Grace's Writing Place

Rain and Other Sources of Water

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 04:55:44 GMT

My parents know that I write here but have no idea at this point out to access this site, It's like having parental control in connotation. I love having people read it because it meens feedback. The most recent comment is from a friend here in town who I admire greatly. She reminded me that the sticker I referred to, is a rip-off of her own creation: "Talkeetna, A Drinking Town with a ClimbING Problem." Laura's stickers are kick ass; so are her shirts, so let me know if you want to purchase. I don't have website info at this point.

Since I have started you off to a random paragraph, I will work on being concise for the remainder of our time together. I mentioned my parents because I just had one of those conversations where I could not agree, even to the point of agreeing to disagree. My mom could be heard grimacing about the fact that I do not have facilities where I live. I have an outhouse, built by an incredible, independent woman and musician. She saved my butt, and my butt is happy to sit on the throne every morning. Mom just doesn't get it. That's okay. I guess I have to learn to accept that maybe she doesn't accept that. Except that the woman has known me 27 plus years. She's dealt with a lot. She's no fool.

I close tonight, listening to some mellow music on the show I am dj-ing, Grace Notes. Thanks to Jim at Whole Wheat Radio I am guest dj-ing on Thursdays 9:30 pm EST -10:30. Join us sometime. Ciao. I have to go to the outhouse.

To you my reader friend:
I do want to share what it's like for me here. Please visit. Or If you ever want to hear some stories or music played in Alaska, check these out (I am available at that e-mail on Fridays, midnight EST (so actually Saturdays) until 1 in the morning.

dj@ktna.org www.ktna.org www.wholewheatradio.org

My Momma's got the Blues (From May of Last Year)

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 00:58:59 GMT

Thursday, May 10, 2007

My momma's got the blues
Well folks, looks as if I am now writing every other week. I apologize. Count on me to be inconsistent. I am currently travelling, and my computer, although loyal, likes to go really slow when on the Internet, so we try not to go too often. I prefer a good 'ole PC for the Internet.
And now for the latest.

My mom travelled with me to Seattle on Friday, May 4th. Since we arrived late, we stayed in a motel that seemed to have issues with lots of thieves. I am not so sure they had changed the sheets either, however the thieves left these. Unclean sheets translates to roughing it for some. Those of you reading this from the comfort of a cyber station far from the trail-life you are living currently, may laugh at my saying that hairy sheets are roughing it. Please forgive the terminology. I must say that I would prefer the shelters to this shelter. I was in SeaTac (SeaTacky) so really the dirty sheets were just a quaint bit of the community.

The next morning I found out that The Pancake Chef worked up the street. So, mom and I walked to the Chef's house and enjoyed sourdough pancakes. Those who were trying to get to Alaska for the great Gold Rush took starter for their sourdough pancakes and of course it grows and you constantly have more starter to spread the sourdough bread recipes. Alaskans who are hardcore, (been there done that, whether Native or transplants) get this nickname. Someday, maybe I will be a sourdough. (Travis, Ellen, Stephanie, make sure I got that story right).

Let's see pancakes, umm, you're now wondering where I am going with this. Really, I am just wandering and so you are along for the ride. I will fast forward to Saturday night.

The scene: a non-smoky club called the Central Club in Kirkland. The music: the Blues. The band: the Crossroads Band. Jane's son is the bass player.
The drinks: da beer. I bought a round on Lil (thank you kindly) and a round on me. Mom drinks the light beer. Jane drinks the light wine. I drank the local brew.

So, the music was good; definitely head shaking, feet tapping rhythms. Mom was all in it; she has rhythm herself. I remember growing up with the impression that if she hadn't married my dad, she would have been travelling the world singing with a chorus. She tells it differently; I prefer a dramatic interpretation as you can imagine.

Somehow, I got the attention of a couple who "come here often." I will be honest, the woman was hard not to notice. She was tall, blond, had Russian features, and was 'well-endowed' as my mom would say. This couple though (the man being small and I have no idea about his endowments), started telling me about each person they recognized.

"He's a good guy, loves the Blues," the woman said pointing to a man in a Crocodile Dundee hat.

"That woman knows her pool and her music," the man pointed to a woman, a lot of woman with a pool stick in her left hand, cue towards the ceiling and her jean shorts looking as if they wanted to see what the pool stick was pointing to. (hanging preposition; sorry mom)

"That guy may seem like a terrible drunk---but he really feels his music," both supplied.

They told me that I could really get a big following in Kirkland. I realized that I must have given the impression that I was the band's manager because I'd handed the e-mail list to a gentleman earlier in the evening. I cleared that up by telling them that I was a friend of one of the band member's moms. They did a double take because the band members were all over the age of fifty. The fans were all ages.

The same gentleman who I got to sign the mailing list had gestured for me to listen to him. I had just walked from behind my mom toward a chair on the other side of the table, closer to the band. I listened to what he had to say.

"Stand over there in front of the band so I can get a picture."

"Um, okay." I did.

Then, I realized that I was standing in front of the sax player (hard not to notice). My mind whirred and I realized,

"You're not with the band."

"No, I'm not," he smiled. I just see a pretty lady at a good Blues show, and I take a photograph."

"So, you're a blues connoisseur?" I asked in jest.

"Well, you could say that. I have a collection of photos."

"Well, in that case, you should buy a CD tonight." He waved that suggestion aside. He signed the mailing list though.

Mom asked me later, "So, where's you friend from." Mom, I do not call people I just meet friends. We have to have a connection for that. He just has my picture.

The table behind us was full of bikers. (Oh, my goodness, I have the sudden realization that yet again my true story is taking place in a bar.) I like bikers. I work with them at the outdoors store in Anchorage, and they have this great saying about people in cars that I will have to remember sometime. (I'll tell you when I tell you that bad jager story). One of these bikers, however must not have liked me or my table because he turned around and placed his empty high ball glass in front of me and in between mom and Jane.

"Um, excuse me. Do you need more room for your drinks?" I asked him. Meanwhile, my mom's brown eyes were growing rounder and her sense of rhythm had been thrown off.

"No," he said, looking directly into my brown eyes (or as directly as his gaze would allow). "I just needed a place to put it now that it's empty."

I picked up the napkin wrapped glass and put it back in his hand. I do believe that in bar language this actually translates as: "Yeah, I'll fight you."

Luckily for me, my eyes told him differently. "I don't think so."

We avoided confrontation much to Jane's relief. We avoided any more photo sessions much to my mom's relief.

Mom went back to Pine Mountain, Georgia via Atlanta yesterday. She told me on the phone today that she cried as she walked to her gate because it had hit her that she wouldn't see me for a while. I kept my eyes dry this time. But, you know how it is with the Blues, some people sit still while listening.

Climb on brotha!

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 02:12:36 GMT

I am not sure how to begin this one. I live in a town that has bumper stickers, for sale in the booze store downtown, which say: "Talkeetna - A drinking town with a climbing problem." I am sure this can be interpreted in many ways. I will keep this story short so you can figure things out on your own.

I met a wonderful man (no this is not going where it did last summer thank goodness) who in my head reminded me of my dad. He was with some Guides who had brought him down the mountain that day during the outbreak of pneumonia that broke out at their camp. His cough was pretty hacky, so I figured he and the guides (who had all gotten sick and actually were possibly the Patient Zero(s)) made the right choice.

Listening to these guys talk was intriguing and wonderful. I was in mountain heaven. I want to climb Denali (mckinley, 20, 320 ft) and have wanted to since summer 2002 when I worked at the Park. Conversation flowed easily; it usually does in Talkeetna late in the summer evening light. I was to work the next day at the Fairview Inn bartending and so I was there for "research." With IPA and Stout in hands (just kidding), I talked and listened, and befriended said man. We will call him Jim.

Jim and one of the Guides came by the bar the next day and I enjoyed having more good conversation when I wasn't making Cold Bitches and Red Headed Sluts or spilling coffee out of the machine. Yes, a busy day at said bar.

The next day, after dancing in the evening post shift, I met Jim and Guides and other climbers for breakfast. Two od the climbers were needing a place to stay that evening. I offered my place; Jim was possibly in a crunch too. I gave them my contact information and genuinely said they were welcome. That night, they did not come by. However, the next day, Jim and I bumped into eachother back at ---the Fairview. This time he needed a place; he had to move his stuff out of one of the bed and breakfast places (which will remain nameless). He had all his stuff (clean clothes from being washed twice after the climbing expedition, stuffed in his mouintaineering pack.

I whispered to a friend a hurried, "is this legit? questioning and he said "sure, sure, climbers ask for places to stay all the time during the summer."

I walked out of the bar with Jim, and we headed to my East Talkeetna home, the large cabin I am renting. When we got to my place I turned on lights (this time, I have electricity) and got the couch ready for Jim.

"No running water, no bed?" He sounded astounded. "Um, I thought I told you this Jim," I said bemused. As I chatted with him while trying to make the place comfortable as well as calm this growing nervousness..."Does your father know you live here? What does he think about this?"

I answered: "I think he thinks it's wonderful; he admires this way I live and where I live. You kind of remind me of him in a way. I hope that's okay. He hasn't gotten up to Alaska yet--" "Your father. Your father! I remind you of your father. Oh no, that's not good. I thought that..."

You can imagine. Fill in the blanks. He thought I would ____ him. It was his 65th birthday that very day after all. I said he had to go. I walked him back to the place he said he couldn't stay. He actually invited me to stay there. I carried his backpack the whole three blocks to the "hotel" with running water.

Then, I ran back to the Fairview, to seek out that friend who didn't think there was a climber problem.

fishing for answers

Sun, 25 May 2008 05:33:49 GMT

Nope, nope, not a good idea. I did however tie an artificial lure onto the line on my fishing rod. It was a good night for fishing, especially for the fish; I caught a small stick only. Beta was with me, attached to my hip belt on my backpack...good company although we got tangled up in trees a few times. I will write more at a different time. Gonna play me some scrabble with a friend. Lots happened today. I will write...there are so many stories my friend. Life is good times, craziness, and a search for peace all rolled into one sushi roll. .Domo arigato.

Flowery Resistance

Sat, 24 May 2008 22:32:40 GMT

A couple of nights ago, I had my first training time as a bartender at the Fairview. I had a good time meeting people, mixing a few drinks, learning the well, opening Coors for a person who preferred Coors Light, (did you know the latter is better?) I left feeling like I really am going to enjoy the job. The next day, I had a blast playing Danny Godinez, INXS, Blondie, and Widespread Panic on the radio show
And, last night, (same night), I watched a croquet came and learned how to play Bachi Ball. It was a busy Friday night, and I closed with some conversations at the Fairview, sans beer. One of them reassured me that I haven't been forgotten. Life moves at a crazy pace sometimes. Sometimes you have to pull the Canary Bird Vine off the line, leaving tendrils of yellow bejeweled flowers and green glory behind. At least then, you can enjoy the memory of where it was, and the color where it is now, all at once. Ain't that life.

and all that jazz

Thu, 22 May 2008 06:09:11 GMT

I met a woman yesterday who lives in Anchorage and comes up during the weekdays to enjoy Alaska in Talkeetna. She and her husband met a few years ago after originally knowing each other as children, or as he said, "when she was a lifeguard and I went swimming in the neighborhood pool."

They come up to town during the weekdays because his job is medical and takes him on weekends. They garden for the friend whose cabin they take care of during these weekly (if possible) vacations. I went over to their house because this woman had extended the invitation, saying that her husband took every night possible to have a big fire outside. When I got there, although it was 8 o'clock, it was bright and sunshiny, then stormy and rainy, then sunshiny again. We had tea with Baileys, no fire at this point. Beta and I walked there. He is doing great today on the leash.

I guess meeting this lovely person and her partner got me thinking about partners and commitment and well, you know. Excuse me, let me have a sip of my Cabernet Merlot. I guess, I only had to think of this for a moment, because a neighbor, from when I lived with Chris, drove by and waved as Beta and I walked home. His van is just like Chris's, an Aerostar, (I helped with a small portion financially, but that is a whole other story). My neighbor's van is a different blue, however, I felt my heart racing, wondered if I was having acute stress response (I am comparing and contrasting this with Shock for my new job's first aid component). I realized that I should stop looking for his damn 'Rosta Momma' as it is called, because I do not need to see him. How did this happen I ask. Beta yawns nearby.

The playground committee held their weekly meeting here at Whole Wheat , and I listened at the end after entertaining two of the children belonging to these determined, faithful parents. I was sitting here reading more on Acute Stress Response and painting the climbing wall came up and so did Chris's name. They don't have an emergency contact number for him. He is no longer my emergency contact number. I better change that for my new job (I am doing trail work with teens all summer). I love the job already, I don't have ASR. Maybe I will walk down with Beta to see if that bonfire is going. That reminds me, I told someone tonight something I thought was funny, and it was....okay people work with me here. I am living alone again, so I laugh at nearly all of my jokes. This Talkeetnan commented that he liked my fire hat. It was one from the kids, plastic, belonging to the "chief." As he was getting in his car I said, I believe there's an outfit to go with it. "I look forward to seeing that," he said. Hmm, next halloween...?

skinny dipping and all

Wed, 21 May 2008 07:14:51 GMT

I have yet to read Tom Robbins' Skinny Legs and All, however, a friend who has read it called me tonight, and well, that was just the beginning. I am doing well. I am as any human, adaptable. Tonight, as hostess for a WholeWheatRadio in house meeting, I made coffee, then I watched some of a Bugs Life with Beta. He and I are buddies. He's been a good friend...woman's best friend, all that jazz. I made coffee while talking with Sage, a friend who had asked how I was doing; I know she wouldn't mind knowing that I haven't lost it. She saw it coming after all. I haven't lost it; in fact, friends are telling me here in Talkeetna, that it is as if I am getting it back, as if something was not allowed to be free while I dated Chris. I was blinded to that, or more likely in Denial. He might feel the same way; I have no idea though; I live in a town with 900 people (maybe) and well, I have been in my own world within this world. New job, new car, new place to live, new state of mind.

I will break from my rambling, take a sip of Cabernet-merlot blend, and tell you a story. Tonight, Beta and I broke away from our movie and his peanut butter stuffed chew bone, to go for a walk. We walked out back of the Wheat Palace, into the woods, past the piles of broken, forgotten cars and chairs and washing machines. We walked into the woods, no devil's club in sight. (That is a plant with spikes that make you itch and writhe with pain; pretty red berries and pungent smell in the autumn). We got to a swamp, and I felt like going for a shallow swim. I de-clothed and waded. It felt so good to be in the middle of a private oasis. (See a March or April 07 issue of LINK, Upstatelink.com for more information, or ask me.) I was enjoying just being out there. Beta would come back whenever I called and then I would say, "ok" and he was off again.

I put my clothes back on after less than ten minutes (we could make jokes; I will later). Beta is walking in front and darts off; I call him; he comes back and then is off again, this time on his fast puppy feet. Suddenly, when I call him, he is not there. I dart over on non-puppy feet with hurt knee (another story for another time) and in yet again, another swamp, a lagoon, Beta is doing his own skinny dipping.

Except, he is chasing after a brown Doberman Pinscher. What the hell is that dog doing out there? I call for Beta, yell, he is still chasing that do----what the fuck! Its ears are as pert, but that is NOT a dog. "Beta, come, now!" He is chasing a moose calf. A newbie, born this month. Damnit. The mom is going to kill him, trample Beta. Alpha fucked is what I felt.

Please note, I have clothes on, and in the following five minutes, my blood pressure is at an unhealthy level, my voice is hoarse, evil sounding. BETA!! COME NOW! I wade across the swamp in my boots, the water coming up to my knees. Wished I was naked again, honestly. Damnit!

In a hollow beyond the swamp I call and call and shout and scream. This is where he had chased the moose after looking at me like I was an annoying fan calling onto the field. He kept on going. I followed Finally, I sweep back over and into the swamp I saw Beta in and I continue to shout. Thank goodness the moose listens. He or she came back across the lagoon and I waded fast over to Beta and finally, the moose, having gained the upper hoof, took the few seconds of Beta's lapsed attention, to get the fuck away from this crazy beast. Beta finally waded toward me. I had him on the leash the whole way home.

Of course, we got lost, and I came out on a road a half mile down from the Whole Wheat Palace. Oh, Esther, Oh, Jim, forgive me.

A friend back at Whole Wheat was waiting for me after her meeting. She took one look at me, heard the story in pieces, "skinny dipped,"dog chased a baby moose across the lagoon," "got lost in the woods," and told me that I looked like a crazy woman. I feel like one too. But I will save that for another story, another walk in the woods, another swim.

from when I was in College at UGA

Sat, 17 May 2008 21:08:00 GMT

a guide to truly doing things last minute.

1) make sure that you have just enough done in the project you are working on in order that you feel a false sense of preparedness

2) play a soccer game, write another paper besides the project work you have to do---later, eat dinner with friends, discuss life, philosophize with folks and oneself, drink some champagne, drink some wine...then begin the paper/project

3) upon beginning the project, being in it for the long haul, change CDs a few times so that you are constantly leaving youk station; if you can do this from your work station, go get a glass of water, make coffee, or take out the trash. (I didn't make coffee or take out the trash, I just hought about it)

4) take a nap. This is essential, no questions.

5) wake up every 30 minutes or so and think about what you still have to do

6) talk to any accomplices you might have in the project and/or procrastination. Call them every once in a while; ask: "how's it going there?" listen to answer; ask again, "so how's it really going with the project?" then, discuss a few of the other things you have acomplished: "yah, I clipped my toenails too."

7) last minute scramble begins in the last three hours of work; work like you've never worked before

8) breathe in...hey, what smells good? check if anyone has made you breakfast.

9) probably not to the breakfast; tell your stomach to behave itself; keep writing/working

10) go to class, not the one you have to turn the project into, just to take a nap and think how pointless the class is sometimes

10b) get on bus to go to class, so that you can enjoy hanging onto the "oh shit" bar for dear life, or at least so that you don't drop your banana a second time onto a sitting bus person's lap.

10c) say something a little perverted to get the twenty people squished upa against you to relax and stand away from you

10d) make sure you have something good smelling on while on the bus

11) back to work, one hour left; kick the person at the computer terminal in front of you a few times

12) write as if lyour life is a keyboard, and you have to keep typing to keep the blood pumping

13) occasionally shuffle papers around beside you so that your neighbors know you are not trying to take up three work stations; just reminding them what a scholar looks like.

14) ask the computer lab if they have scissors; ask them to replace the staples, ask them where you can put money on an ID card to print out your 25 pages of work

15) mumble to yourself

16) find a stranger and ask her or him if you can use her or his card to print

17) smile and say thank you; look at the time, sigh

18) find a friend, ah, or someone you know in passing

19) panic when you realize there is no way to put money on her card; breath and thank her and God that she has money to print out your stuff

20) print leave some compensation for the saving soul, and go

21) run to class, make sure thongs aren't pulling pants along with them, slow down enough to look calm when walking past window and into full classroom

22) after the brief class, ask if anyone has scissors, especially if they have the same name as you do

23) if same name thing does not work, tell TA that it's a mess

23) although, TA doesn't care and would like to go work on his three 15 page each papers and begin grading this project, tear printed summaries apart and place them in the correct plastic sleeves in your project notebook

24) walk home thinking about next writing assignment (a little more writing to do today, for a literary magazine)

luck be that lady

Sat, 17 May 2008 20:00:57 GMT

I guess my car is a girl; I haven't named her yet, however I really haven't found any reason to call her anything yet. The new AK plates say FJD, fudged, hmm?

The sparrows are playing outside, looping and eating mosquitoes. I am headed on the road again with Beta. We'll walk in Anchorage. I have to get as much stuff out of the homestead as I can; then it can be with friends in Anchor towne. Wish me luck. This lady continues, one foot in front of the other. This time I ain't fall'n.

as it goes

Sat, 17 May 2008 10:06:25 GMT

Wow, Can I have any more adventures tonight, please? I bought a car today, a toyota cressida. I pronounce it Cre seda, cause that sounds cool to me. That's me... mm hmm. Bought the car from a nice man who has a son age 6 who likes to play frisbee. Here's the long and short of this story. It gets tangled and strange and sad, and honestly, I have had a day that is so good and so bad all rolled into one 12 hour period of time.

I was late for my radio show and knew I would be, so dj Alan took over and I played "southern girl," Better than Ezra, and "feel like a sex machine," James Brown within the final ten minutes of my show. Alan played a nice varie--tie, and I enjoyed just playing a few songs and making my cameo. I decided to take my house charge, the young, the lovely, Beta-brown dog on a walk. We walked down Main Street, Talkeetna, and I saw friends. They recognized Beta before me, that's how it goes.

One friend says, "we're going too." I look at her with sudden realization that she does not mean to the beach, the river. She is going to the gallery. It is incredible, I know. New paint, great signs, beautiful art, cool artists...one so cool it makes my back ache the way your head does when you eat ice cream or a popsicle. Brain freeze. Body freeze. Fuck an A squad car (thanks McCarthy, AK man).

One of his ex-girlfriends is behind the counter with my ex-boyfriend. Triple X, my god. She asks him to lift a bottle (a five gallon jug, the kind we got our spring water in all winter) so that she can have some water in her former wine cup. There is maybe half a gallon in this plastic jug. It is as heavy as a head of lettuce perhaps. I watch. My former boyfriend says, "they're actually making me work." I say nothing. I buy cards from another artist--six instead of three because my FB did not have change. I feel shitty. I can't help it. "Are you OK?" he asks. "That's quite a question. I can't believe you are asking that," I say. Since Monday evening when he got to his homestead, found my note "contact me when you are able" and realized I was finally gone, he has not tried to contact me. I tell him. "If you want to hear a story sometime, let me know."

I miss Eddy, the wonderful female chocolate lab Chris belongs to. I miss what I had before it went bad, so bad.

Tonight, the man who sold me his car came by my house-sitting gig on their way to Fairbanks. His son and I played frisbee. I had wanted to play frisbee with Chris. Chris says I wanted too much. Always, "I want," he says. I made sandwiches for father and son to take on their adventure. This man spoke of his fiance. I spoke of my former boyfriend. I guess we bonded more over frisbee. I wanted too much, and that is exactly what I ended up getting from my relationship with Chris. He says that painters paint when they are happy,, they paint joy, and writers write about their sadness. I guess I just think we are all full of it. At least I can laugh even when the stories are not funny to others. Maybe that means I am not a good writer. However, I know I ain't a comedian.

What a show. As it goes. Good night.

a bit like...

Fri, 16 May 2008 20:01:12 GMT

Not sure where I am going with that. Lately, metaphors are what my brain has been working in, to pass the time, to ease the pain. The latest news is, as a friend of mine said to me when I first met the former boyfriend/partner, "things have a way of always working out really well for you."

Es verdad. I will be living in east Talkeetna, just as I have lived in East Anchorage and East Asheville. Looking toward the east, looking toward the sunrise. Well, actually it rises in the south here. I will be living in a big cabin, doing some work on it, having electricity...whoa. Things are good. Broken hearts lead to stronger backs.

To Each His Own

Fri, 16 May 2008 06:37:34 GMT

My mom used to say that when something didn't fit in with the way she had thought of things with someone. I learned to accept that my mom accepted people generally.: "To each his own," she'd say. She is pretty good about that. With me, she kind of needs help; there are so many things about me that she would not like to see but really when it comes down to it she is only seeing a small percentage...

So, the latest in my life should be out and open. We've broken up, not you and I, but he and I. So, I needed to leave his homestead and on monday (two weeks after the break) I hitchhiked out of town. The first two rides were with people I knew. In fact, I settled a job situation with the first. Woo hoo, bar-tending in a cool local pub. The second ride was with people who work with my now ex-boyfriend. Then it was cake after that. Three different cars, three interesting characters; nothing sketchy. I made it to the car that I was to borrow for a few days so that I could go car shopping, and from there, it was a bit simpler.

I guess simple is not the word right now, however, here's the amazing part, with which I will end. While on the phone seeking advice on Monday, when I knew I could no longer stay where I was once at ease, I received a phone call that changed many things for me. "Grace, could you house-sit and take care of our dog while we are gone?" It was an unexpected change of life for these friends and they needed to leave for a few days. I write to you from there--from where I am house-sitting, and amazingly enough I even write to you with a peaceful frame of mind.

To each his own. It is what it is. Thank you my friends.

All you need is a little attitude

Thu, 01 May 2008 02:26:55 GMT

At least, that is what I am learning. I have a friend who has a lot on his mind, so much so that he is unable to talk with another friend about certain important parts of his life, the goings on. I believe it all has to do with attitude. He's got a negative one right now. He doesn't seem to want to embrace some of the good that has come into his life. It's strange. I can't put my finger on it, and I am sure I can't help him, however, I know that in time, he will discover what he needs to have the positive again. If you have any suggestions, let me know.

life has a little soundtrack

Thu, 01 May 2008 02:16:18 GMT

"It's in your he-ad, in your he-e-e-ead..." I am listening to an interview with Ira Glass. My friend Lillia had the chance to participate in a phone interview with the incredible This American Life host. Go to Link in Greenville, SC
I do believe you will enjoy this. Last year, with Lillia and another journalist (I was the odd woman in), I had the chance to listen and watch Ira on stage in Asheville, NC. He inspired, kicked you in the butt and made sure that you realized you CAN do what you love. You CAN accomplish this. It takes work; it takes spunk; it takes all of you.

Go out, get with it, and make it happen. I myself will keep on keep'n on trying.

not enough fish in the sea

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 19:44:14 GMT

   Sounds like we have really messed things up now. Our planet is in disarray. There are metric tons of plastic floating in the sea and here we are still opening soft drinks in soft plastic containers, unwrapping our food from sealed, hard to tear/easy to cut packages, and using plastic to put the fresh baked cookies in for our neighbors.
    Did I mention the plastic cork and label on that cheap bottle of wine we're about to commiserate over. Sounds like we need change. Changes. I personally need changes in so many ways that you can read it in my body language. I know it from my back pain.
    Sometimes changes are difficult to figure out. Where do I start in making this change? I personally am doing the deadline thing, like the United Nations. If weapons of mass destruction aren't outta here by the fall, then we'll reconvene and look into...another deadline.

Water water everywhere...

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 01:59:17 GMT

And plenty to drink. I was supposed to write about my neigbors and some recent conversations at their home; a cheap beer being fuel; however, I decided to just get on and write write write and see where I go. I will tell you the other story soon.

Check out this website to hear some stories read by me here in Talkeetna. http://wholewheatradio.com/wiki/index.php/Main_Page

For now: the trails are beautiful; snow in my shoes. Gotta sign off or this I will lose.

Get your undies in a tangle

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 22:11:31 GMT

A friend told me this story recently. Her son saw a birthday gift she received from her sister. It was underwear from victoria's. Her son said to his mom, "Mom, I don't want you to wear those." She laughed and asked why. He is eight years old and protective of his mother. "Those underwear are inappropriate for you mom." He said that, he used the word inappropriate. My friend laughs. The story continues.

"I was looking for my bra before work one morning, and he said, 'I'll help you find it, mom.' We look around the house and finally he leads me to his bed. All my underwear and the few bras I own are stuffed beneath his pillow."

My friend goes on to say that she had a talk with him about needing a bra "at my age, after having two kids." He listens, and he gives mom her underwear, however not with zeal. He is a bit protective of his mom. However, I do wonder, why did he stick everything under his pillow; he must have seen something at a friend's house.

Slush Fun and Alien Green Thumbs

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 21:10:11 GMT

Break up is occurring here at break-neck speed. It snowed all day Saturday; over in Anchorage, they were to get 5-11 inches, quite a range. Yet on the whole, it is quite slushy here, muddy in places. It was recommended that I walk the 2.5 miles I typically bike in order to meet my ride to work. I guess that is an option, no snow shoes required. I sit here drinking from a coffee mug that says "you're only young once--but you can be immature forever" promising no?

This month, I am working in a greenhouse for some local farmers. This job requires me to know that a bacoba looks different than a lobellia (pre flowers they look alike from afar). And that Canary Bird Vine, that is not Sweat Pea, although I do believe they both climb. I was told by my boss that "everyone knows what a Sweat Pea look like;" whoops. I love plants, green things are good for the lungs...take that in any way you want; point is, I love trying to identify all the Alaskan plants during the summer, but greenhouse plants are foreign to me; it's like being inside a spaceship. "We'll be using insecticide soon; please be aware earthlings." "Gently, move the soil to place the roots inside, they do not like to push their roots through packed soil." I learn a little bit each day.

More interesting really, is how I get to work. You already know that I bike from where I live to the main road, the Talkeetna Spur Road. My boss told me that one of my co-workers was going to need to pass by my road, so I could get a ride with him. I will call him Torrence. He was called by all Talkeetna people who know him, Jim, however he asked me to call him by his real first name. No problem. I told my boss that I really appreciated her "getting me hooked up with a ride with Torrance, Yo!" She looked at me cock-chined. "Who is that?" For a moment I wondered if I was being abducted, after all it did feel like an alien spacecraft I entered every morning...the so called Greenhouse, yeah "Oh, well, he asked me to call him Torrence, not Jim." She looked at me, suddenly fear striking her dirt covered features. "Yikes, maybe he wants everyone to call him Torrence." Turns out, he does.

I made some assumptions before I met him. One, that he would have a truck in which I could throw my bike in the bed. (Poor Grammer, I apologize.) It turned out true. Secondly, I thought he would be a man who lived in a kind of isolated way. This was also true. In a year, he has come into Talkeetna town once. I like him, he puts up with me in the morning and after work when he drops me off for my uphills climb home. In the scheme of things, my abductions go well.

Wyoming

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 06:55:37 GMT

If you just so happened to have clicked on my location from a few weeks ago; Sheep Creek Lodge, you will notice that it is slightly north and east of Yellowstone National Park. That is not where I am however, the computer decided that it would put me there; I was googled into a place before I had any say in it. Amazing really.

Updates: I am just going to journal today, no trying to be clever or witty, I will save that for my pen and paper. Happy Easter first off. Chris doesn't do Easter, so I should just keep all the chocolate eggs away from him. I won't though; chocolate should be shared. I have done a little Greenhouse gardening for some Talkeetnans who sell plants to big places in Anchorage, thus we get the soil ready now and transfer seedlings by the first week of April. I am in need (I hate to say it but it would help me out here) of a car. This would help. For my summer job Woo Hoo, I will be working with the Alaska Soil and Water Conservation as an assistant trail leader for the Youth Conservation Corps that does trail work for the summer. Quite cool.

Hope to get to the east coast in the fall; I have not spent a summer there since 2003 and I was in and out often at that time after college graduation: Chicago, LA, New Orleans, Grayton Beach, etc...ah memories.

Looking forward to summer here. Spring comes in early May and lasts 10 days. It is definitely warmer: 40, snow melting a bit; good crust skiing I am learning. Radio show still going. Got to play some of my friend Jane Lee's son's music. He plays the Blues. I will be better on details later. Battling "spring" cold so I am signing off to go take some IB prof for my headache.
Ciao.

and...

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 03:02:47 GMT

This is just a reminder, shrimp is better complimented by white wine, not red. I am pulling a Sacks (a restaurant where friends work in Anchorage; I go there to write and socialize, can you imagine which one I am better at?) So, here I am, after filling our four 5-gallon water containers, wanting to write, not sure what to write. I am wearing my glasses so this means I can type longer, (better screen to eye situation) however, honestly I do believe I am in a slump. There are some construction workers to my left and in between us are some shrimp in too much butter; going home to Chris soon.

This is how I realize i am still a product of the city: the owner at the laundry mat wanted to explain to me how the dryer works and I just wanted to shove multiple quarters in the slot and get out of there; I had water to get and writing to get through. I was meanwhile thinking (as he over-explained the mechanics of the machine), wow, I have very little patience for a person who lives without electricity. What does that say about me, about Grace? I guess it says that although I think I am patient, I am not. This goes for my writing career too. I want to be published and have entered this many (holding up four fingers) projects in a year. Whoa is me. Time to get my ass in gear. Wait, I have been saying that for a few years. It'll happen. For now...I need patience...and a glass of white wine. Bartender!

Before I spring forward, what the fall looked like

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 02:47:01 GMT

~~iunI don't~~

Whole Wheat Growing

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 03:35:49 GMT

http://www.wholewheatradio.org/wiki/index.php/Main_Page

Quite a cool place. This is where I get to teach Red Cross courses. Jim rocks. Go to this site; listen to good radio-free music. And, FYI, I will be reading a few short stories here and there one weekday in between 11 a.m. and noon. I will give you prior notice. Have no fear, the wheat is here.

who is that?

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 19:49:38 GMT

me on skis

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 19:49:16 GMT

Just wanted to show you the scene

What's this I hear?

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 19:40:34 GMT

Working on an entry for Selected Shorts. My significant other has been working up a storm on paintings, websites, and advertising. The man is driven. I hope to get my act together and be submitting to publication and journal after publication and journal. We'll see. I teach a CPR/AED/First Aid Class today; this has been a great opportunity for learning good teaching skills and making an income. I have been looking for something new; this is a beginning.