Trailer Wife

January ended so suddenly, it has taken a few days for the fact of our survival to really sink in. EVERYONE says that January is the worst in Fairbanks. Post-Christmas funk + 20 hours of darkness + lingering layers of ice fog = three weeks in Maui (for many Fairbanksans). But survive it we did. That is not to say that it wasn't one of the darkest months of my entire life (both literally and figuratively), but that's a story for another day. And maybe we got off easy - turns out that it's been unseasonably warm this winter (hovering around zero today), and the snowfall is way down at only 20 inches. In fact, it's the least snowy winter since they started keeping records in 1904!

With the shortest of months comes a wee breath of hope: temperatures are rising, we are gaining more and more daylight every day... conversations hearts alone have gone a long way to improve my outlook. And it might also be the Vitamin D - we finally got on the bandwagon and started taking a daily supplement. Almost immediately we felt more cheerful. In our heads? Maybe. But I'll take it any which way. I have been very bad about taking photos - the lighting is awful at the moment and I am lazy. But I will do better to get some shots this week - especially of mutant ice sculptures that have popped up around ventilation ducts and heated windows.

So... for the month of February I am going to be reading one short story EVERY DAY. I love short stories and feel bad that they get such a bad rap (I'm looking at you, Sam). I am almost always a little stunned and intimidated by how much mind-bending complexity and laconic grace is packed into a really good short story. When I read them, I imagine the author just sitting down beneath a window somewhere, writing out each sentence as it comes to them, fully formed and polished, and it makes me want to give up the ghost and become a truck driver. And even though I know that's not how it works, that they slave and suffer and struggle through each word, the finished product is so blindingly flawless (when it's good) that I can hardly breathe. I guess that's what I'm shooting for - literary asphyxiation.


February 1st: "Nothing Right," from Nothing Right, collection by Antonya Nelson, 2009.

February 2nd: "OBO," from Nothing Right, collection by Antonya Nelson, 2009.

February 3rd: "Kansas," from Nothing Right, collection by Antonya Nelson, 2009.

I picked up Antonya Nelson's newest collection from the Library's new arrivals section on a lark last week, and I'm so glad I did. I have been a fan of hers since she came to Oregon State when I was there a few years ago, as a participant in the visiting writer's series. She is so precise and energetic, so sure and quick-witted, that I found myself squirming with the rightness of her character's strange insights and blunders alike. She has a voyeuristic intensity that I really love. I had read "Kansas" in the New Yorker a few months ago and loved it. I loved it even more this time around. Here is my favorite passage from the story:

"Emily sat across from Henry at the table, staring into her coffee, trying to reconstruct the evening, completely prepared to take responsibility. But for what, exactly? For being drunk enough not to remember, she supposed. She could still recall Ian making them all laugh. The cop pulling over the drunks on the yellow brick road: lion, scarecrow, tin man, even that wacky dwarf, representative of the Lollipop Guild--reciting the backward alphabet, swinging their fingers to their noses, walking with arms outstretched as if on a balance beam. Round-heeled, blasted Judy Garland, in her earnest full-throated way trying to seduce the officer, inviting him for a romp in the poppy field. It had seemed like a good evening, Kay-Kay joining them for dinner, sticking around as the hour grew late, rocking Cherry Sue on her hip, helping Anna fix snacks, changing CDs on teh player when Ian complained about Henry's music... Emily had the impression that they had been trying to please the teenager, all four of the adults staging an impromptu production of Life is Worth Living, right here at this very table."

Not to be a big fat complainer, but Good Gods, these last two weeks have taxed every fiber in my being. First of all, it's January. In Fairbanks. Which means that the average temperature hovers somewhere around -20F and we have barely 4 hours of daylight. Turns out that the ONLY thing that will keep your synapses firing under these circumstances is high fructose corn syrup and reality television. So I'm feeling GREAT. And then, Gus gets the worst virus of his short life. Just when I thought diaper duty was the bottom line in infant disgustitude, here comes crustified, glue-like, Garbage-Pail-Kid-worthy emissions from the kid's nose. Not to mention a grumpy streak that lasted ten days and got me around 2 hours of sleep a night. THEN, said virus slithers from said emissions and infects the rest of the family. Perfect.

Seriously, Internet. This was the mother of all flu/cold bugs. Alaska germs DO NOT screw around. I honestly felt at times that I was being violently accosted by angry, territorial bacteria. After a solid week of it, I have only today felt even vaguely human. And still, I think my sinuses have sustained irreparable damage.

And of course, it's perfect timing because I have my MFA app due on Feb 1st, and the GREs to take on the 2nd. And then US-FRAKING-Bank raised our credit card interest rate for no reason, AGAIN! And then I lost one of my 1/2 karat diamond studs, the only remaining evidence that I didn't waste 6 years of my life in the soul-sucking cancer pit that was EBS. And then Howard Zinn died.

And now J.D.??? Jerome David himself??

I can't take anymore. So I'm going to bed until the snow melts. Goodbye.

PS - I'll be back February 1st with a whole month of featured short stories. First on the docket - Antonya Nelson.

I know that slingbacks and open-toed stilettos are beginning to take over every shoe counter in the lower 48, ready for spring pedicures and beach romps... but it is still decidedly winter in Fairbanks. Even thinking about flips flops makes my feet hurt. What I really long for right now is BOOTS. Because in a place like Alaska, a good pair of boots is as necessary as engine warmers and fur-lined head wear. Granted, the selection of boots I've seen around these parts isn't exactly what you'd call fashion-forward (see here, here and here), but the fact stands.

So here is a boot round up of all the Alaskan-approved-practical-but-saucy styles I am dying to own, and in no way can afford. Instead, I am saving up, and as soon as I hit my New Years Resolution weight loss goal (probably by my birthday, if I'm lucky) I'm going to pull the trigger.

Donald Pliner Amy 6363 $171.98

La Canadienne Ramona - $324.95

There's nothing like a new job, a saintly daycare provider, a few added minutes of sunlight every day and a talented drive-thru barista to improve your worldview. For a girl who craves order in all things, my new strict schedule is pushing all the right mood buttons. And not a minute too soon.

It's no coincidence, I think, that we are approaching the 6 month mark in Fairbanks. From everyone I've talked to, and from my own personal experience, I've decided that the first 6 months of any major transition suck, full stop. There's almost nothing you can do about it. The compulsion to compare everything in the new place to the old place is positively soul devouring. Add a new climate, a dearth of friendly faces, and some serious cultural contrast and you have a recipe for clinical depression.

I've been thinking a lot this week about Aberdeen, which is making news this month with record cold weather and a foot of stubborn snow on the ground (ironic much?). Scotland now occupies a very special place in my heart, which is made all the more meaningful when I think about how unhappy we sometimes were in Aberdeen. And that makes me think about how often it is the case that you can't really love a place until you've worked through everything you hate about it. Just like all real friendships are cemented after that first big fight.

So I've stopped feeling guilty about hating Fairbanks. I have hope that someday soon the ice fog, insane produce prices and the absence of good Indian food will fade in my mind a bit, and I'll be able to appreciate the supernova sunsets, the hilarious winter headwear, and quilts.

More photos soon. I'm terrified of freezing the camera lenses... it was -40 yesterday, my new personal cold record!

Tonight Sam and I watched Away We Go. Holy Hell, folks. This was a great movie. Probably the best I've seen in the last year. Directed by Sam Mendes (Little Children, American Beauty) and co-written by Dave Eggers (writing rock star, brains behind McSweeny's, adapted Where The Wild Things Are) and starring my new boyfriend, John Krasinski, this movie bowled me over. It was so smart and funny and real. And as a person who has recently procreated, incredibly relevant. Please find a way to watch it. If for no other reason than Allison Janney's brilliant performance and for the painfully accurate portrayal of new age academics.

I haven't felt this good about a movie since I saw Once, In America, or Junebug.

Oh, Internet. There are many, many excuses for my negligent posting, but I won't bore you with them. Let's just say that holiday fun + life with a toddler + Oregon rain falling on fireplace-warmed windows + a few night flights + newly acquired ring tone making skills = one lazy, procrastinating broad. At least I made it almost to Christmas, right? Right.

So, we are back in Fairbanks. It is cold and dark and sherbet colored. But life here is a bit more exciting. I started a part time job on campus today, and Gusser had his inaugural daycare session (he did great, aside from a little hair pulling and a minor sleep strike). It is amazing how much this four hour block of structure completely transforms the day.

And with a new year and a new routine comes... yes, new resolutions. Here's mine.

In 2010 I will:
1. Learn to ride a horse.
2. Read Moby Dick.
3. Capture the eerie twilight glow with the watercolors my father-in-law gave me for Christmas.
4. Write one short story for every month.
5. Take the frakking GREs.
6. Smile at strangers and give change to everyone who asks.
7. Complete at least one phase of P90X.
8. Make a quilt.
9. Try every kind of Alaskan game.
10. Be a better phone friend.

DAY TWENTY-ONE: Christmas Lights Around the World

Sydney, Australia

DAY TWENTY: Nativity Scenes

Given my complicated religious opinions, I should probably be against nativity scenes at Christmas just on principle. But setting the stable stage and its biblical players was always a special treat as a kid. I took particular joy in placing the wee Christ child in his manger only after all of the other figurines were in place - in the same spirit that dictates the star may only be placed on the tree after every ornament has been hung.

I'm likely not going to want a nativity scene anytime soon... but if I did, I think I would buy one of these:

The Sock Creature Christmas Pageant (Etsy)
Nested Nativity (Etsy)
Modern Nativity (Oliver Fabel)

DAY NINETEEN: Cinnamon Bear

Heidi and I were avid radio listeners as children. Our favorite holiday program was... The Cinnamon Bear. First broadcast in the thirties, it was designed to run for six days a week between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Here is the original newspaper ad for the program that ran in the Portland Oregon Journal on November 25, 1937:




Introducing Paddy O'Cinnamon, Santa Claus' right-hand man! Meet him with Santa in Toyland at Lipman's... and don't miss his exciting adventures with Judy and Jimmy (two of the nicest playmates you could want!) over the air every night but Saturday! Early-to-bedders can listen at 6 and stay-up-laters at 7... and some nights you'll be so anxious to hear how they got the Silver Star back from the wicked Crazyquilt Dragon that you'll listen twice! And here's a secret... the Cinnamon Bear is just as excited about meeting you as he can be.




**Co-writing credit to Heidi

DAY EIGHTEEN: Ribbon Candy



**Co-writing credit to Heidi

DAY SEVENTEEN: The Fine Art of Package Wrapping

I spent four hours tonight wrapping presents. It is one of my favorite of the many domestic tasks we're charged with in December. My dad was a famously enthusiastic wrapper. Because my mom was a unconscionable peeker, he would wrap boxes with enough paper and padding to withstand nuclear winter, let alone the sneaky tendencies of my otherwise goody-goody mother. Using medical tape (which cannot be lifted without bringing everything with it), several boxes within boxes, and even newspaper and small blankets to make guessing impossible, he took great pleasure in the hours it took us on Christmas morning to (finally!) reveal what lay inside. To this day, I cannot wrap a present without carefully squaring the corners, double layering the paper, and completely sealing every seam with adhesive. The longer it takes to unwrap, the better.

**co-writing credit to Heidi

DAY SIXTEEN: Candy Canes

Christmas at my Grandma Schwartz's house always took place on the 24th. The kids would gather around the tree where my Grandpa, a stoic, no-necked military man would don a Santa's hat and industriously pass out the gifts as if they were war-time rations. Once the packages were dolled out, chaos would ensue, with everyone tearing through the wrapping paper pell mell. One of the things I remember most is the enormous jumbo candy cane stick Grandma would always include in our stockings. We would suck on that bad boy for weeks, leaving pink stains everywhere and chipping our teeth.

In tribute to those massive canes, here is a home made candy cane recipe that I'm going to try and incorporate into our (getting longer every day) list of VanLan holiday traditions.

Things You'll Need:
Candy thermometer
2 cups of sugar
1/2 cup of light corn syrup
1/2 cup of water
1/4 tsp. of cream of tartar
3/4 tsp. of peppermint extract
1 tsp. of red food coloring

Step 1: Take a large, heavy bottomed sauce pan out of your cupboards and add the sugar, corn syrup, water and the cream of tartar and mix them very well. Be sure to completely stir the mixture until the sugar is completely dissolved.

Step 2: Using a candy thermometer inserted into the mixture, cook the mixture without stirring until the candy thermometer reaches 265 degrees Fahrenheit.

Step 3: Take the mixture away from the heat and drop in the peppermint extract. Get out another pan and take half of the mixture and place it into the second pan. Mix in the red food coloring to one of the mixtures.

Step 4: Allow the candy to cool. While you are waiting grease 3 cookie sheets.

Step 5: Put some butter on your hands and a spatula. Use the spatula that you have buttered to cut off a portion of one of the clear taffy. Enlist a friend or family to help you and have that person do the same thing with the red taffy after they have greased their own hands.

Step 6: Pull and fold the pieces repeatedly on your cookie sheet until they appear glossy, then roll them into an 18 inch long coil.

Step 7: Twist the head of the cane before setting it aside to cool on the third greased cookie sheet.

**From www.ehow.com
***co-writing credit to Heidi

DAY FIFTEEN: Top 5 Christmas Cookie Recipes

5. Eggnog Fudge: I suggest adding bourbon. Bourbon makes everything better.

4. Springerle Cookies: An old German standard from my Gran.

3. Chocolate Peanut Brittle: I'm going to make this with almonds.

2. Muddy Buddies: Even thinking about these delectable little niblets is making me fatter.

1. Frosted Sugar Cookies: I want one right now.

DAY FOURTEEN: Christmas Cards

I am officially anti-card this Christmas. But if I didn't think they were such an epic waste of postage and paper, if I was convinced that people actually cared about receiving my little mass-produced sappy print of a puppy wearing a Santa hat or if I received more cards with an actual personal message rather than the one line blurb thought up by some Hallmark flunkie, I would send out these:

They remind me of the kind of cards my Gran might have sent out in the 50s and 60s. She was a Lutheran minister's wife, so she had hundreds of cards to write out and get off every season. She had an elaborate system of determining who on that long list deserved personal messages, and kept track of who returned the favor (after 3 years of no return card, you'd be nixed off the list!).

No posted cards from me this year, dear readers. But I will be sending out a (oh joy!) digital version with a nice, long, boring, bragging, whining family letter.

DAY THIRTEEN: Paper Snowflakes

DAY TWELVE: Going Home

Traveling in December is never a walk in the park. Traveling with a disgruntled toddler on a two-stop red eye is something else again. But the prospect of my doting family, a warm seat by a crackling fire, eggnog and bourbon appearing like magic in my hand, and half a dozen ready and willing babysitter made the trip a bit easier to bear.

And this was around 11:06PM. It remained his general expression for the next 6 hours.

At 4:00 PM on Saturday (after 4 hours of sleep) Julie, Patty and I wait to surprise the socks off of Heidi, who has No Idea we have flown home for Christmas.

I will not quote Heidi on her first words upon seeing us (they are not suitable for family blogging), but let's just say, she was really F-ing surprised.
After adding our stocking to the family mantle, we are ready for the big show.

DAY ELEVEN: Who says it has to be green (or even in 3 dimensions)?

Okay, usually I do. But these trees are so cool, they would probably become a permanent fixture. If I didn't have a destructo-tot in residence.


*All found at Threadbanger

DAY TEN: Christmas on the Prairie

Though I longed for (and got) a boy child, there are two reason I would have been okay with having a girl: 1) striped tights and 2) The Laura Ingalls Wilder "Little House" collection. After borrowing these books from the library countless times, my parents finally got the picture and bought me my own set the Christmas I was twelve. (Check out those sweet bangs) I lived and breathed these books for months. I remember telling my mother, in all seriousness, that I had been born in the wrong century.

My favorite parts of the Little House oeuvre were about winter, when the whole family was holed up in the little cabin, whittling things and staring at Ma's beautiful China Woman on the beautiful star bracket Pa made. I wanted TO BE Laura, getting caught up in those wonderful snowy bear hugs when Pa came in from milking the cows. To this day, I think I was probably a farmer in a former life.





Here is my favorite Christmas passage, from Little House in the Big Woods.

In each stocking there was a pair of bright red mitten, and there was a long, flat stick of red-and-white-striped peppermint candy, all beautifully notched along each side. They were all so happy they could hardly speak at first. They just looked with shining eyes at those lovely Christmas presents. But Laura was happiest of all. Laura had a rag doll.

She was a beautiful doll. She had a face of white cloth with black button eyes. A black pencil had made her eyebrows, and her checks and her mouth were red with the ink made from pokeberries. Her hair was black yard that had been knit and raveled so that it was curly. She had little red flannel stockings and little black cloth gaiters for shoes, and her dress was pretty pink and blue calico. She was so beautiful that Laura could not say a word. She just held her tight and forgot everything else.

DAY NINE: Being in the Mall

Seems crazy, I know. And it's not something I love to do if I actually have to get stuff accomplished. But to stroll through the mall at Christmas time makes me a little giddy. The blaring music, perpetual smell of cinnamon rolls, milling crowds of people (mostly) in a good mood. I think a kind of group hysteria overcomes these kinds of crowds, or maybe hypnosis is a better term. When the feel of cashmere or a whiff of designer perfume can send you straight into euphoric spending fits.

Needless to say, there are no malls in Fairbanks. The closest I get is strolling through Fred Meyers every afternoon. While sipping a Starbucks and analyzing shelves full of soup or some such, I pretend I am at Washington Square, meandering through Nordstrom, shopping for boots. Sometimes it works.