CHRONICLES: A Quick Update

We have been blessed today with some blue skies. Last week, we had a few inches of snow, but yesterday it rained and washed it all away. Today, with grace and a chill, the sun has shone through for a few hours, the small Alaskan window between dark morning and dark evening. Even now, the sun has begun it's quick descent towards the hoizon. It's 2:45 in the afternoon.

Still, the lack of sunlight and outside civilization seems to draw Alaskans closer together. We celebrated Thanksgiving Day with a handful of similarly disenfranchised friends, separated from their families either by geography or opinion, neither of which is easy, but both of which easier to cope with by having the non-blood extended family of a close friendship.

Malcolm continues to grow. The boy, who by my estimate is near three feet tall and thirty-five pounds, is walking, talking, climbing everything in sight, and laughing at ridiculous things, things that we adults have forgotton were funny. Well, most of us, at least. He laughs at faces, at things falling, at noises, at the cat's reaction to him petting her and saying "nice". It's very neat to have the tangible reminder of what little it takes to make life enjoyable.

Leftover turkey fills the refridgerator, and I am still not sick of eating turkey sandwiches. I think one of these days, I will make a turkey-noodle soup for dinner. Lyss made a home-made stuffing from scratch for the feast, and it was absolutely joyeous and delicious. Paired with her shell and cheese and her pumpkin pie cheesecake swirly thing (also made from scratch), we had a feast fit for royalty.

To paraphrase Mr. Garrison Keillor, that's the news from Ketchikan, where the woman is strong, the man is good looking, and the child is well above average.

PROPHESIES: After The End

I heard the knocking.  It wasn't at my door, but it was early enough and quiet enough that I had to get up to see who was outside anyway.  I saw my neighbor talking to the gentleman, and I wondered, because of the hour, if everything was alright.  I returned to my room, a large, empty, dark loft with wood floors and one big window on the far side of the stairs.  I could tell it was going to be a long morning.

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I prepared for the drop.  Our plane was flying low enough that I didn't need to wear an oxygen mask or anything.  I was a little miffed that I was unanimously voted to go first.  Sure, Earth was a place I used to live.  At one point, I was comfortable there.  But I had lost friends.  I lost my family.  Things were different.  What few friends I had left were on this plane with me, ready to jump to an unknown fate.

I sat in my chair on the front of the load.  We were going out together, the load and me.  Someone had to make sure it landed safely.  The bay door opened, and I zipped up my black leather flight suit, ready to go.

I don't remember much between me leaving the plane and me hitting the ground, but I survived.  We set up camp in a small house.  My old friend, she checked me out to make sure I wasn't messed up on the inside.  We tried to find a quiet corner of this old, small house, but we were thwarted by others in the group, focused on the mission at hand.

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I swam downstream.  It wasn't difficult.  The river was raging.  I had to keep my eyes keen for the culvert on river right, the portal.  I had almost passed it twice, and wound up backtracking, swimming with all of my energy.  I finally got to it, dragged myself into it's mouth, and lay there panting for air.

After a few minutes, I started crawling deeper inside.  After fifty yards or so, I felt a blinding shock.  The next thing I saw was an old, dusty road, and men with gas masks.  I watched as cars drove by.  Old beat up cars. I wondered how they could run without oxygen.  Apparently, they had been converted to run on CO2.  I felt the sunlight.  It must have been 80 degrees.  The buildings in this ghost town were either derelicts near destruction or completely encased in glass or plastic to keep the oxygen inside.  The few people here were hardened.  Tough.  What was this place?

THOOUGHTS/CHRONICLES: Small Town Goodness

I was raised in a small town. It wasn't tiny by any means, but graduating with eighty-five other people, by most standards, that's pretty small.

Small towns work very differently than cities do. In small towns, the general consensus is that cities are too fast-moving, too big, too corrupt, too crowded, too expensive, etc. Small towns are very proud of themselves, of their school sports teams and their elected officials, their arts and their new buildings. However, the thing that really sets small towns apart is that they're also highly critical of themselves in a passive and quiet way. There are a few public dissenters, but those people are nut-jobs, right? Everyone quietly talks about how messed up things are before they politely smile and move about their business.  In cities, people don't put as much value in etiquitte as they do in direct confrontation. Skip the pleasantries, get stuff done.

I moved from my small town to Denver and stayed there for almot seven years. I loved it. I liked that there was so much stuff conveniently located nearby. However, I missed the small town serenity, which brught me here to Ketchikan, Alaska.

If you all have been reading the news at all, you know about our small town's big problem. It turns out that a certain public official has done some very bad things. The irony for me is that when I moved to the city, I was always wary of somebody not being a good person. It was, after all, the city. Sadly, after moving to a small Alaskan town, I've met people, some very good people, and others, back-stabbers who've hidden under the guise of that ettiquite we small town folk seem to value so much. I've seen very personally more dishonesty and disgusting behavior here in a year than I ever saw in Denver.

Maybe it's time we stopped lying to everyone and to ourselves. Maybe it's time to take responsibility for the things we do, and to hold others accountable for their actions. I understand that small towns, especially places like Ketchikan, very isolated from the outside world, people need to depend on each other, but I refuse to accept that dependence negates trust and writes our neighbors a blank check to do what they will at our expense.  Teamwork is rooted in trust.

These things have been a disappointment, and it's disappointing to be sure. However, those things are greatly outweighed by the good people who are also here and in other small towns who are great friends, loyal and honest, especially when you don't want to hear what a putz you've been. There's always hope. There's always light.

THOUGHTS: Dreams and Mornings

I've been waking up the past few days with shadows of very vivid dreams, dreams I can't remember after only minutes of being awake. it's so bizzare. It's like details of my subconscious life are being brushed aside and replaced by the sound of an alarm, the smell of coffee, the taste of cinnamon toast. While the morning routine brings me a certain amount of comfort, I feel like I'm robbing myself of a good story, or a strong emotion, or an insight into what I'm thinking and how.

Dreams are power. They allow us to face fears or escape from them. I remember the first and only time I realized I was dreaming. That was also the first and only time I've ever flown in my dream.

I can't help but wonder, though, if our minds are this powerful in our sleep, while we aren't focusing our thoughts, why are we held back in our waking hours? Why do we limit ourselves so much with clutter and incidental bullshit, instead of enjoying the simple focus and joy of a child?

CHRONICLES: A Day In The Life...

After a very short night of sleeping, I managed to fade in and out of sleep for a couple of hours before my alarm not-so-gently prodded me to get out of bed and get to work.

Raising a kid is hard. Toddlers are little Tasmanian devils in disguise. One moment, all their toys are put away and they're sleeping soundly. The next, there's a mixture of toys, a bottle, a sippy-cup or two, and a bunch of Apple Jacks all over the carpet. The only reason you notice is becaue they're now in the kitchen banging pots and pans on the floor.

All this, of course, after a full day's work, and solo while the wife is making final preparations as the assistant director for "Anything Goes", which opens Thursday or Friday. She's even been sick the past few days, which makes more for me to do.

Fortunately, we've got good friends here now. Our friend Jen Tucker watched Malcolm yesterday afternoon while Lyss slept, and our friend Heidi Poet, who coincidentally wound up in my top ten list of all-time favorite people, has been accompanying Lyss to rehearsal almost every night.

It's such a relief to sit here in my kitchen, sipping a cold beer (which will be followed by another cuppa joe, I'm sure), while Malcolm sleeps in the next room and Incubus's "I Wish You Were Here" plays in the background.

Today, I scraped by on a cup of coffee, a cigarette, another two cups of coffee, a bunch of water, another cigarette, and finally, some time with my son before I put him to sleep. No matter what happened, that's a good day.

EXERPT: "Armor" by John Steakley

     We're not a part of Fleet any longer. In no way. They're mad about it. Fuck 'em.
     We traced the rumor about "Lewis's" rich-kid past to- surprise- Lewis himself.
     We have a growing colony. A government. Holly and I are on what the call the Council of Elders. But they don't cal us much.
     Lya is pregnant with her second. Her first is a girl with her looks and Holly's brain.
     Karen is not pregnant and won't be. Yes, we're still together. But we are not, repeat: not, happy. But I guess we'll keep at it anyhow.
     I never saw Eyes again.
     The Antwar continues.
     What about me? Besides the fact that I'm getting fat and thoughtful? Not much else. Both traits are, understanably, fulfilling.
     What I eat is everything. What I think about...
     The past, of course. My life and what it's meant and what it will mean from now on. And Felix. I think about Felix a lot.
     And about the Masao and what he said, about there being no protection from what you are and all. And I think I may have something to add:
     There is no protection from what you want.
     Hell, they keep searching, which is dumb enough. But when I think about the certain look in that Rep's eye, in all their eyes when they drop by to question again and again. And when I think about all of it- from Golden, to Banshee, to Sanction...
     When I think about it, I wonder.
     Dammit, I cannot help but wonder:
     Are you there, Felix?
     Are you there?

CHRONICLES: Akin to a Colorado Fall Day

This morning, I got up and ran a quick errand to the store for coffee and some other things. Malcolm and I went. (Side note, I taught him to say "good to go"... "do do doe"). It was just beautiful out this moning. It's the closest to a Colorado autumn day that we've had since I've been here. The sun was poking through some clouds, and there was a gentle breeze blowing up the channel. It's around 45 degrees out (always).

I got back home, put the coffee on, and concentrated on putting Malcolm down for a nap. When he went down, I got dressed to go out and have a smoke. I took a stroll down to the dock, where I checked out his ancient wood boat for sale. It's gotta be around 35 feet long, made of wood. It's got several inside compartments, I'm guessing maybe room for 6 to sleep in. I may have to all the owner (it's for sale) and see if I can get in there and crawl around a little bit. I'm assuming it has a full galley and no woring engineering, but she's a gorgeous piece of construction. And the bonus is: she's still floating.

The smell of coffee, the chill of the morning air, the sun warming only what it looks upon, talk of football, the sound of bacon frying and jazz... I love fall Sunday mornings.