Easter Joy, and Why I Wore Xtra Tufs to Church

I somehow found joy in the midst of a messy, muddy, snowy Easter weekend.

Anchorage managed to break the previous record for snowiest winter since the 1950's. I think the total was somewhere around 134 inches of white stuff, the last three or so falling yesterday in a frantic, wild, and wet blizzard that caused me to chop kindling, build a fire in the woodstove, and work on the book.

We all had a very pleasant day, resigned to the fact that Easter Sunday might be a slushy mess. I laughed with friends about my intention of wearing boots to church to keep my strappy summer sandals in pristine condition. I didn't even think at the time about a song our fabulous church was performing on Sunday; I just thought it would be funny to walk into the building wearing Alaska's signature footwear.

Mountain High Facility called around 5 p.m. to tell me of an incident involving Wolf. A serious, oh-my-gosh sort of incident that caused Yukon and I to wonder if he has given up. After all the positive work, after the high marks and difficult work, Wolf is decompensating rapidly, and no one can figure out why. He called a few hours later, railing and ranting and swearing that he could do better on his own, or no where at all. Lost. He hung up no happier than when he had dialed, and I was left, again, standing in the middle of my living room, staring at my silent phone, feeling like an utter failure.

Talk about blowing the storm back into the harbor.

I went for a long, long run after that phone call, splashing my way through full puddles and postholing into old, icy drifts of snow along the roadway. That song kept resonating in my head. I ran, breathing in and out in ragged gasps, sobbing at the same time, wiping my nose on the sleeve of a now-filthy shirt. I ran and cried and prayed, all three, and all the while the lyrics to the next day's song flowed through my addled head.

The Mud Song.




So I wore my boots to church, this morning, in honor of Wolf. Life is indeed pretty muddy right now, but I'd stomp in every puddle around if it meant he'd be able to avoid them. In my Xtra Tufs.

Funny thing; Easter Sunday was absolutely glorious, weather-wise. A stunning reminder of better things ahead, after the storm passes.