Baked or Fried?

I picked up a part time job waitressing at the diner that’s just a half a mile down the road from where I’m staying in my camper for the summer. Mind you, I’m almost fifty eight years old and it has been a few years since I last waited tables at the Lodge in Alaska.
I trained for two days, doing the morning shift that starts at 6:30AM. The morning shift is perfect for me, as I’m usually awake by 4:30AM and out in the garden.
Prepping for the day, the morning shift is responsible for shredding cabbage and carrots and making dressing for cole slaw, filling catsup and syrup bottles, making tartar sauce, etc.
We wash pots and pans that the cooks have been using to make their soups and specials for the day and carry five gallon buckets of ice from the ice machine in the basement to fill the soda fountain machine. Suffice it to say, carrying heavy buckets up the stairs, then standing on a chair to reach the top of the soda machine and lifting the buckets to pour into the top of the soda machine gives me pause to consider what the heck was I thinking!
The first day was a bit overwhelming, one of the busiest days the restaurant has had in three months. One waitress, and one trainee, a very busy day to say the least. I worked until 3:30PM the first day, totally exhausted and worn out. I did fine and waited tables without incident. When in training you’re not allowed to keep any tips, they all go to the girl training you. Okay, so that’s the rules, I can deal with that. The second day was a bit easier, although I was still exhausted from my first day.
It was now my third day, my first day on my own and able to keep my tips. The other waitress and I took turns taking tables. It was extremely slow. There were the few regulars, coffee and muffin and a few folks in for a full breakfast. It was fine, I actually got to chat with the people for a while and I thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
One couple came in, they looked very familiar, and I asked where they were from. They said from Clinton, Connecticut, my home town. At the time, the woman worked for the Clinton Recorder, the local paper, and after thirty years we caught up on all the people we knew in common.
The morning went by and it was a nice steady pace. Around 11:15 an older gentleman, maybe in his early seventies, came in, alone. I assumed a farmer, wearing his blue Dickie work clothes. He had a full beard, a dark tan and large hands that showed many years of hard work. I handed him the lunch menu and placed a cup of hot, Green Mountain coffee down on the table in front of him. He looked up at me and asked what the lunch specials were. That’s when the trouble began............
Usually, the lunch specials are printed out by the cook by 10AM, not today. I asked the other waitress if she could print them out, she said no. So, I went to the kitchen and asked the cook. I won’t mention his name, he’s a very tall fellow and in the three days that I had been working, I never saw him smile once. As a matter of fact, he seemed like a very angry man, slamming pots and snarling. Everyone else that works in the restaurant is very pleasant, says excuse me, or behind you, or pardon me, when they walk by you, not this guy, he just huffs by. I asked the grouch, nicely, if he could take a moment and please, print out the lunch specials, that we had a customer that was asking about them. I received no answer, as a matter of fact, he never even acknowledged me. I went back to the table with the elderly gentleman and said that it might be a few minutes, he was fine with that. I then asked the other waitress if she could help. She went to the kitchen and asked the grouch if he would please print out the specials.
He came out, sat at the counter where the computer and cash register are and started to work on the specials. Mind you, it’s a full page of specials, about twenty of them. I felt bad for the gentleman that was waiting and looking over the grouch’s shoulder, I tried to remember the long list of specials, walked back to the farmer, and could only remember two. After two trips, I gave up. The cook got up and walked back to the kitchen. I walked behind the counter and could hear the printer working but no paper was coming out. I read the screen and it said the printer was out of ink! It had been about twenty minutes since this poor man sat down to order his lunch and still no specials. He decided to order from the regular lunch menu. He ordered a large haddock dinner. He mentioned that he only came to the restaurant once every three or four months as a special treat to himself. I asked if he wanted mashed or french fries, and told him the long list of vegetables that he could choose from that I had written on the back of my order pad. Squash was his choice of vegetable and he requested extra tartar sauce. I remembered to put the price on the order ticket and thanked the farmer for his patience.
I walked back to the kitchen, put the order ticket up on the nail for the cook, and said “order up”. I turned and walked back to take care of the other customers. After seven minutes or so, I heard “Mary Ellen”, and walked back to the kitchen, the cook had the farmers order in his hand and asked me “baked or fried?” Oh my goodness, I hadn’t asked the farmer, now I had to go back and ask.
The farmer said, “fried”........now, I was flustered, this poor man had been in the restaurant for over a half an hour and his food still hadn’t been started! I turned and walked back to the kitchen and stared at the cook, who said “Well?”.........Oh no, I had forgot! I couldn’t believe it! He said, “go back and ask him how he wants his haddock cooked, baked or fried.” I was so embarrassed and was starting to shake. I turned and walked back to the farmer with a sheepish look on my face, and apologized profusely, and told him, I had forgotten what he said, baked or fried? He calmly looked at me and said, “fried”. Back to the kitchen and yikes, I drew a complete blank, nothing, not a clue, I had no idea what that man had said to me! I had a brain cramp and couldn’t remember, baked or fried. I turned and went back around the corner, and looked at the farmer, he was staring at me and just mouthed the word “FRIED”. So after an hour of waiting, I finally brought the farmer his lunch. He enjoyed his haddock, and after finishing and walking towards the door to leave, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry Mary Ellen, your memory will get better”. I thanked him and said no, that it probably wouldn’t but as long as people have a sense of humor about it, and weren’t on a time schedule, we would all be fine. He left me a very generous tip.
I don’t know if I’m cut out for waitressing at this point in my life. I enjoy talking with people and don’t mind the work. It’s my brain that I’m concerned with. Too bad our brains aren’t like computers, that you can clear out the hard drive and reboot. I’ve decided from now on, when I ask, “baked or fried”, I’ll be sure to write it down, even if I have to write it on my hand...........”IF”, I can remember.

When life throws you a curve ball!

Sometimes in life, you get thrown a curve ball. Some people get more than others, some are lucky enough to go through life with none at all. I have to say, I’ve been lucky enough, to have had very few curve balls thrown my way, but got a doozie, this past week.
I was out walking the two dogs I’m sitting for, it was after dark and approximately, minus five degrees. We had walked about three hundred yards from the house, when a snow white rabbit hopped across the road in front of us. One dog saw it and tried to take off in the direction of the rabbit, the other dog just got excited and was jumping around. I was trying to control both dogs and didn’t see the eight inch step up in front of me and slipped, fell and landed on my left wrist. The pain was instant and excruciating and now that I was on the ground, flopping around like a fish out of water, moaning and I must admit, swearing a bit, and trying to get the leash from my left hand that was no longer usable, into my right, I was being mauled by the dogs. The dogs thought I was playing with them and forgot all about the rabbit that was now, down over the hill, on the opposite side of the road. They were jumping on me, licking me, wagging their tails like I was just the best thing since sliced bread. I got to my knees and begged the dogs to just SIT. They were great, maybe they could tell by my quivering voice that I was hurt or maybe they thought I’d lay down again, so they could jump on me, I don’t know. I rose to my feet and with both dogs now tethered to my other hand, walked slowly back to the house. I didn’t cry!
I knew that I had either sprained my wrist REALLY bad, or broke it. I couldn’t move my fingers very well, but even the thought of moving my thumb, would send electrical shock waves through my body, warning me not to consider moving it again. The dogs were really well behaved walking back to the house, maybe they knew something was wrong by my (throw back to childbirth),Lamaze breathing. I was just praying that we wouldn’t encounter another rabbit while walking back up the driveway, rabbits, seem to be everywhere. Once back in the house, I asked the dogs to sit, which they very kindly did. I had to take my gloves off, jacket, hat and neck warmer before I could take their leashes off. Thankfully, the dogs sat still while my useless right hand tried to manipulate the clips on their collars and once off, the dogs booked it for the living room.
I went straight to the freezer to get some ice for my now, blown up like a balloon, throbbing hand. There were no knuckles showing, fingers swollen and straight like sausages, and my wrist was almost half again as big as my right wrist. There wasn’t any black and blue that usually comes with a bad sprain, so that was my second inkling, that more than likely, it was broken. I put the ice in a zip lock bag, grabbed a dish towel and went to the dining room table. I was now dealt the task of trying to balance the ice over my wrist while wrapping the towel around my throbbing hand, with the useless appendage that hangs from my right shoulder. I never had great dexterity with that right hand and now I was willing it, to PLEASE, PLEASE, cooperate with the rest of me! It only took six or seven tries before I had it wrapped tight enough to hold the ice in place, yet loose enough to not cause more pain. I went to the bathroom and was fortunate enough to find an ace bandage in the first drawer I looked in. I’m care-taking a business for some friends and I’m not the type to snoop in cabinets or drawers and felt really guilty looking for that ace bandage, but relieved upon finding it in the first drawer I looked in. After wrapping my hand, ice, and dish towel in the newly found ace bandage, I finally sat on the couch to assess my options. I was two hours away from any medical treatment, it was now about 6PM and pitch dark. The nearest neighbors that I could call were an hour and a half away. I decided to just wait it out. After all, I’m in Alaska, where I love to be. Many people live much more remote than I am, what would their options be? They could wait for help, or treat their injury themselves. The ice began to melt and was leaking out of the Zip Lock bag, and down my arm towards my elbow, OOhhhhhh.
I had to take the whole thing apart and regroup. While my hand was out from under the ice pack, I checked it over thoroughly. I didn’t see any deviation in my wrist or thumb and contemplated....if it was broken, what would the clinic do, put a cast on it to hold it in place until the bones healed? If it was sprained, they would wrap it in an ace bandage until it healed. I decided I would deal with this myself.
The dogs had to go out to relieve themselves one more time before I went to bed and I was dreading it. It was really cold out and I was still shaking from the trauma. I asked the dogs to sit and reached for the leash that I now had to clip to their collars that were wrapped around anxious wiggling necks, buried in thick hair, with a right hand that refuses to listen to brain commands, all the while, protecting my left hand from any inherent wagging tails or licks of gratitude for taking them outside again! I reached for my down jacket with my right hand and slowly slid my left down into the sleeve. The bundle that was wrapped around my hurting hand would not go all the way through the end of the sleeve, fine, it was good enough for me. Reaching back with my right arm, I slid into the jacket and pulled it into place. I looked down and there.... was another curve ball... waiting for me.......I couldn’t zip my jacket! My left hand was bundled up inside my sleeve and there was no way that the fumbling filanges, on my right hand, that won’t listen to my brain, were going to work that tiny zipper by themselves, no matter how hard I tried. I took one dog at a time, jacket wide open, blowing in the breeze, out to do their business. Another thing puzzles me. Why do dogs have to walk in circles, seventy-six times before they find the right spot to “go,” it makes me nuts! After what seemed like forever, I finally made it into the house, settled the dogs down and headed down the hall to go to bed, it was now 10:30PM.
Another one..... I couldn’t take my pull over off, without removing the nicely wrapped broken hand that was finally numb from the ice. I thought about just sleeping with my polar fleece top on, but decided I would sleep better if I was comfortable, so began the process of unraveling my frozen stump of a hand. Once the ace bandage and dish towel were loose, the now melted ice ran all over my pillowcase, more fun. I went to the bathroom and discovered that using your non-dominant hand is not pleasant, at all! Why in heaven’s name won’t that hand listen. Is it connected to the upstairs wiring at all? I tried pulling up three layers of pants, underwear, long johns and jeans, but that was also a disaster, everything was twisted and no matter how much I wiggled and tugged, it was futile, they were all rolled together. I dropped them right there! I turned the hot water faucet on and filled my hand with soap from the dispenser on the counter and gingerly, washed my poor swollen left hand that has served me so well, independent of any help from the right hand for the past fifty-seven years. Putting any pressure on my dripping left hand, by drying it with a towel was out of the question. My hair dryer was sitting on the counter, so with the dysfunctional right hand, I tried for five minutes or so, before getting the darn plug into the outlet that was eye level on the wall. I turned the dryer on and let the warm air dry my hand. It felt so, good.
I wanted to brush my teeth and started to laugh, what else was I going to do! After a fashion, I managed to squeeze the toothpaste onto my tooth brush and picked it up and luckily got the tooth brush into my mouth, without smearing my face, but there was a problem. I couldn’t for the life of me, get my wonderful right hand, to brush up and down or back and forth. I found myself trying to hold my hand still and move my head back and forth and up and down. I looked like a two year old handed a toothbrush for the first time. I’m glad there are no neighbors or hidden cameras, it must have been quite the sight! Now that I was washed and ready for bed, I took a Tylenol P.M, and an Ibuprofen, recommended by the medical site, regarding broken wrist symptoms and treatment, I had checked out, on the computer.
It was time to wrap the throbbing hand again. This time, I thought, hhhmmm, what if I filled the zip lock bag with snow, it would mold to my hand and not be so painful? So, quickly, I opened the slider, stepped out on the deck and scooped up handfuls of snow and filled the bag, but not fast enough, I was chilled to the bone!
After wrapping my hand again, I remembered that I still had to load the wood-stove. How in the world would I be able to do that! The night was getting longer by the minute! Luckily, I had bought in enough wood earlier in the day to at least get me through the night. Loading the stove wasn’t as bad as I imagined. I just laid the log centered on my right hand and let it roll into the front opening in the stove, three sticks and I called it good, closed the door, set the damper and headed to bed. I was still traumatized by the thought of my first broken bone ever, chilled to the core, shaking uncontrollably, and utterly exhausted! I just wanted to crawl under the down comforter, lay my head down on a dry pillow and sleep. No, that was not going to happen. I, tossed and turned, raised my injured hand up on a pillow to see if I could stop the throbbing but nothing worked. After what seemed like days, I went into the living room, grabbed my computer and took it back to the bedroom, plugged it in and slid a movie into the DVD slot, thinking I might fall asleep while being distracted by the movie. It worked for a while until the movie was over. I was up and back on the couch in the living room by 4AM, with a cup of coffee, in the hand that would have to help me out, for the next four to six weeks. I hoped it would buck up and start earning the name “helping hand.”
I knew my friends Susie and Alan were in Fairbanks, so about 8AM I called them on their cell phone and asked if they were still in town and could they possibly do me a favor. Would they please pick up a wrist splint with Velcro closures and thumb restraint, they said sure and asked what had happened, I told them about my slip, I also asked if they’d pick up a bag of Tostito corn chips, so I could make an easy nacho dinner for myself.
Susie & Alan arrived late in the afternoon, and helped put the splint on my hand, oh, it felt good, maybe it was aligning my hand in the right position, I don’t know, but it felt better than the ace bandage. Alan bought in a load of wood for me, for the wood-stove. What a relief! They brought in the few groceries I had asked them to pick up in town. They retrieved the mail from the screen house and the few packages still in the sled and were on their way back out on the Denali Highway, to the Lodge. It was after 5PM, and I was hungry. I tried to open the bag of chips, but with one hand, it wasn’t working. I opened the drawer to get the scissors, only to realize I couldn’t use them in my right hand. I could not get the signal from my brain, down into the fingers that were just sitting there, in their own little world, to open or close those scissors. I laid the bag of chips on the counter, put my belly up against the counter and gave the bag an elbow shot, that any WWF fighter would be proud of. The bag did pop open and chips were all over the toaster and counter. Luckily, it opened towards the back-splash and not onto the floor! I went to the fridge to get the jar of salsa and guacamole only to learn that opening the jar would test my patience beyond, belief. It only took a mere forty-five minutes to put some chips, salsa and guacamole on a plate so I could eat my dinner!
I woke up around 5AM on Friday and the arm was just throbbing. I was a bit concerned that there might be a bone fragment floating around, so around 9AM, I called the clinic in Delta, about 120 miles away, and asked if they could do an X-ray. They said yes, but they closed at noon. I'm left handed, and broke the left wrist, hmm, could I drive all that way using only, my useless, right hand? I thought about it for a while, wondering if there was anyone that could drive me......The closest neighbor, Bert the trapper, was 1 1/2 hrs away and who knew when he could get here, or even if I could get in touch with him, so I decided to drive myself. I couldn't leave the dogs alone for the day, so loaded them in the back of the Suberu and headed north. It was sunny when I left the house, but heading up and over the Alaska Range, the clouds were hanging thick and heavy. It started to snow and blow and the road was covered in places and I was a wreck! Coming around Rainbow Mountain, it was a full blown white out. That's all I need, is to get stuck in a blizzard, and not be able to zip my coat! I started to call all angels to watch over me, and they did a great job! I made it there just fine.
The people at the clinic were very cordial. I have to tell you, it was 12* there, blowing like a banshee! A wee bit chilly! It was worth the trip, the wrist WAS broken in two places, and the really HOT Russian Doctor was dreamy and very attentive! He wanted to put a cast on my arm, but I said no, that I lived alone and needed to take a shower, so I'd be happy if I could keep the Velcro splint on. Reluctantly, he agreed and helped me put the splint back on, said it was a good one, and that I needed to keep it on for the next six weeks and be careful with it. Before I left, he asked if I had any questions or if there was anything he could do for me?.............All I could think of was, Would you come and cook dinner for me? But... I'm a chicken, and just said no. He told me I should come back next week, for another X-ray to make sure everything was healing correctly, but that he would not be there. Needless to say, there's no reason for me to go back then, is there?
It’s been a week today since I fell, and I have to say, I am coping quite well! Dealing with a broken wrist, even if it is my left one, is not nearly as bad as spraining my ankle or crunching my back. I just think how lucky I am that my wrist will heal in a few weeks, it could have been much, much worse!
Life may throw you a curve ball, but you have to do your best, to knock it out of the park and get back in the game!

Snow.....

Snow.....
How wonderful nature is, a new canvas everyday.
There are people like me, there must be, that enjoy the intrinsic beauty of the first sight of the frozen crystals.

I love the minute water droplets that are transformed magically in the clouds and morph into unique crystals, that gently float to the ground. Not like the rain that splatters, so that everything it touches is moved. I love the delicate flakes that land softly, so as not to disturb the object it lands on. The crystals barely touch each other, like down feathers in a pile, so much air in between each flake, so light and fluffy. It is so quiet when it’s snowing, you could not hear a pin drop, the sound would be muffled by the blanket of white.
Everything is brighter, even with complete cloud cover, it makes me feel happy. The flock of red Grossbeaks sitting on the dark green branches of the spruce tree, really stand out with the contrast of white. I tried taking a photo but it’s still a little dark. The sun will not be up for another hour or so and by then the Grossbeaks will be on their way to who knows where. The black capped Chickadees are at the feeder, snow falling all around them. There are maybe twelve or so, flitting back and forth, eating the sunflower seeds, just like on the Christmas cards. I’ve opened the kitchen window so I can hear their chatter, chicka-de-de-de.

Oh, how I love winter......the cold and snow and silence, somehow, it makes me feel warm, like it’s cradling and comforting me. I love the way the cold air chills my face and makes my eyes water. I’m not crazy about how cold my glasses get or how they fog up when I come inside, but it’s a small price to pay to be able to feel the invigorating cold. It makes me feel, so alive!

It’s snowing, it’s snowing, it’s snowing! I must go, it's calling me........

Rocks

10/09/09

What can you say about rocks? You step on them, you sit on them when you’re tired, kids climb on them, you skip them across water, you build walls with them, and line your garden with them, but have you ever really looked at rocks close up. I'm not talking about your run of the mill, gray jagged edged, boring rocks. I'm talking about interesting rocks! You know, the red ones, the spotted ones, the green smooth rocks, rocks with white stripes, heart shaped rocks, round smooth river rocks, rocks that wash up on the beach, etc.


I've been picking up rocks for almost fifteen years now, I have boxes of them. Rocks from Wyoming, Montana, Washington, British Columbia, the Yukon, Niagara Falls, Michigan, the beaches of Maine, Connecticut, Alaska and Ireland.

There was one beautiful rock on the North shore of Lake Superior, that was so large, I couldn’t lift it. I worked for hours, sweating profusely, rolling it, prying it with a large branch and finally, managed to get it back to the camper. Try as I might, and much to my chagrin, and after extensive contemplation, I came to the conclusion that there was no way I could possibly lift or maneuver that boulder into the truck or camper, .....I sadly, had to leave it behind.



There were three rocks, from the tailings of Crazy Horse that were so heavy, I thought my arms would come out of their sockets on the long walk carrying them back to my truck on the far side of the parking lot. I was hoping for some help, but all I received were some really strange stares.



While traveling across country with my sister and her husband, we stopped in a Rock Shop in South Dakota. There were shelves of crystals, pyrite, fossils and gemstones. It was great fun to browse, lots of eye candy everywhere. We asked the man behind the counter if he could identify some of the rocks that we found in a river along the way. We thought they were chunks of Turquoise.....we never did get a straight answer. On one of the shelves there was a large Citrine quartz crystal, about twice the size of a softball, it caught my eye and every few minutes would go back to look at it again. It was $40.00, too much for my budget, besides, who in their right mind would pay for a rock! We walked around and around, finally got back in the truck and just as we were about to pull out of the driveway I said, WAIT, I have to go get that rock! I can’t believe I “PAID” for a rock but it was calling me, and so, it sits on my night-stand at my sisters house and was worth every penny.

Thank goodness for the Post Office and their “Flat Rate” boxes. I’ve mailed home about one hundred twenty pounds of rocks over the past few years. I hope they don’t change their policy and put a limit on the weight of those boxes. Two years ago, I was in Fairbanks, getting ready to put my camper in storage for the winter and was packing up all my belongings. Everywhere I looked in the camper and the truck, there were rocks.



I gathered the smaller ones into a couple of milk crates until they were overflowing, I thought, wow, that’s a lot, of rocks, and quite a heavy load. No wonder my gas milage is so poor! From under the mattress, I took three $12.95 flat rate boxes that I always keep on hand and began to fill them. As I crammed a few of the smaller rocks into the edges, I thought, yikes, I don’t know if the Post Office will accept this or not?
I sealed all the corners with packing tape, addressed it to my sisters house and went on to the next box. Yup, filled all three boxes and still had enough rocks to fill six more!
Off to the Post Office I went. I could only carry one box at a time. I figured they weighed between twenty-five to thirty pounds each. I had to wait in line........yes, as you know, there’s always a line at the Post Office. I placed the first box on the side counter and headed back out to the truck to retrieve the other two boxes. I wasn’t worried about anyone taking them, no one could lift them, or want to! After thirty minutes or so, and some interesting conversations while waiting, it was my turn at the window. One by one, I hefted the boxes onto the counter and was asked the usual question......Anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous? No, not in my boxes! The clerk slid the box onto the scale,(I think for her own curiosity) and with a sullen look on her face, she peered at me over the top of her glasses and said, “You’re really getting your moneys worth, aren’t you?” I thought my plan was doomed! I just smiled and said, yes.
She asked if I would like to insure the boxes......I hesitated, they were irreplaceable.......but I said no. I finally whispered to her, (why the whisper, I don’t know), that the boxes were filled with my treasure of rocks. She lit up like a Christmas Tree and said she loved rocks! That her husband threatened if she brought any more rocks home, she would have to find a new place to live.......and take her rocks with her! With a wry smile, I told her in, no uncertain terms, if the rocks didn’t arrive safely back to the East coast, I’d know where to start looking!
My rock collecting has gotten to the point of absurdity! I don’t have a place to put them. I live in my camper, or stay with family. What in the world am I to do with all these rocks? For now, they are all safe in storage, in Maine, boxes and boxes of them and there are more than a few boxes in my sisters closet.



Now that I’m back in Alaska, I’ve begun to gather again, surprise, surprise! Taking the dogs for long walks three or four times a day, gives me the opportunity to peruse the landscape, and I’m in a prime spot. This area was covered in glaciers not to long ago and it is a virtual mine field of possibilities. I wonder how these rocks were formed, how far have they traveled, and wonder, where will they end up and how many can I carry?



I remember being in the middle of no where, on a trail in the Alaska Range and seeing a rock up on a bluff, about the size of a baseball that was forced apart with quartz strands. It was the most interesting rock I think I’ve ever seen. At the time, I thought I had collected enough rocks and just took a photo of it and walked on. That night, I could not get that rock out of my head, I could not sleep and decided, first thing in the morning, I would go back and find it. I spent three days, looking for it! I even gave a picture of the rock to two teenage girls I had met, gave them the best directions I could as to where I thought it was, and offered a twenty dollar reward if they brought it back to me, it was never found.


The poor dogs I’m sitting for, get dragged up hills and down the rock slides. I’ve been good and haven’t worn my back pack, I only fill my vest or jacket pockets. I make cairns with the rocks I can’t take with me and then return later with my camera. I can do a whole photo exhibit with my rock photos!
I’m trying my darnedest to be selective, but many of those rocks are just to beautiful to leave behind............



Hmmm, I’ve just left a note in the mail box and asked the Post man to leave a couple of “Large” flat rate boxes the next time he delivers the mail!

October 3rd, 2009

October 3rd, 2009

Here I sit at the dining room table in Paxson, AK. I’m gazing out the window as the snow is pouring down. Tiny light flakes coming to rest on the evergreen branches. I can see and hear a huge black raven clucking and cawing, I also hear hooting? I just got up and opened the door to see if I could find where the hooting was coming from. I’m still trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive owl that lives somewhere here in the trees by the river. The complete silence makes your ears attune to the slightest sound. To my amazement, it was the raven that was hooting! Native folk lore calls the raven “The Trickster”, he certainly is, he mimics what he hears! I wish I could have had the room in my suitcase to bring my movie camera. I would have loved to catch that on video. He sat on the branch high up in the spruce tree, bobbing his head up and down, hooting and clucking. I watched for 30-40 seconds and as soon as I raised the camera, he flew off to who knows where.......... I stood for a moment wishing I could follow him just to hear his story again.
It was time to check for eggs. Entering the chicken pen and walking towards the coup, I startled the Magpie as he flew out, egg yolk dripping from his beak...GGGRRRRR. Two of the six eggs had been pecked open and their contents devoured by the insidious magpie! He had not gotten to the lone cold egg that was in the farthest nesting box. Thank goodness, one of the hens is very protective and pecks at anyone or any bird, that tries to remove the eggs she's sitting on, three to be exact! I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and endured the multiple sharp pecks as I lifted her and quickly grabbed the three warm eggs that she was keeping under careful watch.
I retrieved the two dogs from their pen, covered in a blanket of white, back to the house. Much to their dismay, they are blockaded in the entrance way until they dry off. I play the harmonica (very loose term) to entertain myself, both dogs sit, stick their noses in the air, and howl along. I’m not sure if they enjoy the sound or are begging me to stop the painful noise! I think it’s the latter.....poor things!
Looking out the window toward where the mountain was out in a beautiful display yesterday, with the caribou grazing everywhere, all I can see is a curtain of white. Everyday is a different palate, a tribute to Mother Nature and her magnificent power.
It’s a good day to cuddle up next to the wood stove, read a book and keep a sharp ear out for the trickster.

My Happy Place

My soul is feeling the peace of getting back to my happy place. Just now, settling in to my new environment, just as the frost is settling into the ground.
Leaving family and friends is always difficult. Leaving my folks, who aren't getting any younger is the most difficult of all. Not knowing if I'll see them again before they depart this earth. I expressed my love for them and told them I'd be back for the holidays, part of my heart was left with them.
My children and grand children know that I come and go like the wind. They know how much I love them and miss them but they also know that I need to be in the Great Land to experience the joy that the wild outdoors brings to my soul. I'll bring back stories and rocks, lots of photos and a ton of love when I go back east.
My friends don't know what to think of me, some say I'm totally crazy, some think I'm adventurous and some wonder if I'll leave one of these times and never return. Some ask what my plans are.......all I can say is, I just don't know! I'm not a planner per say, I have no idea what I'll have for lunch or dinner, never mind what I'll be doing tomorrow, next week or next year. I take each day as it comes. They ask, "What about your retirement?" WHAT??? I'm living an awesome life, and I wonder, retire from what? You only get one life and I don't want to grow old and say, golly, I wish I had done this, or traveled there. I'm living and enjoying new experiences, everyday! I never know what day it is, or what time it is, nor, do I care.
I learned to live without"things", they are not important. There's so much more to life and living, and with fewer belongings, there's a sense of freedom to come and go. There are so many interesting people to meet and share stories with. That's one of the reasons I love it here in Alaska, people enjoy life everyday. They are not caught up in what they own or worrying how they'll pay for things. Yesterday, I met a woman from Juneau, originally from Pennsylvania, who moved here in 1995 with her teenage daughter, who by the way, thought she was nuts! An attorney, she started mushing dogs in 1999 and has decided to try racing in the Iditarod. She ferried her truck, dogs, snow machine and four wheeler and is spending the winter in the mountains, alone, training for the last great race. She's 58 yrs old, put her practice aside and is living life. Can you imagine? I wish her well.
Hopefully, in this quiet place with stunning surroundings I'll be able to put my thoughts to paper. If I can inspire one person to seek their dreams, my ramblings will not be in vane.

Summer fleeting away.......

How quickly time flies when you are so busy! Work, play, sleep, visiting, hiking, swimming, playing nursemaid, building, cleaning, repairing, chatting, driving, so much to do, so little time.
Here it is the middle of August, the nights are getting shorter, although not as cool as I'd like them to be. All the fun ideas for the summer, camping, hiking, playing didn't happen, somehow time passed in a blur without those thoughts coming to fruition.
I think in terms of years now, not weeks or months. Life seems to be spinning faster and faster. Children are growing older, getting taller, much smarter and I'm loving them more each day. I miss the babies I get to see oh, so infrequently. I miss the smiles, the new accomplishments, the cute phrases that come from their innocent mouths. I miss their tiny chubby legs and puggy fingers, and inquisitive bright eyes.

Getting older is not it's all cracked up to be.......all the wishes in the world can't slow down the aging process, much to our dismay. I savor every day and thank the power that is, for all my blessings. I'm so very lucky! Healthy, loving family, great friends and incredible jobs that seem to fall in my lap. I believe everything happens for a reason and you must take advantage of every opportunity, no matter how strange, or far fetched. Life is here to be lived to the fullest, it's such a short ride!