We Go Way Up North

I love my work, for it allows the AK Fam many and varied opportunities to explore a state few manage to cover in the typical week's visit. Last weekend Bear, Yukon and I had the chance to fly up to Fairbanks for a weekend of dog sledding, ice carving, and hot spring-soaking, thanks to the folks at the Fairbanks Convention and Visitors Bureau.

The weather was glorious; not too chilly with highs near 20 during the day and dropping down to a balmy -15 at night. Not too bad for the Interior. Bear, in his usual whirlwind fashion, managed to recreate himself nearly to death, trying every activity with gusto and then crashing hard at night.

The Ice Carving Championships were something, too. We attended at night, when sculptures were lit by multicolored lights and doubly fun for Bear to slide down the kid-friendly carvings and even lead me through an ice maze.

We're going to go back this summer, probably for the Tanana Valley Fair in August. There's much more to see and many more places to go.

Asperger's Gets Weekly Attention by Network

Well, just look at that. My son's Asperger Syndrome has reached the pinnacle of awareness by the producers of NBC's new weekly drama, 'Parenthood' . A Brian Graser/Ron Howard project, the show is supposed to chronicle the ups and downs and in-betweens of a large and somewhat dysfunctional Berkeley family.

I like Brian Graser and I've been in love with Ron Howard ever since the 'Andy Griffith' days, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to watch the pilot. The Asperger thing caught me by surprise, though. One of the family's sons is himself father to an elementary-aged boy who wears a pirate costume every day and seems rather disjointed with respect to the rest of the family. He hates sports, endures his Grandpa, played by Craig T. Nelson, who keeps telling him to "man up", and can't seem to get things together in the classroom. Poor Max.

Whoa! All of a sudden the kid is jumping a peer in the classroom who made fun of his costume, bites him on the arm, and whomp; here are mom and dad in the principal's office talking about his expulsion from school and a referral to what the principal calls an "education specialist". Ah-hah. Dad goes into defensive freak-out mode, mom cringes in the corner, and both shut down emotionally as they shuttle their unapologetic vagrant down the steps and to his room at home.

Long story short; mom calls the specialist, the specialist meets the kid and says she thinks he has AS. Both parents fall apart and, relational to my own world, Dad enters his "just-fix-it" world, where he questions, ponders, and offers a tutor to help his son catch up to the rest of the kids. By the end of the pilot episode, Dad has seen some of Max's behavior objectively and lays it all out for his father, Go-To Grandpa. We can see an exciting season ahead of Asperger Syndrome drama, can't we?

I was a unsure of NBC's ability to put such a confusing, very unique disorder on national television and try to make it understandable to the masses. After all, AS is so different for every child it is hard to pin down a broad-brush definition for an actor.

Last week, though, one scene caught my eye and made me think that perhaps this AS theme could work. The family is sitting down to dinner, and mom, dad, and big sister are watching Max pick at his food because it is not a mixture of his "favorites" and he won't eat things that are unfamiliar. He just wants to watch TV. His parents engage in an argument with him about "TV Time" and how many bites he must eat. Dad has had enough, tells him that he gets five minutes on the TV for every bite he eats. HAHAHAHA. I know already what will happen, and sure enough, Max eats 15 bites and earns 75 minutes of television time, way over his allotted daily allowance. He then gets up and leaves to go reap his reward. Dad tells him he has to wait until everyone is finished. What does Max say? "You didn't say that; all you said was I had to eat my dinner."

Uh huh. This could definitely work. Welcome to my world, NBC. Hope we'll see Max's parents going gray and losing weight and sucking down margaritas with desperate abandon as the season goes on. Then I might believe you know what you are doing.

Well, Here We Are Again...

I would imagine that reading about our winter weather is as tedious as living it, but the depth and breadth of stormy weather remains sort of newsworthy. Plus, the photos are cool.

Yukon woke me up this morning around 5:30 to tell me that it was "really snowing outside". Whatever. This is Alaska, and it snows all the time, even in March. He woke me up again about 20 minutes later to say that there was a winter storm warning due to hazardous driving conditions and blowing snow. Hmmm, this was a bit more interesting, so I dragged to the window and looked out. What met my eyes was a cacophony of snow; blowing snow, drifting snow, and rapidly falling snow. So much snow, in fact, that I worried about Yukon's departure for his morning swim (nixed that), and my afternoon radio program.

The newspaper never showed up, and I had received my morning cup of coffee, so all that remained was to saddle up and try and dig the family out of igloo-ness, at least so the dog could navigate the back steps and go outside.

The snow kept falling as I dug my way down the deck stairs and out into the backyard, creating a Trail of Necessity for you-know-who, and then tried to open the back gate to the front. Nope. I clumped up the stairs in my Yak Trax (spikey things I put on the bottom of my rubber boots to keep from slipping) and across the new laminate flooring and around to the front door.

Met with blowing snow sifting into the entryway, I yelled at Yukon to be sure and lock the door behind me, and began the process all over again, this time to at least reach the Expedition at the far end of the driveway.

Eventually Yukon realized he would not have to rush this a.m., and with the two of us rigged out in boots, Carhartts, and snow attire, we managed to unearth the big truck and most of the Old Betsy Explorer, who will be pressed into service today to hopefully aid in my appearance on Alaska Travelgram's afternoon radio show. Yukon departed for the office and I went inside to eat and refortify my caffeine intake.

About an hour ago, my neighbor showed up with his snowblower, and we finished the driveway, started Old Betsy, and managed in the process to bury the South Neighbor's Kia Sportage (I know you are reading this, Neighbors, so don't worry; we'll dig you out later, this was an emergency). The sun tried coming out for a while, but now at Noon the snow has returned with a vengance.

At least on the radio no one can see me in my foul weather gear. But then, this is Alaska, isn't it? No one really cares. Least of all me, at this point.

A Doggone Good Weekend

Another Iditarod sled dog race is on the move to Nome, Alaska, and another Monday-after has arrived during which time I try to recover from a weekend of hiking, writing, and photographing team after team of incredible athletes. Whew.

Complicating matters is the interesting Ceremonial vs. Official starts to the race; one on Saturday so all the fans can meet and greet mushers, take pictures, and enjoy a big block party on Fourth Avenue in downtown Anchorage. The Official "Restart" takes place on Sunday up in Willow, Alaska, on a frozen Willow Lake where the stakes are high, tensions are higher, and the teams just want to get the heck away from the hubbub of the media and hoardes. This year I got to attend both.

On Saturday, the fam packed up and drove a short distance to Campbell Creek Science Center, a group to which I belong as a board member, and watched the start from their fab indoor/outdoor facility. Bear and his friend Cady played in the trees, making imaginary forts and houses among the spruce boughs while the grownups watched teams silently slide by. Only a little snow fell and temps were rather mild, making the day a pleasant one. The Center offered snacks, crafts, and a bunch of information on the race itself, and we really enjoyed talking with the crowds of people.

On Sunday, I trailed along with Salmonberry Tours to the Restart. SBT is a contingent of great women who have taken a small tour company to new heights with their attention to detail, friendly faces, and incredibly accommodating style. We arrived shortly afte 9 a.m. to prepare a tent for 30 incoming guests and to set up a delicious spread of food. Bear and Yukon decided to stay home for this one, a good idea since this day is less about kids and more about the race.

The sun was shining, the wind was down, and we had a prime spot for an assault to the senses as chili bubbled on our stove, dogs shrieked and yelped, and teams streaked past on their way to a long, tough journey ahead. Denali silently stood sentry from an aloof distance to the North through all the commotion, and I wonder if she (the mountain) was a bit disgusted by the hooplah.

I visited with many of the Salmonberry guests, most of whom were from far, far away. The trip to see the Iditarod was a dream come true for many; including a 70 year-old woman from Florida. She said the Discovery channel was the closest she'd ever been to a sled dog before this trip, and it was "magical".

Sure is. Sometimes we need other people to remind us of our good fortune.

You can follow the 2010 Iditarod sled dog race through the link above for Iditarod.com; daily updates will be posted and interesting facts about the race. Look for Zack Steer, our friend from Sheep Mountain Lodge, to be a real contender this year to champ Lance Mackey.

A Wake Up Call

Nothing like waking up to the house shaking. With all the earthquakes occuring around the world, this was our first thought. But no, it was just the wind.

Those of you from the upper reaches of states like Minnesota, the Dakotas, and Montana will know what I am talking about. The Chinook; that crazy, wild, warm wind that blows and blows until you think it can't blow any harder. Then it blows some more.

The strangest part about a Chinook is its warmth. It feels soft on your cheek even as it tries to tear the clothes off your body and throws everything from under the deck around the neighborhood (yes, we have an assortment of items under our deck. From sleds to shovels to dog bones, it's all there).

Since we live against the Chugach mountains at a curve where two peaks meet and slope down toward our home, we are the lucky beneficiaries of all sorts of weather patterns. Usually the Weather Service can predict and warn before the blowing begins, and in this case they were right on.

I do hope they are wrong about the windspeed, however. The report was for gusts of 90 mph.

The photo above is the view from my office on a tranquil day. This morning I can't even see the trees across the street for the blowing, drifting, spinning snow.

From the Wolf Den: Let's Talk, or Not

The most inspiring part of parenting a child with a behavior disorder is the support from other moms and dads facing similar situations. Usually my relationships with these people are built after a non-related meeting at which time somebody brings up the fact that they have a child with such-and-such, or so-and-so, and my jaw drops and I say with tears in my eyes, "Me, too." It never fails to amaze me how often I assume the role of victim without ever considering the thousands upon thousands of other parents who engage in the same daily struggle, or more so.

Today I met with such a friend, mom to two children, one with similar issues to Wolf and also dealing with her own painful and debilitating health problems. She wanted to talk about well-meaning family members of friends who offer their, um, opinions within the realm of our children's conditions. From physicians to pharmacies, discipline to daydreaming, everybody has a viewpoint, and this mom was at her wit's end.

It is hard to comment on responses and questions from other family members or friends because on one hand we have received so much positive support from both that any suggestion to the contrary might be construed as negative on my part. But on the other hand, I think any mother or father who has been inundated with comments by well-meaning people naive to particular, and private information surrounding a child would agree with me when I say there are certain things that are better left unsaid. Let this disclaimer be known: None of the following are from any member of my friends or family unit. Thank you.

Those things?

"Are you sure?" No. I am not sure. There are, in fact, days when I am unsure about many things concerning my children, not the least of which concerns a diagnosis of one child. But I have to start somewhere for some semblance of security in our family's world. Nobody's socks would match otherwise.

"Have you tried a non-medication route?" Yes. We have. We have also padlocked the cupboards, hidden the sugar, and buried our money in the backyard. These strategies, along with the Hair Club For Moms and Dads of Behaviorally Challenged Children have served to remind us that medication works for our child. End of story.

"I talked with Mrs. Busybody, and she said that her daughter-in-law's cousin's nephew had Asperger's (or OCD, or PPD, etc) and they found a great doctor in Topeka. Why don't you call them?" Thank you for your concern, and for your interest. We know that AS (etc.) affects many, many people. We also are quite satisfied with our physician and services, but we'll keep that name on file in case we need it later.

"I looked up AS (etc.) on the internet." Oy. Did you know you can also find a recipe to cure autism, too? Or how about a magic spell to wave over our child in his sleep? Please, please, use the internet sparingly. Except to read my blog, of course.

Finally, here is my favorite:

"You never want to talk to me about so-and-so anymore!" You know, I talk about so-and-so all the time; to health professionals, to case workers, to teachers, and to my spouse. Sometimes when I call you I want desperately to talk about something, anything else. This does not mean I consider you "out of the loop", on the contrary, it means I consider you so special that you get to listen to me talk about moose poop on the trail or the state of affairs in Bolivia. Anything so that I don't have to talk in acronyms or dollar signs or case numbers.

I love you all. Really, I do.

A Little Bit of Everything...

A 15-bean soup day; that's what I'm calling it. Finishing up the last of the flooring fiasco (only the stairs left), working on multiple, yet small, writing projects that together mean more time than I have, and going for a short hike with Bear this afternoon. A little bit of everything.

Anchorage schools take "spring break" next week, a term we do not take seriously for it seems incredibly cruel to look out the window and refer to March as "spring". At least the gray of winter takes on a new glow by 9 a.m. as the sun rises over the mountains, the birds sing, and the smell of wet spruce wins out over salt and sand. Took the dog for a run this morning and we saw a pair of eagles perched in the top of a cottonwood tree, chortling at us as we jogged into their space.

Bear and I took a quick hike down to a local bog to get some fresh air and explore this little-used circle of wilderness just a short drive from the house. My friend had not been, so we bundled up the kids and ambled our way around Baxter Bog, a distance of a mile or so once all the roundabout trails had been taken. We didn't see any moose, but evidence of their nocturnal snacking was all around us in the form of nubby shrubs along the pathway. Bear likes to lead, usually with a big stick to ward off any offending creatures and someday I'm sure I will appreciate his assertiveness. He also likes to explore what lies beneath ice, and spent quite a bit of time looking under a shallow bridge for signs of life.

Wolf called tonight to tell us he made Trainee level at school in what he refers to as a "close call". Kids evaluate each other and give feedback, something Wolf has never been partial to receiving but always giving in an interesting twist to Asperger's and teenagers. He sucked it up last night, apparently, and now is a Trainee going for his Apprentice Red. He sounded really, really positive and hardly griped at all about, well, anything. A pack of graph paper to that kid!

Yukon and I are revelling in our almost-organized living room with the absence of a table saw that almost made history as the most obnoxious piece of furniture. It is now relegated to the garage and once the stairs are done, we will be too.

A very diverse Monday.