Inktrails from Alaska

How I Know It's Springtime in Alaska

Alaskans are justifiably cautious when declaring that Spring is here. When you've had snow for around nine months, you get that way. Even though we are seeing temperatures up to 50°F, and even though the snow is steadily decreasing, whether by melt or sublimation, there is a part in all of us that thinks, "You know, it could get cold again."

That's why each person has a way of adding up little signs that indicate that Spring is really here. One sign is nothing, but if you add them all up, then it might be the real deal.

1. I left a Vitamin Water in my car three nights running. It hasn't frozen yet.
2. I had to unplug my car cord, and plug in my freezer cord. (Like most Alaskans, my freezer is not in the house, so I don't have to turn it on except when it's warm outside.)
3. I have a front porch step instead of a snow ramp, and my doorway area is clear of snow!
4. The snow has already slid off the roof. (WHOOOOMP)
5. I really should take the snowfront off my car. (You block off the radiator from wind so your heater will work and you get better gas mileage.)
6. The dog poop is starting to show in the dog yard.
7. The dog HAIR is starting to show in the dog yard.
8. Costume for walking dogs keeps getting lighter. Today's was: Pajamas, boots without socks, hoodie. No hat, gloves in pocket. I really could have just used boots, but I like having pockets.
9. The owls are hooting!
10. I really detest my snowboots. I never want to see them again. It's time to switch to yaktraks on tennis shoes, unless the snow around the house is really squishy. Then it will be back on with the horrible boots.
11. I can see last year's foxtails. Damn it.
12. Last night I walked the dogs (yes, wearing pajamas, I'm all about comfort) at 10:30 and it was still blue above the trees, a darkish blue, but not pitch black! Summer, here we come!

If I don't miss my guess, a whole bunch of my Alaskan friends are now going to add to this list because I "forgot" one. Hey, it's not a comprehensive list, but I am interested to see what's on your list!

Have You Turned Alaskan?

There are ways you know you have turned Alaskan. For one thing, when the weather goes strange on you, it can be perturbing. For Fairbanksans, a winter where the temperature stays above zero most of the time creeps us out. It's not natural. It's just plain wrong. We have had perhaps five days total where it was -20, and nothing colder than that, here, in a place where you can expect at least a week or more of -40, and some weekends of -50 or more. Not this winter. The squirrels never hibernated, and the birches never dropped seed. Sure, it was nice to just stick boots and coat and hat and gloves but stay in my pajamas underneath when I went out to walk the dogs. But it was weird to do that all winter. Or should I say "winter."

So there is one sign of being an Alaskan: you go out in your pajamas to walk the dogs when it's 20 degrees out.

Being obsessed with weather is another Alaskan trait. Sure, people talk about the weather everywhere, but up here we can go on for hours.

I'm a real Alaskan because I can step outside with two dogs on a leashes, while wearing pajamas and boots (and no coat, maybe a hat, probably not) and plug my car in while they go pee. And not get all tangled up in leashes and plug-in cord! That last is the real accomplishment! While I'm out there I can tell the temperature by the way my plug-in cord behaves. Then I can check my outdoor thermometer to see if I am right. I'm always right.

Live here long enough and you'll become a Salmon Snob. Copper River Red salmon is, in my book, the most delicious of all, though I've been told king salmon is even better. I have not had the luck to taste a king, but you won't see me getting excited over a silver. When the Salmon Bake down at Alaskaland started using silvers, I was angry and insulted!

When it finally snowed after around two months of weird winter and no snow, it made me unreasonably super happy. I posted on Facebook and Twitter about how happy I was about the snow. Out of ten people I asked, nine replied that they felt the same way. Most people outside of Alaska would think we were all crazy that we loved it to snow in March. My dogs were certainly overjoyed!

A given: in your freezer you have salmon, halibut, and moose, all wild caught/hunted. Bonus points for caribou, grouse, and beaver tail. And I'm not a hunter. People are generous and share. It's what we do.

I have at least six coats, three of which I should donate or give away because they have so much dog hair in the lining that it's like an extra bunch of insulation. The two coats I use are several years old and the zippers have become contrary, and tend to unzip from the bottom if I don't do it just right. I spent three weeks fixing the zipper on my biggest, warmest down jacket by a combination of using various pliers and other implements to squeeze the zipper parts back into some semblance of usability. Nothing would work until I added duct tape to the bottom zip holder to keep it in the right place.

I need that jacket! It's a survival issue! Parkas cost at least $200 and putting in a new zipper costs at least that much. I've resolved to buy what I've wanted for years, a Canada Goose parka. I think they cost about $600 now. Unless we start having stupid winters all the time. Then I can wear layers of flannel/wool or my crappy-but-expensive Columbia jacket. You know that commercial where someone is dunked in ice water and then they get "warmed up" by putting on the Columbia jacket with the shiny lining? Total crap. That coat is only good down to about zero, if that. If you aren't warm already, there is no way it would warm you up. Oh, and the zipper on that one has gone south, too. Definitely time for a new coat.

Gear: you'll buy it, lots of it, boots and gloves and hats and scarves and balaclavas, snow pants, carhartt everything and yes, coats and jackets and you'll have serious opinions about them! You'll have Stuff I Wear On The Snow Machine, and Stuff I Wear For Work, and Stuff I Wear for Skiing (or skijoring), and then there is the Emergency Clothing box in the car.

Another way you'll know you are Alaskan is you'll have a tiny house with way too much stuff in it. Accept it. Zen is not going to work in Alaska. Did you SEE the list of clothing above?

There are lots of key things that Alaskans say or do or have, but this isn't meant to be a comprehensive list. Just a Sunday meandering on the fact that I never want to move away from Alaska. When I went to New Mexico to visit my kids, I had this strange urge to wear my snow boots on the plane. I should have done it. When I got there it started snowing, snowed almost three feet and we were snowed in for four days. How did I know?

 

My Thanksgiving Plans

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

My first item of the day was to put a coat, boots and gloves on over my pajamas and shovel snow until I could get into my car so I could haul the 40 lb bag of dog food in so that Ole and Sofia could eat. They were much appreciative of this effort and gave me wags and nose kissies.

Then, to wake up. One cup of dark coffee coupled with one scrumptions, goeey brownie. Check!

Awake at last, I checked in on Facebook, and realized that I really, really wanted to see the Doctor Who Christmas Carol episode because I love he floaty fish that fly in the air, plus Michael Gambon. Add Amy Pond and Rory Williams and I now have something fun to watch while I...

...do dishes. There aren't many dishes, except it's time to take the creepy, yucky pans out of the refrigerator and clean them out. If I I wrinkle my nose just right, maybe I won't suffer too much stinkiness.

After that I'll finish making some beef/sweet potato/caramalized onion/whatever else strikes my fancy soup. Of course it will have my iron fish in it for added blood strengthening. You don't know about the magic fishie? (Hmm, I sense a theme here.) In Canada there is a program where if you buy one iron fish, they will send another to a family in Cambodia. Anemia (which I have and must be vigilant about) is endemic to that country and the iron fishies are put in every soup to help alleviate this debilitating affliction.You can help a Cambodian family here: http://www.luckyironfish.com/

After I wash dishes and get the soup going, of course the dogs and I will go outside to play in the snow for a while. (I've been trying to teach Ole to write his name in the snow, but so far no luck.) Also possibly more snow shoveling. If I get really energetic I'll put the dogs in the house and get the loppers and cut down the silly, skinny spruce that keeps leaning over in front of the dog yard gate. I keep shaking it down so that it pops back up, but it's going to have to go.

Oh, and somewhere in there I go feed and water Bucky Bird and clean his cage, and give him treats. And sing chickeny opera to him.

I'll probably rest a little while, and then I'm making flan to bring to Thanksgiving dinner. At some point I'll walk next door and we'll have a nice dinner, and maybe watch a movie. I'm going to bring my DVD of A Christmas Story.

I hope you all have a fun holiday!

Note to Modern Young People

Dear Young People,

You don't have to be famous, you don't have to want to be famous, and you don't need to fix yourself to be on Youtube or Facebook or Vines...Please go out into the world and volunteer to help at the animal shelter, or join a choir, or a band, or help Habitat for Humanity. Learn to paint, play an instrument, or how to invest! Take a hike, play with the dog, or your cousins or little brothers and sisters.

Stop obsessing about how you look, and taking pictures of yourself all the time. Enjoy experiences without taking movies of them. Snap a couple pictures if you will, but move on and ENJOY life, instead of holding it at arm's length with a cell phone.

Trust me, you'll be happier in the long run!

Love,

Your Universal Mom

Cultural Dissonance in Fairbanks

While running errands the other day I dropped by the very small Wells Fargo on College Blvd. It's about the size of a single-wide trailer, though more square. Since it was 95°outside, I decided waiting in the lobby would be more comfortable than sitting in a hot car at the drive-through.

The room was packed with people who had apparently had the same idea. Not only were there people waiting in line for tellers, but also several groups of people waiting to see the people behind desks, too. There were so many people, in fact, that I had to ask who was in line and who wasn't. An elderly woman was sitting in a chair by the door and I didn't want to cut in front of her in case she was resting but still in line. There was a tall man in typical grungy Alaskan Man clothes, looking sweaty and uncomfortable and whose personal space seemed to require six feet from any other person. I suspect he didn't come into town very often. He looked alarmed when I asked if he was in line. If he'd been a car waiting at a stoplight, he would have had six car lengths between him and the car ahead of him. He moved up in line, closing some of that distance, but very, very reluctantly.

Enter the drunk lady. Native, short and spunky, and talk-yelling so that you just couldn't miss her, even if you didn't smell her first. However she wasn't a street person. She smelled like booze, though. The first thing she did was walk straight up to some people quietly chatting in Spanish and waiting to see the desk banker. She got right in their faces and yelled, "WHY DON'T YOU SPEAK ENGLISH? WHY DO YOU COME HERE AND NOT SPEAK ENGLISH! I SPEAK ENGLISH. ALL THESE DUMB IMMIGRANTS, COMING HERE AND THEY DON'T LEARN THE LANGUAGE!"

Mr. Bush Tall Guy turned, looked and turned his back. Drunk Lady came forward right behind me. I looked at them and mouthed "Lo siento!" They were startled, but looked glad at least someone said something to them. I was the only one to speak to them.

"SEE! I SPEAK ENGLISH! I CAN SPEAK MY LANGUAGE TOO!" at which point she said something in Athabascan just as loudly as everything else. I was about to say "I hope you said something nice," when she yelled. "I JUST SAID 'HURRY UP! THOSE GIRLS NEED TO HURRY UP! HURRY UP!"

At this point I wondered if she wanted them to hurry up because she was going to throw up. That was something I really didn't want to deal with. Also, I was shocked that the bank did nothing about her racist rant.

A man tried to, calm her. "Where are you from?" "MINTO!" "What's your name?" "MY NAME'S CHARLENE!" (At least I thought that's what she said, it could have been Charlotte, too.)

Drunk Lady was waving her bank card and crumpled check around and yelling, "HURRY UP! HURRY UP!" about every 30 seconds. I turned to her and said, "Do you think they like that? Don't you think that makes them feel bad?"

She stopped dead for a moment. Her face became solemn. Then she got her drunk jollity back for a minute and said, "OH, I am joking! THEY KNOW I'M JOKING WITH THEM! I ALWAYS JOKE WITH THEM!"

Funny thing though, because after that exchange she stopped yelling and all her grinning went away. She still had periodic outbursts but she quieted down a little.

When I got up to the teller, I told her that 1. I was concerned that the bank had done nothing for the Spanish-speaking family that had been verbally assaulted with hate speech, and that 2. cashing the check for Drunk Lady wasn't doing her a favor, as in her condition, she'd probably continue her bender. The teller asked if the rant had occurred in the lobby, or outside. I assured her it was IN the lobby, and that I thought someone from the bank should have escorted her out, and apologized to the family offended. She replied that they were so busy that no one noticed all this going on. Never mind I'd seen all four tellers heads jerk up every time Drunk Lady yelled "HURRY UP!" Plus, in the lobby, or on the sidewalk, all of that is Wells Fargo property.

It was quite disturbing. I shall be going back to that branch to talk to a manager about the entire episode. One other thing: it amazes me that there was only one man, and myself, who were unafraid to talk to her. She's probably a very  nice lady when she isn't on a bender. She wasn't a street person, she was just someone who messed up, bigtime! That doesn't mean there shouldn't be some consequences for her behavior, though.

We Need To Talk

I look at my weather app every night to reassure myself that the next day is going to live up to Alaskan Summer. Until you have lived through Alaskan Winter, especially in the Interior, you haven't looked forward to Summer. Not the way we do up here. Seriously. We put on flip flops and T-shirts when the temperatures hit 40 above. Some of us do. Given that I'm already a pale Northern European type, you really don't want to see my sick white legs. You don't. I'll even put that tan lotion on them to keep you from gacking should I wear shorts. I'm considerate that way.

Every night the Yahoo weather app (because the Weather Underground serving the Apple weather app is always, always wrong wrong wrong) says in great detail, with maps and cute little icons and spinning windmills,  how it's going to be partly cloudy/sunny and isn't going to rain. And every morning I wake up thinking, "Man! It's too dark outside!" and then I hear rain.

Honestly, this has to stop. There are 80,000 people in and around Fairbanks who suffered the Non-Summer of 2014, where we got 400% of our normal rainfall. This is an actual, non-exaggerated figure. I had mushrooms everyfreakingwhere. I had a river running down the driveway and under my front porch. Trees were losing limbs from the weight of water. When you go through the long dark of winter only to have a long dark summer, too, it makes you question your sanity. It was so bad I even considered moving back to Eugene. EUGENE! (silent screams)

So, Mother Nature, or should I say, because of climate change, Mother Unnatural, we have done our rain thing and we are SO DONE. Was it not enough? The soil is so super-saturated that this year thousands of us who live in dirt roads and have gravel driveways are coping with giant, upheaving, rutty, muddy messes that can't be fixed until things dry out. If you try to grade stuff like that you end up with a mud pit capable of swallowing VWs, Subarus, and all Two-Door Specks that folks drive in the summer to save on gas.

It's June already. There is July and then Fall begins in August! So get it together Mama! Quit the dripping and bring on the heat! I need to brown up my legs so as not to traumatize my friends and neighbors!

Permission to Point and Laugh Granted

So it was 50° today and so nice outside in the sun! I took the dogs upstairs and we went out on the balcony. I brought the comb and was all ready to give both dogs a good grooming!

Since even 50° isn't quite warm enough for a parrot, I closed the door and...you know that feeling you get when you know you've just done something you are going to regret?

I keep that door unlocked. But somehow, someway, the little locky turner thingy got turned the wrong way and there we were, out on the balcony, locked out of the house, with a dog comb, some dead plants in pots that had been there all winter, a bird feeder and that's about it. I didn't have my phone in my pocket for once, and my neighbor was at work.

I was in my slippers. The wind started blowing and it wasn't a warm wind. I had a light jacket on, and I had put on lined Carhartt pants so I wasn't too cold yet...

Of course there were all the various scenarios that were running through my head: what if my neighbor didn't come home until way late? What if she couldn't get ahold of my friend who has my house key? What if SQUIRRELS came and the dogs tried to jump over the balcony to get them? I can catastrophize with the best of them!

The first thing I did was try to MacGyver my way back into the house. That's just how I roll. The only thing even close to a credit card (those who have broken back into their own homes know why I needed one) was a plastic plant ID stake. But it was much thinner than a credit card and just wasn't strong enough to push back the tongue on the door knob latch.

I checked my terrible, old leaky wood windows. But I'd siliconed the glass in pretty darn good before last winter, and both were latched, too.

I went back to the plant ID stake and tried to make it work. No luck. I worked at this for at least a couple ten minute sessions. It was crumbling away...and in despair I put my hand in my pocket and-----
THERE WERE MY HOUSE KEYS!

So there ya go.

Long Term Healing in Adopted Dogs

I am in shock.

Last night I made myself a lovely T-bone steak for dinner. While I cooked it I also had the undivided attention of my adopted Norwegian Elkhound, Ole. Sofia, my other dog, has always respected my food and would never dream of counter surfing...until Ole taught her how to do it.Yes, at age 13 Sofia finally learned to counter surf. Thanks, Ole.

I carried my dinner plate upstairs, put it on the TV tray and settled down to enjoy some TV and some food. Of course Ole was right there, watching, watching, watching...

When Ole first came to live with me, what was it? In 2009? Anyway, it was years ago. When he first came to live with me he pulled an Elkhound Maneuver I just had to admire. It was the same situation but it was a hamburger patty instead of a steak, and some vegetables. I was upstairs, watching TV, eating dinner, when Ole suddenly jumped up, barked very loudly, and then thundered down the stairs. THERE IS SOMETHING OUT THERE, QUICK, GO LOOK, he said. So Sofia and I jumped up, ran downstairs to look out the front door and Ole ran back up the stairs and ate my dinner.

I never let him pull that one again, though he did try! I realized I would never be safe from his marauding so I built habits that included putting any and all food very high up, out of elkhound reach.

But we all make mistakes. Last night I had to use the bathroom, which is downstairs. I left my plate upstairs and while downstairs got sidetracked onto the interenet. For an hour. Or more.

Starting to feel hungry again and knowing I hadn't finished quite all of the steak, I went into the kitchen to my usual "safe" place to get my plate and realized, horrified, that I'd left it upstairs, well within reach of Ole Ginsu Mouth! A steak, and what was worse, a cooked, delicious, dangerously splintery BONE.

Sick and with visions of hours at the e-vet and a huge vet bill in my head, I ran up the twisty stairs to find Ole sitting on his bed, licking his lips nervously.

Uh oh.

I scanned the floor for a super clean plate. No plate. I looked at Ole. He licked his lips again. I lifted my eyes to the TV tray.....and there was my plate, steak intact, UNTOUCHED and even unLICKED!

I checked him over. Was he ill? Cold nose, just a little nervous...WOW! He chose not to eat my food! And such high-value, yummy food that I'll say it again, I'm in shock!

It has been years, as I said before, since I adopted Ole. He was in the dog pound down in Oregon and we have no idea what his life must have been before I got him. He's sweet, submissive (but has elkhound stubborness if you train incorrectly, no force methods work beautifully, force methods fail), but a little head shy. And smart, smart, smart. Plus I suspect was raised and held in a crate most of his life, because he will "hold it" for twelve hours at a time.

Whatever he's been through, it's taken him this long to finally adopt ME. By not eating my food he told me, clearly, "I respect you. You are my leader."  Don't get me wrong, he's been my dog all along, but it has been a long road to this day, where he has decided that we belong together. There has been a subtle shift in his attitude over the last several months. He looks me in the eyes more, he lets me kiss him on the nose (normally he averts his head and I don't push it).

Not that I'm ever going to assume he won't eat my food. He IS an elkhound, after all. But the point is taken: Ole has decided that I am really his person.

For all of you who have adopted dogs as adults: you never know how long it will take for a dog to heal from whatever happened to them before. If it were a person, you wouldn't expect him or her to become psychologically healthy after say, six months, if he/she had gone through some kind of severe abuse or neglect, would you? I can say with total surety that child abuse is the "gift" that keeps on giving. It has affected my entire life.

I'm so glad that Ole has been able to feel safe with me.

And yes, he got little bits of steak to eat last night as a reward! Good dog, Ole!

The Gaaaack Factor

Drains are some of the most wonderful bits of civilization known to man. Plumbing is wonderful. But when it plugs up it gets very, very icky very, very fast.

This is my shower drain. The strainer keeps everything out of the drain, so I never have to open it up to take out the ggaaaaccccckkkk that hair and conditioner etc. turns into. I would do almost anything to never, ever have to deal with that disgusting goo. How it gets that way, and how it smells that way and HEY, is it MOVING?

So I figured out a solution!

This is a strainer for a kitchen drain and it won't fit IN my shower drain but it actually works much better upside down.

See, if it went in the right way, and there was a bunch of hair and .....stuff.....that sunk down into the pit of the strainer, then the drain would not drain, and the yucko would float up onto my feet. And then I would be horrified, disgusted and really grossed out. And would have to get out and wash my feet. Ick ick ick.

(Excuse me here while I gag slightly. Blargh.)

THIS way, with a dome instead of a "cave," the hair and "stuff" collects AROUND the drain, the water still goes down, it never gets on my feet. And later, when it's dry, I come in with a plastic fork and lift it off and throw it away. VERY little gack factor. No stink. No creepy slime. And I never, ever have to enter the Drain Zone.

Sure, it's held on with duct tape. Sure, there's a little bump in the middle of the shower that I have to be careful not to step on. But that's easy. I'm very easily addlepated...uh...adapted to such small things.

When it gets rusty-ish and too saturated with "stuff" that won't come up with the plastic fork, I just get a new one out of the cupboard and tape it down. Sometimes the duct tape is blue, sometimes it is white. I don't care as long as I never, ever have to fish around in the drain.

Chicken Head

I've written lots of posts in my head lately. Unfortunately, they are still there, flapping around like chickens. They're good bits, I swear. If only I'd write them down you'd see. Honest.

I'm not going to write down the whole flock here. That would be too much committment. What if I never get to write them? What if I don't really have anything to say, even though I thought I did? What if I'm a bozo?

All of these are possible, of course. Stay tuned.