the crazies

There are weeks when you feel like you could be living anywhere and you ask yourself, "What's the big deal about living in Alaska?"

This was not one of them.

After Matt took the kids on Thursday night, I went up to a friend's house for a visit and a sauna. As the evening progressed, the snowflakes multiplied and the wind began to build. It was pretty obvious I wasn't going anywhere. By morning, the flakes had accumulated to several feet of snow, and the wind picked up.

I worked all morning from Crossman Ridge thanks to a laptop and an internet connection, hoping for a break in the weather. No such luck. The storm intensified, the wind got worse, and resistance was futile. Saturday morning revealed much of the same and more snow fell and made a mockery of the paths I had shoveled in a vain effort to make order out of the now-waist-high drifts between the house and the woodshed.

Saturday afternoon, the snow finally abated enough to chop some wood, but then the wind kicked up again and the temperature dropped. A ski to assess the car situation proved dangerous when my gloves were inadequate for the conditions and I wound up having to ski back in without using my poles so I could keep my frozen fingers in my coat pockets.

Finally, on Sunday morning, the weather broke after 3 days of madness and I made the trek out and freed the car from its tomb of drifts. At home, I was greeted by more crazy drifts, and then, even better, the heating oil in the monitor stove had run out, dropping the temperature in the house down to 40 degrees. I quickly lit a fire in the woodstove and started shoveling. Matt brought the kids up around 1 p.m., and after some lunch and outside time (it was a beautiful bluebird day at this point ) Thea went down for a nap and Liam and I went back to work on the shoveling.

After about an hour, I went back to the house to check on Thea and heard a strange noise when I walked in the mudroom. Was the washing machine on? No, there was a flood coming from the laundry room. A pipe leading to the outside faucet had burst, flooding the house with several inches of water while I shoveled. I quickly turned off the fuse to the water pressure tank, and started to clean up the mess using every towel in the house while plugging the kids into an Elmo movie to keep them happy in the living room for a bit.

After the mess was cleaned up, we headed into town to find parts and pieces that might work as a fix. I got the typical not-so-helpful advice from various hardware store people who had a hard time dealing with my description of the copper-to-pvc-to-cpvc-to-metal set-up. But I got some parts and pieces, and some pipe glue and brought it all home. After dinner, I took a saw to the pipes, then gingerly and with lots of prayers and pipe cement applied a cap to the line.

Then kids to bed, and two hours wait until I could turn the water back on and see if it worked. At 9 p.m., I flipped the switch, and yes! it held. Another successful chapter in singlehood drew to a close.

This morning we woke to another blizzard, and a third (fourth?) on the way this evening. The fuel guys said they might not be able to make it up there today with the storms, so I'll probably go home at lunch to stoke the fire. What an adventure this week is turning out to be.

quote du jour

"Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow."-Dorothy Thompson

boxes, funerals, etc.

On Sunday afternoon, after many letters were written, drawings created, and heartfelt thoughts expressed, Liam, Théa and I finally managed to hold a funeral for Breton. It is amazing to me how important these rituals are to Liam, but you could see he really needed to do it properly. We cut out pictures of her that I had found from over the years and put them in plastic ziplocs with ribbons threaded through them. We hung those from the tree over her grave. We painted pictures on two rocks we got from the beach and varnished them so they wouldn't fade too quickly. Liam placed flowers all around her grave, and then we said a few words about how important she had been in our lives. Liam, I think, may be a natural at writing Halmark cards in his adult life. He certainly is now, anyway. And then I played a song on the fiddle, and we said goodbye to Breton. Both Liam and I choked up as we walked away. Théa ate snow from her mittens. So it goes.



It's been an interesting week - a little winter returned, just enough to remind us where we live, but not enough to really ski on much. We spent some time doing more box deconstruction - the mileage I get out of cereal boxes and tape continues to baffle me. But with temps hovering around 35, I sent both kids outside today before dinner. They went onto the deck and threw snowballs at Hannah, who caught them in the air, much to the delight of both children. Peels of laughter rang from the deck. It was great. I made dinner, played the fiddle a little, and didn't get badgered for at least a half hour and they blew off some steam. Outside=mutually beneficial. I'm really looking forward to spring and spending more time out there this year with two fully mobile and vigorous kids.



Part of my recent trip to Anchorage was to purchase the supplies for the greenhouse I'm constructing this spring. It's a hoop structure, 12x33 feet, modeled after a co-worker's design, which I toured earlier this month. Simple materials, simple construction, and a lot of growing space. Yes! So on Sunday, anticipating being able to plant in this structure on May 1, I planted my tomatoes and peppers, or at least the first batch of them. A little exciting to think that if all goes well, I may actually have the space to grow enough tomatoes to keep us happily in spaghetti through next winter. My, but that sounds vaguely familiar. I guess the apple, or the tomato, doesn't fall far from the tree. I just hope Théa and Liam get to climb this tree, too. It's a sturdy one that makes you feel whole inside.

puzzle

I never blogged about the puzzle Liam is holding in the previous post. We got that at the local toy store, and I scrambled it up for him. He worked on it for two weeks before he figured it out and got it. I tried one night to get it back together and couldn't. But Liam's brain works like that. I'm in awe. Look out world.

heat wave

It has been 40 for most of the past week, which is crazy. It hasn't been freezing at night, and the snow is melting so fast. We've had several days of rain, too. In town, there is no snow at all and even up on the hill, a walk in the woods fills your nose with the scent of spring and life. But even with climate change factors in our midst, it just cannot be. March can be an amazingly wintery month up here, and I have no doubt that we will get back into the snow and cold zone before this season lets go it's grip.

That said, it has been a wonderful break - almost like going to another place. The sunshine is up in the sky far enough that on a 40-degree day, you can actually feel heat coming from it. I've taken almost daily skis and walks in the forest lately, and felt the promise of another season that is ever-closer. And running is blissfully pleasant, though it still surprises me how warm I get. What? No hat?

The kids have been thoroughly enjoying the weather, too, and wow, is it nice to send them out and not have to tend to them so much or have them come hollering back in after 10 minutes complaining of cold fingers. They can walk on top of the snow now and it's like a giant football field - they were running all over the place. Good stuff. I shoveled off a bunch of the deck and they got out the trikes and then Liam decided to extricate the deck chairs, too. Pretty funny. It's supposed to return to 30s by the end of the week, but we are so enjoying it while it lasts. I've got to tie a bell around Thea, though. She moves pretty fast these days. She was playing with a soccer ball and it rolled down to the edge of the clearing and the first I knew of it was when I heard her hollering because she had post-holed into a spot by a tree way across the property. Sheesh. But at least they have room to play and enjoy the outdoors. I could barely lure them inside with the promise of food - a nice reprieve from the typical 1/2 hour wail-fest prior to dinner.

i'm fine - not

OK, so today I went about my normal stuff, no issues, chugging along, even being fairly productive, though a tad grumpy. And then - whack - about 2 p.m. out of no where, I'm bawling. I wasn't even thinking about her. It's just the raw emotion of the experience.

I've done a crappy job leading the kids through this one. It's too close still - too painful. Maybe this weekend I gather Liam for an hour or two and do a ceremony for her. Maybe it's OK to let a bit of time pass after the actual dying before the remembering. He's hungry for it - wants to ask tons of questions, and I'm still too raw to handle them. I try. But not really hitting it.

Death is so interesting to Liam - he has endless questions about it. Liam is a child who wears his heart on his sleeve. The night before, when Breton was first injured, I told him it was likely she was going to have to go tomorrow. He sat on the couch with me and we both had a cry for about a minute. Then, simultaneously, we collected ourselves and Liam said, "OK, let's read our book now." I LOVE that boy. So proud of his ability to fully feel things, let the storms pass through him and move on. I hope he can retain that forever.

It has been fascinating to watch the responses to my post about Breton on Facebook. People really love their dogs, and are eager to share with someone the validity of the feeling for their four-legged companion. Laugh all you want about Facebook - I think it's brilliant. It's the modern hug. Course, I've appreciated the real ones I've gotten as well.

In memory of Breton

Seventeen years ago, I went to the Homer Animal Shelter at the age of 19 looking for a cat. I had always been a cat person, but when I got there, a small, pitch-covered yellow lab curled herself into my lap and I was sunk.

I had just moved to Homer and was still figuring out a lot of things at the age of 19. My partner at the time was a traveler and I had entertained the idea of going with him to India, but the arrival of Breton in our lives signaled my desire to go a different direction. But she was such an easy dog, so quickly trained, so mellow, that she worked her way into both our lives and settled us, in a way.

And while she was an exceptionally obedient and easy dog for most of her life, I have all day been flashing through distinct memories of her. The day she got stomped by a moose and we had to take her to the vet on a sunday and assist in the surgery (and Jerzy got so light-headed he had to leave the room ... who knew?) The time I was running with her in Anchorage on the coastal trail and she swam out into the Inlet after a duck and was so far out there that her head kept disappearing with each wave. Swimming with the Belugas off the airport beach in Anchorage. The time she took off on the 4th of July because she was afraid of the fireworks. Roller-jouring with her.

The thing is, my memories of her span my entire adult life thus far. All of it. She's lived with me in countless different homes in Homer, Anchorage, Oregon, Kenai and Homer again. She's endured two trips on the Alcan, one with 3 cats and 2 other dogs crammed in a Subaru Loyale. She weathered so many twists and turns in my life, three major relationships, outlived two dog companions and who knows how many cats. She's seen me through the transition to motherhood - graciously taking a backseat to my children and enduring their abuses. And most recently, she has allowed me to once again shed tears on her as we together endured yet another transition.

I am most grateful that she lived a good, long life - was happy right up until the end, and made her need to go clear to me so I didn't have to waiver and choose for her. She at worst endured one night of real pain in her entire life, and I am so sorry for that, but in every other way, I believe I served her well. Her pain is over. Mine and my family's begins.

I'm sure I will think of more things to say, but for now, that's my thoughts. The task of digging a grave in the frozen ground must now be accomplished - a fire is burning under the tree in the back yard. This afternoon, Liam and I will think of some way to memorialize her properly and begin processing this loss. Deep breaths.