I’m trying to get back in the swing of things by posting fun things that I come across on the interweb.

I’m sure most have encountered one of my favourites, Awkward Family Photos.

The quiz is pretty self-explanatory.

What a relief that when the rapture happens, there are people willing to look after our pets.  For a fee.

Let’s see.  How to catch up?

Thea’s sister, Aileen, had her first baby on Monday.  I bought a big-screen TV last week.   And Pippin pooped on the carpet on Saturday.  I think that sums up the summer.

So on Monday Cris and Aileen got together and created a new human being, Caleb.  It’s exciting being at this age, the almost-thirty-something.  Thea seems to hate getting older but I don’t mind.  I don’t like my metabolism slowing down and all the delights that go along with that, but I like the idea of being in my thirties.  Adds some respectability I think.  Anyway, my in-laws became grandparents for the first time, something I’ve already experienced with my own parents.  And it’s fun to watch.  It’s fun to watch Thea and her brother and sister be all excited and wanting to hold the baby.  It’s strange meeting this brand new little person and naturally loving him and knowing that he’s family.  I remember the feeling with Lily and Annie.

You can check out a few pictures here.

We’re still in Mississauga.  I miss the small-townyness of Burlington and Oakville but it’s wonderful being so close to church events.  And now that I’ve transferred out here for work as well… life is good.

And the TV.  I should makes sure this paragraph is shorter than the one on Caleb because that would be obscene.  But in the week since the TV arrived I think I’ve plowed through dozens of my DVDs.  My spell-checker doesn’t recognize “plowed.”  Apparently it’s not familiar with agricultural metaphor.  But the TV, I finally decided to get it when I found a great deal at Best Buy.  It went against my desire to be frugal and practical with money (to which I’m not genetically predisposed), but I decided a small luxury that I approached with gratitude and contentment would be alright.

Now, of course, Thea complains that I love the TV more than her.  But TV and I are still in the honeymoon phase.  And you can mute a TV.  Heheheh.

Finally, Pippin pooped on our rug on Saturday.  No Sunday, because he got stuck down here while we were all at church.  Regarding the size and potency, let’s just say that if we didn’t find the culprit at the scene of the crime Lola would have been the prime suspect.

Continuing my shallow diatribe on hope, I’ve been surprised by the reactions to Michael Jackson’s death.  I don’t mean the sensationalist grossness of the media or the sycophants hoping for the moment in the spotlight, but rather all the status updates on Facebook and people talking about how much his music meant to them.

In my mind, Michael Jackson was primarily a sideshow oddity.  I remember his Thriller video scared the beejeebees out of me when I was little and I like his Jackson Five stuff, but his past twenty years of extreme oddness has in my mind overshadowed any musical greatness.  Thankfully, I’m in the minority it seems.

When someone dies, I think I like that we choose to focus on the good stuff.  Eulogies aren’t about drudging up painful memories but instead celebrating the positive attributes.  Even some minor negative things can transform into nostalgia when a person dies.  I like to remind my wife that she’ll miss my snoring when I’m dead.  I’m a good husband.

I think intrinsic to remembering-the-good-times is the aspect of hope I was talking about in my poo post.  The same way that we’re able to focus on the things we love about a person once they’re gone, I think we’re also able to do now with the people around us.  I don’t mean that we should be naive about people’s flaws but rather keep in mind the person they have the potential to be.

I think God constantly has in his mind the incredible people we were designed to be, even though we almost always fall short.  I think He’s always prodding us along, ecstatic when glimmers of the hoped-for-us shine through but never satisfied with the pale reflections walking around.