Agreeable Like Spring

What Gets Me Up On Cold-To-The-Bone Winter Days

2012-02-10T01:49:00.000-08:00

Since I've been in Alaska, I have posted many pictures and a few highlighted stories of the trips I've taken. Most of the trips have been work-related, which fact engenders no small amount of gratitude on my part. My travel schedule is beginning to pick up again and I am having to spend extra hours here in Anchorage to make up for lost instruction hours while I'm away. At the center, we have training terms wherein I teach Orientation and Mobility on a daily basis and also do PR work at various conferences and meetings.

I'm going to surprise the world and admit that organization is not my strong suit. As a matter of fact, it's probably not even a suit at all in my card game! Yeah, you know how the saying goes that someone is not playing with a full deck. My deck is missing a whole suit, when it comes to being organized and managing my time well. Or managing it at all. Well, I can go in spurts, like I did yesterday when I went to Costco and purchased some storage tubs and a rolling duffel bag for my office. Grand plans to organize my road-travel equipment in clear storage tubs to prevent all that digging around to see what's in there. And the duffel is for air travel. I didn't get very far with those grand plans and now I'm stepping over the duffel and the tubs to get to my computer. I am staying late to chip away at that task, as I have four 1 1/2-hour classes a day this term and am also trying to coordinate upcoming travel and appointments and ordering and report-writing. But I sure do like that wheeled duffel bag! I know I'm especially going to love it when I get to pack it.

My colleague who does a similar job, travels with 200 pounds of luggage every time she makes a trip. She flies to all of her destinations, rents a car and then sets her low vision equipment up in a clinic room where she sees upwards of 8 clients a day in one location. I've been on a few trips with her, done some of the on-site work with her, and helped carry her load, but usually, I take my bags of equipment to make home-visits to people who have difficulty getting out to her clinics, or I just take a cane to teach O&M to someone in their own environment.

I can travel 50 miles from the clinic in a town to see just one person, sometimes, or go across town to a senior center to work with residents there, or to another facility to do a presentation, etc. I do not want to carry 200 pounds of luggage everytime I make a trip. I have my own clinics in areas where I have to fly to reach the people. Fly, rent a car, take a ferry or a hover craft. I do not want to take 200 pounds of luggage everytime I make a trip. Oh, did I say that already?

I've decided to mail things ahead of me when I fly--things that I don't plan on bringing back, like catalogs, calendars, and other give-away items if I can get organized enough to do that. And my personal luggage is light. I don't carry two laptops like my colleague does. She takes her work laptop and her personal laptop, so as not to mix up passwords and security, etc. I don't know what all else, but she has even done those trips on crutches and this last time her arm was in a cast. No. Thank. You.

We take low vision aids to demonstrate to people who are experiencing vision loss as adults. Magnifiers of all types--stand, hand-held, electronic, adaptive household aids, various low vision glasses, Talking Book recorders, financial organizers (there's that word, again,) marking supplies, informative literature etc. We have money to offer $100 worth of equipment to each client we see at no cost to them, which is a happy part of my already happy job. Yes, my job is happy and I am happy to have this happy job. I also take a lot of give-aways that people really like. I don't know where they all came from but I found them in my office when I moved in. "Finders get to take 'em and give 'em away," I always say.

On my first road trip, I packed some inexpensive talking watches to give away, and one of those watches talked to me on the whole trip. I couldn't discover which watch it was--everytime I stopped and looked in the container, it quit talking. Cheeky, sneaky watch.

And now the best part. I get to meet people. People in the bush, off the grid, in the village, in rural areas, in towns and I was going to say cities, but I don't think Alaska has cities. Maybe Anchorage is a city. You have to know there are some stories out there!

long-time homesteaders,
champion bull riders who have to stop riding in their 50s after the last event resulted in a crushed leg,
people who have worked "on the slope" for many, many years,
90-year-old tennis champions who have lived in the same place for their whole 90 years,
94-year-old ship builders who build ships in the mountains and still carry their own water up the steps in their "dry" cabins,
native artists, herbalists, crafters, culture-keepers and kuspuk (or qaspeq) makers,
people with signs on the inside of their doors that read "Do not take any more cups out of this house. That is stealing. Stealing from the blind is a shame."
people with wooden signs in the trees that read, "In loving memory of ________'s 25 trusting dogs, murdered in their yard."
young people who hitchhike to get around and take rides on snowmachines in temps as low as 30 below

And so many more. I'm heading to Ketchikan in about a week. I will take pictures like a tourist. This is another shared trip with my colleague, only she's going ahead of me and we will have only a couple of shared tasks, but we'll stay in the same lodge in the mountains because she found that first. Otherwise, I might have chosen to stay down on Creek Street, but we like to stay at the same place to facilitate spending after-hours together for dinner and shopping. YES. We shop on our trips. What. You think I would go to all these places and not shop somewhere and buy something?

"What Is To Be, Will Be; What Ain't To Be Just Might Happen."

2012-01-31T23:35:00.000-08:00

I have a theory I've been testing for a few years, now. Actually, I don't really believe in "theory," because to me experience is reality and that leaves no room for theory, if you think about it. Whatever you experience is real and true in your own head and what else is there? I can't really experience what is in someone else's head, what is someone else's reality, and I certainly can't argue someone else's experience. But let me not get to be too esoteric and boring...(doesn't it bore you when someone harps about things that can't be proved or really even explained very well?)

So here's my theory which is actually my reality: When I face (some would say "plan") something sort of big, like a trip or a move or another kind of change, I pretty much know whether it's going to take place or it isn't just by whether or not I get excited about it. Sometimes, something doesn't happen no matter how much I plan and prepare and I know it's probably not going to come to pass because I have a flat feeling about it. I can imagine myself being in the situation and it's not all that exciting or even very pleasant and there is no reason I can see that it shouldn't be wonderful. Sometimes I even tell myself or others that I don't really want to be doing it, but can't say why. One might think, then, that I sabotage the whole venture, but, as in the case of my last didn't-happen trip that I felt unsure about, it was the weather that shut it down. I was ready to board that plane and take off, knowing that if I really went it would be a great trip, but in my head it was not feeling like a great trip, so I was not surprised at all when I got the call that the weather was too dangerous to count on.

Now you know, we can't even predict the weather, let alone control it. And that's how I've been "testing" my theory. I go along and go along as if things are going to take place, and if I feel happy and eager about it, I realize it must be the truth and it must be going to take place. If I feel blah and even reticent, I tell myself not to worry because it's probably not going to happen, no matter how many plane tickets I purchase, or how much laundry and packing I tackle, or even how much I try to talk myself into looking forward to it. Something always comes up which is not of my own doing.

Another example: I'm planning on moving into another apartment with another person, in order for us to both save some money. I look forward to it. Not especially the moving part, but even that doesn't feel as odious as it has at times in the past. I found a place that I thought had a lot of potential for a new home. Perfect location, glorious view, just right size and not a bad price, although I think we can find something less expensive and with other amenities that we would like. And even as I liked this place, enjoyed being in it talking to the owner, I had a sort of flat feeling about it. I tried to think about why I must not be excited about it, and even considering the drawbacks, I couldn't figure it out...until I reminded myself that it must just not be the place in which I am going to end up living. No real reason except that it just isn't in the cards, as they say.

And sure enough, it didn't pan out--not because I had a negative feeling about it nor because I decided against it, but because we need a place that accepts my roommate's beloved cats, and this place didn't.

If anyone has read this far in this post, you are probably ready for some pictures to save the day. So here you go.

I have been feeling so happy about this work trip (to Palmer, Willow, Talkeetna)from the moment it popped into my head that now is a good time to take it. Walking-down-the-halls-at-work-talking-to-myself happy about it. This winter has been record-breaking. Fifty-year record-breaking, I heard. It was still breaking records when I planned this road trip, but I was excited about it, cold or not, and knew from that feeling that somehow the weather and nothing else would stop me. And it hasn't. Not because I'm unstoppable nor because I'm stubborn and headstrong, but because it was just going to happen. It has been sunny and warm enough for me to go about a lot of business without even putting on a coat in an area that was 40 below a few short days ago.

So, to put it a little more succinctly, I sort of believe/think/feel/ that rather than things happening in my life because I want or encourage or work for them to, what's really going on is that I get excited about them because they are going to happen.

I don't know. It's just a theory.

And here's where I say "Goodnight,"

and dream about tomorrow.

Can I Ask You A Question?

2012-01-25T19:26:00.000-08:00

Let The Games Begin

I keep thinking I will write a blog post rather than show a blog post once in a while. As you may remember, I started my blog after I bought my first digital camera a few years ago and it has always been one of my youthful dreams to take really good pictures. I derive such pleasure from looking at good photographs--almost as much as I love reading a very well-turned phrase. And yeah, ok, I used to have dreams of being a crafty writer, too, but...well, for now, I'll settle for (and enjoy) playing tag games on blogs.

Here's the back story: A blogosphere acquaintance (http://nicolemoncur.blogspot.com/) has challenged me to answer some questions she posed, and then to play-it-forward by "tagging" other bloggers with questions of my own. The tagging part might be more challenging than answering the questions, because I keep running up against some very annoying roadblocks on blogger with commenting, uploading pictures, etc. But oh poo-let's just leave that stuff behind for now and get to the questions I've been asked to answer:

What is your favorite book and why?
No one favorite, as you might imagine. It's even difficult to choose a favorite genre, but here's the first dog-eared, loose-paged, well-worn book that popped into my mind's eye.

The Joys of Yiddish by Leo Rosten because it's wonderfully and surprisingly hilarious and poignant. It's not necessarily the best book I've ever read or the most important or the most indispensable, but I laugh so much when I read it that it still makes me smile broadly just to remember when I first discovered it. It is, in Mr. Rosten's own words:
"a relaxed lexicon of Yiddish, Hebrew, and Yinglish words often encountered in English, plus dozens that ought to be, with serendipitous excursions into Jewish humor, habits, holidays, history, religion, ceremonies, folklore, and cuisine–the whole generously garnished with stories, anecdotes, epigrams, Talmudic quotations, folk sayings, and jokes.”

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
This is probably the most impossible (are there degrees of impossible?) question to answer. I often have no idea where I might find myself in 10 minutes, let alone after a whole decade passes. And that is not to say that a whole decade is very long, even. Especially at this point in my life, but how in the world did I end up where I am now from where I have been at various times in my life?!

You might wonder that I don't have a plan or a goal or even a dream, but I really don't. All I know is that I would like to have enough of what ever it takes to fall as in love with that season and place of my life as I have with most of the others.

If I were to pick an unspecified moment 10 years from now, I think a road trip would be a nice thing to be doing. With anyone I like. Discovering an unusual vista, meeting a new friend, chomping on chocolate.

Where is your favorite restaurant and what do you order there?
Similar to the question about books. Who can choose, but I love Korean food. I like it best in Korea, in a traditional Korean eatery with low round tables and 100 side dishes. The kind of kimchi that's wrapped around secreted tidbits like chestnuts, dates, and other vegetables. Sesame oil on rice cakes filled with honey and sesame seeds. Smokey, grilled marinated beef, red pepper paste, short-grain rice, barley tea...oh, and spicy, spicy stir-fried squid. And don't forget the napkins. Lots and lots of napkins!

What was your first childhood memory?
Most likely something to do with a doll. I used to anthropomorphize my little doll friends, even though I had lots of siblings and loved playing with them, and had no real need of creating imaginary friends, unless leprechauns and fairies fit into that category. Dolls with pretty hair.
OR...riding a tricycle with my little cousin down to the school yard where city workers told us they were digging for the devil just before their tools ruptured a water main that came spewing forth, sending me screaming and running to save my very life and soul. Pleasant experience, that.

What is the most daring thing you have ever done or what are you the most proud of accomplishing?
Surviving. But I don't take credit for that.

And so finally, here are questions and bloggers I have tagged because that looks like how the game is played. These are the people I think would be most likely to play this game. Of course, I would love to read anyone's answers to the questions, so if anyone feels inclined to answer them and come up with your own with which to tag people, it's kind of fun.

Which of the four seasons do you most anticipate and why?
If you had to be trapped in a TV show for a month, which show would you choose and why?
Which activities make you lose track of time and how often do you do them?
What’s something you know you do differently than most people?
What do you consider to be the most halcyon season of your life?

Olie
NancyHanaike
JuliaPineda
HillaryDobbins
DeEtta
LOV

Sure It's Cold, But...

2012-01-22T15:48:00.000-08:00

The Place Chief Rolling Mountain Thunder Built

2012-01-12T17:37:00.000-08:00

During the years I lived in Ogden, Salt Lake City and San Francisco, I (sometimes we) took several trips over the years across Nevada and on one such trip, after having driven by this place just outside of Winnemucca, NV, numerous times without stopping, I had a change of heart, turned my car around and drove the messed up dirt road to get to Thunder Mountain, Nevada. You can see it from the highway, but it doesn't look very appealing. It just looks ... odd. Up close, it looks ... still odd.

It has a draw, though. To me, it was like searching those hidden-picture puzzles that I think are so clever. This was a few years ago, so maybe it's in a better state of repair these days. The website certainly looks much prettier than what I remember of my visit to this lonely little roadside oddity and it tells of restoration, along with some background and history of Chief Rolling Mountain Thunder, the man who built the monument.

The story is quite interesting. Tragic and mesmerizing, if you're into that at all.

http://www.thundermountainmonument.com/

A Little Bit of Enchantment (More Road Trip Pageantry)

2012-01-09T05:11:00.000-08:00

This is the previously-mentioned trip to New Mexico through Ouray--nothing about Ouray in this post, but I sure like thinking about Ouray and saying it correctly which is "Your Ray."

"When the Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe was completed in 1878, there was no way to access the choir loft twenty-two feet above. Carpenters were called in to address the problem, but they all concluded access to the loft would have to be via ladder as a staircase would interfere with the interior space of the small Chapel.

Legend says that to find a solution to the seating problem, the Sisters of the Chapel made a novena to St. Joseph, the patron saint of carpenters. On the ninth and final day of prayer, a man appeared at the Chapel with a donkey and a toolbox looking for work. Months later, the elegant circular staircase was completed, and the carpenter disappeared without pay or thanks.

After searching for the man (an ad even ran in the local newspaper) and finding no trace of him, some concluded that he was St. Joseph himself, having come in answer to the sisters' prayers."

Or, maybe it was Homer Smith.

"The design was innovative for the time and some of the design considerations still perplex experts today.

The staircase has two 360 degree turns and no visible means of support. Also, it is said that the staircase was built without nails—only wooden pegs. Questions also surround the number of stair risers relative to the height of the choir loft and about the types of wood and other materials used in the stairway's construction."

I like it because it's so pretty. And shiney.

All of the pictures above this point were taken in Santa Fe. This one below was just somewhere on the road,

and these flamingos are denizens of Farmington, NM, where we spent several years when I was a child,

and spent a lot of my sofa pennies on these treats.

I took the pictures of the backs of my traveling companions while they thought I was off enjoying some little tourist attraction or other...little did they know, I enjoyed watching them more. (Brother, sister, sister's grandson.)

Breakfast in Cuba, pronounced Kyuba and not Cooba.

Anyone who's ever traveled that route might wonder how we came to be in Cuba at breakfast time. Either coming or going, it's not situated strategically for a breakfast stop. (I'm going to be nice and not call it the little pee-spot that some might consider it to be.)

See, what happened is, we had planned to lodge overnight in Farmington on the way down, but couldn't settle on an appropriate place to stay. If you recall, our schedule was a tad bit compromised by having blinked at the Moab turnoff earlier in the day and we had already decided we would just "play it by ear" when it came to pulling in for sleep somewhere. Free spirits, the lot of us!

We people always, always and most usually, spend the night in Farmington when making that trip to Roswell from Ogden. This night, however, we weren't sure so we hadn't made reservations. That meant we had to drive around and see what was available. Armstrong driving around is something for the books, trust me. If you have four of us in a car, you're going to have at minimum five opinions about every decision (but Kaid is so easy-going this time it was five decisions divided among three people) with each opinion usually beginning like this: "I don't care either way--you guys decide. I'm just along for the ride."

Condense the story and you have no vacancies, seedy vacancies, let's -just-check-the-one-across-the-street-and-come-back-here-if-we-don't-like-it vacancies that can quickly become no vacancies, and then strange places with strange people hanging around in the lobby and scary people pointing "gun-fingers" at us. FOR NO REASON. (I might need to get new glasses, because I thought they were just greeting us until Kaid asked why I waved at someone pretending to shoot a gun.)

We decided to make a break for Cuba instead. At least we called ahead to check for rooms in the only place open there at that hour. But not open for long--we got there on the nose before it was closed for the evening. Got there through a rainstorm, might I just add. Got there to share a couple of rooms with a couple of other life forms. Well, not really life forms as they lay scattered and dead in the windowsills, but at least the ones in NM aren't as big as the ones in Texas.

Hence and ergo--a very good breakfast in Cuba, New Mexico. You can tell by the happily glowing faces in the picture that we weathered the little setback quite well. Breakfast was on its way and we were hungry and in New Mexico where you just can't get a bad meal. I think it has something to do with the soil where the peppers grow.

If you play your cards right, someday I might just post my mom's recipe for New Mexico stacked enchiladas. Don't bother expecting a picture of them, though. No time for cameras and picture-taking when Nancy's enchilada supper is being inhaled.

Have It Ouray! (Speaking of Road Trips)

2012-01-07T01:38:00.000-08:00

When my brother, sister and her grandson, and I took a trip to Roswell to see Mom, we accidently detoured through Red Mountain Pass in Colorado. Somebody blinked at the Moab, UT turnoff and by the time we figured that out, we decided not to turn back. The clerk at the filling station said it would be a beautiful drive through Red Mountain, just a little longer and we would surely enjoy the scenery. We drove through Ouray, CO, and I remarked that it reminded me of pictures I had seen of the Swiss Alps.

It took my breath away. Nevermind that I had traveled through there before--when I was a young child and we lived in that part of Colorado--it was surprisingly stunning. But, my brother the driver was not happy at having missed the shorter route and this new way seemed to never end. He was driven to get to Roswell and not waste any more time than we had to. I, on the other hand, wanted to stop and take pictures at every curve in the road. At one particularly striking pass, my sister looked back at me without saying a word aloud, but with a look that said, "Uh-oh--now THAT is a once-in-a-lifetime photo op that you're just going to have to do without." Then we got to Silverton and I wanted to take more pictures of yet another charming little mining town.

All I could do was pronounce, "I'm going to come here on vacation sometime." My brother answered, "You are on vacation and you are here."

Well, yeah...I guess. We made it to my mom's, which was, after all, the point of the trip and had a wonderful time visiting with her and we even managed to work out travel details that allowed us another little detour to Santa Fe on the way home. That's another post with more pictures.

That was in the spring or early summer, and true to my impulsive nature, I announced that I was going to take a little trip back to Ouray, Colorado, the Switzerland of America just a few short months later. We had a four-day weekend and rented a van to make it easier and roomier for little ones. Katy and Jon, my neice Jillian and her two children, and I drove down in the van, my sister and her grandson came in their own car and we had a FANTABULOUS long weekend in October in Ouray and surrounding areas.

Had the run of a couple of suites in a Victorian hotel that was just getting ready to close for the season. A five-and-dime-type store was going out of business in town there, and I can't remember exactly what I purchased, but I do remember it was a great deal! Of course, we tried the local cuisine, including a candy store where they make cookies with left-over candy bits thrown in the dough. The regular hot springs were closed, but the clothing-optional hot springs were open. Actually, not really clothing-optional--that's just what we called them in California--here, it was just plain "nudist" because if you wanted to wear your clothes, you couldn't. We traveled to Telluride and Silverton and had a couple of other accidental detours on the way back through Gateway, Ut., which was another eye-opening experience for me.

The following pictures are a few of my favorites and are an example of the kinds of things I like to take pictures of on a road trip. The muddy-looking river is not muddy, but stained with iron tailings and my camera couldn't quite figure out how to get the true color. In real life that creek was very rust-colored.

Days Of Auld Lang Syne

2012-01-02T00:08:00.000-08:00

Well, maybe not so long since.

Let me take this time right here and now to say for anyone who doesn't already know, I DO NOT MAKE NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS and I don't often keep track of my life in increments from January 1st to Dec. 31st, so naturally, I don't think I've ever spoken or written, or caused to be spoken or written, any semblance of "the year in retrospect." Usually for me, the occurance of certain remarkable events tend to order my memories and relfections until the whole lot of them become so jumbled in the passing of time, I often don't even remember how old I am. Sometimes, periods that I call various seasons of me or seasons of some aspect or other of me, can take quite some time to fade into days of "old long since."

For example, I moved to Alaska smack dab in the middle of...last summer was it? and that event has been lasting until now, which is this winter. This, though, I so cleverly began to call my Season of This is Big. And it keeps getting bigger.

Howsomever, on the 1st day of 2012 in the Year of Our Lord, here I am indulging in a look back at the previous year! Oh well, another thing those who know me know is that I succumb to at least a few contradictions of thought, expression and behavior.

First thing that comes to mind is the first road trip of 2011 when my kids (kid and kid-in-law) accompanied my mother and me on a trip from Ogden, UT to Roswell, NM via Ft. Collins, CO. My mother had come up to visit children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, as she sometimes does. My brother drove to her home in NM and the two of them had their own road trip up to Ogden, but that's their story and I can't tell it, not having been there. I can imagine it, as we take that trip a lot, but I think mother and son had some unusual alone time that they really enjoyed. When it was time for her to go back, the three of us took her home, stopping at another of her children's home in CO.

Katy and Jon with Mom on her porch in Roswell, NM

Not the first New Mexico road trip for any of us. And certainly, Katy and I have travelled --well, --- plenty, I must say.
Then, because of a very ugly, mean, appalling, damaging and did I say mean? political upheaval at work, I began looking for a new job. Now I have this job. In a whirl, Katy, Jon and I were on the road again, trekking across Canada for another almost week-long road trip to Anchorage, AK. You've seen those posts too. In Canada, I met up with a friend I hadn't seen since the early 1980s, if we're going to count in years, and I did manage to spend at least a couple of weeks in Helena, MT where I used to work summers, but won't be able to do that anymore, for a while.

I have imagined myself living/working/being changed in a number of regions of the country, maybe even in another country, such as Korea again, but somehow Alaska never really entered the picture. When Katy would talk about wanting to travel to Alaska, I could let myself imagine how fun that might be -- for her. When people would tell me how much they enjoyed Alaskan cruises, I thought it was great -- for them.

Also, living in Ogden, I was beginning to feel settled, rooted, if you will, for about the second time in my life as an adult, the first being our decade stint in San Francisco before another out-of-the-blue event sent us wheeling across Nevada headed for Utah.

Having experienced not just a few significant events in my life, facing many unexpected changes, challenges and pounding-on-the-door types of opportunities, it must speak volumes, as they say, that this coming-to-Alaska season is the one I choose to call "This is Big." Maybe one reason is that I'm not as young as I used to be when I relished and felt strong and capable enough to handle the interjection of surprising and demanding changes in my life, and another reason could be that I don't think I was all that sure about leaving my only-child daughter so far away, however grown and happily married she may be. Still not overly thrilled with the separation, to be honest. I do not remember a time in our lives together that I wished for her to hurry and grow up and leave me rattling and echoing around in that proverbial empty nest.

Other loved ones are also a lot further away, and if you'll notice, I spent the holidays away from family this year!

Part of this job now is to travel to rural, bush, village Alaska to provide low-vision services across the state, and you can read in previous posts about the other road trips and air trips I have taken so far. I've taken other trips, too, just on my own to make sure I get to see something I think I want to see.

What I would really like to be able to do in this blog is write about people I meet, but because of professional confidentiality, I can't so that so much.

This month I am headed out to the Eastern Aleutian Islands--Sand Point, King Cove, Dutch Harbor and Unalaska. Maybe I'll even be able to tour the Peter Pan Cannery. Take some pictures, maybe get weathered-in and have to spend some extra time. I've been told that it is not uncommon for people to not be able to get out of the area once they make it in. Wind. It has a tendency to make and keep flying unpredictable. They have cautioned me to take some books to read, just in case.

Sometime "this year," I will also take a trip to the Pribilofs (used to be called Northern Fur Seal Islands.)

I think I am going shopping for a warmer coat and maybe some other warmer articles of clothing, although last night at the New Year's downtown celebration, standing in the cold on the snow watching the fireworks, the only part of my body that didn't stay warm was my face. (Well, and my knuckles because I couldn't take pictures with my mittens on.) A ski mask?

All in the name of having experiences.

Great Health And Every Good Blessing To You!

2012-01-01T02:47:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

I have to say it, and love doing so, even though I think it seems a bit counter-intuitive to celebrate new beginnings in the dead of winter like this. And how is it that we treat the passing of a year like it's a thing rather than a concept? As though the year itself brought good things and bad into our lives.

Nevertheless, as we set our hopeful faces toward 2012:

"... there's a hand my trusty friend,
And give us a hand o' thine."

Happy Very Merry Christmas!

2011-12-26T01:59:00.000-08:00

I didn't spend Christmas with my family this year. And honestly, I didn't miss them anymore than I have already been missing them since I moved up here to Anchorage. The thing about wanting to be near loved ones is that you want to share things with them. The whole time I've been enjoying all these new experiences, I've been wishing someone I know who would appreciate them like I do was also along for the ride. Naturally, I miss my kid and kid-in-law, and I've been places and done things that remind me of others in my family, some I will never see again in this lifetime, imagining what it would be like to have them along, but that doesn't mean I haven't been enjoying the experiences anyway. I certainly have.

(This is how Katy decorated my first package from "home." She likes to surprise me with sentimentality. I wonder where she gets that.)

I think everything I've been doing, seeing, being for at least the last several months, if not most of my life, ("the goodness of loving, the gladness of living,") has been every bit as wonderful, mystical and magical as Christmas usually is for me. So, how much I miss my family now, (and a couple of friends, too) and how much most people miss loved ones who aren't with them at Christmastime, is how much I've been mssing them all along.

Second In A Series Of Delightful Christmas Readings

2011-12-14T00:22:00.000-08:00

This is my all-time favorite! I'm including passages of description because Truman Capote is such a crafty wordsmith, as well as a captivating story teller. I won't include a spoiler, but believe me, this story is magically poignant. You could read the whole thing in one sitting. Please do.
A Christmas Memory
Truman Capote
http://www.nexuslearning.net/books/holt_elementsoflit-3/Collection%204/Collection%202/A%20Christmas%20Memory%20p1.htm

"...A coming of winter morning...
"...It’s always the same: A morning arrives in November, and my friend, as though officially inaugurating the Christmas time of year that exhilarates her imagination and fuels the blaze of her heart, announces: “It’s fruitcake weather! Fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat.”

The hat is found, a straw cartwheel corsaged with velvet roses out-of-doors has faded; it once belonged to a more fashionable relative. Together, we guide our buggy, a dilapidated baby carriage, out to the garden and into a grove of pecan trees.

Three hours later we are back in the kitchen hulling a heaping buggyload of windfall pecans. ...Caarackle! A cheery crunch, scraps of miniature thunder sound as the shells collapse and the golden mound of sweet, oily, ivory meat mounts in the milk-glass bowl. ..The kitchen is growing dark. Dusk turns the window into a mirror: Our reflections mingle with the rising moon as we work by the fireside in the firelight. At last, when the moon is quite high, we toss the final hull into the fire and, with joined sighs, watch it catch flame. The buggy is empty; the bowl is brimful.

"Tomorrow the kind of work I like best begins: buying. Cherries and citron, ginger and vanilla and canned Hawaiian pineapple, rinds and raisins and walnuts and whiskey and oh, so much flour, butter, so many eggs, spices, flavorings: Why, we’ll need a pony to pull the buggy home.

"...The black stove, stoked with coal and firewood, glows like a lighted pumpkin. Eggbeaters whirl, spoons spin round in bowls of butter and sugar, vanilla sweetens the air, ginger spices it; melting, nose-tingling odors saturate the kitchen, suffuse the house, drift out to the world on puffs of chimney smoke. In four days our work is done. Thirty-one cakes, dampened with whiskey, bask on window sills and shelves.

Morning. Frozen rime lusters the grass; the sun, round as an orange and orange as hot-weather moons, balances on the horizon, burnishes the silvered winter woods. A wild turkey calls. A renegade hog grunts in the undergrowth. Always, the path unwinds through lemony sun pools and pitch vine tunnels.

Scented acres of holiday trees, prickly-leafed holly. Red berries shiny as Chinese bells: Black crows swoop upon them screaming.

(While lying in a field flying homemade Christmas kites:)
“My, how foolish I am!” my friend cries, suddenly alert, like a woman remembering too late she has biscuits in the oven. “You know what I’ve always thought?” she asks in a tone of discovery, and smiling not at me but a point beyond. “I’ve always thought a body would have to be sick and dying before they saw the Lord. And I imagined that when He came it would be like looking at the Baptist window: pretty as colored glass with the sun pouring through, such a shine you don’t know it’s getting dark. And it’s been a comfort: to think of that shine taking away all the spooky feeling. But I’ll wager it never happens. I’ll wager at the very end a body realizes the Lord has already shown Himself. That things as they are”—her hand circles in a gesture that gathers clouds and kites and grass and Queenie pawing earth over her bone—“just what they’ve always seen, was seeing Him. As for me, I could leave the world with today in my eyes.”

First In A Series Of Delightful Christmas Readings Or Parts Thereof

2011-12-12T03:36:00.000-08:00

(Not necessarily in order of their value to me, but as they come to me.)

Excerpted From A Child's Christmas in Wales, by Dylan Thomas (a teaser--you would really love the whole poem and it's not that long or you could watch it on Netflix or something.)

"All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea...

"Bags of moist and many-colored jelly babies and a folded flag and a false nose and a tram-conductor's cap and a machine that punched tickets and rang a bell; never a catapult; once, by mistake that no one could explain, a little hatchet; and a celluloid duck that made, when you pressed it, a most unducklike sound, a mewing moo that an ambitious cat might make who wished to be a cow; and a painting book in which I could make the grass, the trees, the sea and the animals any colour I pleased, and still the dazzling sky-blue sheep are grazing in the red field under the rainbow-billed and pea-green birds. Hardboileds, toffee, fudge and allsorts, crunches, cracknels, humbugs, glaciers, marzipan, and butterwelsh for the Welsh. And troops of bright tin soldiers who, if they could not fight, could always run. And Snakes-and-Families and Happy Ladders. And Easy Hobbi-Games for Little Engineers, complete with instructions. Oh, easy for Leonardo! And a whistle to make the dogs bark to wake up the old man next door to make him beat on the wall with his stick to shake our picture off the wall. And a packet of cigarettes: you put one in your mouth and you stood at the corner of the street and you waited for hours, in vain, for an old lady to scold you for smoking a cigarette, and then with a smirk you ate it. And then it was breakfast under the balloons...

"Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang 'Cherry Ripe,' and another uncle sang 'Drake's Drum.' It was very warm in the little house. Auntie Hannah, who had got on to the parsnip wine, sang a song about Bleeding Hearts and Death, and then another in which she said her heart was like a Bird's Nest; and then everybody laughed again; and then I went to bed. Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept. "

Peninsula Panhandle Ports; Juneau and Sitka

2011-12-04T15:28:00.000-08:00

Tlingit totems.

Sitka, Alaska, the city itself, is like a living historic center. It was settled by the Tlingit Indians when it was “discovered” they Russians. Alexander Baranof, Chief Manager of the Russian-American Company built a trading post in the late 1799 where Sitka is now. Relations between the two cultures deteriorated and the Tlingit’s burned down the Russian sector. Baranof returned, rebuilt, and became governor of Russian Alaska.

Salmon fishing was the main industry of this area until the 1950s when Salmon populations dropped. Today, tourism, commercial fishing, and the government are the economic mainstay of Sitka, Alaska. When we arrived, whole place was buried under an unseasonably large dump of snow. After skating around the slippery little town for a day or so, I finally broke down and bought a pair of boots--my only souvenier from this trip.

Temperate rainforests, such as this lush area, sport a larger biomass compared to tropical rainforests with their larger biodiversity...(or so I've been told. It looks quite biomassive to me.)

Juneau grew from a Native fishing village inhabited seasonally to harvest fish, to become a hub for a large-scale hard-rock mining industry. The mountains surrounding Juneau were honey-combed into a giant underground gold mine: the Alaska-Juneau Mine (better known as the A-J Mine) and the Alaska-Gastineau Mill, owned by The Treadwell Gold Mining Company. The AJ Mine, at its peak, was the largest gold mine of its type in the world. Economic factors caused the mine to close in 1944. At that time it had produced more than $75 million in gold. It still has more miles of tunnels underground than there are surface roads in Juneau.

Mendenhall Glacier:

A growler, or bergy bit? From a calving glacier. So very blue!

This lovely little home was being decorated right as I took this picture, so I didn't get the finished product, but nonetheless, what is a post about Juneau without a picture of the governor's mansion?

And finally, a couple of studies in contrast. Just for fun.

I'm A Sucker For A Pretty Tree

2011-11-26T01:24:00.000-08:00

You might have concluded that from all my posts that include pictures of trees,

and pictures of things framed by trees.

Artificial trees

that hover over darling little play-pretties

and trees with snow-hooded artificial lights threaded throughout.

But I think my favorite Christmas tree so far this year is the floating tree I can see right out my north-facing window when I'm watching and waiting for my turn to finally see the ever-tauted Aurora Borealis.

Go And Tell My Friends That I Remember Them

2011-11-23T02:03:00.000-08:00

Just in case they've forgotten me way up here.

I do have to say, though, that even at this time of year, the homesickness is bearable. It must be the Alaska air. Couldn't be that I'm old enough to have lived long enough to understand enough to know enough. Could it? Actually, tonight it is less bearable than it has been and I think it's because I broke down and decided to do some holiday cooking. We're having a party at work tomorrow. Since I've been here I haven't brought any of my mad culinary skills to light. Have felt neither the need nor the desire.

But I brought with me on my trip up here some of the jars of green tomato mince pie filling I canned in Utah where I could get all that fresh and hearty local produce. I'm pretty sure my rustic pie will not be completely consumed at the dinner tomorrow because people just don't know good pie when its set before them. Because it's not pumpkin. Never mind that it has great Willard Montmorency dried cherries and Meyer lemons with zest and peel and Aunt Yvette's pears and apples and yes, even green tomatoes in it. Freshly ground-from-whole spices. Riverdale Gideon's honey and brown sugar. Why, I think it's even better than homemade Amish apple butter and that's some statement coming from me.

(Remember, I said it was rustic.)

I bought a Tur-Duc-Ken, too, for the first time. Hooo-eeee, but that was spendy! I might even have to like it at that price, whether I want to or not. We'll see.

It's not just the food, of course, that heightens the awareness of my being "all alone" up here in this frozen land. (I have never heard such noisy snow, by the way. Walking on it cancels out any other sound. Driving on it sounds like the gears are grinding. Is it because it's such cold snow?)

The fact that I am all alone up here has at least a little to do with my flashing melancholy. I miss Katy and Jon, probably the most...and the little kids in the family...and the big kids, too. I miss my mom and my siblings and in-laws. Old friends. I miss the neuroses that burst upon the scene at this time.

Right. I'm not really all alone. I have friends. I have invitations. I have those interesting voices in my head. I'm happy.
It's Thanksgiving.

I Saw The Harbor Lights

2011-11-16T00:16:00.000-08:00

On The Road To Glennallen...Or White Is A Color, Too!

2011-11-03T00:14:00.000-07:00

It is now after 10 PM and I sit comfortably on the couch of a stranger's home. It's the B&B side of their duplex in Kenny Lake. She's a professional who works in this area where I have come to do some of my own "working." I'm on a work junket, I guess you could call it. It's the rural outreach part of my "Rural Outreach Coordinator" position.

Last night I left Talkeetna and Willow, stayed in Wasilla/Palmer and got on the road this morning bound for this area that I don't know what to call. Maybe I'll call it "Almost Perfect" or "All This And Heaven, Too?" Almost made Talkeetna seem passe'.

I'm a happy little miss where I live in Anchorage, still discovering so many jewell-toned comforts and surprises. But when I found Talkeetna the other day, I had a deep desire to find a way to move up there and stay forever. It was dusk on Hallowe'en, downtown shops were staying open for trick-or-treaters, people of all ages, sizes and costumes were happily wondering down the streets, alleys and roadways--didn't see a lot of sidewalks. Snow was falling, and I found my way into the lodge I posted pictures of a couple of days ago--or was that yesterday?

I met people at Sunshine Clinic in--hmmmmm, was it Sunshine? They let me stay in the cottage up the hill that used to be the clinic proper. It got scary after everyone went home and I was the only one staying in that dark, dark area...milling around the big two-bedroom cottage by myself...hearing sounds that I didn't think should be there, looking for but not seeing any neighbors. More scary than living in my so-called "higher-crime" neighborhood of uptown Anchorage.

I met more people at the Upper Susitna Senior Activities weekly luncheon. And I met even more, more people in their homes along the way between Palmer, Wasilla, Willow and Talkeetna. And when I say met them in their homes, I don't necessarily mean by pulling up along the sidewalk and going up to the door, I mean by following directions like this; "Drive to mile 89.6, but it's not marked, but when you get to that lodge-pole-pine sign put on your brakes because you're going to turn immediately after the sign, drive down the road for the length of about 2 1/2 city blocks, turn left at the first tree..." One family I met lived at the end of a dead end street named after them!

My job is to find people who might be in need of the low vision services we can offer, but who might not know a center like ours exists. Then I can work with them. I depend upon referrals from other people or from community health centers or from people I meet at the Alaskan Federation of Nations Arts and Crafts exhibit who also volunteer at food pantries or senior centers or native health centers.

Sometimes I just go out and beat the bush---EVERY SINGLE PUN INTENDED! (Because, remember, that's what they call remote areas around here--the bush.)

Tomorrow early my new traveling companion and I will set out for Valdez to go talk to people in clinics, centers and homes in that area. We'll spend most of the day there, come back to Kenny Lake and visit Gulkana, Gokana, Something Lakey Lake or Tazlina or Some Such Copper Something Creek or River. I'll get it down when I'm more used to it. My colleague told me today that they don't really call things by official names, anyway--some people say one thing, some people say something else. As a matter of fact that's what someone told me about Sunshine, now that I think about it. It's the Sunshine Clinic because the area around there is technically or officially or traditionally called Sunshine, but some people just call it the Y because of fork in the road. The Y area.

I went 25 miles past my turn-off to Kenny Lake. (I only know I missed my turn when the mile markers for Valdez were just too close and I found a roadside place to pull in to ask for directions. It was closed but there was a man working in a shed who gave me directions. As I pulled away, a woman on the porch called after me, "BE SAFE!")

And then I happened upon this scene (below.) When I pulled over--well, I didn't really pull over, I just stopped in the road because, let's face it, where does one pull over on such a slick, snowy road out in the middle of no where--I got out of my car to get a closer look at it. I couldn't tell if it had just happened and someone might be inside or if it had been there a while. I got closer and heard the bing-bing-bing sound cars make these days when you leave your keys in the ignition. I couldn't see anyone inside but I saw an official state car pull up from a side road. I walked over to them to ask if this accident had been reported or looked into and there was a woman sitting in the passenger seat of the state car. She said, "That's mine and I'm all right."

Still Finding Gold In Alaska

2011-11-02T02:05:00.000-07:00

First snowfall this winter in Anchorage. It was the Sunday before Hallowe'en and people were already trick-or-treating downtown. I always like to take a walk on First-Snow Days.

I also like to take a drive on First-Snow Days. Here's a view from Turnagain Arm.

I wonder if someone should tell these turkeys they might need a bigger house, since it's going to be the two of them, now.

This is the Day After First-Snow Day in Talkeetna at a cafe/lodge where I chose a warm molasses ginger cookie over a slice of Granny's potato chocolate cake for my Hallowe'en treat.

PURE D GOLD.

You Say Bushcraft, I Say Splendid!

2011-10-29T00:44:00.000-07:00

Before I came North, (yes, with a capital "N,") I went in search of blogs about living in Alaska. I found quite a few and my favorites were about "living off the grid," and various other wilderness survival posts. (Where was all this blogging about lashing your own snowshoes when I was doing that kind of thing back in the day? Don't you dare make a comment about how long ago that was!) That search led me to two of my favorite blogs to look in on, and oddly enough, neither one of them is about Alaska.

One is written by a wizard (I hope he doesn't mind my using that epithet to describe him) honing out a wilderness life in Seoul, Korea. Well, if you know much about me, you know how this just carved it's way into my heart and psyche. Manta was a mere college boy at the time I was falling in love with his country. (They told me back then that living in Seoul would be like camping out in New York City. I don't really know what that means, but it certainly was a huge adventure.)I know he was studying very hard, because getting into college in Seoul has never been easy, I think. And he's a literature instructor or professor or teacher--not sure which--but if it's literature, it's smart. I could be a bit biased about that, but not much. This is one of my favorite posts of his, but check them all out--you won't be sorry. He can turn anything into something better!

http://manta-bushcraft.blogspot.com/2011/07/private-natural-bathtub.html

The other place I love to visit is Buzzard's place. Across the pond. He mentioned something about Ulster in one of his posts--so you know what that did to me, too. I don't know what a welig is, but I think I like weligs because of his post about basket-weaving. He has a lot of other good stories and wonderful pictures of enjoying and employing the natural world, including, but not limited to worms in cod fish, diving gannets, snow-laden Lord Conway's limes, berries on bushes becoming berry jam in jars, among a myriad of other delights.

http://buzzardbushcraft.blogspot.com/2011/09/bolt-from-blue.html

Manta and Buzzard, I hope you don't mind that I am linking to your sites. I can't even get permission from you because for some stupid reason, I have been unable to comment on your blogs. I can't figure out why, because I used to be able to. Maybe some day soon I will get someone more savvy than myself to help me with that problem. In the meantime, I keep looking for your latest posts, savoring each word and image, sorry that I can't post comments about them.. I'm also going to post links to facebook, hoping you don't mind.

These are qayaks made at the Alaska Native Heritage Center. I might have to do another post about this. In the meantime, I wanted to include a picture of "bush crafting" without taking it off someone else's blog. This is a picture from my own camera.

Of Moose And Bears And A Little Chapel In The Chugach

2011-10-23T14:16:00.000-07:00

Isn't this cute?

I really want to take a walk up the hill and take some up-close pictures of this little charmer. I've even been given permission to go into the church offices down in the valley and retrieve the keys to get into the chapel from off the wall behind the door if no one is around to give them to me. The trail head that begins next to the wee cemetary looks oh-so-inviting. But look at this landscape. There could be bears! Or worse, MOOSE!

Well, actually there are moose in those hills. St. John's Cathedral and school and retreat and personal homes in this Antiochian Orthodox community are nestled neatly and sweetly down and around a peaceful country lane in Eagle River. And I've been told stories of moose clip-clopping along that same country lane. I didn't know until I moved here that I should be so cautious of moose. Even the bears steer clear of them.

There could very easily be bears in them thar hills, too. If they're not nosing around in some apartment building laundry room in Anchorage. (Yes, I know the woman who lives there--right off Muldoon.) Heard on the radio they had to herd a bear out of the grocery store produce department in Ketchikan just the other day. That's not Anchorage, of course, but still. Even in this city of more than 260,000 human residents, the wild animals often come to town for a visit.

They've told me at work that it's a legitimate reason to be late or even not show up to work if a moose ever gets in my way. And that includes getting out of the car right there at work, because they have been known to lumber around in our parking lot. A man I know who is blind was walking along the sidewalk looking for the bus stop and turned over his shoulder to ask the person a little further behind him if the bus stop was nearby. The stranger didn't answer him, so he just turned around to continue walking when people from across the street called out to him that a moose was following him! Stranger, indeed! I blame his mom for not teaching him about the danger of talking to moose!

And then another man I know with very poor vision thought he was talking to his mailman out in his yard one dark, snowy winter day. Couldn't figure out why the mailman was traipsing through the trees in his yard instead of using the cleared-off sidewalk, until his neighbor clued him in on the visitor.

I've only ever seen moose on the loose from a car--once one was crossing the street from the mall to the filling station. There was that time many years ago when my friend and I went camping in South Fork of Ogden Canyon--last minute decision one early fall and we didn't have a tent. We were the ONLY ONES in the whole area. That was in the day when they didn't close off all the roads before summer was even over like they do now. We layed out our sleeping bags close to the car and also, unexplainedly, close to the garbage can. We must have thought it would provide a bit of extra protection. Not asleep, but with my head zipped into the bag, I lay listening to my friend snoozing away and then I heard movement from across the trail. It got closer and closer and I got more and more still. Tried to still my breathing, as a matter of fact. Whatever it was nuzzled and bumped my knees! I kid you not. It snorted and huffed and then I thought it growled. Rustled around the empty, tinny-sounding garbage can and left. I didn't move for hours! I still don't know what it was. Big. It was big. Bear? Moose? Boose?

I told a friend I didn't want to do much hiking these days because I don't have bear spray, but she said she has a couple so she can give me one of hers. You never know where you might bump into an unsuspecting, easily-alarmed and therefore, dangerous boose.

Hatcher Pass, Talkeetna Mtns, Mat-su Valley, AK

2011-09-27T00:18:00.000-07:00

CLICK ON PICTURES TO ENLARGE--THEY LOOK MUCH PRETTIER BIGGER!

Is There A Name For That Delightful Time Between Summer And Fall?

2011-09-16T01:53:00.000-07:00

Fireweed tops out.

(A few minutes ago, it looked like this:)

Chlorophyll production slows down.

Carotenoids and anthocyanins become exposed in leaves.

Cute little moose calves lumber into that awkward adolescent stage.

I am thoroughly enchanted.

Copper!

2011-09-13T18:34:00.000-07:00

As you know, when copper ages, it turns green. These are rooftops in Copperton, UT. Some of the homes are brand new with the old copper shingles preserved and used in old and new ways.

I have a connection with Copperton, UT, and indeed the whole copper-mining "world," in that D C Jackling is an ancestor of mine. Here's his 100+ year-old house on South Temple in Salt Lake City, and a bit of professional history about him. Actually, I think the genealogical history is much more interesting, dealing with his family's immigration from England to the United States and his orphan-hood, etc., but this suffices for now, because this post is about copper.

Daniel Cowan Jackling, a prominent mining engineer, was known as the “Utah Copper Prince.” Among his many successful ventures were the development of the Masabi iron range in Minnesota, gold mines in Mercur, Utah, and developing copper lands that became the Kennecott Copper Company. This massive open pit mine has been referred to as the largest man made excavation on earth.

By midway through the twentieth century, Jackling had his hand in most copper companies in the American West and more than 60 percent of the world’s copper production was being mined using Jackling’s development of low-grade ore processing.

During World War I, Jackling, for his outstanding wartime efforts, was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal by President Woodrow Wilson.

In 1926 Jackling received a Gold Medal Award from the Mining and Metallurgical Society of America. In 1940 he was given the Washington Award of the Western Society of Engineers for “pioneering in large-scale mining and treatment of low-grade copper ores, releasing vast resources from formerly worthless deposits.”

Upon his death, his will stipulated gifts to several mining colleges, churches and individuals.

Daniel C. Jackling enjoys a worldwide reputation and a full size bronze statue of him sculpted by Avard Fairbanks stands in the rotunda of the Utah State Capitol building. In the later part of his life Jackling moved from his home on South Temple to Woodside, CA. (San Francisco Bay Area) where he built a very large estate that was eventually purchased in 1984 by Steve Jobs of Apple Computer.

It had a lot of copper in it.

But that didn't save it. For many years, Jobs fought with an historical society group for his right to demolish the estate, which battle raged for many years--maybe 20? The house was neglected and then became too expensive to renovate and restore. Jobs finally got his way THIS YEAR. Wow.

But this post isn't about that, either. This post is about Copper on and in houses in California and Utah. It's about...

COPPER!

(And I swear this picture was snapped in Copperton the same day I drove around looking for copper.)

To Hope: A Rainy Day During Rainy Season In A Rainforest

2011-09-05T23:34:00.000-07:00

On the way out of Anchorage at Turnagain Arm.

I've been down this road before and this is actually a picture from a previous trip. It was raining so much on this trip that I didn't get the pictures I wanted to get along the inlet. In reality, the scenery is so lush I can hardly believe it's real. On the inland side, green gives way to more green, backed by blue and green new mountains and the view suddenly opens up to a blue river as wide as a lake and then rolls and rolls off and off into the distance.

I went to bed last night having decided to maybe--depending upon the weather, depending upon how sleepy I woke up, depending upon my penchant for making sudden, "damn the torpedos, full speed ahead" moves--take a trip to Hope, Alaska, a little historic gold mining town about 80 miles south of Anchorage on the Kenai Peninsula where some of the original structures are still standing and still in use--cafe, library, museum, church.

I always learn something valuable from people I meet in my travels. Here the proprietor of this tiny, cluttered gift store shares a little-known golf secret that I will probably take to my grave before I ever take it to the golf course...you know, not being a golfer and all.

In the picture below, you can see the school through the woods--kind of. It's there. I remember going to a very small school in the mountains of Colorado for a few months. Didn't hate it at all. That's when we lived way out there, way up there and even when we went to down to the town, there was hardly anything and anyone there, either. We had fun.

On the way back to Anchorage, I took a little spin around Girdwood and the Alyeska Ski Resort area. I don't know quite what this pig's head in the yard is meant to mean. I do know (from spending time in the mercantile with other shoppers) that the main form of transportation in this place is the Canna Bus. That may explain something.

Can You Guess What Street I Live On?

2011-08-25T21:44:00.000-07:00

A few other neighbors...

Come on over. We'll have salmon and berries. If you get lost, just walk this way.

Another Little "Made-in-Alaska" Tale...Or Two

2011-08-12T08:46:00.000-07:00

I've been told to watch for when the fireweed blooms at the top of the stalk. That means snow will begin to fly in about 6 to 8 weeks. Fireweed blooms from the bottom up over the summer months.

Doesn't look like it should be called "fireweed," does it? After the blossoms and the "cotton" leave the plant, the stalks and leaves are left in a red-orange state that look like flames. Haven't reached that point quite yet, here in Anchorage, though, so I'll post some pictures later.

But isn't it interesting that little cotton balls begin to form near the base? Almost as if they are growing thicker fur like the animals in order to stay warmer. Maybe I should do the same.

I finally saw Denali (I call it that now instead of Mt. McKinley because I've been corrected twice already.) I see it from my living room window 300 miles away! I've been watching and waiting for that ever since my landlady, who called it Mt. McKinley, told me I would be able to see it on a clear day. It's a "clear day" around here for a bit and I snapped a blurry picture. Couldn't help it, but here's what I've come up with so far.

I went shopping yesterday at Salvation Army, JUST IN CASE I could spot something really worth owning for a while. Found this little gem:

Denali again! At first I thought it was just an odd, "artistic" little homemade clock with a turquoise-colored second hand. That second hand is what sealed the deal for me. I know it's all bent out of the shape the artist meant for it, but it's really flexible and I will work with it until it looks right. Couldn't quite tell what the logo on the back was supposed to be. A dinosaur maybe?

Then walking around my neighborhood last night I saw this sign:

So now, for the time being (oh! I didn't even intend that pun!) it sits on the sill for when it's not a clear day and I can't see the real thing out my window. Pay no attention to those cars behind the curtain. Well...then pay no attention to the fact that there are no curtains...yet.

Moored In The Shelter Of The Inlet

2011-08-06T05:24:00.000-07:00

Home Again, Home Again; Jiggedy Jig! Since this is mostly a nonsensical phrase, I get to make up what it means and I'm making up that it means hooray for Penelope Anne Armstrong who has yet again "moored in the shelter of the bay." And she is going to mix metaphors to beat the band in this post, because even that one little nautical phrase is a ganglia of symbolism. (In keeping with the nautical theme, I supposed I could have referred to coils of rigging rope rather than ganglia, but my teeth hurt right now and my mind is on nerves and tendril-like ganglion plexuses.)

The top coils of my clever metaphor that made me exclaim "Home Again, Home Again," is the fact that I finally signed a lease on an apartment today right after work--or really, right before after-work. (Interesting that I have chosen to let go anchor chain in a place called Anchorage.) Then during the real after-work period, I loaded up belongings and hauled them over to my new port. But not Newport, remember; it's Anchorage.

I signed a lease, picked up keys and staked a claim with a roll of toilet tissue in the bathroom and a handful of boxed belongings in the living room. When my landlady showed me up to the apartment, we looked around, left and walked out the door. I began following her down the hall and she stopped to ask me, "Aren't you going to lock your door?" That's when it clicked. No, not the lock, the idea that I had actually finally alighted. (Still mixing metaphors, you say? Well, maybe I'm a gull or an albatross or a puffin!)

Yes, I know it's just an apartment--yet another rental in a long line of places that aren't really mine, but it's my home now, and if for some unexplained reason it turns out to be less permanent than even the last couple of months of parking my toothbrush at temporary stations, I am still rejoicing that I have a home again--jiggedy dadgum jog!

It actually is in the shelter of the bay in that Anchorage is a port city and my apartment is right downtown with a spectacular 180-degree-plus view of Cook Inlet, Mt. McKinley 300 miles away, Mt. Susitna (and other mountains off in the distance,) the ship yard and Ship Creek where people go to watch people look at fish.

I'm happy. I haven't been unhappy, though, as I've been cruising to this point. Who could be unhappy working in Montana or driving the Alcan or staying in the work-residence where my shipmates and I have formed close-quarter alliances and shared mermaid stories? Metaphorically speaking, of course.

It hasn't been just working or driving or staying--it's been...well, it's been something I don't quite have words for at the moment. Living, I guess. Sharing head space. Getting along with life. Receiving and relinquishing keys.

What next? I wonder.

The Adventures Of Dusty Sourdough

2011-07-26T01:05:00.000-07:00

Don't ever let it be said that I am not a sucker for a heaping dose of "cheesy." Case in point: An hour or so in a tent city attached to a restaurant in a mine where they serve traditional and authentic Alaskan corn fritters, with honey butter, which as it turns out was not invented by Rainbow Gardens to serve on Mormon Muffins, but by some hapless gold miner whose rations got mixed up together--sort of like the whole chocolate and peanut butter melee...listening to Dusty Sourdough regale us with stories of his Great-great Grampa, a lawman in the days of the great Northern Gold Rush. Stories that are being translated by Disney into a three-part television mini-series for Halmark channel. Can you get any cheesier than Disney hanging out with Hallmark?!

But maybe not as hokey as you would think. I mean, overall. Forget that they called this little stage a city and the wooden restaurant a gold mine and that it was right across the street from the Alaska Wild Berry Farm and Theater where you could see real reindeer in the petting pen, and the world's largest chocolate fountain flowing hugely and freely right before your eyes.

And that someone needs to work a bit on their spelling. And anyway, who cares how fudge is spelled. Spell it like a swear word and I'm still going to show you how it's et.

Dusty's story was actually so riveting to me that I won a prize at the end of the tale for being the first one to shoot my hand up with an answer to a very obscure fact he casually mentioned in the middle of the tale. Dusty was surprised I was so smart. I was proud. How many of you know how far it is from Nome to Dawson? I'll tell you. 700 miles. I remember that because I was hanging onto every word about Alex What's His Name and his travels over land, sea and river. Still not sure what my prize is, though. A zerox copy of an add for the Bear Paw Something Something where you can ride an animatronic hot air balloon and get your picture taken in a parka and mukluks. The paper has Dusty's autograph on the back of it and I think that makes it a free ticket to get in.

What do you think...think Dusty told us he sang back-up with Glen Campbell? Think he had his own little ditty about his great-great granddaddy as a theme song that sounded very much like Dannel Boone or Old Yeller music? Think we sang "North to Alaska" more than once that evening? You bet your sweet little corn fritters we did.

The best part of his story, though, he is holding in his hands in this picture.

That is a real artifact Dusty obtained from some library in Canada. A treasure map that had only been reported to be in existence all this time. A little guy in Seattle had boasted that he found gold, lots of gold just lying on top of the ground and he was going to be rich beyond imagination and he had a map of how to get back to his claim but he wasn't going to show it to another soul. Of course, bragging about it in a saloon is probably not the healthiest thing a gold panner could think of to do. He was shot and killed and no one saw who did it and there was no map to be found on or near the poor, rich guy. A saloon girl claimed to have seen a very big man look like he shot and killed the little gold miner, but this very big man suddenly disappeared. At this point in the story, I imagined that eerie sound you hear in the movie Cat Ballou when Lee Marvin and his evil metal nose-mask make an appearance from out of nowhere and recede again just as abruptly. Gave me gooseflesh.

Alex was a very big man, and he was a bad man, but no one could prove anything against him. He finally got caught for having killed a travel companion (and you'll forgive me for not telling this story in more vivid detail, for it is a good story, but I want to get to the point of the map.) Alex engineered a lot of the gold rush in Alaska, but because he was such a rapscallion--or murderer, if you will--his likeness is not caste in bronze and immortalized in downtown Anchorage or Juneau or Nome or Dawson. But this child-like drawing on a piece of leather was among some of his meager belongings, tucked away in the library, now in the possession of Dusty Sourdough to go along with all his research.

Turn the map upside down and look closely at it and you can see the southwestern outline of Alaska and there at the top is a bullet hole.

Well, maybe you had to be there.

Some Past Pretties

2011-07-17T20:32:00.000-07:00

My Alaskan eagle pictures reminded me this statuesque fellow I snapped in southern Utah last year.

Who then reminded me of other birds in other places in Utah.

(There are a couple of people who haven't seen and commented on this picture from the office next door to mine. A woman I work with rescues birds and these guys came to her teeny-tiny and I think they must have been released by now. I've been gone a few days and they grow like gang-busters!)

Birds and trees and trees and mountains and birds and rocks and trees...

And mountains.

Business Tripping On Kenai Spur and Kalifornsky Beach Rd.

2011-07-16T01:11:00.000-07:00

I took my first "business trip" for my new job this week with a co-worker whose little burden I became while she added showing me the ropes to her list of job duties. We set up a low vision clinic for several days and did some extra travelling down the peninsula.

Encountered some old friends in Homer. The glets are growing so I hardly recognized them!

Can anyone figure out why I like to take pictures of churches so much? Especially old ones and I also like to take pictures of people dressed in old religious-style garb, but I don't really do that very much because that's kind of rude, I think. It reminds me of when Trish's grandson Kaid was young and we took him to Pioneer Village in Salt Lake City where the docents were dressed in period clothing which caught his eye and he said, "Look at the souvenirs!" I'm like that with religious orders. Is it the anthropologist in me? What about all the cemeteries I like to visit?

You know Homer is famous for its halibut fishing, right? And a lot of other things like bear viewing adventures, flightseeing trips, volcanoes (new mountains) across the horizon, fa-resh seafood, and bald eagles. Mostly, though, I think Homer is famous for being Homer and that's why I like it--for it's Homerness.

Back up in Kenai, it must be fishing season or something. My father used to fish a lot. He fished from the bank of a river or from a boat in the lake. I remember some messy back yard fish cleaning and odious tasks of removing bones from supper, and wet, smelly burlap bags in a galvanized tin tub. But it wasn't until I was much older that I finally understood why it took anglers and fly-fishermen so long to cast their lines and land them in the right spots and leave them there. If I had seen these guys all lined up, skillfully, smoothly casting out, pulling up and casting out again I might have understood the whole operation a bit earlier in my life and I'm sure my life would be much better today because of it! I took these pictures on my evening walk last night a little after midnight. We are losing daylight.

I love my little and big road trips and I love taking pictures of them and posting and talking about it all, and who wouldn't? But I think it all might be a bit empty if I didn't get to do the kind of work we call work but is really just connecting with people. I would like to tell the stories of the people who use our services, and sometimes I do that, but for the most part, I think the issue of privacy restrains me. Anyone who works in this field knows though, that I could tell some very inspiring and poignant stories and feel quite honored to be a moment on the page with them.

Russian "Old Believers" On The Kenai Peninsula

2011-07-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

It surprised me when we ran across people speaking Russian to each other in the grocery store, the women wearing what I call fundemental garb--long dresses with scarves. The fabric was sparkly and gossamer and they wore very shiney, dripping earrings.

I didn't even get a clue when I saw the sign for Kalifornsky Beach Road! I'm always very happy to "discover" such cultural enclaves.

Channelling Pollyanna

2011-07-05T23:03:00.000-07:00

Annoying or not, I just can't get over the "glads."

I was informed in staff meeting this morning that I had a flat tire I didn't know about, but right after that I was informed I "have to" fly to Soldotna on the Kenai peninsula next week to help out/observe a low vision clinic for a few days. I was surprised that we are flying, since it is only half the way to Homer from Anchorage--the trip the three of us took this weekend by car.

I was given the keys to the van to drive to a lunch meeting, but when I got out there I discovered the battery was dead. Two co-workers put my Barbie tire on my car so I could drive it to lunch and to the tire store.

I spent way, way, WAAYY too much money on this trip up here, maxxed out every account I have, was down to one bar on my gas gauge and so didn't go anywhere to celebrate the 4th, but it was very uncrowded in the lounge here where I watched a few hours of stupid TV just like old times, and then remembered I had some SPAM I brought with me so I ran to the store a couple of blocks away and bought a loaf of bread and a couple of oranges with my last $7.38 in small change--enough food to last til a Utah payday at the end of this week. Found some tea, mustard and mayo in the fridge, and Jon had left a couple of snack packs of peanuts and cashews. THE LIFE OF RILEY, I tell ya.

Today at lunch, I met the woman I will be accompanying to Soldotna and she told me how crazy busy those clinics are, but how rewarded the folks seem to feel for our service and then she bought my BeniHana lunch.

Signed up with payroll today and rather than have to wait til next pay period to get a check, I found out I will be getting a whole week's check this Thursday. AND, I got my travel check this morning, so after lunch, I went to the bank to open an account and keep some cash, got my flat tire fixed and came back to the office and STILL my boss didn't have time to give me work. It's the beginning of the fiscal year and she's very busy--also, she's a bird rescuer and she's got a bunch of baby sparrows in her office that she has to feed regularly so the only thing she really had time for today was to give me papers to sign, and tell me about a conference meeting in the morning.

I'm still looking for a place to stay; it's kind of weird in my head to be staying here, getting out of the shower upstairs as people are beginning to come into work downstairs. Just something sort of too organic about that, so I took a drive out west--a direction I haven't been yet, just to look around for apartments and even before I saw the Frostee Freeze (with a new "healthy" menu) and a street named Flamingo, I knew I wanted to move there. (It's only about 10-15 minutes from this part of town where there are tons of Korean stores and restaurants, too.)

Had money tonight to buy a pastrami burger and a diet Mt. Dew. I'm going back out there tomorrow for lunch to pick up one of their T-shirts for Katy.

I might also buy some corn fritters for myself, and drive around the neighborhood again looking for that private beach in someone's back yard.

I catch myself wondering if this is really my life--my real life. And then, as I sit in my car at 9 PM trying to shade my eyes from the sun, I just think it's too strange to try to wrap my head around it all.

I don't know about tomorrow, but today I don't even care that my office (and hence my own skin) smells like baby sparrows at the end of the day, that I still don't really know what my job description is beyond the words "rural outreach" and "off the system roads," or that the remote control for the lounge TV is bigger than a breadbox and takes two hands to push the buttons. I don't care if I come out of a bathroom and go the wrong way and set off the SCREAMING alarm, or have to walk up a flight of stairs to the TV room and resident kitchen, back down and up another one to get to the washing machine and the door to go upstairs again to my two bedrooms (one for sleeping and one for my stuff,) or that I can hear the young woman in the bedroom across from mine singing or skyping at 3 AM when I wake up with too much light in my eyes. Well, maybe I care a little bit about setting off the alarm. Yeeeps!

I just don't know about tomorrow, but today I've got the glads!

Girdwood Forest Fair

2011-07-03T13:30:00.000-07:00

Katy and Jon's last day in Alaska--for now, anyway. Not much of a story to tell, as festivals go, and I have gone to a lot of them. Very pleasant weather and we used bug spray to protect ourselves from the smaller flying forest creatures. Earthy wet plant smell mixed with citronella candles and patchouli oil. The longest food line was the Southern Style Mac and Cheese which you could get with reindeer sausage. I think the crushed potato chips on top is what made it southern style. I couldn't get over how proficient the little kids were with the hoola hoops. They all did that rather than dance in front of the music stages...like it was really fun to do it right--around and around with little effort, up the arms, around the necks, walking to and fro--just like we did when we were kids. When I asked how come they were so good at it, because let's face it, kids today don't much get into real hoola-hooping, Jon said, "They aren't allowed to watch t.v."

The Sorrow Of Parting--Not So Sweet.

2011-07-02T00:33:00.000-07:00

Between this blog and my Facebook posts, there have been plenty of pictures of our trip to Alaska--and plenty of times I've written the words "trip to Alaska," so this post is picture-free and I'm not going to say those words, either. I'm finding it a bit disconcerting to realize that I have actually relocated so far from anywhere I ever thought I would be. I'm not unhappy about the move, or about being here, but it kind of wierds me out--how did it really happen? Did it really happen? I have a whole new life. I know the process of getting here was quite real, because it was not an easy thing to do and I felt it being real. Real hard. But then again, not hard, really, because I just did things and went to sleep at night and did more things and slept some more and so it went. And then it was wonderful instead of horrific, which I always knew it would be.

And tonight, it's just kind of strange. I left Katy and Jon at the hotel and I'm spending my first night in my new temporary abode--a room at the center where I work. It's almost midnight and I am down in my office typing this and worrying that my clacking on the keyboard might be too loud for the two other people who are here tonight, as well. One man down the hall from my office who is a resident manager, I guess, for when we have clients staying here. A woman (a client) upstairs in the room across from the room I will eventually go to sleep in. I think they gave her the "big" room they said I could use for this first month, and instead have given me two little closet-sized dorm rooms. I'm keeping "my stuff" in one room and sleeping in another. My office smells like the baby birds my supervisor was tending today in the next office over. Don't tell me I don't live an odd life!

I'm also doing some laundry, because I don't trust that strange bedding is clean enough for me. This is an old building, the floors creak and I really hope these people don't think a noisy new neighbor has just moved in to disturb their peace! I am going to be on overdrive, I think, to find my own apartment. Not that I have any illusions that any part of this experience is in my hands or under my control!

I think this is going to be a tailor-made experience for me as I think all our experiences in life are, but I mean I think I am going to appreciate it for that. So, I'm wondering why here, why now and how can I live so far away from my daughter?! This is Katy and Jon's last night in town before they head back to Utah; I'm putting them on the plane tomorrow at around midnight and I don't think I'm ready for that punch in the gut.

Sleep Tight, I'll Be Watching Over You

2011-07-01T00:49:00.000-07:00

Something that really fascinates me about eagles is that when their giant aeries house little eaglets, they have to be guarded day and night for a while. The guardian parent, usually the female, sits and watches over the nest tirelessly, of course feeding the youngsters, as well. We took these first three pictures in the middle of the day down the street from where we stayed in Homer, and the next ones with a bit of a different hue to them were taken at around 10 at night.

We spotted several eagles on the Kenai Peninsula this week...some soaring in the expanse as we sat and looked out over the ocean, and others flying overhead and landing on light posts as we toured the Spit.

Pole Star Country

2011-06-29T17:04:00.000-07:00

I have never been in a place whose sheer beauty has made me cry until today. And I'm not just trying to be all googly and effusive--I really mean it. We drove from Anchorage down to the Kenai Peninsula today because Katy and Jon wanted to check out Homer, AK. Mere moments out of the city--actually, probably still within city limits, we were on a frontage road running parallell to the railroad tracks between us and the water...an inlet, I guess. Looking out across the expanse, we can see huge, looming mountains with snow still on them. Ocean and snow-capped mountains? How?!

That was the more bland part. We got to rolling down the road and everything around us was green and greener and lush and then suddenlly a waterfall or a brook or a pond would appear and create an emerald wonderland that would take my breath away. It was kind of misty for a while, a little bit drippy and then the sun would peek through and I am not even going to try to describe this any more. I just couldn't believe my eyes. We were listening to a Mahalia Jackson cd on the way and I tried to say something, but the words got caught behind the lump in my throat and I had to tell myself to not burst into tears.

And again, we drove and drove and got here to Homer, which is kind of an artsy fishing village, but not really artsy in an annoying way and not really a village in a backwards way, but they really fish here and there is an area called the Homer Spit--a long jetty or sand bar build-up which I would liken somewhat to the Wharf in San Francisco only more real and gritty or to the marina in Santa Cruz, only more...fishy. It's surprising, because it has all these places tourists love, but it doesn't seem to bend over backwards to attract them. Mixed in with the fish houses are souvenier shops and then there's a whole area full of RVs and a couple of tents and then more places to buy and look and then some real fishing areas and some very old boats and rusty marine stuff. It's a trip.

Homer has a lot of cabins, B&Bs, inns and other accommodations, and hostels...because there is a lot to do here like fishing, kayaking, bear viewing, shopping, dining or flight seeing (in teeny little planes that look like toys!)

Homer is known to many as the 'Cosmic Hamlet by the Sea,' but it was made famous in Tom Bodett's tales as 'The End of the Road.'

Katy and Jon think they might want to live here.

Jon was trying to go to sleep just now, because it's late, but decided instead to take his book out to the deck (of the cabins where we're staying tonight) overlooking the ocean and read by the midnight sun. Katy has that Armstrong night-owl disorder. I think that could be a problem in a place like this.

Made It To Alaska Today--6/28/2011

2011-06-29T16:50:00.000-07:00

It sure took a long time, and even after we got back into the good ol' US Of A it took a long, long time to get to Anchorage. Two-lane highway through the mountains for most of the way, a lot of gravel, wavy road, bumps, road work. Two serious accidents--not ours. And that road is quite remote.

BUT...I just got to where I had to quit taking pictures because I just couldn't keep up with it all. SO STUNNING and BREATHTAKING and WONDEROUS.

And weird, at times, too. Like the gray-haired hippie pulling a two-story hand cart along the Alaska Highway in the middle of no-where. And we thought the bikers were serioiusly crazy. And the truck towing a helicopter.

We pulled into Anchorage after midnight and it had been like dusk for a couple of hours. It is going to be strange getting used to the midnight sun, but very interesting!

Heading for Homer in a few hours just to check out the peninsula, etc., since we have a few days before I need to check in on Friday...just in time for a three-day weekend. Two are flying home Sunday morning. Wonder if I can find something to do after they leave...

Roadside Tally 6/27/2011

2011-06-29T16:47:00.000-07:00

18 black bears, 1 grizzly bear, 7 Rock goats, 2 caribou, 1 fox, 1 porcupine, 2 Bald eagles, 1 horse (my favorite) some Elk, many bison and only 2 rock chips!

Oh...and a shiney little flamingo!

On The Canadian Road 6/24/2011

2011-06-29T16:27:00.000-07:00

Katy, Jon (The Two--because I can't keep calling them the kids) and I (The One) stayed in Dawson Creek, BC, which is officially milepost 0 on the Alaskan highway, but it's a couple of days before Alaska.
Alberta was pretty and green, but nothing really breathtaking. Maybe in British Columbia we're closer to the Rockies or something, because it is getting prettier and prettier as we go along. It rained the last little part of our drive.

We stayed at the George Dawson Inn instead of the Best Western or other chains just because , well--when in Dawson... It's quite nice. Not poolside like the Two had in Helena, but we just need a good night's sleep. Katy and Jon, mostly Katy, refuse to do karaoke with me in lounge--party poopers.

The night before, we stayed with a friend of mine who I haven't seen for 28 years, since Korea, actually. She lives in Albuquerque but is visiting her mom in Calgary. Quel timing! We stayed up late talking while Two went to bed, saying they would drive today while I slept. Not the most rem-state sleep I ever had, but I did ride the whole 10 hours in the back seat dozing and daydreaming and trying to see where we got off track when we got lost.
Snacking on jerky, sunflower seeds and diet sodas on the road, we were ready for a nice supper at about 9 pm: steak (with shrimp, scallops and mushrooms in hollandaise) for me, roast beef and french fries for Jon and ginger beef over rice for Katy. Drooled over the dessert choices, but we passed them up. I don't know how, though, because listen to this: White chocolate cheese cake with fresh blueberries; tiramisu cheesecake; Hawiian cheesecake (coconut shortbread pastry crust, pineapple filling, coconut cake and pineapple mousse on top sprinkled with raspberries.)

Everytime one of us braves a broader look at the map, a groan fills the air. We have taken to just looking at the day's journey and not further. Still, though, not a horrible experience.

(LATER--6/25-26/2011))
Katy wanted to keep driving while we had sunshine. We finally stopped just a bit ago. It's 10PM and the sun hasn't even been hidden by the mountains, yet. We're still in BC--drove about 10 hours today, but it was slow going on winding mountain roads, some construction and travel behind a moving house.

In Coal River--My credit and debit cards have been bound because of unusual activity in Canada which raises red flags. Can't call my credit union til Monday, but I have American cash which some places take--like this place tonight. But we'll mostly be just driving tomorrow, too, not too much shopping. We have sunflower seeds and salami in the car. Some weight loss shakes, too. K&J have cards that a debit card that might still work. They will have to call tomorrow. $7 Canadian for emergencies.

Wheeee!!!

Now in the Yukon:

This picture was taken outside the door of our motel room at about 10 PM and the one below was taken at about midnight. Weird to try to sleep when it's still basically daylight. It feels like you should be doing something, especially on a trip when there's so much to do.

Some very beautiful vistas, lakes, trees like you wouldn't believe, rivers, hot springs...

Once I get to Anchorage and we have reached the time for Two to go back to Utah, they will still have a 13hr trip ahead of them on Saturday night/Sunday morning--6 hours of layover! They've been on the road since Wednesday. Good thing they are still young and like each other!

Do Me A Favor...Open The Door And Let Me In

2011-06-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

Almost midnight the day before I leave Montana. Katy and Jon will be here sometime tomorrow-this-evening. Leave-taking is a whole sticky ball o' wax and I realized that one of the most difficult things about it is giving over the keys. When I left my beloved little apartment in Ogden, I looked at how empty and clean it had become in spite of my thinking that getting it to that point was a slow, tortuous death and I would not live to witness the final vacuuming. I wanted to move back in. I didn't want to shut myself out by forfeiting possession of my keys. It was after office hours and I had to put my them in an envelope and drop them in the rent box in the lobby. Boy, was that envelope sticky! It did not want to leave my fingers. It felt as though I were dropping something precious into a deep well.

Tonight, as I was talking to some people I have grown close to in the last couple of weeks, I was suddenly struck with the familiar realization that again, I will have to hand over my keys. That's a hollow feeling. Everyone else gets to keep their keys for a few more weeks and they will continue to go in and out of our Summer Program home, cheerfully, dramatically, emotionally, proudly in and out of our shared lives, only not ours so much anymore but theirs.

One more thing to not be a part of anymore. But I have a feeling that some part or parts of living in Alaska will claim me and the place will have keys aplenty for me.

Torn Between Two Lovelies

2011-06-19T22:49:00.000-07:00

In four days I am leaving Helena, Montana for Anchorage, Alaska where I have a job and an unparallelled adventure waiting for me. Specifically just for me. Me. Perfectly designed to fit the one and only, genuine, original me. Unless...not. Unless the job and opportunity in New Zealand is where I'll be when I get to where and what I am meant for in this, my season of This Is Big.

I had decided not to complete the application for the position in New Zealand, but I received an e-mail today explaining that I had been "shortlisted" in the selection process and they would like to interview me over the phone SOON. I'm sure this doesn't mean much to anyone who doesn't know how much I have dreamed about living in New Zealand for the last several years. And how many times I had not thought of even visiting Alaska, until the opportunity to relocate to Anchorage landed in my arms with a giant heave-ho-let's-go!

NZ points to consider: blindness field/adults, travel across the country, working in remote, as well as accessible urban areas, variety of public contact, culturally diverse living situations, magnificently stunning and indescribable natural environs, breathing sea level air (big, giant plus!)

AK points to consider: blindness field/adults, travel across the state which is as big as a country, working in remote, as well as accessible urban areas, variety of public contact, culturally diverse living situations, magnificently stunning and indescribable natural environs, breathing sea level air (big, giant plus!)

Drum roll please...

Montana Tough

2011-06-12T23:02:00.000-07:00

Eleanor and I went grocery shopping. I was afraid it would be a bit of an ordeal for her, but she claimed she felt like it was a treat. They have wheelchairs with baskets on the front, so we tooled around the store with one of those things Ph.D. I should have taken a picture of her little head peeking over the precariously balanced sweet potatoes and half-n-half. I also should have waited until we got all the groceries put away so I could get a better picture of that wonderful orange counter top!

Before shopping, we went out to lunch and I suggested a few places to gauge her interest. I mentioned a little old-fashioned soda fountain we went to last summer when I was here and she said, "That place that messed up your order?" She was right! I had forgotten that. The wrong kind of hot dog, or something. How had she remembered a little detail like that? So we went somewhere else. Didn't matter. We just like to go out to lunch.

As we were driving, she told me about the three times her back had been broken. She says she thinks she was born with shoulders placed too forward and as a child they whacked her across the back and told her to stand straight. That didn't help at all, she said. Now, she sees a physical therapist who helps her not to stoop so much. Gives her exercises to straighten her shoulders. I snapped the first photo as she was getting ready to pose and the next one when she was ready for the camera. She how hard she works to lift her shoulders? Never too late.

Eleanor has lived a hard-scrabble life, many of those 90 plus years here in Montana, and she entertains me with so many endearing stories that I have a hard time walking away from her when I need to get back to work. When I walked into her house after not having seen her for over a year, I was greeted with a big grin and a light in her blind eyes that rivaled the repeating rainbow that appeared that afternoon--right in the very place it showed up on a sunny rainy day the same time last year! This is my last Montana Summer, as far as I know.

Too Pooped To Pop!

2011-06-09T00:04:00.000-07:00

I thought moving pretty much cleaned my clock, but I have landed in this demanding little world of "it never gets too late to start a new task." I don't quite know what to think of it, either. My body feels completely wrung out and stomped upon but my spirit just keeps chuckling. At least this year, I'm not having to get up at 5:30 EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THE WEEK like I did last year. Seven thirty AM to 10:30 PM is a shorter shift. Not exaggerating for effect, either.

I keep thinking about going into detail to prove how tough this venture (the Montana leg of My Summer of This is Big)really is, but I don't quite have the heart for it, because I'm just so pleased with the state my mind is in. Not that I know what that state is, though. I feel somehow transformed but not able to determine from what to which! It feels significant and transitory, like a bridge. From somewhere across something to somewhere else.

This is my third year working for Montana Association of the Blind Summer Orientation Program (MABSOP)and while in some ways it feels as though I never left this place and we all never really lived anywhere or any other way than what we are doing right now, there is so much of it that is strange and new and almost incomprehensible. Part of that is due, of course, to the fact that each time I come here, it's in a different capacity: O&M, Hostess, Office/Computer/Assistant--and by assistant I mean you could never think of the diversity of tasks that come my way.

OK, here's one for you: Drive to the nursery and pick up some donated tomatoes for our kitchen on your way to get some discarded lettuce to take up to the bunny ranch. And by Bunny Ranch, I mean that old place out past the Junk Car Ranch, where when you get out of the car and open the trunk which is full of lettuce, the bunnies come hopping, running, skittering, rollerblading right up to your ankles like so many roly-poly rodents--well, the ones not in cages out back or being bottle-fed in the house, at least. I tried to take a picture, but they knocked the camera out of my hands. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I Am What I Must Be

2011-06-05T08:27:00.000-07:00

On my last day in Ogden, on my way out of what I call "The Contiguous" for an indeterminate length of time, here's what I have to say right now:

This movie got under my skin when I was a kid and the title song has been a fixture in our family over the years for a number of reasons, the main one being: the movie got under our respective skins. It was also useful for coding messages to taunt younger siblings, as well. It's fun to sing and it is appropos of a theme song for me and my roving spirit...when not much else can explain the me of me.

On Becoming An Accidental Alaskan

2011-05-27T22:14:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be on my way to Montana next Thursday, I think; maybe earlier or maybe Friday or maybe I have no idea. Anyway...my sort of semi-intentions are to be out of my office and my home and on my merry, nomadic way to Helena where I will be for about 3 weeks or maybe fewer or maybe more or maybe who the h.e. double hockey sticks knows?! And from there to Anchorage AK for a much longer indeterminate length of time.

Katy and Jon will figure it out and come up to Helena on the grey dog to meet me and then the three of us with whatever we can tuck around us in the car will set out across the ALCAN for Anchorage. Maybe a week, maybe longer...then when we get to Anchorage, IF there's time, we will take a train ride from Skagway to Somewhere I Forgot What My Friend Recommended just to round out the their vacation/my new begin-again beginning.

Then Katy and Jon will fly back to SLC and be back in time for work on the 4th of July.

I will cry.

But then, I'll get back to being excited and jump into work, maybe onto a little plane, too, or possibly onto a sled. Wheeee!

A couple of people asked me today if I had any contacts in Alaska and it dawned on me that I don't.

Hmmmm. I thought I had contacts everywhere! Then they asked me if I wanted contacts and I surprised myself by acknowledging that I don't really want contacts. It felt kind of rude to say no, so then I said I meant I don't necessarily need contacts, but I could look people up.

I realize I am feeling more and more free and unencumbered as the days roll on and the idea of starting out with ties there makes me feel less so. Don't try to figure it out. It is, after all, Penny we're talking about here. And now, I am remembering I do have a couple of contacts there--a genealogy facebook friend/18th cousin a couple of times removed named John Armstrong in Wasilla where my other contact Sarah Palin lives!!!

I left work quite late this evening and this is what I saw:

I got home and this is what greeted me in my apartment when I opened the door.

I thought these pictures would look much worse, because it feels much worse in here. Maybe I should just quit looking at the real thing and believe the pictures. OR, I could just get to work and finish packing up my life.

This part about getting ready is kind of hurting me. I won't learn, either. My next move--and there will be a next move--will still be fraught with trying to compartmentalize my mind's scattered organization, finding a home for all my crap, and summoning the physical strength to do the "impossible." I gave up claiming several moves ago that "this is THE LAST time I am ever going to move again." Now I know it will never be true. So right now, what I really want to to do is go back outside and look at some more of this:

Getting Lost Is Just Another Way To Say Going Exploring

2011-05-20T00:37:00.000-07:00

Count The Moons

2011-05-14T06:37:00.000-07:00

There she goes again, posting pictures of backscatter. Well, no. This is just a picture I took a while ago coming home from my brother's house in North Ogden. I take picture after picture of that view and I have never been able to capture even a glimpse of how impressive it is, especially on a clear night.

The thing is, as I was looking at my pictures tonight, I thought this one looked like a picture of a bunch of moons. The idea claimed my reverie and immediately I was back in Seoul, Korea some 20 plus years ago, lying on a cotton mat under a low and wide picture window. No glass in the window, but lattice and rice paper, and on a very warm summer night, I had the shutters open. Wide open. Big, wide open. I had made the choice of hoping for respite from the stifling heat over the possibility of an uninvited guest (read "rat") sashaying along the window sill.

Here, forgive me this amusing foray into a side story as I relish the moment in time when that very guest did that very thing. In the middle of a restless sleep, I woke for some suspicious reason, raised up a bit and turned from one side to the other, pausing to look out the window into the clear, black night. Nose to nose, with a fat, brown rat on his way down the window sill leaving or entering my room. I'll never really know, but I tell myself he was on his way in when I prevented that dreadful event. I don't think we can ever know who was more surprised. We both froze and I saw his eyes widen in fear as he screeched, "Yikes! She's awake!" Believe me or don't, but just know that I am holding back from being as descriptive as I could be.

I had been in Korea long enough to have overcome a couple of small bouts of homesickness, a whole heap of culture shock, realized my initial naive, if romantic, desire to "get my hands dirty, my feet wet, and my heart broken." I belonged there at that time more than I had remembered ever having belonged until then. Anywhere or anytime. I felt held there. I was living with my friend/art teacher/fairy godmother and her parents in a tall, two-story house where they gave me the room on the main floor with the rat-access. No, wait, I mean the room with the big, beautiful window through which the mother, of a late summer morning, would pass sweet, ripe persimmons or velvety roses to me as I sat cross-legged on the thick cotton mat grinding soot-smelling ink for my day's toil of laying brush to paper.
You might presume to think I jest when I call it toil, that activity of grinding ink, meditating upon the wonders of mulberry paper, setting out the wool brushes, the pale colors, the ceramic dishes. It was sheer, unadulterated joy and unmeasured pleasure, and it sucked blood, sweat and tears from my very core. I must have written about this activity in this blog before, so I won't belabor, but let me just say, maybe in heaven there is no beer, but I know there is Chinese Ink and Brush Painting.

Some mornings, my friend and I would take our sketch books or water jugs up the hill behind the house into the cuckoo woods, fill the jugs with cold spring water before skipping back home (yup--we held hands and skipped like school girls down the rocky hill, such was the halcyon, carefree spirit that engulfed us on those days) or sit beside bright, pink acacia bushes and make charcoal drawings of the Buddhist temple and her monks being about their holy business.

Please, pull me back to the point I started to make at the beginning of this entry. Merely a glimpse of my life at that time, but perhaps you are sufficiently instructed about how blissfully I found myself placed then and there for me to get back to the moon. Or moons, really.

Back to my summer night, my big window and my clear, black, star-studded night, after the cuckoo in our chestnut tree had lulled me weirdly to the land of nod. (Really, the unnatural sound of a cuckoo cuckooing can be very strange and unnerving.) I rose up on my elbow, looked out the window and there before my very eyes were two, huge bright-white moons crossing paths with the pace and purpose of a finely choreographed Alvin Ailey piece.

By this time, as wonderfully startling and breathtaking as seeing two moons flow and cross in the sky could be, I didn't question my sight at all. I didn't question the possibility of it, either. Just one more delightful
surprise in a succession of many over the years. What were these two moons saying to me? At first, I thought they were appearing just because they were fulfilling the measure of their creation. It wasn't until after I woke up and admitted to myself that I was only dreaming, that I began to analyze why I would dream about two moons in a Korean sky. Two equally brilliant moons crossing and then going opposite directions in the same sky. Maybe it wasn't a Korean sky, but THE sky--the world's sky. Maybe my mind was trying to work out the inevitable, necessary duality of life, of being alive.

One, and there are many, aspect of this idea is how homesick I can be for some place while living in another that I would be homesick for were I to leave. My skies. My orb-filled Ogden skies, my two-mooned Korean skies, my Montana Big Skies, my Crayola box New Mexico skies. Maybe it's about time to head north and check out Aurora Borealis!

'Twere Cause Indeed to Weep

2011-05-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes you get choked up when you're listening to your three-year-old singing in church as she stands on the piano bench, or when Heidi and her grandfather pass each other unawares on a snowy street, or you're telling a story more than 30 years later about a Korean family you know having been separated during the war? Sometimes music or art will move you to having emotion in your throat. And you just can't help it, you didn't expect to be so particularly vulnerable at that particular time.

Well, how would you like to be the pastry chef who brought Julia Child to sudden, unexpected tears? I knew this dessert was going to be good and it's the scene I randomly selected out of eight or so this morning while getting ready for work before I had to turn the DVD back into the library. (Well, now that you're wondering, no this is not the lamest thing I have checked out at the library. Maybe the lamest thing I have blogged about in a long while. But thanks for asking.)

The following video is just the last part of Nancy Silverton (I should have been her on this day!) making the dessert, and you can find the first part on youtube if you want to make someone in your little foody circle weep. If you're not interested in making it, at least please fast-forward to the end where they both taste the tart together. Pregnant silence as the chef waits to hear Julia pronounce edibility, breaks the silence with a dumb comment about a "good combination," and then Julia tries to talk...but she can't! And she tries a moment later and she just can't get control.

You know how you want to squirm when someone tries to talk through an emotion-constricted throat and their voice goes squeaky? Wait. Julia Child with a squeaky voice? Nawww... But yes! And don't just take my word for it.

If It Didn't Mean I Would Already Be Dead,

2010-12-26T01:53:00.000-08:00

...and I probably would have been there also for the aught six quake a few years earlier, I would want to have lived in San Francisco for the Panama-Pacific World's Fair. What must it have been like!? Hundreds of thousands of novagems dangling from the Tower of Jewels and reflecting the lights through the fog from a circle of hidden stations.

Can you say "Aurora Borealis of the Bay only maybe Better"? If I could experience it today in 2010/Almost Eleven, (Las Vegas notwithstanding) I don't think I would believe my eyes, let alone fathoming it in 1915! I feel wistful for having missed out on that one. (Or did I? Maybe someone snapped this picture of me in my past life sailing by "the city that knew how.")

I am, however, somewhat placated by frequent trips to the Palace of Fine Arts which still stands today, and about which I have gushed numerous times before. (Don't) stop me if you've seen these pictures already.

And speaking of gems, I read that the ukulele was introduced to the United States at that fair.

I've also read (http://www.moah.org/exhibits/archives/1915/) that the fair sported these colors:

French green for garden lattices

Deep cerulean blue in recessed panels and ceiling vaults

Pink-orange for flagpoles

Pinkish-red flecked with brown for the background of colonnades

Golden-burnt-orange for moldings and small domes

Terra cotta for other domes

Gold for statuary

Antique green for urns and vases

TRY TO IMAGINE IT!
No, I mean, try to imagine what it might have been like through 1915 eyes. Come to think of it, I wonder if in 1915 I could have imagined any of today's experiences were somebody from the future--which is actually now the present for a minute--to try to describe them to me. But don't let's get off on that subject!

I know it won't ever approach the original experience, but the next time I'm in town, I'm going to look up (I've seen a few) remnants including elephants and fountains and replicas of mermaids with segmented tails, star maidens, refracting telescopes...sculptures, murals, architecture, etc...well, those that are still there, anyway, and get educated more about the movers and shakers of the 1915 World's Fair. I think there are fair remnants in other parts of the country, as well. What a Wonder!

Be Kind, Rewind

2010-12-18T18:38:00.000-08:00

A week hence I will be lost in reverie, gazing at someone's Christmas tree lights or flickering advent candles or something else bright and sparkly to remind me of the wonderfully shiney Christmases of my childhood. I usually love a blazing Christmas tree, fresh and pine-scented, but today, all I can think about decorating with are some old-seventies-style sugar cookies and my Christmas trolls.

The cookies remind me of a time at a friend's house when her mother painstakingly decorated dozens of sugar cookies in gloriously sticky detail and I marveled at the time spent on something that was just going to get eaten in a second. It was before I matured enough to intellectually appreciate the concept of tradition. We had plenty of traditions in our celebration, but to me it was just what Christmas was. Stockings with fruit and nuts, ribbon candy, chocolate bonbons, and a peppermint stick to poke like a straw into the orange. A doll for each of us. One doll to name and dress and cherish for a whole year! Christmas dinner. Naps under and around the tree. A new family board game. Sometimes, presents from relatives, and always gifts from each of our siblings bought at Woolworth's. What a day to come every year! It was Christmas, not "tradition."

Now of course, I trade in tradition. It's the stuff of my existence. That's what I like to give for presents--tradition. Like the pulling and popping of Christmas crackers that we've done for years, even when it was difficult to find them and people thought we were talking about food! (Which reminds me, I like plum pudding and trifle for Christmas, too, and Orange Slice Cake.)

Just because I don't think I feel like bothering with a tree or any number of other ways I have decorated in the past, doesn't mean I'm not enjoying this time of year. I like a lot of other Christmas-time offerings.

"Good Neighbors" Christmas episode in which they are so without funds they have to make their own Christmas crackers and also make their own Christmas-cracker POP sound when they pull them.

A Child's Christmas in Wales (by Dylan Thomas)

Waltons The Homecoming...where Christmas Eve takes place all in one night...like it used to when I was a kid. Of course we anticipated a few days ahead, but Christmas didn't start in October and I think it's better that way. They chopped the tree down and the little girl wrote to Santa and it wasn't too late. It was still Christmas. There was a missionary Christmas give-away down at one church and a pageant at another, son went looking for father, spinsters had visitors, "Robin Hood" got arrested, the cow had to be rounded up and brought home, kids went to bed more than once because of certain goings-on, among other things...in one evening . Something about this television special that has always seemed close to my reality. Something about Christmas being a couple of months long that makes me tired and uninterested. Am I sounding old these days?

And...

The Very Best Ever Christmas Story (Next to the real one, of course.)

Lark Rise to Candleford Christmas episode, although not very old and dadgummit if it isn't time for it to be on the telly right now and I'm missing it!

One more real quick thing before I go turn on the set; here's a one for you, Trish; don't say I never gave ye nothin'.

Various and Sundry--Just To Get Back In The Habit

2010-06-30T14:44:00.000-07:00

What's more agreeable than seeing a full (yes, a whole arc--north to south!) double rainbow?

How about...looking at others seeing a full, double rainbow?

And if rainbows aren't really your thing, do waterfalls or mountains float your boat?

Clear streams?

A big whiff of bear musk on the trail?

Clouds and trees in the lake and...

OK--I ripped this one off, but wintery-white island trees are VERY agreeable to me and I was at Flathead Lake in the summer. And given winter road conditions in Northwestern Montana, I think you probably have to already be there to get there, which I will more than likely not be.

Flathead Lake has its own version of elusive monster--would she be called Heddie? Is that an appropriate name for something described as "slippery and shiney with a bowling ball head?"

American Look

2010-04-29T20:59:00.000-07:00

Momma-Poo Is So Proud

2010-01-17T14:40:00.000-08:00

If you've seen this link a couple of thousand times on Face Book, you don't gotta click on it here, BUT, if by chance you have missed Jon and Katy's first music video, here you go.

Can't Fake The Feeling

2009-12-28T12:01:00.000-08:00

Never had to fake it before, but here it is. My very first ever not-real Christmas tree! And it wasn't even that hard to do. I actually had more fun decorating this year than I have in a long time. Probably because I just couldn't drag myself to the top shelf of the storage to dig out all the junk I usually go through every year. And by junk, I mean all the quite meaningful beloved sentimental nutcrackers and smokers and pyramids and old-world ornaments and unsual lights I've accumulated over the years.

I just found this stuff, including the tree which I bought for $2.50 at a thrift store, around here and there at home or "on the street" and put it together to Christmas up my little corner of life.

Success.

Jim Carrey Rocks The Dickensian House

2009-11-28T22:55:00.000-08:00

(Huh. A Penny post with no pictures. Maybe she can pull it off.)

Disney's 3D animated "A Christmas Carol."

More magic than the first time I went to Disneyland. After all these years, I can still feel that?

This movie is AHH-mazing. I don't know how to write movie reviews, but let me just say some words and see if you get the picture:

Grotesquely comic (especially the close-ups of people's mouths. Ewww, the teeth in that era! And did that char woman have dirty-behind-the-ears stains?)

Jim Carrey's Victorian dialect as Scrooge

Jim Carrey's Scottish accent as the Ghost of Christmas Present

Jim Carrey's ghosts that I didn't even know were his voice! A lot of them.

Dickens' dialogue--unapologetically.

Serious animation--attention to minute detail and who would ever think of such things to animate?!

Clever

Delightful

Tense

And did I mention the animation? Boggled my little brain not just a little bit.

I'm a Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol fan from way back and for Christmas fare, I still like the old ones better, because they have more real spirit and joy and the message isn't lost in all the digital flights of fancy. I know it's animation, but there was something missing. No soul in the eyes. At once I felt like it was almost real because it was so well done, and at the same time I felt cheated because the eyes belong to puppets. In other words, this movie is not a good way to introduce the real Dickens classic.

Reading the story is the best way to get Dickens, I think. The next best was a few years ago when I heard an actor tell the story as Dickens at This is the Place Candlelight Christmas in a pioneer building heated by a fire on a bitterly cold night. Then the movies with real people you can be moved by come next.

Those are all good for experiencing the hope and joy and recovered humanity of this story.

However, for the candy part of Christmas, this movie makes the grade, in a large, dazzlingly fantastic way.

I might have to see this thing another 40 or so times.

My Puppet-Pure Heart

2009-10-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

This is not me and my sister, but it could be. This is from the late 40s, and I just realized we looked very much like this as kids in the 60s!

When we were about this age, we took a puppetry class at the park. We made papier mache puppets, acted out skits to rehearse the puppet show and then got pulled away before the big event when we would show the world what grand puppeteers we were on the road to becoming. The world's great loss, I assure you, especially considering out wonderously alive my own puppet was turning out to be. At least I earned my puppetry badge in Girl Scouts. (My sisters won't let me tell the story of our skits, though. They say we still have to live and face people in this town.)

OK--it happened like this:

Last Saturday, I taught an art class at the Pioneer Craft House, which is a tucked-away wooded retreat-like campus in Salt Lake City.

I taught this rice-paper-marbling class,

and then wandered into a weaving room.

I'll save this very interesting story about how I spent double what I made teaching the class on Karen Women's Community hand-woven items for another time.

Still wandering, suddenly in a mind-numbing whirl, I was rocketed into my puppet-past. I stepped through the doors of the cottage and actually gasped...even more than I did when I saw my new friend Mark Eaton for the first time. Walls and shelves and benches filled, I tell you, with antique puppets and marionettes. To know me is to know a woman who can be transported to some lost horizon at the mere sight of puppets and dolls.

And then... oh-my-goodness-gracious-sakes-alive---KOREAN PUPPETS

The woman who showed me into this room told me that they are having a photographer come in to take pictures for some story someone is writing about them, and she was disappointed that I lived clear up here in Ogden because she wanted me to be one of the people to help hold and arrange the puppets for the pictures. She didn't want just anybody to manhandle the dolls and she could tell, just by my reaction to them, that I have a pure heart.

The Spam Lady Dazzles A Really Tall Man

2009-09-19T14:42:00.000-07:00

I met this guy in the break room at the studio the other day. He's a bit older and he was wearing a suit and I saw him from the chin down standing out in the hall talking to someone much smaller about golf.

When he came into the break room and fixed a cuppa, I said, "So, are you a golfer?" (Actually, when I saw him out in the hall, I had said under my breath, but still outloud without really realizing what I was doing, "Dang, that man's a giant!" ) He smiled and said, no, he was just covering the game yesterday when a man won a million dollars for sinking a hole in one, or something really outlandish that never happens.

So, then I chatted him up about various and sundry topics and decided he should know my name since we were such good friends now. I was still thinking he was just some Joe with a growth hormone issue. I said, "I'm Penny the Spam Lady, by the way. I'm here to strut my SPAM. I won 3rd place at the state fair, but really mine was the best--shouldda taken first. ." He grinned and said "Of course!" and reached out his humungous hand saying, "Hi, I'm Mark Eaton."

I thought, "I know that name. Is he an anchor on this show or something? Probably I've seen him and he just didn't look so huge sitting behind a news desk." But I didn't really want to show my ignorance, so I said knowingly and funnily--you know--litote, "Oh yeah, I've heard that name, before."

But still not a word about basketball. I hope he thinks I knew and he didn't have to explain, so instead we talked about his two high-end restaurants in SLC, and other food-related topics (this is where I shine, remember!) and then I asked him, "So, do you have a life, or is this your life?" And he laughed--at me, not necessarily with me, I know so you don't have to say it--and told me he had some good managers working with him. Then they called him in to do his golf segment on air and I watched it in the mean-messy break room, which looked like a break room in an industrial factory rather than a television studio, and saw the caption on the screen explaining he was a former Jazz player.

This is what he looks like now:

So tell me. Would you have recognized him? (The tall one.)

Lovely Lady In My Car

2009-08-27T10:48:00.000-07:00

Meet Eleanor, my 92 year-old Montana tour guide. She showed me around Helena without even being able to see where we were going.

Eleanor moved to Montana sometime in the '20s. Told me stories of gem-gleaning in the streets as a child after a heavy rain, JFK's visit in 1960, Helena wildfires, and even a crazy story about a pilot flying his plane through the double spires of the cathedral. She showed me where Helena's Chinatown used to be and explained that it's not like what you would expect from a Chinatown...it was just where the Chinese mine workers lived. She said that not being citizens, they couldn't stake claims but worked very hard on other people's claims. When the area was razed in the '70s, they found underground tunnels that led to the mines from the homes. The citizen-owners of the mines would take their day's findings and go spend it on large living and never really get rich. While they were out carousing at night, some of the Chinese workers would sneak through the tunnels, do their own mining and sock away their "earnings."

Eleanor rode with me down gulch roads, marveling at progress and change and I mentioned more than once to her that "I could live here!" (She's written to me since I've been back, giving me the name of a good realtor and some information on some properties for sale in one of the area's many gulch developments. It would be like having a nice house in a campground!)

She showed me around all the old buildings...Gary Cooper's childhood home, Montana's Children's Home and Hospital, Crippled Children's Hospital built in '37, old lime kilns, and well so many places and things that fascinated me to the point of having to throw my car into park, jump out and snap a picture or two. The places we visited are not the topic of this post, however interesting it all is. And it is very interesting and of course, I have pictures which I might post later. I took this picture of Eleanor waiting blindly and patiently for me on one of those times I had jumped out to take a picture of something else.

I'm just missing a cherished friend.

Don't Tell Me The Lights Are Shining Any Place But There

2009-08-07T12:37:00.000-07:00

Black currants in my aunt's garden in North Ogden.

It took the two of us two hours to get most of the currants off four bushes. We ended up with about a gallon currants which steamed down to 2 quarts of juice. Very unsual flavor, by the way. I can't describe it, but think tangy and intense. Maybe a bit woody and grapey. Ish.

I made black currant jelly and entered it in the Weber County Fair with my crab apple jelly and white seedless grape syrup.

I also entered a couple of loaves of bread,

and some photography.

Jasper, my pretty pink pig pal didn't win any ribbons, but I don't mind. I know she has a winning smile and that's what really counts, right?

"Short Days Ago We Lived..."

2009-08-01T16:53:00.000-07:00

Travelling Viet Nam Memorial Wall Replica in Ogden, Ut weekend July 31- Aug 2, 2009 with 2600 American flags in the Healing Field to pay tribute to fallen soldiers.

Be It Ever So Crumbled And Tumbled Down

2009-07-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

Chaco Canyon National Historic Park Northwestern NM

We visited these places during our Easter trip to New Mexico to visit my mom in Roswell.

Chaco Canyon was a major center of Puebloan culture between AD 850 and 1250. The Chacoan sites are part of the homeland of Pueblo Indian peoples of New Mexico, the Hopi Indians of Arizona, and the Navajo Indians of the Southwest.

"...pre-planned architectural designs, astronomical alignments, geometry, landscaping, and engineering to create an ancient urban center of spectacular public architecture."

Here's an interesting side note: William Henry Jackson; a famous photographer of Western landscapes and railroads visited Chaco Canyon in 1877 with the U.S. Geological Survey. Because he experimented with a new photographic process, all the photos failed. If you've seen this place, you would know how disappointing that would be.

Aztec Ruins National Monument (Anazazi site--not really Aztec) Farmington NM

Grand Kiva Looks like they're considering the place for a wedding reception, doesn't it? Hmmm. Where would you display the cake?

Well, good thing they're already married.

Merry Montana

2009-07-22T18:12:00.000-07:00

Quirky and surprising.

Right down to their pork chop sandwiches.

Yep. That is mustard you see on these sammies. Royce makes them like chicken-fried steaks.
And Johnny makes them with fish and chips batter.

But they are pork chop sandwiches, both.

Seven Deadly Secrets

2009-07-15T10:14:00.000-07:00

Daly City Nancy (Hanaike House) "tagged" me on her blog and I usually don't play those games because I'm just a little bit too cool for them, but because it's Nancy, I'll do this one. Supposed to write 7 things about myself that might not be common knowledge. I know, huh? Penny and secrets? I guess I'll have to dig through the past to come up with something. Caveat lector: I probably won't answer any questions these revelations may engender.

#1. Childhood reputation: Poker face. I'm standing between my sisters...we're dressed for fishing. That's me being excited.

#2. Used to be a clown. "Shuffles." Had to give up the gig when I scared all the kids and the birthday boy ran and hid under his bed. I scared the parents, too. They all just stared at me. Fools.

#3. Even with summer swimming lessons as a kid, I didn't learn to swim until I was in college. And though I had taken a few trips to the coast, the very first time I ever swam in the ocean was in Korea at the East Sea. This is unusual if you know how much I love to swim and how I think the ocean is my real home. This wonderful event occured after a four-hour bus trip across the Korean country side, a 2-mile hike into hills to the farmhouse where we stayed, an agonizing wait to cook lunch over a wood fire and another mile-hike to the bus stop to ride a half hour to the coast! Yes, I love the seaside and I was glad it was "fun in the sunny 80s" so I could wear those giant-framed sunshades.

#4. I talk to strangers and I don't always pass up hitchkikers without giving them rides. 'Nuff said.

#5. My daughter and her friends call me a human lie detector. You can't lie to me. You just can't. You can try, but I will bust your lyin' bee-hind. Unless I feel sorry for your pathetic self trying to tell me stories. It's a gift.

#6. I found the end of the rainbow and I TOUCHED IT! With my sister who is no longer in this dimension with us, but I can't find the picture of her. (That's her in the fishing photo above with the curly little pigtails she didn't want to mess up with a hat.) She must have taken her rainbow picture with her like she took a big chunka my heart with her.

#7. What will I be in my next life? Hmmm. I think....Horse Whisperer.

"All Deep Things Are Song"

2009-07-10T00:32:00.000-07:00

My baby grew up

and fell in love.

Just seeing them together makes the air ring with music...
but just in case that's not enough, check out his first official album (that features the tender little voice of his wife!)
http://djbrokkensoul.com/

Jon Bentley Music----Eco-friendly, renewable, biodegradable, independent... music

Big Cloud Country

2009-07-06T15:02:00.001-07:00

Orbs In The Ice House

2009-06-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

My camera lense is clean. I never see these spots when I'm taking pictures, but when I veiw them later on the camera or the computer, there those mysterious orbs are! But only in wierd places at night or something. I snapped this one in an ice house at Garnet Ghost Town up in the mountain tops.
Here is the same picture with the brightness adjusted on my computer. I just wanted a picture of the inside of the ice house, because it was part of my adventure in the old mining camp.

Could be back-scatter or near-camera reflection, but just why and how do these things pop up in certain locations only? Ask my daughter about the time we were taking photographs at night in New Mexico. Her husband took a picture out the car window and she saw orbs in it. She took the camera and shot the same scene and there were no orbs. They traded turns taking pictures and his all had orbs and hers didn't. Knowing that she married a skeptic, she blithely suggested, "Hey, let's go back to the motel and take pictures in the dark!" The Cool Man was quick to nix the plan.

You Want To But You Can't ... Touch That, I Mean

2009-06-24T15:18:00.000-07:00

Archie Bray Foundation, Helena MT.
http://www.archiebray.org/ (Seriously worth a trip to the website, if you can't make it to Helena.)

I went to the lake first, which was more like a pond and honestly not anywhere as wonderful at Beuss Pond at home, but the ranger was going to charge me $5 as an out of state visitor and the woman with me had a dog he said couldn't get out of the car there, so we got back in the car and drove to this place down the road. By the way, I was not offended because $5 is nothing and other people pay taxes for their state parks.

I know, huh? Penny let a dog get in her car.

WOA...thanks for the rejection, Ranger Man, because this place was more fun than looking at people look at fish. Also got here just in time to hear a live jazz quartet playing out in the yard.

Not pottery, but look at this cute pigeon camper!

Move Over Peggy Lipton

2009-06-22T21:40:00.000-07:00

Don't lie. You recognized this right away, didn't you?

And you know those holes are not just so the air can circulate to dry your hair faster while you're sleeping on these suckers, too, huh?

Did you know that you can still buy those hair roller picks? Look anywhere on line. Now you can have that long, straight look again!

I could have had these rollers for a song at the Salvation Army yard sale, but I don't really need them. If I ever let my hair grow out long enough to roll up, I've probably still got some orange juice cans I can use.

And then I will look like this again.

Slumber party, my house Friday night. Bring your 45s.

Misery In The Gem State

2009-06-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

Well, there's an hour I'll never get back again!

Boo-hoo, huh?

Had to get off the freeway to get gas in Idaho Falls--actually, the real reason I took the exit is because I saw a sign that read "Historic Downtown." So, where are the pictures of downtown? I don't know--this is better.

Look how big the families grow in Idaho!

Big Sky Ebonics

2009-06-13T09:29:00.000-07:00

yeah, you heard me...

A Circle Of Standing Stones

2009-05-29T15:46:00.000-07:00

Back in the Golden 70s, I moved to Sugar House in SLC with my best friend. We palled around (how do you spell "pal around" in the past tense?!) We spent time with another of our friends who bought us Utah Symphony season tickets, and we took the bus to the concerts. Busses didn't run late enough for us to get a ride home, so we walked to his place in the Avenues and stopped to load up on banana splits at Snelgrove Ice Cream Parlor which stayed open that late. We roamed around Trolley Square, which was quite different in those days than it is now, spent time downtown in the ZCMI Mall, and discovered the International Peace Museum. They were halcyon days, no disputing.

But, my friends kept a secret from me. I do not like secrets, by the way--they hurt my heart. I know it's childish to feel that way, but imagine if I feel excluded by secrets now at my age, what it felt like then when my BEST FRIEND had a secret with someone else! I understand it now and even understood it a little bit then, but still and all.

The Secret?

GILGAL GARDENS.

My friends were LDS and I wasn't and they thought I might be too weirded out by this quirky little find. They really didn't know quite what to make of it themselves and they never told me what or where "Gilgal" was and they really didn't talk much about it, so I mostly forgot about it. I kind of wondered over the years if I could find it, but I was sure it wasn't still there, where ever there might have been. Until just a few years ago.

If you haven't seen this place, you're really missing something, I think. It may look strange, but the more you see and read of it, the more you understand the sculptor's Thomas Battersby Child) love, faith and committment The website has a slick interactive tour that describes the art and explains how it came to be, how it almost came to not be and how it came to remain right there behind Chuck-A-Rama in Salt Lake City.

http://gilgalgarden.org/

A Little Handful Of Happy

2009-05-19T16:01:00.000-07:00

Living Traditions Festival + Me + Us + These = Ah, what a day!!