a day off

We sleep in until 6:34 AM, when Andie suddenly bounces awake at the foot of the bed, and scampers up to say good morning, nose to nose.

We both burst out laughing.

Spike makes bacon and tomato sandwiches for breakfast, served with steaming hot, dark roast coffee. Brief moment of panic when the smoke alarm goes off.

Note to self:

Bacon makes the smoke alarm go off.

I retreat to my at-home workspace, because day off or not, I have a boatload of work to do. My brain, overloaded for the last while, finally starts functioning creatively again. It's been awhile. Andie plays for awhile and then falls asleep beside me. 

I can hear Spike cleaning the apartment, washing things, straightening things, putting things away, all as quietly as possible. And then he picks up his guitar to learn some songs. He'll play through his headphones for the next several hours and wonder where the time went. 

I've said it before,

and I'll say it again:

he's never more himself

than when he has a guitar on. 

Andie stands up, stretches, turns around and flops down again with a deep sigh of contentment. I keep writing. 

It's a good day.

I'm grateful. 

Happy Outrage-Free Friday to you!

gaspingly inexpensive coffee

Every now and then, someone asks me what kind of coffee I buy, and I tell them.

Kicking Horse Coffee.

And then I tell them the price. Usually $15.99 for a one-pound bag of beans.

And they gasp.

I say, "Well, it's Fair Trade ... and it's really good."

And they say, "Oh."

And then I explain that there are lots of products that people in my part of the world buy, not quite realizing that people in another part of the world are sometimes pretty badly exploited so I can have that product.

And coffee is one of those products. And I drink a lot ... A LOT ... of it. So ... several years ago, I decided that when I could afford to buy Fair Trade coffee ... which involves a lot less exploitation of people ... I would. I started with a 1 to 3 ratio, and worked my way up.

But it still costs $15.99 for a one-pound bag of beans.

It's really good, by the way.

Every now and then it goes on sale for $11.99, and when that happens, I shamelessly clear the shelf, so I hardly ever buy it at full price.

But still - it's a lot of money, right? Like, how much is that per cup???

So I kept track over the last couple of weeks. Bobblehead-Domi helped me.

I got 28 cups out of a one-pound bag. And by "cup," I mean good-sized coffee mug. Not giant, not small.

(Freshly ground and French-pressed, by the way.)

(And for the record, a French press is about $15 or less at Canadian Tire.

I'll refrain from pointing out the cost of a drip coffeemaker.

Or a Keurig or Tassimo.)

If you divide those 28 mugs of coffee by the price of the bag ... well, here's what I'm paying.

57 cents for an excellent quality, good-sized, steaming hot mug of coffee.

If I get it on sale - which I usually do - it's 43 cents.

Which, I am confident, is less than anybody is paying for the smallest-sized, nastiest-tasting coffee in any drive-through coffee shop on this continent.

*gasp*

And it's soooo good, too.

Happy Outrage-Free Friday!

the day i found a spoon

It was a busy weekend. Saturday, we had an out-of-town family wedding, at which I was officiating. Which meant that I needed to be at the rehearsal on Friday evening.

The plan was that I would go earlier on Friday (to avoid traffic - it was just east of that Big City we're a little west of); and Spike, whose second cousin is the bride, would meet me later at the hotel that was very kindly provided for us, whenever he got off work Friday night.

But the traffic was B-R-U-T-A-L. Spike didn't even try to make it Friday evening. He decided to come in the morning. Which changed MY plans a little because check-out was at noon, and the ceremony wasn't until 4, so there was no point at all in checking out any earlier. I also definitely did NOT want to get up early, shower and get dressed, go out for breakfast by myself, and then come back and get dressed for the wedding, and THEN check out.

I couldn't see the point in that. Better to lounge in pjs, awaiting Spike (I had his dress clothes there), in a lovely hotel room until 11:30 AM, right?

But I can't live without breakfast.

So on Friday night after the rehearsal, I stopped in at a nearby drugstore to see if I could find something that would work for breakfast in a hotel room that happily had a fridge and a microwave, but not a kettle.

It took me awhile. Partly because by this time I was really, REALLY tired, having begun the day at 4:30 AM, and having driven a few hours to get to the hotel, and then having subsequently gotten lost on the way to the rehearsal from the hotel.

Don't you just LOVE

when your GPS leads you onto a gravel road

in the middle of nowhere, no houses or anything,

not even shoulders on the road

- just a perilously close ditch on each side -

and confidently announces,

"You have arrived at your destination"?

So I was tired. Bleary-eyed. Brain barely functioning. And if I could just buy a few breakfast things, I could sleep late the next morning and enjoy a quiet few hours in that lovely hotel room.

What could possibly go wrong? I was so pleased with it all I texted pics of my purchases to Spike, once I got back to the room Friday night.

I was particularly pleased to have found these, which would give me a nice hot, filling breakfast, without need of a kettle. (The hotel room had a Keurig coffee maker, in case you were wondering about that.)

And then ... happiness turned to despair, mid-text.

I had no spoon. All that planning. And I was soooo tired. And I had talked enough to the front desk people. I didn't want to talk anymore.

Checked out the coffee stir sticks - could they be used for a spoon?

No. Really not.

They had the thickness of a pencil lead.

I searched frantically for anything, wondering if I could dip my own fingers in hot cereal if I did it quickly enough.

Eyed the orange juice lid as a makeshift scoop.

And then ... oh joy ...

I slept like a log, just little ol' me in a giant king size bed. Woke up the next morning and happily enjoyed my breakfast, using BOTH the coffee pods provided with the Keurig. Then paused and thoughtfully texted Spike once more, knowing he was on his way.

He knows me.

And loves me anyway.

Wedding went off beautifully.

Bride giggled through the vows.

Nobody wiped out going down the hill.

(It was an outdoor wedding.)

Well, actually ...

I very nearly wiped out on that hill

in my fabulous Ukrainian high heels,

but everyone was gracious enough not to mention it.

one of my "things"

Hey, you know how one of my "things" is Outrage-Free Friday?

Also coffee. And Ukraine. Those are also "things" of mine.

But the whole "outrage-free" thing is, for me, a response to ... um ... how do I say this ... I feel like a lot of outrage is in response to valid concerns, but it's ... uh ... knee-jerk, short-lived and ineffective at creating long-term change.

And it's bad for my health to live in that space all the time. So I care deeply, which means I get outraged too, but I also declare one day a week outrage-free, because looking for joy is a good thing, and getting outraged can become an exhausting, demoralizing habit.

For me.  If you want to be outraged all the time, that's your call.

So this morning, I read this brief story. About a government that outlawed a practice that was essential to someone's faith. And the "someone" heard about it, knew about it, and continued their practice anyway ... "just as he had always done".

Bam.

That's the difference between short-lived, loudly-expressed, less-effective outrage ... and a life lived intentionally, core values solidly defined. This guy ended up surviving three massive government changes and influencing his world - not by loud outrage, but by an authentic life.

Less short-term outrageous.

More long-term courageous.

Off to work now.

da twitters

Oh, that twitter ...

Wednesday night I found myself glued to tweety. No wait, that's a cartoon bird. People who are twits. No...that's not it either....

Oh you know what I mean.

Anyway, there was a lot happening.

For one thing ... the Ontario Ombudsman, who uses social media very effectively (whether you like him or not), found himself nearing the end of a term without word of a promised extension. He put this out on tweeter, with the encouragement to "make some noise, please"!

Well my friends, there's nothing that twitting people enjoy more than making some noise, all together, all at once. The twooters exploded. Within two hours, the mainstream media was reporting it. By the next day, it was announced that Mr. Marin's position had certainly been extended as promised, with the commentary that it would have happened anyway, and his social media "meltdown" was entirely unnecessary.

Maybe that's true, maybe it's not.

I'm just saying ... dude understands social media.

And props to him for that.

And then for another thing ... our fair city was informed on Tuesday that we are getting a whopping 1 Billion Dollars for Light Rail Transit. Since a lot of local people in favour of this are also twittinators, there was a great deal of virtual rejoicing at this. To follow-up, our City Council had their regular meeting Wednesday evening, which, judging by various online sources, was just one long exercise in happiness and unity and general agreeableness.

Um, to give perspective ... I've lived in this city for 15+ years, and I've never personally seen everyone so happy and agreeable all at the same time. It was a billion-dollar miracle, a beautiful little moment.

Emphasis on "little".

Because finally ... um ... how do I say this delicately ... you know how outrage and offence become magnified exponentially at lightning speed on the interwebs, and there is no stopping it once the mob mentality takes over?

Yeah, that happened. To some local people, whom I don't personally know, but who seem to me to be decent people, who advocate for and add to our city. So the drama of that exchange was right up there with reality TV. ... Except it was real.

Sigh.
I really hate that.

Someone suggested that Outrage-Free Friday

could maybe be moved up a day,

I presume in relation to that whole thing.

So that was encouraging.

You know - that anyone had heard of my

Outrage-Free Friday project.

Oh, that twitter.

Oh hey! It's Outrage-Free Friday!

Well... it's the last Friday of the month, so technically - it's a freebie - you're free to be outraged. But in honour of yesterday's outrage, I'm going outrage-free anyway. 

I'm all wild like that.

spring!

Spring is here!!!

My most favourite of seasons. 

(pass the Claritin, please)

Happy Outrage-Free (and first-day-of-spring) Friday!

getting rid of the tangles

... breathing ...

Sometimes my head gets super crowded, because my plate is full and my cup runneth over. And not in a good way.

When that happens I'm grateful for a number of things.

• my quiet little house (that somebody else cleaned this week)
• jazz music and a good historical fiction book ($2.99 on my Kindle)
• people that coach me through the tangled mess that happens in my head sometimes

There are only a few of those people. Trustworthy. Safe. Wise. Further down different roads than me. Objective. And they know me oh-so-well.

Much of what I do is helping other people through the tangles in their heads. (We all have tangled messes sometimes, let's face it.) Pastors need people like that too, and they can be hard to find.

I'm grateful for the ones I have. They help me breathe again when the load gets too heavy.

Here's to good, solid, smart, trustworthy, mentoring friends on Outrage-Free Friday!

when i'm done

Were you around when this happened?

If schedules (theirs, not mine) work smoothly, I'll be done by August.

And it turns out that now that I've allowed that possibility to sink in, I'm reeeeealllllly counting on it.

*fingers crossed*

So in honour of Outrage-Free Friday, here are a few things I'm going to resume doing when I'm done school.

1. Cook

Honestly, the number of times I've bought an already-roasted chicken and a salad, and eaten them right out of the containers before dropping into bed.... This morning I was idly considering nachos or another roasted chicken for the weekend, and then remembered - I used to COOK! Not all the time, not by a long shot, but way more than now. And GOOD food. INTERESTING food. I even had shelves full of home canning for awhile.

I miss food that is not roasted chicken.

2. Garden

I designed and planted and grew a beautiful garden at this crazy little house of ours, front and back. Thank goodness I planned ahead with perennials.  It's the only thing that's kept it mildly - barely - respectable.

I miss spending hours in my garden.

And I miss long walks too.

3. Speak Russian

Turns out I couldn't learn this language AND pastor AND get a second degree at the same time. So the language is on hold. I practice when I can, and surprise myself at how much I can still do.

But ooooohhhhh, how I miss speaking Russian.

4. Read and write what I want

Not textbooks. Unless I want to read textbooks. I might want to. And no writing essays. Unless I want to. I might want to.

I miss the escape of burying myself in a book or a topic

that grabs every single bit of my imagination and passion.

Almost.

Done.

---

Your turn - what are you looking forward to?

texting with my niece

The other day, my niece and I were having a meaningful conversation via text. She's 16. She's awesome.

She's my favourite, really.

(Don't tell the nephews!)

Anyhoo, she has a pottery bench for sale that she built at school. She wanted to know if I knew anyone that wanted to buy it. If I did, then SHE would buy it, and hopefully sell it at a profit. But there was no point in HER buying it, if she couldn't then sell it.

She doesn't have any personal need for a pottery bench.

...

Amusingly for her, her favourite aunt (don't tell the others) is bottom-lip-deep in sociological studies. And also a little protective of her favourite niece.

There was kind of a pause on her end.

I could feel that her one eyebrow was raised, waiting for an explanation.

She knows I'm weird.

It's why she loves me.

I felt this was an important teaching moment.

My mistake. No child labour happening here. 

So I switched sides.

Like I said - she's awesome. I adore her.

Happy Outrage-Free Friday to you!

honesty on Outrage-Free Friday

Well - it's Outrage-Free Friday.

Um ... one of our friends has been dealing with significant health challenges after being rear-ended on the highway by someone who didn't even slow down ... so almost all of this week has been spent at hospitals or on the phone with various members of the very slow-moving bureaucracy of our health care / legal / insurance system. Frustrating barely begins to describe it. Some of you know what that's like, I know.

Thankful that there is a health care system at all.

Thankful that each person I talked to was responsive and kind,

even if they couldn't be entirely helpful.

Thankful that a few of them looked me right in the eye and said, 

"She's very fortunate to have you and your church supporting her." 

The next time you hear someone bashing religion,

maybe pause to mention to them

how much money is saved by the government,

how much is added to the fabric of a community,

when faith groups step into the gap.

One evening this week, I came home to discover our door ... our outside door ... ripped from its frame and lying on the kitchen floor.

Thankful for a street with several neighbours

on whose door I can knock late at night.

We have great neighbours.

Thankful for police who come in a timely manner,

who are honest about the low odds of catching the person,

but are compassionate and kind.

Thankful for parents who live in the city,

for a Dad who comes down to nail a door shut,

and a Mom who says, "I have extra supper ... come on over."

Thankful for social media,

through which friends can say,

"Hey - you ok? Praying for ya."

Super thankful for Spike - aka Trucker-Boy - 

who talks me through weeks like this,

reminds me of what's good,

encourages me to keep going,

even while he navigates snowstorms and break-downs.

I was invited several weeks ago to attend an event hosted by this group yesterday, to hear this speaker. Considered asking to be excused from the event, halfway through this week.

Thankful I didn't. It was excellent. I'm glad I was there.

Did you know that (based on Revenue Canada numbers),

people who practice their faith regularly

(i.e. attend their faith group once a week or more)

are engaged in philanthropy

at approximately three times the rate of people who don't?  

So ... onward. Not sure today will be entirely outrage-free ... but I'll do my best.

You with me?

angels in bureaucratic places

Yesterday I had to go to the university to speak to an academic advisor during their very limited "drop-in" hours. It was just over a technicality. The system wasn't letting me register for my next class, and I needed them to do ... something ... to fix that.

I was pretty grumbly about it, to be honest.

"Stupid online system that doesn't work ..."

"All the way to the university,

park several blocks away,

wait for who knows HOW long at a stupid drop-in ..."

"Oh suuuuure, you can make an appointment,

but that requires being able to actually get through

to a real person on the stupid phone ..."

You get the idea. To be fair - my grumbling was based on years of nearly quitting altogether from time to time, simply because of the entirely unnavigable website and bureaucracy. 

Aaaanyhoo, I needed to register. I'm way late for registering for this next course, because of this technical difficulty.

So I went. Parked (and set the timer on my phone for an hour, after which my car would be ticketed), walked in to campus (mentally grumbling the whole way), found the building I needed, took a deep breath, smiled and walked in.

The person at the desk smiled back, indicating a pile of forms and a bowl of candies.

"Just fill in this short form ... have a candy if you like ... and they'll be right with you."

I glanced around with resignation at several others waiting, and the person at the desk clarified. 

"They're all first-years, waiting for a different academic advisor. Yours isn't busy - she will just be a moment."

A minute later, my name was called and I went down the hall to Kelly, who was looking through my files and records. She assured me she would fix the technical difficulty, and then followed up with, "Let's just do this...." Took out a pen, scratched out "4" and wrote in "3". 

"So you just need to do three 4th-year courses now, not four. OK?"

"... Uh ... OK ..."

"And an elective. Any course at all. Whatever you like."

"OK ... oh ... I took an Anthropology course a few years ago by mistake.

It was a great course, but it didn't count for anything.

Does that count now?"

"Absolutely," she said. "So that's done. So you just need three 4th-year courses, that's it."

"OK," I said, stunned.

"Now," she said. "Which course do you want to take in January?"

"Any one at all that fits the requirements," I said. 

"OK ... hmmm ... they're all full ... but of course someone might drop one ..."

I nodded. I'm familiar with that part. She talked me through the list, mentioning one course that sounded interesting, and has a professor I've had before; I really liked him.

"That's an HB course," she said.

"Oh, ok. ... wait, what's HB?"

"Hold back," she smiled.

"Ooohhhh ... wait, what is that?"

"Oh," she said. "That's when they hold back seats for late registrants, just in case. Why don't you just go see Olga, upstairs, give her this ... and this ... and she'll get you a waiver and register you in that course, or whichever course you like. OK?"

"OK," I said. "Um ... thank you so much!"

Went to the 6th floor. Saw Olga. She smiled, reviewed my records, waived the hold-back, and registered me. 

Walked across campus to drop off a pastoral reference at another department for a student who's in my church.

Walked back to my car, with four minutes to spare.

Used those four minutes to dance and shriek joyfully in the middle of the street.

!!! only 3 more courses to go !!!

And a very happy Outrage-Free Friday to you too!

how to make an introvert smile

I was in meetings for most of this week, down the road in The Big Smoke. The meeting-makers graciously provided me with a hotel room, which meant I didn't have to travel back and forth in that white stuff that kept drifting down from the skies.

And hooray for that.

Hooray also for a room

in which everything was perfectly provided,

the pillows didn't fight back,

and sounds from without did not penetrate my walls.

There was a lot of information in those meetings. A lot of introductions to people I didn't know, and re-connections with people I hadn't seen in a couple of decades. A bit like sipping from a fire hose. 

I heard that phrase recently, and decided to make use of it.

All of it was enjoyable, but I'll confess that at the end of each day, I was grateful to be able to retreat back to the quiet peace of a truly beautiful room, with a view of the snowy city. I opened the curtains wide and curled up with a chamomile tea while catching up on other work throughout the evening, or ridiculously early in the morning.

Aaahhhhh.

So thankful.

Happy Outrage-Free Friday to you.

breaking rules

Yesterday, I got outraged fairly early in the day. Not crazy mad. But annoyed.

Which is pretty dramatic for a Canadian.

It was because of this. A 90-year-old man and two pastors were charged and fined for feeding "the homeless".

Do I need to point out again that the label only works

if we call everyone else "the homed"?

Then someone followed up by sending me this. More cities which ban sharing food with the homeless. It's like a "don't feed the animals" sign and now I'm getting outraged all over again just talking about it.

Honestly, I know someone will tell me about

the various risks and liabilities and reasons

that explain why this rule is acceptable,

but sometimes I stand back

and look at the human race as a whole,

and think, "Really? REALLY??"

Do we really believe

that the way to build a healthy, happy society

is to penalize the decent human beings

who are simply helping other human beings??

So I was irked.

(Again - dramatic for a Canadian.)

---

Several hours later, the doorbell at the church rang. The doors are always locked, where we are. Always. At the door was a young man, politely asking for food. He didn't ask for money. He didn't have any attitude. He was simply hungry. And so very tired. I brought him my lunch, and he hesitated.

"But what will you eat?"

"I'm fine," I said.

"Let's share it," he offered. I smiled and shook my head. He caught me off guard when he took his hat off, bowed his head and offered a prayer of thanks for the food. We exchanged names and chatted a bit, outside the door.

After a few minutes he said, "My feet hurt so much. I've been walking for two days. Could I ... would you let me ... could I come in and wash my feet?"

I hesitated. There are rules, and I know them well. I tell everyone else to follow them, and I follow them myself.

(A few weeks ago,

a young lady under the influence of

- something -

got in by mistake

and was settling in to stay

by the time I got there.

It took us nearly an hour to talk her out again.)

So there are rules. Be generous, be kind, yes - and be smart. Be safe. Be tough. Don't be conned. Don't be naive.

"Are you clean? No drugs?"

He shook his head. "No. I respect this place."

"I don't want any drugs in my church."

"Neither do I," he said.

"No weapons either," I said.

"No," he answered and voluntarily emptied his pockets to show me.

I took him upstairs and showed him the washroom, quietly letting my office volunteer know what was happening, and what she should do if anything went wrong. The young man kept the door open while he washed his feet. He wasn't eager to leave, and I gently reminded him from across the hall that he could only stay for a few minutes.

"Have you ever been homeless?" No accusation, just curiosity.

"No," I said. "But I know a lot of people who have."

"I guess you would," he said. "You know what the worst is? ... People don't look at you. No one ever talks to you. It's like you're invisible. That's what terrifies my buddy...." and he drifted less coherently for a few minutes.

He came out and sat on the floor, holding up his socks, in tatters. "Do you happen to have any extra socks?"

"Sorry, no."

"Ok." He tucked them in his bag, and wrapped his feet in paper towels before putting his shoes back on, gasping a bit at the pain from the blisters.

"How do you help someone understand that the Creator is all around you? How do I convince my buddy?" he asked, looking me square in the eye.

"Well, he probably doesn't want to be preached at," I said. "What do you think?"

He thought about it. "Show him?"

"Yep," I said.

As he left, he thanked me politely. I didn't even ask him if he had a place to go.

There was no point. I knew he didn't.

---

There are rules. Reasons why we say things should be done a certain way. Because experience and wisdom teach you that things can go horribly wrong, so you set up rules to make sure they don't.

But ... but ... sometimes ... it's just another human being. And you decide to trust your gut. And break the rules. And give someone food.

Because you have some.

And they're hungry.

May your Friday include some rule-breaking.
And may it be outrage-free.

cheering for chocolate

This summer, a day program for adults with developmental challenges moved into our lower level at the church where I pastor. I was thrilled because it helps our church budget to have some rental income. They were thrilled because the space was perfect for them.

But I had no idea how great it would be, all around.

Most days I come into work, and hear a cheerful "Good morning Pastor Patti" hollered up the stairs.

If I go down, there are multiple waves and big smiles and "Hi, my name is..." greetings. From time to time at my desk, I can hear the faint sounds of music and laughter from the gym. On cooking class day, yummy platefuls are delivered to my office.

But the best of all was last week when I went down to get a Snickers from the vending machine. One of the participants in the program watched me intently, and when I turned to go, she asked conspiratorially, "Did you get yourself a candy bar?"

"Yup," I said.

"YAH!" she cheered with a fist pump. Clearly a major triumph, in her mind.

With people like that cheering me on, how could I NOT love my job??

Happy Outrage-Free Friday to you.

filler, with a hint of sarcasm

Sometimes, when I'm writing a paper, I use filler, just to get myself going.

This most recent one included the sentence, "This paper will argue something profound, with an impressive array of vocabulary."

Then I prayed intensely that I would remember to change that sentence into something ... else.

(Hmm, I wonder if I did?)

---

By the way, I saw this article the other day ... I liked it. And there was one sentence that I particularly  liked. It was this:

(Ready?)

(Hello, are you ready? ... Yes?)

(Ok then.) 

Here it is. 

"Maybe we need to buy less stuff,

so we have more (money) to give."

Well, isn't THAT just a ridiculous thought, CRAZY talk is what THAT is. "Buy less stuff...." .... What does that even MEAN? I mean, who DOES that?

(You can hear that I'm being mildly sarcastic right? You heard that?)

We (in Canada) just finished saying how thankful and blessed and contented we all are, as we stuffed ourselves with turkey and apple pie. Christmas is coming, that season when we all spend ourselves into oblivion. Apparently we aren't sooooo very thankful that we couldn't do with a liiiiiiiittle more stuff. 

(Again with the sarcasm.)

Anyway. It's just a thought, mostly self-directed. Happy Outrage-Free Friday. 

---

"In this space, I will bring this post to an end with something witty that ties the whole thing together."

jammie thoughts

Yesterday, a morning meeting got canceled. Most weeks I am slightly overbooked with meetings and appointments, knowing that most weeks one or two of them will be canceled.

So I worked from home for half a day. In my jammies, no less. All by myself. Felt remarkably luxurious, and for once, I'm kinda caught up. (That won't last, but I celebrate it when it happens.)

Every now and then, "all by myself" is a good thing for me.

Recharges me.

Energizes me.

I get creative again.

And sipping fair-trade dark roast coffee, in a warm bed, laptop balanced on a pillow, working on things that matter - well, it just reminds me of how very, very blessed I am. Even my moments of impatience or sadness these days are because of ultimately good things - missing people I love, waiting for things that have not yet happened - but they will. 

Happy Outrage-Free Friday to you.

And Happy Thanksgiving. 

the Spike and Ed show

The one in the hat is mine. 

They look like they're doing some Saturday afternoon cable tv show. 

"Ed and I are here at the Lviv Strudel Haus, listening to Chopin and enjoying the fine atmosphere." 

"And your hat. That's a great hat, Jeff."

"Well you know Ed, I do sunburn easily, hehe, but a rocker needs a GOOD hat, not just any hat. Awfully nice of you to notice."

"Let's ask our studio audience what they think. Would you guys like to see Jeff wear a hat like this every day? Maybe we should ALL get hats!"

"Oh, you guys, you're too kind. You know, Ed, it reminds me of the time when Putin said to me, he says...."

"Jeff, my smile is stuck. Go to commercial. Seriously. I might need you to call someone." 

"No need to panic, Ed, just sit tight. ... We'll be right back, after these messages. Don't touch that remote!" 

Cue the flute and acoustic guitar audio outro.

And... scene.

Brought to you by Outrage-Free Fridays.

Refuse outrage, just for a day - because it will still be there for you tomorrow.

hey. you're ok.

For your Outrage-Free Friday pleasure.

A minute and a half song, with story attached.

I promise - best part of your day.

Click here.

smells so good

I feel like maybe you might want to appreciate my self-control this week.

Because, see, here's the thing. At Crossfire - that's my church, where I work, all the livelong day - it's what makes up the "pastor" part of "running pastor" - we like to be good neighbours. We're on a main street in our city, so all of our neighbours are businesses.

There's Gilbert's Big & Tall … there's Rolly Rocket's BBQ … there's MJM, across the parking lot … anyway, about 20 of them. All good people.

In past years, we've given them poinsettias at Christmas and lilies at Easter. This year, we thought hey, let's do more of that. And let's do it in a way that supports other local business at the same time.

So on Tuesday, I went to Walker's Chocolates. Note: TUESDAY.

It smelled so good in there, you guys. I wondered if they would let me set up a little work station and just sit there breathing all day.

Anyway, I bought 20 of these.

I brought them back to my office, where I wrote out little "Happy Valentines Day" notes for each of our neighbours.

And then I stacked them neatly in a pile to be given out today. Note: TODAY is FRIDAY.

Which means that these little bits of heaven have sat in my office for 3 days. And I didn't eat a single one.

I thought you might like to know that, so you could fully appreciate my self-control this week.

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Happy Valentines Day AND Outrage-Free Friday.

May chocolate (or an equivalent bit of heaven) make a happy appearance in your day.

SuperDad

Would SOMEONE get me a trophy, or a medal, or a pedestal or SOMETHING, immediately? Even a superhero cape would be fine.

Here's why:

Thursday night it got cold here. Record cold. Minus-stupid, if you must know. Not as cold as it gets Way-The-Heck-Up-North, but c-c-c-c-c-c-o-l-d by Hamilton standards.

Friday morning I got up just after 5, shovelled snow, muttered about the cold, reminded myself that it was Outrage Free Friday, and went to start a load of laundry while the coffee brewed.

Except the washing machine wouldn't start. It hummed. But no water came in. I frowned. Blinked. Tried again. Nada. Turned the water temperature to warm - bingo. Hot - no problem. But cold - zilch.

Oh oh.

The cold water pipe was frozen. That's a first.

Narrowed down the area of concern: checked all the other taps in the house, and they all worked. Unscrewed the cold water hose from the washing machine, and still no water from the pipe. Sooooo… only one pipe was frozen, thankfully. And it was mostly beneath the floor, less thankfully.

Texted Spike, who was in a blizzard in Ohio at the time. So he kind of had his hands full.

Texted my Dad (he's an early morning person like me, so he was up) - "Have one frozen water pipe. Is there something I should be doing?" He phoned me back immediately - "Put a heater in the laundry room." (I did) "Do you know where your main water line in is?" (I did) "Clear a path to it, in case your pipe splits and you need to turn the water off in a hurry." (I did)

Then he phoned back - "I'll be there in 40 minutes."

Here's what happened.

We warmed up the pipe. Dad started eyeing the floor and talking about wrapping the pipe for future freeze-prevention. Meanwhile, it started leaking.

Phoned a plumber friend, who happened to be in the area, and he verrrry-kindly stopped by on his way somewhere else. He and his son lectured that leak into submission, confirmed to Dad that he knew what he was doing, and moved on.

Dad had already thought ahead, stopped at Home Depot, and picked this up.

And THEN my Freaking Fantastic Saint of a Father - did this.

And then he did this.

And then he realized he needed to go the other way, so he turned around. Belt buckle got caught on a nail. Worked past it.

And then, wedged between the floor and the ground, he somehow spun his body to get his head around to the other end.

THEN with a muffled voice and frequent dirt-coughs, he directed me down to the basement to grab the other end of the tape he was intending to wrap that pipe with.

It's odd to interact with a disembodied hand coming through a hole in your ancient foundation.

There was a lot of muttering. I'm not sure if mild profanity was part of the muttering, but honestly, if it was, it was certainly excusable. Some further coughing and muffled instructions to go back upstairs and grab the other end of the tape from the little floor-hole the frozen pipe was coming from. Each of us stretched our fingers from our respective positions as far as we could to wrap it around the pipe.

Then he slowly spun, turned over and worked himself back out of the hole, an inch at a time. At one point he suggested that the hole was so tight to exit, he might have to leave his pants behind, but we're both happy to report that didn't happen.

Then he reassembled the floor.

Helped me move everything back.

Ate a bowl of beef stew, washed down with a cup of strong coffee.

Grinned and said, "Ok, that's done. … Whaddaya want me to do tomorrow?"

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Standing to my feet with a long, slow, solemn clap, with an honouring nod in his direction.

My Dad. My Hero.