lilginks

Just to check in...seems I have been updating facebook more than this site. Go figure...the age of shallow communications. On that note, I deleted e-mails sent to a former boyfriend...I am amazed at my attempts at saving a relationship almost a year ago, when I knew it was doomed from the moment I rode in a car with that person. Strange, how it works. I am now in a relationship that is more than mature, and continues to bloom. But, I can't help but look back and cringe at my stupidity, both in relationships and in the more minor sticky situations, if you catch my drift.

Gold on the trees, beginning to drop a little faster. I continue to go on short walks to crunch the leaves beneath my feet. I am glad that nourishment can come from things that are fallen and dead.


 

I have thank you letters to write for my summer job supporters and a newsletter to produce and instead of doing these things I look for property for sale in Alaska. Doesn't a person actually need to make more than 500 a month to buy something like that? Time for new jobs.

Yep. I know, all you folks who actually are kind enough to keep up with this little bit of writing, are saying, "my god, what IS she doing back?  I thought she was lost to the world of non literate folks."

Well, I am here, happy, bruised a bit from life, hungry for something that will take me to new heights---and I don't mean a drug---and at peace for the most part.

I am still tending bar once a week at the Fairview in Talkeetna; I still love Whole Wheat Radio wholewheatradio.org, although I have been neglectful. I still live in, at least near, Talkeetna, Alaska. I am still teaching CPR/First Aid, and I still have other random jobs. I am in a great place with a great person. No wacked out acrylic artists, control freak contractors, sled heads, latino with issues loverher and leavehers,  brotherlike boyfriends, or throw your stuff in the lake but I still like you, men, any more.  Yep. I have found someone as goofy as me. He found me.

My family that raised me for the most part and biologically claims me still lives in Georgia. I cannot convince them else wise. My dad still needs knee surgery; my sister still needs someone to love; my mom still needs a break from both of them, however she at least is now retired from full time teaching.

I still have a google account, and because of the RSS feed, I remembered how I still have a responsibility to write here now and then.

Thanks for reading. I will keep in touch. I am still here. Yes, this is really Grace.

It's a new Spring. The birds are louder, the snow is slushy; the time for moving is here again. I will be leaving my home by the lake, a place I did not realize I have had for eight months. Hard to believe. I am only checking in quickly. More writing later. Packing now.

I need to stack firewood; it never ends. This morning, the town's pizza guy plowed my driveway. It was a good deal; now I will just have to find and afford a car to go in the newly uncovered parking space. It is a gorgeous sunny day here. No commas necessary. I am reading President Barack Obama's book, The Audacity of Hope. Then, I will ski into town and visit some folks. Quite chill here. Next week, I will be in my wilderness first responder course, 12 hour days. OYE VE!!!

Fudged, fucked...I should have realized that was an omen of bad "carma." A few weeks ago, I was driving late at night on the Parks Highway, My car began to vibrate forward and back and the acceleration began to decelerate. I realized my little Toyota Cressida was saying that something was wrong. I pulled over onto an rarely used new road in an undeveloped subdivision. I called my friend, who had been driving in front of me. "Um, my car is broken down." He came back and got me, helped me pull stuff out of my car. The next morning, we were back, clearing it out: two full bags of trash, three full bags of junk I guess I should hold onto. I found my ring in between the seats, the one my mom had given me from a cool vintage store in Atlanta in 96 or so. I said good-bye to the car that gave me freedom in May. For now, I will be biking here and there, and relying on friends to help me out. Once again, I am leaning on the generosity of my loved ones.

I spoke with my mom today; She has asked me if I want to be executor of the estate. This is a serious question, and it leads me to thoughts on health, money, family, my strange path in life. Lately, I have been surrounded by friends. My car recently died, so I am without those wheels until mid March when I might be able to afford something reliable. For now, it's me back into running, still skiing, and lately a bit of yoga occasionally thanks to a friend. I wonder daily if my path is the right one. I appreciate those who have jumped off theirs to walk with me. With joy, Grace

I am procrastinating, so I just want to drop you a line. I recently found out out to add RSS feeds to my gmail account, so that I can know when someone updates their blog. This includes the Whitehouse.gov site, which rocks. Let's see, what else is new. I have to go stack seasoned wood in my front non arctic, (not enclosed) entryway and then it's time time for a run. Later in the day, I have a meeting at the Fairview Inn with our new management. I will probably stop into the roadhouse and see friends and write a bit afterwards. That's how I'm gonna stay warm today. It's 7 above zero now, which is surprisingly warm compared to 20 and 30 below. Stay warm.

So, it seems I am now spending time in the part of winter that is economically drab. I sit here right now on the couch at Whole Wheat, Beta the dog on the top of the couch, perched like a cat looking out the window. I came here to be a part of some recording with local musicians; they both had to reschedule. I rescheduled on them Friday due to the stomach bug I got and am getting over now. I sit here and ponder what has happened in the last few months. I came back to Talkeetna, met more good folks, ended a relationship with one good folk, added pounds to my body but few to my account. In other words, I am buried in the winter. I am where I am. It is what it is. A book is in my near future, except that I need someone to look at what I have and say yeah or nay. Ya know?

Jim, over here at Whole Wheat, is now vacuuming. I am just sitting on the couch still, pondering, pounding letters on the keyboard. It's a Monday. All this week I am off work. I will teach again next week and work at the bar the following Saturday. This week, I am going to Anchorage. A friend is leaving Alaska to open a brewery in Wisconsin. He is a friend I met when I was writing for the Northern Light Newspaper and he was a DJ with the KRUA, UAA's radio station. 2002 was the 10 year reunion for the radio station, and I was writing a feature on the DJs and the history. I went to the radio station's shindig and there I met Matt. He introduced me to folks in the Roman Candles, M. Hopper, etc, and we of course had a mutual friend, Kim Perry, my patient editor and his longtime friend. Matt kept up with me, and when I returned to Alaska on my second Alaska stint, he was there, introducing me to more good folks. Now, he is moving. I understand what that is like. I only stayed away 7 months the second time I left, however this man's got a mission.

Recently, he kind of introduced me to another friend. And he and I were talking about Matt and relationships with people in general: how we have bad ones and great ones. The bad ones still have good meaning. I can reference a conversation I had with a wonderful musician who came to Whole Wheat in September, however for now, I will just say that while I can look at my life and be concerned about my direction, I can also breathe in the fragrant Talkeetna winter air and think, Damn, what an amazing life I am living. This is truly a grand adventure. And I thank all of those who are with me for it, and even those interred in my past.

My grammar: I know that it leaves something to be desired. One of my dear friends in Talkeetna recently said this to me about my blogs. I agree. During my sophomore year at the University of Georgia, my Spanish 3011-- or something of that nature--profesora asked me a very significant question. She asked in english: "Grace, do you have trouble writing in English?" I blurted out, "No, That's actually what I am good at." Well, obviously I couldn't even say it correctly, however my heart was in the right place.

The other day at work in the Fairview, one of my regulars said to me, "Bet it's hard to stay in a long distance relationship when you work as a bartender at the Fairview." Someone added, "...when you're a bartender anywhere..." I just laughed, as recently that had been my case, but the relationship did not end due to my job. My regular added more to the conversation of dating: "I have a cousin you might be interested in; owns a snowmachine and can help you chop and stack that wood." I nodded and thanked him. Thinking to myself, that what I need is some serious income and a few plane tickets.

Earlier in the day another friend in Talkeetna said to me on my summer post live-in relationship: "You got some giddyup in your hitch!" He was referring to me being on the Talkeetna scene, a single bar tender...you can infer, that's fine.

I just say this, and frankly, quite, will all do respect to grammar, I will just keep on writing, hoping that someday, as Esther said to me upon talking about grammer, others will appreciate the lens with which I choose to see the world. In the meantime, "get along little doggies."

Recently, I was broken up with. To close with a hanging preposition, I must explain that this is the way the relationship ended. However, for some reason, I am doing fucking amazing. I hit rock bottom, or close to it, and then somehow am now climbing out of the cave, with some cool stalagmites to take with me. Just now, we here at Whole Wheat Radio were discussing bathrooms, flushing, and blue tidy bowl solutions. I said out loud, "those blue things are bad for the environment." Doug, who is making Margharitas for the audience of his Mexican pictures slide show, said, "Grace, just go back to what you're working on."

I did, and here I am. I think the important thing I am learning is that through it all, I have such supportive friends, that it will be okay; it'll work out, it always does. I appreciate everyone's patience as I keep on keep'n on. Cheers to you and to life, love, and all that isn't.

The superbowl is over and the Alaska Sleep Clinic is airing commercials. I have been groped by other football fans and now I am here, writing post game. I have found entries on Craigslist by the man who kicked me out of his shack and I cannot help but laugh a lot. The most recent break-up has been the hardest, so I have done my best to completely ignore the pain. Immature, I think, however I think I will get somewhere with it eventually. In other words, I will have to feel some pain and face my demons. This is the only way it can occur, yes. I am not sure if the man I was most recently involved with reads this, however I know some men from my past do read this and listen to my podcasts on WholeWheatradio.org. It's all good.

Recently, I told a friend that I am publishing and will be including some very personal stories that reveal me in color, and he said that he could never do that. Too much. I just figure, ya know, it is good not to feel alone, and so I have no qualm with sharing stories. Hope you are well. Fairview patrons are reading over my shoulder so I sign out now.

I was sitting at the Fairview on Saturday night, when a friend of mind said, "man, the men you have dated!" I had just heard that one of them is now beginning to have the reputation as a thief; he screwed over some people in another city, supposedly. And the man before that, well he was kind of an asshole. However, my friend had the scoop. "Grace, I found one of the Craigslist entries that people make fun of and it turns out it's Chris." My reply: "no fucking way." I found a reponse to Chris's personal entry but no luck with his: Enjoy:

 

just because he lives in a cabin and thinks hes most enlightened - 38 (the big city)

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Reply to: pers-993462472@craigslist.org ^[?]
Date: 2009-01-14, 7:14PM AKST

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

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PostingID: 993462472

I sit here at the Fairview Inn, not an inn, a bar instead, to watch the over commercialized football game, which I call the StuporBowl, thanks to my dad. He coined the phrase. I am going to occasionally pop in to write, For now, here's the latest: Last week, I fantasized that I had a car that actually did not get stuck every day. Last week, I went to a meeting for the dance committee for the Denali Arts Council. I was backing out the the driveway after being assigned the duty of putting together two hours of Swing music for a post performance dance. I wasn't sure how I got that job except that I dj and this should be something I can do. So far, I am only about two CDs short of my goal for the amount of music I need.

Anyhow, I was backing out of the driveway, and then there I went, right into the two foot snow bank, where I then managed to get the car "hung up" on the bank. My rear wheels were barely touching the ground. So, for twenty minutes, the doctor's husband, a new woman in town who works at the Denali Arts Council, and the owner of the snowbank and director of the meeting, spent time pushing my car. We used a wood plank, a 40 pound bag of gravel, 10 pounds of cement, and all our muscle to try and move my damn cressida. No luck. So, we called the husband of the director of the clinic, Dennis, came on over with his huge truck and pulled my car out of the snow bank, in less than one minute.

I drove forward and then was backing up with the assistance of the house owner when I got stick AGAIN. So, this time, three people pushed me as I put the car in reverse. There we go. Then, I was out, driving as fast as I could forward down the driveway.

I sometimes fantasize that I have a car that has studs on the tires, ABS, and at least front wheel drive. I enjoy the camaraderie I get from working to get my car out, but this kind of teamwork makes me think that having a car that is safer would be a great idea. In the meantime, I meet a lot of people, who join my car pushing team. It's all about problem solving, and usually a big truck.

Today, I got the neighbors, including the wife of the house builder, to look at the propane tank and figure out why my cooking oven is not working. Well, low and behold, the five-gallon loaner tank was out. So, one of the neighbors went back to his house and grabbed a wrench and came back and took out the tank.

Now the fun part begins. I took the tank out to the gas station at the beginning of the Spur Road. I took the tank to the attendant, and he said, "no way, there's no ODP." I had no clue what an OPD or whatever the hell he said, was. I took it to Moores Hardware Store and they said they could not put one of those O things on. So, I bought a new one for 44; found out they had been 36. This was going to be deducted from my rent, I had already decided. I took the tank back to the gas station and a woman, who I recognized as staff, asked: "is that a new purchase? Cause we can't fill it until it's been bled. You have to take it to Caswell (20 miles away) or Talkeetna Mechanical," (closed at 5 PM; it's 5:15. Great. I drove up the road just to see if Maybe the Tka Mechanical van was there. Their parking lot would have been impassible for me, so I turned around in the middle of the Parks Highway. Genius, I know.

I went back to Moores, and asked poor Joe, who I bug all the time, what the deal was. We took it inside the store, and a guy pointed to the pink sticker on top of the tank: "de-pressurized." Well, low and behold again, I drove back to the gas station. This time, my patience was worn away. "It's ready to go. Moores took care of it." A bit flustered, the poor guy, said "okay okay, I would have filled it had my boss not been around, the first tank that is." This was my third time back for the tank and I felt bitchy. Another customer was listening to me being a bitch; I noticed that he had a Begich sticker and an "Alaskan Girls Kick Ass" sticker. Could have belonged to the older bearded gentleman with him, however I assumed it belonged to his wife. I listened to the younger guy tell me about how he heats his house mainly with propane; he has a lot of wet wood this year, so his wood stove is less reliable. I walked in, paid for 4.8 gallons of propane, and came back outside. Oh, yeah, I scolded the staff member who had made the assumption about my propane tank. In the end we all were okay. I apologized. They said they completely understood. When I got back outside to pick up my filled propane tank and load it in my car, the young guy who'd had two tanks filled to heat his home, said, "Hey, would you like to maybe go get a drink sometime." I told him I tended bar at the Fairview. He could find me there. I would have said that my boyfriend probably would want to be there, however I didn't think about that until I had driven a few miles. Oh, yeah, that's over. Next step, attach the propane, and light the pilot. Attach my heart and light my life...

Today, I went for a half hour ski on the lake behind my rented basement home. The wood stove had the temperature at 105 and I figured that meant I should leave and get my own stove going. As soon as I had settled into my pace, a scraggly Irish Setter had joined me. He would occasionally stop and throw himself down on the ice and rub his back in it, kicking his legs up in glee. While trotting beside me, he seemed to not understand that I needed to put my polls down in the ice with vigor, meaning he needed to not be in the way. However, we got along well enough, and I skied all over the lake. In a few places I noticed the ice had come up in a wave. It is unusual to see uneven water in a lake, so this natural phenomenon throws me a bit. I hit the ice one time when the water was inverted. I went into a slight depression in the ice, and getting up I thought how strange it was. Sometimes, you expect things to just go along according to the typical science. And, then suddenly, a penny appears on the railroad tracks, a blue marble shows up in a bowl of black. Some would say, "expect the unexpected." I shall. I shall.

I am having difficulty moving on from this relationship. It seems that this one has taken hold of me in a stronger fashion than any of the romantic nature that have occurred before. I am was told by this man I still love that I should "just go wild, let loose, do your thing." That is easier said than done. Maybe in this I will find the truth I am searching for in myself. I mean really that probably is why the relationship did not work: I have to get what I need in life so that I will become the balanced person I need to be.

I looked out the window today and watched a dead leaf clinging to a birch tree; the breeze was blowing it, and the snow was sprinkling down, and yet it remained. I believe I am that leaf. When I finally do fall, what will be there below; will I make it through the winter, to land on the soft wet earth, or will I hit the snow. Either way, I will have great potential to move onto a new world, a new way of looking at life. It'll be okay.

I tend bar at a place requiring employees to keep a wood stove going during our shifts. I love it. Hauling wood inside and building the fire and maintaining it makes me happy. I am responsible for helping keep our heating bills lower (already $2000 saved this winter, and we've had 30 below for three weeks straight recently). I am responsible for the drinking customer's outer warmth. It's good. Last week, we had a thaw. During a thaw, the tent in which we store wood was flooded. I walked in and swam toward the dry wood in the back of the tent. Wow, I love it. I really do. I sat by the fire to get my feet warm. It hasn't been that busy and so I have long moments to ponder the heat.

I am sitting here listening to a man talk and talk and talk, who just told me that he knows a man in town who talks more than him. I laughed, finding that hard to believe. However, suddenly, that other Fairview customer came to mind, and I realized that loud talker was worse than this one.

Luckily as this one was talking and showing me a magnet that he just bought for his fridge, I received a call. The woman calling us supposed to come over to the bar to pick up some skirts she is going to hem for our new bar manager. She said: my line was busy, because I just discovered my biological family! I congratulated her, and she kept on talking. "One of my sisters is a piece of work, the other is JUST like me..." She herself is a piece of work, sometimes hard to talk to when she is in mean mode, other times, generous to a fault. "...we even have the same mole on our face and we have hurt the same knee, have a similar scar elsewhere, both garden, like to cook and sew..."

I thought about this, and decided it was funny that this woman was speaking about her long lost sister, who lives in Washington and is four years older, and yet they are both so similar. The one who is different is the one she doesn't like. Well, that figures, eh. Maybe we are all long lost sisters. Peace be with. Back to the talker, who asked me if I was making the million dollar stamp.

This just in. I am here in Talkeetna, and time is a ticking, and it does seem that it is time for me to start looking at MFA in Writing Programs for enrollment in January 2010. I have picked out my top two choices. There is one more in a city I enjoy, then, apply, apply, apply. Woo hoo. New focus came quickly. Cheers.