Happy almost New Year greetings from beautiful Homer, Alaska, where the Kirkland family is getting away from it all at the end of the world. Or at least, to Homerites we are at the end of the world.
Homer sits on the tip of the Kenai Peninsula, about 250 miles south of Anchorage. Usually within four hours we can be sitting at the table of our good friends with beer in hand. This was the first time we attempted to drive down in the middle of winter. It took six fist-clenching, teeth-grinding hours.
Our first go at coming down here was stymied by dreadful weather last Thursday, so we postponed a day and left around 8 a.m. on Friday. Dark and icy, the Seward, and then Sertling Highways were quiet, save for the yahoos that kept appearing behind us. Yukon was admirable in the driver's seat, keeping us from sliding into the brink of tragedy. I, on the other hand, had a terrible time.
I hate this road; it is the cause of a hundred different traffic accidents a year. People drive too fast and too stupidly for conditions. Add in moose popping out of the trees, and a recipe for disaster is made.
So off we went, the boys' heads swiveling around at regular intervals to watch for moose, and me adding commentary to Yukon's navigatory ability. "Better watch out, sweetie, that car is passing us." Or, more likely, "Oh shahhhh, watch yourself, slow down, don't follow that guy too close, do you need to put it in 4-wheel drive?"
To his credit, the only sign of any possible agitation on Yukon's part was a slight twitch in his jawline. He knows me too well to listen to me, anyway. But driving along an ice-covered road for hours with two kids and a wife, and anyone can get annoyed.
At any rate, we made it, saw our friends, and went out to dinner at the lovely Cafe' Cups in Homer. The mountains are spectacular, the seafood is incredible, and the Homer atmosphere is one of sublimity. Can't beat that to kick off a new year.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Ho Ho Ho Untangle the Presents We Go
There is nothing like a little gift un-wrapping to bring a couple together in the most meaningful way. Past Christmases have been much simpler; Wolf goes to bed on demand, Bear was too little to want to stay awake looking up the chimney for Santa Claus. Gifts came with little, if any, assembly, required. Just like the holiday itself. Until this year.
Pagent complete (Yukon did a spectacular job as the Anonymous Townsman, btw), the Kirkland clan ate its traditional Chinese dinner at the local Mongolian Grill and Tsing-Chao hut, and went home to get the children all nestled snug in their beds with visions of I-Pods and candy dancing in their poor little heads.
Two hours later, with Bear popping out of his room every ten minutes with a "is it morning yet?" screech that would wake my great-grandmother from her grave, Yukon and I finally shut his door with a bang and marched downstairs to begin a process that has plagued parents ever since Santa began Ho Ho-ing. Putting together the presents. Or, unwrapping the presents from their packaging, to be more specific.
I even read in an article this morning in our local paper about "wrap rage", and I did not laugh, for I understand these souls' anguish, who have spent too long untangling wires from the Go Diego Go Tub Time Boat, only to find out that a phillips screwdriver too small for a mouse is needed to disengage the actual boat from the pathetic cardboard packaging. Terrorism? The only terrorism in this country tonight is from parents who, with bleeding fingertips, will beat upon the lead-laden toy companies' front doors to ask them why, in the name of GOD, do they do this to us?
Three Hot Buttered Rums later, we finally resorted to using the Boy Scout pocket knife (I knew that thing would come in handy some day) to pry the stinking screw off of the boat and set the little plastic figurine inside. Exhausted, we collapsed on the sofa, only to discover that we had only undone ONE present, and had about a gazillion more to do.
Did our little Bear tenderly cradle his Diego boat on Christmas morning? Did he sweetly croon "Thank you Santa, for making my dreams come true!"? Not on your life.
He said "I wanted Dora."
Pagent complete (Yukon did a spectacular job as the Anonymous Townsman, btw), the Kirkland clan ate its traditional Chinese dinner at the local Mongolian Grill and Tsing-Chao hut, and went home to get the children all nestled snug in their beds with visions of I-Pods and candy dancing in their poor little heads.
Two hours later, with Bear popping out of his room every ten minutes with a "is it morning yet?" screech that would wake my great-grandmother from her grave, Yukon and I finally shut his door with a bang and marched downstairs to begin a process that has plagued parents ever since Santa began Ho Ho-ing. Putting together the presents. Or, unwrapping the presents from their packaging, to be more specific.
I even read in an article this morning in our local paper about "wrap rage", and I did not laugh, for I understand these souls' anguish, who have spent too long untangling wires from the Go Diego Go Tub Time Boat, only to find out that a phillips screwdriver too small for a mouse is needed to disengage the actual boat from the pathetic cardboard packaging. Terrorism? The only terrorism in this country tonight is from parents who, with bleeding fingertips, will beat upon the lead-laden toy companies' front doors to ask them why, in the name of GOD, do they do this to us?
Three Hot Buttered Rums later, we finally resorted to using the Boy Scout pocket knife (I knew that thing would come in handy some day) to pry the stinking screw off of the boat and set the little plastic figurine inside. Exhausted, we collapsed on the sofa, only to discover that we had only undone ONE present, and had about a gazillion more to do.
Did our little Bear tenderly cradle his Diego boat on Christmas morning? Did he sweetly croon "Thank you Santa, for making my dreams come true!"? Not on your life.
He said "I wanted Dora."
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Answers to the Questions
Here are the answers to the eight questions regarding Alaska and its history, for those of you who took the time to play our little game. Answers are in no particular order, just to shake it up a bit.
Alaska became a state in 1959.
The state of Alaska is 570,000 square miles. Yes, that is bigger than Texas.
The State Bird of Alaska is the ptarmigan, a bird so dumb you can kill it with a rock.
The State Tree is the Sitka Spruce. Bonus if you know the latin name.
The official sport of Alaska is dog sledding.
Alaska's name means "Great Land"
Alaska is 3 miles from Russia, from the Diomead Islands way out in the ocean.
There are 8 stars on the Alaskan flag.
Hope you learned something! These questions were from Yukon's HR Party last week.
Alaska became a state in 1959.
The state of Alaska is 570,000 square miles. Yes, that is bigger than Texas.
The State Bird of Alaska is the ptarmigan, a bird so dumb you can kill it with a rock.
The State Tree is the Sitka Spruce. Bonus if you know the latin name.
The official sport of Alaska is dog sledding.
Alaska's name means "Great Land"
Alaska is 3 miles from Russia, from the Diomead Islands way out in the ocean.
There are 8 stars on the Alaskan flag.
Hope you learned something! These questions were from Yukon's HR Party last week.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Test Your Alaskan IQ
My aunt down in the Lower 48 recently sent me a book titled "Alaska Now". Knowing my penchant for old books, she thought I would enjoy it, as it profiles Alaska and everything one needs to know about the "territory". Written in 1950 by a man named Herb Hilscher, the book gave Alaska facts and tips for survival should one decide, as many did, to pack up lock, stock, and kids and move to the Last Frontier.
We read exerpts at the dinner table the other night, and particularly enjoyed the section that soothed worried minds about "Alaskans being just like regular people anywhere". Thank goodness.
So, in the spirit of Alaskana, and all that is unique up here, see if you know the answers to the following trivia questions. Answers with next post.
What year did Alaska become a state?
How many square miles is Alaska?
What is Alaska's state bird?
What is the official sport of Alaska?
How far is Alaska from Russia?
How many stars are on the State Flag?
What is the state's official tree?
The name "Alaska" comes from an Eskimo word Alashak, meaning what?
So, get out your travel books and Web searches to find the answers, and have fun!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Holy Hairballs Batman
I just finished grooming the Yellow Dog. Brushing and plucking and pulling, for she appears to be shedding out every last Husky hair from her body. An old lady by dog years at 13, Yellow Dog has resigned herself to being an indoor doggie; ice and very cold temperatures don't do much for her anymore. Her body appears to be letting her, and us, know that she doesn't really need the layers of fur any longer, and thus is dropping it on the carpet, the kids' fleece pants, and my black cashmere sweater.
While Bear napped this afternoon, I took what I thought was a few minutes to grab the dog grooming mitt (a great thing I learned from my horsey days) and go to town. A half hour later, the darned dog still had all kinds of hairballs falling off her now-skinny body (hairy dogs appear much fatter than they really are).
Adding to the problem was the lack of humidity in our air right now (it is 10 below at our house and so dry we keep the humidifier on all day/night), so the baby-fine hair stuck to my clothes and went up both our noses. Ever try to get dog hair off something? Can't be done. Damn stuff floats around like it has a mind of its own.
Right now old Y.D. is stretched out on my office rug, exhausted from her battle, with her back to me. She looks like she has been attacked by Mothra.
I'll have to give her five dog cookies to make up for it.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Not Fair
Wolf has had a number of trials already this school year, the most challenging for him (and for us) being the management of social skills.
Common for kids with learning disabilities, social skills, something most of us took for granted as we grew up, become another subject to be learned like Math and English. And almost as tough.
Wolf's previous middle school, an urban mix of cultures and attitudes, was a struggle to find a niche of friends to hang out with. It became very clear that for him, friends are not easily found nor kept. School became a dark place.
This year, after transitioning to a very small Catholic school, Wolf has begun to reach out to kids. His teachers and the administration surround him with lots of love and firm boundaries for what is appropriate behavior. He tries. Oh, how he tries, to have friends.
But there remains the problem of other kids. As a mother, I have discovered that while there are many areas of my child's life I can control, finding and nurturing friendships is one area I simply must stay out of. I cannot make kids be nice to my son. Nor can I demand that the school do so, either. To be perfectly clear and fair to the school; there is no bullying, per se. No open taunting, pushing, shoving, stalking, etc. There is simply nothing. No phone calls to hang out, no trips to the movies or to the skate park. Nothing.
I remember a boy in my class at a Catholic school in Bellevue, WA. An overweight, homely kid, we teased and taunted him mercilessly. He tried and tried to be friends with us, offering cool stickers and bragging about trips to Hawaii. But we didn't budge. The class fed off of each other and made his life miserable.
Maybe God is bringing that back to me.
Common for kids with learning disabilities, social skills, something most of us took for granted as we grew up, become another subject to be learned like Math and English. And almost as tough.
Wolf's previous middle school, an urban mix of cultures and attitudes, was a struggle to find a niche of friends to hang out with. It became very clear that for him, friends are not easily found nor kept. School became a dark place.
This year, after transitioning to a very small Catholic school, Wolf has begun to reach out to kids. His teachers and the administration surround him with lots of love and firm boundaries for what is appropriate behavior. He tries. Oh, how he tries, to have friends.
But there remains the problem of other kids. As a mother, I have discovered that while there are many areas of my child's life I can control, finding and nurturing friendships is one area I simply must stay out of. I cannot make kids be nice to my son. Nor can I demand that the school do so, either. To be perfectly clear and fair to the school; there is no bullying, per se. No open taunting, pushing, shoving, stalking, etc. There is simply nothing. No phone calls to hang out, no trips to the movies or to the skate park. Nothing.
I remember a boy in my class at a Catholic school in Bellevue, WA. An overweight, homely kid, we teased and taunted him mercilessly. He tried and tried to be friends with us, offering cool stickers and bragging about trips to Hawaii. But we didn't budge. The class fed off of each other and made his life miserable.
Maybe God is bringing that back to me.
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