Monday, March 31, 2008

"You, yourself, as much as anybody else in the universe, deserve your love and affection."

That's today's message from the belly of Alaska. And it's the same one I keep learning over and over again.

There was much to be said about traveling alone. I wouldn't do it any other way if I had it to do over again, and I expect to do more in the future. However, some experiences and beautiful things, while they can be appreciated, mean nothing unless shared. I do share my experiences while I'm away. And not just through this blog, but I always take "home" with me. I could be alone on a mountain top and my Mom will always be a voice right beside me, reminding me not to leave wet towels on wood floors. i'm reminded of what chris mccandles wrote in the margins of one of his books before he died, right here in alaska. it was something to the effect of, "life is meaningless unless shared."


Anyways I remember thinking about how, at least for me, life is all about love. finding it and keeping it. i knew a feeling like that would not last, it was so small and precious, it was bound to slip through my fingers.
And it did, inevitably. But it is a great thing to keep rediscovering that.

http://www.sonymusic.com/clips/selection/fu/MasonJennings/KINK_01_01_full_100.asx

Monday, March 17, 2008

I went on hike up Flat Top, a mountain in the Chugach range. The first segment of the climb hit me pretty hard. My chest felt like it had knives in it, I think because of the altitude and because I'm out of shape, not having exercised much all winter. I brought my handkerchief along to warm my neck and was very glad to have it around when I needed it to block wind from my face. I looked like I was about to rob a stagecoach, but at least I was warm. LaterI tied it around my head to keep my ears warm. It was a useful thing to tote up the mountain.
A few of us fell behind, waiting for one of our guys to hump up the slopes. He was getting over a sickness and was really having trouble breathing. He looked like he was in pain. In any event, once we reached the halfway point, we ran into some real, experienced climbers. They had hundereds of dollars worth of climbing equiptment attached to themselves. I couldn't decide who were the silly ones-- them or us, in our cheap hiking boots, jeans, and me with my handkerchief. They told us that there were two ways to climb to the top-- the way they were going was much safer, but they were not sure we could do it without climbing equiptment. The other way, the way our friends had already begun to climb, was prone to avalanching, especially around this time of year, and had recently killed two people.
We would have followed these men right away, were our friends not climbing on the other side. Me, AJ, and Chris ran around the mountain to find them. Our friend Will, who was already halfway up turned and screamed at us from above. For anyone who does not know, loud noises can also cause avalanches, and what he did was not exactly smart. And just two seconds after his scream, Will came sliding down the hill on a wave of snow, not large enough to hurt anyone but fast, and surely frightening to everyone who saw. I don't know how much real danger any of us were in, but admittedly, it was pretty funny. If anyone was going to slide down a mountain on the cusp of a tiny avalanche, it was Will.
So we ran back around to the other side of the mountain and attempted to climb sans equiptment. I had to kick my toe into the snow of the mountain and use that as a step, and do the same with my hands. Occasionally I'd slide a few feet down and have to reclimb up. I felt pretty tough. It was not easy. Once we got to the top the wind blew so hard it was like a constant slap in the face. I could barely open my eyes, let alone stand up. It was at that moment when the two guys who had made it up were going to try to go higher that I became scared. We really didn't know what they hell we were doing. Luckily they decided against it, seeing as how they could not see anything through the snow flying in their faces. So we slid back down the mountain instead.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Another diary entry.

For as many stories of self destruction as I've heard recently, I still feel too bright and shiny to write a bukowski-wanna-be piece of crap. Especially right now, sitting in a coffee shop across from you know who. I just feel too giddy.
I work at a recovery and rehabilitation center. We've got recovering alcoholics, crack addicts, heroin addicts, schizophrenics, 60 year old men with dementia only now starting their lives over who unfortunately no longer remember how to spell their own names, men with liver disease and aids, victims of sexual abuse... we've got sexual abusers too, men who can't keep their hands to themselves, ex-prisoners and severely depressed people with suicidal or homicidal thoughts. do you have a plan? do you know how you are going to do it? do you have a target? and here i am, a twenty-three year old woman with big brown eyes and real compassion, trying to draw my lines where they need to be drawn, telling old men it's not okay to touch my shoulder and give me awkward compliments when we're in the room alone with each other. I need to be a parent to men twice or three times my senior, show them how to wash their hands to the tune of the birthday song, sit them down in an ugly white conference room with xeroxed handouts that explain how to create a budget. Me, the one who spent 2,000 dollars my freshman year of college on snacks and other things in the first few months.
The more I have to take care of people and help them along, the more I feel like the other workers who've been pushing me along and teaching me-- a responsible person -- something I've never considered myself to be. The more I work the less I feel like someone who needs to be taken care of, like someone knee deep in the muck of their own mistakes. But off the clock I'm still a hell of a girl. I still drink. I still want to travel. I still want my life to be anything but normal.
This is my 23rd year of life.

Except for the job, occasionally scraping ice off car windows, and a change in everyday clothing, I came to alaska to lead the same life i always have. I drink on the weekends and I care about what other people think, and I'm less than punctual and a little lazier than your average jane. Maybe it's alaska that suits me so well. Like santa cruz did-- a coat that fits. But anyways I like it. I like the scenery. Contrary to how it may seem in that past paragraph, I love my job and all the people wrapped up in that little maze. All those beautiful cognitively disabled jacks n jills. it reminds me of the santa cruz dorms.

While I haven't been writing a whole lot, I've gotten the chance to do some writing at work and have gotten some good feedback. I'm actually quite proud of myself. At any rate, I'll have my first published article up on the national website this March. Looking forward to forcing you all to read it.

-me

foggy mornings

Back in college I would occasionally get up early and sit on a bench that was carved out of a massive tree trunk and smoke cigarettes with m...