live in Alaska: check

Seven days ago I was in Anchorage, Alaska. In 23 hours, I will be in Paris, France. Consequently anxious and engaged preparing, little thought has been spared to reflect on my summer. Before I finish here, I would like to add one more comment to the musings of the last post. Is there a country, city, river or mountain range that has always fascinated you? Go to it. But dont visit, live there, work there. If an opportunity opens, run through that door as fast as you can because few open and they close fast.
My head is full, not because the storage space is overcrowded but because of the chaos created by so many thoughts frantically scrambling to compose myself for France. Since I am unable to think clearly, here are some facts, a list of things that I checked off my bucket list this past summer in Alaska.

1. Blueberry and raspberry picking
2. Flew in a tiny plane
3. Ate meals in a dining car
4. Lived in Alaska
5. Worked a cubicle job (may abject to doing this again because I know it will never be as fun. Moreover, sitting all day leaves me feeling like a slug)
6. Met a sled dog team
7. Camped on the beach
8. Fileted a fish
9. Enjoyed a meal of fish
10. Cooked my catch and enjoyed it
11. Made candied pecans
12. Rowed a raft down a river
13. Visited Denali National Park
14. Hiked through certified wilderness
15. Saw Mount Mckinley
16. Experienced day light at midnight
17. Mountain biked
18. Became a regular at a coffee shop
19. Rode the bus to work 
20. Biked to work
21. Rode in a helicopter
22. Kept a blog
23. Saw bald eagles (zoos dont count)
24. Watched an Alaskan Sunset
25. Saw a volcano
26. Read and reread books from my reading list
27. Tested and strengthened my cooking skills
28. Ate a flower
29. Ate wild berries not sold in stores
30. Drank directly from a stream
31. Worked a full-time job
32. Made cinemon roles on a stick over a fire
33. Saw Killer Whales and Porcupines

Thanks for reading. Please email me with blog critiques. I will apply them as I blog about Paris.

Favorites

Favorite family Our summer family. Lyn and Stuart couldn’t have been more welcoming to Katherine and I. Without our little family, the summer would have lacked love.

Favorite work moment The smolder. Fortunately, I caught the best one on camera.

Favorite wildflowers Columbine, Snap Dragons and Bluebells. The wildflowers in Alaska grow at incredible speeds and in an abundance of vibrant varieties.

Favorite dog picture

Favorite dog Ozzie from next door. At least twice a day, his shrill voice announced that he and his master Glen were going for a walk. Twice, came to dinner with Glen and Linda. This miniature Shnauzer posseses a unique ability to express his thoughts through a variety of facials expressions.

Favorite trip Difficult, but the bike trip to Seldovia was my favorite, followed closely by July 4^th weekend.

Favorite video This is tough. I might would choose the earlier SNL surprise party video but its difficult to locate so I will say edbassmaster’s snappin' turtle video.

Favorite State When I stepped out of the airport and inhaled Dallas for the first time in 3 months, I was overcome by the spoiled taste of the air. In Anchorage I breathed birch and spruce mingled with Fireweed. Now it's exhaust and cement blended with the smells of people. The Texas heat. Instead of feeling refreshed after a run, I felt wilted after this morning's venture around the lake. We wont discuss the replacement of mountains and flowered medians by highways and brown crunchy yards. BUT, I am a Texan. I will never completely turn my back on my state, even if it appears irrational.

airport air

At last, my blood runs warmly again. Until I found this seat in the sunshine, I either shivered or hung on the edge of shivering from the infamous and inescapable chilling airport air. Lyn texted me. She, Katherine and Beth are making pancakes with the blueberries we picked along the Winner Creek Trail last night. I dont feel as if I’ve left. I’m merely taking a little weekend trip. Katherine will be at the Anchorage airport in a few days to take me back to Lyn and Stuart’s, right? Though my heart struggles to believe it, the cold paper bag of halibut sitting in the shaded seat beside to my right reminds me that those goodbyes were real. In a week, I will start over again…but in French.

The office, minus Philly

My friend Katherine

Katherine and I spent almost every minute of everyday this summer together. Moreover, we were roommates with 2 other girls for the past two years at school. We’ve spent an entire year together without interruption of anything longer than Christmas break. Towards the end of this summer, we often communicated wordlessly because our minds had fused together after constant exposure to one another’s thoughts and habits. It will be strange, maybe lonely, going about my day without someone who understands the references and the laughter that my utterance of “Philly!” is supposed to produce. Though millions of people have viewed the SNL Surprise Party video, laughing at an allusion to it will not be the same without Katherine and Aunt Lyn. And when I ask someone, “did you watch Pants this season?” they will have no idea that I mean So You Think You Can Dance. In one week, I will be on my way to Paris, France where I will know no one, where every kind of reference and joke that I am accustomed to sharing will be lost, even if I could tell it in French. Before I leave for France, I will post a few more times about my imperfect but fantastic summer in Alaska.

Day 90

At 7:47 AM I rose from my bubble gum pink sheets for the last time. Teeth brushed and hair pulled back, I jogged the familiar route along Anchorage's sidewalks for the last time this summer. Now I sit with the best cup of coffee I've ever had in the Midnight Sun Café…last time this summer. When they pulled the tray from the oven, I sweetened my sorrow with a chocolate chip cookie. Tonight, Lyn, Stuart, Beth, Katherine and I are going to Girdwood to pick blueberries and eat at Lyn's choice, Jack Sprat. It will be dark by the time we drive home tonight. Home.

We saw two black bears a couple days ago on our fruitless search for blueberries.

By 2 PM tomorrow, I will be in my one-story red brick home in Dallas surrounded by familiar smells, faces and sounds. Though I become restless thinking about being home again, it is not easy leaving my Alaskan family, the smell of earth and life, and the streets and mountains that have become so familiar to me. I know I will be back.
There are at least four people working behind the small bar at this café. Dishes constantly clang together and the hum of expensive machines continues to challenge the sporadic, clamorous, yet friendly voices of employees and customers. Once, someone told me he found Alaskans ill-natured. I think he decided to dislike Alaska before he arrived. His loss. I have never been in a city with more active citizens and the warmth displayed by these people who are constantly bothered with tourists surprises me. Thank you Anchorage.

Anchorage, AK

we drifted

I got to filet a fish! Butchered it.

Seward was grey. The most exciting thing Beth and I did was hitch-hike. Even so, we thoroughly enjoyed one another's company and the slow stirring of thoughts our conversations produced. We drifted through the small streets, wandered along the docks and lingered the morning away writing in an old chapel, now a coffee shop and art gallery. Katherine joined us in the afternoon.

The Fjords boat tour lead us among sea life to witness Aialik Glacier calving. When the slabs of ice tore from the glacier, a cracking roar resonated through me. Though I still stood, I felt as though I had been knocked down. 

During the return journey, Katherine, Beth and I walked about the boat, remaining for some time at the prow, hugging the rail as best our laughing would allow while the boat plunged violently through a rough portion of the waters. At one point (I was engaged elsewhere), the captain came out and told Beth and Katherine to cease jumping on his deck. We began to lose steam in the last of the 6 hours. I fell asleep with my head on a table. Beth sat outside in the wind somewhere while Katherine leaned back against a chair with droopy eyes.

The rain came again on the train home. By the time Stuart picked us up from the station it felt like winter.

I feel full

After several sunless days of persistant, spitting rain, my dear friend Beth arrived from Carolina with some sunshine. Our first day together involved an evening of grunting, guessing and waiting in Kincaid Park. When we arrived with our bikes to the park, Beth admitted she could not remember the last time she rode a bike. Kind friend that I was, I helped her get on the bike, gave her a crash course on changing gears, then lead her into the hill strewn, root scattered trails. In my defense, I had planned to go on the wider, smoother, grass covered paths. Unfortunately, it was an hour before we found any such trails. 

Moose #1

Moose #3

We spent the first hour skidding down and walking up intermediate-expert trails (the ones labelled "Lake Loop" on the trail map). If a large bull moose had not been lounging beside our path, we would have been stuck looping the loops for another hour. Luckily, we were forced to cut across a small foot path which, to our giggly relief and amazement, lead to the parking lot and the car. But we were not ready to quit. So after watching moose #2 stroll away from the parking lot, we started down a paved path. We soon left the paved path and ventured again into the trails. 30 minutes passed. As I prepared to lunge down another hill, I halted and waved to Beth to do the same. Where the decline met the incline, a bull moose stood complacently chewing ferns. On the slope opposite, a biker barely managed to brake before reaching the moose. We shared frustrations with this fellow until a sudden half-charge from the moose sent the other biker further up the hill on the other side. Beth and I, knowing we were near the parking lot, determined to wait for the moose to cross over and into the woods. Unfortunately, no one told Mr Moose the path he sauntered along was only for bikes. We waited 45 cold minutes before he moved far enough off the path to allow a safe passing. Even then, we were too close. 

Day 2 with Beth.
A leisurely morning preceded a trip to Girdwood. Along the way, we snacked for lunch on the rocky shore of Bird Creek and watched the salmon fishers flick their lines in and out of the silty water. After lunch, it began to rain again. That didn't deter us. We visited the jade shop, as planned, then hiked Winner Trail, as planned. The rain seemed determined to sputter and drip his say into our conversations while we hiked. We ignored him. When we returned to the parking lot and I struggled to unlock the car with my unresponsive, cold hands, I realized that that even though Beth and I had talked ceaselessly throughout the 4 hour hike, there were hours left of hopes, challenges, and joys to discuss and ponder together. A real friend. Our final destination in Girdwood was soup and bread at the Bake Shop. I cant remember the last time I felt so full.

Tomorrow: day 4 with Beth. We will take the first class train to Seward, spend the afternoon hiking a glacier or in the sea-life center and spend the night in a hotel. Katherine will join us Tuesday for a day cruise to see glaciers and whales. Beth doesn't know this yet. I think she will be excited when I tell her to pack tonight :)

Crises Averted

Dont think about it dont think about wwhhOooOOOooOoOo
I laughed the whole way through the section of Kincaid Park called "Roller Coaster." It took an extensive uphill climb to wipe the grin off my warm face.
During my first, brief ride at Kincaid, I used caution down the narrow hills and anxiety often clutched tightly to the brakes. Several weeks later, I peddled enthusiastically behind Aunt Lyn and determined to keep her in sight, even when flying down-hill. If she didnt use her breaks on a down-hill, I wouldn't need to either. And if I could see the next climb ahead, why slow down? The incline will take care of that. With these things in mind, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, especially hurling down the hills. Roller Coaster was my favorite. Long and thrilling, it continued up and down, always down more than up. At one point, the upward slant changed so quickly to a downward slope that my stomach dropped! That really sent me laughing. Unfortunately, I became over confident. A recurrent predicament. Towards the end of our ride, I miss judged a turn at the bottom of a hill and my back wheel began sliding out from under me. Turning and maintaining an upright position were no longer compatible options. It was "either-or." Immediately dismissing the slamming to the ground at top speeds option, I maintained a course for the trees and slammed on the breaks. Though the breaks responded reluctantly to my urging and the bike seemed more inclined to take the scenic detour, I avoided the trees. Crises averted. Once I mustered my nerves and slapped on a smile, I guided my stubborn steed back to the beaten path to finish the bike ride in high spirits.

Flottop Mountain

At last, Katherine and I, along with half of Anchorage (which is 1/4 of Alaska), climbed the most hiked mountain in Alaska, Flattop Mountain. The last 200 yards were solid rock and nearly vertical. One of the many things I loved about being a child was that I never over thought things. I climbed trees and danced on limbs high above the ground blissfully unaware of fear. Ten years later, 50 feet from the top of Flottop, fear crept in. Normally, this is called rock climbing and people don helmets and harnesses. Pausing momentarily, I gathered my will, dismissed my mind and ascended as nimbly and safely as possible. From the summit, we stood with almost 30 other people watching a paraglider jerk his chute into the wind and leap off the edge. What a thrilling way to descend. As we watched, a fellow climber told us that in the early spring, people ascend Flattop to slide the 3,000 feet down on a chute of hardened snow. Unfortunately, there was neither a paraglider nor an icy slide available. We had to go down the way we came up.

Even Philly makes philly jokes

Happy Samwise. He retrieved his elvish rope. As Sam and Frodo discussed the mysteries of their magic gift from the CD player, I glanced to the bottom left of my computer screen. 2:28! that means it's only been 7 minutes since I last looked. Weston made another Philly joke. We all make Philly jokes. Even Philly makes Philly jokes. I like peeking over the cubicle after an especially good Philly joke (these ones are typically contrived by Philly) to see a smile spread timidly over his generally jaded expression, brightening his tanned face with a contagious glow.


Philly the funny filer joke:
(hidden camera. Just listen)

I am thankful for mine.

Because I cherish self-reliance and delight in adventure, the emotional tremor experienced upon parting from family baffles me. Though tired, the three of us wore smiles as we hugged, exchanging thank-yous and well-wishes for little more than a minute. As I left Gram and Aunt Betty at the hotel with memories of sunshine, pictures of whales, and heavy eyelids, I became aware of a great sense of loss. They are only returning to the lower 48. Yet my full heart suddenly felt strained. Upon looking into the blushing sky, I yearned to join my aching heart with the dancing violets and pinks behind the houses and trees. If only the trees and houses weren't there. I'll have to find the clearing Lyn took as to a few nights ago. There, I can silently pour out my heart in the warmth of the waning sun and empty all emotion into the passion of the breath-taking colors. Unfortunately, my clock and weary limbs convinced my hands to keep the wheels on course for Lyn and Stuart's house.
I knew I missed the most beautiful sunset and an opportunity to sit with the God.
Wednesday was our day together. Gram, her sister Betty and I rode to Seward on the Alaska Railroad. We prayed for several things. First, we had prayed for an open seat on the plane for Gram. After two days in the airport, she made the last flight. Secondly, we prayed for good weather and train tickets. Wednesday morning at 6:30 AM the clouds parted completely and the sun shone with invigorating warmth as we boarded car A. Thirdly, we asked that we might see whales and puffins on the boat tour in Seward.

Killer Whales. Not a common sight.

Puffins!

If you have a grandmother, treasure her. God rarely puts a Gram in our lives. I am thankful for mine.

Betty and Gram

Rockin'

I am in the midst of one of the busiest weeks of my summer. Even So You Think You Can Dance is cast into time's shadows. Julie occupies the blue room, my grandmother and her sister returned to Seattle this afternoon, and George and Betsy Montague remain visitors until Saturday. The introduction of fresh, eager feet from the lower 48 increased the demand of the two cars until my size 7 feet were left to find their own way to work. Too tired to bike or bus to work, Katherine and I implored coworker Weston for seats in his car.
Every night I ask Weston for a ride, I am assured of two things the next morning: 1) I will arrive between 5-11 minutes late to work. 2) when I arrive, my hair will hold frizz and my ears unable to comprehend anything less than shouting.
7:46 AM, Weston
"here"
7:46.5 AM, Emily
"there"
A minute behind Katherine, I balanced Wuthering Hights, an apple, and my coffee mug to Weston's late Honda Civic. I felt the throbbing car before I saw it. Instead of reaching the office with a scowl, I always step out of his subwoofing car giggling. My back vibrates at various intensities throughout the ride as I, and the cars  around us, listen to one of the following songs (along with half a dozen synonymous beats and uplifting phraseology)
"Little Bad Girl"
"Party Rock Anthem"

"Party Rock" is also the official National Dance Day song. Although currently unpracticed, Katherine and I ventured one workout/practice session attempting to learn the dance. 

  Try it.

Fresh and Spoiled

I had to get up. Sitting sandwiched on the seat in the cabin was not helping my lurching stomach. On the way to the bathroom I asked the captain, theoretically, what helps seasickness? He told me not to go into the bathroom.
"Eat the ginger snaps above the toilet."
No thanks.
"Stare out to the horizon."
I cant see it.
"Dont think about it."
Right. Aye aye Cap'n.

It's a terrible feeling, falling sick and realizing the cure is speeding away behind you. No matter how much you heave and hurl Aunt Lyn's banana bread, the boat is not going back for 5 more hours. Many stomachs turned inside out that morning. Not even my nostrils escaped the burn of stomach fluids and hour old breakfast. Fortunately, after 2 hours, a turn at the trashcan, and a dramamine, I was able to catch 4 halibut, keeping 2. I baked fresh filets tonight for dinner. More than the creamy color of the fish and the fresh flavor of the halibut, the pleasure of catching my dinner wholly satisfied. I had hoped that I would leave Alaska with an acquired taste for fish. Now I think I will leave Alaska with an acquired taste for fresh fish. In other words, I will continue to order chicken when fish is offered at restaurants in the lower 48.

We camped with our 3 BP Intern friends on the Spit.

Took a boat out of Homer for the halibut.

Lost in a Book

Megs and I matched today.

Over the past 48 hours, I spent 16 hours at the office listening to The Fellowship of the Ring. Three of the 16 disks remain. Neither Katherine nor I have ever completed The Fellowship of the Ring, though both of us have attempted numerous times. By four o'clock tomorrow, I will be able to say I have read Tolkien's stunning trilogy. Embarrassingly, I struggled to fight back tears while typing "Earnest Oldman" into the 6 AM Tundra Wilderness Tour as Frodo grieved, "I wish it need not have happened in my time."

"Can you imagine?!" I exclaimed to my coworkers when Frodo offered to bear the ring to its destruction, and probably his own.
Foolish, Emily (I chided myself). This isn't real, remember?

A well written book coupled with uninterrupted time leaves me lost in the crafted world. Sometimes hours pass before I rouse myself and realize I have been staring at pages and letters, not sitting under a tree laughing at Gulliver as he passed by, trotting in poor imitation of the Houyhnhnm beside him.
Other books that have stolen my mind this summer…

Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin
Hemingway's A Moveable Feast
Swift's Gulliver's Travels


Current selections: Fellowship of the Ring and Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises
Next on the list: The Hobbit on CD and Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby

Constant light, not constant sun.

Texas

Alaska

I stepped outside to stand under a sign reading Alaska Air and waited for my cousin Travis. 85 degree air soaked through my skin, breathing a smile into my face. Texas. Why do I love it so much?
Travis and I had Tex-Mex for dinner. 
By 2 o'clock the next day I had applied for my VISA, solidifying next semester in Paris, and lay on a matt in the pool with a Chihuahua lounging on my back, both of us drowsy and content. I paused from Hemingway's A Moveable Feast, to reassure the little pup of his cuteness, thinking again about Texas.  It's hot, the people are loud, the land is scraggly and flat. But I am a Texan. The terrain possesses a wild, defiant beauty, the people are handy and happy, and the sun is always shining. I've found that constant light in Alaska does not necessitate cloudless skies 24/7.

After a frantic day of cleaning, Katherine and I moved downstairs into our own basement room, complete with individual closet space and separate beds specifically for our use. I spent 10 hours sleeping in it last night before waking up for a refreshing 60 degree run under, yes, a cloudy sky. My afternoon was spent in Kaladi Brothers with a warm beverage, pastry, and bowl of tomato and blue cheese soup.  Reading another of Hemingway's works, I am surprised at the frequency of the Parisian characters' visits to cafés, even the poorer sort. It inspired this afternoon of coffee and writing. Now I am at the house. Maybe the weather will cheer up enough to lure us on a hike up Flattop Mountain but I think the lazy day will continue 'till bed.

4 July 2011

Olympians Kikin and Holly lead the women.

The spitting rain continued. My pack was recently relocated beneath the cover of a meagre canopy flown to the top of the mountain along with the water and timing equipment necessary for refreshing the runners and clocking their times before they hurled down the shale covered side of Seward Alaska's Mount Marathon. As I passed the American flag wedged between rocks and returned from the useless tent to the natural shelter and warm bodies, I remembered the date was July 4. I lay myself down again beside Aunt Lyn and Katherine. We found that by lying close together in this grassy depression we were hidden from the wind and could maintain a comfortable body temperature. My rain jacket and Stuart's rain pants were enough to keep me dry. This is very different from any 4th of July I've ever had. And as I drifted off to sleep once more, recollections of fireworks, bike rides, splash contests, hot dogs, the Johnsons, the smell of sunblock, the pealing sunburn, and red paper streamers, marched through my memory like the rowdy parade that rode through my neighborhood every year. 
By the time a fellow volunteer yelled "five minutes 'till the men's race starts!" I had forgotten the day and rushed passed the limp flag to the edge of the peak, clutching my camera deep within my pocket away from the cold.
I remembered Independence Day again when, later that night, desperate fireworks strained against the sun's light though the clock told midnight.

The race ran only 1.5 miles before the turn around point and halfway mark at Mount Marathon's peak. However, in 1.5 miles, they experienced a 3,022 foot elevation change.

The Alaskan State Bird

I drove Mom through the rain to the airport early this morning. While she visited we rode bikes, helped at the zoo, ate her fried chicken, visited the market, and spent some days in Denali National Park. Katherine, Megs, Taylor (Megs' friend), Mom and I piled into Mr Megs' black four-door pickup and roared off to Denali, leaving the boys to take care of things at the office, again.
It rained during the 4 hr drive up but upon arrival at Black Diamond ATV Tours, we no longer begrudged the rain his time. As I drove Katherine through the mud, slid around curves and across puddles sending clouds of steam between our seats and into our faces, I smiled at the rain. Megs, who drove behind us with Taylor, said we got air at one point. The next morning, Mom, Megs and Taylor hopped on the TWT (Tundra Wilderness Tour) while Katherine and I, having already experienced that invigorating 6-8 hour bus ride into the park, rode a shuttle bus an hour in before hopping off. Katherine and I set out to conquer a peak.
It was not what it seemed.

We discovered that the green we saw on the hillsides and in the valleys was not a result of the light reflecting off of grass but of light reflecting off of various kinds of mosses and bushes covering the tundra floor. No grass. Every step across the soft spongy ground was like walking on an elliptical, avoidable only by walking on knee-waist high bushes or wading through various pools of water. Furthermore, we could not rest or closely examine the flowers, foot prints or animal dung because of the Alaskan state bird: the mosquito. I packed Hemingway, a banana, a Zone bar and a leftover piece of pizza hoping to nourish my mind and body as well as my soul with the beautiful sights. Alas, I was not willing to pay the price of 10,000 mosquito bites and the chance of catching a life threatening disease. When Katherine and I paused on the top of Poop Peak, as I called it, the irritants flocked to us from every corner of the valley below.
While maintaining my body movement to a constant twitch, I took a picture of Katherine on what we figured from our vantage point to be a sizable little mountain, then immediately retraced our steps to the road and firm ground. As the need to rest increased, I began imagining maniacal mosquitos wielding whips driving me on. Not soon enough, we reached the road and our shuttle bus to the hotel.
Sadly, I looked back and realized we had not climbed a large peak or even a small peak. The point we had groped up to on our hands and knees was only a little hill.

I'm glad Mom enjoyed herself on the TWT.

Next time I dare journey into Alaskan wilderness, I will take mosquito repellent.
Next time I decide to hike a mountain, I will ask a guide for advice.
Next time I want to read a book, I will satisfy myself with a position on the couch.

Curious Critters

It pleases me to say that my mother has joined me in Anchorage. She flew in yesterday afternoon in time to attend Aunt Lyn's company picnic at THE Alaska Zoo. After munching our way through an hour of volunteer work at the soft pretzel stand, we meandered past the animal exhibits viewing the expected birds, bears, and grass eating beasts. There were, however, a few surprises…

1. When we first walked in, the polar bear was on his back bouncing a plastic tube into the air.

2. I saw my first Porcupine. Very cute.

3. We witnessed a seal sucking on his flipper until he fell asleep, drooling and tongue hanging out.

4. I caught a squirrel licking his ice cream bowl clean.

5. The wolves were howling.

6. I also saw a couple of the strangest animals. A camel and his alpaca cousins.

7. Stranger still was the bear we saw wandering uncaged along the path!

I'm a regular

Because we took off time to go to Seldovia and will be returning to Denali National Park on Tuesday, Katherine and I have been working extra hours this week. By the fourth consecutive ten hour work day, my cheery face begins to droop a little. Luckily, the Midnight Sun, our designated local coffee shop, is on the way to work. Usually when Katherine and I drive Lyn's car or ride the bus to work we stop for 16oz cups of coffee (no room for creme, thank you). During my years of frequenting coffee shops, I have observed a certain class of customers who rush in, pay for an unspecified drink, and walk out without a word exchanged between them and the employee behind the counter. I have also seen clients cheerfully welcomed in by their first names, small-talk with the employees—never about coffee—then the barista hands him his drink and wishes him good luck on the meeting that afternoon. Who are these people?! I wondered.
They are Regulars.
This summer, a goal was to become one of the savvy who steps into the coffee shop, say nothing about coffee, and leave with exactly what they want sloshing between their hands. Today, this hope was realized. I walked into the Midnight Sun Cafe at 7:50 and by the time I reached the bar, my 16oz cup of black coffee sat waiting for me on the counter. $1.50 later (no sales tax in Anchorage), I left without uttering the word "coffee" or any of those phrases usually required to communicate your coffee wants.
I'm a regular.

Take Time before it takes you.

Low-tide view of our cabin from the bay.

Same view at high tide from the boat.

Time rules my life. Whether I want it to or not is irrelevant. Ignoring time constraints, schedules and deadlines leaves a person ill-liked, in ill health and impoverished. Society expects, demands that we observe every tick of the clock as vital as every thump of our hearts. In some countries perhaps, people watch time less vigorously. When I was in Cape Town, leaving "just now" meant we'd leave in thirty minutes and meeting someone at 4PM meant they might show up anywhere between 3:30 and 5 without a scold or glare. Here in our great nation, however, t i m e T i m e T I M E t i c k T i c k T I C K s away and every second used unprofitably is a wasted second. Vacation time for a full-time (40 hrs/week) employee is 2 weeks in the US compared to the 5 weeks required of the full-time employees (35 hrs/week max) in countries like France. We over value time and forget to enjoy it until suddenly, we die and it means nothing. Yet breaking its cold grip on us seems impossible. We are also entirely too concerned with gaining withering treasure. That, however, is another tangent for another time.
In Seldovia, I left the time on my phone on the car seat, misplaced my ironman watch somewhere at Lyn's, and failed to understand time by the continuously shining sun. Time, bewitched by my apathy and ignorance, slid from my back and waited nervously in the shadows for my to return. I ate when my stomach growled, walked when I wanted to breath and slept when my eyes fell.

We stayed in tents near the cabin on a beach of a 100 meter wide peninsula. The tide changed about 20 feet in hight every 6 hours. One morning at low tide, Katherine and I went tide-pooling and exploring along the bare ocean floor. After dawdling along the rocky beach handling glassy pebbles, poking at sea life, and watching bald eagles, we returned for lunch and naps on the cabin deck. When we awoke from our naps, the water was almost to the deck supports and the towering rocks explored only a few hours before had disappeared beneath the sudden tide. Alaska is incredible. I watched my first Alaskan sunset our second night in Seldovia.

11:17:35 PM

A crackling fire, Swift's satirical story, and the slowly setting sun lured me to the opposite beach Saturday night, away from the poofs and pockets of the shimmery sleeping bag. I dont know how long I sat, sometimes reading, sometimes with book limply in hand, eyes or mind wandering, wondering. However long or short, that evening spent quietly near the fire was one of the best uses of time I have made here and I will not soon forget that night I sat on the beach doing nothing.

I can only laugh

Tonight, I was going to post a beautiful and thought provoking piece inspired by my time in Seldovia last weekend but frankly, I am not in a postion to write it. Sleep deprivation has made me punchy. Although I met a girl yesterday, Melissa, who sleeps only 4hrs a day during the 5 week long fishing season, my wits begin to scatter after only a few days of les than 7.5 hrs of sleep. One of the signs that my body is sleep deficient or tired is an overactive giggle box. I could hardly carry on a conversation this afternoon with one of my coworkers. I found every word laughable! Fortunately, I realized what was happening and pulled it together. Unfortunately, the bike ride home drained all remaining energy and intensified the weariness, resulting in and increase of the volume and the frequency of my laugh. The attempt to reenact a So You Think You Can Dance move left us heaving in silent laughter until that ear ripping laugh that some of you know so well burst through the house. It's a miracle I didn't gash my head or pull something hazarding the dance impression. Lyn's creative comments like "Get the chicken out of your ear" didnt keep the family solemn either. It's been a while since I have laughed so heartily.

A post about my wonderful weekend in Seldovia is coming but tonight, after much laughter and a delicious smoothy, I am going to bed EARLY.

It's casual

Another rainy day. Another restless night.

Packing and picking our accessories

Only 3 days of work this week. Lyn invited Katherine and I to accompany her and her girlfriends to Seldovia, Alaska's best kept secret, for their annual bike trip. Early tomorrow morning we will drive five hours to Homer then ferry across the Kachemak Bay to the beach where our yurt and tent space awaits. I have mountain biked only once…and that was Tuesday afternoon. Camping, though, is another matter. Camping in the rain, camping in the snow, camping in the heat, camping in the camper (the wind blew ferociously and we couldn't get our tents up so we crowded into our grandparents motor home), camping in Texas, camping on the Appalachian Trail, sharing a tent with little brothers, sharing a hammock with my smelly socks, waking up with the Buffalo, not going to sleep because someone else's dad was snoring.… I've been camping. However, I have not been camping in the kind of clothing that I will be wearing this weekend. I will be sporting a stained and well worn raglan styled sweatshirt from the 80s, too-big-for-me multi colored woolen mittens, and Uncle Stuart's faded sweatpants. Hopefully it will rain so I can lace up the draw strings and wear the even larger blah-green rain pants!
Alaska is comfortable. No one seems to care who designed my dress, where I got my purse from or if my shoes say genuine leather on the soles. I continue to play dress up most mornings as I prepare for work but now I do it because I enjoy it, not because I am trying to draw compliments from the people around me who have also bowed to the pitiless scepter that fashion and society wields. We long for her to acknowledge us. But every time she extends her elusive, glittering rod, she pulls it back faster than before and our enjoyment is unsatisfactory, the pleasure increasingly hollow.

Camping. Double dont care what you wear.
Bring it. I'm stoked.