The Circle of Time

Why don't we turn the clock to zero honey?
I’ll sell the stock we’ll spend all the money
We're starting up a brand new day...

--Brand New Day
Sting

My last entry of Holidailies--and 2007.

New Year's is an arbitrary point in time--a creation of a human calendar. If there was a starting point for the new year, it would probably be at Winter Solstice. Some cultures mark a new beginning at Spring Equinox and one or two at the Autumnal one. But the year is really a circle, a cycle of seasons with no end or beginning, just the unending change that marks all of life.

But humans like to organize and categorize, so we have endings and beginnings. While I was napping this afternoon, the new year began its creep across the spinning world--midnight at Greenwich Observatory is three in the afternoon here. If I understand the International Date Line correctly, the Far East has been in 2008 for almost a day already. Here at the last edge of North America, 2007 lingers while the rest of the world celebrates.

I am not sorry to see 2007 go--it was a hard year on me. While I have hope for the new year, I know it will probably be a mixed bag of losses and gains. I have seen enough years go by that I don't have too many romantic notions. It is enough for me to be here to see the new one in, with loved ones around me, warm and safe and well-fed. That is plenty to be grateful for in this old world.

To those of you who stopped by, thank you. I want to wish you and yours all the best in the coming year. May 2008 be good to all of us.

For tonight is New Year's Eve
Uncork your spirits and welcome it in--
Who knows what it's got up its sleeve?
Can't wait for it all to begin

--Laughing Into 1939
Al Stewart


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The Other End of Day

After several days off, I was back to work this morning on the opening shift. I will close out the year with two of these shifts and then have the first two days of the New Year off.

I have enjoyed participating in Holidailies but realize that I wasn't prepared for the demands. While others were writing thoughtful essays or humorous entries, I was scrambling all month to get my daily post in by nine pm during a time of year when visitors and the social demands of the season were cutting into my free time.

So there were a lot of photo posts. I'm so glad my brother-in-law sent us the digital camera this spring. It has made the daily post deadline easier to meet but I'm not all that happy with the content.

But then, my pre-Holidailies posts weren't necessarily all that deep or insightful. I am just amazed that I have managed to make it through the month.

Although we are on the far side of Winter Solstice, there hasn't been a noticeable change in what time the sun comes up--I'm still clicking off the airport rotating beacon just after nine am.

I took this picture about forty minutes later of the waning winter moon riding high in the sky.



About the same time, the peaks to the south were glowing pink with daybreak.

Click for larger
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Winter Dusk

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Road Trip

Once or twice a month, we like to drive up to Kenai-Soldotna to do some shopping. The twin cities of the Kenai Peninsula are eighty miles north of us on the Sterling Highway.

Four inches of snow had fallen overnight and snow continued into the morning. We left home about nine-thirty, as it was just beginning to grow light, driving north /in the haze of snow. Traffic was light--most of it going south. One nice thing about the limited number of roads we have in Alaska--the Sterling Highway is the only route from the Kenai Peninsula north to Anchorage, so it is well-tended by the State highway crews. As we travelled back and forth today, we passed several plow-trucks and sand trucks, keeping the route open and well-maintained.

The Sterling Highway, a few miles south of the K-Beach Road turnoff..
Soldotna is located where the highway crosses the Kenai River. It is a utilitarian community focused on servicing road travelers and the tourist industry. Kenai, a dozen miles to the west of Soldotna where the Kenai River empties into Cook Inlet, is the site of a 1791 Russian settlement and is as such one of Alaska's oldest towns.

When we go up for a doctor's visit, we circle through Soldotna--where we patronize several medical specialists--and often shop at the big Fred Meyer store on the north side of town. But today our list took us exclusively to Kenai: Home Depot for sheetrosk mud and a vanity-top, the second hand shop we have dubbed "the Junk Store", the IGA store for their selection of meats and the big Three Bears warehouse store for some supplies not available in Homer.

Fueling up in Anchor Point
Because of our early start, we were back on the road in the early afternoon. The weather started clearing and snow ended about forty miles north of Homer. We stopped in Anchor Point to refuel the Suburban about three this afternoon. We were home and unpacked by four.

Five inches of new snow soften the contours of the landscape at home.

Our backyard view just after five this evening

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Sauna

A short entry tonight. I just got out of the sauna and I'm pretty much melted.

Time was when the sauna was our main means of bathing, back before we got plumbing in the house. The sauna is a small cabin with a barrel stove out behind the house. There is a porch for changing and pegs inside for towels and robes. A large pan on top of the stove holds water which is heated by the stove then mixed with cold water in individual basins for washing and shampooing.

Even though we have had indoor plumbing for almost two decades, we use the sauna a couple times a month, especially in winter. The small bathing room around a stove is an ancient tradition in northern countries. I read once that the English word "stove" and the German word Stube (room) can both trace their origins back to the sauna. It makes sense.

I particularly like to sauna in the winter. Coming back to the house steaming through the snow in the darkness. And it is so relaxing...

*~*~*~*~*~*

Merry Chris-Moose

We went to my uncle's house for dinner yesterday afternoon. Just before we sat down to eat, a moose wandered across the draw below the house.



The view beyond the moose would normally be of the shore of the bay and the mountains on the other side but a fine snow fell most of the day. We have between fourteen and eighteen inches on the ground now.

Winter has definitely begun.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ghosts in the Candlelight

The snow let up briefly after dark last night. By the time I got home, the moon was shining faintly through a veil of clouds. But today, dawn brought more wind and snow. Television has been off the air since last night but as we still have power and Santa brought us some new DVDs, we aren't without entertainment.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Here at the tail-end of the year, I guess it is natural to find yourself taking bearings, comparing where you are this year to where you were last year at this time, and wondering about the future.

I have been holding memories of last Christmas at arm's length for most of the holiday season. Memory hurts too much. Dinky, one of our dearest cats, died just after Christmas last year. Her decline cast a shadow over the holidays and her death left me shattered for most of 2007.

I still have moments when her memory is so strong that I catch a glimpse of her tiny white paws in the movement of one of the other cats, or hear her chirp in their voices. I love that little cat so much...

But I soldiered on into 2007 and put up a brave front. The other cats needed me. I had to face Punkin's diagnosis with the same condition that killed Dinky and know I will be losing her too before too much longer. I have to wonder if this will be my last Christmas with her, my little hand-raised kitten who grew into such a strong personality, the Queen of the household and my most devoted cat.

Which turns my thoughts to our other orange Queen, Frieda, who rules the shop. I was so sure that she wouldn't live through last winter and yet she rallied and persists, her digestive troubles replaced with the spectre of chronic renal failure. Will she be with us next year at this time?

Then there are the losses you never expect. I knew that Molly and Fred were old and that Tiny and Tommy were ill but losing Pickle Boy in June just broke me. Like the loss of Dinky, it is a pain so deep I just have to wall it up and try not to think about it. But I surely miss our pure white boy. Nine years was too short a time.



I can look to the future with hope. We plan to retire in the coming year and having more time together and at home will be sweet. But I know there will be inevitable losses of our companion cats. Our household will be less full by next year and we move on but we never forget the ones we lose along the way.

I shouldn't complain. This is the price we pay for loving creatures with life-spans so much shorter than our own. I knew going in to my many-cats phase that these days would come and I wouldn't trade off this pain against the pleasure that our cats have brought us. Even in my sorrow at losing Pickle and Dinky, I am so glad to have had the chance to have known them and all the others who have passed through our lives along the way.

There are other ghosts in the candle-light at Christmas.

Always, I remember my maternal Grandmother, born on Christmas Eve, 1904. She has been gone for over twenty years now, but I hold her forever close in my heart.

I recently found this photo among the boxes in the back rooms. My grandmother and her aunt Helen (1875-1940)--so I guess the picture was taken in the late 1930s. The house in the background was built by my great-grandfather. Off to the left the porch of grandma's house, also built by great-grandpa Ketner--is just visible. I believe those houses still stand in Tacoma, though these two ladies are gone.



*~*~*~*~*~*

Blizzard

There's no more succinct way to put it--it is blizzarding outside today.

Even though we only had about an inch of snow on the ground at this time last week, I never had any doubt we would have a white Christmas. With the wind gusting over twenty knots and the visibility between a quarter- and a half-mile, it is a good day to be snug inside, close by the fire.

But not me--I have to go to work.

Lucky for me, Denny made it home last night. We got enough snow yesterday so that I went out in the late afternoon and used the snow-blower to clear enough of the driveway for him to pull in and park. He had driven the two-wheel-drive Chevy pick-up to Anchorage. I had to put the Suburban into 4WD to get in and out of the driveway on my trip to town and back yesterday, and I didn't want his two-hundred-some mile drive home from Anchorage last night to end twenty yards from the house.

Clearing what I needed with the snow-blower only took about half-an-hour. It was just after sunset and the full moon lit the snow so beautifully that I really didn't mind the chore.

But this morning, Denny took the backhoe out and cleared the driveway and parking area properly, so we can get any of the vehicles out if we need them and not risk getting stuck in the driveway. That's so much easier and faster than clearing snow with the blower.

Driving to work this afternoon

At least the weather is bad enough that no one is entertaining any thoughts that they may be able to sneak in or out of Homer during a break in the weather, so the airport traffic is light-to-nonexistent. I expect I will talk to one or two air carriers this evening and that will be about it.


The usual view south from the Station
So, as the falling snow outside turns blue in the fading daylight, I settle in for a quiet shift and wish everyone out there in cyberspace a safe and happy holiday.

*~*~*~*~*~*

More Favorite Photos of 2007

Running short of time today so I will reprise a few more favorite photos from the past year...


I think this one of leaves and the first snow on our back deck captures the mood of October fairly well.


Mid November brought this view of the bay and mountains beyond as winter crept closer.

And this one has to be one of my favorites--taken last winter/early spring of Frannie at her favorite activity.




*~*~*~*~*~*

More Snow...

I awoke to the sound of the television cable tapping against the metal side of the building--a sure sign that the wind was blowing. I looked out the bedroom window and could only see the porch light from the house east of us, haloed in the falling snow. Obviously, a new storm had moved in over night.



The amount of snow on the ground had doubled overnight--now near ten inches though because of its weight, it is slowing compressing. The log planters on the deck wear tall caps of snow. I guess the lemon thyme will be sleeping now until April.


All the birdseed I scattered yesterday is buried, of course. It seems that the very act of putting out seed for the birds will trigger a deep snowfall. So I will have to strew more out under the overhang of the carport, where I hope it will be safe.

(We *did* have one snowfall so deep that the snow that fell off the roof piled up against the front door but that was years ago...)

With the heavy snow and wind, I wasn't surprised that our television signal was out. That typically happens when the power lines go down across the bay and the transmitter over there loses power. The lights were flickering, so before I left for work, I powered down the computers and lit the back-up lights in the back room and shop. Because it will be night before I get back home and even cats can't see in pitch darkness...

Since I got to work, it has been snowing off and on--mostly on. Up on the bluff, where it is cooler, I know the snow has been accumulating even faster. We'll see how deep it is when I get home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Holiday Lights

Happy Solstice!



I took this picture last night about eleven of the moon high in the south (above the tips of the backyard Christmas trees.) The moon rides high in the winter, mirroring the path that the sun will be taking in six months, just dipping briefly below the northern horizon on its daily circuit. Our winter nights are a moon-dance.


This morning, the lights from our tree reflected in the windows against the snow scape outside. We got five-to-six inches of snow from the "big storm"--not quite what we were led to expect. That's okay--it was enough to be good ground-cover without making it necessary to clear the driveway or shovel out pathways.


Ghost lights--the tree lights reflect on the windows, making the snow-covered twigs outside look as if they were glowing with their own holiday lights.




*~*~*~*~*~*

Here Comes Our White Christmas

The National Weather Service in Anchorage has issued a Heavy Snow Warning which is in effect from 4 PM this afternoon to 12 PM AST Friday.

A nearly stationary trough of low pressure along Cook Inlet and cold temperatures will bring heavy snow for locations along Kachemak Bay. Storm total accumulations of 8 to 14 inches can be expected along Kachemak Bay from this afternoon through Friday
morning. Greatest amounts are expected near Seldovia and the Homer Bluff.

Significant amounts of snow are forecast that will make travel dangerous. Only travel in an emergency.

It was overcast this morning and ten degrees. By daybreak, a light snow was falling that continued through the morning. Less than an inch of fresh, dry snow had accumulated by the time I left for work this afternoon, but I decided to drive the Suburban instead of my Crown Victoria, just in case.

At dusk, the snow began in earnest--heavy thick flakes and a gusty northeasterly wind. As I write this, there is three inches of snow on the ground and the snowfall continues. It will be interesting to see how much snow we got up on the bluff.

I'm glad I drove a four-wheel-drive.

ETA: I took this picture of the lighted trees out back when I got home from work tonight...



*~*~*~*~*~*

Cold!

For now, the arctic air is winning the battle of the air masses.



We are at the nadir of the year. Even at nine in the morning, only a paleness on the southeastern horizon betrays the imminence of dawn.

I actually began stirring about eight to feed the wood stove. Our house has forced air heating and is built around a heated slab in the shop but we keep the wood stove burning fairly steadily for most of the year. since the great spruce bark beetle infestation, we have abundant dead wood on our property--free heat. And there is just something cozy about the radiant heat of a wood-burning stove.

Wood smoke is the aroma of comfort in our neighborhood.


I try to keep about three or four loads of wood in the metal bin beside the stove--warming and drying and ready for use so that on cold mornings like this I don't have to shuffle out across the deck in my house shoes and pajamas to the wood shed.

It was a cool night even in the house. Several cats are clustered down in the dining room in the aura of the stove--Slippers on the hearth, Frannie on the sofa, and Skinny slipping quickly back up the stairs when she hears me stirring. (Skinny pretends to be afraid of people...)

I feed a couple of pieces of wood to the stove then go upstairs to put soffee on before crawling back into bed. The television has been on all night, volume turned low, so I lie in bed and listen to the news, dozing until almost nine.

We are at our shortest days of the year now. Beginning tomorrow our hours of daylight are at their minimum. For several days, we will neither lose nor gain daylight. Then just after Christmas, our daylight will begin to slowly accumulate, a minute a day at first, then quickening with the new year.

It is as if the earth pauses for a long beat before falling back toward the sun...and summer.

*~*~*~*~*~*

2007 More Favorite Photos

A sunset in early May. The last light of the sun tints the snow-capped peaks and glaciers on the far side of Kachemak Bay.



I took this photo from our back deck in June, keeping a careful distance.



In mid-July, this is the sky at midnight from our yard, looking up and to the north.



An August evening. I caught the moon rising over the mountains on my way home from work at about nine-thirty.

As always, click photos for full-sized image...

*~*~*~*~*~*

Quiet Day

Alaskan winter is a battle of air masses. When warm, maritime air moves in from the southwest, we can get snow and wind--or even rain. When the air flows down from the north and east, skies clear and--stripped of our insulating blanket of clouds--temperatures plummet.

Right now, the cold arctic air mass is dominating. Temperatures today hovered around ten degrees at our house. Downtown, the daily peak temp may have been around twenty. All I know is that I regretted wearing street shoes and my cloth coat when we went into town to run errands. What was I thinking.`

*~*~*~*~*~*



Inspired by a pair of earrings I bought a year ago at Halloween, I bought some green and red beads at the local craft shop and made several sets of Christmas earrings last year. This is the pair I find myself wearing most often. The red bead is actually heart-shaped, though it doesn't show well from this angel.

2007 Favorite Photos - Summer Scenery

Not much to say today so I thought I would revisit summer with some favorite photos.


Looking west from Bluff Point across Cook Inlet to Mt.Iliamna. The fumaroles near the peak steam fairly constantly.


I call this one "Castles in the Sky"--a line of cumulus clouds building over the Kenai Mountains bend in the on-shore breeze. As seen from the Homer side of Kachemak Bay.


A summer scene at Beluga Lake, which serves as our float-plane base during the warmer months. This is looking northeast toward the head of Kachemak Bay and the Kenai Mountains..

Click on the images for much larger views...

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Holiday Photo Spam

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas in the House of Many Cats.




This wreath is one of my handicraft projects that turned out looking pretty good. And it was amazingly simple: a foam circle, a pre-tied velvet bow and a spool of pretty green ribbon. The hardest part of the whole thing was making the little loop on the back to suspend the wreath with. Thanks to the hot glue gun, not even that was difficult.



For the past couple years we have had a small tree in the bedroom, on top of the television set. A string of lights and a set or two of gold ornaments from the five-and-dime are all this took. The big gold star is really a candle holder stood on edge. The little stuffed black-and-white cat beside the tree is tangled in a string of shiny ornaments. I bought it from one of those mail-order catalogues a few years back.



The little window sill in the entry way is the usual home of my cat gargoyle candle-holders and my statuette of Bast. A festive red candle and a little wooden cat-snowman adds a holiday touch.

As a child, I could lie on the carpet staring up through the boughs of the Christmas tree for hours. As an adult, I still love the play of lights and shiny ornaments...





*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We are still waiting for some decent snow here in south central Alaska. We watch news reports of folks down in the smaller states complaining about having inches and inches of snow to deal with and we can barely contain our envy.

The weather has finally turned more seasonable after a very rainy month. Temperatures were well below freezing this morning and this afternoon a fine, dry snow blew in on the northern wind. A large Pacific storm is just starting its way up the Aleutian chain--I am hoping it will bring heavier snows later this week.

Because Alaskans really like snow. We are all geared up for it. We have studded snow tires, cozy winter parkas and warm, felt-lined boots. About the only time we will complain about snow is before October or after April. The rest of the time we embrace it. Snow softens the landscape like a blanket and brightens our long nights, reflecting starlight and moonlight.

There has been some anxiety lately about the lack of snow cover but in my experience, we will have enough snow by Christmas to make things look festive. That's when I will take some outside photos of the local area and the Christmas lights--once we are in Winter Wonderland mode.

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Holidailies Shout-Out

As I had hoped, participating in Holidailies this year has exposed me to many different blogs and bloggers. I hope--once the pressures of the holiday season subside--I will be able to delve into those tantalizing journals more deeply and that some of the links listed at the bottom of my sidebar will migrate up to my list of favorites.

Now on the off chance that one of those folks in the lower right hand corner actually stumble upon this or that those on my friends'-list are curious, I thought I would list those blogs and posts that have caught my eye.

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Women in Comfortable Shoes was one of the first Holidailies blogs to get my attention. I totally agree with her maxim that life is too short to wear uncomfortable shoes. But what won me over was her post on decorating their tree with the adorable photo of Flynn. Anyone with cats in their Christmas tree is someone I feel instant kinship with.

Use My Sky is such an intriguing title that I may have stopped by the blog just on that basis alone. But it was the title of her post on December 5th that caught me. I often feel that maybe I am too old to blog. The fandom and the memes and all the other silliness--I have participated in it but it isn't *me*. I find in Leya a mature voice with an artist's sensitivity and openness, someone whose writing is thought-provoking without being strident.

I was drawn into Thursday's Child by a post about Christmas lights. I stayed because the honesty of her writing gave me the guilty-pleasure feeling of reading someone else's diary--but isn't that what reading blogs is? Anyway, her diary has an immediacy that keeps drawing me back.

She says she has dropped out of Holidailies, but I am keeping tabs on The Little Red Cabin. Her posts ooze a comfortable domesticity and I enjoy reading about her daily life in a region I am not that familiar with. She is busier as a stay-at-home Mom than I am with 23 cats and a full-time job.

You expect a former girl clown to have wit, and in Please Mick Jagger, Don't Sell Me Fixodent she proves it. She also has heart.

My Life In Spain because Denny spent a year in Spain with the Air Force back in the seventies and it was one of the best times of his life. So photos, impressions and food--what's not to like? And they have a cat they adopted off the streets. My kind of people.

Musings of a Cynical Optimist intrigued me with the title. Well, what's a gal to do after she's written a little over 50,000 words for November? Yes! She signs up for Holidailies for December! lured me to her blog.. And it didn't hurt that she listed Neil Gaiman as a favorite. I sleep with a statuette of the King of Dreams on my headboard.

Music and Cats. What's more to say? Oh, and she lives in Seattle.

Making Spaceis an interesting blogger--a dog trainer with an artistic soul. Reading her posts makes me wish for the best for her. And want to know what happens next. An entertaining read.

Since I imagine myself to be an writer--or at least a writer-wannabe--as well as something of an insomniac, I was interested in Kristina Wright's Musings of an Insomniac Writer. I look forward to her daily entries and particularly enjoyed this one. Invoking Joseph Campbell doesn't hurt, either.

Dysfunction Junction has a sardonic sense of humor that got my attention. That and theentry introduced with this summary: Who knew that becoming an adult and actually being prescribed legal medications could be so much fun?

I've been blissfully coupled for over twenty-five years but I had to identify with the author's stroll down memory lane to her angst-ridden post-adolescence. Her gentle wit and sensibility made it an enjoyable journey.
Read more at Crickwooder Chronicles...

I was intrigued at Coyote Underground because she is a rural first-responder. her posts range from informative to amusing. And isn't that what you look for in a blog?

You have to love a blog named Bitchypoo, don't you? And she has cats! And chickens! Love her earthy humor.

If the URL itself wasn't enough-- A Cat By Any Other Name--the tag line won me over: Still life with cats: the story of me Not only does she have cats, but she can write well enough to make even daily life interesting.


*~*~*~*~*~*

You lovely bloggers listed above--your writing humbles me. Please do not take offense if you feel I have you all wrong. I am just getting to know you. What I have seen so far I really enjoy. Thank you.

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2007 Favorite Photos - Spring Sunrise

One of my favorite photos of the year.

I took this in late April as I was driving north from Homer to Kenai for a training class. Our spring weather is often a series of cloudless and calm days--as this one promised to be.

I often tell prospective visitors to think of coming to see us in May. Sure, the terrain will still be struggling out of late winter and it may not all be green yet but we have some gorgeous weather in the Spring.

Our summers can alternate between a week of clear, fine weather and a week or more of low clouds and rain. Then, about mid-July, we reach a point in the cycle where old Pacific storms crawl up the east coast of Asia into the Gulf of Alaska and bring us days and days of humid, windy and wet weather.

But these achingly beautiful days of Spring...

Clear nights will put a bite in the early morning air and frequently there will be ice on the puddles on a morning like this. But by mid morning, it will have melted and by the afternoon, we will be shrugging out of our heavy shirts and driving with the windows down.

You know you're an Alaskan when: you use your ice scraper and your air conditioner on the same day...

We laugh because it is true.

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Sky Threatening Snow

I stopped on my way home from town this afternoon at the top of the bluff. The gray sky and lowering clouds over the bay spoke of snow coming.

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Winter, Fire and Snow

One song that never fails to send a shiver through me and turn my thoughts inward is "Winter, Fire and Snow" by Anuna.

Sometimes it even makes me cry as I sing along.

In winter fire is beautiful
Beautiful like a song--

It's not just the sparse instrumentation and ethereal voices of the performers...

In winter snow is beautiful
All of the winter long...

...it is the sense of longing and loss that fills my heart with memories.

The day gets dark uneasily
Darker and darker still
And you are gone to Carnevale
And I feel the winter chill...

It's been nine years since that December afternoon that I held our gray-and-white cat Sparky as he gave his last gasps. Congestive heart failure had hit him hard and fast. He was not yet five years old.

He had come to live with us four years earlier, half a cat. Half-starved, half-frozen and half grown--a cat casually abandoned when he became an inconvenience.

He was never an inconvenience to us, the little cat with too-many toes and a heart too big for his body. In the too-brief time between his first winter and his last, Sparky had a home with warmth and food and a yard full of exciting things to explore. He knew love and gave love. I guess that's what we are all here for.

But he left us on a darkening December afternoon, marking all Decembers since with the sadness of his loss.

But you little son come safely home
Riding the tail of the wind
May you always come this safely home
In winter, fire and snow.


In my mind's eye, I see a little gray and white cat padding homeward in the early winter dusk, his over-sized paws leaving a neat line of stitches across the pale yard...



Come home to us in winter, Sparky, over the snows of winters past.

Reside with us--if only in memory.

A Quiet Day

It was a quiet day. The winds brought mixed rain and snow that covered the ground with about an inch of slush. Bart sat at the patio door for a long time watching the birds pick seeds from the ground.


This afternoon, I checked the lights on the trees in the back yard. Most of them seemed to be working. I am waiting for a nice coating of snow before I leave them on all night.


Inside, I strung light over the windows above the patio door and on a small tree on the window sill.



Looking in from the back deck, the house looks festive and cozy.

Sadness

This photo is a couple of years old but captures a quiet winter mood...


*~*~*~*~*~*

I missed the evening news last night so it wasn't until today that I heard this. Not unexpected but sad to have the worst fears confirmed. I remind myself that in all likelihood, the end came quickly for those on the helicopter. It is those who wait and wonder who suffer.

Reunited

Denny called me from Anchorage about one this morning--finally getting on the road toward home.

I had been sleepy but unwilling to go to bed until I heard from him. Even as I finally slipped in between the sheets, I felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he had to be so much more weary than I was and that he still had four hours or more of difficult driving ahead of him.

Wind rattled the house and I slept fitfully for several hours. I kept waking up to check the monitor cameras for any sign of approaching headlights. When I drifted off to sleep, I dreamt that Denny was home, only to wake up, look at the clock, and know he still had hours to go.

*~*~*~*~*

Not only do I live in a place where people disappear--I live in a place where the weather can kill you.

Let me correct myself. The weather can kill you in almost any place or clime. It is just that the majority of people--insulated in their cocoon of modern life--don't realize it.

Our world is a bit more raw and we live close enough to the forces of Nature to treat her with respect. Avalanches can kill you. Wind chills can kill you. Poor visibilities can kill you. Icy roads can kill you. Even running out of gas can kill you. We try to be aware of conditions and options. We travel with extra fuel and dress as if we may have to walk home.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I lay in bed knowing that Denny was launching himself into an unknown night, that he was tired but anxious to get home. He drives the road from Anchorage to Homer and back again twice a month, so I trust him to know the troublesome areas and to use his judgement. He is a cautious man.

But still I worry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I woke up at five and lay in bed, waiting.

The standard good-weather time between Anchorage and Homer is four hours.

I watched the television click back and forth between monitor cameras--the view down the driveway, the view in front of the house.

I listened to the wind rattle the branches of the alder outside the bedroom window.

Finally, twenty minutes after five, I saw the glint of headlights at the end of the driveway and felt a rush of relief.

The flurry of happy activity--pulling on my sweatpants and slipping into my Crocs, down the stairs to stand on the porch in the early morning darkness. A familiar face and happy greetings, the pleasant work of hauling luggage inside.

He had been up for twenty-six hours, so it wasn't long before we were back in bed, reassuring ourselves that we were indeed reunited, falling into relaxed sleep holding hands.

Distances and Disappearances

Evening falls early over Kachemak Bay. Clouds press down, obscuring the ridge line of the bluff behind town. Gusting winds spatter rain and snow against the window of the Flight Service Station where I am on watch and smearing my view of the streetlight outside. I squint my eyes, trying to determine the percentage of snow versus rain in the mix--for such subtleties are important in the world of weather observation.

But in layman's terms, it's just pretty snotty.

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) - Bad weather continues to hinder the search for a missing medical helicopter, but rescuers say they plan to look for the aircraft all weekend in Prince William Sound. A spokesman for the effort, McHugh Pierre, says searchers are approaching as if their mission is still a rescue, rather than recovery, operation.

There has been no new developments in the search for the missing air ambulance flight. But until the weather improves enough to allow for a thorough search, it is hard to abandon hope. Two feet of snow fell near Whittier on Tuesday, which would effectively bury any wreckage on land. What the cold waters of Prince William Sound may have swallowed will be disgorged reluctantly.

I live in a place where people disappear. Alaska. Too large to comprehend. People go out in planes, boats, on foot, and are never heard from again.
--Sheila Nickerson
Disappearance: A Map

Vicariously, I feel the frustration of those trying to mount an effective search in weather conditions that have been described at times as "horrendous." I feel a quiet ache in my heart for the families of the missing, constrained by circumstance to stand helplessly at the side, unable to go and look for themselves.

Meanwhile, time passes and whatever grace period there may have been vanishes.

*~*~*~*~*

I am waiting myself this evening, as Denny flies home from a visit with his family in Florida. I track his progress on FlightArrivals.com as he moves along a four-thousand-plus mile thread that stretches from one side of our country to another. Now suspended in the air between Minneapolis and Seattle; now on the west coast, only one time zone away. Already he feels closer.

He should arrive in Anchorage just before midnight--over two hundred miles away via the serpentine Sterling and Seward Highways. He has then another journey to make, following the long road home down Turnagain Arm and over the passes of the Kenai Mountains, then the long coastal bluff to home.

Weather permitting, he should be home by five tomorrow morning.

I watch the thick precipitation clot against the window and listen to the winds increase outside. I am an old wife. I have spent evenings like this before.

Midcentury Love Letter

Stay near me, Speak my name. Oh, do not wander
By a thought's span, heart's impulse, from the light
We kindle here. You are my sole defender
(As I am yours) in this precipitous night,
Which over earth, till common landmarks alter,
Is falling, without stars, and bitter cold.
We two have but our burning selves for shelter.
Huddle against me. Give me your hand to hold.

So might two climbers lost in mountain weather
On a high slope and taken by storm,
Desperate in the darkness, cling together
Under one cloak and breathe each other warm.
Stay near me. Spirit, perishable as bone,
In no such winter can survive alone.

--Phyllis McGinley

Waiting

This is a season of waiting.

Children wait impatiently for Christmas gifts and surprises while adults wait to hear from distant friends in the annual ritual of card exchanges.

Advent calendars and flickering candles count off the days.

Those attuned to Nature's pulse await the turning point of Solstice and our fall back into sunlight.

In our neighborhood, we are waiting for snow to come and blanket the landscape, softening the harsh edges of ice and iron-hard soil. Beneath the earth wait the seeds for Spring's greenery, sleeping through this little ice age, waiting to be born.

Something in my soul resonates to this time of quiet expectation. When I was a Christian, Advent was my favorite time of the liturgical year, with its candlelit meditations and ancient hymns of beseeching.

"Veni, veni Emanuel..."

From centuries past, the plainsong melodies speak of a longing, like sun-starved evergreens turning branches toward the distant southern sun. I feel the hunger in my bones.

"Corde natus ex Parentis..."

Unlike so many people in the world, I expect no savior or prophet. I look not for an external manifestation of infinity in the cold December dawn. I do not know exactly what it is that I await--enlightenment, immanence, completion. I only know it lies inside me, straining outward, just as the hungry earth seeks light.

In the still air of mid-winter, I listen for the next heartbeat of Eternity.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Along Alaska's southern coast, in communities stretching from Cordova to Anchorage, we also wait for word on the missing Lifeguard helicopter. N141LG is still officially overdue--as the bulletin posted on the radio console reminds me.

But the realization is sinking in that the orange-and-blue aircraft and those who were on board her are gone.

Winds in Prince William Sound drive snow and fog before them, making search conditions difficult but the search doggedly continues on land, in the air and on the dark, cold waters.

Among those who wait for word, candles were lit tonight at 5:18 pm, marking the moment of the last contact with the flight. Hope persists but it is as fragile as the flicker of a candle in the wind.

Trimming The Tree--Day Two

This is the patio door upstairs, a sliding glass door that right now leads to nothing but provided a large amount of sunlight to the upstairs. The days are short now and for the season, I hung icicle lights across it. I bought some frosted plastic leaves a couple years ago and wondered how they would look if I hung them on the ends of the icicles.

I like how it looks.

So, since House was a rerun last night, I spent the hour trimming the tree. Most of our ornaments are crystal, silver, gold or frosted glass--an old-fashioned look. I noticed a few years ago that holiday trimmings were taking a decidedly Victorian turn. It's kind of ironic that as we enter the 21st century, we seem to draw comfort by surrounding ourselves with reminders of the 19th.

When I was a kid, the latest in Christmas decor involved obviously fake trees in white or even metal. Artificial trees were new and expensive and so to have one was a sign of suburban prosperity, a mark of being on the cutting edge. The height of modern taste was a pure white tree trimmed with all blue ornaments or a gleaming silver metallic tree with all red balls.

As we Boomers age, our Christmas decor hearkens back to a simpler, more innocent time. Are we seeking security from the confusion and uncertainty of the present by creating a facsimile of the past?



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As I trimmed the tree last night, my thoughts were distracted. On the evening news, I had heard that a Lifeguard Flight (air ambulance) was missing in Prince William Sound, just over the mountains to the east of us.

Lifeguard Flights are a familiar part of Alaskan living. For many of us in rural areas, they represent hope and help when we are facing a traumatic injury or serious illness. A system of helicopters, twin-engine aircraft and executive jets make it possible for a critically-ill Alaskan to be within an hour or two of state-of-the-art medical assistance. Along with the Internet and satellite communications, Lifeguard flights are part of the landscape of our modern frontier life

The snow we didn't get Monday and Tuesday was contained in Prince William Sound. Blizzard conditions moved rapidly in at dusk on Monday. The medevac flight--out of Cordova en route to Anchorage--was last heard from over the Sound.

Anchorage Daily News

Peninsula Clarion

I talk with this particular helicopter once or twice a week. It serves hospitals in Anchorage and Soldotna. Lifeguard One-four-one-Lima-Golf is a familiar sight flying in and out of our little airport. Although I don't recognize the names of the crew, I Know that I have talked to them on the radio many times since I began working in Homer.

Despite the tenaciously up-beat press releases, it doesn't look good. Helicopters are notoriously poor at handling airframe icing--the type of conditions that might be expected in a wet, cold air mass. If the flight went down in the water, it was over quickly. The crew and passenger were gone even before the flight was declared overdue.

The smallest ember of hope is that somehow the helicopter was forced down over land and that the survivors are waiting for better weather to allow rescue. I would love to see that be the case.

But the cruel winter takes no hostages.

Trimming The Tree--Day One

Does this look like four-to-eight inches of snow? No, it didn't look like that to me, either. Yet even on this morning's local news, the forecasters were still calling for considerable snow on the Homer bluffs.

Oh well. As we frequently say at work: the forecast is only one amendment away from being right.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I vacuumed the floors last night, so today was the day to put up the tree.

I hauled the big box out of the attic and downstairs, pondering all the while the mystery of how a tree that comes snugly packed in a shipping box never quite fits back in that same box ever again.

I know purists cling to their real trees. They are traditional. But there are a variety of reasons I prefer the artificial tree. The big one is my fear of a house fire. Even a well-watered tree is a fire hazard in our dry winter air. And a real tree is like catnip to our many fine cats, who would love it to death. Finally, there is the green reason. I can't see my way clear to kill a tree just to have it in the house for a few weeks. Our forests have taken a serious hit from spruce bark beetles and we treasure every living tree on our property. Let them live and grow.

I love our pre-lit tree. So convenient and compact. What it lacks in authenticity can be concealed with my decorating philosophy--throw eveything you have on it. If you load it down, no one will notice the slight resemblance to a bottle brush.

Even naked, it don't look too bad...



The first thing I do is put on the beaded garlands. I weave some of the garlands close to the trunk to give some density to the tree and to camoflage the wiring. I fell in love with bead garlands a couple years ago. They are practical for our tree because they add color and glitter without being fragile--so they can stand up to abuse by the cats.



It looks almost ready just as it is now but the next step will be to put on the ornaments.

New Snow

It started last night. Just enough to cover the ground to a depth of about half an-inch. It is clearing this morning when I took this picture,looking out the upstairs patio-door-to-nowhere to our wood shed and back deck.

What the photo doesn't show is the wind. I guess it is about fifteen to twenty knots out of the east.

I am surprised by how quickly conditions change. Last week the ground was super-saturated from days of heavy rain. Water was pooling in the low-lying areas and flowing over Green Timbers Road just down from our place.

Then the skies cleared and the ground froze.

Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone...

I have been itchy to get the house decorated for the holidays. But before the ground gets covered with a foot of snow--or worse thaws out again--I wanted to clean out the large cat run beside the house. So I rubbed cold cream on my face and put on Denny's boots and devoted an hour this afternoon to doing that. I had to make two round-trips to the edge of our lot with the big wheelbarrow, bumping over the hard frozen ground with the wind in my face. But the cat run is so pleasant now with a couple inches of fresh hay covering the floor.

The sun was already lowering in the west when I came back inside. I wanted to vacuum the floor but the cats were all into their afternoon naps and I didn't want to disturb them, so I amused myself with other things for a while and ended up taking a nap. With five cats.

After I woke up and watched the evening news, I went out and took a photo of the lights on the front of the house.




The sky was clear with a million stars and the Milky Way overhead. The weather forecast had been for snow. In fact, a snow advisory is in effect for our area for tomorrow morning.

So it looks like the weather is going to change again.

Sunday Morning

It was a short night.

I got home from work about ten last night only to turn around to open the station this morning at six. We call this a "short turn-around" for obvious reasons.

Of course, being me, I didn't get to bed until midnight so when the alarm went off at four-thirty, I woke as if swimming up from the depths. I lurched to my feet, threw on the clothes I had worn yesterday and fed the cats. The thermometer read about eighteen degrees. I had plugged the car's circulating heater last night, so the engine was warm but I still had to let the car run for a few minutes to defrost--time I used to pack a lunch.

Then out the door.

Now you would think that five miles outside of a small Alaskan town at five-thirty on a Sunday morning in December, you would be the only one on the road. Actually--in one of those Murphy's law sort of things--it always seems that the one other car driving on the Kenai Peninsula is coming down the road when I pull to up to the stop sign at the highway. I laugh about the predictabilty.

So of course, this morning there was a veritable swarm of headlights coming my way, heading into Homer. I managed to get on the road ahead of them, because one thing I have learned in trying to get to work on a Sunday morning is that no one else on the road is in any particular hurry to get anywhere.

Me--I have a schedule. About eleven minutes after leaving the house, I pull into the parking lot at the airport.

Signing in on the one, two, three, four, five seperate computers as well as a paper personnel log is the most work I do for the first few hours. Then it's just monitoring the weather observations and making an hourly recorded broadcast...

"Homer Airport information Alpha, time one-five-zero-zero Zulu. Winds calm, visibility one-zero, sky clear...."

The morning slips quietly away... I make some tea and sit reading Holidailies while rhythmic sweep of the airport beacon, green and white, green and white, pulses against the darkness.

Alpha, Bravo, Charlie...

Several airline flights arrive and depart--flights that connect our town to Anchorage and the world beyond--but for the most part the airport is quiet. The sky gradually lightens beyond the jagged peaks of the Kenai Mountains.

click for larger

A cold air mass moving westward out of Canada has kept our skies clear and temperatures cool for the last four or five days. It has been a nice break from all the rain and wind of November but I am ready for some snow. The bare earth looks so stark and barren under the hard frost.

I spent most of my shift reading journals and updating my cat blog with some old livejournal entries from 2005. I already realize I should have signed up for Holidailies with either the cats' blog or my Alaskan one. My daily life is just--well--too quiet. Like the title says...

What I am enjoying about Holidailies is discovering interesting blogs and kindred spirits that I may never have run across on my own. I have already found several that I plan to follow. (Points to side bar..)

I'm humbled as well by the quality of writing and feeling a bit out of my league. I prattle on about my daily trivialities while others have such entertaining entries. I guess that's one reason why I am doing this. I haven't had much cause to challenge myself since I left my writers group. I need the inspiration I can get from reading what others are doing and thinking.

December Begins

So, December begins...

And with it, Holidailies!

My on-line journaling has been lackadaisical at best this past year and I would welcome a spur to the writing process. I was kicking myself for not having it together in time to participate in NaBloPoMo when the thought came that there was always Holidailies.

Yeah--sure. Last year the portal filled up so quickly that I was left with Holidailies At Home. Which was a good spur but just not the same. And my interest in blogging last December fizzled out after Dinky (one of our favorite cats) succumbed to chronic renal failure right after Christmas.

But the circle of the year has turned again and I am trying to look forward now, not back.

Anyway, I noticed it was the first of December and figured maybe if I was lucky I could still register for Holidailies At Home this year, so I surfed over to the Holidailies homepage to discover that the registry for the portal was still open. So, I had run out of excuses.

The writing prompt for today was to make an introduction. So, bear with me, those of you friends and family who already know me perhaps too well. I'll try not to lie too blatantly. The hardest part is trying not to sound like one of those sugary holiday newsletters. So here goes....

My name is Laura and I live in Alaska. I have a great husband and more cats than a sane person would want to deal with but strangely, I can't imagine life any other way. I work at the airport in our little town, talking to airplanes. And by "talking to airplanes" I mean talking to pilots via radio--not walking up and down the ramp saying "Hi" to the various Cessnas and Champs. There was a point in my life when hanging out at the airport and talking to pilots seemed like the coolest job in the world but the polish wore thin on that particular fantasy some time back. Still, I enjoy my work, which is varied and oddly rewarding and pays pretty damned well considering I am an English lit major with no marketable talents.

There's more stuff about me in my profile. But the title of this blog sums me up pretty well. I enjoy my quiet life in our rural home with our many fine cats and life is good.

Now if it would only snow...