Northern Noise

"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