Aaron Sorkin has done me in again. he does it every time I watch the last episode of Sports Night, every time i watch the first episode of Sports Night, every time I watch the episode entitled "April is the Cruelest Month" (which was the first episode of Sports Night I ever saw) and he's now done it to me twice with the season three finale of West Wing.
It's eleven years too late for what I'm about to write to be a spoiler, so I'm not too worried about ruining it for anyone else. The first time I went through this series (I didn't make it all the way through - just the first few seasons) it was with Andy, Kerry, and Scott. This episode, along with the episode where Mrs. Landingham dies, tugged at those emotional parts of me that make me question if I'm really an INTP sometimes.
The first time I watched the series I, like the character of CJ, was enamored by Mark Harmon's character, Simon Donovan. He was only on the show for a few episodes but he, like so many Aaron Sorkin characters, was likable from the start. He may even be my favorite character on the West Wing.
And then, in the series finale of Season Three, Aaron Sorkin did what he does so well - he made me break down and cry again. The backdrop of Jeff Buckley singing Leonard Cohen (one of the most beautiful voices singing a song by one of my lifetime's great poets) has become somewhat cliche in my mind but Aaron Sorkin ties it beautifully into the tragedy of Simon Donovan getting shot and killed. The song goes on while a Secret Service agent pulls CJ out of the play she's been watching to tell her that Simon is dead.
The first time I watched this episode, I hadn't just lost someone and similarly turned to Jeff Buckley singing Leonard Cohen to silhouette my own emotions. This time it hits just a little harder, even though I knew it was coming.
The other night I was going to write a post narrating all of my Thanksgivings in Skagway. I had it started in my head but hit a roadblock when suddenly, inexplicably, Thanksgiving of 2010 seemed to have been erased from my memory. Instead of going ahead with it and detailing 2008, 2009, 2011, and this year, I lost control of my emotions, broke down, and decided not to write.
I spent three Thanksgivings with Stimee - 2009, 2010, and 2011. 2009 we spent at Doug and Lindsay's house and I remember it well. In 2011 he was out of town. While I spent the day with Tekla and Katie, he spent Thanksgiving at a Hell's Angels bar in Seattle drinking beers with a guy named Slammer. But I can't remember what we did in 2010. It's like The Nothing from the Neverending Story that has consumed a lot of my emotions and actions lately has also eaten that entire memory from my brain. And I couldn't quite handle that.
It's cliche and overdone to spend Thanksgiving talking about what you're thankful for, especially during a period in your life when you're constantly reminded of all you lack. Facebook is teeming with status updates about what everyone has been thankful for as well as photos of people's feasts and festivities. On a night when I have to work and can't have thanksgiving dinner with anyone, on a day when i've been racking my brain trying to remember what I did with my dead ex-fiancee two years ago, those status updates have just served to push me farther into an abyss of not wanting to realize what I have to be grateful for.
But I took the bait. Early this morning, when I got home from the bar, I made stuffing from scratch and gravy from a packet. It was delicious. As I sat and enjoyed my own private Thanksgiving meal with the two best dogs in the world beside me, I reflected on the things that, in the midst of tragedy, I really do have to be thankful for. I, like everyone else, posted a facebook status of what I was thankful for - namely, all the people who've been supportive of me in tangible ways over the last two and a half months.
I figured I'd have five or six people to tag in that status update. Actually, I had to make several status updates since facebook only lets you tag twenty at a time. I tagged fifty-six people altogether, and certainly left out a lot more. Those were just the ones who actually did something tangible for me, which doesn't include the people whose texts, calls, and facebook messages didn't fall on deaf ears.
Later on, I found myself on one of the messageboards I frequent as a great substitute for real social interaction. Someone had started a thread demanding that we post the top ten things we're all thankful for. My list: 1. the people who've supported me the last couple months. 2. the fact that i'm alive. 3. the fact that i have a job. 4. my dog. 5. indoor heating. 6. indoor plumbing. 7. hot water heaters. 8. nicotine. 9. alcohol. 10. (i tagged a particular friend who's been particularly helpful in the healing process).
There's so much more than that to be thankful for. (I honestly can't believe that I'm posting a blog on Thanksgiving about being thankful.) I don't have a family to spend Thanksgiving with, but I'm thankful that I have a friend who brought me two heaping plates of food from her dinner. I didn't get to participate in anyone else's holiday traditions because of work, but I am beyond grateful that after so many years of trying, I have a real job. I don't have a partner to go home to at the end of the night, but I'm grateful for both the memories of the ones who were there in the past and for the people across the miles who i know are thinking about me.
I think what I'm most grateful for on this Thanksgiving day is what Aaron Sorkin evoked in me. I used to cry at movies and TV shows every time anyone got married, had a baby, died, or ended up with Mr. Right. Lately that's not so much the case. I watched the episode of Grey's Anatomy where Alex and Izzie get married - an episode which always leaves me bawling like a baby - and had no reaction whatsoever except to think how cheesy and awful it was. I don't feel like a zombie anymore, but when it comes to having emotional responses to things that I think I should have responses to, I've felt very much like a robot. I'm grateful to Aaron Sorkin for proving to me that I am still human.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Presidential Elections in Skagway
Throughout the evening on election night I spent a lot of time reflecting on where I am during this election as opposed to where I was -- geographically, emotionally, socially, politically -- during the last election night. On the surface, it really wasn't all that different.
They served Rolling Rock at the Eagles in 2008. It was a simpler time.
This year, just as in 2008, I got dressed up to go out to the bars to watch the election coverage. Four years ago I had a short, cleavage-baring black and white dress that I'd bought in Juneau while on a trip with the high school volleyball team, who I coached at the time. I put that on with my knee-high black boots. At the time, they were my only pair of boots. Leather, with the toe of the left one chewed on a little bit by Merlin. I still have those, but I don't wear them very often anymore. I don't have the dress anymore.
This year, I wore a somewhat more formal dress. It was the bridesmaid dress I wore for Jenn and Paul's wedding - was that eight years ago or so? I also wore black boots, but this time they were my new pair, which have not been chewed by my dog. It turns out that both dresses were significant. The dress I wore four years ago was black and white. As I told people that night, the black and white represented Obama being black and about to enter the white house. This year, my dress was not all about race (why is it ALWAYS about race with you people???), and initially I thought there really wasn't much significance to it at all. It was between the burgundy bridesmaid dress and the green one I had for Andy and Kerry's wedding. Either way, they would've been significant, because of this. (<<-Click where it says "this.)
I was hopeful for a win for Obama both times. Four years ago it was a bigger deal to me. Not only had I followed more of the election at that point, but back then we had still never had a black President. The race card was just a part of it... since I had been following the race I had always been an Obama girl. He was the first politician in my lifetime to speak to my generation as if we were actually significant. He was the first one I saw on the Jon Stewart show, Saturday Night Live, and Facebook. He talked in a language that I could understand instead of using terms that I had to research to be able to follow. And I liked the things he had to say. I wanted him to win the primary, particularly against that cow Hilary. And I wanted him to win the election, particularly with that lovely Palin woman on the opposite side of the ballot.
This year, I didn't really follow the election coverage that much. Apart from Bad Lip Reading, i didn't know anything about the Republican primary candidates. I knew next to nothing about Romney. At this point in my life I'm almost entirely surrounded by people who lean toward the liberal side, so the only things I ever heard anyone saying about Romney were biased from that direction. (Eight years ago, I was surrounded by primarily Republicans. Four years ago, it was somewhat split.) I didn't know what any of the issues were on either of their platforms, apart from knowing the intrinsic differences between the left and right side. Because I lean more left these days, and because I've always been an Obama girl, I wanted Obama to win.
I sat at the Elks with my friends for a little while. I think the last time I wore the bridesmaid dress, I wore it with heels, because I don't remember it dragging on the floor and being stepped on so much. Also, i don't ever wear floor-length skirts anymore. I think I should start again, though, because I feel particularly badass when I'm playing pool in such a girly getup. Even if I am constantly tripping over myself, and even if the boning in the dress makes it hard to breathe and keeps poking me. Although it turns out I'm a better pool player when I'm getting poked. (read into that whatever you will.)
The television wasn't on at the Elks. I told Margaret and Katie both to text me when they found something out. Margaret lives in civilization where they have more access to things like important news, and Katie is a journalist, so I figured between the two of them we'd have it covered. I got messages from them both around the same time saying Obama won. With that, my entourage and I relocated to the Pizza Station.
The coverage was on the TV at the Station. Over beers and meatloaf my friends and I watched intently. There were a handful of other people at the bar and we all chatted a little about what was going on. The most interesting thing to me was that on the map of electoral votes, the states that were red or blue that had already been locked in by electoral votes were, fittingly, red or blue. The rest of the states whose votes had yet to be counted were yellow. Alaska, in that spot it always takes on US maps somewhere near Baja California, was grey. Why? Because no one gives a fuck about Alaska.
I kept thinking about how, four years ago, when the election was on, Allen and I were watching at the Eagles. It was interesting to me to be watching it this year from the Pizza Station. I felt like I should be in the Eagles watching for the magic to really work.
Some of us applauded when the electoral votes reached that clinching number. We watched Romney's concession speech. I don't know a whole lot about him (again, apart from Bad Lip Reading), but the concession speech was really nice, I thought. I mean, I know that they have people writing their speeches for them and all... and the only other concession speeches I've watched were McCain (don't remember it, was too fired up about Obama) and Gore (remember thinking his speech wasn't very good)... but all in all, Mr. Fantastic did pretty well. It got a little intense and the bartender switched the election coverage off, so we opted to go to the Eagles.
And so it was that I got to watch Obama's acceptance speech two elections in a row from the same section of the same bar in the same town. With different people. Holley and I sat and watched , holding hands. Four years ago it was Allen's hand I was holding, and I think I got the slightly better end of the stick this time.
Four years ago it was such a big deal. Either we were going to have a black president or we were going to have a female vice-president. Either way, it would be a first. (If only we knew, at the time, that the other either/or choice was either Sarah Palin is our VP or she becomes the reality show representative of Alaska...) I don't really remember much of what Obama said in the speech four years ago but I remember being inspired, not for the first time, not for the last.
This year as Holley and I sat and watched, it wasn't as historic a moment as it was four years ago. But i was struck by how many times the world has spun around since the last time he was voted in. Four years ago, the shit hadn't yet hit the fan for me since living in Skagway. I was so young, naive, inexperienced. My only priorities in life were Allen, cigarettes, and beer, in that order. I was 24, thought i was 34, and acted like I was 14.
So much has changed. It's like in four years I became an adult through all of the things I went through to get to where I am now. Before Obama got elected the first time, I didn't really care about legislation relating to domestic violence and sexual assault. Shortly afterward, when Palin quit and Parnell took over, one of Parnell's first acts of governor was to declare that he really wanted to crack down on those crimes. By that point, it had become very important to me.
Before Obama was elected the first time, I didn't really care about health care. I never thought about the future beyond the next day, so health care for the long-term wasn't really on my mind. I also had never watched a friend be medevacced out of town and have to run through the gamut of MRIs, CAT scans, spinal taps, and everything else to try and figure out what was wrong with her. I'd never had to watch my friend get stuck with bills she'd have for the rest of her life as a result.
Before Obama was elected the first time, I had no idea that the economy has been pretty miserable. I had only spent a year or so trying to find a real job at that point, and hadn't really tried very hard. I was happy with my summer job, having never spent a winter on unemployment. I felt fairly secure that once I started really trying, I'd be able to find a year-round, full-time job with benefits. I didn't realize how much I needed the stimulus fund that Obama gave me, or the extended unemployment benefits he ended up sending my way. I didn't realize at the time that I had another three and a half years ahead of me struggling to keep my head above water before finally, FINALLY getting a real job.
And, of course, the thought that kept weaseling its way into my consciousness... because some things just don't ever really leave my thoughts... Four years ago, when I came to watch the election with Allen at the Eagles, Stimee was still just a random acquaintance, another one of those people I'd run into from time to time at the grocery store, the post office, the bar... He was just another Skagway guy. I was still a good six months away from getting to know him. Yet another way I was, at the time, completely unaware of so many things about how the world works sometimes.
To that end, it was toward the close of Obama's speech that he said the words that really cut into me and brought tears to my eyes. But the tears weren't related to the fact that my guy is going to be in the White House for another four years. The tears were, once again, Stimee.
"I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting."
They served Rolling Rock at the Eagles in 2008. It was a simpler time.
This year, just as in 2008, I got dressed up to go out to the bars to watch the election coverage. Four years ago I had a short, cleavage-baring black and white dress that I'd bought in Juneau while on a trip with the high school volleyball team, who I coached at the time. I put that on with my knee-high black boots. At the time, they were my only pair of boots. Leather, with the toe of the left one chewed on a little bit by Merlin. I still have those, but I don't wear them very often anymore. I don't have the dress anymore.
This year, I wore a somewhat more formal dress. It was the bridesmaid dress I wore for Jenn and Paul's wedding - was that eight years ago or so? I also wore black boots, but this time they were my new pair, which have not been chewed by my dog. It turns out that both dresses were significant. The dress I wore four years ago was black and white. As I told people that night, the black and white represented Obama being black and about to enter the white house. This year, my dress was not all about race (why is it ALWAYS about race with you people???), and initially I thought there really wasn't much significance to it at all. It was between the burgundy bridesmaid dress and the green one I had for Andy and Kerry's wedding. Either way, they would've been significant, because of this. (<<-Click where it says "this.)
I was hopeful for a win for Obama both times. Four years ago it was a bigger deal to me. Not only had I followed more of the election at that point, but back then we had still never had a black President. The race card was just a part of it... since I had been following the race I had always been an Obama girl. He was the first politician in my lifetime to speak to my generation as if we were actually significant. He was the first one I saw on the Jon Stewart show, Saturday Night Live, and Facebook. He talked in a language that I could understand instead of using terms that I had to research to be able to follow. And I liked the things he had to say. I wanted him to win the primary, particularly against that cow Hilary. And I wanted him to win the election, particularly with that lovely Palin woman on the opposite side of the ballot.
This year, I didn't really follow the election coverage that much. Apart from Bad Lip Reading, i didn't know anything about the Republican primary candidates. I knew next to nothing about Romney. At this point in my life I'm almost entirely surrounded by people who lean toward the liberal side, so the only things I ever heard anyone saying about Romney were biased from that direction. (Eight years ago, I was surrounded by primarily Republicans. Four years ago, it was somewhat split.) I didn't know what any of the issues were on either of their platforms, apart from knowing the intrinsic differences between the left and right side. Because I lean more left these days, and because I've always been an Obama girl, I wanted Obama to win.
I sat at the Elks with my friends for a little while. I think the last time I wore the bridesmaid dress, I wore it with heels, because I don't remember it dragging on the floor and being stepped on so much. Also, i don't ever wear floor-length skirts anymore. I think I should start again, though, because I feel particularly badass when I'm playing pool in such a girly getup. Even if I am constantly tripping over myself, and even if the boning in the dress makes it hard to breathe and keeps poking me. Although it turns out I'm a better pool player when I'm getting poked. (read into that whatever you will.)
The television wasn't on at the Elks. I told Margaret and Katie both to text me when they found something out. Margaret lives in civilization where they have more access to things like important news, and Katie is a journalist, so I figured between the two of them we'd have it covered. I got messages from them both around the same time saying Obama won. With that, my entourage and I relocated to the Pizza Station.
The coverage was on the TV at the Station. Over beers and meatloaf my friends and I watched intently. There were a handful of other people at the bar and we all chatted a little about what was going on. The most interesting thing to me was that on the map of electoral votes, the states that were red or blue that had already been locked in by electoral votes were, fittingly, red or blue. The rest of the states whose votes had yet to be counted were yellow. Alaska, in that spot it always takes on US maps somewhere near Baja California, was grey. Why? Because no one gives a fuck about Alaska.
I kept thinking about how, four years ago, when the election was on, Allen and I were watching at the Eagles. It was interesting to me to be watching it this year from the Pizza Station. I felt like I should be in the Eagles watching for the magic to really work.
Some of us applauded when the electoral votes reached that clinching number. We watched Romney's concession speech. I don't know a whole lot about him (again, apart from Bad Lip Reading), but the concession speech was really nice, I thought. I mean, I know that they have people writing their speeches for them and all... and the only other concession speeches I've watched were McCain (don't remember it, was too fired up about Obama) and Gore (remember thinking his speech wasn't very good)... but all in all, Mr. Fantastic did pretty well. It got a little intense and the bartender switched the election coverage off, so we opted to go to the Eagles.
And so it was that I got to watch Obama's acceptance speech two elections in a row from the same section of the same bar in the same town. With different people. Holley and I sat and watched , holding hands. Four years ago it was Allen's hand I was holding, and I think I got the slightly better end of the stick this time.
Four years ago it was such a big deal. Either we were going to have a black president or we were going to have a female vice-president. Either way, it would be a first. (If only we knew, at the time, that the other either/or choice was either Sarah Palin is our VP or she becomes the reality show representative of Alaska...) I don't really remember much of what Obama said in the speech four years ago but I remember being inspired, not for the first time, not for the last.
This year as Holley and I sat and watched, it wasn't as historic a moment as it was four years ago. But i was struck by how many times the world has spun around since the last time he was voted in. Four years ago, the shit hadn't yet hit the fan for me since living in Skagway. I was so young, naive, inexperienced. My only priorities in life were Allen, cigarettes, and beer, in that order. I was 24, thought i was 34, and acted like I was 14.
So much has changed. It's like in four years I became an adult through all of the things I went through to get to where I am now. Before Obama got elected the first time, I didn't really care about legislation relating to domestic violence and sexual assault. Shortly afterward, when Palin quit and Parnell took over, one of Parnell's first acts of governor was to declare that he really wanted to crack down on those crimes. By that point, it had become very important to me.
Before Obama was elected the first time, I didn't really care about health care. I never thought about the future beyond the next day, so health care for the long-term wasn't really on my mind. I also had never watched a friend be medevacced out of town and have to run through the gamut of MRIs, CAT scans, spinal taps, and everything else to try and figure out what was wrong with her. I'd never had to watch my friend get stuck with bills she'd have for the rest of her life as a result.
Before Obama was elected the first time, I had no idea that the economy has been pretty miserable. I had only spent a year or so trying to find a real job at that point, and hadn't really tried very hard. I was happy with my summer job, having never spent a winter on unemployment. I felt fairly secure that once I started really trying, I'd be able to find a year-round, full-time job with benefits. I didn't realize how much I needed the stimulus fund that Obama gave me, or the extended unemployment benefits he ended up sending my way. I didn't realize at the time that I had another three and a half years ahead of me struggling to keep my head above water before finally, FINALLY getting a real job.
And, of course, the thought that kept weaseling its way into my consciousness... because some things just don't ever really leave my thoughts... Four years ago, when I came to watch the election with Allen at the Eagles, Stimee was still just a random acquaintance, another one of those people I'd run into from time to time at the grocery store, the post office, the bar... He was just another Skagway guy. I was still a good six months away from getting to know him. Yet another way I was, at the time, completely unaware of so many things about how the world works sometimes.
To that end, it was toward the close of Obama's speech that he said the words that really cut into me and brought tears to my eyes. But the tears weren't related to the fact that my guy is going to be in the White House for another four years. The tears were, once again, Stimee.
"I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting."
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Winter Sports In Skagway (or Why My Whole Body Is Sore)
The snow started on October 30th - Tuesday - four days ago. You may recall (if you've read any of my other blog posts, which is a narcissistic assumption) that I wrote a post about the first snow happening in Skagway already. That was kind of a teaser. (The snow, I mean, not the blog post.) In case any of my readership is from one of those places that doesn't really get snow (again, assuming i have readership, narcissism yadda yadda yadda), I'm going to explain some winter premises really quick. If, like me, you grew up in a state that gets dumped on every year, feel free to skip ahead to the next chapter.
When the first snow happens it usually doesn't accumulate on the ground. That comes a little later.
OK, i guess that was all. I really was envisioning some grand tangent about the science of snow and why it doesn't stick to the ground right away but I actually don't know anything about that topic so I'd almost certainly have people like my brother and other smartasses who know things about stuff point out the error of my ways and make me look like an idiot (assuming I don't already).
And now, on with the show. If you're just joining us, we've covered absolutely nothing so far.
The snow started on Tuesday. I normally have Monday and Tuesday off, but due to a stabbing that happened a few months ago (read the whole story written by Katie Emmets here) one of the dispatchers had to go testify in Juneau so I had to work Tuesday. I did at least get Monday off, but being that it was my only day off I started early and was out at least somewhat late.
Being that I work nights I also generally sleep late. So, Tuesday, I slept late. The multiple times I woke up before deciding to emerge from my sleep chamber I was completely unaware that outside me the entire world was turning to white as the entire town around me got blanketed with glittering crystals of snow. If i would have known that, I'd have gotten up earlier.
Anyway, the first tip-off that there was actually any snow outside wasn't looking out my window (because why would i look out my window?); it was looking at facebook. i saw the aforementioned Lady Emmets post a photo of her gentleman friend Lord James wearing a snowsuit in the snow and realized that there must be snow outside or else they just went on a really quick vacation somewhere farther north.
I spent a little bit of time out in it before going to work, but not much. The fun was to start later.
I watched it snow outside my window at work for eight torturous hours. Normally at work I stay inside and smoke my e-cigarette for nicotine fixes, but that night I went outside to smoke real ones so that I could be in the snow. It just kept building and building. By the time I went to work, by the by, there was so much snow that my non-4-wheel-drive-but-still-fucking-awesome Astro van got stuck in the driveway. I was going to turn into the parking spots but my van got stuck, so I just let it sit where it was. When i got off work, it didn't want to move, so I was content to let it be. Another great thing about Skagway - no matter where I am in town, I'm at MOST a mile away from home.
So I ended up at the Station ("and I was like PIZZA STATION!!??!") for beers after work, which has now become my routine. The Station is generally the last bar to close at night. Although my favorite bar in town is the Elks, it's very rare that it's actually open when I get off at midnight. So the Station is where I end up most nights, to have beers and play pool.
Now that it's winter, when you walk into the Station you know everyone who's in there for the most part. I say "for the most part" because last night I beat some guy at pool that I'd never met before and I guess he just got to town. So it happens. But mostly, it's full of the regulars. And by regular I mean regular people that you see around town all the time, not "regular" as in "everyday", "average", "normal," "commonplace" - because most of them are none of those things.
I'm trying to remember who actually started the snowball fight but I can't quite place how it got going. A bunch of us were playing pool together. I can't quite remember how that went but I can only assume I was winning 100% of the time. We all had the same smoke break schedule so at some point in the night there we were, six or eight of us, out smoking, and suddenly the patio became an obstacle course.
It was fucking brilliant. And beautiful. And marvelous. most of us didn't have gloves on, which makes us hardcore, not stupid. We spread out a little bit, each person finding some kind of corner to hide in or obstacle to protect us against the onslaught coming from all angles. There were no teams - it was every man for himself. My personal strategy was to build my arsenal so I didn't have to waste time forming snowballs while in the throes of an all-out attack. It worked alright but I think I got hit just as much as anyone else.
Once it was on, it was just on. Every time anyone went outside, it was back on. Just because someone went inside didn't mean it was off. Snow was flying everywhere and I know I'm not the only one who fell ass-over-teakettle in the snow as a result of trying to evade getting hit. I'm one of the most competitive people I know, if not the most, and it really started to irritate me if someone got me and I couldn't hit them back. Erik was particularly good at this because of the fact that he would go outside the patio and stand farther away than anyone else. Although I am competitive I also throw like a girl and, while he was pretty accurate at that range, I just could NOT get my snowballs to reach him. (I'm fairly certain I did end up getting him back at least once or twice when he would come back toward the rest of us.)
The next day, my entire body was sore. Not only were my arms and shoulders and upper back hurting from the actual throwing, but the rest of my body hurt from falling over in the snow so much. Actually, I take that back. The pain in the rest of my body was more likely from those great acrobatic gymnastics moves we all find ourselves performing when it's slick outside (whether or not aerial snow missiles are being projected at us) to avoid slipping and falling. You know exactly the moves I'm talking about - where you end up pulling some muscle or joint way out of whack in an attempt to NOT look stupid by falling over, to the realization that you actually looked stupider doing the move.
The pain didn't stop more snowball fights from happening, though. It's important to say at this point that it was still snowing, 36 hours later or so. It hadn't stopped accumulating. Not only was there another series of snowball fights on Wednesday night at the station, I found myself in a full-contact one-on-one match that knocked me down on the ground more times than I'd care to count. No pain, no gain.
The next day, I walked to my car with my faithful canine companion in hopes of getting it out of its makeshift parking hole in the snow. By this point it had stopped snowing, but my badass Astro was still stuck. I spent a lot of time shoveling the tires out and shoveling out two tracks for me to back it out to the street on, to no avail. However, I did learn at this point that my snowball arm is the same as my shoveling arm. I had to stop more times than I'd like to admit just to catch my breath because I smoke too much and my arms and back were sore. And after all that work, it still took Dirk coming down and pushing me out to actually have a successful afternoon.
Skagway in the winter is just great. You know, some people ski and snowshoe to get their exercise in the winter and I myself do enjoy a good snowshoeing adventure (watch this space for coverage) but I would like to inform y ou all that I actively support the winter fitness regimen of full-contact snowball fights and getting your van stuck at the police department. My entire body STILL hurts, and i think that means it's working. Thank God for two small miracles: Number One, Brittney is giving me a massage tomorrow. Number Two, hot springs outside of Whitehorse.
I'd like to have some poignant end to this but I don't. It's fun to have snowball fights, end of story.
When the first snow happens it usually doesn't accumulate on the ground. That comes a little later.
OK, i guess that was all. I really was envisioning some grand tangent about the science of snow and why it doesn't stick to the ground right away but I actually don't know anything about that topic so I'd almost certainly have people like my brother and other smartasses who know things about stuff point out the error of my ways and make me look like an idiot (assuming I don't already).
And now, on with the show. If you're just joining us, we've covered absolutely nothing so far.
The snow started on Tuesday. I normally have Monday and Tuesday off, but due to a stabbing that happened a few months ago (read the whole story written by Katie Emmets here) one of the dispatchers had to go testify in Juneau so I had to work Tuesday. I did at least get Monday off, but being that it was my only day off I started early and was out at least somewhat late.
Being that I work nights I also generally sleep late. So, Tuesday, I slept late. The multiple times I woke up before deciding to emerge from my sleep chamber I was completely unaware that outside me the entire world was turning to white as the entire town around me got blanketed with glittering crystals of snow. If i would have known that, I'd have gotten up earlier.
Anyway, the first tip-off that there was actually any snow outside wasn't looking out my window (because why would i look out my window?); it was looking at facebook. i saw the aforementioned Lady Emmets post a photo of her gentleman friend Lord James wearing a snowsuit in the snow and realized that there must be snow outside or else they just went on a really quick vacation somewhere farther north.
I spent a little bit of time out in it before going to work, but not much. The fun was to start later.
I watched it snow outside my window at work for eight torturous hours. Normally at work I stay inside and smoke my e-cigarette for nicotine fixes, but that night I went outside to smoke real ones so that I could be in the snow. It just kept building and building. By the time I went to work, by the by, there was so much snow that my non-4-wheel-drive-but-still-fucking-awesome Astro van got stuck in the driveway. I was going to turn into the parking spots but my van got stuck, so I just let it sit where it was. When i got off work, it didn't want to move, so I was content to let it be. Another great thing about Skagway - no matter where I am in town, I'm at MOST a mile away from home.
So I ended up at the Station ("and I was like PIZZA STATION!!??!") for beers after work, which has now become my routine. The Station is generally the last bar to close at night. Although my favorite bar in town is the Elks, it's very rare that it's actually open when I get off at midnight. So the Station is where I end up most nights, to have beers and play pool.
Now that it's winter, when you walk into the Station you know everyone who's in there for the most part. I say "for the most part" because last night I beat some guy at pool that I'd never met before and I guess he just got to town. So it happens. But mostly, it's full of the regulars. And by regular I mean regular people that you see around town all the time, not "regular" as in "everyday", "average", "normal," "commonplace" - because most of them are none of those things.
I'm trying to remember who actually started the snowball fight but I can't quite place how it got going. A bunch of us were playing pool together. I can't quite remember how that went but I can only assume I was winning 100% of the time. We all had the same smoke break schedule so at some point in the night there we were, six or eight of us, out smoking, and suddenly the patio became an obstacle course.
It was fucking brilliant. And beautiful. And marvelous. most of us didn't have gloves on, which makes us hardcore, not stupid. We spread out a little bit, each person finding some kind of corner to hide in or obstacle to protect us against the onslaught coming from all angles. There were no teams - it was every man for himself. My personal strategy was to build my arsenal so I didn't have to waste time forming snowballs while in the throes of an all-out attack. It worked alright but I think I got hit just as much as anyone else.
Once it was on, it was just on. Every time anyone went outside, it was back on. Just because someone went inside didn't mean it was off. Snow was flying everywhere and I know I'm not the only one who fell ass-over-teakettle in the snow as a result of trying to evade getting hit. I'm one of the most competitive people I know, if not the most, and it really started to irritate me if someone got me and I couldn't hit them back. Erik was particularly good at this because of the fact that he would go outside the patio and stand farther away than anyone else. Although I am competitive I also throw like a girl and, while he was pretty accurate at that range, I just could NOT get my snowballs to reach him. (I'm fairly certain I did end up getting him back at least once or twice when he would come back toward the rest of us.)
The next day, my entire body was sore. Not only were my arms and shoulders and upper back hurting from the actual throwing, but the rest of my body hurt from falling over in the snow so much. Actually, I take that back. The pain in the rest of my body was more likely from those great acrobatic gymnastics moves we all find ourselves performing when it's slick outside (whether or not aerial snow missiles are being projected at us) to avoid slipping and falling. You know exactly the moves I'm talking about - where you end up pulling some muscle or joint way out of whack in an attempt to NOT look stupid by falling over, to the realization that you actually looked stupider doing the move.
The pain didn't stop more snowball fights from happening, though. It's important to say at this point that it was still snowing, 36 hours later or so. It hadn't stopped accumulating. Not only was there another series of snowball fights on Wednesday night at the station, I found myself in a full-contact one-on-one match that knocked me down on the ground more times than I'd care to count. No pain, no gain.
The next day, I walked to my car with my faithful canine companion in hopes of getting it out of its makeshift parking hole in the snow. By this point it had stopped snowing, but my badass Astro was still stuck. I spent a lot of time shoveling the tires out and shoveling out two tracks for me to back it out to the street on, to no avail. However, I did learn at this point that my snowball arm is the same as my shoveling arm. I had to stop more times than I'd like to admit just to catch my breath because I smoke too much and my arms and back were sore. And after all that work, it still took Dirk coming down and pushing me out to actually have a successful afternoon.
Skagway in the winter is just great. You know, some people ski and snowshoe to get their exercise in the winter and I myself do enjoy a good snowshoeing adventure (watch this space for coverage) but I would like to inform y ou all that I actively support the winter fitness regimen of full-contact snowball fights and getting your van stuck at the police department. My entire body STILL hurts, and i think that means it's working. Thank God for two small miracles: Number One, Brittney is giving me a massage tomorrow. Number Two, hot springs outside of Whitehorse.
I'd like to have some poignant end to this but I don't. It's fun to have snowball fights, end of story.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
First Snow in Skagway (and other signs of winter's coming)
As the years have gone by, the signs associated with the transitional seasons have become more and more familiar and comforting to me. Both summer and winter can feel unbearably long halfway in (summer because it's too crowded, winter because it's too lonely), so the signs that things are about to change are almost always welcome.
One of my favorite things to watch as winter is coming is the new snow making its way down the mountains. Dick Proenneke referred to the mountains once as having new mantles around their shoulders as the scenes around him changed from summer to winter. In Skagway we're at sea level and surrounded by 5,000-6,000-foot mountains, some of which keep some of their snow all summer long. The fresh powder on top is a portent of winter's coming. As time goes by in Skagway I've never ceased feeling joyous anticipation as the snow level makes its way closer and closer to me.
So, the first snow in Skagway happens on the mountains long before it happens at sea level where we all live. I experienced my first snow of the year a few weeks ago. The highway out of town climbs from sea level to 3200 feet pretty quickly. I went for a drive a few weeks ago to get out of town.
I'm beginning to love getting off work at midnight. The things I see as a creature of night are so much more beautiful and poignant than the things I'd see if I were an average daytime person. The northern lights and wildlife I've seen since working nights make the awkward shift and lack of social life well worth it. Most people don't get to or have a desire to take a drive to Whitehorse (110 miles away, the nearest city) at midnight and camp on the side of the road for a few hours.
The last midnight drive I took, I saw snow. I got off work and actually thought I probably shouldn't drive since it would be snowy and icy on the pass. I went to the Station for a beer but really just wasn't feeling it. It was shortly after Stimee died, and I just really needed to get out of town. The atmosphere at the bar was pretty somber and all the conversation was about Stimee. That's been fine and therapeutic, but I was feeling the need to get away so I drove anyway.
I hit the road around 1 with Merlin. It was foggy from as far back as Liarsville (only mile 3 on the highway - the summit is about 18 miles up or something). The snow on the summit was absolutely gorgeous. It was dark, and it was foggy, so it's not like I could see any gorgeous scenery or anything. But the snow itself gave me that comforting feeling it always has. Winter is coming. Everything else may be completely awry at the moment but I can rest assured that the seasons will still change and snow will still fall.
I had a better snowstorm about a week and a half ago on a drive to Whitehorse. My brother Andy was in town and we took a drive up the highway on my day off. Snow was coming down for a good part of the drive, and it was even starting to stick and accumulate on the side of the road. Driving in the middle of a snowy cloud once again didn't lend us too much in the way of scenery, but the snow itself, once again, was gorgeous.
The snow that day kept falling even when we got to Whitehorse. It was magical the entire time.
Tonight I started seeing the statuses come up on facebook that Skagway was having its first snow. it seems early, since it's not even visible halfway down the mountains yet. I was surprised but went outside for a smoke break anyway. I smiled and let it hit me and let it soak into the pages I was writing on.
I think there's a few different things that factor into what exactly makes snow such a comforting phenomenon for me. Part of it has to do with what I already said - that no matter what else happens, whatever else changes, the sun will still rise, the seasons will still change, and snow will still fall.
Part of it has to do with the fact that snow means winter is coming, and I've always preferred winter in Skagway to the busy, crazy, extrovert-fest that is summer. There's a comfort to knowing that the peace and quiet are on their way and that relaxation and sleep can actually happen now after 5 months of crazy.
But i think the biggest part of what makes snow magical is just that - that it's magical. I grew up in Massachusetts and saw more nor'easters than I can remember. Snow was a big part of childhood - snow forts, snowmen, snowball fights, and everything else that goes along with snow as a kid. Every time it snows, especially every time it snows for the first time, it's like I get to be filled with that glory of childhood that we all lose a little more of every year. When it snows again, I get to be excited about something really simple again. I get to be awed at the elements once again. I get to start thinking about Christmas and hockey and days off and all the other exciting things that go along with snow and its season.
It's really comforting.
When I came back inside from smoking out in the snow (which isn't sticking to the ground just yet), my hot chocolate was sitting there waiting for me. When I get off work tonight I'll be going for a beer or two. The bars have morphed from summer mode to winter mode so I know that when i get to whichever drinking establishment we choose, the snow won't be the only thing that's comforting. The only people in the bar will be people I know, people with whom I share the bond of surviving winters in Skagway. The topic of the snow will likely come up over our beers and cigarettes, just like everyone talks about northern lights and bear sightings when they happen. It'll be nice because talking about snow will mean we're not talking about death anymore.
On my brother's last full day in Skagway, we wandered around International Falls with Merlin. As we climbed, Andy wanted to veer off the beaten path, which is one of my personal favorite hobbies. We veered northward and disturbed a family of ptarmigans. They took off, much to the chagrin of my dog. Ptarmigans are brown in summer and white in winter. I've seen them in summer a few times, and I've seen a newly dead one in its winter plumage. I'd never seen them in their transitional colors before, and they were beautiful. They were mostly white but somewhat speckled with black spots. They reminded me that, even though winter meant death to Persephone and means hibernation and migration for a lot of other animals, we're still not alone in the winter. Life still goes on around us, even in the bleak, bald-headed north.
One of my favorite things to watch as winter is coming is the new snow making its way down the mountains. Dick Proenneke referred to the mountains once as having new mantles around their shoulders as the scenes around him changed from summer to winter. In Skagway we're at sea level and surrounded by 5,000-6,000-foot mountains, some of which keep some of their snow all summer long. The fresh powder on top is a portent of winter's coming. As time goes by in Skagway I've never ceased feeling joyous anticipation as the snow level makes its way closer and closer to me.
So, the first snow in Skagway happens on the mountains long before it happens at sea level where we all live. I experienced my first snow of the year a few weeks ago. The highway out of town climbs from sea level to 3200 feet pretty quickly. I went for a drive a few weeks ago to get out of town.
I'm beginning to love getting off work at midnight. The things I see as a creature of night are so much more beautiful and poignant than the things I'd see if I were an average daytime person. The northern lights and wildlife I've seen since working nights make the awkward shift and lack of social life well worth it. Most people don't get to or have a desire to take a drive to Whitehorse (110 miles away, the nearest city) at midnight and camp on the side of the road for a few hours.
The last midnight drive I took, I saw snow. I got off work and actually thought I probably shouldn't drive since it would be snowy and icy on the pass. I went to the Station for a beer but really just wasn't feeling it. It was shortly after Stimee died, and I just really needed to get out of town. The atmosphere at the bar was pretty somber and all the conversation was about Stimee. That's been fine and therapeutic, but I was feeling the need to get away so I drove anyway.
I hit the road around 1 with Merlin. It was foggy from as far back as Liarsville (only mile 3 on the highway - the summit is about 18 miles up or something). The snow on the summit was absolutely gorgeous. It was dark, and it was foggy, so it's not like I could see any gorgeous scenery or anything. But the snow itself gave me that comforting feeling it always has. Winter is coming. Everything else may be completely awry at the moment but I can rest assured that the seasons will still change and snow will still fall.
I had a better snowstorm about a week and a half ago on a drive to Whitehorse. My brother Andy was in town and we took a drive up the highway on my day off. Snow was coming down for a good part of the drive, and it was even starting to stick and accumulate on the side of the road. Driving in the middle of a snowy cloud once again didn't lend us too much in the way of scenery, but the snow itself, once again, was gorgeous.
The snow that day kept falling even when we got to Whitehorse. It was magical the entire time.
Tonight I started seeing the statuses come up on facebook that Skagway was having its first snow. it seems early, since it's not even visible halfway down the mountains yet. I was surprised but went outside for a smoke break anyway. I smiled and let it hit me and let it soak into the pages I was writing on.
I think there's a few different things that factor into what exactly makes snow such a comforting phenomenon for me. Part of it has to do with what I already said - that no matter what else happens, whatever else changes, the sun will still rise, the seasons will still change, and snow will still fall.
Part of it has to do with the fact that snow means winter is coming, and I've always preferred winter in Skagway to the busy, crazy, extrovert-fest that is summer. There's a comfort to knowing that the peace and quiet are on their way and that relaxation and sleep can actually happen now after 5 months of crazy.
But i think the biggest part of what makes snow magical is just that - that it's magical. I grew up in Massachusetts and saw more nor'easters than I can remember. Snow was a big part of childhood - snow forts, snowmen, snowball fights, and everything else that goes along with snow as a kid. Every time it snows, especially every time it snows for the first time, it's like I get to be filled with that glory of childhood that we all lose a little more of every year. When it snows again, I get to be excited about something really simple again. I get to be awed at the elements once again. I get to start thinking about Christmas and hockey and days off and all the other exciting things that go along with snow and its season.
It's really comforting.
When I came back inside from smoking out in the snow (which isn't sticking to the ground just yet), my hot chocolate was sitting there waiting for me. When I get off work tonight I'll be going for a beer or two. The bars have morphed from summer mode to winter mode so I know that when i get to whichever drinking establishment we choose, the snow won't be the only thing that's comforting. The only people in the bar will be people I know, people with whom I share the bond of surviving winters in Skagway. The topic of the snow will likely come up over our beers and cigarettes, just like everyone talks about northern lights and bear sightings when they happen. It'll be nice because talking about snow will mean we're not talking about death anymore.
On my brother's last full day in Skagway, we wandered around International Falls with Merlin. As we climbed, Andy wanted to veer off the beaten path, which is one of my personal favorite hobbies. We veered northward and disturbed a family of ptarmigans. They took off, much to the chagrin of my dog. Ptarmigans are brown in summer and white in winter. I've seen them in summer a few times, and I've seen a newly dead one in its winter plumage. I'd never seen them in their transitional colors before, and they were beautiful. They were mostly white but somewhat speckled with black spots. They reminded me that, even though winter meant death to Persephone and means hibernation and migration for a lot of other animals, we're still not alone in the winter. Life still goes on around us, even in the bleak, bald-headed north.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
The Gossip Mill
One of the most difficult things about living in Skagway, particularly in the winter, is the way gossip works here. It makes it difficult to maintain a personality that includes the trait of caring very little about what other people think, because in a lot of ways it's just like being back in high school again. Because sometimes what other people think of you has actual ramifications, even if what they think is grounded in false rumors and bald-faced lies.
I didn't really care about it at first, because I was still in that mode of not caring what other people think and not thinking that it mattered. My first winter it started actually making a difference. When I went through what I did with Allen, I went from someone who had a bunch of friends and a lot of acquaintances to someone who had approximately three friends in town and zero acquaintances. What's ironic is that, though people would refuse to meet my eyes, smile or wave like everyone does to each other here, they had no problem making up rumors and lies to spread about me and Allen. It was a shitty situation to begin with, and the realization that I had no support outside of three people made it even harder. It wasn't only that I didn't have support that made things difficult. It was that when I went into the grocery store, post office, bar, hardware store, bank, I could only stare at the ground as I walked through, because I didn't want to meet anyone's eyes.
I don't care what anyone says about keeping your chin up and not caring about what other people think. When an entire town has seemingly decided to erase you from existence, what they think absolutely matters.
That was, of course, the worst gossip that I'd dealt with until recently. But I can't even begin to list how many other times gossip has affected my life. I'm certain that it has stopped people from being friends with me, and I'm also unable to deny the rifts that it has caused in my relationships.
There was that time that someone told my boyfriend that my friends were at the bar talking shit about me. I had a breakdown. The friends in question had always been there for me when no one else had, and this information upset me to no end. I confronted the friends in question, separately, and they both shrugged and said "well, yeah. But it's not like I said anything I wouldn't say to your face." Someone else saw them saying bad things about me and perceived it differently than what it was, and for a few days it really upset me.
When my partner was out of town trying to get doctors to solve the medical mystery that was preventing him from being able to eat for a few months, the rumors then were rampant and shameless. While someone was in physical agony and scared because no one could tell him what was going on with his body, people had a field day coming up with reasons why he was out of town. He was on vacation; he was visiting family; there was even one that said he was hiding out in our house under our bed, in Skagway the entire time. Does that sound like the type of thing that someone in that type of situation needs to be worrying about? His work situation was made even worse than it already was by the fact that people decided to make up lies about why he was out of town. Even people that we thought were friends were saying these things, using quotation fingers to describe his "illness" as if it weren't real.
When I broke up with Allen and then started seeing Steve, lots of people apparently said I'd cheated on Allen with Steve, a rumor almost undoubtedly started by Allen. That wasn't true. After Steve and I broke up, a few months later I started seeing Stimee -- guess what -- people seemed to believe I'd cheated on Steve with Stimee (and i wonder who started that rumor?). Sure, who really cares what people think? I could be worse things than a serial cheater. But I didn't cheat on either of those people, and I don't like my integrity to be threatened or questioned that way. In a town where I was struggling to stay afloat, I didn't need potential year round employers to think I was a drama-hungry vixen.
Then there's always the little ones. There was the rumor that I was pregnant, shortly after the rumor that I had a second boyfriend. And, because it isn't always about me, there've been a lot more rumors about my friends that I've dispelled at least to the person who told me. One of my friends had a medical emergency that sent her out of town on a medevac a few years ago. Someone casually mentioned to her recently "that time you OD'ed and had to get flown out", to which she replied with the natural "HUH?!??!" They're all pointless, but they aren't all without consequences.
The latest one that's prompted all of my thoughts on gossip in Skagway probably isn't even worth mentioning. And you know, when it all comes down to it, the way it should work is that the people who are saying things that aren't true obviously don't know me very well or else they'd know these things weren't true. But unfortunately it isn't always the case.
I'm a little more secure now. I know that there are more people in the past month who are supportive of me than there are who are talking badly about me. And it's pointless for me to even pretend I don't participate in gossip, because obviously I do. But if there's one thing I've learned over my five and a half years in Skagway it's that some things just aren't worth re-telling. Not to mention the realization that everything anyone ever tells me about anyone else needs to be taken with a grain of salt.
I wish it didn't bother me when rumors about me make their way back to me. I also wish I didn't participate in conversations about gossip so I couldn't be a hypocrite. And while I like to think that the conversations I do participate in aren't harming anyone, the fact is that probably the people talking shit about me don't think it's harmful either. It's kind of a vicious cycle and it's hard to not be a part of it. I'm optimistic, though, because I care a lot less now than I used to.
I didn't really care about it at first, because I was still in that mode of not caring what other people think and not thinking that it mattered. My first winter it started actually making a difference. When I went through what I did with Allen, I went from someone who had a bunch of friends and a lot of acquaintances to someone who had approximately three friends in town and zero acquaintances. What's ironic is that, though people would refuse to meet my eyes, smile or wave like everyone does to each other here, they had no problem making up rumors and lies to spread about me and Allen. It was a shitty situation to begin with, and the realization that I had no support outside of three people made it even harder. It wasn't only that I didn't have support that made things difficult. It was that when I went into the grocery store, post office, bar, hardware store, bank, I could only stare at the ground as I walked through, because I didn't want to meet anyone's eyes.
I don't care what anyone says about keeping your chin up and not caring about what other people think. When an entire town has seemingly decided to erase you from existence, what they think absolutely matters.
That was, of course, the worst gossip that I'd dealt with until recently. But I can't even begin to list how many other times gossip has affected my life. I'm certain that it has stopped people from being friends with me, and I'm also unable to deny the rifts that it has caused in my relationships.
There was that time that someone told my boyfriend that my friends were at the bar talking shit about me. I had a breakdown. The friends in question had always been there for me when no one else had, and this information upset me to no end. I confronted the friends in question, separately, and they both shrugged and said "well, yeah. But it's not like I said anything I wouldn't say to your face." Someone else saw them saying bad things about me and perceived it differently than what it was, and for a few days it really upset me.
When my partner was out of town trying to get doctors to solve the medical mystery that was preventing him from being able to eat for a few months, the rumors then were rampant and shameless. While someone was in physical agony and scared because no one could tell him what was going on with his body, people had a field day coming up with reasons why he was out of town. He was on vacation; he was visiting family; there was even one that said he was hiding out in our house under our bed, in Skagway the entire time. Does that sound like the type of thing that someone in that type of situation needs to be worrying about? His work situation was made even worse than it already was by the fact that people decided to make up lies about why he was out of town. Even people that we thought were friends were saying these things, using quotation fingers to describe his "illness" as if it weren't real.
When I broke up with Allen and then started seeing Steve, lots of people apparently said I'd cheated on Allen with Steve, a rumor almost undoubtedly started by Allen. That wasn't true. After Steve and I broke up, a few months later I started seeing Stimee -- guess what -- people seemed to believe I'd cheated on Steve with Stimee (and i wonder who started that rumor?). Sure, who really cares what people think? I could be worse things than a serial cheater. But I didn't cheat on either of those people, and I don't like my integrity to be threatened or questioned that way. In a town where I was struggling to stay afloat, I didn't need potential year round employers to think I was a drama-hungry vixen.
Then there's always the little ones. There was the rumor that I was pregnant, shortly after the rumor that I had a second boyfriend. And, because it isn't always about me, there've been a lot more rumors about my friends that I've dispelled at least to the person who told me. One of my friends had a medical emergency that sent her out of town on a medevac a few years ago. Someone casually mentioned to her recently "that time you OD'ed and had to get flown out", to which she replied with the natural "HUH?!??!" They're all pointless, but they aren't all without consequences.
The latest one that's prompted all of my thoughts on gossip in Skagway probably isn't even worth mentioning. And you know, when it all comes down to it, the way it should work is that the people who are saying things that aren't true obviously don't know me very well or else they'd know these things weren't true. But unfortunately it isn't always the case.
I'm a little more secure now. I know that there are more people in the past month who are supportive of me than there are who are talking badly about me. And it's pointless for me to even pretend I don't participate in gossip, because obviously I do. But if there's one thing I've learned over my five and a half years in Skagway it's that some things just aren't worth re-telling. Not to mention the realization that everything anyone ever tells me about anyone else needs to be taken with a grain of salt.
I wish it didn't bother me when rumors about me make their way back to me. I also wish I didn't participate in conversations about gossip so I couldn't be a hypocrite. And while I like to think that the conversations I do participate in aren't harming anyone, the fact is that probably the people talking shit about me don't think it's harmful either. It's kind of a vicious cycle and it's hard to not be a part of it. I'm optimistic, though, because I care a lot less now than I used to.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Oh, September Girl.
I can't remember what I thought the first time I heard "September Girl." Isn't it funny how that happens? Some of the pivotal songs that you carry around with you over the years are so significant that you can remember exactly where you were and what you were doing the first time you heard them. "Carry On Wayward Son" is that way for me, and so is "Under Pressure." But for all of the meaning that "September Girl" has to me, I cannot remember where I was or what I was doing the first time I heard it.
I guess it's likely that it was in June of 2002 that I first heard it, the first time I saw Jupiter Sunrise at a festival in Altamont (New York). I had gone with a friend because he was into Dashboard Confessional and I had a thing for him. Jon Parker isn't in my life anymore, but if it weren't for his affinity for Dashboard, I may never have been exposed to Jupiter Sunrise.
Somehow or another the band became a part of my life in the months and years to follow. My first few years of college, my core and only group of friends revolved around the band. Greg and Dave, who I'd gone to high school with, fell in love with the band along with me. But if it weren't for the band, I never would have met Val or Kristine (still two of my best friends in the world), Scott (my first love), Mimi, Dan, Steve, Paddy, and, of course, the four members of the band -- Mark, Ben, Aaron, and Chris.
My life -- all our lives -- centered around them for years. They were originally from our area so although they toured the entire country they always stayed in our neck of the woods for more than a few days. And we followed them around wherever they went that was driving distance. We got to be friends with the band and immersed ourselves completely in everything about them.
The song "September Girl" became my favorite song. Maybe it was just because my birthday is in September that I felt like I could relate to it. But its somewhat esoteric lyrics struck a chord with me for some reason and that has never been more real until today.
Although I can't remember the first time I heard it, I can remember the most important. When I turned eighteen (can this memory really be ten years old already?) I walked down the driveway with Greg, Dave, and Andy to my parents' garage, unsuspecting of any pending surprise birthday party. As I walked down the driveway, the garage door opened. Drums and guitar kicked up, and there was Jupiter Sunrise, playing "September Girl" in my parents' garage.
Over the years it hits me at random points and certain words or phrases stand out to me. Sometimes I tried to force it to apply to my situation even when it didn't; other times the words meant something entirely different than what they'd meant to me the last time I'd sung it. The song became an essential thread in the fabric of my life, and it's always been there.
This year it's like I finally get it. Ten years ago when I first started liking the band, I wondered what the song would feel like when I turned twenty-eight. The second line of the song is "...already twenty-eight, still haven't saved the world..." As the years went on, I felt like I was getting closer and closer to the point where the song's meaning for my life would come to fruition. Now it has, and I completely missed it on my birthday.
I was a little distracted, but the reasons for the distractions are exactly why the song makes so much more sense now.
September in Skagway is a transitional month. It's the last month of the season. The last cruise ship day was yesterday, and all the summer people have been gradually making their way out of town. There was a mass exodus today as seasonals piled onto boats, planes, cars and trucks to head back to the real world. Town is about to get a lot quieter, a lot smaller, a lot slower, a lot more peaceful. This September has been more transitional than most-- four days in, a life came to a sudden stop, and our real world in Skagway will never be the same. This September's transitions included police reports and a funeral alongside the usual end-of-season chaos.
It's comforting sometimes in those trials and times of absolute change when nothing is recognizeable in your life anymore to reconnect with an old friend. Sometimes the old friend is an actual person; sometimes it's a book, work of art, hiking trail, or movie; and sometimes it's a song. In my case, recalling "September Girl" was strangely soothing and terrifying at the same time. The realization that I am, at last, 28 years old and able to fully realize a meaning of the song that feels like it was written just for me, makes everything hanging on my shoulders easier to bear while at the same time further engraining it all into my head.
All of the emotions that I've felt over the last twenty-three days of September -- guilt, anger, sadness, loss, grief, fear, pain, love, rage -- are, in one way or another, encompassed in the lyrics that I have always come back to over the years. The song has always made sense to me but now, with all that's been going on, with life and death suddenly made more painfully separate and defined, and with change suddenly being a much bigger word than one syllable, it's absolutely perfect.
Oh, September girl, I am so scared today
Already 28, still haven't saved the world
Woke up this morning to nothing I recognized
Everything changed and I never saw it coming
Now there are five billion disappointed souls
Scraping around in my disappointed mind
And for the first time in my life I am afraid of change because
Everything's changing without me
Oh, September girl, I am so scared for you
You finally decided to live on without me
Now I am forced to just swallow this heart
And for you to become the girl you already are
Now there are five billion disappointed souls
That will just have to wait 'cause I only dream for you
And for the first time in my life I am afraid of change because
Everything's changing without me
Maybe it's time for me to do the thing that I'm meant to do
'Cause you're getting older and I'm getting older
And even us good people die
The gifted never stop seeing the world for the first time
The good ones grow older, the poor ones grow older,
The great ones are never forgotten.
By some beautiful coincidence, the man who wrote the song is online at the same time as me while I write this blog. It makes me wonder... I've always known as a songwriter that my own interpretation of a song and its meaning to me personally may be completely different from someone else's. That's part of the joy of writing songs, I guess -- the knowledge that it may touch someone in a way that you never would have expected. I can only hope that someday, somewhere, something I create will have some kind of meaning to someone else, even if that meaning is entirely different than the meaning I personally ascribed to it.
I guess it's likely that it was in June of 2002 that I first heard it, the first time I saw Jupiter Sunrise at a festival in Altamont (New York). I had gone with a friend because he was into Dashboard Confessional and I had a thing for him. Jon Parker isn't in my life anymore, but if it weren't for his affinity for Dashboard, I may never have been exposed to Jupiter Sunrise.
Somehow or another the band became a part of my life in the months and years to follow. My first few years of college, my core and only group of friends revolved around the band. Greg and Dave, who I'd gone to high school with, fell in love with the band along with me. But if it weren't for the band, I never would have met Val or Kristine (still two of my best friends in the world), Scott (my first love), Mimi, Dan, Steve, Paddy, and, of course, the four members of the band -- Mark, Ben, Aaron, and Chris.
My life -- all our lives -- centered around them for years. They were originally from our area so although they toured the entire country they always stayed in our neck of the woods for more than a few days. And we followed them around wherever they went that was driving distance. We got to be friends with the band and immersed ourselves completely in everything about them.
The song "September Girl" became my favorite song. Maybe it was just because my birthday is in September that I felt like I could relate to it. But its somewhat esoteric lyrics struck a chord with me for some reason and that has never been more real until today.
Although I can't remember the first time I heard it, I can remember the most important. When I turned eighteen (can this memory really be ten years old already?) I walked down the driveway with Greg, Dave, and Andy to my parents' garage, unsuspecting of any pending surprise birthday party. As I walked down the driveway, the garage door opened. Drums and guitar kicked up, and there was Jupiter Sunrise, playing "September Girl" in my parents' garage.
Over the years it hits me at random points and certain words or phrases stand out to me. Sometimes I tried to force it to apply to my situation even when it didn't; other times the words meant something entirely different than what they'd meant to me the last time I'd sung it. The song became an essential thread in the fabric of my life, and it's always been there.
This year it's like I finally get it. Ten years ago when I first started liking the band, I wondered what the song would feel like when I turned twenty-eight. The second line of the song is "...already twenty-eight, still haven't saved the world..." As the years went on, I felt like I was getting closer and closer to the point where the song's meaning for my life would come to fruition. Now it has, and I completely missed it on my birthday.
I was a little distracted, but the reasons for the distractions are exactly why the song makes so much more sense now.
September in Skagway is a transitional month. It's the last month of the season. The last cruise ship day was yesterday, and all the summer people have been gradually making their way out of town. There was a mass exodus today as seasonals piled onto boats, planes, cars and trucks to head back to the real world. Town is about to get a lot quieter, a lot smaller, a lot slower, a lot more peaceful. This September has been more transitional than most-- four days in, a life came to a sudden stop, and our real world in Skagway will never be the same. This September's transitions included police reports and a funeral alongside the usual end-of-season chaos.
It's comforting sometimes in those trials and times of absolute change when nothing is recognizeable in your life anymore to reconnect with an old friend. Sometimes the old friend is an actual person; sometimes it's a book, work of art, hiking trail, or movie; and sometimes it's a song. In my case, recalling "September Girl" was strangely soothing and terrifying at the same time. The realization that I am, at last, 28 years old and able to fully realize a meaning of the song that feels like it was written just for me, makes everything hanging on my shoulders easier to bear while at the same time further engraining it all into my head.
All of the emotions that I've felt over the last twenty-three days of September -- guilt, anger, sadness, loss, grief, fear, pain, love, rage -- are, in one way or another, encompassed in the lyrics that I have always come back to over the years. The song has always made sense to me but now, with all that's been going on, with life and death suddenly made more painfully separate and defined, and with change suddenly being a much bigger word than one syllable, it's absolutely perfect.
Oh, September girl, I am so scared today
Already 28, still haven't saved the world
Woke up this morning to nothing I recognized
Everything changed and I never saw it coming
Now there are five billion disappointed souls
Scraping around in my disappointed mind
And for the first time in my life I am afraid of change because
Everything's changing without me
Oh, September girl, I am so scared for you
You finally decided to live on without me
Now I am forced to just swallow this heart
And for you to become the girl you already are
Now there are five billion disappointed souls
That will just have to wait 'cause I only dream for you
And for the first time in my life I am afraid of change because
Everything's changing without me
Maybe it's time for me to do the thing that I'm meant to do
'Cause you're getting older and I'm getting older
And even us good people die
The gifted never stop seeing the world for the first time
The good ones grow older, the poor ones grow older,
The great ones are never forgotten.
By some beautiful coincidence, the man who wrote the song is online at the same time as me while I write this blog. It makes me wonder... I've always known as a songwriter that my own interpretation of a song and its meaning to me personally may be completely different from someone else's. That's part of the joy of writing songs, I guess -- the knowledge that it may touch someone in a way that you never would have expected. I can only hope that someday, somewhere, something I create will have some kind of meaning to someone else, even if that meaning is entirely different than the meaning I personally ascribed to it.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Stimee's Gun
It came with us, naturally, to the rifle range on a lot of occasions. All the other guns came too.
It came with us to Haines when we went camping with Adam and Crystal and their kids. It was one of many trips that the gun made with us on the ferry. It stayed tucked away in the glove box instead of following the rules and being declared to ferry authorities. Stimee never was one for authority, particularly when it related to his guns. The gun saw some use that Easter weekend of 2011. Stimee, Adam, Steve and Brady shot up some logs by the river. I took a few shots with it myself but for the most part, for some reason shooting wasn't on my immediate agenda that weekend.
The gun stayed in the tent with us as we slept by the river those few nights. Part of the comfort of camping with Stimee was that he had all the best gear, but a greater part was knowing without a doubt that he would know how to use it when he had to. By the river in Haines there had been a lot of evidence of moose. Stimee and I once watched a documentary about moose attacks. Although I've never seen one except through a car window, Stimee's years in Haines had acquainted him with the giant cervids. He loved telling the story about being chased by a moose while on his bike. He dove into a ditch and held the bike up over him so the moose couldn't get at him. Animals didn't frighten Stimee but i guess that's partly because death didn't, either.
The gun came with me last winter on a snowshoe trip to the Denver caboose. In the parking lot with Rachel and Jodie, before I clipped it on, I asked, "do either of you have issues with guns? Because I'm taking one with me. Speak now or forever hold your peace." Neither of them did. The gun stayed on my hip for the trip except when we slept in the caboose. Inside it kept silent vigil beside me in the bunk, there for me if I needed it, a security blanket against anything I could imagine coming in and threatening my safety.
That was when we lived in Liarsville. Stimee surprised me that day by meeting us to hike back along the tracks. it was the dead of winter and everything was blanketed with snow. I had texted Stimee so that he could say hi from the other side of the river as we slogged back to town. When he did say hi, he was already on our side of the river in his Xtratuffs. I hadn't expected that. Stimee, during our three years together, wasn't much of a recreational hiker. It made my day that, in the middle of the most tumultuous part of our relationship, he'd come out to walk back with me.
When we met by the train tracks on our walk back to town, I unclipped the gun from my Carhartts and handed it to him. He carried it back the rest of the way. it wasn't because I was returning it; it was because my backpack was cumbersome and the gun got in the way. He trusted me with the gun, and that gave me pride.
I learned this in the spring of 2011 when I went on a camping trip with the interp staff for work. Stimee was out of town at that point with his job training program. As I packed my gear for the camping trip it was only natural that the gun found its way into my hands. It's just part of the basic needs of a human being. When camping you need shelter (tent), warmth (sleeping bag, clothes), food and ways to prepare it, water, and things to protect you in case of emergencies. That may include band-aids and it may include guns.
I kept the little pistol and its ammo in the glove box of the car as we sat around the fire drinking, eating, socializing. When it was bedtime in the midnight twilight, I went to the car to get it, hoping no one would see. I didn't want to have to deal with someone else's unfounded paranoia of firearms. I wrapped it in my coat and went to bed. I slept soundly that night, and a part of it was a result of knowing I could at the very least create a sound loud enough to frighten away a large animal.
I hadn't asked Stimee's permission to take the gun with me on that trip. It hadn't occurred to me that I should. our assets were shared by that point. At some point later I thought to mention it to him.
"I took the gun camping," I told him. "I hope that's OK."
Of course it was. "I would hope you'd bring it with you," Stimee said. "You know how to use it. There's no reason you wouldn't."
Stimee was particular about some things, guns being one of them. The fact that he trusted me enough and that I satisfied his expectations in gun safety and marksmanship really made me feel good about myself and my relationship with him. In a lot of things he was and always would see me as less than him, not always without reason. For how much more experienced he was than me, I was happy that I was equal enough to be trusted with the gun. I looked up to him in so many ways. He knew so much more than me about a lot of things. I was always beyond flattered when he'd taught me enough to trust me on my own.
But that wasn't always the case. The gun came with us once to the new rifle range and caused me a bit of trouble on one occasion. We were there with about twelve people, including friends who'd never shot guns before. Stimee and I unloaded all the rifles from the back seat of hte car and brough thtme out to the range. It was winter, chilly, but the sun was shining. It was one of those gorgeous clear winter days that Stimee really liked and always tried to sell to summer people.
I went back to the car to get the little pistol and one or two of its mates and some bags of ammo. As I walked back with the armful to the beautiful new wooden structure at the gun range, the gun fell out of my hands and hit the gravel. I was appalled. I looked to Stimee to see what his reaction would be. in situations like that, little accidents which happen to all of us, it could be hit or miss. He could explode at me or he could brush it off, but usually he did not accept mishaps.
His face told me nothing at first. Relief swept over me. Maybe he wouldn't see me as an irresponsible failure after all. I laughed nervously as I picked up the gun. Then it happened. Stimee was upset. He was upset I'd dropped the gun, and he was upset that I'd laughed. "There are people here who've never been around guns," he told me heatedly, softly. My laughter at dropping the gun did not set a good example of how seriously they should all view firearm safety.
I was devastated. Upsetting Stimee was twice as hard as upsetting anyone else. I loved him so much and always wanted to please him. I've been in abusive relationships and maybe that's part of it. But he really was an extraordinary person. I think a person's natural response to someone like him is, especially when you look up to him, to want them to be happy with you. In this particular situation I was more upset because I wanted him to trust me with his guns. I was interested in them and I love shooting. I learned all I know about them from him. His disappointment in me made me feel like he saw me as weak or unworthy.
The gun came with us on a trip to Juneau in autumn, 2010. It camped with us for a few cold and rainy days on the lake at the base of the Mendenhall Glacier. We'd planned the trip because it was when Stimee was supposed to have his hip surgery. As we were loading up the car that night in the dark to head to the ferry, Stimee stopped me in the doorway of our house to tell me his surgery had been postponed. We went anyway. When we got there he told me they'd actually called him a day or two earlier to tell him about the postponement but he'd wanted us to go to Juneau anyway.
It was one of our best trips. The campground we ended up at was a resort compared to the one we were at the first night. Flushing toilets and real showers made it a little more luxurious. We had campfires in the rain and fell asleep to the sound of raindrops on my blue Sierra tent. That trip was also when I got the AB tattoo on my arm. Stimee paid for it, telling me it was a late birthday present. As the years will go by and things will get lost in moves and fall between the cracks, there is one gift from Stimee that won't ever be lost.
The gun waited patiently in the glove box while I got my tattoo. That night, it was taken out again and brought into the tent with us. We slept peacefully, the three of us -- me, Stimee, and the gun.
On the morning of September 4th I came to the police station to see if there was any new information on Stimee. Lindsay had told me that a hiker had found a gun clip and ammo, and I assumed it was some ambiguous shell or magazine round. When i went to the station, I knew things weren't going to be all right. Sitting on the desk where I work was Stimee's holster, the holster I'd clipped to my Carhartts and that had spent so much time in our car and our tents.
That was the last I saw of Stimee's gun. Later, when I went with Adam, Matt and Crystal to move his guns out of his house, they were all there but one. I don't know where the gun is now. It may be in the building with me right now as I sit writing in the police station. It could be tagged in Evidence, or maybe in a gun locker. It may have gone with Stimee to Anchorage to be looked at by ballistics professionals. I don't think I'll ever see it again.
The gun was a part of my life for a lot of years. It gave me a lot of comfort. It made me feel prepared to handle whatever unforeseen obstacles may cross my path. Through it I learned how to be responsible with something more powerful than myself.
But maybe the most important lesson I learned from Stimee's gun wasn't how to use the gun itself. When I had the gun I knew I wasn't invincible, but I had more confidence. As a result, I became more aware of how vulnerable I really can be without it. Learning to use and carry a gun taught me how different everything is when not carrying one.
The challenge comes from here on out. I will see bears while hiking. I will hear noises while camping. Things will come my way that I won't be equipped to handle on my own now that Stimee's gun will never again be on my hip. My own mortality and vulnerability are exposed with the knowledge that it's gone.
There will be others. Certainly someday I'll attach myself to another little pistol and maybe it'll give me some comfort as I walk on through life and all its ordeals. But it won't be the same gun. It won't be the one that fell out of my hand at the range; it won't be the one that kept me at peace at the Denver caboose; it won't be the one that, for so long, looked out for me and took care of me.
The finality of it all has been hard to grasp. But life goes on. People and things will come and go in and out of my life. Stimee and his gun left my life as suddenly as they came into it. The gun made a lot of memories for me that, in one way or another, were pivotal moments in my relationship and in life. But it's the last moment I had with the gun that changed me the most -- when I saw its holster on the desk and the nausea that hadn't abated in eight hours threatened to knock me down again. That moment was the hardest, most significant moment I had with the gun, and the gun wasn't even in the holster.
And i think that's how it'll be with Stimee. The hardest and most poignant moments that I've had with him have been the moments that he has been noticeably absent. There could only be one, and there will never be a replacement.
I have a lot of memories of Stimee's gun giving me comfort and strength. But it was Stimee who empowered me to have those things. Now that they're both gone, I guess I have to learn on my own to have comfort and strength without them.
It came with us to Haines when we went camping with Adam and Crystal and their kids. It was one of many trips that the gun made with us on the ferry. It stayed tucked away in the glove box instead of following the rules and being declared to ferry authorities. Stimee never was one for authority, particularly when it related to his guns. The gun saw some use that Easter weekend of 2011. Stimee, Adam, Steve and Brady shot up some logs by the river. I took a few shots with it myself but for the most part, for some reason shooting wasn't on my immediate agenda that weekend.
The gun stayed in the tent with us as we slept by the river those few nights. Part of the comfort of camping with Stimee was that he had all the best gear, but a greater part was knowing without a doubt that he would know how to use it when he had to. By the river in Haines there had been a lot of evidence of moose. Stimee and I once watched a documentary about moose attacks. Although I've never seen one except through a car window, Stimee's years in Haines had acquainted him with the giant cervids. He loved telling the story about being chased by a moose while on his bike. He dove into a ditch and held the bike up over him so the moose couldn't get at him. Animals didn't frighten Stimee but i guess that's partly because death didn't, either.
The gun came with me last winter on a snowshoe trip to the Denver caboose. In the parking lot with Rachel and Jodie, before I clipped it on, I asked, "do either of you have issues with guns? Because I'm taking one with me. Speak now or forever hold your peace." Neither of them did. The gun stayed on my hip for the trip except when we slept in the caboose. Inside it kept silent vigil beside me in the bunk, there for me if I needed it, a security blanket against anything I could imagine coming in and threatening my safety.
That was when we lived in Liarsville. Stimee surprised me that day by meeting us to hike back along the tracks. it was the dead of winter and everything was blanketed with snow. I had texted Stimee so that he could say hi from the other side of the river as we slogged back to town. When he did say hi, he was already on our side of the river in his Xtratuffs. I hadn't expected that. Stimee, during our three years together, wasn't much of a recreational hiker. It made my day that, in the middle of the most tumultuous part of our relationship, he'd come out to walk back with me.
When we met by the train tracks on our walk back to town, I unclipped the gun from my Carhartts and handed it to him. He carried it back the rest of the way. it wasn't because I was returning it; it was because my backpack was cumbersome and the gun got in the way. He trusted me with the gun, and that gave me pride.
I learned this in the spring of 2011 when I went on a camping trip with the interp staff for work. Stimee was out of town at that point with his job training program. As I packed my gear for the camping trip it was only natural that the gun found its way into my hands. It's just part of the basic needs of a human being. When camping you need shelter (tent), warmth (sleeping bag, clothes), food and ways to prepare it, water, and things to protect you in case of emergencies. That may include band-aids and it may include guns.
I kept the little pistol and its ammo in the glove box of the car as we sat around the fire drinking, eating, socializing. When it was bedtime in the midnight twilight, I went to the car to get it, hoping no one would see. I didn't want to have to deal with someone else's unfounded paranoia of firearms. I wrapped it in my coat and went to bed. I slept soundly that night, and a part of it was a result of knowing I could at the very least create a sound loud enough to frighten away a large animal.
I hadn't asked Stimee's permission to take the gun with me on that trip. It hadn't occurred to me that I should. our assets were shared by that point. At some point later I thought to mention it to him.
"I took the gun camping," I told him. "I hope that's OK."
Of course it was. "I would hope you'd bring it with you," Stimee said. "You know how to use it. There's no reason you wouldn't."
Stimee was particular about some things, guns being one of them. The fact that he trusted me enough and that I satisfied his expectations in gun safety and marksmanship really made me feel good about myself and my relationship with him. In a lot of things he was and always would see me as less than him, not always without reason. For how much more experienced he was than me, I was happy that I was equal enough to be trusted with the gun. I looked up to him in so many ways. He knew so much more than me about a lot of things. I was always beyond flattered when he'd taught me enough to trust me on my own.
But that wasn't always the case. The gun came with us once to the new rifle range and caused me a bit of trouble on one occasion. We were there with about twelve people, including friends who'd never shot guns before. Stimee and I unloaded all the rifles from the back seat of hte car and brough thtme out to the range. It was winter, chilly, but the sun was shining. It was one of those gorgeous clear winter days that Stimee really liked and always tried to sell to summer people.
I went back to the car to get the little pistol and one or two of its mates and some bags of ammo. As I walked back with the armful to the beautiful new wooden structure at the gun range, the gun fell out of my hands and hit the gravel. I was appalled. I looked to Stimee to see what his reaction would be. in situations like that, little accidents which happen to all of us, it could be hit or miss. He could explode at me or he could brush it off, but usually he did not accept mishaps.
His face told me nothing at first. Relief swept over me. Maybe he wouldn't see me as an irresponsible failure after all. I laughed nervously as I picked up the gun. Then it happened. Stimee was upset. He was upset I'd dropped the gun, and he was upset that I'd laughed. "There are people here who've never been around guns," he told me heatedly, softly. My laughter at dropping the gun did not set a good example of how seriously they should all view firearm safety.
I was devastated. Upsetting Stimee was twice as hard as upsetting anyone else. I loved him so much and always wanted to please him. I've been in abusive relationships and maybe that's part of it. But he really was an extraordinary person. I think a person's natural response to someone like him is, especially when you look up to him, to want them to be happy with you. In this particular situation I was more upset because I wanted him to trust me with his guns. I was interested in them and I love shooting. I learned all I know about them from him. His disappointment in me made me feel like he saw me as weak or unworthy.
The gun came with us on a trip to Juneau in autumn, 2010. It camped with us for a few cold and rainy days on the lake at the base of the Mendenhall Glacier. We'd planned the trip because it was when Stimee was supposed to have his hip surgery. As we were loading up the car that night in the dark to head to the ferry, Stimee stopped me in the doorway of our house to tell me his surgery had been postponed. We went anyway. When we got there he told me they'd actually called him a day or two earlier to tell him about the postponement but he'd wanted us to go to Juneau anyway.
It was one of our best trips. The campground we ended up at was a resort compared to the one we were at the first night. Flushing toilets and real showers made it a little more luxurious. We had campfires in the rain and fell asleep to the sound of raindrops on my blue Sierra tent. That trip was also when I got the AB tattoo on my arm. Stimee paid for it, telling me it was a late birthday present. As the years will go by and things will get lost in moves and fall between the cracks, there is one gift from Stimee that won't ever be lost.
The gun waited patiently in the glove box while I got my tattoo. That night, it was taken out again and brought into the tent with us. We slept peacefully, the three of us -- me, Stimee, and the gun.
On the morning of September 4th I came to the police station to see if there was any new information on Stimee. Lindsay had told me that a hiker had found a gun clip and ammo, and I assumed it was some ambiguous shell or magazine round. When i went to the station, I knew things weren't going to be all right. Sitting on the desk where I work was Stimee's holster, the holster I'd clipped to my Carhartts and that had spent so much time in our car and our tents.
That was the last I saw of Stimee's gun. Later, when I went with Adam, Matt and Crystal to move his guns out of his house, they were all there but one. I don't know where the gun is now. It may be in the building with me right now as I sit writing in the police station. It could be tagged in Evidence, or maybe in a gun locker. It may have gone with Stimee to Anchorage to be looked at by ballistics professionals. I don't think I'll ever see it again.
The gun was a part of my life for a lot of years. It gave me a lot of comfort. It made me feel prepared to handle whatever unforeseen obstacles may cross my path. Through it I learned how to be responsible with something more powerful than myself.
But maybe the most important lesson I learned from Stimee's gun wasn't how to use the gun itself. When I had the gun I knew I wasn't invincible, but I had more confidence. As a result, I became more aware of how vulnerable I really can be without it. Learning to use and carry a gun taught me how different everything is when not carrying one.
The challenge comes from here on out. I will see bears while hiking. I will hear noises while camping. Things will come my way that I won't be equipped to handle on my own now that Stimee's gun will never again be on my hip. My own mortality and vulnerability are exposed with the knowledge that it's gone.
There will be others. Certainly someday I'll attach myself to another little pistol and maybe it'll give me some comfort as I walk on through life and all its ordeals. But it won't be the same gun. It won't be the one that fell out of my hand at the range; it won't be the one that kept me at peace at the Denver caboose; it won't be the one that, for so long, looked out for me and took care of me.
The finality of it all has been hard to grasp. But life goes on. People and things will come and go in and out of my life. Stimee and his gun left my life as suddenly as they came into it. The gun made a lot of memories for me that, in one way or another, were pivotal moments in my relationship and in life. But it's the last moment I had with the gun that changed me the most -- when I saw its holster on the desk and the nausea that hadn't abated in eight hours threatened to knock me down again. That moment was the hardest, most significant moment I had with the gun, and the gun wasn't even in the holster.
And i think that's how it'll be with Stimee. The hardest and most poignant moments that I've had with him have been the moments that he has been noticeably absent. There could only be one, and there will never be a replacement.
I have a lot of memories of Stimee's gun giving me comfort and strength. But it was Stimee who empowered me to have those things. Now that they're both gone, I guess I have to learn on my own to have comfort and strength without them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)