It was already dark a little after four yesterday when three teen age boys were spotted in the brush by the library. Two were up near the side of the building by a small aspen tree, and one was standing on one of the benches down by the sidewalk directing them.I walked up for a closer look, as I'm a little protective of the library, being on the board and all. Turns out these good boys were doing their best to drape white lights artfully in the trees. "Community service?" I asked.
I managed to wake up for Morning Muscles without my early rising husband, who is off deer hunting, but I didn't sleep well. It was like catching an early morning ferry- every hour I'd wake with a start and check the clock radio. Maybe I should figure out how the alarm works? I woke up at five yesterday, too, in Eliza's apartment in downtown Juneau because the ferry home left at 6:15. Coming down Sunday the Fairweather was so full from the eagle festival that I was on standby, as a walk-on. Really.
From Marilynne Robinson's novel Gilead:
There are two occasions when the sacred beauty of Creation becomes dazzlingly apparent, and they occur together. One is when we feel our mortal insufficiency to the world, and the other is when we feel the world's mortal insufficiency to us.
If you are going to show up for coffee at seven on Saturday morning-- especially a dark, stormy November Saturday morning perfect for sleeping in-- then you better be cheerful and have something interesting to say. That's why I like Don Nash. There's a a gale blowing up Lynn Canal so the guys are waiting to leave on his boat for deer hunting until it dies down, they hope tonight-- But since they are all packed up, they might as well drink coffee, eat oatmeal and discuss this week's Chilkat Valley News in my kitchen at the crack of dawn.
Chip is getting ready for his hunting trip to Elfin Cove, they leave tomorrow on the Nash troller Shinaku. He's making lists and checking them twice. There is a survival gear bucket on the dining room table, dry bags, socks, bullets, GPS, knives, game bags, a headlamp, cap, gloves, rain gear, a float coat, a flare kit, a first aid sack, a rifle in a soft case, and a variety of camo-patterned clothing. Why hunters wear camouflage underwear is a question I may not want the answer to.
It's reflective vest season for early morning ( and early evening) walkers and joggers. I was driving home from Morning Muscles, listening to NPR on the radio, and slowly tooling up and around the dark Parade Grounds this morning when out of the corner of my eye I saw a reflective vested figure down on the side of the road. A runner with a heart attack? A walker hit by a car? A jogger having an asthma attack? I stopped, and rolled down my window.
We woke to the first snow on the ground in the yard, (the mountains have been getting whiter by the day) a light dusting that made the whole world clean and bright and the view from my bed as black & white as an Ansel Adams photo. I want to get out and enjoy the day, but have a pile of deadlines to meet, so hopefully the weather will hold. The good thing is I don't have to cook, there are leftovers from our company, and we ate enough last night in Klukwan to keep us full until Thanksgiving.
My house guests from San Francisco have an iPad, and they've been showing Chip and I all the cool things it does, well, as much as we have time for. The videos, and audio, can take a while with the slow internet here. They told me that in London it's 24 times as fast. One of the features of the iPad is that you can hold it up to the sky where ever you are and it shows you a photograph-like image of the stars and constellations over your house, and even labels them for you. We could see the stars that would be out later, right from our kitchen, in the day time.
Today is All Saint's Day, and here's the Sunday thought from the back of our church bulletin:
Let us not tire of denouncing the idolatry of wealth, which makes human greatness consist in having and forgets that true greatness is being. One's value is not in what one has, but in what one is.-- Oscar Romero, martyred Archbishop of San Salvador
Friday afternoon on Main Street: Pizza climbed a cottonwood tree in a chicken suit, as part of a YouTube video he's making, and the editor of the Chilkat Valley News took his picture. One on-looker wondered if this was art, which Joe says it is, another said that he was in her tree and ordered him to come down right now, as surely what he was doing was against the law.