Shaun White's Wolves

The wolves began howling during the women's downhill. Right after Lindsey Vonn won my husband let the dogs out and said to mute the TV and come stand by the door. Across the Chilkat River a whole pack was crying and howling. Although howl is not an adequate word. The longer we listened the more the wolf voices sang with a kind of chorus of  lament and yearning, except that every now and then one yodeled with a crazy joy. The pitches, range, and tones reminded me of brass horns in a Charles Mingus inspired piece.

Fat Tuesday Luck

John just called, and said to be sure to eat a doughnut today so we'd have good luck all year. It's a Pennsylvania Dutch tradition he said. His wife Cheryl is from Pa. I told him that in our church we eat pancakes and sausage tonight. It is Fat Tuesday (or Shrove Tuesday) the last night before the very lean forty days of Lent. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Tradition dictates that you eat a lot of fat today and then give it up (proverbially and physically) until Easter.

A League of His Own

 We ate king crab tonight at my daughter's house that  her friend (and ours, and everyone's really) Stuart caught this afternoon and cooked for us. It took a while for him to find the propane burner and the great big pot so he could boil  the crabs on the deck. Also, it was late, about 8:30, when he showed up with it and he was a bit stressed.  We were watching the Olympics and holding the baby and in no hurry. But Stuart stepped in the dog dish, and spilled some kibbles and water, and he was already kind of a mess, in a dirty sweatshirt and jeans. No one can be as messy as Stuart can.

The Secret to a Long Life

 When I told my daughter Sarah I wouldn't be able to attend the basketball game, or hold the baby while she watched the Haines Lady Glacier Bears beat the Lady Wrangell Wolves again --the baby's tiny ears are not ready for the noise of the gym--because her father and I were going to John Schnabel's birthday party, Sarah said, "he must be 90."  She's right.  John turned 90 Feb. 11 and the logger, miner, and ace bridge player hosted his own birthday bash last night at the Elks.

Time For A Sleepover

Maya, who is about five, said to Sally, who is also about that age,"can we have a sleepover?"  Sally's mother Sara said "not tonight." Then precocious Maya, who is tiny with lots of dark curly hair, said that she preferred sleeping with her  mother, until her father came to bed, and then she had to move to her own room. Maya explained to Sally that she wasn't sure if she liked sleepovers yet anyway, but that they both would when they were teenagers and didn't like their parents anymore. Then they would have sleepovers all the time.

The Haines Tuxedo

 Yup, you read right. There is now a real, honest to goodness Haines Tuxedo, and I'm not talking about Dan Henry's Salvation Army dinner jacket or Lee Heinmiller's T-shirt with the tux design on it.  North Face has a brand new heli-ski suit called the Haines Tuxedo. It's only 999.00. Really.  I'm kind of curious about the "internal media security pocket" feature. Is that catalog code for a concealed weapon holster?


 This morning I had nice notes from an undertaker in Plano, Texas (it is snowing there),he said he  knows what I mean when I say I snowshoe with the departed; and a special-ed teacher with a dog named Carla, after  the "Good Dog Carl" books, just like my old dog Carl; and the niece of a former Haines resident who is visiting here this summer. A bookstore owner in Juneau was excited about the Advance Reader Copy of  Take Good Care of the Garden and the Dogs, and another blog reader asked where the comment section is.

Of Moose and Men

The moose was about three feet from the window  when Forte started barking. There is a difference in a friendly, " I really need to go out" or " someone's at the door" bark and a moose in the yard bark. Also, when there's a moose in the yard you can't let the dog out.  Forte won't chase a moose, but a moose will chase him. (Plus, the neighbors may not be thrilled by his wake-up call at 4:30 in the morning.)

Grandmas and Grease Paint

My friend Annette sent an email inviting me to audition for a play, C.B. Gilford's "Bull in a China Shop" being put on by Lynn Canal Community Players. In her note, Annette said it was about six little old ladies who are smitten by a handsome young homicide detective who moves into their neighborhood. After all their advances fail, they attract him with something they know he is interested in: murder. They apparently kill someone so he'll spend more time with them.

Let the Olympic Games Begin! (The Haines Olympics, That Is.)

When Greg looked at the Olympic torch that the newspaper editor, Tom, had made for him to carry while he ran around the skating rink at the fairgrounds, he frowned. It was an alder branch spray painted gold, with a coffee can on the end (also painted gold) that was cut like a crown in a fancy way, but did not fit very snugly against the stick-- and the top was all wrapped in rag. There was  a jar of kerosene that Greg was supposed to dip the rag end in and then light. Greg feared, as we all did, it may run down the stick and catch him on fire.



If you would like to subscribe to my blog, please create an account and/or log in. Once you have done that, you will see the option to subscribe at the bottom of my blogs.