Spring Sun

I'm sitting out on the bluff, soaking up the spring sun. The  retreating tide is farther in than I've seen it the past two weeks, and if I listen close I can hear the water lapping at the shore, at the rocks. Out beyond where I can see them, seagulls call. On the open water sound travels with ease though, so I have no clue how far out the birds actually are.

The wind comes at me from the east, and last years grass rustles on my right. That same wind reminds me that it's still early spring, and I have to zip my jacket to keep the chill at bay. Yet it is so serene out here, so peaceful and so wonderful, that I make certain to bring layers so that I will only have to leave once I can no longer use my fingers to write or hold my book.

I am grateful for the lengthening days. I am grateful the sun warms this patch of earth I am sitting on long enough for me to spend evenings like this out here: Alone, calm, and happy.

One Week in Fifteen Minutes

Tana: “Why are there camels?”

Me: “Because there are some that are native to Alaska.”

Tana: “Really?”

Me: “No, Tana, not really.”

I miss her already. 

Recent Dating Endeavors

If you know me very well, you know I don’t date much. And a boyfriend? The last time I had one of those it was a major pain in the ass. Not in some cute, Notebook, “if you’re a bird, I’m a bird” kind of way, either. (Plus Ryan Gosling/Noah Calhoun is way more adorable.) Anyways, since then I’ve just dated here and there, walked the line between friendship and more a few times, and learned some things. Mostly I’ve just had some comical/kind of infuriating, head-shaking moments. For instance:

Although a love of hiking, biking, and cooking combined with intelligence in a tall carhartt-wearing man might SOUND like a recipe for Mr. Right-for-Bri, it was, alas, not an all-inclusive recipe. He had a little too much “what the fuck are you thinking” going on and would have instead benefitted from a generous dose of “try thinking before you speak or act maybe.”

Scenario one:

Me: “No, my roommate’s and I don’t really share food…. No, they’re really cool but we like to eat different things… yea I know you think that’s weird, but it works for us.”

A few days later…

Me: “Umm… I don’t have any bananas, my fruit bowl is empty. So…. where did you get that banana?”

Carhartts: “Oh, over there.” Gestures to my roommate’s part of the counter. “That’s cool, yea?”

Me:  “Uhhhhh, no probably not seeing’s how WE DON’T SHARE FOOD.”

Another day…

Carhartts grabs what he knows is my roommate's nearly-empty tabasco and attempts to shake out the last bit onto his plate of spaghetti. Are you serious? Haven’t we established that what is mine is not theirs and vice versa? And even if we did share, because in all honesty there are some things that are less b&w, WHY WOULD YOU USE THE LAST OF SOMETHING THAT ISN’T EVEN MINE?? Oh but by all means, after you’re finished go ahead and just use our hand towel to wipe the sauce off your face and then put it back. Yea, sure, we all totally do that, too. We’re boycotting those napkin things because they have to cut down trees to make them.

Scenario two:

So your forty-something mother can climb this mountain without breaking a sweat and therefore I should probably pick up the pace, huh? Well maybe your mom is on crack and I happen to be out of shape so Irealllydon’twannahearit. Ohhh and your sister could wail on the guitar after just a few months so I should definitely be able to by now? I can play a lovely rendition of I’m Not Your Sister or Your G-damn Mother, Either for you if you’d like.

Scenario three:

It’d be great if you refrained from asking me what I got on my Anatomy & Physiology exam just so you could one-up me. My 94 isn’t “*shrug* pretty good,” it’s pretty damn good. People all around us failed, I'll grant you that, but you’re 98 means you answered two questions better than I did, would you like me to throw you a party? Maybe I’ll buy you some tabasco so you can bask in it without having to swipe it from someone you hardly know.

Scenario four:

While I love a foot massage as much as the next person, you look like you want to make love to my feet, and that’s weird. My roommate is about to lose her shit because of how deep you are breathing, and although it’s going to provide us with countless episodes of laughter later on, you should really stop that. See? Even now I can’t write about it without cracking up.

…Anyway, enough Carhartts scenarios. What did I learn from him you ask? I learned that I really value a man who grasps the system my roommates and I have worked out, who doesn’t imply that because some member of his family can do something one way, I must be able to do the same, and who doesn’t take such audible deep breaths every ten minutes of my life. Namaste my hiney.

Moving on: In my dating ventures, I have also discovered that only one in four men that I attract is actually my age. I think my mother deserves a pat on the back for the coolness with which she handled the news that I was going on my third and fourth dates with a man sixteen years my senior. Maybe she understands my enthusiasm for fun dates, because to his credit, he took me to the archery range the first time, and to the gun range to shoot clay the second time. The third he grilled us salmon like a champ, and the fourth we looked at strange objects for sale downtown. I know they say age is just a number, but by the fourth outing it got a little too weird for me that this guy probably lost his v-card around the time I was born. I think ma was secretly relieved when I broke the news that I would not, in fact, be continuing this particular romance.

And as long as we’re patting my mom’s back, how about the time I told her the 30-some I was seeing most recently was divorced and had two kids, and yet she just took it in stride? She’s so calm about everything I drop on her, I’m tempted to start making things up just to see where her threshold for shit-my-daughter-does-and-men-she-sees is. Sounds like a science fair experiment waiting to happen. Anyway, though he was nice and mildly humorous, that flirtation ended after I got some waffles out of the deal. Really though they were just Bisquik waffles, and as the way to my heart is often times through cooking from scratch, that relationship was doomed from the moment he said “just add water.”

Even more recently, as in this past week, another 30-some walked into my line of vision. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical way, I mean I was smiling at the voices in my head when he happened to cross in front of me at the grocery store. Apparently when the voices are particularly whimsical, which they frequently are, I smile big. And pretty, or so this guy thought. He said hello, and then later saw me in my truck as I was writing a letter before dropping by the post office, and this time he approached me. I tried to keep my window up at first; I rolled it down maybe two inches, not far enough for this strange man to reach his arm through (I think one of my parents must have taught me that? Funny that they would choose that lesson, but not the “say no to drugs” or sex-talk lecture. More on that another day though…). Eventually the sound barrier it created was too much to have a civilized conversation through, and I risked the roll down. To be honest I wasn’t thinking about my safety so much as how I didn’t want to go through all that rolling effort just to smile and nod when I could just as easily do that from a cracked window. I didn’t realize a conversation was going to ensue; I’ve never been hit on while minding my own in a grocery store parking lot before.

Long story short, this guy asked me out. I hesitated, I’m wary of the male species as a general rule, but his companion was some guy old enough to be my grandpa, and he assured me this man was a gentleman. FYI: if someone has to tell you that their friend is a gentleman, he probably isn’t. I already suspected as much, but I’m new in town and need to get out and make some friends; men not relationship-worthy can still be friend-worthy, or at least introduce you to people who are. Well this man, let’s call him Bud as that is his drink of choice judging from the 24-pack he was toting (another indicator he’s not for me), he got my number, blah blah blah. You know the routine. What you don’t know is the conversation we had the next day.

Bud: “Hey sweetie, I loved the way you smiled at me yesterday in the grocery store”

Me: “Haha, oh yea…?”

Bud: “Yea. You’re really beautiful. When do you want to hang out? Let’s go do something.”

Me: “Sorry, but I can’t this weekend; I’ve got a lot of homework due tomorrow at midnight.”

Bud: “Oh well call me tomorrow when you get out of class.”

Me: Tomorrow is Sunday… My homework is due at midnight…. “Uh well actually I don’t have class, but I have homework that will take me most of the night. Maybe later in the week?”

Bud: “Okay. Well let’s cuddle later tonight. I could just hold you. I’m a good kisser.”

Me: “Uh…..”

Bud: “Even though I’m 37, I can kiss like a fifteen year old if you want. I can kiss anyway you’d want, if you just tell me.”

Me: “….”

Bud: “What do you say? We can sit close by a fire. I think you’re really beautiful. Do you want me to kiss like a fifteen year old?”

Me: “Uhhhh, you’re a little ridiculous. I have to go. I have a lot of homework to do…”

Bud: “Okay, well call me later, sweetie. Text me tomorrow.  Bye, sweetie.”

Was that as awkward for you as it was for me? It gets better.

Five minutes later, via text:

“If I had one chance @beholding my love I’d run fully into u to where im so overcome that all I’d see was u&me”

What the hell? What does that even mean? Yea……. I don’t think I’ll be hanging out with that one.

And so my dating adventures continue.

Much To My Delight...

...a fantastic lady I know has a super cute pup that she lets me take to the beach. We like to play with tennis balls.

10 Things I Love About My Mother

1. The way I can’t go into the woods without thinking about her.
2. That back in the day, wearing moccasins was her norm.
3. How tolerant she is 99% of the time.
4. How utterly fierce she can be that other 1%.  
5. The way she laughs around her sisters.
6. The way she epitomizes “mama’s cooking.”
7. Her ability to read, comprehend, and recall books about quantum physics, spirituality, or otherwise heavy material.  And that she’ll read the entire book cover to cover again if she can’t.
8. How often I make her cry, usually because my humor clashes with her time of the month.
9. That excited bounce up and down, fists clenched, leaning forward, chin up routine she does every time she really gets into a game or a movie.
10. How she has never once told me what to do, but instead leads by example.

 I sure do love her.

My mother, leading by example with a couple of my others.

The Last Ten Months

I swore I’d keep some entertaining little Alaskan blog to keep everyone in the loop when I moved north. Well, that was ten months ago, I haven’t, and I don't desire to recall here every humorous or otherwise eventful thing that has happened in that time. I will, however, attempt to give you a synopsis of some key events by the month. Read it and weep.

July: Determined I was the better wildlife spotter while making the drive from Montana to Alaska with Dad. Also, that some folks assume two people traveling together must be married, because the resemblance we share couldn’t possibly be because he’s my father.

The free-range horse I saw long before Dad did. 

August: Toured Kenai Fjords Nat’l Park as a last hoorah with Dad. Picked up my fellow Missoulian, Shannon, and headed to Denali. Went flight-seeing, Stampede Trail walking, friend making, berry picking, river rafting, school-bus-in-the-park “camping”… even did a little amateur thumbing. Played many (many) rounds of cribbage, and taught some deprived souls how to play, too. Were lucky enough to hear about the Kantishna Music Festival, 93 miles into Denali National Park, so we claimed our spot in the temporary tent city, drank copious amounts of whiskey (for my tolerance level), and danced to live music until dawn. In the middle of Denali, in case you missed that part. 

The dancing likely looked something like this. 

On the second morning (which was sort of synonymous with the second night) we had to trek it seven miles (I managed to sweat my way into sobriety in time to fully loathe the last two) to get to a bus that would then drive us the five (freezing) hours out of the park. We didn’t have any food for those last 24 hours, or more than maybe 8 oz. of water each, or really anything that would have suggested responsible preparation for such an event… I don’t know how we forgot to plan for an entire day. We did think to bring the cribbage board though, so at least we had the entertainment part covered.

September:  Reestablished my childhood friendship with Nina, and started a few new ones as well. Learned a bit about my great-grandfather. (Like that he loved to garden, and that he had to wear prosthetic legs after an incident with a train. And that because of that accident, as compensation, he had a job all throughout the Depression that allowed him and my great-grandmother to keep the family fed and to feed others as they passed through, which is really quite a silver lining story when you think about it.) Discovered that Anchorage isn’t all that big, that the great outdoors are just minutes away, and that moose are everywhere, even in town, so one should watch where they are biking.

October: Spent the entire month listening to the Talking Heads. And making friends with the neighbor boys.  And laughing at my roommate’s crassness. And learning muscle insertions, which I promptly forgot. Seems like I must have done something productive in October, but it escapes me…

November: Spent all four days of break watching 30Rock and similar nonsense with Lanea and the boys, from the comforts of our mattress alcove. In our defense, darkness had descended at that point in the year, and winter sports are spendy. Also, we happen to be lazy. The four of us assembled a respectable Thanksgiving meal during that time, too, though. It was all cute and college-family-away-from-family like.

December: Played a lot of charades. Hours upon hours of charades. Flew home to Montana, to family, friends and my animals. Decided that my dancing doesn’t count as dancing until I learn to swing the cowboy way. Took my dogs for many-a-walk, and wondered how it happened that I didn’t discover the great walking spot back behind my parents’ sooner. Took one such walk on Christmas day, in a T-shirt.

Drastically improve Apples to Apples by tossing out the instructions and using the cards as charade prompts instead. If people don't believe you, a little cheap whiskey may be all you need to convince them.

January: Said goodbye to everything Montana way too soon. Contemplated, for the millionth time, how I could choose to live so far from Drake and Lita. And Raven and Riley, with their happy little tails. Went from no snow and (freakishly) balmy Montana weather, to the full blown winter of Alaska. Once again figured I should probably take up a winter sport... and started reading the Song of Ice and Fire series instead.

February: More winter.

March: Drug all three of my roommates, plus Nina, on our first whole-group outing, to see Lucero. Sang, danced and jumped my heart out front and center. Learned just how funny Nina is when she actually drinks, and just how eager she is to help others with their… sleeping arrangements. Then spent 45 minutes of the drive home telling Mandy about the girl-crush we have on her. Was that awkward for her? Probably. Followed Friday night Lucero up with a little Saturday night Lucero. Sang, danced, and jumped my heart out front and center all over again. It’s probably a good thing they were only there for one weekend, or Ben Nichols might have had to take out a restraining order on me. No thanks to Nina's eagerness.

April: Ventured to the local drag show for some solid entertainment. Later that month, had a mullet for approximately five minutes.  There was actually no relation between the two events, believe it or not. Although I did just mention our girl-crush on Mandy, and now you’re probably wondering about my sexual orientation…. But oh well, I’ve gotten used to it.

My mullet brings all the boys to the yard.

May: Reconfirmed that Homer is better than Anchorage, no contest. Incidentally, Homer is home for the next three months. And as it is the beginning of May now, I have nothing further to write here and you have just officially received my whole ten-month rundown in one short-ish blog entry. Congrats.