As I type this, I have one hand holding our babe and one hunting and pecking her way through the QWERTY-verse. Coming from a Mavis Beacon graduate (where my elder Millennials at?!) this is a sorry excuse for the flying fingers I’d unleash upon the keyboard just 30 days ago. Still, it’s a drastic improvement from my previous postpartum post. In this last month, I’ve come to learn about this little human I’ve spent the better part of a year growing as well as a few other lessons like…(more…)
Finally, after months away and a month and a half apart, I flew home to reunite with my boys. As I stepped into the welcome area, there they were, my furry dudes with flowers in tow.
We all ran together and hugged, Leto wrapping his paws around us both. Not even my swollen sausage toes (compression socks be damned! Pregnancy is running this show) could keep me down. I felt like my half became a whole. Our family was reunited and it truly did feel so good. Ok, let’s listen to it, shall we?
**Sidenote: If you knew that the singers of this song were called Peaches & Herb you are a winner! I can’t believe I’ve known this song FOREVER and have never known that Trivia Night gem of an answer. Amazing.
After a long flight it was straight to an appointment and then our first ever together birthing class. While Zoom is amazing for connecting in a lot of ways, watching the partners together while I looked at my husband in his little bubble and me in mine, thousands of miles apart was a bit of a bummer. So, finally, we got to be in the same room and I got to experience the joys of a birthing partner. Our teacher gets an A+ ranking in my book as a good portion of the class is all about helping the birthing person to feel good and after nearly two months without someone to rub swollen feet or help me out of bed, I was feelin’ good. Uh oh, here it goes again…
The weekend zoomed along and despite our elation to be back together, there were also a bunch of loose ends to tie up. So, we got to tying. Job applications, doctors appointments, grant applications, more doctors appointments, and a few walks on the lagoon. Finally, though, it was time to have a little bit of fun with a mini BabyMoon in Homer. Despite living in Alaska for nearly 7 (!?!) years, there are SO many places I haven’t visited and so many places that The Chief has visited but not for a decade or more. Time to explore together.
For two days we walked and talked our way through Homer, catching up with a dear friend and seeing her gorgeous property, checking out the famous Spit, and taking the shortest walk known to man in diagonal wind and rain. While the weather wasn’t perfect, it was a perfect location overlooking the Kachemak Bay and the mountains. Still, it wasn’t home and after nearly a week in Alaska without crossing our home’s threshold, I was over-ready to get back. It’s a good feeling to miss home. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz and after leaving with a bit of a panic from grey skies, it was good to be ready to return.
We returned from Homer and went straight into chore-mode (relaxing, huh?), hitting all the usual haunts (hello, Costco!) and getting home with just a few minutes to spare before our next birthing class.
A week later and things were a little different. The glow of our reunion was still present but the two days of grey had gotten to me and I was suddenly a teary mess as panic set in. But you know what’s really good for anxiety? Breathing. And you know what you do a lot of in birthing classes? Breathe! The Chief and I laughed as this perfect medicine filled my cup up little by little. We looked into one another’s eyes and the connection held me to the present. Our kiddo kicking me and our Leto “helping” along the way too let me know we were all in this together and…luckily for us, the next day held sunshine.
We awoke early and started the packing process. Since we’d be returning just a few weeks later for another appointment with our midwives, our food haul wasn’t an epic one but since I’d been gone for 6 months, the stuff haul certainly was. Finally, tucked in tight, we made one last stop before hitting the road so Leto could stretch his little legs. As we pulled into the parking lot at the lagoon, the tiny car behind us did too and…boom! Landed straight in a puddle up over the tires. The Chief and I looked at one another knowingly and divided and conquered: I’d walk the dog, he’d get out the tow rope. 10 minutes later, the dog was walked and the people were back on solid ground.
Would it be one of those Alaskan days, where everything takes 10x longer because of the most Alaskan things ever happening to you? We would see…
Luckily for us, it was smooth sailing. We made it home with plenty of light on easy roads (“easy” is of course relative. Our kiddo and my bladder would argue otherwise as we all bumped around in the cab but overall, it was pretty mellow) and only once we made it to our driveway did the chains come out. 30 minutes later, chained up and in 4 Low, we plowed and slid and skid our way home sweet home. Walking into our bright, light addition felt so amazing.
The light in the sky was dimming but the room felt luminous. Our dear friend had spent our days away finishing the drywall and painting the room and it was such an incredible joy to return to a project so close to the finish line. I gazed in at my bathtub, soon to be functional and whispered “See you soon”. I can’t wait.
Home(r)ward bound. One week and one day after landing, finally, we are home, and boy oh boy don’t it feel good.
Again, 1,000,000 points to you if you could have named this band. What?!?!
Am I a little nervous for the grey days after living in the land of sun for the last…forever? You betcha. Does the feeling of being with my family, in our own bed, of listening to the sounds of silence and looking at the stars without hearing sirens fill my cup? It sure does. And while the grey malaise came on strong, I have to remember that the last time it hit hard, we were in such a different place: newly pregnant, fearful of experiencing another loss, weary from years in the same place, missing adventure. We return and reunite with a belly that bounces with our beautiful babe, adventure itch scratched (for the time being) and, with a new addition in which to build new memories. We are in a different place and I am so grateful for this next chapter.
Wishing you bright chapters ahead in this time of renewal. Happy Spring!
With love (and sunshine),
6 plus years ago, I waved goodbye to The Chief as I drove away with our friend, Anchorage-bound. 5 minutes in, I was laughing through my bon voyage boo hoo. Fifteen minutes later, we were grounded with a wonky wheel that wouldn’t stay put and a need for a Plan B.
60 minutes after that, after The Chief raced to come get me and deliver me to the mail plane, my mighty steed for the day, where I bid adieu to my newfound love for the second time that day.
I was off to California for two weddings of four dear friends and five weeks later, The Chief would join me.
A mere five weeks. We’d spent our entire lives without one another, certainly a mere handful of weeks was manageable, right?
Was it fun?
While it was lovely to return to California to see friends and family and excitedly tell them about our new love, it was hard to part ways. I felt like I had found my magnet match, my opposite pole and now that we were separated, the pull of that other half was constant. I missed the balance, the feeling of home and the feeling of whole. Nevertheless, five weeks eventually flew by and once we reconnected, we resolved the five weeks had been about three weeks too long.
Something we conveniently forgot a few months ago when we made plans for this weekend. And now, it’s here. The weekend of shift, the winds of change, the time for The Chief to depart and for us to spend the next 6+ weeks apart.
Have I mentioned that I can be a little clunky with change?
While we’ve managed over the years to push the 5-week fact out of our minds long enough to plan a 4 week trip for me to visit family and a few one week stints here or there without one another, the windows of our timeframes apart have slowly been narrowing over the years, with our latest longest stint being just under a week.
So, why the sudden decision to go throwback status and spend a month and a half apart? Well, you see, there’s a secret recipe to pregnancy in Alaska. It’s a sort of Build It and They Will Come approach. First, you must buy a Subaru.
Secondly, you must START an addition to your house.
Why the unnecessarily aggressive all caps? Well, the key to this preggo plan is to start the addition. The second key is to race the baby to the finish line. Two of my best friends before me have cooked up this recipe in their own abodes and each time, we professed it would be the last time. And then laughed when it wasn’t.
Quick sidenote: I do NOT mean to be flippant about the difficulty of getting pregnant. For us, it took two years and it still doesn’t feel real. I know how hard it is to try and to be utterly grounded each month the potential passes. I did however see a pattern here that I couldn’t help but poke fun at. If you’re in the trying mode, I give you my sincerest wishes that you and yours welcome a babe to your bunch very, very soon. Hang in there, you’re doing great.
Start the addition we did. Now, the race is on. At nearly 6 months pregnant, I’m neither up for a 3,000+ mile roadtrip, nor do we want me plopped in the middle of a fume-filled construction zone. The solution? A division of labor and a division (momentarily) of our family.
Trina’s amazing Covid holiday card
Everything is fine.”
This is a quote I’ve replayed in my head dozens of times. It originates from a holiday card during OG Covid from a dear friend that just cracked me up. We’re all doing totally fine, right?!?!
Truth be told, I have ridden a mere handful of emotional roller coasters while pregnant. The dreaded pregnancy hormone monsters have been quite kind to The Chief and I. That is, until now, when the reality that my little fambam is about to split two and two, thousands of miles apart, has started to sink in. In the last week, someone turned on the waterworks and they have been plentiful. When The Chief realized he could leave a day earlier because we switched our midwife appointment, I teared up. When I looked at my two furry boys the other morning, cuddled up nose to nose fast asleep, I teared up. When I did my first full load of baby laundry, I teared up.
When the wind shifted, I teared up. It’s tear time.
So, where do we go from here? Well, there’s nothing to distract from tears like work to be done and so far, it’s gone about as smoothly as most of our journeys. Thankfully, we’ve been able to laugh through the hiccups – like having to drive two hours out of our way to pickup our Uhaul that someone decided to drop off at the wrong location to my pregoo brain driving it almost all the way home before we realized we hadn’t stopped at the storage unit on the way home (the whole reason for the Uhaul to begin with). Long hours, long days, swollen feet but still, two near-failed dinners and somehow…still fun.
Maybe because it’s the last few days together, or maybe becasue we are finally getting better at going with the natural flow of the best laid plans falling by the wayside.
On one of our last nights, after a big day and a wonderful last evening of drinks in the backyard with our landlords, I was beyond tuckered. I awoke to The Chief gently removing my book from my lap. I was still seated fully upright. He laughed as my post-deep sleep confusion muddled my words. He slowly removed the pillows from behind me and laid me down, tucking my enormous pregnancy pillow around me in all the right spots. “Goodnight, my love” he whispered as he shut off my bedside lamp.
I don’t want to go 6 weeks without that but I know time will only make returning to his comfort that much sweeter.
See you in 6 weeks, my loves.
See you in 2, sweet reader.
P.S. Do you and your spouse spend much time apart? How is it for you? Let us know in the comment section below!
This summer, exactly one month before I got pregnant, I had a conversation with a girlfriend I’ve known for forever. There’s nothing quite like an old friend, is there? Not just because they are a constant, despite how frequently or infrequently your conversations might be but also, maybe most importantly, because they are there to remind you of who you’ve been and who you are deep down. While I’m glad to have lost touch with the party girl this friend knew me to have been, the one who was ready on any given Monday through Sunday to shut down our local bar, our conversation this summer brought me back to a me I had forgotten about.
As we talked about our lives that day, she reminded me of the Julia I once was: confident as all hell that I would be a mother of as many kids as I wanted. I had forgotten that my stock answer back in my 20’s to the question “Do you want kids” was always “Kids? Hell, I want a whole soccer team!”. 15 years and one miscarraige plus a year of “trying” afterwards, after watching countless friends “breeze” through (no, I know it still wasn’t easy) getting pregnant and countless others struggle deeply, that level of abundance we desperately waning. But hearing that reminder struck me. I texted her afterwards:
“Man…hearing you talk about how I always used to say I wanted a soccer team…that did something for me. I needed to hear from that youthful (albeit ignorant) Julia who was so damn confident. I’ve been stuck in a bit of scarcity thinking (‘Please just let us have one! Please!’) and that feeling of abundance, of openness is gone but today, I saw it again. Thank you. I love you.”
What to Expect When You’re Expecting or Trying #1: You Never Know Who’ll You’l Be
Whether pregnant or trying, you just never know. 20 something Julia would have told me not to worry, that I was destined to be a mother. 34 year old Julia felt each month’s passing, each grey hair popping up as a sign that maybe I wasn’t destined to be anything. I had watched friends go through similar situations to ours, joy, heartbreak, trying again and from the outside, it looked so simple. I just knew it would all work out for them but translating that optimism to us wasn’t as easy. Imagine wanting something so incredibly badly for your entire life, having it, losing it and starting back from square one again, never to know where you’ll end this time around. Like I said before, it’s a game of Chutes and Ladders.
The first time I was pregnant, I knew exactly who I would be. I had been planning for her for decades and that optimism (though tainted by not getting pregnant on our very first try) was there. I’d eat perfectly, exercise every single day and power through any feelings of nausea of hormonal rage. I’d be the perfect pregnant woman. Reality looked a little different, a little more like sleeping fitfully for 3 hours a night and waking up at 3 am to eat 7 packets of fruit snacks while manically organzing our medical supplies. A little more like feeling so nauseaous that the idea of exercise was laughable and just the idea of something sweet broke a tears dam I’d apparently built inside of me. I was exactly as I’d planned: perfectly pregnant.
This time around, I gave up my idea of perfection and just went for good enough. I ate what I could stomach which ranged from fruit to…fruit and carbs. Bread on bread with a side of bread? Yes please. My pants were tight within a week. The only time I felt a semblance of the nausea giving up was when I was eating so, I was often eating. Still, I was lucky enough to be sleeping like a damn rock for 8+ hours a night and felt OK enough to do a little exercise every day. Until we hit the road and all semblance of routine flew out the window of our tightly packed car. Donuts for breakfast? Yep.
Looking back now, yes, I wish I would have been “better”. Less sugar, more vegetables but when I put myself back in that place, the idea of a salad made me want to vomit so I have to be proud of any vegetable I got down, even if it was in pickle form. You never know who you’ll be once you get to whatever stage you’ve anticipated. I thought I’d be cool while “trying”. I was not. I thought I’d be “perfect” while pregnant. I was not. I was me, both times, and always. So, do your damndest not to judge others or yourself. We are all just doing our best.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting or Trying #2: There Will Always Be a Next Thing to Worry About
Like I said, I was anything but cool once we started trying. I’ve never been someone who can just sort of care. I’m all the way in, once I’m in and like a dog circling it’s bed for the perfect spot to snooze, it took me a moment to decide if I was truly ready for this thing I’d been wanting all my life. I am an overthinker extraordinnaire but, once we really sat down and made sure we were sure, I was ready to become a mother right then and there. It doesn’t quite happen like that. Enter: worry. Am I fertile? Is he fertile (something that took me WAY too long to ask. I immediately assigned blame to my reproductive prowess, or lack thereof. In the end, everything was assumedly fine on both ends BUT I encourage you to equally investigate both sides of the equation, should need be)? After becoming pregnant, the worry of fertility fell away and I felt completely at ease.
No, no, that’s not right.
I felt worried again. Was that twinge I felt OK? Was I working out too hard? How out of breath is too out of breath? When do I sleep on my side? What about the wine I drank before knowing I was pregnant? Did I ruin everyting??? Miscarrying fulfilled all those worst case scenario fears. It checked all the terror boxes.
This time around, for reasons I can’t explain, I did feel an incredible, overarching calm come over me once I knew I was pregnant. I knew deep down that everything was OK. When we went for genetic testing, I knew it was OK. When we went for our anatomy scan, I knew we were OK but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been completely terrified many times in between (and during each of those experiences).
In fact, about 1 week to the day before our next appointment (they are scheduled one month apart right now) I start to panic. Each appointment seems to bring us up to a milestone. First it was the first time we saw the heartbeat. Next it was hearing the heartbeat. Next it was entering the second trimester. Then it was the first kicks, felt on Christmas morning. Next it was seeing the baby in 3D (terrifying. The babe resembled more of a melted baby crayon since they were partying so hard in there). Next it will be entering the third trimester in the coming month.
With every milestone, I tell The Chief “This makes me feel better now” and with every milestone, he knows it’s only a certain amount of time before it wears off and I need another for comfort. The baby kicking has been utter magic. The baby not kicking as often lead me to tears, tears comforted by our midwife who reassured me the baby has plenty of room to head towards my back where it’s harder to feel the kicks for a while. Still, the worry, it’s constant and it never goes away (or so I’m told). Not when the baby is born. Not when the baby sleeps through the night or becomes a toddler and walks on their own or becomes a teen and drives away for the first time. If nothing else, this process has taught me that I am officially in control of…nothing. I think I feel the nausea returning.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting or Trying #2: Nothing Stays the Same
Before miscarrying, my cycles were a little wonky but overall, consistent enough. After miscarrying, they were utter insanity. Nothing stays the same. Once we conceived this time, my love affair with strawberries was constant for one month. Daily baskets of berries were my bounty of choice. I haven’t had one in months. The day my pants first felt snug, I felt enormous.
Now I look back at those pictures and laugh a big big belly laugh (which, I’m sure in a few months, I’ll think is laughably tiny again).
Yesterday my belly button looked like it was yelling a wide open-mouthed yell. Today, it’s starting to stick out its tongue as my inny, overnight is becoming an outtie. In month one, I couldn’t recall what a microwave was called (I called it The Thing That Makes Things Hot. Thank goodness my husband and I rule at Charades). I’d be mid-sentence, mid-meeting at work and suddenly pull all blanks, watching my co-workers stare at me from their screens. Now, my brain works pretty well, or perhaps I’ve adapted. Either way, nothing lasts forever. The fear, the peace, the certainty, the uncertainty, the pain, the calm, the worry, the wonder. None of it is constant, none of it is always or never. It simply is.
Wherever you are on whichever journey towards whatever your goal may be, know this: you’ve got this. You do. All of these lessons, they’ve been hammered into me by way of this specific journey, but they radiate out into all veins of our lives.
You never know, so don’t judge yourself or others.
Worry is a part of life. You can let it rule you or you can let it be.
Everything changes, good bad and in between.
Be kind to yourself along the way, it makes the path a lot easier to walk.
This Saturday morning, as I sat down to my ritual of tea and journaling, I was prompted with the question: What are you grateful for?
Today, I’m grateful to have a time and a place to grieve.
If you’re ready to turn the page now and head over to some kitten cuteness or lighthearted love, I get it. This post is two years in the making and still I cringe to write it because it makes it real. Know, there will be moments of levity here but grief, as we all know isn’t rainbows and kittens. Collectively, we’ve done a lot of grieving lately. The world has been a bit of a shitstorm (understatement) and if you’ve felt a bit at sea, you’re not alone. We’ve all been doggy paddling our way to shore. This weekend, I find myself finally arriving at one of many shores, one I’ve avoided: saying goodbye.
Nearly two years ago now, The Chief and I sat nestled in our cozy honeymoon cabin in Hope, Alaska. We were wrapped in a blanket of love and joy for what was to come. After a brutal few years, our wedding was like a golden ticket. We felt so held, so loved, and for the first time, truly the first time in years so…optimistic. That day, as we hiked about, we were giddy with hope. It felt as if a spell had been broken, we’d been released from our pain and engulfed in love long enough to see the other side and it was beautiful. We had returned to one another from our own solitary dens of despair. Everything was going to be OK.
As we returned to the cabin, I remembered I’d seen my phone collecting messages throughout the day and finally decided to check them. There was a picture of an altar, candles lit. I scanned down to the text and saw the words “We heard about your friend’s passing.”
No, that can’t be right.
Does she mean my Godmother?
The Chief’s Mom?
She was wrong, I was certain but I called my girlfriend just in case.
She was right.
Jason was gone.
Jason Elser was the first man I met on our first foray into this town’s “nightlife”. He rode up on his 4-wheeler, dirty from head to Chacos, wearing a (previously) white shirt. He slowed to a stop as he saw us approaching and welcomed me to town with a grin saying something along the lines of “It’s summertime, gorgeous, we’ve been waiting for you all winter long.” He was every trope, every caricature I’d heard of Alaskan men and then some. A ball of contradictions. Hard and soft, all at once. Chivalrous and unintentionally misogynistic (though willing to be corrected or at a minimum, debated). Hardworking and hard playing. A joy and a beast, all wrapped up in the best intentions. He was the first person who would show up if you needed help, sometimes even before you knew you needed it and he offered his love without expectation or need for reciprocation.
One of my favorite stories about him spans my first summer. Nearly every morning that summer, he would call The Chief to check-in, often with a moral conundrum but the best was The Squirrel. Apparently, a squirrel had taken a liking to Jason’s yard and its early morning chitter-chatter was driving him insane. Lucky for us, Jason decided to call every morning to ask the same question: Is it OK to shoot the squirrel yet? And every morning they would debate it. I loved groggily listening, in and out of sleep, to their arguments back and forth. The Cheif, at first miffed by again being awoken, would suddenly be smiling as they debated.
He was like that: at one moment a thorn in your side, the next helping you pull it out. He effortlessly created tension and somehow equally smoothed it. He was push and pull all in one, all in love. I loved those mornings, hearing him, open and childlike. I loved how much Jason wanted to hear an opinion he didn’t share. He was endlessly curious about what others thought and how they lived and why. And while I’m pretty sure at least one squirrel met its end before he called The Chief, he made a promise that not a single other would die at his hands after they first spoke. His confidence in The Chief gave me confidence in our relationship, a budding bloom Jason nurtured every time he saw us with words of enthusiasm, pure joy for our finding one another. He shared in the joy of his friends and family, every success as if it were his own because to him, it was.
Losing our friend, I lost hope again. Our world got very dark, very lonely, even in one another’s company. Heading back from Hope, my husband was once again far away. Our hands were no longer intertwined and our hearts became hardened, robbed of the elasticity our wedding had instilled. We returned to a town turned somber, a breakneck 180 from the elated state we’d all been in when we left. From a peak to a valley, in our little valley.
As a town, we grieved. We gathered that Fall and that Winter in his honor but something was missing. This weekend, nearly two years after his passing, we finally realized what it was: Jason.
This weekend, we gathered twice more. Once to sing and howl our heartbreak to him, the other to bid him farewell. His beautiful family spread his ashes in the place that had been such a part of him. Now he was a part of it.
What can we take away from someone being taken away? For me, for Jason, it’s a reminder to step outside of oneself. To look around and fill a need, a want, a space someone needs help filling, even before they know they need help. It’s to spread a little more joy, to open your heart and to share the success of others. For me, it’s to dream a little bigger and break a few things along the way.
As I wrote this, there were a million ways to tell it. A million stories of you being all the way you, Esler. I looked back through photos, back through the years, through the days. I see so much of you, even when you weren’t in the photo itself. I see you in the shot I took of softball one day, in benches at the softball field and the 5-gallon garden buckets you left for anyone to take. I see you in the smiles on our faces as we held moose ribs up to our faces, the moose you shot and shared, always. I see you in the logs I stacked using the trailer you offered. I see you in the crack in my tooth from the first tree I cut down and the pride in your eyes as you made me tell you every detail. I see you stomping your feet to the music. I see you where you aren’t because you’ve always been here, a staple I took for granted. Your eye-roll-inducing antics, your smile, your ideas, your undying drive for building our community, your support of the young’ns.
We aren’t the same without you but I know where you are is better because of you. And although we aren’t the same, you brought us back together again this weekend. After a year of isolation, a year of dischord, you helped us come back to this family, your wild Alaskan family’s version of harmony that howls so sweetly. In your absence, you still brought us together. You helped us head back to hope.
I hope for you, Jason, wherever you are, that they welcomed you with a bear hug as big as you gave and said “Welcome home, gorgeous. We’ve been waiting for you all Winter long”.
from Betsy’s girl from California
When I was a kid, my favorite Thanksgivings were the ones I spent with my Auntie El. I’d help her mash the potatoes and set the table and without fail, she’d always let me try my luck in the wishbone battles. She made it a special day, one where, even as the littlest being by almost a decade, I never felt out of place. So, when it was time to go around the table and say what we were thankful for, as was her family tradition, I too was encouraged to participate. While I can’t remember the specifics of what I or anyone else said on those rounds around her family table, I can remember how it felt to share in a moment of gratitude with the people I loved.
The years passed by and Thanksgivings together became fewer and farther between s I tumbled my way into adulthood. Still, I encouraged the tradition wherever I ended up on the day. I’ve always loved to hear what comes up for people, sometimes I’m even surprised by what comes up for myself. Yet throughout all of the years, all of the things I’ve been grateful for, big and small, a few really big things slipped my mind until I moved here.
When I got on a plane, bound for the land of frontier fables, I had no idea the things I would be giving up. I had knowingly bid adieu to a business, a job, a relationship, and a house, but I hadn’t thought to wave farewell to a few other things. And so, today, in this time of giving thanks, I’ll finally give a long overdue thanks to a few things I forgot along the way.
I know that this is not a luxury that everyone enjoys but for me, running water was an everyday indulgence I completely took for granted. While I did grow up on a well, and thus did learn the importance of water conservation, I still was known to take 45-minute scalding hot showers to warm up after a winter-time soccer game or wash the dishes, leaving the water running the whole time.
Moving to Alaska, I realized how incredibly lucky (and wasteful, despite the well warnings) I’d been. Hot, running water, on demand, 24/7? How had I forgotten to mention this at Thanksgiving every year? The first time I handled raw meat here, while making The Chief and I dinner was the first time it truly sank in: no water on demand. Well, in a sense, yes. I hollered for The Chief to come near and pour a pitcher of cold water we’d hauled from the well over my hands to wet them. He stood by as I lathered them up and we both listened closely to the pitch of the filling slop bucket below as he then rinsed my now clean hands. The slop bucket was then taken outside, down the Ramp of Doom, and brought in fresh and new, ready to be filled and emptied again and again. All that just to wash my hands?
Showering was equally a debacle. For every one, we’d have to rearrange our space and haul 40 pound buckets of water up the Ramp of Doom to replace that which we’d used in our military-style showers. Water on. Water off. Lather up. Quickly rinse off. We’d use a few gallons each and haul the shower water out after each person finished.
Still, even a military-style shower is easier than a bucket bath.
I can’t even fathom how much water I used in my pre-Alaska life. Now, don’t get me wrong, when I have the chance these days, I will take a long shower but overall, without water on demand, it’s a different ballgame.
So, here’s some long overdue gratitude for running water. I didn’t realize how much easier my life was until it was gone. Thankfully, we’ve upgraded to slightly on-demand water but the demand still requires us to haul everything we use, which stands as a good reminder: be grateful.
I used to think it was cold when my house dropped below 65. The thermostat was set from November on and up I’d ramp it up as the winter months wore on. To get warm on a particularly chilly day, I’d turn up the heat, way up, and sit next to a vent, taking the chill off my bones. It took maybe 15 minutes and the house was back to cozy, all with the pressing of a few buttons.
This morning I woke up and our house was 40 degrees. My boots were frozen to the mat by the door as I donned them to go outside into the -5 morning to answer nature’s call. When I came in to build a fire, I realized we were short on wood so I headed back outside to chop some more. 15 minutes later, I had a raging fire. I sat in my parka and pjs just next to the stove to take off the morning’s chill. Two cups of tea and three hours later, the house finally reached 60 degrees.
So, here’s some thanks for the mystical beast that is on-demand heat. My only gratitude towards the source came when I was finally warm, never was I grateful in the process of the house heating itself. Nowadays, waiting three hours for my tiny house to warm up to what I used to still consider cold, really puts it into perspective.
Have you ever moved into a house without a refrigerator and if you have, was that one of the first things on your list? You betcha. The closest I ever came to living without refrigeration was fretting over a melting cooler at the beach on a hot day. “Oh my gosh!” I’d think “I hope the salsa doesn’t spoil!”. The horror, right? Also, salsa…spoil? In a cooler? Over the course of a few hours? Meh, probably not, Jules.
When I unintentionally moved to Alaska, I found out that having refrigeration was nearly as crazy to them as not having refrigeration was to me. Aside from keeping goods from rotting, I never even thought about the fact that, refrigerators often also house another really fun thing: ice! The first party I went to here, people acted like I was royalty because I had ice in my cocktail. I thought they were kidding until I found out that the ice I had in my drink had been harvested from the local glacier, a minimum hour-long endeavor involving hiking down to the glacier, picking off chunks with an ice axe, loading those into a backpack, hauling them home, cleaning them off and then transporting them to said party where I got to enjoy them, none the wiser of their journey to me. Glacier cocktails.
Recently, we’ve upped our refrigeration game from a tiny dorm room style mini-fridge and coolers to an apartment sized beauty. Sometimes, I just open it to look inside. The other night, The Chief and I had leftovers and instead of trying to squeeze them into some nook or cranny of the tiny fridge or find a dog-friendly place on the floor that would be cool enough to leave them for the night, we simply placed them into the fridge. It’s something I’d done thousands of times everywhere I’d lived other than here but it suddenly felt so luxurious.
So, here’s a little gratitude for the refrigeration I’ve taken for granted most of my life. I never realized how amazing being able to have ice cream around any time was until I couldn’t (and still can’t unless it’s winter). And, while we are being grateful, I’m thankful for our upgrades in refrigeration since I’ve lived here. Not having to change out the ice packs in our coolers on the daily or constantly shuffle things to the coldest spot in the house is amazing.
To all the things in life I took for granted, from being able to easily do laundry to not having to suit up to go pee in the middle of the night, thank you. I had no idea how much I appreciated you until I left you.
No, it may not be the most traditional of toasts but it’s long overdue and I think my Auntie El would be proud. Living here, departing from all that was my normal has made me realize how lucky I was and how lucky I am. So, lest I forget to be thankful again, here is this year’s around the table thanks:
This year, I am thankful for my husband and our little fluff. You two hold me up when I’m determined to fall and you make me laugh harder than I’ve ever imagined. I’m thankful for my parents. For my Mom for being my biggest cheerleader, thinking I’m amazing, even when I’m not and for my Dad for being there ready when I finally came back. I’m grateful for all of my nieces and nephews, blood or otherwise, who brighten this world with their wild ideas and belly laughs. I’m grateful for all of my family, near and far for making me feel connected to a larger picture. I’m grateful for my friends, old and new, who are always there, through good and bad. I’m thankful for you for reading this blog over the years. And last but not least, I’m grateful to you, Auntie El. I miss you.
Cheers to gratitude, even that which is long overdue and cheers to you.
I am not an expert on Black history. I am not an expert on our present day. I can educate myself and I am learning but I have not, nor will I ever know what it’s like to live as any Black person, past or present. Because of this, I have written and rewritten this post in my head hundreds of times over the past months. I have started and stopped, afraid to misstep, afraid to say the wrong thing.
That was my first mistake.
In writing this, I have gone through countless iterations, down (new to me) rabbit holes researching things I didn’t know that I didn’t know, and into deep self-questioning and still, it won’t be perfect. I am not here to brag to you about how aware I am but rather to illuminate how asleep at the wheel I’ve been and to implore us both to wake up. This post won’t be the ultimate representation of the situation (many white people have finally realized) we are in because this situation is centuries old, endlessly nuanced and unbelievably ingrained in our society. This post will, however, aim to illuminate our harsh reality and how white people can do the inner work no one can do for them to address the past and the present. I may misstep. I have misstepped on this same path before and I appreciate those who have taken the time and energy to correct me. Still, my hope and my understanding is that being on the path is better than watching from the sidelines as I have been.
I don’t have all the answers but I know silence isn’t one of them.
So, let’s start with underwear, obviously:
“OK ladies, where are the best places to buy cute but comfortable underwear online? Go!”
This was a text I sent out to some girlfriends a few months back and the response? Overwhelmingly Aerie. Aerie, a child brand of parent company American Eagle, was one I’d heard of but never bothered to check out. I figured it would be the same stick-thin, whitewashed company I remembered from my youth.
I was wrong.
When I visited the site, I found myself among my people: women with curves, women with cellulite, women with stretch marks. None of them were hiding their “imperfections” or strategically posing to shield our eyes from their “flaws.” I saw myself represented in a way airbrushed media doesn’t often show, and it felt good. Yet, it wasn’t just me. Women of all shapes, sizes and skin colors graced the screen (though at my most recent visit, there were, unfortunately, more white faces than before on the main page). There were women with disabilities and women who had clearly had children and wore their tiger stripes proudly instead of covering them up (if you haven’t heard of Sara Shakeel and her amazing glamification of stretch marks, please check her out). It felt good to see a wider range of representation. Our bodies tell a story. It feels so validating to see your story shown, right?
The thing is, I’m white and if you are too, our story has always been shown (and often, glorified). While I may not have grown up seeing my particular body type represented, I have always seen my skin color represented. From government and other positions of power to media (everything from books, movies and magazines, down to the pamphlets you see in your doctor’s office) to toys and more, everywhere you look, there are white people. The default has been white and the thing is, if you’re white, you may not have even noticed. Everyone, regardless of sex or skin color, knows how horrible it feels to be misrepresented. Imagine not being represented at all.
Maybe you’re thinking “Yea, but how much damage could not being represented do?” Simply put: a lot (and we’ve known it for a long time). Seeing a singular positive depiction of what it means to be beautiful via whitewashed everything and a singular negative depiction of black skin (think only being cast to play the parts of enslaved people or criminals in movies, ads, etc.) whispers to us; it sneaks into our subconscious: white is better (and just to be explicitly clear: no, it’s not).
The Doll Tests from the 1940’s illustrated this as well. They illuminated the negative effects segregation had on African-American children’s self-esteem and their feelings toward their race and social status. When posed with a choice between dolls of different colors (at the time, there weren’t any Black dolls. A white doll had to be painted black), the children overwhelmingly chose the white dolls and assigned positive characteristics to them.
This test, performed by Doctors Kenneth and Mamie Clark was cited in the Brown vs. Board of Education Superior Court ruling which desegregated schools:
“To separate [African-American children] from others of similar age and qualifications solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely ever to be undone.”
And with that desegregation passed! Problem solved, right?
While this acknowledgement was a win against segregation, the NAACP LDF (Legal Defense and Education Fund), a legal organization fighting for racial justice, reported in this article that “Dr. Kenneth Clark was dismayed that the court failed to cite two other conclusions he had reached: that racism was an inherently American institution, and that school segregation inhibited the development of white children, too.”
The study has since been recreated and the results replicated. White and Black children more often ascribed negative terms such as “ugly” or “dumb” to the Black dolls versus the white dolls. While segregation is legally gone (although with redlining and racist policies, is it?), the impacts of devaluing darker skin remain. Social movements like the Black is Beautiful movement, which gained momentum in the 1960’s aimed to dispel the damaging narrative that black features were inherently ugly or bad (the societal rhetoric children were subconsciously bringing with them into the Doll Tests). Yet the sheer reality that such a movement ever had to originate shows just how much damage has been done and this is just one piece of the bigger picture.
Just one piece.
So, we’ve gotten this far in and all we’ve talked about is underwear? Well, no. We’ve talked about the deeply ingrained devaluation of darker skin. Why does this matter? One: because how we make people feel about themselves and how we feel about others should be based on who they are as a person, not ascribed to them based on negative, untrue preconceptions about their skin color. Two: because these preconceptions aren’t just painful, unjust and ugly, they are dangerous.
This problem of racism is massive. We haven’t even talked about the lasting financial effects of slavery and racist policy (essentially, our system is based on racist beginnings bringing us to a racist present where white people are helped to succeed and Black people are not). Kimberly Latrice Jones does one of the best breakdowns of our history I’ve seen right here. We haven’t talked about redlining. We haven’t talked about the unequal numbers of Black people incarcerated versus whites (here’s a quick fact sheet). We haven’t talked about the disproportionate brutality towards and killing of innocent people of color at the hands of officers of the law and white vigilantes. There’s innumerable ways racism has shown up and reared its hideous head in the world and it will continue to do so if we, as a society, let it.
So, what can you do?
Nothing, right? It’s too big. Too ingrained. Too powerful.
No. Sure, it would have been great if our ancestors never started this horror story or realized the wrong in their ways say, oh, 400 years ago, but they didn’t. We know that we know better. Now we have to be better. [Sidenote: If you are feeling overwhelmed by how much there is to do and learn to fight injustice, I get it. It’s a lot. Yet imagine being at the hands of that injustice for hundreds of years. Hundreds. If you are feeling sensitive, stop and feel that and then move forward. Remember (from Dear Ally): “As a first step, take the discomfort you are feeling about potentially being perceived as racist and use it to develop compassion for people who are experiencing racism itself.” Start wherever you need to in order to do the work within yourself. Encourage others to do so as well. Many hands make light work and we’ve got a mountain to move.]
Here are four things you can do right now to do your part:
Listen: I’ve heard it said a million times: You were given two ears and one mouth, use them proportionately. The easiest way to break down preconceived notions of people and obliterate hatred is familiarity. It’s a lot harder to apply stereotypes to someone when you actually talk to them. That being said, be respectful of people’s space, time and emotional needs and be realistic about your relationships. Reaching out to acquaintances or coworkers about such a deep issue is inappropriate. Don’t force friendships and don’t force friends to be your teachers. This is not anyone’s job but your own. Confused? Watch the quick clip below from Trevor Noah to give a little light and levity to the issue. You mean well, just make sure to do it well.
Learn: You know when you buy a new (or new to you car) and suddenly you see it everywhere? It’s the same with racism. The more you learn about how we got to our present situation, the more you see how it permeates everything, and the better you will be at helping to stop it. This is by no means an exhaustive list but it is one that I have been building myself and through the contributions of friends and leaders I deeply respect (thank you especially to TAB, EM, AM & CC all for your time and thought):
Books (Thanks, EM & KC!) – Not into reading? Listen on Audible:
- How to Be an Anti-Racist by Ibram X. Kendi
- Me and White Supremacy by Layla F. Saad
- Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston
- Beloved by Toni Morrison
- Native Son by Richard Wright
- The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
- Stop Killing Us by Terry Keys
- Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
- The Round House by Louise Erdich
- White Teeth by Zadie Smith
- White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard For White People to Talk About Racism by Robin Diangelo
- Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson
- Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi
- There There by Tommy Orange
- Sing, Unburied Sing by Jesmyn Ward
- A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn
- The Autobiography of Malcolm X
- Funny in Farsi: A Memoir of Growing up Iranian in America
- The Collected Autobiographies of Maya Angelou (including I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings)
- I’m Not Dying With You Tonight by Kimberly Jones & Gilly Segal
Podcasts, Social Media, Articles & More:
Articles, Websites & a HUGE Resource List (#9)
- Kimberlé Crenshaw and her theory of intersectionality (see the highlight reel at the bottom of the page)
- “They Was Killing Black People” article
- Learn about Juneteenth in the Washington Post
- The Case for Reparations by Ta- Nehisi Coates in The Atlantic
- The King Center
- The Root – sign up for their newsletter
- SURJ (Showing Up for Racial Justice)
- White Ally Toolkit
- This incredible resource a friend (thank you, TAB!) forwarded to me. I don’t know who to credit for its creation but it is stellar. It also has resources for talking to your kids about race. The Doll Test showed us how early racism can affect our children. Don’t wait to talk to your children. Check it out here
Social – follow these accounts. You won’t be sorry.
- Janaya Future Khan – I really recommend this video here
- Rachel Cargle
- Layla Saad
- Ibram X. Kendi
- Kiley Clark of Fresh to Farming
- Nandi Bushell
- Queer Appalachia
- Check Your Privilege
- Patrisse Cullors-Brignac
- Trevor Noah – watch his standup special Son of Patricia
- Kimberly Latrice Jones – featured on Trevor Noah, John Oliver and all over the internet. If you do nothing else, watch this.
Speak: You know the request you see at airports: “If you see something, say something?” Well, if you hear something racist, say something to stop it. We’ve all heard racist things said. It’s time to say something. The more we all speak against even the smallest injustices, the less space we allow them to occupy. If someone tells a racist joke, don’t answer with uncomfortable laughter. Answer with education. Let the joke fall flat. Silence makes injustice louder. Mute, don’t amplify hatred. Share what you’ve learned and implore others to do the same. Speak up for racial justice everywhere.
Support: The Chief and I are on a budget. We are by no means swimming in cash. Every month we sit down and prepare a budget built on necessity versus want. There’s not a lot of wiggle room, but we’ve added donations as a non-negotiable part of our budget. If other things have to give in order to keep this up, give they will.
Every month we research (which takes us to the Learn step again) different organizations fighting for racial justice or that support causes we believe in. For example: Kiley Clark’s dream to start a Black-led, regenerative farm (donate at Kiley’s GoFundMe here). Donations contribute to a down payment on farmland with housing, farm equipment, infrastructure and tools to create a warm, nourishing place where all are welcome. A little more about this amazing project (and person) from Kiley’s GoFundMe page:
“I have always dreamed of working on my own land. As a Black, queer, woman land ownership has felt evasive for much of my life, not having the capital or the generational wealth to make this possible. I want to build a dream together, founded on regenerative, no till practices and paying homage to the traditional ecology knowledge of my ancestors, and the land’s original Indigenous caretakers.
Why now? In this time of horrific pain and reckoning over systemic racism in this country, it is crucial to not just support Black people in our deaths. You must also support Black joy, uplift Black liberation and invest in Black-led organizations and entrepreneurs. The farm I am building will be a community hub, a place where Queer folx can get their hands in the dirt, where our communities can thrive, laugh, and be fed.We’re building this dream together and I can’t wait to welcome you all around my future farm table! Thank you for your love and support.”
Think about the dollars you’re already spending on eating out, home goods, music, etc. Instead of solely shopping or dining (use this site to search Black owned businesses by state) at your typical spots, consider shopping at Black owned companies as well. I love Justina Blakeney’s site Jungalow for anything home goods. So good.
Support artists: anything by Desirée Hernandez of Sonera Pottery makes my heart sing, musicians (a few to recommend: Blood Orange’s Coastal Grooves, Goapele’s Even Closer, Beyoncé’s Lemonade plus accompanying film is important and amazing, The Alabama Shakes, Leon Bridges, Valerie June…), authors (see Books, above).
Support, however, does not have to take the sole form of donations. Support can mean a wealth of things and not all of them have to do with monetary exchanges. Get politically involved. Attend rallies and protests (safely). Uncomfortable with or unable to gather? Seemingly small things like calling and writing your representatives and senators or signing petitions have a huge impact and…
Support can flow through all aspects of your life. Does your workplace line up with your anti-racist values? If you’re in charge, change policy anywhere you can to make sure it does. If you’re not in charge, suggest changes. What about your children? Do you talk with them about race? It’s never too early (again, this resource has some really nice info on talking to your kids about racism). If the Doll Test taught us nothing else, it’s that it’s really never too early to talk about race and…(what the Supreme Court left out): diversity makes all of us better. Everyone’s development slows when we are segregated. Do what you can to open your children and yourself diversity.
Listen. Learn. Speak. Support. Just as we are all connected, so too are these four steps. You support a Black author by reading her book, and there you are listening and learning. You hear something you now know to be racist and you speak up. The cycle perpetuates itself, keep it going.
Teach others what you have learned.
Look inward and unearth the not-so-pretty preconceived notions you might have.
Do the work to move through them so you don’t perpetuate them or pass them on to others.
Dismantling racism starts with all of us. Let it begin within yourself.
One last thing:
I hear you if you’re thinking “I’ve struggled too.” I know you have, sweetie. You have without a doubt lived through pain, heartache and injustice. I know you have because you are human and all of these things are part of the human experience. But have you experienced these things based solely on your skin color? Maybe. Or maybe you’ve experienced them because you’re a woman or you grew up poor or you have a disability.
We all have something that has caused us to experience inequality. In this interview with Time earlier this year, Kimberlé Crenshaw describes today’s expanded notion of intersectionality as “a lens, a prism, for seeing the way in which various forms of inequality often operate together and exacerbate each other. We tend to talk about race inequality as separate from inequality based on gender, class, sexuality or immigrant status. What’s often missing is how some people are subject to all of these, and the experience is not just the sum of its parts.”
We’ve all experienced inequality but the reality is, if you’re white, societal norms and protections weigh heavily in your favor to keep you safer than people of color. Injustice is painful for everyone but it is disproportionately deadly to Black people. I mean, have you ever had to have this conversation with your child?
That is the difference. That is white privilege (the societal privileges that benefit white people over non-white people based not on their merit but solely on their skin color). As Peggy McIntosh wrote in White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack: “I was taught to see racism only in individual acts of meanness, not in invisible systems conferring dominance”. Invisible systems can be brought to light and undone. It’s time.
Thank you for listening and perhaps, for opening up to learning. I know it wasn’t perfect (and I’m here for and open to feedback) but if we wait for perfect, we will always be silent. Move with your best foot forward, speak from love, live in this world with kindness in your heart and an openness to learn.
We are all human. We are all equal. We all deserve to be treated as such.
With love to you and yours,
I can’t say it enough: watch this
Comments? Additions? Ideas?
Please leave yours down below. I’ve had a lot of people reach out to me personally and I LOVE that but I think we also need to converse as a group to learn and grown together. Leave your thoughts below. Thank you for reading.
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Five years ago, I met my person.
All I had to do was:
go to a Friday evening softball game.
There he was. Apparently, whims can work.
On the way to the game, I had felt so incredibly out of my element. I didn’t even know what to pack for an evening out, as evenings out for me in my oh so recent past had consisted of packing a wallet and chapstick and at the last minute leaving my jacket at home due to its cumbersome nature. In Alaska, my girlfriend guided me through stuffing my pack (not purse) to the brim with layers on layers upon layers, bug spray, a knife, water bottle, drinks, snacks, etc. All for an evening out.
Like I said: out of my element.
Until I met The Chief.
It may sound cheesy (but cheese is delicious so, whatever) but the moment I felt his hand in mine, sealing our introduction, I felt like I was home. That knowing touch was all I needed to dive head first into what would be the adventure my heart had yearned for: deep, lasting love. And so I dove, full of fear of the unknown, diving anyway. Just because a love is right, doesn’t mean it’s not scary.
A few weeks ago, I was going through some old posts and found this one: Love in the Woods: Year One. Our first anniversary. I’m a sap for anniversaries (clearly) and celebrate every chance I get and here we were, approaching five years. Year one beckoned me in. Who were we back then? I read along:
“I feel a foundation, now one year old, that has been strong enough to hold us together through all we have seen already.”
Reading this, I felt the heavy weight of a soothsayer, of a future known, already written, unchangeable. I simultaneously felt scorn for my naïveté and wanted to shield my unknowing self from what was to come.
At the time, I thought we had been through so much together. And for the time, at the time, we had. Joining our worlds, traveling, moving, parenting our pup, surgeries and sickness, all of it posed challenges, to our newborn love, yet forward still we went.
Thank goodness. Lucky we were for those small victories that at the time felt so large to prepare us, for we had no idea what was coming:
In half a decade, so much has changed from those early, easy days of love at first sight. We’ve lost more than I would have ever believed, had my soothsayer self tried to warn me. That base we developed early on served us well to weather the blows but cracks still found their way into our foundation. Grief has a way of encircling its victims, pulling them away from their pack, isolating them. Despite our strength, grief still tugged us into our own quiet worlds, away from one another, and we’ve had to fight hard to come back together. Fight to remember the ease of the beginning, to focus on the good, to love our base and nurture its cracks.
Such is life, such is love.
Right before our life flip flopped upside down, I was taking a pottery class. In it I heard about Kintsugi, an ancient Japanese technique where broken pottery is mended, not by using a clear adhesive but by way of a golden seal. Kintsugi translates to “golden journey” and is meant to celebrate an artifact’s past by illuminating its fractures, rather than hiding them.
Five years ago, our pottery was fresh from the kiln, the warmth of our creation made us feel safety we’d never known. Five years later, we’re a storied piece, alight with gold. Our golden journey hasn’t always been easy. At times, I’ve wished to simply cover our cracks, to go back to how we were when life was light and easy, but instead we must honor our cracks. We must nurture our simultaneously fierce and delicate love.
Five years ago, we celebrated all day. We at pancakes, went hiking with our Lou and toasted that night with champagne (the cork from which I still have) to our accomplishment: one year. Five years later, the day was far more utilitarian. We spent our anniversary day in a training together and came straight home to prep for a long work weekend ahead. Our celebration was quieter, smaller, a little less bubbles, a little more depth.
In this year, year five, we’ve seen loss but we’ve also finally felt the light return. The separate corners grief iced us into have melted and the ease we felt when we met, the inner calm has only grown. In this year, so much good has come:
We found our Leto
We had a magnificent garden.
Our marriage was blessed by an overwhelming showering of love that continues still to this day.
We stayed put all Winter and nourished our souls in the beauty that is this place that we live.
Another year, unique as can be.
Five years ago I met my person. The person who drives me to be my absolute best and who loves me at my absolute worst. The person who knows me so well he can tell I’m upset just by the cadence of my breath. The person who smiles ear to ear at every concert, who cheers me on even when I’m sure I can’t do it. The person who dove with me, headfirst into our love and swam with me, hand in hand.
Our beginning was something out of a storybook and thank goodness for that because it convinced me to pay attention to the gift that life was giving. It gave me the undying understanding that this is where I’m meant to be.
Diving into love isn’t the scariest part, it’s navigating the waters afterwards. It’s keeping your head above water, it’s holding your love up when it’s too tired to carry you. Yet, it’s worth it. Even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy, finding The Chief has set my heart at ease, it has brought me home, to our golden journey.
Cheers to love, always,
ACT I: The Arrival
It wasn’t until the wedding was a few months out that I really realized that we were having a destination wedding. For me, the destination was my backyard. The ceremony would be a 15-minute walk in one direction and the reception 15 minutes in the cardinal opposite, faster even by truck or 4-wheeler. It was as close as it could get. Yet (and feel free to yell “duh” in tandem with me now) for all non-locals the commute was, well, a bit farther.
The week before our wedding, The Chief and I headed back to Anchorage for our third trip in 2 weeks. We had been earning our Road Warrior badges with trips more frequent than we wished but this trip, this was different.
This one was the arrival.
We pulled up to the hotel and out poured my Mom, my Aunt, my two best friends since 5th grade and my friends partner (and my friend) and my niece (not by blood but close enough). It was a cacophony of “hellos” and laughter and hugs and total mayhem. Thus, the logistics began (a favorite Alaskan pastime). No sooner had we packed the umpteen suitcases into the bed of our truck (first bagging each one in a contractor bag to avoid their getting dirty on the deeply dusty drive), buckled up and turned out of the hotel than my neice performed a barfing act not dissimilar to a small cannon. A small cannon that landed right in her lap, soaking her to the bone in her own vomit.
The suitcase with her clothes was positioned perfectly at the bottom of the suitcase pit.
The trip had begun.
Like any good Alaskan road trip, nothing comes easy and smooth is suspicious, yet despite our precarious start, we were on the road a few hours and a few hundred Water Wipes later.
We arrived that evening, in a caravan of wedding guests, The Chief and his two truckloads of groomsmen and family and us. My girlfriend, badass mother of my beloved puker, upon finally hearing “Yes” to the question “Are we close?” said truthfully, “That was way worse than I thought it would be”. The entire car burst into laughter. Surely she had misspoken? The trip which had started at 11 am and ended 13 plus hours later? Certainly, she couldn’t have thought that was all that bad?
And so, we arrived at our destination wedding, laughing.
ACT II: Preparations
Our friends and family had all arrived, the wedding week was in full effect and after one day to settle in and get the off the grid crash course we put them to work, as any good Alaskan couple does (it’s a sign of love, truly).
Despite our “low-key” wedding, it took two full days with a large and ever-changing group of friends to dust off and dress up our reception site. One friend spent an entire day raking leaves to create paths, while another group of friends (and my Pops, straight from his drive in that day) spent trip after trip hauling wood shavings to fill those paths, creating a sort of Winter Wonderland in September.
It was all coming together.
The couple who hosted our reception spent countless hours nailing down every last detail and sweetly surprising us along the way.
There were two circus tents and food tents and eating tents and 10 strings of lights to light the way in the darkening nights. We set the tables and prayed for sun, while fully prepping for rain. It was a wedding in September, a September (and August) which, so far, had only been filled with bluebird skies and sun so hot we all were steaming away in tanktops. Could we really expect a sunny wedding?
ACT III: The Bachlor/ette
As if we hadn’t yet been scooped up by our community and showered in enough love the days prior, we still were both lucky enough to enjoy a true treat: a night with the ladies, a night with the boys. After two days of non-stop prep, my girlfriends gave me a hard “out time” and whisked me off for what? I did not know.
We left our house and passed car upon car heading opposite us towards the Bachelor Pary. Everyone was so jovial and excited.
I arrived to the Footbridge and was greeted by the many smiling faces of the lady loves of our town.
It was incredible.
We had a champagne toast as the water flowed beneath us and the mountains shone to greet us.
No sooner had a stepped onto that bridge and greeted everyone did I turn around to see the head party planner with her wonderfully mischevious grin. “Turn around Juju” (she calls me Juju. I love her eyeballs). It had begun. Something was on my head and in my hair and her laugh erupted. The penises had entered the scene. I had penises on my head and penises in my hair. I was ready.
We walked into town (handmade boquet from a girlfriend in hand, sweet E), gaggle of gals that we were, laughing all the ways as the two penises on my head (think bunny ears) would randomly clang together, as if clapping for us. We arrived to one of the local restaurants to find that the head party planner (and co-owner of the restaurant) had shut it down for us. A special event.
Special it was. Like any friend of mine knows, food is king and eat we did. We had to keep our stamina up for the many bachelorette activities to follow: penis ring toss, a dollar per mint nibble, a delicious penis cake and some fill in the blank games that made us roar.
The night ended at The Bar with dancing to our favorite guilty pleasure songs.
It was perfect. Thank you, ladies.
Act IV: The Rehearsal
After another day of last-minute prep, we had finally arrived: the night before the wedding. Again, our friends closed their restaurant and hosted us for a fabulous Italian dinner.
There were roasts and salads and more deliciousness than I can recall (but enough for two platefuls. Ever the timid eater. Gotta fit in that dress, right?!). Looking around, we felt surrounded in love, The Chief and I. Fifty of our closest friends and relatives were nestled in together, meeting, reconnecting. We toasted (ugh, I love toasts!) and shed a tear or two and before I knew it, it was over.
The Chief and I kissed goodnight, our last unmarried kiss, and the bridal party and I escaped to the beautiful B&B a few miles outside of town that would be our haven for the night.
Upon arrival, the mood was set. These girls know sure know how to woo me. I was promptly placed into the center of the couch, my feet put in a footbath, and the sweet silliness began. Our resident Yogi and primo planner (who gave me the biggest compliment I could get that week when she told me: “I’m stressing out because you don’t seem to be stressing out at all. You seem very relaxed.” and I was because every step of the way, someone was there to support me) had us all go around the room and recount how we had met and a wish for The Chief and I. Like at Thanksgiving, where you might go around the room and say what you’re thankful for, it at first felt funny and then the belly laughs and tears began. It’s not always easy or natural to start, but it is such a beautiful gift to give someone that love, that care and that attention. I was deeply touched…and deeply tired. We all were exhausted. These girls had been running full steam ahead, one, our resident Fertility Goddess (and Penis Cake maker extraordinaire) was due 10 days after the wedding but still had been there every step of the way. These loves were the ultimate troopers but it was time for bed.
ACT V: The Wedding
On the morning of our wedding, I wrote my vows.
Yea, me neither.
I woke up and did a quick workout, took a shower and sat down to paint my nails and write my vows when something else showed up: nerves. The nail polish skidded across my fingers as I tried to calm myself. I ate the beautiful breakfast my girlfriends had prepared and the tea they had brought specially for me (all while sewing the dogs’ outfits) but still my stomach was in knots.
It was really happening. This day we had talked about and planned for, stressed over, laughed over, counted down the days till, this day, our “destination wedding” was about to happen. I jotted down that which could only scratch the surface of how I feel and decided to let my heart lead the rest of the way. It was time to get ready.
All the ladies and I donned our wishbone necklaces (wishbones hold a special place in my heart. My Auntie El taught me the wishbone basics and they always make me smile and always make me think of her) as we got ready. A sweet, simple connection to those around me and those we’ve lost. I did my makeup and donned the same lipstick I always wear (even though I’d bought multiple new ones to try. I’m a creature of habit, I guess). I was ready.
Or so I thought.
On a recent trip to Anchorage, I had been talking with an esthetician I knew from going to her salon. Upon hearing that I was getting married and that I didn’t even own concealer in case I wanted to cover my scar (or as she lovingly called it “the copper vein running through your forehead”), she told me she would be there to do our makeup. We didn’t talk much after that and I had assumed that perhaps it would work, perhaps not. When she called that morning and heard we were leaving in an hour, I figured there simply wasn’t enough time (and I’d done my best already). There wasn’t enough time. She didn’t have access to her car, it was just too much.
That didn’t stop her. She somehow found a bicycle and huffed her way towards us when she happened upon our wedding photographer and together, they made the jaunt to us. She is a character. She spiffed up my copper vein a bit and gave us all the special treatment that made it start to feel official.
Suddenly, my excitement trumped my nerves. I was going to marry The Chief!
Our entourage got in various cars packed with who knows what and made our way back to our house. We arrived to smiling family and friends and two girlfriends who were creating the most unbelievable flower crowns, boutonnieres and hairpieces (all flow in by them from their family’s fly-in lodge. How special can it get?!).
Inside were more friends, visiting, doing one another’s hair (I even took a turn) and toasting to the day. One of the bridesmaids ran the ties and pocket squares over to the groomsmen. It was happening.
It was so joyful.
Finally, it was time.
Leto and I were out ahead, leading the way (now that it was happening, I was ready to get moving!). We walked the trails we take on our (ideally) daily walk to The River. Trails I’ve seen change through the seasons, trails that have seen me change in the four years I’ve lived with them.
Along the way, we spotted the rocks the groomsmen had painted to mark the trail for the guests. At the end of the trail, my family was waiting for me. It was time. They set out ahead of us, Leto escorting my Mom proudly/trying to get her to run to Dad.
My girlfriends and I got into formation (Beyoncé anybody?), a sort of Flying V meant to hide me from The Chief for our long approach and then, we were finally there. My girlfriends walked slowly to the willow arch our friend had made for us that morning and lined up while I was left standing with my first boyfriend in Alaska: Buddha. Buddha is the dog of one of my girlfriends and when I first came here, he escorted me everywhere and so, it seemed only appropriate that he walk me down the aisle. The Chief and Leto were waiting for us both. My family.
The sea of smiling faces all around us beamed our way. You could feel the love radiating. I’ve never felt anything quite like it. The Chief and I hugged and held hands and then held the hands of our friend who was marrying us. We all took a deep breath and took it all in, all of us too choked up to say anything without taking a moment first.
The vows I had written earlier came together and The Chief spoke his beautifully from the heart, as I knew he would (me with my notepad, him off the cuff. So perfect). We both laughed, we both cried. We both made promises, both lighthearted and serious.
We both vowed to love and be loved as kindly and gently as we can and to continue on, even when it is hard, even as it has been hard, we promised to go forward together.
At the finish of the ceremony, all of the guests found a rock to bestow a wish upon and sent it flying into the river. The joy just kept getting brighter and brighter. There was not a cloud in sight.
We took pictures and then everyone meandered back down the trail to our neighbor’s house (also the wonderful man who married us) where there was a full spread of hors d’oeuvres and a cocktail hour (The Chief and I even got to stroll solo, taking it all in for a moment).
Without asking, people manned the bartending station and had created this beautiful spread (thank you E, C, D & J!). We all lazed on the lawn in the sun until the next leg began.
ACT VI: The Reception
We arrived to a full house, a party fully in swing. The decorations looked beautiful (our friends who hosted had made note of where everything was to go and then had brought it all inside to protect it on account of rain, then set it all back up again on the day of) and the flown in flowers and bouquets graced all of the vases and bottles throughout the garden and the dining tables. It truly looked like a Wonderland.
Again our friends fed us and again it was phenomenal fare. My girlfriend even ran to the line for us (twice) so that The Chief and I could catch our breath (again, these ladies are troopers). We had set up six tables, but in true Alaskan style, most people ate standing and so, the wedding party and all the kids (the kids who mainly spent the night playing in the compost pile. Ha! I love Alaskan children), The Chief and I dined together under the beautiful warm lights.
After dinner, the entertainment started and…my band got to kick off the festivities. I had always wanted to be in a band and here I was, not only in one but singing at my own wedding, looking at the face of my husband in the crowd beaming with joy. It was my favorite show we’ve played.
After that, the bands continued to rock it (two bands from out of town came in just to play the wedding) and we cut the cake that had been made by a few dear friends.
The night ended for us a few hours later as the last band finished and we finally made our way home, husband and wife.
The Chief carried me over the threshold, though certainly not up the Ramp of Doom (I’m a sucker for tradition but not for a broken leg) and we nestled into our cozy cabin in the woods.
Every bit of the day had the touch of love in it. From the painted rocks to the ball and chain piñata surprise to the candles lit in the garden for our ancestors’ table, to the hand-grated carrot cake, to the frequent flyer mile ready flowers and beyond. Every detail, every bit of the day was seen to in this communal way I’ve never experienced before.
Each person raised us up together, beamed with us in happiness and congratulations and in confirmation of our choice. We are meant to be together.
And together we are.
Thank goodness I found you, tucked away in the woods, sweet Chief. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always been right. Life has handed us a hefty dose of sour in these last few years but together we have helped to sweeten it and will only continue to do so. Thank you for who you are and who you help me to be. I love you, always.
To our community, near and far, with us and passed on: Words cannot begin to describe how you made us feel but I will say that we felt held in a way that we hadn’t felt in years, safe and happy, beautifully happy. Thank you, all of you, for your contributions great and small. You made our wedding and our start together in this new life a beacon of hope for us. Thank you, always.
With love and laughter,
P.S. A special thanks to our wedding photographer, Kate Lamb. She’s awesome. Check her out here: Wild In Love Photography
I jumped the gun, counted my chickens before they hatched. I promised exciting news before it was in my lap.
The Chief and I have been milling around the idea of getting a puppy. We’ve gone back and forth and around again until we were furry in the face from all the pups we’d looked at. We were offered three different husky pups, one which was taken back just as soon as it was offered and two that rang just too true to our Lou. Nothing felt quite right. We paused looking on and off for months. I was waiting for our dog to jump from the screen and choose us but it just wasn’t happening. Looking for a pup brought up a mixture of excitement, guilt, and trepidation. It was a step forward into a new chapter, it was a new start that we weren’t totally sure we were ready for and so, it seemed, it wasn’t ready for us either.
There were multiple times where it almost worked, and then at the last moment, we were like ships in the night. Something just wouldn’t line up.
With a girlfriends’ trip to Town fast approaching, I looked like mad for our little furball but the puppy shoes I tried on didn’t quite fit. I decided that it just wasn’t in the cards for us at this moment. We’d wait until after the wedding this Fall and start looking again. I gave myself plenty of reasons why this was the right thing to do and I was pretty convinced.
Two days before our ladies’ trip I decided to allow myself one more look. If the “perfect” dog was there, we’d get him.
And there he was.
Our “perfect” dog was not the dog in front of me. He was bigger and in completely the wrong geographic location but immediately I knew that he was our puppy.
After everything that happened in the passing of our Cinda Lou and all of the loss we’ve experienced in the last year and a half, we wanted to make as many guarantees as we could that our puppy would be healthy. This pup had everything in that realm. His Mom and Dad both had bios up with healthy hips and all that goodness. The Mom was a beauty queen and the Dad a mushing dog who could “pull all day”. After a Winter of Skijoring, we were looking for a working dog but also a family dog, a dog who wanted to be our number one. His parents looked healthy and happy as could be. It just felt right. In his picture, he was even standing on the same rug in his kitchen as we have in ours.
The Chief came home for lunch that day and I asked if he wanted to look at one last puppy. I tried to conceal my smile but it was near wrapped around my face. Without pause, his smile erupted too just upon seeing the picture.
“That’s our guy.”
He was the last boy left in the litter.
By the end of the day, I had put a PayPal deposit down on our pup (which is by far the best online purchase I’ve ever made). We were elated. I couldn’t stop looking at his picture.
Still, we had quite the journey in front of us: we were going to do the Alaska Triangle.
What is the Alaska Triangle, you ask?
Well, clearly we made it up! But I think it could have some staying power. The Alaska Triangle, framed from our neck of the woods, would be our trajectory for the week:
Our neck of the woods to Anchorage: 8 hours
Anchorage to Fairbanks: 8 hours
Fairbanks to our neck of the woods: 8 hours
Now, this may seem like an excessive amount of driving but when you’re used to driving 8 hours to get your groceries, your perspective shifts a bit. Plus, like a dog with treats, every leg of the journey held insanely wonderful incentives:
Our neck of the woods to Anchorage: Here laid the root causes of our trip: First, we would get to listen to the heartbeat of the newest addition to our girl gang! Our beautiful friend is having a baby girl and these aunties were going to get to hear her little heart beating. Second, we were also shopping for wedding and bridesmaid dresses (a task I was inclined to think of more as a chore on my own but with help, actually thoroughly enjoyed). Finally, there laid bloood draws and doctors visits and all the other delightful town duties.
Anchorage to Fairbanks: 8 hours: Puppy pickup! (‘Nuff said)
Fairbanks to our neck of the woods: 8 hours: We’d trade off between driving and puppy pets, bringing all of our precious cargo homeward. Then, introduce the Chief to our little one.
We pretty much squealed with excitement the whole first hour of the trip. Puppies, babies and wedding stuff?! This really was a trifecta of goodness.
The trip was even longer than the triangle too because the first day of the trip was actually spent driving to the end of The Road (60 miles of dirt and busted glaciers) to participate in a fishing derby. By participate, I mean show up in time for the awards and food and miss all the fishing, unfortunately, but when you’re packing for The Alaska Triangle, time gets away from you. We drove 12 miles back down The Road towards home, despite every inch of my being telling me I was going the wrong way, to spend the night at our friends’ cabin that they graciously loaned us for the night. We all felt the excitement building. Finally, the next morning we were off. Back down The Road, Round II.
Everything went perfectly. Appointments we needed had last-minute openings, our Airbnb was cheaper than even the dead of Winter rates, everything was looking up.
The next day we got to hear the baby’s heartbeat and in true Auntie fashion, we were in tears. It was a beautiful start to the trip, full of hope and happiness.
Later that day we shopped for wedding and bridesmaid dresses and found something for everyone.
Still, just to be sure, the next day we went to another wedding dress location.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
As someone who needs to comparison shop even the smallest of items, this was helpful to me to verify that we should, in fact, get the dresses from the day before.
Everything was going so perfectly!
I called then and there to order my dress as there were only two in stock. No answer. In the growing hours of daylight, I had lost time and the dress shop had closed. I felt a little panic well up inside of me. As soon as I hung up, I noticed a text I’d missed:
“So, the pups are acting a little “off”. I don’t know if you can delay your trip or not but I am taking them to the vet tomorrow to get checked out.”
A sinking feeling in my chest forced me to sit down amidst the fluffy white gowns. I took a deep breath and called the breeder.
“It’s probably nothing” he assured me “but Parvo is rampant here so I wanted to be sure. He’s still eating and drinking so he should be fine. But if he does have Parvo he could die within a few days.”
As a vet tech, he had mountains of information he delivered matter of factly that I needed to hear but in that sea of white, what I needed more was to get off the phone so I could cry. I fell into the arms of my girlfriends outside.
I couldn’t believe it.
We spent the night talking about and distracting from the subject but it hung close. This puppy felt like the new start we had hoped for and again, here we were faced with possible death.
Still, maybe it wasn’t Parvo.
We had planned to make our next leg of The Triangle in the morning but without information as to the pup’s health, we figured it best to stay put. We unloaded once again into a new Airbnb. It was beautiful and colorful and felt like home. It also felt like sadness, like there had been a loss but in some ways, that felt comforting because amidst the loss, there was so much love and happiness. After I got this feeling, I went into the bathroom where there was a painting of a woman kneeling over a dog, the dog’s paws were holding onto her legs in a gentle embrace and blood was pooled around the dog. Yet, the dog’s spirit came up from him and turned into a raven. The painting was titled “Grief and Healing”, two things we’ve done a lot of in these past years.
A sort of calm came over me as I realized that I had grieved before, I could do it again but what was most important at that moment wasn’t me, it was him. This little fluff of a pup was fighting for his life. I wanted him to live for him.
The next day, we didn’t have to rush out of the house first thing. For the first time in the trip, we got to just sit for a few hours. We all ended up working, I had a huge project due by week’s end and since the drives I had been planning to work during suddenly weren’t happening I had to squeeze every moment in that I could. After we checked out, we set to do the chores that we never do in Town, the ones deep down on the long list of To Dos which always end up in the “Screw It” pile after chore fatigue sets in. On the way, I got a text:
“He has Parvo.”
I am not a fainter. I am not a damsel in distress. Yet, this news took me over. My chest started radiating in a tingling sensation that only got worse with each breath I took in. I was sobbing as my arms started to go numb and my vision tunneled. I pulled over and just cried until I couldn’t cry any longer while my girlfriends stood guard and rubbed my back. I felt numb.
A few minutes later I got another text:
“We are going to treat him for it. Vet says his chances are good because we caught it early.”
The girls did chores, some of them mine (I love you ladies) the rest of the day and let me dig into work. The deadline was fast approaching and the distraction helped. I broke the bad news to The Chief (just as he had told me that he had cleaned up all the poop in the yard to prevent any Parvo issues) and almost simultaneously heard his heart break for the millionth time. We’ve done so much crying together these past years. Here we were again. Our little beacon of hope might not make it.
The girls and I reconvened again in the evening to do our final chore run: Costco.
We were leaving Town the next morning and going home with almost everything.
The trip had been such a success in so many ways. The baby was healthy, we all would be showing up to the wedding with clothes on (yahoo!), we had done chores we hadn’t even dreamed of getting done and stayed in beautiful homes. We had bonded and eaten delicious food and seen good friends and…we wouldn’t be returning with our puppy.
Still, fingers permanently crossed, I was hopeful.
Yesterday, as The Chief and I prepared to take our annual Pack Test I suddenly felt like we had news. I checked my phone:
“I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, but I am optimistic about your pup. Part of the treatment is that I force feed them Nutri-Cal every 2 hours. I just went out to do that and he greeted me with tail wagging. First time his tail has wagged in almost a week. I take that as a positive sign. Once he starts eating without being forced we will know that we are in the clear. Should be within 48 hours or so.”
The Chief and I just held one another. It was a good sign. Finally. Our little fluffball was fighting.
Later on that night, exhausted from 4 hours of driving in order to go carry 45 lbs. 3 miles (are we just gluttons for punishment?) we got this:
“He is eating cooked Salmon on his own. Yeah!!!”
“He is eating a lot of it too. I am going to watch him. If he keeps it down that’s an awesome sign.”
Included was a picture of him and his sister:
Still, we weren’t certain. He wasn’t giving us the green light but things were looking up.
This morning, as I sat down to write that I had jumped the gun, I had no sooner gotten that sentence down than I received the following text:
“He has eaten several times now and is running around like a puppy again. I would say that he has it beat.”
The Chief and I cried happy tears for the first time in a long time.
I hope with all my might that I have not jumped the gun again but there was nothing else that I could write about this week and so write about it I did. This is real life. This is what’s happening. It’s the only thing on my mind, the last thing I think of as I go to bed and the first thing I think of in the morning.
Thankfully, this morning, it was with a bit of peace in my heart for our little fluffball fighter.
We love you so much already.
Please send your good thoughts his way. Happy, healthy thoughts sent out to all of you and yours.