There are some moments where a single event can spark unexpected memories.  In this case it happened to be when I was reading Molly’s site over at Somewhat Refined and the topic of embarrasing moments surfaced. 

Have I ever had an embarrassing moment? Certainly!  But haven’t we all?  And while my middle name tends to be “klutz” and that in and of itself leads to a merry moment of mayhem now and then, there is one particular memory that comes to mind.  And as I sit here finding myself thinking back on it, I have to smile. I think we all reach the point when we’re in high school that we want nothing more than for that final day of the senior year to come.  Especially after we’ve been deluged by tests, drama, SAT and ACT prep over the previous four years.  We wait for that day when we can walk across the stage and know that we have graduated.  And even though I have always been fortunate enough for learning to come somewhat easily to me, I can remember the day when I too walked across that stage and tossed my tassled hat into the air.  Watching it weave its way down to the floor in a plight of a girl and her future.

My days soon after were filled with nothing more than sleeping in and being the typical teen aged slacker.  I did because I could.  But as the days after graduation progressed, I began to prepare myself for my upcoming graduation trip to Europe and then eventually on to college in Arizona.  The plan was simple.  A group of us were going to travel and see the sites.  Experience the culture and enrich ourselves with each countries history.  Of course it wasn’t 14 European countries in 3 days like so many seem to challenge themselves to these days.  But rather we were picking some cities that each of us wanted to experience and planned to see the sites and spend quality time there.

Some of my girlfriends were of course looking forward to Paris and London, wanting nothing more than setting their sites on shopping and challenging themselves to finding the best bargain.  My particular craving however was for Venice and the canals.  I had always been fascinated by the romanticized version of Venice with images of the canals and gondolas and that was actually something I had dreamed about experiencing first hand. 

I can remember looking out over the Adriatic and sighing wistfully, half expecting to find my prince charming somewhere amongst those cobblestone walks and paths.  On that particular evening, my gal pals and I had decide we would truly take Venice by storm and dress to the nines before we departed the following morning for Lida.  Simply that meant putting on our best formal wear and going to dinner and then on to one of the theatrical show performances.

But given my flight of fancing of wanting to travel via gondola, I found myself begging them that we travel solely over the water.  My friends nicely acquiesced to my plea.  The reality is I should have known this is when trouble would start.  After all, nothing ever goes that smoothly for me. 

No sooner had we enjoyed a delicious meal when we found ourselves short on time.  In order to make our scheduled show, we had to rush.  And rush we did.  Now to those of you that have worn heels on cobblestone paths, you know it can be a bit difficult to get around.  Add being in a hurry to that and it was by some miraculous nature that I made it safely to the gondola.  Though there were several times I feared I would meet my fate by doing a face plant on the streets of Venice.

Everyone was already in their place within the Gondola when I began to follow suit.  One foot was in the gondola and the other still on the dock.  I found myself suddenly caught up in a moment of merriment by gazing wisfully at the site of the Rialto bridge.  After all, I was a silly teenage girl that was a dreamer.  So I had to look.  The oarsman must not have noticed my brief pause because he began to pull away with a foot of mine still anchored on the dock. 

Can we see where this is going?

I found myself suddenly doing a very good imitation of splits over water, only to eventually run out of space as I found myself falling head first into the canal in formal wear.  I surfaced to find myself sputtering and looking more like a scottish version of a drowned rat.  I didn’t laugh then, but I can definitely laugh now.

So while many that have visted the sites over the years have their memories filled with images of romantic interludes at the thought of Venice, mine will always remain the ame.  Getting an up close and personal introduction to the canals of Venice.

Acqua passata non macina piu.  There is definitely water under that bridge.

“Skypainting”
Anchorage Winter Sunset
Southcentral, Alaska

If I had to pick one of the earliest memories I can remember from childhood, it would be that of my infatuation with horses.  The first Saturday in May has always held a special place in my heart in the quest for the Triple Crown.  Not for experiencing the tradition of Mint Julips, or that of the smell of roses, but simply as a day that I can pay homage to these beautiful animals. 

Like the Super Bowl is to football, the Kentucky Derby is to the Sport of Kings.  If there’s any type of horse event scheduled on television, it is a guarantee that I will watch it if I happen to be available.  Not because I like to win the money at betting or see the crowds, but simply because I like to see the grace of these animals.  Nothing is more majestic than watching a horse run simply for the thrill of it.

I remember always sitting in class and feeling myself immersed in their beauty as my pencil traced the contours of their head, the almond shaped eyes and the perk of the years out onto my papered canvas.  Rather than learning of far off places like I was supposed to, I would spend my time checking out any available book on horses from the public library.  Devouring them as I could.  Learning about their spirit and temperament. In fact, one of my first “career ambitions” was that of being a “hot walker”.  I was determined that when I grew up, I would be the one to cool them down after their races.  My future was in Ketucky one day.  Kentucky would indeed become “My Old Kentucky Home”.

I think I drove those around me crazy with the constant mention of these magnificent animals.  As I grew, the more I kept asking for one.  I knew it would never be a possibility.  Yet it was a dream of mine that did come true. I still remember that day.  I had been in a freak accident and was out of school recovering from my wouns and had sunk into a depression.  So as I sat there staring out the window seeing a vision of a horse in my mind, I heard the door open to the news that there was a surprise awaiting me. 

That surprise turned out to be one of the best memories of my life to date.  It was the day he entered my life.  A spitfire of a colt that was as black as night and with a fire as dark as his coloring.  Naturally as I had an affinity for Walter Farley novels at the time, I named him Shetan after the Black Stallion.  I was thrown into a world of horses and it would be where I spent my next fifteen years.  Learning their care, riding, and eventually training. It took me several months to develop a bond with him, as he had been abused by his previous owners.  Even until his death he would remain head shy around strangers.  The sight of a riding crop would throw him into fits of rage.

But yet, my memories of him are some of the happiest of my life.  When he left this place, he took some of my own spirit and fire with him.  There is an amazing bond that develops between a horse and its rider.  Those of you that may ride or own horses understand the words that I speak.  Just like there is a valiant spirit that exudes with each breath these animals take. So when Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro suffered a tragic accident last year at the Preakness, I joined the rest of the world in watching this majestic colt fight each and every challenge tossed at him.  First through the restructuring of his broken right leg and then through the devestation of the bout of laminitis that threatened his life constantly.  So when news reached me this weekend that Barbaro had suffered yet another potential devestation side effect, I had hoped he owuld be able to continue to rise above it with the impenetrable spirit that he has shown the world since that fateful day.

Sadly, I received word only moments ago that Barbaro lost his fight this morning and was euthanized.  But one something obvious remains.  We as a world will still remember him for his courage.  And I do understand those that might be reading this are possibly thinking, “why focus so much on a horse?”  The reality is in a world filled with constant negativity and sorrow these days, the story of Barbaro gives us a place to focus our wills.  He gave us hope and was a reminder of the fearsome courage and spirit that can exist within each and every one of us.

Barbaro will forever remain etched in my mind as a valiant horse alongside the images of the great Man O War, Seattle Slew, Northern Dancer and more.  We lost a great one today and his life and challenges will always remain as a memory to me.

God speed to you Barbaro.

“Peekaboo”
Local Moose Population Feeding at Potters Marsh
Southcentral Alaska

Beaner, Winner Creek Trail
South Central Alaska

I’ve always been one that is an avid dog lover. And since I lost my own fur kid about a year and a half ago, I always cherish the time I get around other dogs. Even if it’s a borrowed moment. So imagine my joy to be surrounded by two furry snowshoeing companions yesterday. I take what I can get.

Now if I can only to figure out how to “borrow” some of the dogs I have met over the years.

For those of us that have lived in Alaska well longer than we can count on both hands, often time comes a certain type of winter where we can chalk it up as being “different” and then browse through our collective memory banks and compare it to one that may have had similar qualities in years past. And with February on the horizon and the snow continuing to fall here taking us well above our seasonal average, I can aptly say this winter actually reminds me of those we used to have in the 70’s.

The concept of letting go has always been one I have had a difficult time with. Usually I give people so many chances that their score card tends to look like a top notch Scrabble game. In the end, I am feeling miffed and then I find myself giving that individual yet another chance. “It will change next time.” I say, when the reality is it never does. A few days or even months later I find myself back at the same place with the same feelings. Fair weather freinds are what these individuals are known to us as.

A part of my getting back to basics and simplifying my life over the past week and a half has been to truly do some soul searching in the subject of fair weather friends. I have found myself looking inward and asking the constant question, “What does this individual truly bring to your life?” Sure there are good times and in those times I do spend with them I enjoy. Often accompanied by laughter filling the air and even sometimes bubbling over the surface. In realization though, I’m seeing these times are becoming fewer and fewer. Everything seems to become an excuse or an explanation.

They say you need to hit bottom before you begin to climb your way to the top. Last night as 3:00 a.m. rolled in and I found myself staring at the ceiling with the truckload of thoughts on my mind, I realized I had struck bottom and it was time to do something about it. I realized that challenges would continue to exist, but my final thought as I turned over and drifted off to sleep was, “this will be for the best.”

A person once said to me that I was continually allowing myself to be treated this way and it was the same patterns over and over was because they had become habits. The reality was I didn’t know any other way. And while it may be said and true, I realize that I allow myself to be treated this way because it’s a sign of a lingering self esteem problem. The reality is I’m setting patterns again that have to do with some aspects of an unfilfilled past. And I deserve better. I also have since realized that in getting back to basics, I truly have to start with a clean slate.

Even if it does mean letting go. Ah the challenges that await me.

There has always been one thing about snow.  It brings with it a calmness and silence that despite whatever may be happening in your life at the time, blankets all your troubles away.  Even on a morning such as this where I find myself troubled, I have found myself constantly gazing out the window and just staring at the white blanket adorned before me.  The large flakes falling so effortlessly to the ground.  It brings a comfort in this otherwise weary world of mine.  I only wish my faith in others would come as effortlessly and with ease this morning as the snow seems to be coming.

I can remember a similar silence growing up when I was cross country skiing.  Passing through the woods with snow clinging to the wooded canopy above of Russian Jack Park.  The silence enveloped me and indeed it holds a fond memory for me.  That silence broken only by the sounds of the skis cutting through the snow.  I look forward to being in that place again relatively soon. 

Over the past few days I have noticed several of my co-workers gathering up their skis and winter gear during the lunch hour and setting their sites on some winter skiing.  I linger in the background slighly envious that they can go and make that connection to the woods around them.  Hoping that soon I too will be one of them.

Despite whatever personal setbacks have graced this week for me, if there is one positive in all of this, it is the upcoming weekend and the fact that I will be spending some time outdoors enjoying it.  Sunday morning I will be getting upbright and early and packing up my gear and heading to Girdwood which currently has a snow depth of 89 inches on the ground with another 20 inches projected to fall between now and then.  It will make for some interesting snowshoeing experiences.

Yes winter is definitely here.  And I will it to work its magic on me just as it did in those days of youth.

It’s a good indication that my challenge on winter has succeeded somewhat in the past few weeks.  What would be the indicator on this you might be asking?  The fact that I’m actually hoping for snow.  Of course in the northern realm and with my luck this probably means spring is on its way. 

Me of all people?!  Think snow?!

Indeed.  That and the fact that I have a snowshoeing trip planned this weekend with a group of friends to go to the Winner Creek Trail in Girdwood.  And I’m looking forward to it.  In addition, I have a purchase planned on the horizon for a new pair of backcountry skis.  And some ski lessons.

Perhaps someday I’ll be able to breathe a sweet sigh of anticipation and actually begin to look forward to winter.  I’m working on it.  But times?  They are obviously changing.

There are just some days where you want to crawl back into bed and hide away from the world.  And unfortunately this day has started out that way for me when I awoke to hear the very disturbing news that a good friend of mine had passed away at way too young of an age.  Hearing this has left me with questions ranging anywhere from “why”, to truly making me look in depth at my own life and my own actions.  It seems every time I pass over one thought, the question of “are you living your dream” comes to mind.  The reality is I try and live each day as if it were my last.  After all, we truly don’t know when our time here on this earth will end.  It’s a hard lesson to learn but there are remindes that come up and smack you in the fact as if a warning to pay attention. 

This particular event will be one of them.  Of course with the unknown comes the question of “how”.  I was really at a loss as to what could have taken this friend at so early of an age.  The reality was I didn’t know.  I have seen devestation already piled on this particular family when they endured the loss of the wife/mother at 28 years of age to Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  And now this?  After making some inquiries, I found out it was a snow machine accident and probably a freak accident at that.  But it has now left 3 children under the age of 10 without a father or a mother.  This is the second time in 6 months I am left of being in the same position and seeing this among friends. The reality is this. 

With the onslaught of winter comes the toll of such accidents.  And indeed the local newspapers have been filled with the notice of 4 snow machine deaths alone in the last week, including that of an 8 year old boy.  Sometimes they truly are tragic accidents but other times they remain the obvious result of carelessness. 

What I would like to know is why on earth was an 8 year old doing driving a snow machine?  I’m told it’s the way of things. That it is a normal thing of daily life, especially for those that live here in Alaska.  “He was an experienced driver who had been driving since he was 5.” was reported. Don’t get me started folks, don’t get me started.  Because in doing so, I can only find myself returning to the question of “why?!”. I think I’ll stick with my manual outdoor “toys” consisting of skis, snow shoes, etc.  Especially with me being notorious for having two left feet.

But in the end, rather than jump up on my soap box about that, I’ll leave this with the age old question.  Are you living your dream? In reflection of the here and now, I know I’m certainly not. 

And indeed it looks like I have some living left to do.