Went to see Dr. Isaacson yesterday to have a couple of moles or skin tags removed. Pretty simple. I weighed in on the scales at a svelte 237 lbs. Yikes!! Dr. Isaacson told me that at my age I really need to lose some weight. He said he'd like to see me at 198. I told him that I weighed in heavy because I had my keys in my pocket; he asked to see my 40 pound car key. So, I've got to cut 40 lbs.



On a different note--I had a sad moment this morning. I was taking Edgar (our St. Bernard) out to the kennel. I let him go to the bathroom in the backyard first. He went back to where we buried KC (our 14 year old lab) and just sniffed around. Then he looked up at me with a very sad face. I know St. Bernards have a typically sad expression anyway, so maybe I'm reading into it. But, it brought back memories about KC.



We put her down last month (Dec. 10, 2003). Near the end, she was in constant pain from arthritis. We gave her aspirin and it only took the pain away for about an hour-then she'd be down again. She also became incontinent and had several potty accidents. She'd break out into shiver fits where she'd shiver uncontrollably and her teeth would chatter.



It was hard to do, but it needed to be done. Eric and I were with her when they gave her the injection. It just took a few seconds for her to lose consciousness and about a minute for her heart to stop. I thought it was pretty peaceful; Eric thought it was "scary" because she didn't close her eyes. I told him that of all the ways she could have died, this was the most painless. She could have had a stroke, a heart attack, slip down the stairs and break her neck or leg, get hit by a car that she couldn't hear coming, etc. Eric doesn't deal with death very well. I'm proud of him for staying in there because it was hard.



Shannon cried a little bit too. Marlee was mostly upset because her mom and brother were crying. I buried KC in the far corner of the back yard. All in all it was a pretty low night around our house. Edgar kept roaming from room to room looking for her. I think he could sense her loss too.



I had my big cry the next morning in the shower. My head still tells me it was the right thing to do, but my heart hurts because I was the one who chose this for her. She didn't go on her terms or God's terms--she went on mine, and so inside I question whether or not she understood that I was trying to do what was best for her. She trusted me to take care of her for 14 years and for all those years I did take care of her. I was the one who picked her out at the pound when she was just a pup and mine was the last face she saw as we let her go that night. But nothing ever likes to die.



Some might say that this is the reason why they don't ever have pets, but our grief will pass and be tempered by 14 years of great memories. She was a good dog.

Hello,

This is my umpteenth attempt at creating a journal. We've long been admonished by our church leaders to keep a journal for the sake of our posterity and for family history purposes. I must admit my efforts have been sporadic at best. But with the advent of weblogs or "blogs" that can be accessed anytime via the internet, I think this might be the best option for me. I'm at a computer often throughout the day. I can jot down my thoughts and feelings when they strike me and not have to wait until the end of the day to write them (by hand) in a book.



My thirteen year old, Eric, is working on his Duty to God award. Part of the requirements for the award is to keep a regular journal. How can I encourage him to do so without giving him the example first? Plus, last night I presented a family home evening lesson on family history. I showed the kids some of the pedigree charts and family group sheets from my side of the family. I told them that I wished I knew more about my ancestors. For many of them, all I know is when and where they were born and died. Yet my heart tells me they loved their wives and husbands and kids; they had struggles and triumphs just like us. It would nice to have some insight into their lives. It's like the old saying about tombstones. Our tombstones have two years inscribed on them separated by a little dash. My dad's tombstone says 1922 - 2001. The dates aren't nearly as important as the dash. That dash represents every day of our life. Every joy and every sorrow. All the happiness and all the sadness. Every funny joke we've ever heard. Every sad movie that made us cry. All the hopes we have for our children and all the disappointment we feel with ourselves.



A journal is a way to capture those thoughts and feelings. Something I can return to and remind myself of the good things I've been a part of. A source of strength when times are bad to look back upon and see that I've made it through every other difficult time in my life and I'll make it through the ones to come.



So, I'm excited to get started. Hopefully I'll be able to fill in the blanks about my past enough that you will get a picture of who I am.