Rain in the New Year

Before the rain.

The rain began Thursday. Just your typical Southeast rain — not the flooding that’s taking place in other parts of the country — we’re lucky for that. This is the rain I’m usually used to, that’s second nature, except for most of December we actually had winter temperatures and precipitation came in snow - bright snow, not grey rain. But it seems fitting for one year to end and another to begin in Juneau with rain. Why not?

On Britta’s first day, the ground was still frozen and we walked on Basin Road with ice grippers. For her next two full days here, it rained, reminding her simultaneously of her love for the region and why it’s okay she left.

Whenever I have visitors — whoever they are — I always wake up lonely on the day of their departure. It doesn't take long to get used to just the three of us again - Scott, Lota and I - but there is a period of sadness that follows the airport drop-off, and I’m feeling it right now. With Scott at Eaglecrest and the rain pattering on the roof, loneliness feels all encompassing.

Having this moment of peace and stillness — the washing machine going in the background — will be short-lived. Scott and I leave for Chile on Friday night and our home will be transformed this week into piles of things we intend to pack, lists of things we still need to do, and the general hustle and bustle of leaving for a multi-week trip — inevitably not getting everything done, but managing all the same. Lota will go to caring friends; the plants will fend for themselves.

I take it back about the typical Southeast rain. It’s heavier than that now. It’s the type of rain that will permeate my non-rubber rain gear in minutes.

I transitioned from 2015 to 2016 with a cloud of sadness that I can’t seem to shake. I imagine it’ll dissipate with the traveling - how could it not? You imagine having a good friend over would’ve taken it away, but it only reminded me that I wish she was closer, like I do of other dear friends who I miss.

It was also the silliness of the holidays, the sentimentality of Christmas and New Year’s, the lows after the highs. There’s something about not being with family on the holidays that make them not right. I’d take the hassle of holiday travel over this pit in my stomach now. Scott said the other night, “Maybe it’s just too long to not see your mom.” I think he’s right. We’ll see her after Chile.

Maybe I have SAD - the seasonal-something-disorder of not having enough sun. I never believed in it before.

“Sometimes you just need change,” Amber said that to me on Wednesday. It was good timing that when I went to pick Britta up from the airport, Amber and Stephen had a short stopover on their way from Wrangell to Hawaii. They had walked to The Amazing Bookstore and I went to see them for a few minutes before driving them back to the airport. They appreciated it since they were already wearing clothes for Hawaii temps. Amber was referring to my job woes. I’ve had too many for too long to accept any longer. Throughout them all, I’ve always felt the same way about reporting, that I’ve always loved it.

I got this text a few days before the end of the year and it’s a good way to end this post:

“Hello Lisa. Believe it or not, today is the six month anniversary of your interview with me and Liz for my mother Mildred. I will always be eternally grateful to you for that experience. You did a tremendous tribute to her, and people all around the state are grateful for your work. It was a gift to us all — our family, and me, in particular.
I hope you hare having a good holiday season. I know Mildred’s energy is smiling on us both, now and always.
Sara”