Northern Noise

Had a great afternoon with my son yesterday, and we stopped on the way to Fun Time Park to get a falafel to eat while he played. As we get to the park, all the benches and picnic tables are filled with mom visiting while kids played. These are young, healthy-type moms, with carrot sticks and 100% organic juice boxes. I could hear them talking about homeschooling and the evils of red dye. So I took my older and less conscientious self and flopped on the grass with my falafel while Jed played. As I bit into the yummy, falafel-filled pita, a piece of it fell from the sandwich and plopped directly down into the neckline of my shirt. I had a dilemma, as I couldn't just reach into my bosom and start fishing for the piece, which had lodged itself in between skin, shirt and bra. I tried the discreet method, stood up, stretched and scratched, trying to shake the piece loose so it would fall out the bottom. No luck. I looked over at the good moms, I looked over at the kids obliviousl

Wednesday morning started out like any other day at the Hadaway household. I got up, had some coffee, read the papers, and started some writing/editing work that I hoped to finish. About noon I got done, got up to get the boy some lunch, and figured I'd shower and get moving. And then it started.... First Bob called for the number to Onstar. He'd locked his keys and cell phone in the truck. I gave him the number, and then waited for a call that it worked and he was a-ok. When the phone rang again, it was Bob again asking Onstar questions; apparently our after market auto start was interfering with the locks and he couldn't get in. They were also telling him our account wasn't active, so I got the account number and information he requested. He eventually called again, saying it still wouldn't work and requesting roadside assistance from me. Oh, and by the way, he reminded me, his truck was having a few issues so I should be careful driving in. Soooo, got dre

There's nothing like a tangible experience to make knowledge hit home. I had such an experience today, and am (literally) sobered by the results. Jed and I were meeting Bob at the Chena River after work today. There's a great little float where we can put in at one end of town and take out at Alaskaland, and easy hour later. The weather was beautiful and warm after a week of rain and the evening was perfect for getting out on the water. When I first met Bob, we did a lot of paddling. He's an amazing solo canoe-er and has paddled serious white water by himself, including the Nenana here in Alaska. He was patient with me as I learned to be a bit more serious about canoeing, being raised as I was by easy paddles on lakes and the Swanson, which is typically slow and easy. Our first paddle together is a story worthy of it's own blog.... so we'll just end by saying that before Jed, I spent as much time on the water as I could. Since Jed, things have changed somewhat

Last fall both Bob and I read the novel The Road by Cormac McCarthy. He's an interesting author, probably best known now for books that have become movies - All the Pretty Horses and No Country for Old Men . I first saw the film for All the Pretty Horses , and then moved into his novels, surprised by the bleakness. Something draws me in and horrifies me and uplifts me all at the same time. In his book review of The Road in the New York Times, William Kennedy discusses McCarthy's style: "But on the basis of “No Country for Old Men” and “The Road” it does seem that he has put aside the linguistic excesses and the philosophizing for which he has been both venerated and mocked — those Faulknerian convolutions, the Melvillean sermonizing — and opted for terse dialogue and spartan narrative, a style he inherited from another of his ancestors, Hemingway, and long ago made his own." The argument could be made that McCarthy is one of our greatest modern writers, yet I w

Whenever my Grammie thought someone was not giving her enough credit, or treating her as if she were stupid or naive she would say "I didn't just fall off the turnip truck." For some reason, this always made me laugh, maybe because it didn't make tons of sense to me. Since she's died, I find myself using this phrase; it's my personal tribute to her memory I suppose. My Gram died a year ago today. Her presence in the family is missed. I still find myself thinking "I need to call and ask Grammie about that" or "I bet Gram would love that!" I usually called her at least once a week, on Sunday. I think she was really touched by the fact that she had such an active relationship with her grandkids, that she was part of our daily lives even when she was far away. It's hard to write about my Grammie without sounding either idealist or like an ogre. My maternal grandmother was a loving woman, but she was also very difficult at times. Thi

I am proud of my boy tonight. Really proud. I always love my boy, and usually like him a lot. He's a "personality" as my gram would say, which means he can be a smart alec and a challenge. He's a great kid though and I really, really like him. This morning started out with golf camp. My son usually gets pretty nervous about new situations, and I was worried about how he would do getting dropped off when he didn't know anyone. On the way to the course, he told me he was nervous, but that he knew he got nervous before all of his lessons, like skiing and soccer, and that he always had fun once he got started. He told me that he would be fine, and he was. Granted, I freaked out a little bit as I left him there with the coaches and other kids, none of whom I knew. He, on the other hand smiled and started talking to other kids. By the time I went back to get him he had made a buddy and seemed quite comfortable. I was proud of my boy for thinking through his w