How can I not be homesick when I hear that’s it was 59 below in Barrow last week. I miss it so much. You can’t know the meaning of the word bracing till you go out to your car in 59 below weather, sit on a frozen seat and try to convince the motor it wants to be alive. To say nothing of the joy of driving on square tires. Oh my. I could just weep from missing those good times.
I originally saw the movie because the name was so close to my maiden name. Now I am positively hooked. That Captain Mal brings up feelings in me that I haven’t felt since I was a hot, hormonal youth. And I don’t even feel like a dirty old lady…at least, not too much.
It seems to me that it’s highly appropriate to go see Brokeback Mountain on the day of the Superbowl. You figure it out.
I saw that special look on my parrot’s face and grabbed him off my Internet connection box right before he let loose with some poop. Note to self: among other things I never want to have to do in life is explain to a GCI repairman that my Internet connection no longer works because of bird doo doo.
In an ideal world, I’d be an effortless size four while eating my weight in carbs daily. My birds would clean their own messes and my dog would never grow old. People would not use the name of a god they claim is loving and merciful as an excuse to torture and kill everyone who disagrees with them. And kids would all be raised by Ozzie and Harriet in a neat little suburb where their worse problem would be the occasional pimple.
But we don’t live in that ideal world. I am nowhere near a size four and my birds
Another favorite gathering place—and the only restaurant in town opened year round back then—was Al’s Eskimo Cafe. There was a place called Brower’s Cafe, but it only opened in the summer for the tourists. It was tradition to go there at least once a season and eat a bowl of reindeer soup while listening to the tour guides’ latest spiels about Barrow.
Al’s Eskimo Cafe, owned and operated by Al Hopson Sr., was the really special place. It was the original highway greasy spoon translated into tundra ambiance. I wouldn’t have been surprised if, after downing one of those wonderful
I left for Alaska on October 1, 1972. I was accompanied to the airport by a large contingent of relatives who seemed unduly concerned that this move would somehow lead to my permanent removal from their circle. Although in hindsight that proved more true than not, at the time I found myself wondering if my grandparents had had to endure this when they departed for America. Of course, at that point I wasn’t too sure the move was as bright an idea as it had seemed when first conceived. Some things are much cloudier in the light of stark reality
Growing up, two very dear women I knew and loved died of cancer. One died of breast cancer and one died of uterine cancer. Both died quickly, as though death were easier than continuing to live.
One of these women was married to a wonderful man who happened to be gay at a time when men from the coal mining regions of Pennsylvania simply weren’t. For over thirty years they kept this secret. She produced three children and then moved from her husband’s bed to her daughter’s. By the time she showed her misshapen breasts to someone, it was way
It was one of those mornings; not the good kind – the kind that make you wonder if your mother wasn’t right all along about the wisdom of moving to Alaska. Or did she use the word “sanity”?
It was 6:30 AM and we’d had quite a blizzard overnight. Mr. T chose this of all mornings to decide he had to go out REAL BAD. So I stumbled to his very own little half door in my entryway. This led to a porch where he could do whatever he wanted all winter/ In the summer, I just washed it away.
It’s become one of those trite truisms that all we ever needed to know we learned in kindergarten. I don’t quite agree with that since I’ve never actually seen a kindergarten kid filling out a tax form. But I do believe that we should have learned one of our most important lessons there, and that is to play and work well with others.
In that spirit, and to help the dental society avoid anymore of those large, costly ads they are running about the proposed dental health aide program, let me make a suggestion that perhaps will help us get