In the still of the night…

Last night the Legal Dude and I decided to go for a walk.

It was after 10 p.m. when we left and nearly 10:30 when we took these shots.

I know.  I would find it hard to believe—if I hadn’t taken these myself—but it’s true, it was nearly 11 p.m. when this was taken.

It’s the neighbor’s and it looks like an underground passageway—or perhaps room—to the house.

Although traffic and people are out-and-about, not nearly as much as during the “daylight” hours, there is stillness, and a quietude, that belies the light.

It is, after all, nighttime—even if it the brain thinks otherwise.

Lions and tigers and Bears—oh my! (Or the irrational fears of a middle-aged woman)

For several decades now—blame Northern Exposure and the lure of the elusive (at least for those of us living in most of the lower 48) Northern lights—I periodically dream about living large in the wilds of Alaska. 

Call it a romanticized—and totally unrealistic—fantasy of living the life of a “fearless frontier woman.”

Perhaps it is the reason I have acclimated so well to Wyoming.

I can “pretend” to be ‘that frontier woman,’ braving the elements—in my cozy home and car­—learning to horseback ride and to go without (the malls, Whole Foods, etc.).

!Pura fantasia!

As much as I have wanted to visit Alaska, I have this abnormal and obsessive fear of bears, grizzlies in particular.

Alaska (as is Wyoming) is full of them.

Yes, my fear is over-the-top (and all who know me know this), in part, though, because I need to talk—work through—my fear(s) to help manage it, especially if I’m heading into grizzly country.

Grizzly country?

The travel books seem to indicate—or at least “my” reading of them—that bears abound in town, or at least in sections of town. 

This is, after all, Alaska.

I have been enlightened, however, that “No, there is no need for bear bells” while hiking the trails around town.

You laugh—and you’re right, I have an illness.  It’s called “irrational fear” of death by Grizzly.

Again, you laugh.

I will have you know that we all have this illness, in some form or another. 

Some of us, unfortunately, have it a bit worse—in “what” we actually fear—than others.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I am one of them.

“Living” here for four days now, I know bears don’t reside on the trails I walk.

It’s too populated and with too many people walking about.

I am not ashamed to admit, though, that when I enter a woodsy and more secluded area, I talk out-loud to myself.

Just in case, you know, a bear has come down from the mountain and I’m its snack list.

Walkabout

While staying in Anchorage we’re being housed in a little basement apartment in a quiet residential neighborhood not far from downtown.

Street in front of our house

Front of the house

From the backyard

Our apartment is the one with the sunroom jutting out. 

Downtown is close by, but I hadn’t realized how close.

From a little scenic lookout a few blocks from the house

Our first few days here, Saturday and Sunday, were spent meeting the outgoing Prof., getting acclimated to our living arrangements, stocking up on food and supplies and becoming familiar with what the city has to offer.

On Monday it rained.

The last two days, however, have been spent exploring the walk-ability of this city, from where we live.

So while the Legal Dude is working and the teenager—well, is being a teenager—I put on my walking shoes and go exploring.

The Sagaya Market we like so much, which is reminiscent of WF but may be owed by Dean and Deluca (carries their products) is a mere fifteen to twenty minute walk from the house.  

Downtown is between forty to fifty minutes

A walking trail to downtown

but it’s hard to tell because I stop to take photos

Walking trail alongside a main road--Northern Lights

Inlet from one of the walking trails

and chat with this gal...

I had seen her during one of our earlier drive-bys and stopped to discern why someone would keep such a large animal domesticated, i.e., caged.

I’m told she was a rescue and had bonded with people, versus her own species. 

I’m told she was a rescue and had bonded with people, versus her own species. 

I’m told the Reindeer farm is for raising meat (there’s a lot of reindeer on the menus here) and so Star (who has her own FB page) is ostensibly saved from  gracing someone’s plate.

Delany Park downtown

Delany Park--Fitness Wednesdays

One Fish—Two Fish—Red fish—Good fish!

The New Sagaya City Market is purported by Fodor’s to have the best fish counter in the city.

Look at that tuna! They make an awesome Tuna Carpaccio

King Salmon

Halibut

Stuff I can't eat

We can attest to the fact that it has some deliciously outstanding fish as it is where we have been getting our daily dose of fresh fish.

Man is it good!

Normally, I like my fish grilled¸ preferably on a cedar plank.

Last evening, however, we baked—yeah baked—a two pound red salmon.

Red Salmon

It was delish! 

With fish this fresh and tasty nothing but a sprinkling of a few seasonings need be done to it.

At a mere $7.99 lb—Yowza!

(That’s almost as cheap as tilapia, the cheapest fish out there).

Why eat red meat when red fish is on the table!

We’ll save the red meet for when we get back to our favorite butcher in Laramie.

Under the Midnight Sun

The teenager and I are here—in Anchorage, Alaska—visiting with the Legal Dude who was given an opportunity to teach for a bit in a summer law program here.

Several Professors from out-of-state rotate in and out over the summer and right now it’s the Legal Dude’s turn.

We landed Saturday evening around 10 p.m. (Alaska time) after a long 14 hour trip with a very uncomfortable 5 hour plane ride in the second-to-last row surrounded by kicking and grumpy children—and I’m not just talking about my two boys. 

Much of the trip was above cloud cover, but I got glimpses of snow-capped mountains peeking through, probably northwest of Bozeman.

My little Nikon couldn’t do it justice, but trust me: It was spectacular!

As we began our descent, we cut through thick dense fog and then…

I gasped out loud as I then desperately tried to capture the beauty and magnificence of it all as we landed.

In my ignorance—and as a result of not paying better attention in elementary school—I believed the sun would be blazing high in the sky 24/7.

The sun does set, around 1 a.m., but then hovers—at the horizon—before rising again an hour or so later.

This shot was taken around 1 a.m. from our hotel room in downtown Anchorage, overlooking the bay and the mountains.

I looked out every 45 mins. or so and the sun seemed to stay right there

These were taken last “night” at 10:11 and 11:17 p.m., respectively.

If I hadn't taken the photo, I wouldn't believe it either!

It’s the sunroom at the back of our 2 bedroom basement condo in a residential neighborhood approximately 8 minutes or so from downtown.

While it’s never pitch-black, it does turn to “dusk” around that 1 a.m. time.

This is what we see as we drive towards downtown and the bay…

Kind of Like Laramie, except the mountains are much
larger and closer

This is the closest I hope to ever come to seeing a bear—at least while hiking!

As seen in a Sport's Authority

Interesting note: The weather here is very much like Laramie and even cooler.

Everyone keeps admonishing us “to try and stay warm now!”

If they only knew—we come from the land of “cool” climes.

As I sit and type this morning, I’m wearing a North face pull over and “booties” on my feet, wishing for a cup of hot tea.

Next up: photos of the out-of-this-world fish we see in every market, including the local Safeway.

Already we’ve eaten more smoked salmon than we do in a three month period back east.

Speaking of food—everything seems much more expensive here!

This is tasty!

We had guests for dinner this evening and celebrated the Summer Solstice a day early.

I’ve had my eye on this drink recipe (courtesy of Better Homes and Gardens magazine) since June of 2008, but just never got around to giving it a try.

 It’s a “Sunset Sangria.”

What a perfectly named drink to imbibe on a summer night, plus we started out the evening with a new Gazpacho recipe.

I was too busy getting everything ready to take photos at the time so this is the leftovers, after all the clean up is done.

The photo doesn’t do it justice.

When you pour the wine, the green lime water is on the bottom and the deep red wine floats on the top. (Plus this photo is missing the nectarine garnish).

I love a good Sangria, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find I actually like this very simple and easy recipe. 

Give it a try sometime, you might like it too!

Ingredients

2 tsp. finely shredded lime peel

1 cup lime juice

¾ cup sugar

Ice

1 750-ml. bottle Pinot Noir or Syrah, chilled

1 nectarine, pitted and sliced

Directions

1. In a 1-quart glass measuring cup combine lime peel, lime juice, and sugar; add water to equal 4 cups. Stir to dissolve sugar. Cover and refrigerate at least 2 hours.

2. To serve, place ice in six 16-ounce glasses. Add 2/3 cup of the lime juice mixture to each glass. Pouring alongside of the glass, slowly add 1/2 cup wine. Thread nectarine slices on skewers and add to glasses.

Serves 6

 Prep: 25 minutes Chill: at least 2 hours

I eat eggs, so why do I care?

Last week a visitor noticed a bird nest just under the gutter on our front porch.  

We don’t typically use the front door, unless we have guests, so I hadn’t noticed it. 

I began to observe that nest and arrived at the assumption that it was abandoned since I didn’t notice any activity or hear and peeping or chirping.

I asked the Legal Dude to remove it, since I remember reading about abandoned nests and the possibility of bird mites migrating into one’s home once the birds are gone.

He said he’d get around to it.

I’m glad he delayed. 

It was raining and windy this morning.

At one point I heard a cacophony of distressing bird calls that caused me to rush to the front windows.

Apparently harsh winds and rain shredded that little nest, leaving bits and pieces strewn across the front porch and lawn. 

Sadly, the nest was not abandoned and four little bitty eggs were also strewn across the front porch. 

I went out with gloves to try and gently pick them up, hoping their parents could somehow... do…something. 

 Alas, each and every egg was smashed. 

I would have felt terrible if the Legal Dude had removed the nest with the eggs inside.    

When I heard the distressing calls, I was in the process of baking bread (a delicious walnut and rosemary bread and my first solo bread baking experience since moving here).

Much later, after rising--quite a wonder to be hold up here at 7,200

Later, as I cracked and smashed eggs for the recipe, I stopped and stared...

I got to wondering: why does my heart weep for those little eggs and their momma, when I willy-nilly crack and smash eggs nearly every day?

It’s given me food for thought (and no, no pun is intended).

“Just give me one good reason...”

I’m forcing the teenager to take a few riding lessons.

(Mom: you only recognize him if you know him...)

 "it's dumb and boring” he says.

Admittedly, walking in circles around the arena as one overcomes fear of being way up high on such a large and unpredictable animal can be a tad boring at first.

Learning to post can induce mental and physical fatigue with being so repetitive, and its actually hard work—really!

It takes strength of stomach, thigh and calf muscles as well as a sense of timing.

The teenager wants “just one good reason” for having to take riding lessons.

He doesn’t buy the “I love you and want you to have as many opportunities as possible, even if it doesn’t feel like an opportunity at the moment” bit, or that “one day you’ll back and be thankful for the experience!”

I don’t know if this is a case of “mother knows best,” but I’m sticking to it!

Some things are just too easy here—like the eight minute ride to the barn and how inexpensive the cost of the lessons—so why not take advantage and make the most of them?

“Besides,” I tell him, “It’ll be impressive to girls someday.”

I can’t believe I actually said that!  

It’s a road I’m not at all ready, or willing, to travel…

Postscript

The Legal Dude is in NM with some colleagues, both of whom ride and, in fact, will be riding today. 

Their advice: Forget the barn and get the teenager on some trails.  

Hmmm…

Maybe, just maybe...

"My Son"

Alas, all good things must come to an end.

And so it is true with my four week color foundation art class.

These past—beyond intense—weeks have been the best four straight weeks of my life in recent memory.

To say “I loved it!” doesn’t do justice.

It was fun, exhilarating and one huge confidence booster. 

It was also hard, hard work and I often stayed up until the wee hours of the morning working on projects or the required sketchbook. 

Again, I loved every minute of it!

My professor was great, as were my classmates.  I will miss them all.

I struggled, and I soared, at varying times during the session.

Most recently I struggled with my final project—using expressive color to create art based on an emotion, past experience, etc.

A classmate dubbed my piece “My son.”

I had hoped to create a fabric and photo montage, or a collage, of the emotional journey with the teenager—from toddler-hood through teen-hood.

Alas, it looked instead like a gargantuan scrapbook page—not at all what I was aiming for nor the note I wanted to end on.

So at the 11^th hour I decided to forego the montage effect and let the background stand alone and be the final piece, with a few little embellishments.

I’m neither content nor satisfied with the final product, but have made peace with it.

Hard to tell if my prof liked it or not.

He made seemingly positive comments and intimated (I think) that it has a sense of “distilled clarity,” which is a good thing. 

Still, hard to tell what he actually thought.

Creating this piece took me on a roller coaster of an emotional journey: looking at photos of the teenager as a smiling toddler who allowed me to hug and hold him in my arms and in later years increasingly distanced himself by standing just “that” little bit of distance away from me.

So the piece contains a great deal of symbolism, which can also be interpreted by the viewer.

Don't know if I'll get my usual grade, but I’ve made peace with that too.  

I've come to realize that the true value in taking this class is not garnering the coveted “A,” but rather learning to grow artistically. 

I believe I have.

How to read "My Son"

From right to left (the reverse of all other art):

The vibrant and highly saturated, warm, happy and sometimes simultaneous contrasting colors represent the unconditional love between the toddler and his mom—me. The final piece has a few Lego pieces attached in bright primary colors, which, together with the buttons, are falling towards the left to represent (as does the downward slant of some of the fabric pieces) how the toddler moves—away from me.

The piece gradually darkens to create an atmospheric expression of brooding, moodiness and a sense of closing down—the dark squares on the bottom left representing a barrier, along with the stripes adjacent to the horses—hurdles for him on his journey of life or perhaps for me to jump over as he continues to distance himself from me. The long vertical piece on the left is a tie, representing how my baby is becoming a young man...sigh.

As they say, all good things must come to an end.

Our children can’t stay toddlers, or need mom, forever.

Fortunately each new stage is a wondrous—if sometimes painful—experience.

Faux leather...

This is my most recently finished art project.

A faux leather belt made of painted Bristol board (paper).   

 We had to pick colors from a natural object to create a manufactured product.

I chose this beautiful stone/pendant the Legal Dude gave me. 

I so love everything western and thought…why not a belt? 

 It took days to complete—

v Creating my color inventory from my stone and then deciding which of those colors to use

v Mixing paints to match those colors

v Applying paint after paint—four coats to each strip of Bristol board, of which there are three

v Embossing each piece

v Deciding how to put it all together  

Plus I worked hard to make it reversible...

The Legal Dude and I had a conversation about how art class—and my projects—should be fun and not stressful.

I told him I wasn’t stressed—just contemplative and intense, trying to figure out how it would all piece together so that the adhesive holds, etc.

 

I mentioned this during my critique.  My Prof said that it’s not stress, but “compulsive” behavior.

He thinks it’s a good thing!

If you’re an artist—compulsive behavior is good.

What about those of us who aren’t? 

Is it then considered compulsive bad behavior?

As long as it gets me my A’s—and I have fun in the process!