It's a Lazy, Crazy, Winter in Alaska

This is how we all feel, today. What a crazy, crazy week.

Riley was "fixed" yesterday, so he's spending the day relaxing in the luxury of his crate. Jasper is wildly excited to have his new companion home, so much so,  he spends quality time staring into Riley's crate, wagging his stubby tail.

I am homebound with a cold, but still intercepting phone calls from Mountain High Facility and the Anchorage School District to try and figure out a way (c'mon, people, this just shouldn't be so complicated) to graduate Wolf from high school.

Yukon is still playing catch up from our trip to Hawaii, but now has planned a business trip to Barrow next week (I think I'd rather go back to Hawaii) to meet with the tribal college.

Bear is anxious about spring, and seems to relish driving us nuts lately. His teacher says all first graders become wild animals in February. I will choose to cling to her wisdom, and hope "this too, shall pass."

Maybe I'd really, really like to be shut up in my own crate for the solitude such a position will afford.

Still, Still, Still?

Ever since last week, when I wrote from Homer while waiting for a flight home after a crazy wild windstorm flummoxed even the most hardy Alaskans, life has been a bit noisy.

Weather in Alaska is noisy, I've discovered. From the grating, grinding of snowplows to the sound of chainsaws cutting up tree limbs that have dislodged from their trunks in a violent reminder from Mother Nature that we are all, by the way, guests here.

Despite all assurances that the storm of last week was but a distant memory, one week later, here we were again, but this time, God Himself showed up. Saturday night winds topped 65 or 70 mph, compelling Yukon and I to make fast the bbq, Christmas decorations, and garbage cans. Power flickered all over town as the southeaster howled until 5 o'clock the next morning. Bear was scared and insisted I sleep in the basement family room with him while Yukon and Dog braved it upstairs on their own.

Yesterday brought temperatures in the mid 30's and snowfall as heavy as I have ever seen, but we were immersed in holiday fun around downtown Anchorage, so, as all good Alaskans do, we simply ignored it. Until, of course, reports from Facebook and Twitter started flowing in talking about 110 mph winds gusting all over town.

We returned home to find carnage; chimneys damaged, fences down, and four trash cans in our back yard that had crashed through our chainlink gate (severely damaging it), spewing recycling/garbage all over the back yard. In the dark and swirling wind, in our fancy "downtown" clothes, Yukon and I alternated between comforting a very frightened Bear, picking up broken glass and shredded documents, and keeping the dog out of whatever the neighbors had had for leftovers (everybody's trash was here, it seems).

After about an hour of futility, we finally left the mess and came inside. We went to bed early, fully planning on picking up the rest in the morning.

But morning came with an uncharacteristic hush. Nobody, it seems, had anticipated the foot of new snow that fell, and was still falling, as I rose from my bed at 6 a.m. Blizzard? I guess that was the right word. At any rate, this stuff was wet, heavy, and practically impossible to shovel. At least it covered the garbage.

We received another blessing, though; no school. Since this hardly ever happens, we took it as a holiday and allowed Bear to sleep in, play outside all day, and take an evening snowshoe around the neighborhood park with both of us.

Still, still, still, it is, tonight. I had forgotten how stillness feels.

What It Is: Writing Words

I think everything happens for a reason. Right now, I'm perched high above Homer, Alaska, at a friend's house, waiting. But I'm glad to be waiting.

Since Friday afternoon my focus has been on Homer, Alaska, and writing. Setting up camp at my favorite bakery/B&B, I've been all about words, words, and more words. I'm writing a book, see. But the weekend has been more than that.

Yukon is a smart husband, and he knows when his wife needs to fly away for a little while. More important, he knows that to me, writing is akin to breathing; vital, deep, and refreshing if I pay attention to it.

So I've been writing; molding words at my fingertips, fact-checking, proof-reading. I set up my "desk," a little table in my room upon which I set my laptop, reference books, pen, water bottle, and a few apples (writing makes me hungry). I had to move the coffee maker across the room in front of the television, because, of course, I wouldn't be watching any TV this weekend.

The weather was wild, with driving rain, wind, and melting snow; perfect writing weather . I'd sit in front of the modest glow of my Mac for a while, until the word count reached another thousand words, then I'd pull on my Xtra Tuff boots and rain jacket and go outside for a break.

I'd planned on returning home late this morning, but Mother Nature had other plans. 100-mph plans. Anchorage was slammed with a Chinook that brought heavy rain, wind, and ice on every surface. As brave as I had been feeling about flying on small planes this summer, I was not ready to fly on one, today.

So here I am, watching the clouds toss each other an occasional sunbeam. Perfectly relaxed, utterly spent, and waiting.

Let it Snow?

I'm not sure why I included a question mark in the title; after all, it is only the middle of March and snowfall is not only common, it's expected. But I guess we, and most of Anchorage, had forgotten that with all of our gorgeous sunshine this past month.

I took a breather from a bunch of writing projects late this morning to shovel the driveway, very carefully, for the sunny days and cold nights also led to extremely icy conditions. Like, Zamboni ice, so underneath the five or so inches of snow lay a slick layer of frozen water. Yikes.

The Dog was quite excited at the prospect of going "Outside?!" and, as you can see, promptly dug up his tennis ball for a little catch and release while I shoveled away. A minor problem of the ball becoming buried in the fluffy snow became a lovely exercise in "Find it!"

Temperatures grew so warm (in the 30's by noon) that I discarded my coat and ended up shoveling in my Carhartts and a fleece sweater. Nice, very, very nice. Now if only I could do something about Yukon's old Ford Explorer (we call her "Old Betsy") and her accumulation of ice from a winter of sitting dormant in the driveway.

The snow had all but melted off the major roadways and everybody's decks by the time I picked up Bear at school. I think spring might just be on the way. Maybe.

Shades of Something Colorful

This is when I start combing store aisles and nurseries for color. Daffodils, tulips, anything at all to remind me that spring is going to come eventually and spread greenery all over the state, seemingly overnight. I just need a little push to get there.

Yukon, who knows my penchant for yellow during these gray and beige end of winter months, bought me these tulips for Valentine's Day. What a guy.

Bear and I spent last weekend helping out at one of our favorite places, Campbell Creek Science Center, where I am a board member of their Friends group. Despite -15 degree temperatures in the morning hours, Bear and I handed out flyers, stamped hands, and went on a ski with my pal and radio co-host, who showed up to make some promo videos for our weekly program. That's us clowning around for the camera. Bear was somewhere in the trees making a snow fort.

The sun was spectacular, warming things up to around 20 degrees and causing us to take a moment to just play in the brightness of it all.

That was a good reminder, too.

Just Another Winter's Day in Alaska

For some reason, December seems to be flying by faster than a Canada goose on its way south. Wasn't it just November last week?

Normally by this time I am fretting and fussing over the decrease in daylight; today, for example, the sun set at 3:30 p.m. and things were pretty well darkened up by four. Which means, for those of you in the Lower 48 regions, that kids in Alaska get up and go to school in the pitch darkness of morning, and return home again just as the sun sinks behind the Alaska Range.

Reflective tape, blinking lights on backpacks, and a whole lotta warm stuff encasing those little bodies makes for a more pleasant walk to the bus stop, or, in Bear's case, for standing in line outside of the school. See, our kids have returned to the good old days when parents walked three miles uphill in the snow barefoot to school. Perhaps ours are not as drastic as that, but schools in Alaska keep kids outside as much as possible, knowing, wisely, that too much indoor time makes for cranky children and teachers. So, out they go for recess and lineup times unless the temperatures are -10 F. I love it.

I try every day to get outside, myself. Not much running this week with the chilly temperatures, but a brisk hike through a snow-covered trail dressed in snow boots, two pairs of long underwear, Carhartt pants, and a down parka can make anyone break a sweat. The Dog accompanies me too, and it is quite something to watch his little whiskers freeze up after a few minutes frolicking outdoors. He has booties to wear when the temps drop below 10 above or so, dogs in Alaska get sore feet rather quickly with all the ice-melt, gravel, and dry snow mixing with their tender paws.

Today Dog and I went out from our house, south along the Fort Richardson boundary. Many in the neighborhood use these trails, including the resident moose population, so hiking around there requires the utmost in vigilance. Sun shining, snow squeaking beneath my feet and Dog sniffing everyplace for evidence of other living creatures, we headed out and up.

I thought I was watching; thought I was paying attention to the signals from Dog that something was lurking around in the willows. Certainly there was enough sign of the big ungulate beauties that hang around the trail, tracks and such; but I didn't see anybody. So I thought.

Walking through a shady section of the trail I happened to glance askance to my left. Out of the very corner of my eye, I saw her. A big cow, resting quietly in the snow and partially obscured by a few willow sticks. She was so close I could see hear breath and swear if I had reached out an arm, I would have touched her fuzzy ears. (I must state at this point that Dog still had not noticed her, duh.)

We stared at each other for a few seconds, she twitched an ear, I twitched an eye. "Oh, no," I breathed to myself (actually it was a different word).

As quietly as I could, I inched up the trail sideways, keeping one eye on Dog and one eye on Moose.

Then we went on our merry way.

Just another day in Alaska.

What's Up With THIS?

I think I've fallen down the rabbit hole, Alice. My friends and family in the Pacific Northwest are hunkering down under a blanket of snow, while we Kirklands up in Alaska are hunkered down under a 1/4" coating of ice and freezing rain.

Yes, something is terribly, terribly wrong here. My street looks as if a Zamboni hot-mopped the pavement, leaving behind a perfectly smooth rink just waiting for the hockey skates. Except that it's my street.

I'd put up a picture, but it's not even worth wasting file space. It is simply gray, gray, and grayer. Bear is out of school today, and I'll probably keep him home tomorrow given that Thursday is Thanksgiving and what the heck, I'd like another day to sleep in. I'm such a rebel.

Wolf called last night and said Salt Lake City was under a blizzard watch. He and his pals were rather excited about the prospect, and why not? They live in a cozy brick building with no reason to leave. Lucky them.

Bear has to go with me to the Alaska Travelgram show until Yukon can come pick him up. You can live stream his melodious little voice (if I can get him to talk) HERE at 2 p.m. Alaska Time (3 for those of you in the PNW; 4 if you are in the Mountain states).

On the upside, last Saturday, before the Icepocalypse, we went on a tour with my pal Candice from Salmon Berry Tours to work on my Coast Magazine column at the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center. The bears were still awake, eating pumpkins, the bison were silent sentries in the far off pasture, and the elk were a nice touch of home.

The coolest part was this crazy, circular rainbow, created by ice crystals in the fog. Amazing.

Time Out!

Yes, even we need a time out some days. With Yukon ready to jet off to Utah tomorrow, Bear's birthday, my birthday, and still NO snow in Anchorage, we decided to take the day off yesterday and explore deeper into the depths of a favorite place.

Eagle River Nature Center is about 20 miles from our home in the town of, duh, Eagle River. The Nature Center is nestled in a beautiful but chilly valley perfect for a little pre-winter hiking. The sun came up, we packed the family Expedition (completely overhauled with brand new, uber cool winter truck tires) and drove off into the hazy autumn day.

At a good 10 degrees cooler than Anchorage, ERNC's trails were frozen like concrete and ice lipped along the shorelines of ponds and streams, making us shiver in our fuzzy socks. We hiked out 2 miles to Rapids Camp along Eagle River (the river) to check out a yurt we'll be renting in early December (yes, a yurt, as in the Mongolian dwelling). A great family destination, we wanted to be sure Bear's little legs could propell him come dry or snowy conditions before we embarked on such a potentially crazy adventure.

He did and we were assured his ability; made all the more positive by the sheer number of boulders to climb upon and jump off the entire way. So energized was Bear that he shed his coat somewhere along the way and left it for me to carry. How do kids manage to stay so warm while the rest of us are freezing our fannies off?

A nice end to a nice weekend, and a great way for Yukon and I to communicate in the company of our favorite environment. Some days we completely forget about looking after each other, we're so busy looking after everybody and everything else.

I took this great photo of our shadows on the return trip, when the sun finally warmed up the earth. It's pretty cool, don't you think?

I Have a Feeling...

Who read the "Little House on the Prairie" books? Remember the "Long Winter", where the family is held hostage by the most violent series of blizzards Minnesota had ever known up until that point in the 1890's? Good old Pa knew in his farmer bones that it was going to be a hard winter. He just had a feeling.

I have a feeling, too. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that we woke up yesterday morning (that would be September 26th) to clouds, frost on the cars, and a suspicious icy fragrance in the air. Uh oh. Driving to church I thought I saw little things flying in the air, but since it was breezy, assumed it was just junk in the air. It was junk all right; the frozen, flaky kind.

Snow in September is not unheard of in Alaska; on the contrary, most sourdoughs I know were becoming worried that we had had little in the way of any precipitation, much less the white kind. But the way we arrived here was just just a bit drastic. Gorgeous, sunny, 55 degrees of wilderness Indian Summer to dark, windy, and snowy got to me.

Yukon and I chopped a bunch of wood yesterday, filled up the kindling bucket to the top, cleaned out the woodstove, bought new tires for the Expedition, cooked bean soup, switched summer/winter clothes in the closet, and had the insulation man come over to blow more whatcha-call-it into the attic so we don't freeze. I've got a feeling. I tell ya.

All seemed well today when I took some friends over to our beautiful Alaska Botanical Garden for a walk. We are babysitting a friend's little girl for a few days while they go fishing (yes, we still fish, right up to snowfall, mostly for catch-release steelhead and trout).

Such a gorgeous day, but chilly to the point where we had to wear hats and mittens. There's no denying, something's up. One day we're going to wake up to a white world, and I want to be ready. Like Pa Ingalls.

We're Waiting With Bated Breath...

It's a bit surreal. September 2010, I mean. This time last year I had the garden put to bed, scarecrows hammered firmly into the ground in anticipation of the first wind storm, and wood safely tucked into the shed, ready for a hard frost that signals the beginning of six months of Ice Age temperatures.

This year, I have not only passed by the date of my usual "wintertime prep" activities, I have ignored it, as sunflowers are ready to bloom, brussel sprouts have yet to brussel, and my firewood; well, let's just say that today was the day to finally take care of that chore. It's nutty, it's delightful, and it's just a bit nervewracking, to be perfectly honest.

One year ago, we were taking bets in the Kirkland Family Snow Date wager, and snow indeed fell the first week of October. Heck, I think it reached 65 today and Bear was clad only in his Carhartt overalls and hiking boots for most of our trek to the Ft. Richardson Woodlot for some hunting and gathering with our friends. I think the word "hot" passed more than one set of lips during the job, and my evening Jubelale tasted mighty fine with my grilled salmon out on the deck.

What the heck? Eating outside in September, in Alaska? I tell you, I'd make a killing as an end-of-season tour operator this year if I had the chance. Brilliant yellow colors mixed with bright sunshine and balmy temperatures make for a pretty fancy trip. Throw in a couple of rack-laden, rut-infused moose and this could be the trip of a lifetime for some Lower 48'er.

Takers?

Daytime Meets Nighttime and Everything Inbetween

It is almost 10 p.m., and Yukon is just now tucking Bear into bed with his usual round of stories. The sun is also just now deciding to tuck itself in behind the western end of Cook Inlet as summertime's perpetual presence ekes ever closer to the famed Midnight Sun.

This is always a bone of contention among many Alaskan parents. Do we let them stay up, or don't we? Frankly I was just telling Yukon tonight, as we were sitting at our gloriously sunny dining room table eating dinner at, ahem, 8 p.m., that weather like today's makes it downright impossible to establish or keep any sort of bedtime routine. Especially when school is out two short weeks from now.

Kids will roam the streets after the time most of us have decided they should be in bed, or at least at home. Remember when you were little and your mom plunked you in bed before it got dark, and always you could still hear some kids somewhere playing outside? I hated those kids.

After five summers in Alaska, we have finally figured out that allowing Bear to stay up late does no one, least of all him, any service when it comes to living life the next day. Perhaps nowhere else does the end-of-summer mantra played by school districts everywhere make more sense than Alaska if kids have grown used to two-plus months of staying up until midnight and suddenly are forced to wake up again at 7 a.m. to catch the school bus at 8. Ouch.

So while the alpenglow is of particular beauty tonight and the sky remains fairly clear, and the grass continues to grow under our very feet, our small son is nonetheless packed away in his bunk bed, blackout shades pulled tight, so that his parents might experience a good morning.

We hope.

I'm in a Time Warp

It's really January, right? Or perhaps even further back, like December? Perhaps if this snowstorm dumping 10+ inches of wet, sloshy, slushy stuff in my yard came then, I might be inspired to make carmel corn, turn up my Ray Coniff singers, and dance to the advent of winter.

As it is I, along with most of Anchorage, am grumpy (even grumpier than I was the other day). We're ready for spring. Like real spring. When it doesn't snow anymore.

I'm staring out my window at fat, fluffy snowflakes bigger than cookies. Yes, cookies.

Yukon even came home early to commiserate with me. Such a nice person. He didn't even mind coming home to find the dog snoozing on his side of the bed.

The photo above was taken around 9 a.m as I shuttled Bear to preschool, just before I took myself to my favorite coffee shop to drown my sorrowful state in a 16 oz Alaska Chai and a bagel.

Well Dash My Hopes and Call Me Grumpy

I'm not usually adverse to bad weather. In fact, most times I rather enjoy the chance to relax indoors with an extra cup of coffee and the woodstove while finding time to catch up on all the stuff I allow to pile up on the sunny days. Today, however, I'm rebelling.

This. Weather. Sucks. 50 mph winds, snow/rain combo (it doesn't even have the decency to make up its mind), and a temperature gradient that goes from 45 to 34 in a few minutes' time. Sheesh.

The front door has blown open a few times today, much to the grand excitement of Bear and Jasper, who rush downstairs in surprise, wondering who would dare open our door without their permission. Since most of the snow is gone from roadways, a swirl of trash now occuplies every gutter, spare mud puddle, and now the air, riding on the gusts like an ugly bird.

the rain/snow drops are just starting to tap on my office window and the gusts whistle in between our sadly unimproved eaves. What is this, February in Seattle?

I'm going to bed with my heating pad and a mug of tea with whiskey.

The Socks Came Off, Today

Yep, I think it's official. With the shedding of winter coats and socks in favor of lighter-weight options, Winter 2009 has come to an end. Even though a few inches of snow is forcast for tonight and into the next few days, likely it will melt fast and leave behind a sound the likes of which has not been heard since last November: Running Water.

I woke up last night to it; the unmistakable sound of drips, drops, and pitter-patter of water flowing from the gutters and down the drainpipes to rest somewhere beneath the berms of snow still against my flowerbeds. Bear took off his warm coat today, put on his sunglasses and proclaimed "Look, it's summer over there!" (a swatch of grass was protruding on the other side of the road). Yep, I guess it's on it's way, all right, and we couldn't be happier.

This is Break-Up; the time of year when the gray-brown tinge that has been our view for so long becomes almost black with a layer of grime replacing the pristine whiteness of yards and roadways. Even the snow looks tired of winter; pitted against the trees, it is soft and spongy and provides little in the way of amusement for kids any longer.

Airplanes flying overhead from nearby Merrill Field don't all have skis on their landing gear, many are removing the fittings and putting back on the huge, round rubber tires suitable for gravel and grass landings this summer. The buzz of scooters and sports cars now free from winter storage is audible; as is the shouts from neighborhood kids, my own included, as they play out-of-doors after dinner in the lengthening daylight.

Ahhhh, it's here. If I could only unstick my picnic table from its frozen prison against my back fence, I'd whip up a crowberry cocktail and take full advantage of both sunlight and spring, sans mosquitoes.

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 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.

Oh.

It's snowing. Snowing a lot.
Guess we're not experiencing spring just yet. 10 inches expected before the end of the day.

I had good intentions of attending a meeting of Get Outdoors Anchorage this morning, then to the telephone store to fulfill my promise of moving into the Twitter age with a new Android Hero. Bear and I made it about a mile before a school bus slid down a hill and stopped all traffic, so we turned around and settled in for a snowy day at home.

Right now I'm listening in on a conference call for the meeting I cannot attend in person, and Bear is watching Sesame Street, the lucky guy.

Snow shoveling is also on the agenda...a lot of snow shoveling.

Apparently I Missed the Equinox

Were you, as was I, misinformed about the arrival of Spring? According to my son, it is tomorrow and we'd better be prepared. Obviously he is.

With the unlocking of Yukon's suitcase, the giving of copious gifts commenced, including the much-loved shorts and running hat from none other than the Nike Store in downtown Portland. Bear wears the ensemble every day, sometimes changing his shirt, sometimes not. If ever there was a child destined to be the next Prefontaine, it would be this one.

Today we took the dog to the vet and this of course was his outfit. We garnered many a smile from other clients, some in sympathy, for we Alaskans have indeed been fooled into thinking it might be spring. Temperatures today were in the low 40's, the main roads are clear and dry, and moose have once again ventured into neighborhood gardens to eat what remains of shrubbery.

Clearly my son, anyway, has acclimated to Alaska. He didn't even shirk as icy puddles threatened to innundate his socks. Such a trooper. I can't say as much for me. I still am wearing my hat and gloves, which probably made us quite the site trotting to dog off to his appointment.

Hawaii in Alaska

Well, sort of. Bear and I took a "winter time-out" the other day to investigate our city's greenhouse, where, in the company of birds who chirped and chattered the whole time, we immersed ourselves in something other than ice and snow.

At 75 degrees, the air was thick and the foliage lush as we wandered around the little concrete paths and watched koi swimming lazily in their ponds. I almost forgot where we were, it was so like the tropics.

I have friends who have packed up the kids, a lunch, and a blanket and spent an entire afternoon in the greenhouse, so sick of winter, they were. Not a bad idea, especially since this morning it seems darker than usual, and it is snowing. Sigh.

Yes, World, the Deep Freeze is Still Here

Perhaps I am beginning to forget from year to year about these cold snaps that suddenly grip us for weeks. At least, it feels like weeks.

I forget when this latest one began, so focused we are on hour-by-hour survival, Bear and I. It doesn't help that Yukon calls and says he's sweating down there in St. Louis. Perhaps now is not the time to tell him that his car is dead because I forgot to plug it in to stay warm while he is away.

This morning it was -15 at my house; the dog went out for only the briefest moment then came scrambling in, shivering from every visible body part and I'm sure the non-visible ones, too. The shades are down until the sun comes up, when I can't stand the darkness anymore. There is ice on the inside of my windows, but I feel like a recluse with shades down all day; I equate darn rooms with someone in the deepest throes of depression, and during the winter in Alaska there's enough of that already from many of my neighbors. So, up they go as soon as the sun crests the mountains; somewhere between 10:30-11:00 a.m. It gives me two or three hours of light and then begins its descent westerly around 3:30.

I have a meeting downtown this afternoon, and I am not looking forward to parking. I shall pray very hard to the Parking God that someone feels compelled to leave their space as I drive up. In an ironic twist, my meeting is to discuss an all-day sled ride/outdoor picnic in March during the Iditarod Re-Start. There will be no toasty warm car with heated seats on that day.

I'm going to go warm up my coffee now and put on some long underwear. I have to go get the newspaper off the porch, and the three steps from the front door to the newspaper box are three steps too far, on this morning.

Wonder if I can put schnapps in coffee before 10 a.m.?