Northern Noise

I wish I knew the origins of the word wake. Why is someone dead ( euphemism = sleeping) celebrated in a "wake." We had a memorial service for my father last night, followed by much drinking, storytelling, and celebrating. It was a good way to go, I think. But today, it seems like when I close my eyes all I can see is black. It sounds like an old cliché - the color is gone - but all I see is black. I try to conjure an image in my mind, an image of anything from my classroom, to my husband, to my brother's living room, and all I can see in my mind is blackness.

One week ago, the word "cremains" wasn't even in my vocabulary. If I had heard it I would have laughed. It's a funny word to refer to someone's burned body parts. Today, however I've heard the word way too much. In fact, my father's cremains are on the coffee table in front of me. They're contained in a plastic, sealed container and covered in a blue "velvet" bag. My sister and I agree that, had the box fit, a Crown Royal bag would have been more appropriate for the old man. There's something strange about how sadness and humor come together - we've been laughing our assess of (unfortunately not literally) all night. There are so many funny stories, and the idea that dad is sitting here listening is also funny for some reason. One cool thing about returning to Kenai is that there are so many caring people - folks who will come out and support us and send us "if you need anything" and mean it. It's nice

Yesterday as I picked Jed up from school, we passed a bulletin board with a picture of Barack Obama. "5 days until he's our new president!" he exclaimed. Then he stopped, "Is Barack Obama black?" "Yes" I replied, "he is." "It's because he wears a black suit, huh?" Jed said seriously. "No, it's because he's African-American." "That means he has darker skin, so people say he's black, huh? But really he's just brown." (More thinking as we walk towards the door.) "So am I white? I'm not really white; I guess I'm tan." (more thinking) "I'm glad Obama is going to be our president. Can I watch tv when we get home?"

Boy - "Mom, have you ever called me a pain in the neck?" Mom - "Hmmm, I don't know. Have I ever called you a pain in the neck?" Boy - "Once you said I was a pain in the keister. A keister's a butt." Mom -"Well, WERE you being a pain?" Boy - "Probably." (thoughtful silence) Boy - "Once, when you weren't home, Papa called YOU a pain in the neck." Probably. :-)

It's been 40 below for far too long. Too much cold. Too much dark. Too much time breathing frozen exhaust every time I go outside. Today I made my students read an article about a 16 year old who got frostbite at temps in the single digits - above. Then we read Jack London's story "To Build a Fire." Today, I can't imagine walking 20 miles at -75. I can't even imagine -75. I'm in my house and I'm freezing. I wonder how many of my students will wear gloves and a hat to school tomorrow, if the concept that what happened to the young man, and the cheechako in London's story, could happen to them. In an instant. It's been too cold for far too long.

Once my friend sent me a mold of her teeth as a birthday gift. They were nicely packaged. It was a side of my friend I hadn't seen before (the inside her mouth part.) I kept them on my dresser for almost a year. One day she called and said she needed her teeth mold back. (Hmmm, teeth mold sounds like a green oral fungus.) So I packed 'em up and mailed them to her so that she could procure a new mouth guard. I think what makes me laugh the most isn't that she gave me her teeth as a gift, but that she gave me her teeth as a gift and then asked me to return them! I've had other great gifts from Aimee. An Elvis rocking-chair pincushion, a coconut with my address written on it marker and a priority mail sticker stapled to its side, a pair of orange & purple striped pants, a hand knit scarf, a leather backpack from Prague, a cup of fake spilled coffee. In fact, my collection of gifts chronicles the travels of Aimee and means I remember details she doesn't. N

I love teaching. I love working with students - even squirrely ones - and I love figuring out ways to help students learn difficult concepts. Somehow though, I'm at a point where I'm considering a different career. I don't feel like I can do my best at grading, paperwork, teaching, and parenting/partnering. I'm wondering if it's the same story in all careers? Is this the difference in a career and a job? Maybe I just need a job, although few jobs will pay me what teaching does. And would the stress caused by reduced income counteract the relief of grading piles of papers? I hate the feeling that I'm doing everything half-assed, and not excelling at any of them. Once again, the questions come easily. If I could only find the answers.

I just finished a book given to me for Christmas. It's called A Woman In Berlin: Eight Weeks in the Conquered City . It's an anonymous diary written by a 30ish German woman at the fall of Berlin to the Russians. I'm trying to process it all. In some ways it was very predictable - starvation, rape, uncertainty. In other ways, it's incredibly profound. One concept which is sticking with me is the difference in how women and men deal with crisis. The book jacket repeatedly mentions the trauma of "mass rape" which the Russian conquerers officially called "forced intercourse." The interesting element to me is how the women dealt with the trauma and the reality. Anonymous is a pragmatist, knowing that she must survive while acknowledging the long term impact, especially upon the return of her pre-war lover. In a general sense the Germen men seem weak and unable to deal, while the Russians are divided into lower class commoners, intent on drink an