Skiing in Rain Gear
That’s what Scott is doing right now. In its second opening week, the ski area
in town, Eaglecrest, decided to open up the Ptarmigan chairlift, enticing local
skiers. Scott fell for it. He got his skis waxed last night and finally gets to
use the season pass I bought for him back in September.
This past week has been one winter storm watch after another fading into warnings and back again. If temperatures hadn’t risen, all this dumping rain would be powdery white snow. Eaglecrest is asking everyone to continue doing snow dances.
The foot of snow that had accumulated on my car is gone but the driveway is a sheet of packed ice. Scott warned me not to drive my car to the office this Saturday morning for fear it would just collide into his, which is parked nearby. I don’t necessarily believe him, but I won’t attempt to drive. As much as I need to put in a few hours at work this weekend, it’s nice to have an excuse to not go. After all, my safety is at risk.
Lota and I instead went on a very wet walk around the neighborhood. It is perfect rainbib weather. With the gusts, I cinched my rain shell hood pretty tightly around my face knowing I probably looked silly, yet not caring one bit. The unpaved roads are a mixture of slush, ice, and loose gravel. Lota excitedly pranced in the snow, flinging bits of it at every leap. It’s quite late in the morning, and it was his first walk of the day. He had spent most of the earlier morning jumping in and out of the bed while I tried my hardest to stay sleeping. During the week I pry myself out of bed before 6:20. On this Saturday morning, my body and head felt like a piece of lead, unable to get up, barely able to pet Lota when his body settled next to mine. It was perhaps 8:30 when I finally reasoned that restful sleep wasn’t much of an option with a yellow lab around.
Now, though, Lota is resting. Stretched out on his circular dog bed (the first one he ever got; he now has three). In the corner of the living room, the Christmas tree is lit with a mixture of white LEDs and the older warmer variety of white lights. It’s covered in cut out snowflakes, one folded white crane, one red menacing Buddhist mask ornament from Bhutan, and two pieces of sea coral. The tree once had another shell ornament and on the top, instead of a star, Scott had placed a moon snail shell. Those broke Wednesday night as the tree came crashing down on top of Lota. It was my fault. Scott and Lota had been outside shoveling snow and when Lota came in, I was greeting him in a very excited manner, causing him to be equally excited, but in a dog way. Which meant he was jumping up and down, running away from me and toward me, and eventually, making a running jump onto his dog bed, which – on the wood floor – slid under and into the tree, knocking it down like a bowling ball making the perfect strike. Crash.
Scott – whose hard work had made the tree happen from spotting it in the muskeg, cutting it down and dragging it back to the house to making sure it stood perfectly straight in the Christmas tree stand, stringing the lights, and decorating it so all the ornaments were situated in just the right spots – was silently mad, which is worse than being loud and mad. Lota, sensing he had done something wrong, walked quietly away and layed down.
Despite the trauma, the tree wasn’t too bad off. Hardly any pine needles had fallen off, only one paper snowflake got ruined – the biggest victims had been the shells. Scott eventually got the tree to stand again, the ornaments were put back on, and I think the tree looks as good as it did before. Scott doesn’t agree.
Since we’ve been together – almost seven years now – this is the first Christmas we’ll be spending in Southeast Alaska. Other years have been spent in Cuba, New York, Wyoming, Bhutan. It’ll just be Scott, Lota, and I. For the first time ever during this time of year, we made no travel plans. Our first year back in America, living in Juneau, is coming to an end, which means our adventures are slowing slipping further and further away. We’re normal now.
I haven’t checked for a while, but this time last year we were traveling from Kigoma back to Arusha, from the western reaches of Tanzania back to the familiar east. Perhaps it was at this time that Scott was being pickpocketed in the bus station in Mwaanza. He was prepared that time, though, and caught the culprit’s hand.
I think it took us a couple of days to leave the country after our trip to Kigoma, perhaps journeying back to Monduli to make the final pack. I might be wrong. I do know that the last friend we saw in Tanzania was Junior. He had dropped us off at the Impala Hotel so we could catch our shuttle to Nairobi, where we flew from. Junior’s father was sick at the time. Some months later, he would die. We heard the news over email when we were back in the states.
I haven’t truly thought about Tanzania for a while. It pops in my mind almost daily – the country, our students – but rarely do I really think about the place, our time there, what it all could’ve meant.
Our lives right now – at this moment, with the swaying tall pine trees outside, the raindrops on the window, the ice packed driveway, unwritten thank you cards on the dining room table, ever looming work deadlines, family and good friends ar away, Lota curled up on his dog bed, Scott skiing, me typing – seem so real and permanent that it’s hard to grasp we were anywhere else but here.
This past week has been one winter storm watch after another fading into warnings and back again. If temperatures hadn’t risen, all this dumping rain would be powdery white snow. Eaglecrest is asking everyone to continue doing snow dances.
The foot of snow that had accumulated on my car is gone but the driveway is a sheet of packed ice. Scott warned me not to drive my car to the office this Saturday morning for fear it would just collide into his, which is parked nearby. I don’t necessarily believe him, but I won’t attempt to drive. As much as I need to put in a few hours at work this weekend, it’s nice to have an excuse to not go. After all, my safety is at risk.
Lota and I instead went on a very wet walk around the neighborhood. It is perfect rainbib weather. With the gusts, I cinched my rain shell hood pretty tightly around my face knowing I probably looked silly, yet not caring one bit. The unpaved roads are a mixture of slush, ice, and loose gravel. Lota excitedly pranced in the snow, flinging bits of it at every leap. It’s quite late in the morning, and it was his first walk of the day. He had spent most of the earlier morning jumping in and out of the bed while I tried my hardest to stay sleeping. During the week I pry myself out of bed before 6:20. On this Saturday morning, my body and head felt like a piece of lead, unable to get up, barely able to pet Lota when his body settled next to mine. It was perhaps 8:30 when I finally reasoned that restful sleep wasn’t much of an option with a yellow lab around.
Now, though, Lota is resting. Stretched out on his circular dog bed (the first one he ever got; he now has three). In the corner of the living room, the Christmas tree is lit with a mixture of white LEDs and the older warmer variety of white lights. It’s covered in cut out snowflakes, one folded white crane, one red menacing Buddhist mask ornament from Bhutan, and two pieces of sea coral. The tree once had another shell ornament and on the top, instead of a star, Scott had placed a moon snail shell. Those broke Wednesday night as the tree came crashing down on top of Lota. It was my fault. Scott and Lota had been outside shoveling snow and when Lota came in, I was greeting him in a very excited manner, causing him to be equally excited, but in a dog way. Which meant he was jumping up and down, running away from me and toward me, and eventually, making a running jump onto his dog bed, which – on the wood floor – slid under and into the tree, knocking it down like a bowling ball making the perfect strike. Crash.
Scott – whose hard work had made the tree happen from spotting it in the muskeg, cutting it down and dragging it back to the house to making sure it stood perfectly straight in the Christmas tree stand, stringing the lights, and decorating it so all the ornaments were situated in just the right spots – was silently mad, which is worse than being loud and mad. Lota, sensing he had done something wrong, walked quietly away and layed down.
Despite the trauma, the tree wasn’t too bad off. Hardly any pine needles had fallen off, only one paper snowflake got ruined – the biggest victims had been the shells. Scott eventually got the tree to stand again, the ornaments were put back on, and I think the tree looks as good as it did before. Scott doesn’t agree.
Since we’ve been together – almost seven years now – this is the first Christmas we’ll be spending in Southeast Alaska. Other years have been spent in Cuba, New York, Wyoming, Bhutan. It’ll just be Scott, Lota, and I. For the first time ever during this time of year, we made no travel plans. Our first year back in America, living in Juneau, is coming to an end, which means our adventures are slowing slipping further and further away. We’re normal now.
I haven’t checked for a while, but this time last year we were traveling from Kigoma back to Arusha, from the western reaches of Tanzania back to the familiar east. Perhaps it was at this time that Scott was being pickpocketed in the bus station in Mwaanza. He was prepared that time, though, and caught the culprit’s hand.
I think it took us a couple of days to leave the country after our trip to Kigoma, perhaps journeying back to Monduli to make the final pack. I might be wrong. I do know that the last friend we saw in Tanzania was Junior. He had dropped us off at the Impala Hotel so we could catch our shuttle to Nairobi, where we flew from. Junior’s father was sick at the time. Some months later, he would die. We heard the news over email when we were back in the states.
I haven’t truly thought about Tanzania for a while. It pops in my mind almost daily – the country, our students – but rarely do I really think about the place, our time there, what it all could’ve meant.
Our lives right now – at this moment, with the swaying tall pine trees outside, the raindrops on the window, the ice packed driveway, unwritten thank you cards on the dining room table, ever looming work deadlines, family and good friends ar away, Lota curled up on his dog bed, Scott skiing, me typing – seem so real and permanent that it’s hard to grasp we were anywhere else but here.
posted by Siapiau | 11:14 AM
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