'm just about to head out for drinks with my work buddies. We've done well with our little company, including surpassing some financial goals that we set for ourselves over the first three months. We're gonna take some of the extra money and treat ourselves to a night of bowling and billiards. I can't wait to kick back with some of my workmates.

The bad thing is that I have to get up tomorrow at 7 am to drive for three hours, then compete at a swim meet.

Yikes!

I guess this is what training is all about. If I hadn't been training all year, drinking and then competing would be out of the question.

This guy built a monorail in his back yard! Cool!

Today felt like spring. Again. The bike is calling to me from the shed, and time is near for the first long road ride of the season. I've been out on a few short toots, but a good two or three hour session is in order.

I'm having a look at my old high school's web site. It's wonderful that the young punks that are running the site have thought of us older folk and included an alumni section so that we can record where we are, how to be reached (e-mail address) and a field to enter what we have done since high school. I am a bit dissapointed by the banality of the entries. I really don't care that almost every single one of those unique people went on to post-secondary, perhaps moved to a new city, found someone that could stand them, got married, squeezed out (or held their wife's hand while she squeezed out) a couple of kids, then got a job as the executive vice assistant at some accounting or insurance firm.

Freakin' boring.

Where's the meat in that? Have they learned anything important, or are they just following a predetermined path? Have they had something taken away from them that they'll never get back? Have they done anything they thought they'd never do? Have they broken anyone's heart? Have they changed anyone's life for the better? Have they spoken to God? Has their soul made any progress in the last twenty-one years?

Having a biography with some real details would make for much more interesting reading and hold my attention better.

Just finished the last of the Matrix series of movies. How dissapointing. Just action, action, little bit of love interest, violence, sappy ending.

One of the young hotties at work told me I was "looking pretty buff" lately.

Nice.

It put a swagger in my step for the rest of the afternoon. I'm old enough to be her dad, but I'll take complements from anyone.

Thanks to one of the developers at work, I spent the better part of an hour going through a photo journal of the Chernobyl area. A woman from Russia describes (in sometimes wonderful broken English) and shows us the cities and countryside around the Chernobyl area. She travels by motorcycle and we get to come along.

Frightening, engaging, touching, intreguing. Makes me want to travel by motorcycle.

Maybe someday.

It's OK, I found my keys. Call off the search party.

A new coworker (who also happens to be a young, attractive woman) has inadvertently raised the testosterone levels in the air around here.

You can almost hear the chests being thumped.

I found myself watching golf this weekend.

Golf.

What's with that?

Parents of preschoolers are the majority at work, but I'm happy to report that my two charges are well past that mark and sailing quite nicely into teenager-dom. This coming week will see them (for the first time) supervising themselves during the day as Spring Break descends upon Calgary.

Though Banana is going through a stage of finding her style by dressing out of our costume box, she continues to impress me with her level-headedness in her approach to friends and interpersonal dealings. Boys are entering into the scene, but there is no "love interest" in these Y-chromosomed beings. They are just interested in the same sports as she is. The change to womanhood marches on, as I am now finding sports tops in the laundry much to small for The Missus. Banana and McMonk are eating like horses, too, but it all seems to be pasta-based. Go figure. They must be growing.

In the vein of growth milestones, McMonk turned ten today. It was a quiet event, as we had the party last weekend, ensuring that none of the party invitees had left our little town on their Spring Break sojourns. As a result, McMonk's big day consisted of:

• sleeping in
  
• a casual, non-healthy (by her own choosing) self-made breakfast
  
• an early morning visit from my mom and dad - the proverbial doting grandparents - bearing gifts and offers of an afternoon at the shopping mall
  
• a few hours of time at Gramma's House of Fun Kid Things, playing with Bo, her hyper-everything white, poodle-like dog
  
• lunch out
  
• dinner out
  
• staying up way past regular bedtime, thanks to no school tomorrow
  
• sleeping in Big Sister's room.

McMonk, we're impressed by the things you're learning, the questions you're asking, the way you are dealing with others, the activities and areas you're showing interest in, and the interesting and incorrigible little kid that you've become.

I'm still enjoying being a dad, no matter how bad it cuts into my triathlon training efforts.

The queue at the free-for-relatives-and-friends Computer Repair shop is being taken care of, finally. We've managed to steal time from our sleeping schedule and make great headway into the pile of machines that had been accumulating in the office. We've got reinstalling applications down to a science, and we're learning that Ghost Enterprise edition is a handy tool, even for home-based fixer-uppers. If you are waiting on your machine, you are third in the queue and it will be ready on Thursday. And this time we mean it.