There's a Guy Clarke song, Blowin' Like a Bandit, that comes to mind on mornings like this, and nights like last night. It goes " out there on the gulf the wind is blowin' like a bandit, they're talkin' 'bout a hurricane and your riggin will not stand it." I knew it was bad when the smell of smoke woke me around two, and the house shuddered like the ferry does in high seas. Before bed I had filled the woodstove, damped it down and flipped the lever on the catalytic converter.
I am still a bit afraid of just putting words out there without the benefit of an editor's eyes, or for that matter spell check ( I haven't figured out how to incorporate that into my blog.) This is like writing a journal, I suppose, only one that everyone reads. Which is what a column is like, to some extent. The trick with a good column is for it to read as if it were something I just happened to think of. The blog really is. I am also only half-way through my first cup of coffee, so that's a dangerous time to write anything.
I have been a little shy about adding a new post, since Friday seemed a bit like all Heather, all the time.
The Haines A'Cappella Women's Choir (HAWC like the raptor) practices every Thursday night from 6-7 in the Sheldon Museum. Nancy Nash is our director, and she likes madrigals and rounds, so we often sing a tune that begins "welcome, welcome every guest, welcome to our music fest." This seems like a good way to begin this blog, which I am calling News From Small Town Alaska, because that's pretty much what you'll find here.
Please feel free to get in touch with me. I promise I'll read your note, but cannot guarantee a reply, although I'll do my best to.