Northern Noise

It's New Year's Eve, 2009. I usually think of my life in school years, August to July, instead of calendar years, but this year is a bit different. I'm ready for 2009 to come to a close. A quick review of 2009... in January, my dad passed. I'll never forget the sound of my brother's voice when he called me at school that afternoon. I was about to start a Hamlet activity in AP English. My students were awesome. They realized that something was up when I got off the phone. I think I said something like, "Hey guys, I think my dad just died and I need to go make a phone call. Here's the assignment and the videos are all cued up." Two girls were awesome and assured me all would be well as they ushered me out the door. In February, I turned 40. 'Nuff said. March, April, May were busy with family. One child was really struggling with lots of school & health issues, others were just "normal" kids. My Grammie, who went from living i

I think one of my favorite things about holidays is the post-holiday excuse to collapse. This is especially true after Christmas. The presents are purchased, wrapped, opened, and are now being enjoyed by their recipients. Food is planned, cooked, and stored in the fridge providing leftovers for anyone who is hungry and removing my need to cook. Sleepless anticipation has been replaced by comfortable relaxation, and naps become the order of the day. The kids have plenty to keep them busy, and the grownups are settled in with warm socks and new books to read. The only creature in our house still full of energy is a 7 week old puppy, and she only attacks in short bursts and then naps with the rest of us. The joy of the post-holiday breather is that I get to look around at my family, all content and settled and happy, and just enjoy them. Peace.

Growing up, the joke was that mom had me and my dad had Bilbo. Bilbo was a big ol' St. Bernard who was born right around the time I was. I grew up as he did; my stuffed animal was even a St. Bernard. Bilbo was always my dad's dog and I saw him a lot like I saw my dad the policeman: loyal, protecting, cuddly. I remember once when I was mean to a neighbor girl. Her mom came over to our house to see my mom about it. I sat back in my bedroom curled up with Bilbo, alternating my thoughts between letting him out and asking him to eat her up and feeling comforted that he loved me no matter what. St. Bernards aren't very long lived dogs, and our next dog came after Bilbo's death. We got a Siberian Husky mix pup from the secretary at our school. Our friends and neighbors got a pup from the litter as well; they named theirs Scamp. My dad wanted to name him after another Tolkien character and my brother wanted to name him Playful. We compromised with Playful Bard, although

Tis the night after the last day of school and Christmas vacation is beginning. Off to a perfect start, with a nice warm house, the tree lights on, and my son snuggling me on the couch, while wearing his Santa hat and watching The Muppets Christmas Carol. Life seems pretty good tonight. Now if I can only get all of the work done in time..... What I really like is the day AFTER Christmas, when the kids have plenty to keep them busy, the cockles of our hearts are still warm from the day before, and I can look at my family and just enjoy them. One week to go.

John Wayne has lately been visiting our house. He made his first appearance at a family movie night. It was my favorite John Wayne movie, El Dorado with James Caan playing Mississippi and spouting Edgar Allan Poe poetry. Jedidiah was fascinated with the movie, the characters, and the world in which they resided. So we've been watching lots of westerns. His favorites are Cat Ballou and Rio Bravo . For the past two days, he has been John Wayne. First John Wayne the sheriff, like Chance in Rio Bravo . Then, John Wayne the hired gun and fist for the downtrodden, like in El Dorado . John Wayne isn't actually in Cat Ballou , but Jed seems to have substituted him for Lee Marvin and I'm not going to argue. It's funny that, for all the violence in these movies, I'm totally okay with my son watching these films. See, modern woman that I am, I want my son to grow up manly and to have integrity, and I think John Wayne films model both behaviors. I want him to prefer den

Twas the night before Christmas in Goldstream, Alaska. "Could it get any colder," said Papa,"I'll ask yer?" The hills were all covered with homes old and new Neat cabins and trailers, and tarps made of blue. The stockings were taped to the table with duct Hanging them by the woodstove would have pushed our luck. The children were snuggled all warm in their beds While visions of Hot Licks danced in their heads. And Papa in his long johns, and me in my fleece Had just settled down for a nip, and some peace. When out in the yard there arose such a racket, Like the dogs when they foller a rabbit to track it. Away to the doorway I went with a light Grumpy as heck and most ready to fight. The moon on the breast of the old, hard-packed snow Showed all of the places the dogs like to go. When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a dogsled, eight huskies, and a dude with a beard He looked fat and jolly tho' the dogs were a barking I saw on his bumper "Ivor

For some reason, yesteday I got to thinking about the hearse. Not hearses in general, but the 1953 Cadillac hearse my dad bought one summer. When I was 10 or 11, my mom went to help one of her girlfriends set up a new house and left my dad to be the primary caregiver of their three children. Granted, she hired two college girls home for the summer to provide supplemental care, and to make sure we were indeed fed, clothed and occasionally bathed. Still, day to day life depended on Dad to plan. Which was a first. It was an eventful three weeks. Among the cherished memories of that time are my sister breaking her arm. (Whether she fell or was pushed from the tree house depends on who tells the story - but be assured I was not there at the time.) I remember that she got a bright yellow cast. It was the first broken bone any of us got, although not the last. I also remember the production of trying to wash her hair. My sister, although lovable even to this day, is the most stubborn

Well, it has finally happened. After 9 years of marriage and 14 years of togetherness, Bob and I have taken "the step." I could tell from his demeanor when I got home last night that something was up. He was excited and said he had a "surprise." Now, I'm not necessarily big on surprises. I like to be a part of decisions and appreciate routine & predictability. So whenever my husband is excited about giving me a surprise, I find myself in a conundrum. Part of me immediately thinks "Oh NO!" while externally I've learned that I must present "Oh Goody! I can't wait!" in order to preserve my husband's feelings and peace in our household. So he's excited and I'm apprehensive. When the boy is finally in bed and there's a lull in the activity he says "Come see your surprise!" I follow him upstairs, and sit on the bed while he pulls a box out of the corner. He reaches in and pulls out..... new slippers!

So my s-o-n has been on this kick lately where he has to spell everything. Sometimes he'll spell just for the f-u-n of it. He's always liked patterns and silly voices and such, and I think that his spelling is a way of putting on a persona or creating a character. He also likes to spell when he's m-a-d. The other night I heard him giving his father fits. Lately he's waiting until bedtime and then claiming "I can't go to bed; I'm dying of hunger!" (We've tried various tactics to prevent such a ploy, mostly trying to stuff him full of healthy dinner and then getting him a snack before pajama time.) When his father stood his ground and offered a glass of milk or water, the boy's reply was adamant. M-I-L-K is NOT food. It's a D-R-I-N-K!!! For some reason that made me giggle as I eavesdropped, which resulted in my reprimand by the boy. Mom, laughing is M-E-A-N. You're being mean. The third reason for spelling seems to be to say wor

"There's no place like home for the holidays." Interesting thought, as I ponder the definition of "home" these days. Over Thanksgiving, we headed down to Kenai, my hometown and home for my first 18 years. Since my brother bought my folks' house, I slept with my husband in the same room I slept in growing up. We cooked in the same kitchen and gathered with extended family. On Friday after Thanksgiving, Christmas comes to Kenai. As a child, this meant that Santa arrived (either on the fire truck, or in a helicopter) and handed out candy canes and tickets to a free cartoon movie at the Kambi. After the movie we would return to Moosemeat John's cabin for a bonfire, a hot beverage, and often some caroling. In later years, the city added fireworks to top off the evening. Taking my children to the bonfire and fireworks, seeing old friends, even parking in the old Carrs parking lot all overwhelmed me with nostalgia. It was nice to feel like small town

Somehow it went from a balmy -9ish when I went to bed to -29 degrees this morning. It's very still outside my window. The cold looks like it's settled in with a gray-ish frost that's covering all the surfaces and reflecting the light from the porch. The two older dogs were sharing a dog house, a sure sign that it's damn chilly. The puppy still hasn't learned. She refuses to use her dog house, so she was curled up in a ball, covered with frost and looking miserable. They weren't out for long, but at -29 degrees, it doesn't take long to freeze. As of this moment, my daughter's ski practice is still on for today. The coach is hopeful it will warm up to -12ish, although they may cut practice a bit short if needed. The folks I'm supposed to meet for coffee are still planning on heading out and about. Life in Fairbanks doesn't stop for cold. Next week we're driving south to Kenai for the holidays. Kenai is currently 4 degrees - ABOVE zero. I&

Why is it that issues from school, where I lived for 11 years but have deliberately avoided for the past 3 months, can still rise up and kick me in the stomach when I least expect it? One email and suddenly I feel my blood pressure rising and the anxiety setting in. My hands shake, my belly churns, and I begin to perseverate on all the negative and depressing feelings of the past. I become paralyzed. I know better than to think that I was important, or sillier yet, irreplaceable. When I took 8 weeks off to have my son, I visited school after 3 weeks. Thinking my class would miss me, I walked smiling into the room to hear a student call out to my sub, "Hey Mr. Lesh - that woman who used to teach us is here!" Since that time I've been grateful for that reminder that when we step away from our spot on the assembly line, someone else comes in and takes our place. I know this, and I'm okay with it. So why am I taking each perceived dig so personally? Why can't I

When I had coffee with a friend the other day she said she had read my blog. I wasn't sure whether to answer "thanks" or say "I'm sorry." It made me think about this whole blog genre. I've boiled most of my thoughts down to two issues - what blogging does for me personally, and why I chose a public forum versus a journal. I keep a private journal. It's pretty stream of consciousness and records a lot of the daily events of my life and family. Blogging is different because I try to identify the larger themes and issues that shape my life. I like the blog because it makes me more aware of my writing. I majored in creative writing in college, and blogging helps me work on skills of voice and fluency. Because my blogs might be read by someone, I examine them with more objective eyes and that in turn helps me look more objectively at the subjects I write about. So why not just do this in a word document? Why do I pour my emotional diarrhea into a p

Growing up, if any of us used the word "melancholy" my dad would say "Yup. Head like a melon; face like a collie." He wasn't politically correct, my old man, and sometimes he could be rather insensitive, but he still makes me smile. I'm really missing Pa this week. I think it's because I've closed out the estate bank account and distributed the last of the worldly goods. It seems pretty final, as if he ain't coming back (which he ain't). Somehow, getting his bank statement every month made it seem less permanent, I think. I met with a friend today who shared with me a little about how she and her sister each dealt with the death of their father. Her sister needed time and quiet to process, and ended up reevaluating a lot about her life. I think my friend did also, just in a different way. It was really helpful to have someone who understood where I'm at, and more importantly, to tell me it was okay. It was something I really needed

When my son was four months old, we discovered he had a wide variety of food allergies. When I say "wide variety," I mean that all he could eat without breaking out in a body-covering, itchy, scabby rash was blueberries, rice and sweet potatoes. My desire to breast feed went out the window, as my doctor pointed out that such a limited diet wasn't very healthy for a mom. We were able to supplement his diet with a very expensive, synthetic formula as well, which gave him protein. He grew up with not only a limited diet, but the knowledge that ingesting the wrong foods meant uncomfortable and scary reactions. As he got older, he outgrew some of his allergies. When he was about two, we were able to introduce soy and soy products, which greatly expanded his food options. He could eat turkey, but not chicken, and most other vegetables were okay, although fruits were pretty much still off limits, as were most grains other than rice. My son's diet grew to include turkey

So this is the weekend of the 6 year olds Halloween jokes. His favorite: What's in a ghost's nose? Boooooogers. Closely followed by: Why do ghosts like winter? They get to wear their booooooots. Other favorites I've heard (and heard again, and again) What's a witch's favorite subject in school? Spelling! and What kind of witch lives at the beach? A sand-witch! Better than some he's told.....

Today was an interesting day in terms of the future. I was sitting waiting for Bob to finish getting his sinuses sucked out, and one of my former students came to see me in his scrubs. He's finishing his OB rotation before heading to Whitefish, MT for his next rotation. He was a totally great kid in high school, he's probably a great doctor, but it's weird to think of him delivering babies. I've had former students as my dental assistant, giving me shots, and I've had a former student cut my hair. I've had former students come to brag about how great they're doing, and how they make more money than me. I had a former student share his views on Dante and I've had former students recommend good music and good books. Today I also read about a former student who used a gun to break into a hotel room over drugs and ended up shot and in the hospital. He was a gifted poet, and a hell of a creative soul, but I can't say I'm too surprised to read abo

So it's a typical morning and I'm fooling around on the computer while the dogs lay around and do nothing. In fact, one of them was snoring. Suddenly the interview on The World moves into the Ecuadorian street and dogs are barking in the background. My 3 lazy dogs all jump up, ears on the alert and begin to run around the house searching for the offending canines. They're barking and growling and running from the kitchen window to the patio window and back. But no invading dogs are found. The oldest (and wisest) dog figured the threat was minor, and lay back down. The middle dog seems to be getting it as well. He's just sitting in the middle of the living room watching as the puppy continues to run back and forth and back and forth. It's been a few minutes since the sound of barking dogs filtered over the airwaves. Dog 2 is lying down again, and Dog 3 seems to be realizing that whatever she heard isn't here any more. She's still on alert but is quiet

Since we moved into this house, we have had unwelcome visitors each fall. They're small and disgusting, can squeeze through the smallest holes, and cause general distress. The first year we were here, we were naive and unknowing. One morning Bob went to put on his boots and found they were full of dogfood. It was odd, but he dumped them out and went on his merry way. Over the next week, there were several more mornings when he found dogfood in his boots, and I even found some in my boots too. We figured it was either the dog going crazy, or the children being funny. So we scolded the girls, dumped out the dogfood and kept on trucking. That weekend I went to clean and vacuum and discovered several stashes of dogfood, with various other additions - popcorn, old cereal, cracker crumbs. It still didn't occur to me that we were infested; I thought we were just an unusually sloppy family. And so it went until one morning when Bob and I both found boots full of chow and hollered

Okay, so tonight my family is subject to the grand experiment. First, the background.... As a child growing up in Kenai, Alaska, in the 1970's, fresh & fancy food wasn't always available for affordable. Most families used powered milk, the only tomatoes we saw were canned, and my grandmother used to mail us nuts and chocolate chips and the like for holiday baking. As such, we ate lots of fish and moose. And created meals with what was available and cheap. Enter the can of cream of mushroom soup. As I look through the old church cookbooks, there's a can of some sort of soup in almost every recipe. It's how the casserole was made, yes? So last night I found myself with leftover rice and also discovered a bag of hamburger meat in the fridge. What to do? Somewhere from the recipe box of my mind I remembered a recipe that my mom used to make with regularity. I always liked it, I think. So tonight, my family gets to try a real, down home hotdish treat. Here's t

"It's a fool's life, a rogue's life, and a good life if you keep laughing all the way to the grave." ~Ed Abbey Things that make me laugh just thinking about them: 1) When Jed was barely 4, he (as always) ran around the house naked. On this particular evening he kept running from the kitchen to the heater and back. Finally I asked him, " What are you doing? " to which he replied " Warming up my little guys. " " What! " I said, thinking that euphemism was not age appropriate. " My pirates ," he explained, holding up two small plastic men. Oooohhhhh. 2) When Ali was 3 or 4 she suddenly got a conspiratorial look on her face at the dinner table. Leaning towards her father and me she said, " I learned the difference in boys and girls today. " " Oh ?" her dad replied. " Yes ," she nodded, quite seriously, " Boys have beards and girls have chins. " 3) My mother was always a bit slo

Today I'm really missing my dad. I think it's because we're having such beautiful fall weather, although, that doesn't really make sense because I think of my dad as more of a winter guy, at least in his younger days. I could get all metaphorical about fall, about how this year the warmth and sunshine seem to be hanging on longer than expected and are all the more beautiful because I know they'll soon be gone, replaced by dark and cold. But I think that really it's because I remember a few years when my dad let me skip school to go silver fishing on the Kenai River with him. Summertime on the Kenai River is rather crazy. Guides, tourists, locals - all in pursuit of the mighty salmon. Plus, for young people who lived there, summer was a chance to earn some dough. Several years I worked mulitple jobs, making the most money at the cannery, but a few years working literally from 7 am to 2 am, five days a week. Ahhh, money was good. Summer on the Kenai also mea

So we got the yearly Halloween costume. It's always a balance of ordering early enough (if we're ordering) so that it gets here in time, and not so early that it's destroyed or worn out before the actual event. This year, it got here waaay early. So at first my husband says, "We'll just put it away until the Halloween carnival." Ha! Like that will work, I thought to myself (knowing after 14 years that actually saying that out loud would probably not be the best idea). So, as the wise mother knows after the repetition, with variations, of the question, "Can I just try on the helmet / gloves/ goggles?" The costume is down and in full play. My role in this entire situation is to make sure the boy understands that, if this costume should befall a tragedy, we're not purchasing a new one. I don't really like store-bought costumes anyways, although it's always a losing battle at my house when I suggest we just invent something. (Secretl

When I was little I wanted to grow up and be a vampire. (I guess that's not too strange, my brother in law wanted to grow up and be a totem pole....) On the back of the bathroom door was this strange pattern in the wood. To me, it looked like a vampire. I pointed it out to my brother the last time I was there - it's the last door to be replaced in what is now his house. He said he had never noticed it before. How could he not?? We had a vampire in our bathroom. I liked that vampires lived on blood. They needed life blood to live but were not alive. Even as a kid, I was into irony. They stayed up all night. I liked that too. I was a vampire for Halloween almost every year (except for the disaster of the Queen of Hearts, but my therapist says its best to forget that one....) Vampires are "in" right now - books like Twilight and the Vampire Diaries and the Sookie Stackhouse mysteries, movies and tv shows based upon those books are everywhere. Bob and I have

Last night I dreamed of college. I don't know if it's because my oldest is there now, figuring it all out, or because it the 10 year span of school was a big chunk of my life. So this morning I woke up thinking about it all. For me, college was a collage of experience. I started off on one academic path, quickly chose another, and finally took the quickest trail to the finish line. I experimented with relationships, monogamy, serial monogamy, non-monogamy, and everything else I could find. I created friendships, misplaced them, destroyed them, nurtured them and just ignored them. I read books that challenged everything I believed, everything I thought I knew and broke me down into nothingness. I questioned everything and everyone, burned the proverbial bridges and plunged myself into solitude for months on end. At the end of it all, the person who had been forged was strong and I liked her. So here I am in my year of reflection and the lines of Eliot come to mind, "

Yesterday I blogged about Morgan's words on fragile thoughts, explosive ideas, and reading. These ideas keep rolling around in my mind as I try to clarify and study them from all sides, all perspectives. This is my year of "provocation and privacy." This is my year to make some sense of it all. In this quest, I find myself thinking constantly, rolling around those fragile thoughts. I think about identity, of faith, of how we define ourselves, of work, of love. I think about acceptance, and social validation of self. I think about how my stress and health affects my family. I think about the world, of justice and tragedy. I think about the politicians, the media who preach a doctrine based on lies, hate and fear. I wonder, truly perplexed, about the people who believe it, who seem to need to believe it. I wonder if living deliberately is even possible. I wonder if it can only lead to unhappiness, to internal dischord. I wonder why I need it so. I go to bed at

"A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man's mind can get both provocation and privacy." ~Edward P. Morgan I love this quote. It validates my thoughts on writing, and on reading. The separation of author and speaker, of theme and subject, of belief and ideal. Our world doesn't allow for enough time to think, let alone enough time to process thought. We try on identities in our modern world, we change our hair color, names, styles, jobs, spouses yet we seem intolerant of trying on beliefs or exploration of ideas. People who do are "flighty" or worse yet labeled hypocrites. And the irony is that this world is constantly presenting so many fragile thoughts, so many explosive ideas. One doesn't even need to watch the news, read a paper, or even read a book to discover them. They're

Some days are gray days, even when it's sunny outside. Today is one of those days. I don't know what exactly makes it a gray day. Some combination of having a cold, being generally out of sorts, and cold stillness outside. I don't like gray days because they present two options. The first being climbing into bed and hiding out. The second is to chin up and carry on, pretending it's not a gray day. Nothing feels comfortable and a looming sense of gloom fills the house on a gray day. The dogs seem to know it too; they're unusually subdued and follow me from room to room, plopping down on the floor with a sigh only to get up and move again. A cup of tea tastes better than coffee on a gray day. Apple tea, with honey warms as much with its smell as its temperature. I hold it in my hand and let the heat soak into me, even though I'm not cold. I drink one cup, and then another. It fills the time on a day like this. I'm not necessarily unhappy on a gray

For some reason, we have acquired three big dogs. Once, a long time ago, we inherited a German Shepherd who, although very sweet, had serious anxiety issues. In an attempt to help her feel secure and have a friend, we decided to get a puppy. My husband wanted a big dog, a manly dog, and was delighted when we went to see the puppies advertised as 1/2 Chesapeake and 1/2 black lab. The sire they showed us was huge, as was the mom, and we thought the little male with big feet that we chose would grow accordingly. He was named Milo, after Milo of Crotona who carried the calf up the mountain every day, growing stronger as the calf grew. To make a long story short (the long story is quite a tale, though!) the pup turned out to be female, with stubby legs and wide, square hips. Sort of like a box with legs. So Milo grew, mostly wider vs. taller, and matured into a sweet, mellow dog. When we had to put down the German Shepherd, she was lonely and so we looked, once again, for a puppy. A

I used to sew. Well, sort of sew. I used to do beadwork, making barrettes & keychains, glove tops and the like. I was taught by friends who were very gifted, and very patient. I was never a top craftsman, but I did okay and I really enjoyed it. When I lived in the village I'd spend a lot of time sitting at the table sewing and laughing with friends. I learned so very much about subsistence life, relationships, children, cooking and the importance of having people to share life with. When I look at who I am today, I credit those years between 20 and 25, and those hours spent sewing as a big factor. And, of the literal side, my non-artistic self felt vindicated - I COULD create beautiful things!! When I moved out to the coast and started teaching, my sewing got set aside. I had to spend my late night hours grading papers, or prepping for class and I just didn't have time. When I moved to Fairbanks, my beads came with me but went into the store room, and then into the

So yesterday I blogged about fall and how much I loved it. Today, I'm watching the snowflakes accumlate on the deck. Carpe diem, yes?

The weather has turned. Until Sunday morning, those of us in the lovely Alaskan interior (or at least on our little hill) were enjoying unusually warm weather. The leaves were changing, the underbrush turning red and orange, the high bush cranberries releasing a scent of sweet fermenting but despite the obvious signs, it didn't really feel like fall. The sun kept shining, the winds weren't blowing much, the sweatshirt I faithfully threw into the truck each day mostly stayed there as I enjoyed the lingering warmth. But yesterday, it all changed. It was cold in the morning, and when I looked outside, it was grey and still. I decided to drink my coffee in front of the window instead of outside on the deck. We decided it was time to do those "getting ready for winter" chores and headed outside while it was still cool. As we burned brush, picked and turned the garden, put away the deck furniture and mowed the lawn for (hopefully!) the last time this year, the air I

So now that I'm a SAHM (as one friend put it) and we're on a much reduced budget, I've been spending some time scoping out sites that have suggestions for living on a shoestring. There's a couple of really cool "coupon" sites with information on finding and using coupons. Others focus on ways to reduced spending and save overall. I don't know that I really get coupons; they seem confusing to me and like it's a lot of work to find, print, organize, and use. Still, I should make an effort to explore and try it out. If it saves money, it's a good thing. Planning meals and making smart purchases will be a big one for us. When we're busy, we have tended to either eat out or eat processed, pre-packaged stuff. Just doing away with the Hot Pockets and canned ravioli will help save money. I understand that more rice & beans and less meat saves money. I wonder if it's more or less healthy for the kids and us?? Since the family will be bac

Went to see the film Julie & Julia today. The basic premise is that a woman feeling sort of lost in her life decides to spend a year blogging about cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook. It was a good movie, well acted & entertaining. For me, it brought up the question of "why blog?" When the author first starts blogging, she's not sure anyone is reading. It seems she's using the blog as a largely way working through her own issues, figuring out how to start and finish a project and how to work with something (cooking) that's meaningful to her outside of her job. Eventually, tons of people read her blog and it ultimately turned into a book deal and a movie. Sort of a cinderella story for bloggers. I keep thinking about the process of blogging as a way of self-development, introspection, and obtaining perspective. My blog isn't as purposeful as Julie's was - I'm not setting a public goal and I'm not basing my writing arou

I don't think I've spent a night alone in this house since before my son was born. It's different being home while they're all out of state than it is when they're just off around town or at work. It doesn't make sense why that is, but it's true. I'm looking forward to some time at home alone. And I've got a long enough stretch that I can work through the strangeness into reveling in it. Don't get me wrong; it's not that I don't miss my family immensely - because I do. I just think feeling comfortable with alone time is really important. It's a sign of a healthy person, I believe, and healthy individuals make healthy relationships. Last night I visited with a friend, who is also temporarily home alone while his partner is working in the field. It was nice to visit, to reconnect and to hang out a little. It reminded me that I can have adult conversation, that I have something to offer as a friend. One more step along my journe