Trailer Wife

1. Happy memories of Thanksgiving 2008, which we shared with the Dukes in Aberdeen.
2. My Scottish writing group, Lemon Tree Writers.
3. The Starbucks on Union Street.
4. Lunches with Gillian and Jo.
5. Tunnock's Tea Cakes.
6. The terrible Johnny Cash cover band that played in front of Marks and Spencer nearly every weekend.
7. The Quinny Buzz.
8. Double Decker Buses.
9. My lovely Scottish butcher.
10. Glasgow's Kelvingrove Museum
11. That dram of Oban I drank at The World's End in Edinburgh.
12. The epic Highlands Outlander tour that Amy and I took.
13. Julie and Patty's amazing UK extravaganza, but most importantly, our incredible adventures in London.
14. That we never have to move across the Atlantic again (fingers crossed).
15. For the anonymous woman who took Gus for the last hour of our international flight home, pretending not to mind when he gnawed on her string of black pearls.
16. The unbelievable generosity of family.
17. Dr. Mario on Wii (Hi Julie).
18. Muddy Buddies.
19. Trivial Pursuit.
20. My iphone.
21. Girl's Camping Trips.
22. Bastille Day.
23. The time when Celeste said, "I love my sleep number bed... I wish I had a sleep number life!"
24. Powell's Bookstore.
25. Julie's Prime Rib at Christmas.
26. Cinnamon scented candles.
27. DVR.
28. Eggnog by itself.
29. Eggnog in coffee.
30. Eggnog with Bourbon.
31. Moleskin journals.
32. That my health problems are largely imaginary.
33. Taylor Boulware, for introducing me to really addictive and wonderful TV shows.
34. Science Fiction.
35. Road trips where I never have to drive.
36. That I survived the Alcan Road Trip.
37. Hummus.
38. My faux-Creuset Martha Stewart cast iron pot.
39. When Jack Donaghy says, "Never go with a hippie to a second location."
40. The transformative nature of snow.
41. Wet baby eyelashes.
42. The way Sam says, "Nothin' Puddin'."
43. Me and Gusser's red Julie blankets.
44. My friends who still love me, even when I screen their calls.
45. Muscle memory.
46. The unconditional love of my amazing, hand-picked godparents.
47. Outside.
48. How Julie says, "Whatever," and Patty says, "You're fired."
49. Fluff of any color.
50. My sister, without whom the world makes no sense at all.

Photo credit: Sammy

...Heidi Dodge. With special thanks to her husband Greg. Both descended upon Fairbanks in record low temperatures to visit for an early Thanksgiving. Not only did they endure -20F to -30F weather, they were also subjected to sleeping in a basement that smelled weird, next to a noisy boiler that roared on and off during the night, being dripped on by what may or may not have been toilet water. But other than that, we were the picture of hospitality. Aside from the screaming baby at 3 AM. And the fussy water heater. You get the picture.

But, in spite of it all, I almost believe them when they say they had a great time. God knows I had a great time. It was balm for the soul to be with my sister again, and man, did I need it. In addition to lounging in the warm house with bourbon and eggnog, we visited North Pole - a Christmas themed town near Fairbanks - the University Museum of the North, and Chena Hot Springs - an amazing resort about an hour north.

Here are the highlights:




After a dreary month, both personally and environmentally, I am hoping to return to regular blogging for all three of you who tune in (Hi Mom). Winter is getting interesting and I'm eager to complain about it publicly.

While we waited on the sidelines of the Veteran's Day Parades of my youth, my grandma used to tell a story about one of her and my grandpa's first dates. They were both stationed in Japan, he as a master sergeant in charge of drilling (I think) and she as a communications officer of some kind (she was a WAC). They and another couple went dancing and had a few drinks. When the dance club closed, they bought a few beers, found a football from somewhere, and decided to hit the beach. The closest beach they could find was fenced off. No problem, they thought, we'll just climb it and no one will be the wiser. It was dark, and though they saw signs posted, they didn't stop to read them. A few hours later, the sun was rising over the Pacific and they decided to wander home. Climbing the fence to get back to the barracks, my grandma glanced over to the signs posted. Warning: Live Mines. Do Not Enter. Skull and Crossbones. The math involved in thinking about everyone of their steps missing these mines and coming back over the fence unharmed always preoccupied my grandma. But she always said that, like all young, fearless people, she just thought she was particularly lucky. I love that story, and I will miss hearing her retell it, again, this Veteran's Day.

One of my favorite all-time poets, Louise Glück , once said, "Of two sisters, one is always the watcher, one the dancer."

Heidi and I have traded off over the years, I think. We've taken turns appalling each other, forgiving, brunching, gossiping, wining, dusting off and clinging to each other. Almost every time we are together we find a moment to comment on the amazing fact that we both managed to escape from the little timber town we grew up in without an unplanned pregnancy or a drug habit. After the bitter feuds of our teenage years, we find ourselves (or at least I do) a little stunned by how strong our connection is - not just as siblings, but as humans and women.

So yesterday, when Heidi surprised me with a massage and manicure at a Fairbanks day spa, I chose the color "We'll Always Have Paris," from OPI, thinking of the summer we spent in France in 2004. Heidi was getting married and I was getting engaged. The world was opening up in new ways for us both, ways that we never would have dreamed possible as children. I'll never forget our dramatic rendezvous outside a Parisian metro stop, driving through the French countryside, eating Steak and Frites in Poitier. Louise Gluck also said that "We only look at the world once, in childhood. Everything else is memory." But here I disagree. Because Heidi is a part of my childhood, perhaps, it seems I can only really see the world clearly when we are together. It makes our separation feel profoundly unfair.

The last few months have been a struggle for me. And more than anything, I find myself coming back to this idea - that is it so UNFAIR that I don't get to live near my family. The circumstances of life and livelihood notwithstanding, I am suddenly struck with how often I have taken them for granted. It makes me want to start a family compound in somewhere like Utah, where we grow our own food, build beautifully simple furniture, and have sing-a-longs by the fire after dinner. (Or maybe that's my Laura Ingalls Wilder fantasy...) Sigh.

What makes me feel better? Wet eyelashes. I love wet, clumpy, baby eyelashes. Here's Gus working on his floating skills, and sporting some pretty cool hair.




And as a special treat, here is a Gluck poem that I like a lot.

The Red Poppy

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.