I've been looking for this particular cantata on the internet for several months, off and on. We used to have the record - you know, the black vinyl things that look absolutely HUGE next to a CD now?? And before we had the record, we sang it in choir.
I played it for Mel tonight. Oh my. Memories of Alaska and Alaska Bible College and the choir and those funky maroon courdoroy long skirts and weird cumberbuns and white blouses all the gals wore and I can't honestly remember what the guys wore - black pants, black shoes and white shirts maybe? And traveling in the vans to different cities in Alaska - Tok, Valdez, Anchorage, Copper Center. And singing our hearts out. And I can remember crying sometimes at the very end during the last song. For some reason I especially remember singing in the little church in Tok. And the cold as we traveled and being bundled up in lots of layers and heavy boots as we traveled, snow and frost and seeing your breath in the van for hours, stamping your feet occasionally to get them 'warm'. And laughing together and singing together and being a part of a community of Believers who were all intent on one purpose.
I had my problems at ABC, but I also had some incredibly fun and good times.
Listen to it - listen to the words and let YOUR heart sing!
Jesus Is Coming!
© Copyright 1972 by John W. Peterson Music Company. All rights reserved. Used by permission
Showing posts with label Alaska. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alaska. Show all posts
Monday, November 09, 2009
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Photos from Alaska
Yesterday morning my sister-in-law, Renee, posted almost 200 photos of their trip to Chitina, Alaska, to go dip-netting last week.
I copied several of them - they are mostly photos of 3 of their girls (and 1 boyfriend!) and of 1 son. Since they live in Alaska, and we lived in Colorado most of our married life - we've only met all the kids twice. Two times! (We'll I met the 4 oldest kids 3 times, all the rest only twice.) Mark, Robbyn, Rebecca, Rachelle, Reuben 
In the past 30 years, Mel and I have only seen his twin brother 2 times. That is what happens when you live almost 4000 miles apart. 
Mel and I went down to this area before we were married. It's funny, when I look at the photos I don't recognize it at all - but it sure is pretty!
I have stood somewhere near this bridge, too, it it's the bridge I think it is. :) If so, I think we spent most of the time on the other side of the river. It was break-up and the river was full of huge chunks of ice, some bigger than a house, grinding against each other as they made their way south toward the Gulf of Alaska. 
We watched a bear swim across the river, around those chunks of ice, from one side to the other. It climbed the bank somewhere below us (which is why I think we were on the other side of the river from the above photo), climbed the hill to the road and came out just a few yards down the road for us. Mel had a flat tire on his truck after we got there, and he and a couple other guys with us had just finished changing it. I'm don't remember - maybe one of those guys was Ralph? Way too many years ago! Where has time flown away to? Renee apparently didn't see a bear this trip, but a moose! 
Renee, Rebecca, Ralph 
Reuben 
Rachelle 
Robbyn and Mark 
Rebecca 
(This is not the whole family. :) :) )
These photos make me feel very, well, I'm not sure how to describe it actually. Sad. Nostalgic. Quiet.
There have been many dreams in my life, many wishes of what I want(ed) to do, where I wanted to go, what I wanted to see and experience. But the most overpowering dream I had was to go to Alaska and to 'be' an Alaskan. I don't know how else to describe it! I went to Alaska, I lived there for a couple of short periods of time, I got married there, I had two of my 3 children there - and then we left. I mourned when we left Alaska, a deep mourning that lastest for several years. Even now when I think of those times the sadness comes back full force.
Yet - I am so thankful that we did move back to Colorado, that we did raise our children in Colorado, that our life has unfolded as it has. I have traveled to many places, seen many very interesting things both natural and man-made that I would never have seen if I'd stayed in Alaska. I have lived in a foreign culture. I have met so many interesting people, both Americans and 'foreigners'. I love the way my life has turned out thus far.
But something inside of me is still drawn north. To Alaska. To dreams I had when I was young. To the possibilities within those dreams. Alaska.
**Tears**
I copied several of them - they are mostly photos of 3 of their girls (and 1 boyfriend!) and of 1 son. Since they live in Alaska, and we lived in Colorado most of our married life - we've only met all the kids twice. Two times! (We'll I met the 4 oldest kids 3 times, all the rest only twice.) Mark, Robbyn, Rebecca, Rachelle, Reuben 
In the past 30 years, Mel and I have only seen his twin brother 2 times. That is what happens when you live almost 4000 miles apart. 
Mel and I went down to this area before we were married. It's funny, when I look at the photos I don't recognize it at all - but it sure is pretty!
I have stood somewhere near this bridge, too, it it's the bridge I think it is. :) If so, I think we spent most of the time on the other side of the river. It was break-up and the river was full of huge chunks of ice, some bigger than a house, grinding against each other as they made their way south toward the Gulf of Alaska. 
We watched a bear swim across the river, around those chunks of ice, from one side to the other. It climbed the bank somewhere below us (which is why I think we were on the other side of the river from the above photo), climbed the hill to the road and came out just a few yards down the road for us. Mel had a flat tire on his truck after we got there, and he and a couple other guys with us had just finished changing it. I'm don't remember - maybe one of those guys was Ralph? Way too many years ago! Where has time flown away to? Renee apparently didn't see a bear this trip, but a moose! 
Renee, Rebecca, Ralph 
Reuben 
Rachelle 
Robbyn and Mark 
Rebecca 
(This is not the whole family. :) :) )These photos make me feel very, well, I'm not sure how to describe it actually. Sad. Nostalgic. Quiet.
There have been many dreams in my life, many wishes of what I want(ed) to do, where I wanted to go, what I wanted to see and experience. But the most overpowering dream I had was to go to Alaska and to 'be' an Alaskan. I don't know how else to describe it! I went to Alaska, I lived there for a couple of short periods of time, I got married there, I had two of my 3 children there - and then we left. I mourned when we left Alaska, a deep mourning that lastest for several years. Even now when I think of those times the sadness comes back full force.
Yet - I am so thankful that we did move back to Colorado, that we did raise our children in Colorado, that our life has unfolded as it has. I have traveled to many places, seen many very interesting things both natural and man-made that I would never have seen if I'd stayed in Alaska. I have lived in a foreign culture. I have met so many interesting people, both Americans and 'foreigners'. I love the way my life has turned out thus far.
But something inside of me is still drawn north. To Alaska. To dreams I had when I was young. To the possibilities within those dreams. Alaska.
**Tears**
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Blob of Goo
Ok, I just can't leave this one alone! :) My sister used to live in Barrow - too bad she's not there now so she could give me an on-site update about what this stuff is!
Huge blob of Arctic goo floats past Slope communities
IT'S NOT OIL: No one in the area can recall seeing anything like it before.
By DON HUNTER
dhunter@adn.com
Published: July 14th, 2009 10:48 PM
Last Modified: July 15th, 2009 02:02 PM
(video link: Unknown substance in the Chukchi Sea)
Something big and strange is floating through the Chukchi Sea between Wainwright and Barrow.
Hunters from Wainwright first started noticing the stuff sometime probably early last week. It's thick and dark and "gooey" and is drifting for miles in the cold Arctic waters, according to Gordon Brower with the North Slope Borough's Planning and Community Services Department.
Brower and other borough officials, joined by the U.S. Coast Guard, flew out to Wainwright to investigate. The agencies found "globs" of the stuff floating miles offshore Friday and collected samples for testing.
Later, Brower said, the North Slope team in a borough helicopter spotted a long strand of the stuff and followed it for about 15 miles, shooting video from the air.
The next day the floating substance arrived offshore from Barrow, about 90 miles east of Wainwright, and borough officials went out in boats, collected more samples and sent them off for testing too.
Nobody knows for sure what the gunk is, but Petty Officer 1st Class Terry Hasenauer says the Coast Guard is sure what it is not.
"It's certainly biological," Hasenauer said. "It's definitely not an oil product of any kind. It has no characteristics of an oil, or a hazardous substance, for that matter.
"It's definitely, by the smell and the makeup of it, it's some sort of naturally occurring organic or otherwise marine organism."
Something else: No one in Barrow or Wainwright can remember seeing anything like this before, Brower said.
"That's one of the reasons we went out, because in recent history I don't think we've seen anything like this," he said. "Maybe inside lakes or in stagnant water or something, but not (in the ocean) that we could recall ...
"If it was something we'd seen before, we'd be able to say something about it. But we haven't ...which prompted concerns from the local hunters and whaling captains."
The stuff is "gooey" and looks dark against the bright white ice floating in the Arctic Ocean, Brower said.
"It's pitch black when it hits ice and it kind of discolors the ice and hangs off of it," Brower said. He saw some jellyfish tangled up in the stuff, and someone turned in what was left of a dead goose -- just bones and feathers -- to the borough's wildlife department.
"It kind of has an odor; I can't describe it," he said.
Hasenauer said he hasn't heard any reports of waterfowl or marine animals turning up.
Brower said it wouldn't necessarily surprise him if the substance turns out to be some sort of naturally occurring phenomenon, but the borough is waiting until it gets the analysis back from the samples before officials say anything more than they're not sure what it is.
"From the air it looks brownish with some sheen, but when you get close and put it up on the ice and in the bucket, it's kind of blackish stuff ... (and) has hairy strands on it."
Hasenauer said the Coast Guard's samples are being analyzed in Anchorage. Results may be back sometime next week, he said.
The two Coast Guard experts sent up to overfly the area with the borough said they saw nothing that resembled an oil slick, Hasenauer said.
"We brought back one sample of what they believe to be an algae," he said, and a big algae bloom is one possibility.
"It's textbook for us to consider algae because of all the false reports of oil spills we've had in the past. It's one of the things that typically comes up" when a report turns out not to be an oil spill after all.
But, he said, "there's all types of natural phenomena that it could be."
Meanwhile, the brownish-blackish gunk is drifting along the coast to the northeast, Brower said.
"This stuff is moving with the current," he said. "It's now on beyond Barrow and probably going north at this point. And people are still encountering it out here off Barrow."
For the most part, the mystery substance seems to have stayed away from shore.
"We did get some residents saying it was being pushed against the shoreline by ice in some areas," Brower said, "but then we get another east wind and it gets pushed back out there."
Find Don Hunter online at adn.com/contact/dhunter or call 257-4349.
IT'S NOT OIL: No one in the area can recall seeing anything like it before.
By DON HUNTER
dhunter@adn.com
Published: July 14th, 2009 10:48 PM
Last Modified: July 15th, 2009 02:02 PM
(video link: Unknown substance in the Chukchi Sea)
Something big and strange is floating through the Chukchi Sea between Wainwright and Barrow.
Hunters from Wainwright first started noticing the stuff sometime probably early last week. It's thick and dark and "gooey" and is drifting for miles in the cold Arctic waters, according to Gordon Brower with the North Slope Borough's Planning and Community Services Department.
Brower and other borough officials, joined by the U.S. Coast Guard, flew out to Wainwright to investigate. The agencies found "globs" of the stuff floating miles offshore Friday and collected samples for testing.
Later, Brower said, the North Slope team in a borough helicopter spotted a long strand of the stuff and followed it for about 15 miles, shooting video from the air.
The next day the floating substance arrived offshore from Barrow, about 90 miles east of Wainwright, and borough officials went out in boats, collected more samples and sent them off for testing too.
Nobody knows for sure what the gunk is, but Petty Officer 1st Class Terry Hasenauer says the Coast Guard is sure what it is not.
"It's certainly biological," Hasenauer said. "It's definitely not an oil product of any kind. It has no characteristics of an oil, or a hazardous substance, for that matter.
"It's definitely, by the smell and the makeup of it, it's some sort of naturally occurring organic or otherwise marine organism."
Something else: No one in Barrow or Wainwright can remember seeing anything like this before, Brower said.
"That's one of the reasons we went out, because in recent history I don't think we've seen anything like this," he said. "Maybe inside lakes or in stagnant water or something, but not (in the ocean) that we could recall ...
"If it was something we'd seen before, we'd be able to say something about it. But we haven't ...which prompted concerns from the local hunters and whaling captains."
The stuff is "gooey" and looks dark against the bright white ice floating in the Arctic Ocean, Brower said.
"It's pitch black when it hits ice and it kind of discolors the ice and hangs off of it," Brower said. He saw some jellyfish tangled up in the stuff, and someone turned in what was left of a dead goose -- just bones and feathers -- to the borough's wildlife department.
"It kind of has an odor; I can't describe it," he said.
Hasenauer said he hasn't heard any reports of waterfowl or marine animals turning up.
Brower said it wouldn't necessarily surprise him if the substance turns out to be some sort of naturally occurring phenomenon, but the borough is waiting until it gets the analysis back from the samples before officials say anything more than they're not sure what it is.
"From the air it looks brownish with some sheen, but when you get close and put it up on the ice and in the bucket, it's kind of blackish stuff ... (and) has hairy strands on it."
Hasenauer said the Coast Guard's samples are being analyzed in Anchorage. Results may be back sometime next week, he said.
The two Coast Guard experts sent up to overfly the area with the borough said they saw nothing that resembled an oil slick, Hasenauer said.
"We brought back one sample of what they believe to be an algae," he said, and a big algae bloom is one possibility.
"It's textbook for us to consider algae because of all the false reports of oil spills we've had in the past. It's one of the things that typically comes up" when a report turns out not to be an oil spill after all.
But, he said, "there's all types of natural phenomena that it could be."
Meanwhile, the brownish-blackish gunk is drifting along the coast to the northeast, Brower said.
"This stuff is moving with the current," he said. "It's now on beyond Barrow and probably going north at this point. And people are still encountering it out here off Barrow."
For the most part, the mystery substance seems to have stayed away from shore.
"We did get some residents saying it was being pushed against the shoreline by ice in some areas," Brower said, "but then we get another east wind and it gets pushed back out there."
Find Don Hunter online at adn.com/contact/dhunter or call 257-4349.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Places I Love, Right Now
Alaska:
Colorado:
Glacier National Park webcams:
Friday, June 26, 2009
Beautiful Photos Today
Here are some beautiful photos from webcams on the internet, all from today (this morning in the States, this early evening here in Ukraine).
First - Glacier National Park
The Osprey (Pandion haliaetus) Cam is online!
This webcam is located on the east side of the St. Mary Visitor Center and points directly at an Osprey nest on the other side of the parking lot. Several years ago Glacier Electric Cooperative constructed the platform, in an effort to keep the birds from building nests on the power transformers on the adjacent power poles. The birds seem to have taken to the new location and have had successful nests for several seasons. We are hoping that this year they will once again have chicks in the nest soon.
Due to the high winds at St. Mary the image may be blurred from time to time as the camera vibrates in the housing. Wait for another image to download and it should be clearer.
Next - Mount Redoubt, Alaska
And last, but not least, Sangre de Cristo Mountains and the Wet Mountain Valley
First - Glacier National Park
The Osprey (Pandion haliaetus) Cam is online!
This webcam is located on the east side of the St. Mary Visitor Center and points directly at an Osprey nest on the other side of the parking lot. Several years ago Glacier Electric Cooperative constructed the platform, in an effort to keep the birds from building nests on the power transformers on the adjacent power poles. The birds seem to have taken to the new location and have had successful nests for several seasons. We are hoping that this year they will once again have chicks in the nest soon.
Due to the high winds at St. Mary the image may be blurred from time to time as the camera vibrates in the housing. Wait for another image to download and it should be clearer.
Next - Mount Redoubt, Alaska
And last, but not least, Sangre de Cristo Mountains and the Wet Mountain Valley
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Bits n Pieces
I called my dad on Father's Day to wish him a happy day. Was very good to hear his voice and talk with him. I also talked with my mother. Actually, I talked with her a lot longer than I talked to my dad. :)
While we were talking I mentioned that both my sister, Heidie, and my sister-in-law,Renee, who both live in Fairbanks, told me in recent instant messaging conversations that they had been woken up not long ago by a sharp earthquake jolt. They've also felt a few smaller tremblors, nothing major.
I told my mother that I expected soon they would have a good sized quake up there, or maybe in California. Who knows? I was looking at the earthquake page on the internet while we were talking and I told her that both Puerto Rico/Virgin Islands area and Alaska were having a bunch of small earthquakes - and so was California.
Imagine my smile the next morning when I'm reading the news and I see a headline that the "urban areas" of Alaska had been shaken by a quake. I looked it up. Oh - that wasn't all that big - just a 5.3. I've been in quakes bigger than that in Alaska.
Heidie didn't feel it. I don't know if Renee did. Of course, they live a long way from the epicenter, even if the news did report that it was felt even north of Fairbanks.
~*~*~*~*~
I've been working on my rabbit surrounded by flowers and bugs needlepoint again. Maybe I'll have a finished object to show before too long. I've only been working on this one about 3 years, maybe 4. I'm getting it done a lot faster than I did my Arctic Wildlife cross stitch.
As soon as it's finished, I really need to think about finishing some of the other two dozen or so projects of various kinds I have started. But first things first. I'm in the mood for needlepoint right now. Strike while the iron is hot!
Which reminds me, I need to iron a couple of Mel's shirts....
~*~*~*~*~
Mel put the air conditioner in the window Monday. Oh sweet coolness! It's not working 100%, but seems to be working better than it did last year.
Today is a lot drier, not so much humidity, so the over 90 degree F temp is a bit easier to handle while outside. Still too hot for me, but much, much better than when the humidity is up.
~*~*~*~*~
We have a sad situation going on here with one of the pastors in another city leaving the ministry. He has, from what we understand from what he's written, renounced his faith in God.
This makes my heart weep.
I am reminded once again of Christ's words: "...when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?" Luke 18:8b
And:
"Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come. Matthew 24:9-14 (emphasis mine)
Yes, Jesus said that many will turn away from the faith. A young man we thought was standing firm, has turned away. And it breaks our hearts.
The love of many will grow cold - what a horrible thought.
Oh, how those words terrify me! My plea is always, 'Father, do not let me turn away from you! Help me to love you more and more!'
I believe in eternal security, once saved always saved, but I am also very aware of something else Jesus said: ""Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!' Matthew 7:21-23
And Paul's words: Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Philippians 2:12,13
I am so thankful for that last part of what Paul wrote - it is GOD who works in us to will and to act according to HIS good purpose.
I need to remember that.
If you pray, please pray for this young man and his family. We do not work directly with him and I do not have the freedom to give his name. God knows who you are praying for.
~*~*~*~*~
I did not sleep well last night and have had a sick stomach all day today. I feel 'droopy'. Is one of the Seven Dwarfs named Droopy? or was it Sleepy? I don't remember. I don't feel like a dwarf in a fairy tale, I just feel yucky. :)
~*~*~*~*~
We went shopping at the 'big Oskar' today. It's always nice to go there and push the cart around, even if the cart does want to go in every direction imaginable except straight ahead. I like the big city Safeway, Albertsons, King Soopers, or Piggly Wiggly feel of that particular Oskar.
However - still no almonds anywhere, or leeks, or avocados, or celery, or pine nuts, or peanut butter. But they did have two or three kinds of lettuce! I didn't buy any because I really don't care for it any more, really truly, but I did take note that it was there. As was fresh ginger. And the very last bag of hazelnuts I've seen anywhere. (I bought the last bag of cashews at one Oskar and the last bag of hazelnuts at another Oskar - maybe I should go to one of the two other Oskars in town and see if they have the last bag of almonds or pine nuts....) I keep thinking of things I didn't see. I hope they get leeks in again, and maybe celery, too. That would be nice. Maybe they are available at the outdoor market - but I really, really, really do not like shopping there in crowds of pushing and shoving people, and stinky fish and flies, and when it rains - puddles of water everywhere. The dogs and cats roaming all over don't bother me. The birds that live in and fly around in two of the Oskars don't bother me either - it's kind of nice to see them and hear them chirping - little European sparrows - so long as they don't sit above me. :) :)
~*~*~*~*~
After coming home from Oskar, we splurged and Mel went out into the hot again, over to a little produkti that is now nearby, and bought us some Poltava ice cream bars. Very similar to the Eskimo bars we bought as kids. My first ice cream of the summer. My lunch today. :)
~*~*~*~*~
Ok, all for now. I need to go lie down again.
While we were talking I mentioned that both my sister, Heidie, and my sister-in-law,Renee, who both live in Fairbanks, told me in recent instant messaging conversations that they had been woken up not long ago by a sharp earthquake jolt. They've also felt a few smaller tremblors, nothing major.
I told my mother that I expected soon they would have a good sized quake up there, or maybe in California. Who knows? I was looking at the earthquake page on the internet while we were talking and I told her that both Puerto Rico/Virgin Islands area and Alaska were having a bunch of small earthquakes - and so was California.
Imagine my smile the next morning when I'm reading the news and I see a headline that the "urban areas" of Alaska had been shaken by a quake. I looked it up. Oh - that wasn't all that big - just a 5.3. I've been in quakes bigger than that in Alaska.
Heidie didn't feel it. I don't know if Renee did. Of course, they live a long way from the epicenter, even if the news did report that it was felt even north of Fairbanks.
I've been working on my rabbit surrounded by flowers and bugs needlepoint again. Maybe I'll have a finished object to show before too long. I've only been working on this one about 3 years, maybe 4. I'm getting it done a lot faster than I did my Arctic Wildlife cross stitch.
As soon as it's finished, I really need to think about finishing some of the other two dozen or so projects of various kinds I have started. But first things first. I'm in the mood for needlepoint right now. Strike while the iron is hot!
Which reminds me, I need to iron a couple of Mel's shirts....
Mel put the air conditioner in the window Monday. Oh sweet coolness! It's not working 100%, but seems to be working better than it did last year.
Today is a lot drier, not so much humidity, so the over 90 degree F temp is a bit easier to handle while outside. Still too hot for me, but much, much better than when the humidity is up.
We have a sad situation going on here with one of the pastors in another city leaving the ministry. He has, from what we understand from what he's written, renounced his faith in God.
This makes my heart weep.
I am reminded once again of Christ's words: "...when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?" Luke 18:8b
And:
"Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come. Matthew 24:9-14 (emphasis mine)
Yes, Jesus said that many will turn away from the faith. A young man we thought was standing firm, has turned away. And it breaks our hearts.
The love of many will grow cold - what a horrible thought.
Oh, how those words terrify me! My plea is always, 'Father, do not let me turn away from you! Help me to love you more and more!'
I believe in eternal security, once saved always saved, but I am also very aware of something else Jesus said: ""Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!' Matthew 7:21-23
And Paul's words: Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Philippians 2:12,13
I am so thankful for that last part of what Paul wrote - it is GOD who works in us to will and to act according to HIS good purpose.
I need to remember that.
If you pray, please pray for this young man and his family. We do not work directly with him and I do not have the freedom to give his name. God knows who you are praying for.
I did not sleep well last night and have had a sick stomach all day today. I feel 'droopy'. Is one of the Seven Dwarfs named Droopy? or was it Sleepy? I don't remember. I don't feel like a dwarf in a fairy tale, I just feel yucky. :)
We went shopping at the 'big Oskar' today. It's always nice to go there and push the cart around, even if the cart does want to go in every direction imaginable except straight ahead. I like the big city Safeway, Albertsons, King Soopers, or Piggly Wiggly feel of that particular Oskar.
However - still no almonds anywhere, or leeks, or avocados, or celery, or pine nuts, or peanut butter. But they did have two or three kinds of lettuce! I didn't buy any because I really don't care for it any more, really truly, but I did take note that it was there. As was fresh ginger. And the very last bag of hazelnuts I've seen anywhere. (I bought the last bag of cashews at one Oskar and the last bag of hazelnuts at another Oskar - maybe I should go to one of the two other Oskars in town and see if they have the last bag of almonds or pine nuts....) I keep thinking of things I didn't see. I hope they get leeks in again, and maybe celery, too. That would be nice. Maybe they are available at the outdoor market - but I really, really, really do not like shopping there in crowds of pushing and shoving people, and stinky fish and flies, and when it rains - puddles of water everywhere. The dogs and cats roaming all over don't bother me. The birds that live in and fly around in two of the Oskars don't bother me either - it's kind of nice to see them and hear them chirping - little European sparrows - so long as they don't sit above me. :) :)
After coming home from Oskar, we splurged and Mel went out into the hot again, over to a little produkti that is now nearby, and bought us some Poltava ice cream bars. Very similar to the Eskimo bars we bought as kids. My first ice cream of the summer. My lunch today. :)
Ok, all for now. I need to go lie down again.
Friday, April 17, 2009
We're So Proud
Here are some more photos I found on my sister-in-law's Facebook page of Reuben signing his letter of intent with the U of A, Fairbanks (see previous post). We are so happy for them and so proud with them. 
Ralph signing his part of the form.
Ralph, Reuben, Renee, Cole Daniel, Cole's mother (I think)
Ralph is Mel's twin brother. The older these two guys get, the more they look like each other. :)
I guess I just became a college basketball fan, and I guess my favorite team is the Nanooks!
definition: In Inuit mythology, Nanook or Nanuq[1] (Inuktitut syllabics: ᓇᓄᖅ[2]), which is from the Inuit language for polar bear, was the master of bears, meaning he decided if hunters had followed all applicable taboos and if they deserved success in hunting bears.
Ralph, Reuben, Renee, Cole Daniel, Cole's mother (I think)
Ralph is Mel's twin brother. The older these two guys get, the more they look like each other. :)
I guess I just became a college basketball fan, and I guess my favorite team is the Nanooks!
definition: In Inuit mythology, Nanook or Nanuq[1] (Inuktitut syllabics: ᓇᓄᖅ[2]), which is from the Inuit language for polar bear, was the master of bears, meaning he decided if hunters had followed all applicable taboos and if they deserved success in hunting bears.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Rocks
I have always collected little stones. Not just in my shoes as I walk here and there :), but I actually look for beautiful stones. This is not an easy thing to do here in Kherson. There is a lot of dirt and dust and sand and muck, but not very many stones.
Now, I come from a part of the world where there are a lot of stones. And not only stones, but rocks. I mean, really big rocks. Really, really big rocks. The Rocky Mountain kind of big rocks. This rock is located just a few miles from my parents home and there are many more like it in the surrounding area.
BIG rocks. :)
I'm not sure when my rock collecting started. I can remember in my childhood receiving from someone a sheet of cardboard with little stones glued to it. Each stone was labeled as to what it was and possibly (I don't remember this exactly) where it came from. Some of those stones were beautiful. At least one looked like a nice chunk of caramel candy. Others just looked like the rocks we had out in the driveway, ho hum. I can remember actually licking that caramel colored stone - it was all smooth and shiny and looked really good - was it a stone or was it candy just pretending to be a stone? Ah, childhood - when life was simple. heh heh
The next real memory of my collecting stones comes from Alaska. I remember walking along a glacial river, a tributary to the mighty Copper River near Copper Center. I was with Mel and he was showing me 'his' Alaska. I was intrigued by the stones and rocks along the river bank. Many of them were a dark gray with brilliant white stripes running through them. I collected a handful of small stones, ones more unusual than the others due to the angles or widths of the stripes, and even a couple of pure white stones. I have no idea whatever happened to them. Maybe some day an geologist will excavate an area and wonder how those particular stones from the Copper River Basin in Alaska ended up in Fairbanks or possibly even in Colorado.
When we lived in the Wet Mountain Valley of Colorado we explored the area at every opportunity. One of the things I really enjoyed was collecting stones and rocks from different places. Green stones, maroon rocks, stripped rocks, yellow stones, and best of all, some pale tan and rust striped rocks. I ended up with a quart sized jar of different stones, all smaller than an inch in diameter, but beautiful in a variety of color, texture and pattern. The tan and rust striped rocks were/are amazing. The stripes were in circles and curly cues and waves. No two rocks were alike. I wanted a whole collection of them. Imagine the following photo as a rock you can actually pick up:
Poor Mel got tired of finding rocks in the back of our van after I'd go out for a walk. I used them as borders for my flower gardens and even took some of them up to my parents place. My mother still uses them as borders around her flower gardens. When we left that place, I dug the most beautiful ones out of the garden border and they are in storage right now as I write this.
One of the beautiful things God has given us that we so often take for granted. How often do we look at the ground around us and see the diversity, the beauty, the gift God has given us? All too seldom, I fear.
I have a small collection of stones here in Ukraine, picked up along the river or out in a village we visited once. There are also stones from Spain, California and one may be from Oregon. Unfortunately, I love the way they look, but I forget exactly where they come from. Mixed in with those stones in the little display are seashells from the Mediterranean Sea, Red Sea and Pacific Ocean, and several small pieces of driftwood from the Pacific.
Several times Ukrainians have asked me why I have all those stones, shells and weird pieces of wood on that shelf. I say, "They each remind me of some place I have been." But there is more to it than that. They are beautiful. And I like them.
This morning, while checking out the articles on geology.com, I came across this video clip:Balancing Rocks by Bill Dan
There is more information about this guy, and others who do this, on Rock On, Rock ON!
Last night at our team prayer time, Mel gave a short devotional on what it means to 'enjoy God', mentioning Eric Liddell's famous quote: "God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure." We talked about what we do where we also feel God's pleasure. I showed this YouTube video to Mel and his first response was, "I hope he feels God's pleasure when he does this." I hope so. It is an amazing talent, what this man can do, a combination of God given eye-hand coordination and patience. As I watched him, I thought about how his eyes saw the stone and his hand held the stone and his arms felt the weight of the rock resting against his muscles - until suddenly, that weight was gone - resting instead totally on the stone beneath.
I like rocks. I'm glad God made rocks. I feel His pleasure when I enjoy His creation.
Now, I come from a part of the world where there are a lot of stones. And not only stones, but rocks. I mean, really big rocks. Really, really big rocks. The Rocky Mountain kind of big rocks. This rock is located just a few miles from my parents home and there are many more like it in the surrounding area.
I'm not sure when my rock collecting started. I can remember in my childhood receiving from someone a sheet of cardboard with little stones glued to it. Each stone was labeled as to what it was and possibly (I don't remember this exactly) where it came from. Some of those stones were beautiful. At least one looked like a nice chunk of caramel candy. Others just looked like the rocks we had out in the driveway, ho hum. I can remember actually licking that caramel colored stone - it was all smooth and shiny and looked really good - was it a stone or was it candy just pretending to be a stone? Ah, childhood - when life was simple. heh heh
The next real memory of my collecting stones comes from Alaska. I remember walking along a glacial river, a tributary to the mighty Copper River near Copper Center. I was with Mel and he was showing me 'his' Alaska. I was intrigued by the stones and rocks along the river bank. Many of them were a dark gray with brilliant white stripes running through them. I collected a handful of small stones, ones more unusual than the others due to the angles or widths of the stripes, and even a couple of pure white stones. I have no idea whatever happened to them. Maybe some day an geologist will excavate an area and wonder how those particular stones from the Copper River Basin in Alaska ended up in Fairbanks or possibly even in Colorado.
When we lived in the Wet Mountain Valley of Colorado we explored the area at every opportunity. One of the things I really enjoyed was collecting stones and rocks from different places. Green stones, maroon rocks, stripped rocks, yellow stones, and best of all, some pale tan and rust striped rocks. I ended up with a quart sized jar of different stones, all smaller than an inch in diameter, but beautiful in a variety of color, texture and pattern. The tan and rust striped rocks were/are amazing. The stripes were in circles and curly cues and waves. No two rocks were alike. I wanted a whole collection of them. Imagine the following photo as a rock you can actually pick up:
Poor Mel got tired of finding rocks in the back of our van after I'd go out for a walk. I used them as borders for my flower gardens and even took some of them up to my parents place. My mother still uses them as borders around her flower gardens. When we left that place, I dug the most beautiful ones out of the garden border and they are in storage right now as I write this.One of the beautiful things God has given us that we so often take for granted. How often do we look at the ground around us and see the diversity, the beauty, the gift God has given us? All too seldom, I fear.
I have a small collection of stones here in Ukraine, picked up along the river or out in a village we visited once. There are also stones from Spain, California and one may be from Oregon. Unfortunately, I love the way they look, but I forget exactly where they come from. Mixed in with those stones in the little display are seashells from the Mediterranean Sea, Red Sea and Pacific Ocean, and several small pieces of driftwood from the Pacific.
Several times Ukrainians have asked me why I have all those stones, shells and weird pieces of wood on that shelf. I say, "They each remind me of some place I have been." But there is more to it than that. They are beautiful. And I like them.
This morning, while checking out the articles on geology.com, I came across this video clip:Balancing Rocks by Bill Dan
There is more information about this guy, and others who do this, on Rock On, Rock ON!
Last night at our team prayer time, Mel gave a short devotional on what it means to 'enjoy God', mentioning Eric Liddell's famous quote: "God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure." We talked about what we do where we also feel God's pleasure. I showed this YouTube video to Mel and his first response was, "I hope he feels God's pleasure when he does this." I hope so. It is an amazing talent, what this man can do, a combination of God given eye-hand coordination and patience. As I watched him, I thought about how his eyes saw the stone and his hand held the stone and his arms felt the weight of the rock resting against his muscles - until suddenly, that weight was gone - resting instead totally on the stone beneath.
I like rocks. I'm glad God made rocks. I feel His pleasure when I enjoy His creation.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
This Made My Evening :)
I checked the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo giraffe webcam this evening, not so see the giraffes, but to see how much snow is left from the storm they had over the weekend. Imagine my surprise when this is what I saw: 
When I glanced down at the corner I saw this little guy:
Since the squirrelcam in North Pole, AK, is no longer working - it's a live television view now that I can't click on to save images :( - this little guy just made me happy and smiley. I have to have squirrel fix now and then.
****** UPDATE
Upon a little more searching, I found that they still have still photos updated every 2 minutes from a different camera. This is what I saw tonight, which is morning there. Check out that temperature!!!! The weatherunderground report is the same.
The Squirrel Cam, January 6, 2008 -50 degrees F
Mel tells me that when he was a kid and they lived out on the homestead they used to pray that it would be -56 F in Fairbanks because then school was closed for the day. If it was -55 F, school was open. This was great for them because they lived on a hill out of town, above the ice fog, up where the air is a lot warmer. Sometimes it would be 30 or 40 degrees warmer! Then they would be free to play outside all day if they liked, rather than go to school.
My sister in Fairbanks told me a couple days ago that at her house, also outside of town and on a hill, it is much warmer than in town. While it was -30 F last week, she was a warm and toasty -8 F. :) :) It really does make a huge difference. Trust me!
When I glanced down at the corner I saw this little guy:
Since the squirrelcam in North Pole, AK, is no longer working - it's a live television view now that I can't click on to save images :( - this little guy just made me happy and smiley. I have to have squirrel fix now and then.
****** UPDATE
Upon a little more searching, I found that they still have still photos updated every 2 minutes from a different camera. This is what I saw tonight, which is morning there. Check out that temperature!!!! The weatherunderground report is the same.
The Squirrel Cam, January 6, 2008 -50 degrees FMel tells me that when he was a kid and they lived out on the homestead they used to pray that it would be -56 F in Fairbanks because then school was closed for the day. If it was -55 F, school was open. This was great for them because they lived on a hill out of town, above the ice fog, up where the air is a lot warmer. Sometimes it would be 30 or 40 degrees warmer! Then they would be free to play outside all day if they liked, rather than go to school.
My sister in Fairbanks told me a couple days ago that at her house, also outside of town and on a hill, it is much warmer than in town. While it was -30 F last week, she was a warm and toasty -8 F. :) :) It really does make a huge difference. Trust me!
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Happy Birthday Alaska!
I was going to post about this yesterday and got busy with other things and then late last night it just skipped out of my mind. So here we go now, a few hours later - EXCEPT it is still January 3 in Alaska!
Happy
Birthday
Alaska!
50
Years
Old!
Alaska Statehood: Golden Anniversary, from Anchorage Daily News
Birthday
Alaska!
50
Years
Old!
Alaska Statehood: Golden Anniversary, from Anchorage Daily News
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tracking Santa
Colorado Springs is my hometown. Colorado Springs is home to NORAD. NORAD tracks Santa every year and as I write this post, this very exact second, the NORAD Tracks Santa webpage tells me that Santa is in Colorado Springs.
And I am crying.
Santa had kind of a zig zag route this year, coming up out of Mexico. He zigged to Tucson, and zagged to Roswell and zigged to Cedar City and finally he zagged back to Colorado Springs. I thought he was NEVER going to get there. I was waiting impatiently for him to fill Stirlings' stocking. He's taking so long in the Springs that I think he must have a lot for my grandkid. Heh heh!
And now he's in Lander. Now that is interesting. I would have thought he'd go to Cheyenne, but no, he went over to Lander. We like Lander. We have friends in Lander. :) :)
Hear a happy sigh.
Last night I watched as he zigzagged down out of Russia and into Ukraine, but he didn't go to Kiev and he didn't go to Odessa. He went to some place I'd never really heard of before. Well, I've heard of it, barely, kind of, it sounded a bit familiar: Kirovohrad. I looked out the window but didn't spy him flying over on his way south.
Many, many years ago I sat in the living room of our apartment in Fairbanks, Alaska. The kids were all asleep - Andrew was all of 5 weeks old. It was dark out. We had a nice Alaskan black spruce, kind of bare in the branches, but we had chosen it off of Mel's Dad's homestead and it was ours. Blue lights, red and white candy canes, silver tinsel and blue and white balls. I turned off all the lights in the house but the tree, and sat watching the late news, waiting for Mel to get off his late night shift and come home.
Suddenly an announcement came over the tv. NORAD was tracking something suspisious and it was headed right for Fairbanks, but wait! it looks like.... a sleigh and reidneer! It's Santa! And when the announcer said, "From NORAD in Colorado Springs, Colorado" I wept like a baby.
As I write now, I am crying. Not because I'm sad, but because it is Christmas morning and NORAD is still tracking Santa 29 years later and my family is sound asleep (or soon will be), tucked up in their beds near Colorado Springs and I won't be there when they wake up.
Christmas is hard so far away from home.
But I still enjoy it. Just with more emotion than if I was at home.
And I am crying.
Santa had kind of a zig zag route this year, coming up out of Mexico. He zigged to Tucson, and zagged to Roswell and zigged to Cedar City and finally he zagged back to Colorado Springs. I thought he was NEVER going to get there. I was waiting impatiently for him to fill Stirlings' stocking. He's taking so long in the Springs that I think he must have a lot for my grandkid. Heh heh!
And now he's in Lander. Now that is interesting. I would have thought he'd go to Cheyenne, but no, he went over to Lander. We like Lander. We have friends in Lander. :) :)
Hear a happy sigh.
Last night I watched as he zigzagged down out of Russia and into Ukraine, but he didn't go to Kiev and he didn't go to Odessa. He went to some place I'd never really heard of before. Well, I've heard of it, barely, kind of, it sounded a bit familiar: Kirovohrad. I looked out the window but didn't spy him flying over on his way south.
Many, many years ago I sat in the living room of our apartment in Fairbanks, Alaska. The kids were all asleep - Andrew was all of 5 weeks old. It was dark out. We had a nice Alaskan black spruce, kind of bare in the branches, but we had chosen it off of Mel's Dad's homestead and it was ours. Blue lights, red and white candy canes, silver tinsel and blue and white balls. I turned off all the lights in the house but the tree, and sat watching the late news, waiting for Mel to get off his late night shift and come home.
Suddenly an announcement came over the tv. NORAD was tracking something suspisious and it was headed right for Fairbanks, but wait! it looks like.... a sleigh and reidneer! It's Santa! And when the announcer said, "From NORAD in Colorado Springs, Colorado" I wept like a baby.
As I write now, I am crying. Not because I'm sad, but because it is Christmas morning and NORAD is still tracking Santa 29 years later and my family is sound asleep (or soon will be), tucked up in their beds near Colorado Springs and I won't be there when they wake up.
Christmas is hard so far away from home.
But I still enjoy it. Just with more emotion than if I was at home.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Happy Birthday, Andrew!!
Twenty-nine years ago today our youngest son, Andrew, was born.
It was a 'warm' November day in Fairbanks. A warm day that followed several days of very cold temperatures - and it was raining. When I went into labor, the roads were covered in a thick layer of ice. We were worried that we would not be able to even make it to the hospital which was just a couple miles away. However, before that could happen, Mel needed to get the older two kids to the babysitter, Grandma Betty (our future sister-in-law's mother) and she lived out of town a few miles. He discovered on the way back in to town that the road was closed to all traffic right behind him. It was the warmest day Mel could remember for November, but the rain was freezing as it hit the ground.
We made it to the hospital and Mel very gingerly helped me walk across the ice, slipping and sliding, terrified that I was going to fall right there in the parking lot. I was met at the entrance by a nurse with a wheelchair.
My delivery with Andrew went perfectly. Almost too perfectly. When it came time for the doctor to say, "Now! Push!" I pushed. Oh yes, I pushed! I wanted that kid born. I wanted it all over and done with now!. The doctor told me to stop pushing so hard, she could actually see him moving down the birth canal at what was, apparently, an alarmingly fast rate. :) He was born with no problems, though, in a very timely manner. So timely, in fact, that he was born at the exact same time of day as his brother had been born 16 months earlier, and the exact same time of day opposite of his sister, 30 months earlier. Both boys were born in the morning at the same time, Kara at night at the same time, in the normal American way of telling time, which is not 'military time.' (Mel always says that is because Kara is the opposite sex.)
I soon had proof of how hard I had pushed. The following morning I noticed that my chest was covered in little bruises. I immediately asked a nurse what was going on, but she had no answer. When the doctor came in, I asked her. She examined me in surprise, thought for a moment and then explained what she thought had happened. I had pushed so hard, strained so hard, that I had broken dozens of little capillaries in the skin of my chest. She had never seen anything like it, but then, she told me she had never seen a baby move that fast down the birth canal either!
Why do I have this weird sense of pride in that accomplishment? Answer: unknown.
Anyway, the only other thing of note about Andrew's birth is the fact that we almost didn't bring him home. We almost brought home a little Asian baby instead.
"What?" I hear you exclaim. "How could you mix up your baby with an Asian baby???"
Well, the answer is pretty simple. They brought me a baby in the middle of the night, woke me up from a sound sleep to nurse the little guy. He wouldn't nurse. I examined said baby and thought to myself, "He looks hot with this silly ski cap on his head" and I pulled it off.
Hair. Black. Hair. Tons of black hair. Amazing amounts of black hair, sticking out of his head at every angle imaginable. Hair.
My babies were bald. Hairless. Cue balls. Bald. Oh, ok - they may have had a bit of fuzz on top, if held up to the light just so, but there was no way on God's green earth that my baby had hair like that.
Didn't I notice that his eyes were, well, Asian looking?
No. Why? Because all three of my babies had Asian looking eyes when they were born. The reason? Because Mel has a fair amount of Cherokee Indian in him. His grandfather looked like a full-blooded Indian until the day he died (is it still ok, politically correct speaking, to say 'full-blooded'? I never know any more what is PC and what will get a person lynched.) The older Mel gets, the more he looks like his father, and his grandfather, and the more I can see the Indian in him. Maybe no one else can, but I knew his grandfather, and everyone commented on how "Indian" he looked. (Oh - that may not be PC any more either - Native American! Someone already told me I'm not supposed to say "Oriental" so that's why I used "Asian." I hope that's ok...)
Whatever!
I pulled the little ski cap off. Stared in confusion at Baby for a minute, my sleep deprived mind numb - remember I already had two kids at home, both under the age of 3. I pushed the call button, the nurse arrived. I said, "I'm sorry, this is not my baby." And she panicked. Yes, panicked. Thus began a series of 5,000 questions and a form to fill out and whatever else happened that night while the real mama slept undisturbed in the bed beside me. Mrs. Zhcherkwoski or some other very Slavic name last name that started with a Z and not my own surname initial, and yes, a very ethnically Vietnamese woman.
They never did bring Andrew to me that night.
Believe me, I pulled off that little ski cap when they brought him to me in the morning! Made sure that his little bracelet matched mine AND the name in the name tag holder on the foot of my bed. A simple mistake - someone switched our name tags on the beds.
I don't think Mrs. Z ever knew what happened. I hope not. Or maybe I hope she did know. I would have wanted to know if my baby had almost been given to the wrong person.
So, we went home a few days later. Mel took us into our apartment, I settled Andrew in his bassinet, sound asleep and then settled myself in a rocking chair. I eagerly waited for Mel to bring the other two kids home. They all came in the door. I held out my arms. Little Kara at 2+ and Little Peter at 16 months just looked at me with big eyes. Then they turned and ran into the bedroom as fast as their little feet and legs would go. I got up and followed and found then standing on tiptoes, chins and fingers over the edge of the bassinet, staring at their new little brother.
Boy, did I feel missed. Not! :) :)
Anyway, all that to say, Happy Birthday, Andrew! Even though I know you don't read my blog. :)
It was a 'warm' November day in Fairbanks. A warm day that followed several days of very cold temperatures - and it was raining. When I went into labor, the roads were covered in a thick layer of ice. We were worried that we would not be able to even make it to the hospital which was just a couple miles away. However, before that could happen, Mel needed to get the older two kids to the babysitter, Grandma Betty (our future sister-in-law's mother) and she lived out of town a few miles. He discovered on the way back in to town that the road was closed to all traffic right behind him. It was the warmest day Mel could remember for November, but the rain was freezing as it hit the ground.
We made it to the hospital and Mel very gingerly helped me walk across the ice, slipping and sliding, terrified that I was going to fall right there in the parking lot. I was met at the entrance by a nurse with a wheelchair.
My delivery with Andrew went perfectly. Almost too perfectly. When it came time for the doctor to say, "Now! Push!" I pushed. Oh yes, I pushed! I wanted that kid born. I wanted it all over and done with now!. The doctor told me to stop pushing so hard, she could actually see him moving down the birth canal at what was, apparently, an alarmingly fast rate. :) He was born with no problems, though, in a very timely manner. So timely, in fact, that he was born at the exact same time of day as his brother had been born 16 months earlier, and the exact same time of day opposite of his sister, 30 months earlier. Both boys were born in the morning at the same time, Kara at night at the same time, in the normal American way of telling time, which is not 'military time.' (Mel always says that is because Kara is the opposite sex.)
I soon had proof of how hard I had pushed. The following morning I noticed that my chest was covered in little bruises. I immediately asked a nurse what was going on, but she had no answer. When the doctor came in, I asked her. She examined me in surprise, thought for a moment and then explained what she thought had happened. I had pushed so hard, strained so hard, that I had broken dozens of little capillaries in the skin of my chest. She had never seen anything like it, but then, she told me she had never seen a baby move that fast down the birth canal either!
Why do I have this weird sense of pride in that accomplishment? Answer: unknown.
Anyway, the only other thing of note about Andrew's birth is the fact that we almost didn't bring him home. We almost brought home a little Asian baby instead.
"What?" I hear you exclaim. "How could you mix up your baby with an Asian baby???"
Well, the answer is pretty simple. They brought me a baby in the middle of the night, woke me up from a sound sleep to nurse the little guy. He wouldn't nurse. I examined said baby and thought to myself, "He looks hot with this silly ski cap on his head" and I pulled it off.
Hair. Black. Hair. Tons of black hair. Amazing amounts of black hair, sticking out of his head at every angle imaginable. Hair.
My babies were bald. Hairless. Cue balls. Bald. Oh, ok - they may have had a bit of fuzz on top, if held up to the light just so, but there was no way on God's green earth that my baby had hair like that.
Didn't I notice that his eyes were, well, Asian looking?
No. Why? Because all three of my babies had Asian looking eyes when they were born. The reason? Because Mel has a fair amount of Cherokee Indian in him. His grandfather looked like a full-blooded Indian until the day he died (is it still ok, politically correct speaking, to say 'full-blooded'? I never know any more what is PC and what will get a person lynched.) The older Mel gets, the more he looks like his father, and his grandfather, and the more I can see the Indian in him. Maybe no one else can, but I knew his grandfather, and everyone commented on how "Indian" he looked. (Oh - that may not be PC any more either - Native American! Someone already told me I'm not supposed to say "Oriental" so that's why I used "Asian." I hope that's ok...)
Whatever!
I pulled the little ski cap off. Stared in confusion at Baby for a minute, my sleep deprived mind numb - remember I already had two kids at home, both under the age of 3. I pushed the call button, the nurse arrived. I said, "I'm sorry, this is not my baby." And she panicked. Yes, panicked. Thus began a series of 5,000 questions and a form to fill out and whatever else happened that night while the real mama slept undisturbed in the bed beside me. Mrs. Zhcherkwoski or some other very Slavic name last name that started with a Z and not my own surname initial, and yes, a very ethnically Vietnamese woman.
They never did bring Andrew to me that night.
Believe me, I pulled off that little ski cap when they brought him to me in the morning! Made sure that his little bracelet matched mine AND the name in the name tag holder on the foot of my bed. A simple mistake - someone switched our name tags on the beds.
I don't think Mrs. Z ever knew what happened. I hope not. Or maybe I hope she did know. I would have wanted to know if my baby had almost been given to the wrong person.
So, we went home a few days later. Mel took us into our apartment, I settled Andrew in his bassinet, sound asleep and then settled myself in a rocking chair. I eagerly waited for Mel to bring the other two kids home. They all came in the door. I held out my arms. Little Kara at 2+ and Little Peter at 16 months just looked at me with big eyes. Then they turned and ran into the bedroom as fast as their little feet and legs would go. I got up and followed and found then standing on tiptoes, chins and fingers over the edge of the bassinet, staring at their new little brother.
Boy, did I feel missed. Not! :) :)
Anyway, all that to say, Happy Birthday, Andrew! Even though I know you don't read my blog. :)
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Driving with Heidie
I was looking for a webcam in Fairbanks this evening and found a very interesting (to me anyway) place: The Great Alaskan Red Squirrel Cam . I looked around a bit at different things there, including the owners blog. And I found this photo: My Yard. If you look it up you will see it is his front yard, covered in tire tracks from some unknown vandal in the night. I was talking to my sister in Fairbanks at the time on Instant Messaging, so I sent her the url and she also looked it up. Then she asked me: “Do you remember “The Motel?” Do I remember “The Motel?” !!! Yes! I started laughing so hard my sides started to ache.
During the summer of 1990, Heidie decided to move from Fairbanks back home to Colorado Springs and, if I remember correctly, finish nursing school there. She had lived in Alaska for several years and wanted to bring several of her household items, plus her cat, down in her car. I volunteered to fly up and help her drive down the Alaska Highway. She packed her car, leaving room for me in the passenger seat and a tiny space for Prisca, the cat, in the back. We left and headed for the Canadian border.
Crossing into Canada, she needed proof that Prisca had had her shots, etc. so we had all of that readily available when we drove up to the Mounties border crossing station in Beaver Creek, Yukon Territory. However, Prisca had other ideas – she disappeared somewhere in the car, not even a whisker to be seen or a purr to be heard. We did not declare the cat because we had no idea where she was at!
That night we camped in a beautiful little campground several miles into Yukon Territory. (I wrote about a different time in that campground in another post, Young Eagles and Geometry.) We pitched our tent, snuggled into our sleeping bags and slept the night away. The next morning, Heidie let Prisca out to ‘do her business’ and she disappeared. There were only a couple of other people there in the campground and no one had seen her. We called and called, looked here and there – no cat. Heidie finally said, well, I guess we leave her here! But I responded, let’s look one more time down this other trail. We walked for 5 or 6 minutes and were just getting ready to head back to the car when I spotted a white splash off the trail in the underbrush. I went over and there she was, squatted down in a small hole, eyes wide open and black, in what appeared to be a frozen state of terror. I picked her up and took her back to meet Heidie, we hopped in the car and took on off down the road. No more cat adventures for Prisca! She stayed right with us the rest of the way.
I don’t remember all of the trip – it was several days on the Highway altogether. Beautiful days of travel in the late summer, early fall of the Canadian north. Western Canada is beautiful (I’ve never been in the eastern part so cannot comment on it). I would love to do it again. We crossed over into the States at the Glacier National Park border crossing, drove the Highway to the Sun backwards (from the top down, instead of the bottom up), down through Kalispell, and on farther into the heart of Montana.
I love Montana – it is a beautiful state. It is especially beautiful during the day. We did not see Montana during the day, unfortunately. Sometime after dark we went through Missoula and connected to Interstate 90. This part of our trip has become lovingly known as “the highway from hell” experience.
It was getting late, but we did not stop – we thought we would drive to the next exit and find a motel or campground for the night. We drove. And drove. And drove. The highway rolled on before us, mile after mile, after mile after mile…you get the point. It never ended. Literally hour after hour we drove on and on, in the dark, missing Montana as we twisted round this corner and down that hill on the never-ending exit-less highway.
Finally, we came to an exit ramp and turned off. In the middle of nowhere. Somewhere in the wilds of Montana (we have no idea where). In the wee hours of the morning. One little motel, surrounded by a couple of acres of land, set on the side of the interstate, beckoned us with warm cozy thoughts of a real bed, a real shower, a real room to sleep in. Neither Heidie nor I remember seeing any other buildings in the area, except maybe a couple of dark houses farther down the road.
We turned into the entrance of The Motel and drove a couple hundred yards up the driveway to the Office. Everything was dark, no lights on anywhere. We drove over to the row of rooms, parked right in front of one that had an empty space (most of them had empty spaces) and turned off the motor. We looked at each other in silent exhaustion. Our eyes were bloodshot, our rear ends were numb from sitting for hours and hours, day after day. When we closed our eyes, all we could see in our minds’ eye was more black highway with white stripes flashing by. We looked again at all the dark windows and quietly decided to travel on and see if we could find another place that was actually open farther down the road.
Heidie started the car, put it in reverse and backed up. She turned the car around, put it into forward gear and started to drive back to the road we had come in on. However – we could not find the road. We couldn’t even find the driveway. “How do you get out of here?” we wondered aloud. So in total confusion and ‘lostness’ we just drove around until suddenly, with a loud thump and bump, we drove off the edge of a cement curb back onto the road – and that is when we realized that we had just spent about 3 minutes driving around on their lawn, trying to find the driveway. I thought it all looked too nicely manicured… She jerked the wheel to the right and stepped on the gas, kicking up gravel as we spun around. By this time we were both laughing so hard we could hardly see. All I could think of was what those poor motel owners were going to think the next morning when they looked out their window and found tire tracks wandering around their lawn and dropping off the curb in the middle of their front yard. I hope we did no permanent damage (she did swerve a couple of times so as not to run through a flower bed or two…)
Needless to say, we were now wide awake and found our way back to the Interstate. Not too far down the highway we came to another quiet, dark exit, but we looked at each other and said – “No! Let’s find another, bigger place – we are already awake!” On and on, down the road, for several more miles we drove. Finally a billboard for KOA! We pulled off at the marked exit and drove over to the KOA Kampground. No one was awake there, either, so we pulled into an empty tent spot, quickly set up the tent, threw in our sleeping bags, and went to sleep. First thing in the morning, after trips to the restroom, Heidie went in search of the manager so we could pay for our spot. He was very surprised. He had no idea we had come in during the night. In fact, if we had just packed up and left, he would have been none the wiser.
That day we drove down through Yellowstone National Park – the first time I had seen it since the devastating fires a couple years before. What a shock, even though we knew there had been severe destruction. That night we actually made it all the way into Utah and Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area. Again, it was quite late when we drove in, found a campsite and set up our tent. This time it was so warm that we left the rain shield off the top of the tent – we were in the desert after all! Bad mistake. Well, not so bad, actually. We were just rudely awakened the next morning by rain falling on our faces, turned to a fine spray as it fell through the thin layer of synthetic material stretched between us and the wild blue yonder. Very quickly we got up, rolled our sleeping bags and stashed them away in the car. And the rain stopped. We cooked some breakfast and headed out – driving through Aspen later in the day and over Independence Pass, making it home to Woodland Park late that night.
I’ve thought about “the highway from hell” and The Motel many times since then. And every time I do think of it, I laugh so hard it hurts.
Maybe you had to be there….
Oh I love my life!
During the summer of 1990, Heidie decided to move from Fairbanks back home to Colorado Springs and, if I remember correctly, finish nursing school there. She had lived in Alaska for several years and wanted to bring several of her household items, plus her cat, down in her car. I volunteered to fly up and help her drive down the Alaska Highway. She packed her car, leaving room for me in the passenger seat and a tiny space for Prisca, the cat, in the back. We left and headed for the Canadian border.
Crossing into Canada, she needed proof that Prisca had had her shots, etc. so we had all of that readily available when we drove up to the Mounties border crossing station in Beaver Creek, Yukon Territory. However, Prisca had other ideas – she disappeared somewhere in the car, not even a whisker to be seen or a purr to be heard. We did not declare the cat because we had no idea where she was at!
That night we camped in a beautiful little campground several miles into Yukon Territory. (I wrote about a different time in that campground in another post, Young Eagles and Geometry.) We pitched our tent, snuggled into our sleeping bags and slept the night away. The next morning, Heidie let Prisca out to ‘do her business’ and she disappeared. There were only a couple of other people there in the campground and no one had seen her. We called and called, looked here and there – no cat. Heidie finally said, well, I guess we leave her here! But I responded, let’s look one more time down this other trail. We walked for 5 or 6 minutes and were just getting ready to head back to the car when I spotted a white splash off the trail in the underbrush. I went over and there she was, squatted down in a small hole, eyes wide open and black, in what appeared to be a frozen state of terror. I picked her up and took her back to meet Heidie, we hopped in the car and took on off down the road. No more cat adventures for Prisca! She stayed right with us the rest of the way.
I don’t remember all of the trip – it was several days on the Highway altogether. Beautiful days of travel in the late summer, early fall of the Canadian north. Western Canada is beautiful (I’ve never been in the eastern part so cannot comment on it). I would love to do it again. We crossed over into the States at the Glacier National Park border crossing, drove the Highway to the Sun backwards (from the top down, instead of the bottom up), down through Kalispell, and on farther into the heart of Montana.
I love Montana – it is a beautiful state. It is especially beautiful during the day. We did not see Montana during the day, unfortunately. Sometime after dark we went through Missoula and connected to Interstate 90. This part of our trip has become lovingly known as “the highway from hell” experience.
It was getting late, but we did not stop – we thought we would drive to the next exit and find a motel or campground for the night. We drove. And drove. And drove. The highway rolled on before us, mile after mile, after mile after mile…you get the point. It never ended. Literally hour after hour we drove on and on, in the dark, missing Montana as we twisted round this corner and down that hill on the never-ending exit-less highway.
Finally, we came to an exit ramp and turned off. In the middle of nowhere. Somewhere in the wilds of Montana (we have no idea where). In the wee hours of the morning. One little motel, surrounded by a couple of acres of land, set on the side of the interstate, beckoned us with warm cozy thoughts of a real bed, a real shower, a real room to sleep in. Neither Heidie nor I remember seeing any other buildings in the area, except maybe a couple of dark houses farther down the road.
We turned into the entrance of The Motel and drove a couple hundred yards up the driveway to the Office. Everything was dark, no lights on anywhere. We drove over to the row of rooms, parked right in front of one that had an empty space (most of them had empty spaces) and turned off the motor. We looked at each other in silent exhaustion. Our eyes were bloodshot, our rear ends were numb from sitting for hours and hours, day after day. When we closed our eyes, all we could see in our minds’ eye was more black highway with white stripes flashing by. We looked again at all the dark windows and quietly decided to travel on and see if we could find another place that was actually open farther down the road.
Heidie started the car, put it in reverse and backed up. She turned the car around, put it into forward gear and started to drive back to the road we had come in on. However – we could not find the road. We couldn’t even find the driveway. “How do you get out of here?” we wondered aloud. So in total confusion and ‘lostness’ we just drove around until suddenly, with a loud thump and bump, we drove off the edge of a cement curb back onto the road – and that is when we realized that we had just spent about 3 minutes driving around on their lawn, trying to find the driveway. I thought it all looked too nicely manicured… She jerked the wheel to the right and stepped on the gas, kicking up gravel as we spun around. By this time we were both laughing so hard we could hardly see. All I could think of was what those poor motel owners were going to think the next morning when they looked out their window and found tire tracks wandering around their lawn and dropping off the curb in the middle of their front yard. I hope we did no permanent damage (she did swerve a couple of times so as not to run through a flower bed or two…)
Needless to say, we were now wide awake and found our way back to the Interstate. Not too far down the highway we came to another quiet, dark exit, but we looked at each other and said – “No! Let’s find another, bigger place – we are already awake!” On and on, down the road, for several more miles we drove. Finally a billboard for KOA! We pulled off at the marked exit and drove over to the KOA Kampground. No one was awake there, either, so we pulled into an empty tent spot, quickly set up the tent, threw in our sleeping bags, and went to sleep. First thing in the morning, after trips to the restroom, Heidie went in search of the manager so we could pay for our spot. He was very surprised. He had no idea we had come in during the night. In fact, if we had just packed up and left, he would have been none the wiser.
That day we drove down through Yellowstone National Park – the first time I had seen it since the devastating fires a couple years before. What a shock, even though we knew there had been severe destruction. That night we actually made it all the way into Utah and Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area. Again, it was quite late when we drove in, found a campsite and set up our tent. This time it was so warm that we left the rain shield off the top of the tent – we were in the desert after all! Bad mistake. Well, not so bad, actually. We were just rudely awakened the next morning by rain falling on our faces, turned to a fine spray as it fell through the thin layer of synthetic material stretched between us and the wild blue yonder. Very quickly we got up, rolled our sleeping bags and stashed them away in the car. And the rain stopped. We cooked some breakfast and headed out – driving through Aspen later in the day and over Independence Pass, making it home to Woodland Park late that night.
I’ve thought about “the highway from hell” and The Motel many times since then. And every time I do think of it, I laugh so hard it hurts.
Maybe you had to be there….
Oh I love my life!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Goldstream Road Memories
It has been an interesting week. I am so glad Mel is back. It really doesn’t ‘feel’ like he was gone for 10 days. Time flies by so very fast.
I found a new blog last night that I’ll check regularly for updates,Notes from Solar Cabin . Did it bring back memories! This blog is written by a young couple who just moved to Fairbanks. Their new abode is not far from where we lived 28 years ago. I’ll check back on it every once in awhile to see how they are doing, how they are liking living in Alaska.
Twenty-eight years ago – how can that be possible? It seems that this year I am feeling my age more than ever before. But, in a good way. I love my life and all the wonderful things I have done, incredible places I have been, unusual places I have lived. I wouldn’t trade it for anything!
Kara was a toddler and I was pregnant when we first moved into that pathetic “cabin” just off of Goldstream Road. Peter was born the summer we lived there and I became pregnant with Andrew just a few months before we moved into Fairbanks proper. I picked blueberries in our yard. I picked raspberries down the road a couple miles and up a hill off an old Alaska Department of Transportation quarry site. I watched the northern lights at 2 o’clock in the morning at 50 degrees below zero, standing just outside the cabin door, close enough so I could hear if one of the kids started to cry inside, with all of the lights turned off. I’d stand there, watching the aurora, praising God, waiting for Mel to come home after working the swing shift at Jeffrey’s Restaurant in town. (… always with bare feet stuffed into snowmachine boots, dressed in my floor-length nightgown covered by an equally long heavy robe, topped by my forest-green Alyeska Pipeline parka with the real fur ruff that Mel’s mother had salvaged for us at the Fairbanks Rescue Mission, heavy mittens covering my hands which were stuffed deep in the parka pockets, my homemade crocheted scarf wrapped around my mouth and neck. The key is to stand ‘inside’ all of those clothes without really touching them, so an air pocket of warmth forms between you and the outer clothing. It takes a bit of practice, but try it – it works! Of course, I was much thinner then and the clothing not quite as tight as it is today… ). Standing there, alone – really alone – out in the wilderness, in the silent hours of the midnight, I could hear Mel coming home, could hear the car turn off the highway miles away and start down Goldstream Road. Silent nights, stars shining brightly above me, aurora dancing in colors from pale blue to bright yellow edged with pink. Alaska. I have a feeling you can’t do that out on Goldstream Road now – too many people, too many houses, too many cars (when we visited the area 10 years ago, it had already changed a lot). We had electricity, but no running water, except as Mel always said – it ran when he did, from the artesian spring at Fox into 5 gallon jerry cans and then to the car. No phone, no television. Just a small radio that I kept mostly tuned to KJNP (King Jesus North Pole), and mostly kept off.
As ‘they’ say – those were the days! I am so thankful I have these memories.
I’m going to try and list other posts I’ve written about Alaska in the right sidebar. It may take a bit of time because all of this blogging stuff is still relatively new to me and I’m still learning.
Photo: Mel with Kara, Cindie with Peter, 20304 Goldstream Road, winter/spring 1978-79
I found a new blog last night that I’ll check regularly for updates,
Twenty-eight years ago – how can that be possible? It seems that this year I am feeling my age more than ever before. But, in a good way. I love my life and all the wonderful things I have done, incredible places I have been, unusual places I have lived. I wouldn’t trade it for anything!
Kara was a toddler and I was pregnant when we first moved into that pathetic “cabin” just off of Goldstream Road. Peter was born the summer we lived there and I became pregnant with Andrew just a few months before we moved into Fairbanks proper. I picked blueberries in our yard. I picked raspberries down the road a couple miles and up a hill off an old Alaska Department of Transportation quarry site. I watched the northern lights at 2 o’clock in the morning at 50 degrees below zero, standing just outside the cabin door, close enough so I could hear if one of the kids started to cry inside, with all of the lights turned off. I’d stand there, watching the aurora, praising God, waiting for Mel to come home after working the swing shift at Jeffrey’s Restaurant in town. (… always with bare feet stuffed into snowmachine boots, dressed in my floor-length nightgown covered by an equally long heavy robe, topped by my forest-green Alyeska Pipeline parka with the real fur ruff that Mel’s mother had salvaged for us at the Fairbanks Rescue Mission, heavy mittens covering my hands which were stuffed deep in the parka pockets, my homemade crocheted scarf wrapped around my mouth and neck. The key is to stand ‘inside’ all of those clothes without really touching them, so an air pocket of warmth forms between you and the outer clothing. It takes a bit of practice, but try it – it works! Of course, I was much thinner then and the clothing not quite as tight as it is today… ). Standing there, alone – really alone – out in the wilderness, in the silent hours of the midnight, I could hear Mel coming home, could hear the car turn off the highway miles away and start down Goldstream Road. Silent nights, stars shining brightly above me, aurora dancing in colors from pale blue to bright yellow edged with pink. Alaska. I have a feeling you can’t do that out on Goldstream Road now – too many people, too many houses, too many cars (when we visited the area 10 years ago, it had already changed a lot). We had electricity, but no running water, except as Mel always said – it ran when he did, from the artesian spring at Fox into 5 gallon jerry cans and then to the car. No phone, no television. Just a small radio that I kept mostly tuned to KJNP (King Jesus North Pole), and mostly kept off.
As ‘they’ say – those were the days! I am so thankful I have these memories.
I’m going to try and list other posts I’ve written about Alaska in the right sidebar. It may take a bit of time because all of this blogging stuff is still relatively new to me and I’m still learning.
Photo: Mel with Kara, Cindie with Peter, 20304 Goldstream Road, winter/spring 1978-79
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Life Goes On
August 10, 2006
What a day this has been. Over 50 hours now without water. The black 50-liter barrel in the hall beside the fridge is almost empty. The toilet room is beginning to remind me of that old outhouse out behind our ‘cabin’ in Alaska. Dirty dishes are piled here and there all over the kitchen (what a job that is going to be, cleaning off all the dried on food – I don’t want to think about it!) There is a water truck parked outside in the area in which kids play, distributing free water. The line of people has been solid since it got here. Dozens of people standing around, each carrying a brightly colored bucket, usually about 10-liters worth in size. If I go out and stand in line, my bucket will be pale blue. I keep it between the washer and sink in the kitchen for times like this. Ira was here earlier today and called the water department for us. Apparently there was a water main break down the street a mile or so from us. Our whole district is without water and no one is sure when it will be repaired. It could be another day or two, or it could be before dark tonight.
The internet cable is out. Sasha was here a while ago checking everything. Apparently our computers and their connections are ok, so it must be the “equipment up on the roof” of our building. Ira thought maybe it might be the cable itself because her internet was disrupted a while ago when rats on the roof ate a large section of it. Rats on the roof … I hope they stay up there! Oh my.
Last night we attended a birthday party in our office. Little Bogdan Nakul is now one year old. Happy Birthday, little man! During the middle of the party Mel got a phone call. Our co-worker who was bringing our meds back from the States had forgotten them and left them on the plane in Kiev. The airline staff had turned them in to customs officials at the airport. Ira spent more than an hour today on the phone calling different offices at Borispyl Airport, trying to find out where they are and how to go about getting them. She is on her way tonight to Kiev to pick up some other Americans and escort them back to Kherson, so she offered to try and get it all for us. Hopefully we gave her the correct paperwork and enough money to “ransom” everything. Hopefully Mel’s insulin will not be ruined by not being refrigerated for all of these hours. Remember, Cindie – God is in control!
We started getting reports from CNN this afternoon about what is happening in London today. I feel an incredible sense of sadness and even despair. It is only when I remember that my God is in control of all of this, only then does the weight lift from my heart. We have BBC World News via our television cable. All of the news for the past hour has been in some way connected to this situation. Mel and I prefer to fly British Airways because it has a direct flight from London to Denver. The video from Heathrow – we know exactly where a lot of it is coming from because we have been there several times over the past five years. I cannot imagine being there now….
We live in interesting times. I wonder what it was like for the citizens of Jericho when Joshua and the children of Israel showed up. Did they experience feelings of dread, fear of what the future would hold for their children and grandchildren? I’m sure they must have. What is happening around the world is not new, only the means in which it is happening are new. People have always killed each other since the day Cain killed his brother, Abel. We are just better at it now, more efficient. How sad.
So, no water equals stinky people who need showers. Neither Mel nor I went out for our normal walks the past couple of days because we cannot take a shower when we get back. We are conserving water however we can. No internet cable is not so bad because we still have internet via modem connection. We can’t change what is going to happen regarding the medications, only pray that God will protect it and give Ira an open door to pick it up. The situation in the rest of the world, specifically Great Britain, is out of our control and all we can do is continue to pray for safety for those of us who are currently at the airports, those who often fly and those who are involved in the investigations.
Hopefully, by this time tomorrow three of these four situations will be corrected, be back to normal, over and done with. Terrorism will be with us until the end of time, I’m afraid, but life does go on.
This is what the Lord says –
Israel’s King and Redeemer, the Lord Almighty:
I am the first and I am the last,
Apart from me there is no God.
Who then is like me? Let him proclaim it.
Let him declare and lay out before me
What has happened since I established my ancient people,
And what is yet to come –
Yes, let him foretell what will come.
Do not tremble, do not be afraid.
Did I not proclaim this and foretell it long ago?
You are my witnesses. Is there any God besides me?
No, there is no other Rock; I know not one.
Isaiah 44:6-8 (emphasis mine)
What a day this has been. Over 50 hours now without water. The black 50-liter barrel in the hall beside the fridge is almost empty. The toilet room is beginning to remind me of that old outhouse out behind our ‘cabin’ in Alaska. Dirty dishes are piled here and there all over the kitchen (what a job that is going to be, cleaning off all the dried on food – I don’t want to think about it!) There is a water truck parked outside in the area in which kids play, distributing free water. The line of people has been solid since it got here. Dozens of people standing around, each carrying a brightly colored bucket, usually about 10-liters worth in size. If I go out and stand in line, my bucket will be pale blue. I keep it between the washer and sink in the kitchen for times like this. Ira was here earlier today and called the water department for us. Apparently there was a water main break down the street a mile or so from us. Our whole district is without water and no one is sure when it will be repaired. It could be another day or two, or it could be before dark tonight.
The internet cable is out. Sasha was here a while ago checking everything. Apparently our computers and their connections are ok, so it must be the “equipment up on the roof” of our building. Ira thought maybe it might be the cable itself because her internet was disrupted a while ago when rats on the roof ate a large section of it. Rats on the roof … I hope they stay up there! Oh my.
Last night we attended a birthday party in our office. Little Bogdan Nakul is now one year old. Happy Birthday, little man! During the middle of the party Mel got a phone call. Our co-worker who was bringing our meds back from the States had forgotten them and left them on the plane in Kiev. The airline staff had turned them in to customs officials at the airport. Ira spent more than an hour today on the phone calling different offices at Borispyl Airport, trying to find out where they are and how to go about getting them. She is on her way tonight to Kiev to pick up some other Americans and escort them back to Kherson, so she offered to try and get it all for us. Hopefully we gave her the correct paperwork and enough money to “ransom” everything. Hopefully Mel’s insulin will not be ruined by not being refrigerated for all of these hours. Remember, Cindie – God is in control!
We started getting reports from CNN this afternoon about what is happening in London today. I feel an incredible sense of sadness and even despair. It is only when I remember that my God is in control of all of this, only then does the weight lift from my heart. We have BBC World News via our television cable. All of the news for the past hour has been in some way connected to this situation. Mel and I prefer to fly British Airways because it has a direct flight from London to Denver. The video from Heathrow – we know exactly where a lot of it is coming from because we have been there several times over the past five years. I cannot imagine being there now….
We live in interesting times. I wonder what it was like for the citizens of Jericho when Joshua and the children of Israel showed up. Did they experience feelings of dread, fear of what the future would hold for their children and grandchildren? I’m sure they must have. What is happening around the world is not new, only the means in which it is happening are new. People have always killed each other since the day Cain killed his brother, Abel. We are just better at it now, more efficient. How sad.
So, no water equals stinky people who need showers. Neither Mel nor I went out for our normal walks the past couple of days because we cannot take a shower when we get back. We are conserving water however we can. No internet cable is not so bad because we still have internet via modem connection. We can’t change what is going to happen regarding the medications, only pray that God will protect it and give Ira an open door to pick it up. The situation in the rest of the world, specifically Great Britain, is out of our control and all we can do is continue to pray for safety for those of us who are currently at the airports, those who often fly and those who are involved in the investigations.
Hopefully, by this time tomorrow three of these four situations will be corrected, be back to normal, over and done with. Terrorism will be with us until the end of time, I’m afraid, but life does go on.
Israel’s King and Redeemer, the Lord Almighty:
I am the first and I am the last,
Apart from me there is no God.
Who then is like me? Let him proclaim it.
Let him declare and lay out before me
What has happened since I established my ancient people,
And what is yet to come –
Yes, let him foretell what will come.
Do not tremble, do not be afraid.
Did I not proclaim this and foretell it long ago?
You are my witnesses. Is there any God besides me?
No, there is no other Rock; I know not one.
Isaiah 44:6-8 (emphasis mine)
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
June 21 and 22, 1978
June 21, 2006
Twenty-eight years ago today I was in Fairbanks Memorial Hospital, Fairbanks, Alaska. I had gone to the hospital early in the day, in labor with my second child.
Mel and I were living outside of Fairbanks, off of Goldstream Road at the time. We had been renting the walk-in basement apartment of a home in North Pole, a few miles southeast of Fairbanks, while the owners were on an extended vacation “outside” (the Lower Forty-eight). After their return, we had moved into a little shack of a cabin, one of the few places around Fairbanks that we could afford to rent. The “cabin” was about 15 miles outside of town, had electricity, but no running water and no phone. We had only one car.
Kara was just 14 months old and we had been quite concerned about Kara and me being alone out at the cabin during the day while Mel was at work. With no phone, and this was way before the time of cell phones, I could not call anyone if I went into labor. The baby was overdue, possibly by as much as three weeks. With only the one car, the solution was for me to spend my days in Fairbanks at Mel’s parents home, waiting while he was at work. This was actually good for both me and for Kara as she got to spend a lot of time with her grandparents and with her aunts and uncles who were still living at home during the months of May and June, 1978.
I went into mild labor early in the morning of the 21st, before Mel needed to leave for work. So, we packed up everything, took Kara to Grandma and Grandpa’s, and me to the hospital.
The day was endless. My labor did not progress. I lay there in the hospital bed, with waves of contractions, sometimes mild, sometimes strong, but never really “doing” anything. Finally, my doctor sent me home with the instructions to have a couple beers and try to get some sleep. Her idea was that probably the following day, Baby would arrive and I needed to get some rest. I responded that I didn’t drink beer, nor any alcohol for that matter, so she gave me a prescription for Valium.
We did not want to go back over to the grandparents house because we knew it would be hard for Kara to see us and then for us to leave without her. Mel called his twin brother, Ralph, and asked him if he’d like to go to a movie with us while we waited. We met at the theater, I took a Valium, and we went in to see The Turning Point. I sat between Mel and Ralph. I have very little memory of the movie, just memories of ‘floating’ feelings with occasional feelings of pain in my belly as the contractions came and went. After the movie, Mel and I headed on home, back out of town.
Sometime in the middle of the early morning hours, I awoke with very sharp contractions. I was still under the influence of that one Valium pill and was more than a little dizzy and woozy. I woke Mel up, told him I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible, but that I needed to go to the bathroom first.
I’ve written before about our outhouse, so won’t go into detail here about that. I just could not bring myself to use it at that time. I was afraid that the urge to pee was really the urge to push and deliver and no way was I going to take a chance of having my baby in that outhouse! So, I went out into the blueberry bushes. There were a couple of other cabins in the vicinity and on June 22, the second longest day of the year, there was almost full sunlight even at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning! But the bushes had grown pretty high by that time of the summer and I figured that no one else was awake that time of the morning. Out to the bushes I went. It’s funny to me now, that this is one of my strongest memories of that day – being out there in the blueberry bushes at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning!
We arrived at the hospital probably 45 minutes later. I spent the rest of the morning there, slowly getting the Valium 100% out of my system, labor increasing in strength. Finally at 10:45 am, our first son was born. Peter. He was also under the after effects of the Valium as well as having the cord wrapped around his neck and tied in a “true knot.” His first apgar test was very low, a 5 if I remember correctly. The second one was better at 7, but still lower than it should have been. My doctor had realized too late that the cord was around his neck – he was already in the birth canal when his heart rate slowed way down. Otherwise, he would have been born c-section. She assured me that she thought he would be fine and she was correct.
Now, twenty-eight years later, I remember those two days as if they were in a dream. While Peter was in grade school it was determined that he had a very slight speech impediment and problems with fine motor control, probably due to that cord wrapped around his neck slightly cutting of the blood supply to his brain during delivery. Mel and I were given some exercises for him to do, one of which was picking up buttons one by one, so he could practice those fine motor skills. Instead, I gave him some embroidery thread, a needle, a pillowcase and his choice of subject and he learned to embroider. He was very proud of his first pillowcase – his very own that he used for several years. From there he progressed to doing some plastic canvas and regular cross-stitch as he grew older. Now, this young man with “fine motor skills problems” can keyboard at an incredible rate, with very good accuracy. When I listen to him type, it’s somewhat like listening to a machine gun burst. Brrrrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrr. He is also very musical, loving both to write and to play music. He is a deep thinker, an apologist for the Christian faith, and a very good writer.
I had no idea what the future held as I lay there in that hospital bed, twenty-eight years ago today … half a world away …
Twenty-eight years ago today I was in Fairbanks Memorial Hospital, Fairbanks, Alaska. I had gone to the hospital early in the day, in labor with my second child.
Mel and I were living outside of Fairbanks, off of Goldstream Road at the time. We had been renting the walk-in basement apartment of a home in North Pole, a few miles southeast of Fairbanks, while the owners were on an extended vacation “outside” (the Lower Forty-eight). After their return, we had moved into a little shack of a cabin, one of the few places around Fairbanks that we could afford to rent. The “cabin” was about 15 miles outside of town, had electricity, but no running water and no phone. We had only one car.
Kara was just 14 months old and we had been quite concerned about Kara and me being alone out at the cabin during the day while Mel was at work. With no phone, and this was way before the time of cell phones, I could not call anyone if I went into labor. The baby was overdue, possibly by as much as three weeks. With only the one car, the solution was for me to spend my days in Fairbanks at Mel’s parents home, waiting while he was at work. This was actually good for both me and for Kara as she got to spend a lot of time with her grandparents and with her aunts and uncles who were still living at home during the months of May and June, 1978.
I went into mild labor early in the morning of the 21st, before Mel needed to leave for work. So, we packed up everything, took Kara to Grandma and Grandpa’s, and me to the hospital.
The day was endless. My labor did not progress. I lay there in the hospital bed, with waves of contractions, sometimes mild, sometimes strong, but never really “doing” anything. Finally, my doctor sent me home with the instructions to have a couple beers and try to get some sleep. Her idea was that probably the following day, Baby would arrive and I needed to get some rest. I responded that I didn’t drink beer, nor any alcohol for that matter, so she gave me a prescription for Valium.
We did not want to go back over to the grandparents house because we knew it would be hard for Kara to see us and then for us to leave without her. Mel called his twin brother, Ralph, and asked him if he’d like to go to a movie with us while we waited. We met at the theater, I took a Valium, and we went in to see The Turning Point. I sat between Mel and Ralph. I have very little memory of the movie, just memories of ‘floating’ feelings with occasional feelings of pain in my belly as the contractions came and went. After the movie, Mel and I headed on home, back out of town.
Sometime in the middle of the early morning hours, I awoke with very sharp contractions. I was still under the influence of that one Valium pill and was more than a little dizzy and woozy. I woke Mel up, told him I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible, but that I needed to go to the bathroom first.
I’ve written before about our outhouse, so won’t go into detail here about that. I just could not bring myself to use it at that time. I was afraid that the urge to pee was really the urge to push and deliver and no way was I going to take a chance of having my baby in that outhouse! So, I went out into the blueberry bushes. There were a couple of other cabins in the vicinity and on June 22, the second longest day of the year, there was almost full sunlight even at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning! But the bushes had grown pretty high by that time of the summer and I figured that no one else was awake that time of the morning. Out to the bushes I went. It’s funny to me now, that this is one of my strongest memories of that day – being out there in the blueberry bushes at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning!
We arrived at the hospital probably 45 minutes later. I spent the rest of the morning there, slowly getting the Valium 100% out of my system, labor increasing in strength. Finally at 10:45 am, our first son was born. Peter. He was also under the after effects of the Valium as well as having the cord wrapped around his neck and tied in a “true knot.” His first apgar test was very low, a 5 if I remember correctly. The second one was better at 7, but still lower than it should have been. My doctor had realized too late that the cord was around his neck – he was already in the birth canal when his heart rate slowed way down. Otherwise, he would have been born c-section. She assured me that she thought he would be fine and she was correct.
Now, twenty-eight years later, I remember those two days as if they were in a dream. While Peter was in grade school it was determined that he had a very slight speech impediment and problems with fine motor control, probably due to that cord wrapped around his neck slightly cutting of the blood supply to his brain during delivery. Mel and I were given some exercises for him to do, one of which was picking up buttons one by one, so he could practice those fine motor skills. Instead, I gave him some embroidery thread, a needle, a pillowcase and his choice of subject and he learned to embroider. He was very proud of his first pillowcase – his very own that he used for several years. From there he progressed to doing some plastic canvas and regular cross-stitch as he grew older. Now, this young man with “fine motor skills problems” can keyboard at an incredible rate, with very good accuracy. When I listen to him type, it’s somewhat like listening to a machine gun burst. Brrrrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr brrrrrrrrrr. He is also very musical, loving both to write and to play music. He is a deep thinker, an apologist for the Christian faith, and a very good writer.
I had no idea what the future held as I lay there in that hospital bed, twenty-eight years ago today … half a world away …
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Young Eagles and Geometry
photo by brandychloe, Webshots
April 12, 2006
Mel and I were talking this morning about my blog, Dying to Self. As conversations often do, we wandered around though several different subjects that intersected at specific points with the subject of justification and sanctification. (He is of the opinion that most of my struggle has to do with confusing the two.) We chatted about the fact that when we are born again (justified), we truly are like newborn babies spiritually. That digressed into a short discussion on the difference between animals and humans, being sentient and non-sentient.
I commented that I think we will be very surprised when we get to heaven and find out how much animals really do know and understand, that they do not merely exist, but really do “think.” Of course, not as we do – we are made in the image of God! But I have often thought – how do we know if animals think deep thoughts or not? They can’t talk, they can’t write – they can’t tell us what they are thinking. We just assume they don’t think. In an example, Mel said, “Animals don’t do geometry.” And I responded, “Of course they do! Maybe not to study it out like we do in a classroom, but they have to know enough geometry to catch their prey. ‘The antelope is over there,’ thinks Mrs. Tiger. ‘It will probably run in that direction, and since it looks weakened, will probably run at X speed. Therefore, I need to run at such and such an angle to catch him. My kids need to eat!” Well, I didn’t go into that complicated of an answer, but its fun to write it out now!
The conversation took a turn into the subject of how every young animal, and humans as well, must learn and practice, practice, practice to succeed at whatever it is they need to do to survive. Mel looked at me and said, “Just remember that eagle in Yukon Territory!” Immediately, in my mind I was back on the Alaska Highway.
We planned a support-raising trip to Bozeman, Montana, in late April or early May 1997. We knew that before too long we would be in Ukraine and God only knew when we would be able to go to Alaska again and see family. Since Montana is on the way to Alaska (at least from Colorado), we decided that when the missions conference was over, we would just head north. We talked to our three children and asked them if there was any way they could go with us. Kara worked about 32 hours a week and was a full time student at the University of Colorado, Colorado Springs. Peter worked full time at Young Life. Both of them decided to take vacation time and fly up to Anchorage and meet us there. Andrew was free and decided that he could travel with us. Plans were finalized, plane tickets were bought, the van was made ready – and we set out on our trip north.
Bright and early Monday morning after the missions conference ended, Andrew and I, with Mel driving, left Bozeman and headed north toward Canada. It was a magical trip. Mel loves to drive and the roads were good, with not much traffic. We spent that first night camping near Edmonton, Alberta. The second night found us camping out near Fort St. John, but the third night there was so much snow and it was so cold, we ended up renting a motel room for the night in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. Oh so many memories of that trip! Late April/early May was the perfect time to travel the Alaska Highway because there were so few people on the road! Mile after mile with no other vehicle in sight. We saw many wild animals – caribou, mountain goats, and even several bears. Yukon is incredibly beautiful – miles and miles of nothing but forests, mountains, rivers and the road ever stretching out in front of us, winding here and there around lakes and deep river canyons. Oh, I would love to take that trip again! I am so thankful that I have the memories of it that I can revisit over and over again.
Our time in Alaska was good. Too much to write about here as that is not my subject! At the end of the month, we put Kara on a plane to fly back to Colorado, and Andrew, Mel and I – with Peter joining us for the return trip, repacked our van and headed south. Oh what a different trip that was! A month is a long time in the Arctic. The snow was totally gone, wildflowers were blooming and there were fewer animals to be seen from the road. Part of the reason was because the highway now was filled with RV after RV after truck with camper after RV. And a few cars sprinkled in here and there to add some variety and color. Oh my! But the scenery was still just as beautiful and Peter was able to see it and enjoy it with us.
The first day out, we crossed the border from Alaska into Canada. Because it was June, it never really got totally dark at night, so we drove on until we came to a campground located beside a beautiful little lake. I had been to this particular campground several years earlier with my sister, Heidie. I had good memories of it and our time there – also something for another blog, that trip with her! We found a camp spot and parked for the night.
The next morning, after a breakfast of pancakes and bacon cooked over a wood fire (ambrosia!), we took our time getting ready to leave. All four of us walked for a little bit on a trail that followed the shoreline, but because of time restraints, turned back before we had gone too far. The lake was beautiful with crystal clear turquoise water. Near the shore, the sand was white and because the water was so clean, we could clearly see black rocks sprinkled here and there on the bottom for several yards out into the lake.
Mel suddenly said, “Look! There is an eagle!” And sure enough, flying above us and over the lake was a young bald eagle. Because he was so young, he had no white feathers yet, but was almost a solid brown. He circled around the lake several times, looking for his breakfast fish. Suddenly he dived. Eagles dive like this thousands of times in their lives. It’s an amazing process to watch. I’ve seen it on television nature channels several times, in slow motion. The eagle dives and then turns his body angle just enough so that his feet, with talons extended, skim the water and pluck the fish right out. Breakfast! Then eagle and fish fly off to a nearby tree.
Young Eagle dived. Swiftly down, wings back, feet extended and wham! That was a lucky fish! Clear water is hard to judge – where does it actually begin? Young Eagle found out the hard way. Instead of deftly plucking the fish up and out of the water, he hit the water too soon – and stopped very suddenly. We four humans stood on the shore, watching Young Eagle resurface and then just float there for several minutes. Head up, eyes looking around, wings expanded out and away from his body – it took all of that time for him to recover from the shock of his sudden swim and to process what he had done wrong. We started laughing. We couldn’t help ourselves. We all have done things just like that! And he looked so embarrassed, floating out there in the water.
After resting and recuperating, he suddenly pushed off with his wings and flew up out of the water, straight over to a nearby dead tree. High in the uppermost branches he sat, a dark brown very wet young eagle, drying himself in the warm sun of a cornflower blue sky. He held his wings bent out and away from his body, giving his wing-pits opportunity to dry out, and very much resembled a roosting vulture. He was still there when we finished packing the van and drove away.
Practice! Practice! Think it through, and try again.
How like that young eagle I am! I’ll get it figured out.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Animal, Old Tom Turkey and Cheyenne
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March 24, 2006
I love cats and one of the first things I asked our landlords was if it was ok to have a cat here. They said, “Konyechna!” or, “of course!” I told a couple people that I wanted to get a kitten and asked what would be the best way to do that. Someone suggested going to the market and choosing from the dozens of animals for sale there each day. Another person told me that a woman by the name of Constantinovna had a cat that had a new litter of kittens. The next time I saw Constantinovna I asked her about it. Yes, her cat had three new kittens and all but one was available for adoption.
I really wanted a tabby cat, gray or orange. I wanted a male cat that I could have neutered. Our first cat had been a beautiful orange and white tom cat, with thick medium length hair. He was gentle and loving and I was even able to train him on a leash and take him for walks. His name was Shalmaneezer and I called him Shalmy. I loved that cat very much. However, we needed to move from Alaska to Kansas for Mel to return to school and we didn’t think we would be able to take him with us. I put an ad in the Fairbanks Newsminer paper and not long after received a phone call. We set up a time and a young man with a repaired harelip came to the door and picked him up. I worried about that cat for several weeks afterward. Did he have a good home? Was he being loved? My mother finally convinced me that the man who picked him up had good intentions (not some kind of animal cruelty in mind) and Shalmy probably became his loving companion. Although that was thirty years ago, I still hope she was right. We moved back to Alaska a year later and if I had it all to do over again, I would never have given Shalmy away.
We had several other cats after that. Some were a pain and a nuisance while others were just nice cats. Animal was one of the nuisance cats. He was a pure black short hair cat with green eyes. Beautiful. But Animal discovered that he could knock Kara’s bottle over, chew the end off the nipple and then drink the milk as it poured out. Sometime later we moved out to a cabin in a blueberry bog outside of Fairbanks. One morning I heard a gunshot and wondered what our neighbor was shooting at. His house was not all that far away from our cabin and the thought of a bullet crashing through our wall was disconcerting, to say the least.
Our neighbor was raising several small animals and was attempting to do some sort of farming on what reminded us of a hippy-back-to-nature kind of compound. He had a big guard dog chained at the entrance of his property and no one dared go down there to visit. However, his big tom turkey did come up to visit us on occasion. That big tom scared me – he was as tall or taller than Kara was and I was afraid he would peck her eyes out or hurt her in some way. We didn’t have a fenced yard and it was their responsibility to keep their livestock in their pens. One late fall day Mel and his twin brother, Ralph, were working on our car, trying to get the starter changed. Ralph was under the car doing something and Mel was standing in front looking under the hood. Suddenly Mel realized that he had company. Old Tom Turkey was also trying to look under the hood! He was standing there beside Mel, looking for all the world like he was going to give advice on the mechanical workings of Ford Pintos. Mel told Ralph they had a visitor and then told him what he was going to do. He has long arms so he stepped over a little to the side, reached around in the open window and honked the horn. Old Tom Turkey started gobbling at the top of his voice, wattle swinging back and forth and turning from bright red to kind of a bluish white. But he continued to stand there, pacing a little back and forth on fat turkey legs. I came out of the cabin to see why Mel was honking the horn and he said, “Watch this!” and honked it again. Wow! I hadn’t known that turkey wattles change color when they get angry or scared. You learn something new every day. I was still scared of that old tom and was very thankful when he finally decided to wander on home back down the road.
Well, the morning I heard the gunshot, Animal went missing. I wondered if he had been shot for being on the guy’s property. I was starting to get upset. I wondered how I could go down there past the dog and find out if he had shot my cat, when suddenly through the window I saw Animal in the yard. I went to the door, opened it and he came in. I didn’t see any blood and he seemed to be fine, acting like his normal self. A couple hours later he jumped up in the windowsill and just sat there looking at me. I reached over, picked him up and started petting him. He was purring loudly, something he had never done before. I examined him again - no blood, no obvious wounds, just very loud purring. I reached under his chin to scratch his neck and suddenly stopped. He had a large lump on his breastbone! I parted the fur and looked. Sure enough, he had a hole in his chest. Mel was out in the yard somewhere and I quickly called him in. I was boiling angry. We had very little money and we didn’t know any vets in Fairbanks – what were we going to do? We bundled Kara and baby Peter into their car seats, put Animal in a shoebox with a lid and started off to town. We didn’t have a phone out at the cabin, but stopped at Mel’s parent’s house to look in a phone book for a name and address of a veterinarian.
A couple of hours later we were on our way home, several dollars poorer. Animal was back in his shoebox, ready to go home and get back to living a normal life. In my purse I carried a .22 caliber bullet. The vet told us it had been lying just under the skin and all he had done was make an incision and the bullet popped out. I carried that bullet in my coin purse for several years. I think I still have it in a jewelry box in storage back in Colorado.
Later that winter, we got ready to leave for church. As we were getting into the car, I looked down the road toward our neighbors place. He had strung a wire across the road, about ten feet in the air. The dog’s chain was hooked to the wire, thus giving the dog the ability to guard the whole road and both sides. On that cold winter morning, in the pale sunlight of winter, there that poor dog was, hanging about a foot above the road. I gasped in horror. He was obviously dead, frozen stiff in the below zero temperature. I turned to Mel, pointed at the dog and asked him what could have happened?! We speculated that the dog’s breath had frozen the chain, the ice had built up and as he moved it twisted the chain ever tighter around his neck. As he struggled it only got worse. What a terrible way to die – even though I hadn’t liked the dog – no animal should die that way. The owner did not get another dog by the time we left the next summer, at least not one he chained up at the top of the road.
When we left Alaska a year later, Animal went to live with Mel’s brother. He started out a nuisance, but turned out to be a pretty nice cat.
I did get a kitten from Constantinovna. She ended up being almost completely white. I named her Cheyenne Little Bug and she lives up to her name (the Cheyenne Indians were very fierce warriors). While Animal started out a nuisance and ended up being a pretty nice cat, Cheyenne started out “the kitten from hell” and just turned into “the cat from hell.” Those are Mel’s words, not mine. But I love her and I’m glad she’s here to keep me company when Mel is gone.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Four Hookers
June 18, 2005
I met the first hooker in jail. Actually – she was a prisoner, I was a guard. It was the winter of 1975 and I was a 20 year old freshman at Alaska Bible College in Glennallen, Alaska. Glennallen is located in the heart of the Copper River Basin, an area the size of the state of Ohio. At that time there were only a few State Troopers in the whole area, and no full time employees at the jail. Alaska was in the middle of another gold rush – black gold this time. Oil. The Alaska pipeline was being built and thousands of men had flown up or driven the Alaska Highway in search of work and the dream of making their own fortune on the pipeline. Pipeline camps were located at various spots along the route and one of those camps was south of Glennallen and the village of Copper Center. As is the case with all gold rushes, no matter the color of the gold, camp followers are sure to be in abundance as well.
Several of my fellow students at ABC were on the list of potential jail guards at the state troopers office in Glennallen. Late one night after everyone had already gone to bed, the dispatcher called to see if there was someone in the girl’s dorm who would come in and jail guard a female prisoner that a trooper was bringing in. None of the other girls in the dorm wanted to do it, so I volunteered. I got dressed and someone drove me down to the jail. Soon the trooper pulled in with a woman in the back of his patrol car.
I was waiting in the jail when he escorted in a handcuffed woman. I had no idea who she was and why she had been picked up. But I soon found out. The trooper asked me to witness everything he did. He took a mug shot of her, with and without her wig on and then thoroughly examined the wig for hidden objects or drugs. I was shocked when she took her blonde wig off. Her age was in the early 30’s, but without the wig she looked to be in her 50’s. Next he dumped her purse out on a counter and went through everything, all the time asking her questions. Why had she been at the pipeline camp? She was selling magazine subscriptions. Where were all of her order forms and magazine samples? No answer. If she was just selling magazine subscriptions, why did she have only make-up and about 75 condoms in her purse? No answer other than some foul language. I have to admit – I’d never seen so many condoms in one place before, so many different kinds, flavors, etc. My next assignment was to take her into the bathroom and do a strip search on her. I had no idea what that meant, but the trooper was very nice – to me – and gave me detailed instructions on what to do. I took her into a small bathroom and asked her to remove her clothing. The trooper stood just outside the door and I handed each item of clothing to him – a black dress, a pair of black pantyhose and her shoes. No panties, no bra, no slip, just a slinky tight black dress and a pair of panty hose. The trooper carefully examined each item and then held them while I asked her to pee and then I looked in the toilet for any drugs she may have had hidden “in a body cavity” and tried to dispose of before she flushed. Fortunately I did not have to examine said body cavities! When she had finished and I had checked and given the ok, he handed her clothing back so she could dress again. I don’t remember all of the details of fingerprinting and back ground check on her. I only remember how old she looked and how unattractive without her wig she was, the many cigarettes she smoked that night, how she cursed me, the troopers, the men she’d been with at the camp, and life in general during the remainder of the night while I stayed next to her cell in the locked jail and “watched” her until the next trooper came on for day duty and could take over. There is a mystique about prostitutes that they are basically happy, sexy, beautiful and have great bodies. This woman taught me different.
I “met” the second prostitute while working as a maid in a hotel in Fairbanks. I actually managed to make it through two whole days before I quit that job – I hated it. I had been assigned to work with another maid who would train me while we worked. As we stripped beds, cleaned toilets and sinks and vacuumed she chattered about this and that. And as we came to new section of the hotel she pointed to a room across the courtyard and told me that everyone thought two prostitutes were doing business in there. That room happened to be ours to clean and just before we knocked on the door to see if it was empty a man came out. I swear he was literally zipping up his jeans and tucking in his red plaid shirt as he came out. We knocked and announced we were the maids come to clean the room. A female voice told us to come on in. Lying on the bed was a young woman, probably college age, stark naked except for a pair of sexy panties with a roll of money tucked in the waistband at the hip. She was counting several other bills and then proceeded to stick them in beside the others. The shower was running in the bathroom and I wondered which one of them had actually “serviced” the man who had just left – the one on the bed or the one in the shower – or maybe both of them? I think that was one of the most uncomfortable times I’ve ever had. Me dressed in a maid’s uniform, stripping a very well used bed, several used condoms in the wastebasket and eventually two naked women in the room with us as we cleaned and they began putting on more make-up in front of a mirror. The other maid later assured me that as soon as the management knew for sure that they were running a business in the room the two girls would be kicked out. All I could think of was what lousy ways to earn money for college – hooking or cleaning - but I’d rather clean motel rooms than let dozens of men use me. I quit the next day and eventually got a job in the laundry room at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital where I spent the summer steaming in the heat, arguing with a communist and atheist, and being yelled at for never working fast enough no matter what I did. Better that than cleaning or prostituting, even if the money wasn’t as good!
The third hooker I met was a couple of years later. The pipeline was cooling down as most of it had been built, but there were still a lot of men in Alaska. Mel and I had been married for about 18 months. Kara was a baby and I was very pregnant with Peter. One afternoon Mel and I were walking down one of the main streets in Fairbanks, Mel holding Kara in one arm and holding my hand with his other. A hooker sashayed up to him, took hold of the arm wrapped around Kara and said, “Come on honey, let’s party!” Both of us were shocked. I guess she figured he was fair game. He was a man. I was obviously very pregnant so couldn’t be much fun in bed, and he could easily get rid of the kid. Or maybe she was just higher than a kite and not thinking clearly. Or maybe her pimp had told her to find a john fast or get beaten. I will never know why she grabbed hold of Mel, only that she was not very pretty, not very sexy – just crude, lewd and brazen. Mel shook her hand off his arm and we continued down the street.
I met the fourth hooker just a few years ago and I see her often. I know this girls name. Her name is Natasha and she is now about 13 years old. She lives with her mother, a prostitute in the city of Kherson, Ukraine, and with several siblings. Her mother has a two room flat – one room is for living, the other is for business. Natasha spends a lot of time on the street just to get out of the house. She spends a lot time doing business in the cemetery as well – there are bushes there that offer “privacy”. When we happen to meet in the city center I can always tell if she’s doing business – her clothes are quite fancy, she has on lots of make-up and her whole attitude is hard as nails. When she comes to the Street Kid Drop-In Center I have seen another girl – a young girl who needs love, real love, not sex. I’ve seen a girl who wants to trust someone, to believe that there is someone who really wants to help her, play with her, touch her with affection, give her good food and clean clothes and not demand that she give her body back in return. I see a young girl who has gone from a fierce protector of her younger brother to a girl who is now pimping him, if not sexually, then at least using his cute looks to beg money off complete strangers. Knowing what happens to these street kids I am quite certain that she is pimping him sexually as well. I would like to castrate every man who has ever had sex with her, orally or intercourse. We have been told that Natasha has at least one STD, has had it from the age of 8. I don’t know if she’s ever finished a full course of medical treatment. I don’t know if she’s had her first abortion yet. I don’t know how much money she makes or who takes most of it from her. I only know she is a young girl who should have had a real childhood – but that it has all been taken from her. I don’t know if it was taken by her mother, a stranger, a relative or someone she knows. I only know that she is a young girl who will probably never know how wonderful sex can truly be between a man and woman who love and respect each other.
These are four of the prostitutes I have met in my 51 years. I know I’ve met more, most of them recently and most of them under the age of 14, both female and male. I know that the older American prostitutes that I met each have their own story as to how they got started and some may have been as simple and ugly as Natasha’s story. Others may have gone into it for drugs, out of anger at a man in her life, because she had been sexually abused by her father, brother or other relative or “friend.” Some may have even been sold into it and just couldn’t get out. There is an attitude in America today that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone and that it can be a great way for a woman to earn a lot of money. I wonder if Natasha thinks that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone. I wonder if the woman working the pipeline camps thought it was really a great way to earn a living (not only the act of having some kind of sex over and over again each day with different men, but the humiliation of being arrested, strip searched, lack of basic respect from the trooper and my actual presence watching over her during the night. I was far from being a naïve virgin, but the difference between us could not be hidden.). I wonder if the two young women in that motel room are still healthy or if they may have contacted AIDS or any number of other STD’s or if they may have been beaten to death by a pimp or a john.
Ukraine has the reputation of being the number one provider of white prostitutes in the world. Thousands, literally 3-4,000 or more work in Istanbul. Hundreds more work in Amsterdam. And those are just two cities. Hundreds of women have been sold into prostitution all across Europe, Asia, Africa and yes, even here in the United States. It’s called human trafficking. My heart weeps for these women, no matter the reason they ended up as prostitutes. I have no love or patience for prostitution, but the woman/girl involved breaks my heart.
I met the first hooker in jail. Actually – she was a prisoner, I was a guard. It was the winter of 1975 and I was a 20 year old freshman at Alaska Bible College in Glennallen, Alaska. Glennallen is located in the heart of the Copper River Basin, an area the size of the state of Ohio. At that time there were only a few State Troopers in the whole area, and no full time employees at the jail. Alaska was in the middle of another gold rush – black gold this time. Oil. The Alaska pipeline was being built and thousands of men had flown up or driven the Alaska Highway in search of work and the dream of making their own fortune on the pipeline. Pipeline camps were located at various spots along the route and one of those camps was south of Glennallen and the village of Copper Center. As is the case with all gold rushes, no matter the color of the gold, camp followers are sure to be in abundance as well.
Several of my fellow students at ABC were on the list of potential jail guards at the state troopers office in Glennallen. Late one night after everyone had already gone to bed, the dispatcher called to see if there was someone in the girl’s dorm who would come in and jail guard a female prisoner that a trooper was bringing in. None of the other girls in the dorm wanted to do it, so I volunteered. I got dressed and someone drove me down to the jail. Soon the trooper pulled in with a woman in the back of his patrol car.
I was waiting in the jail when he escorted in a handcuffed woman. I had no idea who she was and why she had been picked up. But I soon found out. The trooper asked me to witness everything he did. He took a mug shot of her, with and without her wig on and then thoroughly examined the wig for hidden objects or drugs. I was shocked when she took her blonde wig off. Her age was in the early 30’s, but without the wig she looked to be in her 50’s. Next he dumped her purse out on a counter and went through everything, all the time asking her questions. Why had she been at the pipeline camp? She was selling magazine subscriptions. Where were all of her order forms and magazine samples? No answer. If she was just selling magazine subscriptions, why did she have only make-up and about 75 condoms in her purse? No answer other than some foul language. I have to admit – I’d never seen so many condoms in one place before, so many different kinds, flavors, etc. My next assignment was to take her into the bathroom and do a strip search on her. I had no idea what that meant, but the trooper was very nice – to me – and gave me detailed instructions on what to do. I took her into a small bathroom and asked her to remove her clothing. The trooper stood just outside the door and I handed each item of clothing to him – a black dress, a pair of black pantyhose and her shoes. No panties, no bra, no slip, just a slinky tight black dress and a pair of panty hose. The trooper carefully examined each item and then held them while I asked her to pee and then I looked in the toilet for any drugs she may have had hidden “in a body cavity” and tried to dispose of before she flushed. Fortunately I did not have to examine said body cavities! When she had finished and I had checked and given the ok, he handed her clothing back so she could dress again. I don’t remember all of the details of fingerprinting and back ground check on her. I only remember how old she looked and how unattractive without her wig she was, the many cigarettes she smoked that night, how she cursed me, the troopers, the men she’d been with at the camp, and life in general during the remainder of the night while I stayed next to her cell in the locked jail and “watched” her until the next trooper came on for day duty and could take over. There is a mystique about prostitutes that they are basically happy, sexy, beautiful and have great bodies. This woman taught me different.
I “met” the second prostitute while working as a maid in a hotel in Fairbanks. I actually managed to make it through two whole days before I quit that job – I hated it. I had been assigned to work with another maid who would train me while we worked. As we stripped beds, cleaned toilets and sinks and vacuumed she chattered about this and that. And as we came to new section of the hotel she pointed to a room across the courtyard and told me that everyone thought two prostitutes were doing business in there. That room happened to be ours to clean and just before we knocked on the door to see if it was empty a man came out. I swear he was literally zipping up his jeans and tucking in his red plaid shirt as he came out. We knocked and announced we were the maids come to clean the room. A female voice told us to come on in. Lying on the bed was a young woman, probably college age, stark naked except for a pair of sexy panties with a roll of money tucked in the waistband at the hip. She was counting several other bills and then proceeded to stick them in beside the others. The shower was running in the bathroom and I wondered which one of them had actually “serviced” the man who had just left – the one on the bed or the one in the shower – or maybe both of them? I think that was one of the most uncomfortable times I’ve ever had. Me dressed in a maid’s uniform, stripping a very well used bed, several used condoms in the wastebasket and eventually two naked women in the room with us as we cleaned and they began putting on more make-up in front of a mirror. The other maid later assured me that as soon as the management knew for sure that they were running a business in the room the two girls would be kicked out. All I could think of was what lousy ways to earn money for college – hooking or cleaning - but I’d rather clean motel rooms than let dozens of men use me. I quit the next day and eventually got a job in the laundry room at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital where I spent the summer steaming in the heat, arguing with a communist and atheist, and being yelled at for never working fast enough no matter what I did. Better that than cleaning or prostituting, even if the money wasn’t as good!
The third hooker I met was a couple of years later. The pipeline was cooling down as most of it had been built, but there were still a lot of men in Alaska. Mel and I had been married for about 18 months. Kara was a baby and I was very pregnant with Peter. One afternoon Mel and I were walking down one of the main streets in Fairbanks, Mel holding Kara in one arm and holding my hand with his other. A hooker sashayed up to him, took hold of the arm wrapped around Kara and said, “Come on honey, let’s party!” Both of us were shocked. I guess she figured he was fair game. He was a man. I was obviously very pregnant so couldn’t be much fun in bed, and he could easily get rid of the kid. Or maybe she was just higher than a kite and not thinking clearly. Or maybe her pimp had told her to find a john fast or get beaten. I will never know why she grabbed hold of Mel, only that she was not very pretty, not very sexy – just crude, lewd and brazen. Mel shook her hand off his arm and we continued down the street.
I met the fourth hooker just a few years ago and I see her often. I know this girls name. Her name is Natasha and she is now about 13 years old. She lives with her mother, a prostitute in the city of Kherson, Ukraine, and with several siblings. Her mother has a two room flat – one room is for living, the other is for business. Natasha spends a lot of time on the street just to get out of the house. She spends a lot time doing business in the cemetery as well – there are bushes there that offer “privacy”. When we happen to meet in the city center I can always tell if she’s doing business – her clothes are quite fancy, she has on lots of make-up and her whole attitude is hard as nails. When she comes to the Street Kid Drop-In Center I have seen another girl – a young girl who needs love, real love, not sex. I’ve seen a girl who wants to trust someone, to believe that there is someone who really wants to help her, play with her, touch her with affection, give her good food and clean clothes and not demand that she give her body back in return. I see a young girl who has gone from a fierce protector of her younger brother to a girl who is now pimping him, if not sexually, then at least using his cute looks to beg money off complete strangers. Knowing what happens to these street kids I am quite certain that she is pimping him sexually as well. I would like to castrate every man who has ever had sex with her, orally or intercourse. We have been told that Natasha has at least one STD, has had it from the age of 8. I don’t know if she’s ever finished a full course of medical treatment. I don’t know if she’s had her first abortion yet. I don’t know how much money she makes or who takes most of it from her. I only know she is a young girl who should have had a real childhood – but that it has all been taken from her. I don’t know if it was taken by her mother, a stranger, a relative or someone she knows. I only know that she is a young girl who will probably never know how wonderful sex can truly be between a man and woman who love and respect each other.
These are four of the prostitutes I have met in my 51 years. I know I’ve met more, most of them recently and most of them under the age of 14, both female and male. I know that the older American prostitutes that I met each have their own story as to how they got started and some may have been as simple and ugly as Natasha’s story. Others may have gone into it for drugs, out of anger at a man in her life, because she had been sexually abused by her father, brother or other relative or “friend.” Some may have even been sold into it and just couldn’t get out. There is an attitude in America today that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone and that it can be a great way for a woman to earn a lot of money. I wonder if Natasha thinks that prostitution doesn’t hurt anyone. I wonder if the woman working the pipeline camps thought it was really a great way to earn a living (not only the act of having some kind of sex over and over again each day with different men, but the humiliation of being arrested, strip searched, lack of basic respect from the trooper and my actual presence watching over her during the night. I was far from being a naïve virgin, but the difference between us could not be hidden.). I wonder if the two young women in that motel room are still healthy or if they may have contacted AIDS or any number of other STD’s or if they may have been beaten to death by a pimp or a john.
Ukraine has the reputation of being the number one provider of white prostitutes in the world. Thousands, literally 3-4,000 or more work in Istanbul. Hundreds more work in Amsterdam. And those are just two cities. Hundreds of women have been sold into prostitution all across Europe, Asia, Africa and yes, even here in the United States. It’s called human trafficking. My heart weeps for these women, no matter the reason they ended up as prostitutes. I have no love or patience for prostitution, but the woman/girl involved breaks my heart.
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