As a break from my studying, I just checked into the Sitka Soup, Sitka's local paper. Here is one of the treasures that I found (no author mentioned, in case you are curious).


December 15, 2005

‘Twas the night before Christmas -- throughout Sitka Sound
Not a creature stirred anywhere on the fish grounds.
The hootchies were hung in the wheelhouse with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The swabbies were nestled all snug in their berths,
Dreaming of boat shares they soon would be worth.
And Mom in her Hellys and I in my Tufs
Had just set the hook where it wasn’t too rough.

When out in the spray there arose such a flapping,
Till I found what was up I wouldn’t be napping.
Athwart to the starboard I jumped with some dread
Threw open the porthole and stuck out my head.

And what should the dark waves I visaged now feature
But a mythical skiff drawn by eight ocean creatures.
With a little old captain so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his denizens came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
Now, Coho!, now Humpy!, now Ling Cod!, now Orca!
On Herring!, on Dolphin!, on Gumboot!, on Tuna!
To the top of the swell, to the top of the squall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away, all!”

As the whitecaps that drive before a big blow,
Those fishies rose out of the waters below.
Right onto the deck of our boat up they flew
With a skiff full of toys and St. Nicholas, too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on the deck
The slapping of tail fins in one steady “thwack!”
The scraping of metal, the screech of the latch
And there was St. Nicholas, in through the hatch.

He was dressed all in rubber, in greens and in reds,
All covered with slime and remains of fish heads.
A duffle of toys he had flung on his back
And he looked like a fishmonger opening his sack.

His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples, enchante.
His stomach the size of the ferry Le Conte.
His smiled in the shape of a boat front – the bow –
But he smelled like a section of seldom-scrubbed scow.

His gut was bleached leather, the tone of a bellyfish,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jellyfish.
He was corded and gnarled, a right salty old tar
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of his scar.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his craft,
Depositing goodies for all, fore and aft.
Then, laying a finger aside of his neck
He swept himself upward, back out on the deck.

He sprang to his boat, to his mates cried “We’re legal!”
And if that little skiff didn’t soar like a seagull!
But I heard him exclaim as he sailed into space
I’ll be back! Russian Christmas is here in
12 days!”

Virtual Reality

Well, I am finally here. In MY apartment, sitting alone at night staring out the rain-washed window. The lights of Bellingham are thrown against my windowed wall with every raindrop and I relish in the lack of noise. How sweet the sound of rain. Simple rain.

I am so awed by this posession of space that I can sit and dwell in my thoughts for hours on end;postponing reading, postponing human contact...postponing air. My virtual community reached via Verizon tides me over 'til the next session of homework where I converse with professors that I have never met about subjects I have never experienced, and I write on the tablets of my mind questions for another day.

I press resume on the little white machine to my right and the ocean flows again drowning out my new noisy town while I sit on my bed eating an apple in the first bowl that ever belonged to me and I have to admit, I am liking this newfound material wealth and the virtual world I can currently be found within with the touch of a button. Just press send.

The adventure of adventure

…and finally, I drive my way out of Albuquerque. I took CB all the way to grandma’s and kept right on going.

The Santa Ana’s have already passed me off to the Zias and I find myself lined by red sand walls leading the way to Cuba. Apparently, just as the pioneers experienced, not all who pass this way, survive. Here I sit writing out my modern sensitivities attempting to aptly punctuate this shrubbish landscape when nothing is more apt than the double white cross watching from the side of the road, framed with colorful funereals - those flowers we only give in combination after death.

And onward I go. God only knows where I will sleep tonight.

The next sign to pull me off the main road says Walatowa pueblo and it is like another world. Hardly enough room for a car, the adobe homes criss-cross the land and the crinkly dark-skinned people look at you with suspicion. In this old fashioned paradise, you must remember the taste of the Walatowa with your heart. It is against the rules to record in any other fashion.

I spent one of the most painful nights ever in Jemez last night. Determined to prove the humans wrong, I pulled my tent out of the truck and settled the only bit of flat land that I could find in the ever encroaching darkness. I had every right to be afraid for my hands, my feet, and my safety. I was, to be frank, colder than I ever expected and regretfully, I almost paid a somber price for my ignorance.

Envisioning the perfect campsite from Spence Hot Springs as the sun was slowly swallowed by one tree lined hill after another, was not exactly the reality of my sleeping situation. It is true that the blanket of stars I was pitched under was remarkable. I counted six meteors in less than ten minutes and that might even be a record for me. It is true that the Rio Guadalupe sang a beautiful song as it rushed underneath its icy cover, and it is true that I was eager to sleep outside with the wild ones, even if it meant being slightly uncomfortable.

On the other hand, when you are sleeping, or trying to at least, on the side of a concrete barrier, ten feet from the road and it is colder than fuck regardless of the three layers of sleeping bags you find yourself buried in, the stars and the river become a secondary, rather superficial, experience.

I found the only way to truly warm up was to rejoin the truck and to drive without destination until I no longer winced with pain exuding from my hands and feet. When I returned for take two of Natanya’s winter tenting adventure in the Jemez Mountains, I added a wool sweater, long underwear, a scarf, and socks to the already overdone, in any normal place that is, stock of warming props. I began to manipulate the layers of synthetic genius around me just so, and was almost immediately rewarded An hour later however, I found my body shivering again, and this time I had no more ideas. I resigned myself to the elements and passed into a form of delirium, typical of those who place themselves in tents on mountain sides in December without the proper equipment.

I did all of this to see the canyons surrounding me glowing red first thing in the morning.

It is true that I missed the sunrise. By the time I awoke, there was no red to be found and the wind blew what looked to be snow in my eyes as I stuck my head out the zippered door.

Time to pack it up. I could not have been more eager to get out of that place. I ignored my hands as the pain began again promising myself that it was just a couple minutes more until everything was in the truck and I could relish in the internal warmth. But, I waited too long, and as I sat 1/2 mile down the road hanging from my seatbelt retching out the driver’s side door in response to the pain, I began to question my sanity.

To all who don't already know, this is Michelle, one of my closest friends, showing off Samuel.

This is Scottie, the first horse I have ever worked with. He was very patient with me:)

(Sorry about the blur - picture taken with friend's sidekick.) This is a shrine at a house party that I went to for Dia de los Muertos in Albuquerque, New Mexico. People invite late loved ones to join them for the day and so everyone put a photo of someone or of many people who they wished to invite. There was also a scattering of offerings for the dead; food, beer, flowers, etc... It was beautiful and I wanted you all to get a taste:)

The night before Halloween

That is the amazing scar you too can have if you keep on smoking. CB will be the first to tell you that it just ain't worth it.

The ceremonial mohawk done by the nephew who still smokes. (She did not keep it that way:)

CB and Sho, the happy couple!

Kasim is on the left and Kaliff, my bed pal is on the right.

Over 700 balloons at the 2005 Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta

My friend Carrie is packing her bag one last time after an incredible weekend at the SouthEast Alaska State Fair in Haines. The woman to the right is Pamela, a deaf woman that I met while riding the ferry. She happened to be from Juneau and took it upon herself to guide us around the entire day to all the sites, something we never could have done in ten hours on our own, and at the end of the day she drove us to our departing airplane:)

I will definitely be back soon
:)

Hoot is my favorite bird at the raptor center. she is a 17 year old barred owl and she is gorgeous. sorry that I couldn't catch her face, but she understands humans very well and likes to play games with photographers. In other words, instead of her face, you got a glimpse of her personality:) 

Ella and I:)