Remembering

I remember the first time I realized my dad was growing old. I could see new red lines in his eyes. His once clear grey eyes were now shiny pools of liquid framed by thick, heavy, lashless lids. The redness in his face blending together with the redness in his eyes. He looked cloudy, the sharpness of his gaze had dimmed. His face looked dry and tired but his step was still strong, his movements animated. His hands flitted about when he talked. His posture very straight. His gait happy and energetic. He will always spend his life looking at the way the wind carries a leaf, tracking the sunsets and sun rises, and imagining a more idealistic place and time.

I remember as my mom drove me up the driveway on a crisp fall day. My oversized jeans were tucked into my red salavation army cowboy boots and my hair was secured in two skinny braids. My wispy blonde bangs stood straight up in the wind and I clutched my tattered second-hand horseback riding helmet eagerly. The boots were beautiful. The stained hat was perfect. The leaves were shockingly yellow and the sky was impossibly blue. Or at least that's how I remember it.

I remember the smell of the first day of school. New clothes, new erasers, new backpacks, pencil shavings, books, folders, and lunchboxes. The smell of fresh rubber and plastic and construction paper. I itched in stiff new clothes and shoes. And every first day of school is preserved in my mind as sunny, even though I am sure they were not.

I remember hiding. I hid in my closet. Under my bed. In the backyard. In my tree fort. In the dog house. Under the porch. In my clothes hamper. In the crawl space. I was never hiding from anyone and nobody was ever looking for me. They never even knew that I was hiding. The minute I was called I would dash from my secret place quickly and carefully. Never to once be missing, but always hiding. There was something comforting in escaping. Something special about the places I escaped to. And I could sit for hours in my hiding spot. Never bored or lonely. Not even a book to amuse me. Just the freedom to think alone and the wonder of feeling disappeared.

I remember rocking on the porch late on a summer evening. It was late at night but it felt like early morning. One leg crossed the other dangling, I gently rocked the chair and watched the strange, muted sunset. I felt like I could sit there forever, a green and white cotton blanket wrapped around my shoulders. And the space around me felt so full and comforting that I didn't notice I was alone, or that it was late into the night, and that the tapping of my foot on the porch was the only sound to be heard. It wasn't quiet, or cold, and it wasn't isolating. The house behind me faded into the background and all I saw was the gentle and subtle movements of the green leaves on the birch tree, the fullness of the clouds, the emptiness of neighborhood streets, and the slow loss of daylight. Maybe it was the quiet that was so consuming, but I was full and content.

My Favorite Place

This weekend I dragged myself out of Eagle River and into Palmer. I've always loved Palmer. I've never actually lived there but something about it has always felt like home. There isn't really a lot to do there--you can go to the grocery store and have dinner at the handful of restaurants in town...but something about the air, the scenery, the roads, the houses...Palmer has always felt a little bit like home.

I visited my dad's old family friends. I started horseback riding when I was 9. I ride Icelandic horses, a rare and specialized form of riding. Conveniently, when I was about 14, my dad's best friend's wife, Virginia went to Iceland and came back with 9 horses. I got to ride them as often as I liked.

They moved about thirty minutes outside of Palmer a few years back. The hour and fifteen minute drive made it difficult for me to help keep the horses in shape. I sort of fell out of the Icelandic horseback riding loop. But there are few days that pass in which I don't think about riding. It sounds silly, but as I walk through campus I can imagine the feeling of the Icelandic tolt. I can hear the four-beated rythym and feel the reins in my hands. And no matter how many months it has been between ridings, it is always natural, always the same when I go back to Palmer. I believe that it is my true passion. It is unfortunately a time-intensive and costly interest. Every time I make the drive to Palmer I think about how long it is. But once I get there, I am always stunned by the sheer beauty of Virginia's property. On a sunny day it feels like something out of a dream. You're on top of a hill in a vast open field surrounded by mountains. The colors of the green fields against the purple mountains are breathtaking. From the other side of her property you look out over Matanuka River. Full of color and space and dimension...it is my favorite place in the world.

The trail riding there is unbelievable. Racing through the fields at impossible speeds is like flying. It's not bumpy or frightening. The faster I press on, the smoother it becomes and every single thought or worry from my head is gone. I'm sure if I were to fall off at such a speed the consequences would be disastrous. But worriesone, cautious, nervous me never even considers the possibility. It's like leaving everything behind for a moment. You're traveling too fast for your own worries to catch up with you. And for just one minute you can run from everything and towards anything you want. You can run down to the creek or up the road, through the fields and down to the lower pasture. All that matters is where you turn your eyes to next and that is where you will go.

That's what I love about riding. For a moment in time I am effortlessly happy. I cannot help but feel entirely delighted. And every memory I have of riding is vivid and wonderful. It's amazing to discover something in your life that can make you feel that way. But it's equally hard to have to leave it behind. At college there aren't any Icelandic horses. When I go abroad to Spain or Costa Rica there won't be Icelandic horses. When I become a teacher it will be a long while before I can pay of my student loans and afford an Icelandic horse and the property to accomodate it. It seems like all of my goals and aspirations take me far away from what I really love. But education is important and I need to make a good career for myself...so I guess riding can wait. Sometimes I am tempted to finish school in Alaska so I can buy a horse and train. I fled from Alaska thinking that the rest of the world would be bigger, better, and more exciting. And while sometimes going into a city can be fun I am constantly thinking about home, Palmer, and the different Alaskan lifestyle. Washington just seems busier, crowded, and impersonal. I was right, everything is bigger. But I realize more and more that I like our quiet grocery store and the coffee shop where everybody knows your name.

When I hike alone and go horseback riding alone in Alaska I never feel lonely. Wandering through downtown Bellingham and Fairhaven alone makes me feel lonely. Solitude in Alaska is comforting while in Washington uncomfortable. I'm not quite sure why. Time away from Alaska has made me realize this. But at the same time, the summer in Alaska is intoxicating. I've been seeing on the best of Alaska for the past three years. I used to hate the winters. They are dark and long. But I remember them also as cozy. And beautiful.

Someday I'll figure out where I want to be. I've always been a bit of a waderer. I hate flying but love traveling and I rarely actually get "homesick" I think in Bellingham it's that I'm sick of the place that I have chosen to make my new home. I miss the space and the mountains. Last year I started thinking about my favorite place more and more. How wonderful it would be to not be so far away from it.

Hello, Blogspot!

Hello, Blogspot.
I have reluctantly left my xanga site of 4 years. I needed a blogging area that looked a little snazzier. So blogspot, I hope we will work together. In the coming posts I will get to know you, so it's only fair that I tell you a little about me.

My interests include writing little poems, attending informational functions, conversations with kindly humans, drawing pictures, creating delicious baked goods, dancing, googling random questions, hiking, libraries, speaking spanish, and finding amusement in the awkward nature of life.

I currently work at a large corporate office in a department called Business Development. My duties largely include developing company business. This entails attending large functions where I am paid to smile while eating wilted salads and hideous entrees. I will miss this when I return to college in the fall.

For the third year in a row I will contine to pay exorbitant amounts of money to attend a college out of state. But since I am also paid an extortionate hourly wage to eat wilted salads and prepare mass mailings all summer long, I have managed to secure a comfortable life style. Well...not really. I have enough money to pay for school and maybe buy a pair of new shoes before I go. If they are on sale. At Wal-mart.

I am at the uncomfortable age of 20. My friends go out and party in the bars and clubs every weekend and most weeknights. I complain that they lack the creativity to plan non-bar events (i.e. something I could attend), but to be honest... if I were 21, that is likely what I would be up to. So whatever. House parties and lunch dates and good books and movies. Enough to keep anyone busy. But 20 is an awkward age, especially when most of your friends are older than you.

Well, gosling blogspot, we shall see. Nobody knows that you exist except for me. And we may just keep it that way.