I found a couple of pictures of Dad’s truck and camper. These photos aren’t as fun as the color pics I found yesterday, but they show the scope (i.e. small and crowded) of the camper.
Dad’s Truck & Camper
June 4, 2021Camping on Memory Lane
June 4, 2021This week, I dug out some old family photos to share with a newly discovered cousin and ran across a small glycine envelope with four slides in it. While I was scanning the old pics, I remembered that my new scanner (bought in 2019 because the movers packed the cord to my old scanner god-knows-where!) can supposedly scan slides and even negatives.
Did someone say “squirrel?” I immediately dropped what I had planned to do (revise my dystopian novel) and went looking for the instructions and plastic trays that came with the scanner. Of course it wasn’t that simple, but after watching several YouTube videos, I eventually figured it out.
And oh, my dears!! I struck gold.
Read the rest of this entry »Watching Ice Melt
May 2, 2021One of my favorite things about Alaska (and the competition is tight!) is the Nenana Ice Classic.
It might sound kinda silly in words. It’s a bet we all place (yes, literally) with Mother Nature about when the ice in the Tanana River will break up.
Whoever comes closest wins the pot. The rest goes to charity.
It’s not about winning money though, at least not for me. It’s about bragging rights.
Read the rest of this entry »Dear Jonatha Brooke: a Love Letter
April 30, 2021The Year of Covid hasn’t been a disaster for me.
I do realize this is my privilege speaking. We weren’t in danger of losing our income, and I was free to sequester at home for the year (I’m in four different high risk groups, and I kinda wanted to survive). And although we were four adults hunkered together in a home, it’s a big enough house for each of us to have our private space.
So, yeah. I’m privileged. I did what I could to try to help limit the damage for others, but it’s never enough. Especially in Fairbanks. We have a large and visible population of homeless people, and my resources are not enough to fix the problem. But I did try to help as I could.
My family fell into a pattern of using our public spaces at different times. Our two adult children stayed up all night and slept in the day time, and Mars and I kept more traditional hours. We all ate dinner together most nights, which was very nice.
But the consistent thread of the year—the thing that made 2020 one of my best years—came from a surprising place.
“She Shouldn’t Have Been So ________!”
April 17, 2021Does anybody remember this entry: The Boy in the Back of the Van?
I recently unpacked a box of photographs and found my mother’s diaries, including the one for 1973, the year my family went along on Dad’s travel camp and I met the boy in the back of the van.
Mom rarely kept up with the entries over the summer, when she was even busier than normal. So this diary has entries about getting ready for the camp—mending and airing sleeping bags, washing camp dishes, sorting supplies—but the dates we were actually traveling are all blank.
It was the end of July before she wrote again. And here is the second entry that month, written July 31:
Finished ironing this a.m. at 2:00. (Two boys from the camp) came over & we looked at the slides (the boy in the back of the van) took on the trip. Katrina wasn’t very friendly & thought (he) was mean but it was her own fault.
Aaaannnd there it is. It was my own fault.
Oh, I know she meant that it was my own fault he was mean since I wasn’t friendly.
But I’m equally aware that sexual assault was always the girl’s fault in my parents’ mind. Don’t believe me? Click on the link above and read the comment my sister wrote.
Mom writing this in her diary—because I wasn’t exactly thrilled to find my molester in my home—is perfectly apropos and ironic.
It was my own damn fault.
My Path to a Diagnosis
February 11, 2021Two days ago I was diagnosed with ADHD. I am sixty.
A friend of mine retweeted this meme November 18 with the comment, “I do not have a formal diagnosis. And yet, I just scored a blackout on this BINGO card.”
Just for hoots, I did the card myself. And…OMG> I scored a blackout also. It never occurred to me I might have ADHD.
Then another friend, a woman I have an enormous respect for both as a person and as a writer…oh, heck, who am I kidding? I totally have a crush on her. Anyway, this writer shared that she was diagnosed in her late 40s. “Lifechanging,” she said.
Still, it’s just a meme, right? I didn’t take it seriously.
How to Sneeze, a Primer
January 25, 2021File this under: don’t try this at home.
Mars and I have been having a discussion about sneezing. Specifically about whether or not one sneezes with one’s mouth open.
My nose has been a little stuffy the last week or so. When I realized I was about to sneeze, I thought, “Oh, good! It’ll clean my nose out.”
But it didn’t. Most of the force went out through my open mouth. So I asked Mars, who is famous for very loud and effective sneezes, whether he sneezes with his mouth open. He didn’t know.
Yesterday, he informed me that he sneezes with his mouth open. He had sneezed, so he made a point of noticing.
I wondered if perhaps sneezing would work better if one kept one’s mouth open, and I made a mental note to try to keep my mouth closed next time I had to sneeze.
Today I sneezed, and I remembered to keep my mouth closed.
Pro tip: DON’T CLOSE YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU SNEEZE!
First, it hurts. A lot.
Second, though I sneezed into a napkin, the force was sufficient to spray my whole face. I had to wipe my face and re-apply my foundation. Then I had to clean my glasses.
You’re welcome. All in the name of science.
Retreating at Home
January 18, 2021Yesterday I had one of the sweetest experiences a fiction writer can have.
I’ve been working on my nanonovel: The Truthspeakers. I’m at 85,000 words, and I want to finish it this week because I have a workshop starting in a week.
In the past, when I wanted to get a lot done fast, I’d check myself into a hotel with room service and not leave my room for a week. I’d work until I got sleepy, then sleep until I woke up. Rinse and repeat. I’d lose track of any semblance of a “normal” schedule and pretty much live in my fictional world.
It worked very well for me because my subconscious would work furiously while I was asleep, and I’d get up and go straight to the computer to capture what the boys in the basement dictated. My subconscious is a much better storyteller than I will ever be.
Dear 2020: Thanks. Now Piss Off!
January 2, 2021I used to write a journal entry or blog post every year around New Years, to evaluate the year and what I wanted to change or keep in my life. It was a way to try to stay focused on what matters most.
This year started with an impeachment and ended with an election the outgoing president has refused to accept.
And of course, COVID-19, now synonymous with 2020.
So many people are hurting. Sick and dying. Behind on rent/mortgage and fearing homelessness. Out of a job and praying for relief that hasn’t come. It’s hard to find a silver lining in this mess.
But I’m a big believer that painful experiences teach our souls, and I do think (hope?) we have learned a few things as a result of this dumpster fire of a year.
Dreaming of Dad
December 20, 2020I woke this morning from a very disturbing dream. My husband said I looked haunted when I came downstairs for a cup of tea.
First, I need to explain (since I apparently never blogged about it, though I have a distinct memory of doing so) that my father died a year ago December 9. Ours was neither an easy relationship nor a close one, but that doesn’t keep the relationship from having a huge impact on me. He was my father, after all.
At my mother’s request, I wrote the obituary. Sadly, the persons in charge of purse strings (not me) decided it wasn’t worth the cost of publishing in the newspaper, so it was never posted except on the funeral home’s site. Someday, when I have a computer with memory to spare, I’ll post an updated version here with lots of pictures.
December 9 of this year, I was very much aware of the date. And yesterday I got a Christmas card from my mother with a collage of a few great pictures of her and my father. On the back, she’d attached a sticky that said, “Last year card that didn’t get sent.” It was odd and painful to see his face again.
No doubt that’s what prompted my dream.
Stone SouP 