It's a Lot

It’s a lot. That’s the best response that I can come up with for what’s going on in our country right now. It’s a lot. It’s heavy. It’s frightening. It’s also stupid, just plain stupid. 

Surely this is a dream that I’ll wake up from any minute. There are no book banners. There is no Donald Trump. Our local borough assembly is made up of compassionate, open-minded representatives who love our local public libraries, believe everyone should love who they love, and aren’t afraid of Harlequin Romance novels. Parents are playing an active role in their children’s public school. Teachers are on the same pay scale as doctors and lawyers. Telephones hang on walls in kitchens. The country’s education budget is larger than the military budget. Classrooms are true melting pots with immigrants from all countries. Prisons are filled with murderers and pedophiles, not political activists and citizens without the right papers. Food banks are overflowing and no one goes to bed hungry. Healthcare is free, women control their own bodies, and men are held responsible for unwanted pregnancies. Education is free, from pre-K through PhD. Our country is powered with sustainable energy and our wildlife and wild lands are protected. Law enforcement has been greatly reduced because there is no need. Every citizen has what they need - housing, food, clean water, and education. Native Americans, Native Alaskans, and Native Hawaiians are revered for their indigenous knowledge and work side-by-side with scientists, doctors, and lawmakers.

That is the dream. This is a nightmare. It’s a lot.

How did we get here? We need to take a serious look at that question, so that when we turn this around, we never go down this road again.

I raised two strong women, both now in their 30’s. Both stand up for their beliefs against all odds. Either one of them could have easily been Renee Good, having just dropped off her son at school. I used to just be concerned because they are both public school teachers, one in middle school and one in high school, and school shootings are a real threat. Now, I have to worry that they might get gunned down in the street in a residential neighborhood because they won’t get out of their car when an armed, masked man says, “Get the fuck out of your car,” as they are attempting to make a u-turn. It’s a lot.

I have never been involved in politics. Before 2 years ago, I had never spoken at a public meeting or served on a government board. I never held a sign or marched in a demonstration, but you’d better believe if what happened to Ms. Good happened on my street, I’d be bundled 

up in this sub-zero weather, helping to barricade the streets, protecting my neighbors, and holding a sign for the first time, at almost 60 years old!

Libraries. Public libraries. Like I said, I didn’t become involved in politics until 2 years ago, when our local libraries came under the attack of misinformed book burners banners. I don’t remember a time before I could read and write. Both came naturally to me, and I’ve dedicated my life to teaching others those skills. I’ll definitely do everything in my power to protect them. I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams that I’d have to fight to protect them, but here we are.

As a child, I went to the library alone. I don’t remember my mother ever going there with me and I don’t remember that she had to sign for me to get a library card. I’m pretty sure that I just walked in there and got it on my own. The first books I really remember reading were by Laura Ingalls Wilder, but I eventually moved on to V.C. Andrews and Judy Blume, controversial authors of that time. The library was my safe haven. My home life was … a lot. I rode my bike to the library and spent hours huddled on the floor in a back corner reading books and paging through magazines. Through V.C. Andrews words, I read about child abuse, incest, sexual assault, and generational trauma. Through Judy Blume’s words, I read about puberty, sexuality, religion, divorce, bullying, body image, death, and depression. These books didn’t teach me anything. I was familiar with all of the topics. That was the reason that I chose the books in the first place. What they did for me was help me not to feel so alone, so isolated, so different. Had those books been removed from the shelves before I had a chance to read them, I would be a very different person today, probably a lot more damaged because I wouldn’t have had the strength to speak out loud when I was being hurt. Yes, it’s a lot.

When I was first asked to be a part of the Friends of the Sutton Library, I thought that sounded right up my alley. The next thing I knew, they were asking me to apply for the Borough Library Board as the Sutton Representative, which I did. That’s when the shit hit the fan. At the first meeting I attended, one of the board members started talking about “curating” and “cataloging” Young Adult books in the library that she considered harmful. I immediately thought, “That’s censorship!” Seriously?! In the 21st century in America?!

Since then, my board position expired and when I reapplied, I was replaced with a local conservative in favor of book banning. As a matter of fact, over the past two years, every position that expired was replaced with a book banner. The mayor has 100% authority over who is placed on all borough boards. How crazy is that? She’s the same mayor who regularly hosts government meetings in churches and brings her prayer group to tour the borough offices. Yes! It’s a lot.

Now that the library board is stacked with book banners instead of library advocates, they have been given the responsibility to review every piece of material that our 5 public librarians want to order and decide whether they should be ordered or not. Every month, these untrained laymen and women flag books to remove from the order lists. Mostly, they flag materials from the adult fiction book and DVD genres. This is happening! It’s a lot.

Christian Nationalism. I have to laugh at that term, because these Christians are now using their authority to shoot civilians in the head while they are driving away. While they are driving away! These Christians are putting American citizens behind bars because of the color of their skin. These Christians are then lying about what’s going on, just making things up. These Christians are telling us that they know best and we should just follow along as they dismantle our education system so that the wealthy get the best education, as they raise health insurance by 300% for the poorest in our nation, as they remove books from public libraries and demand that history be rewritten so that it doesn’t place them in a bad light. This is happening! It’s a lot.

Then, these folks get upset when they are compared to Nazis. I can’t imagine a more direct comparison. I keep hoping that those in positions of authority in D.C. will stand up. I keep saying that this can’t keep going on, that eventually our legal system will step in. Folks say that change will come in November with the midterm elections. I’m not so sure that our country can last that long, 10 months. 

It feels like they are winning, but they are not. Every day, more and more Americans wake up, speak up, and stand up. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can in my small part of the world. Next week, I’m going to Juneau with a Legislative Process class that I’m teaching. We will be talking directly to a variety of legislators, senators, representatives, and staff. I will be talking directly to a variety of legislators. It seems very timely, and I’ll be ready. 

This is the nightmare, and nightmares don’t last forever. But for now, it’s a lot.

Denver Reflections

 Transportation

• 6 lanes eastbound are often not enough

• 55 means 65

• 65 means 80

• Express Lane means “do whatever the hell you want”

• Is it a bike lane, a bus lane, both, or neither? You have 1.2 seconds to figure out how to turn right - too late.

• Google Maps does not recognize one way streets.

• Google Maps switches randomly between cardinal directions and relative directions. “Turn west here. Turn left there.” I never knew before how much west and left sounders alike.

• I only had to roll the window down once to flip someone off.

• Allow twice as long to get anywhere as Google Maps says. Then you’ll still probably be late.

• Electric bike and scooter rentals are everywhere.

Shopping

• Get ready for Alaska prices.

• Trying to find local artisan-made goods is difficult and expensive. No, I’m not paying $14 for a bar of soap. In those cases, Alaska is actually cheaper.

• Best bookstore ever - Shop at MATTER! It’s an independent, Black- and woman-owned bookstore serving the needs of all revolutionaries, designers, and other thinking persons. The owner will ask you what you are passionate about.

Food

• Everything is spicy except the Indian food - probably the Thai food, too. Even the sausage on the sausage, egg, and cheese croissant from the gas station is spicy sausage.

• You must eat at West Saloon & Kitchen downtown - ask for Roro and tell him the English teacher from Wisconsin sent you. Get the Cowboy Margarita, Rocky Mountain Oysters, and Elk Meatballs.

• You must also eat at Curry & Grill 2 in uptown. The Butter Chicken is crazy good! I’m pretty sure that’s the rainbow district. Delicious food, fun shops, and a safe and quiet neighborhood.

• Lastly, you must eat at the Teacher’s Lounge by the convention center. Seriously, why not!

Everyday Life

• The altitude is serious, so don’t try to climb a mountain on your first day there.

• Alcoholic drinks will hit you twice as fast and you may end up with a killer headache before bed.

• Rest - get a lot more than I did.

• Bring walking shoes. Denver is big. 

• The airport is enormous - 3rd busiest airport in the U.S. and it’s 20 miles from town.

• The convention center is huge - over 50 square acres. You need at least 15 minutes to walk fast from one side to the other. Also, they don’t have wifi that works.

• Everyone moves fast here - they drive fast, they walk fast, they think fast. I stayed in the slow lane on all three.

• You can buy flower bouquets at the off-ramp stop lights from random Mexicans. Not a bad idea if you’re running late for a date.

• November weather is warm. Roses and Cosmos are still booming - jackets optional, except in the early mornings. It barely rains here. Not what I thought of for a place nicknamed the Mile High City.

• The city is noisy, constantly, even the suburbs that run for a hundred miles in every direction.

Would I go back? If I had to. I’m glad I was there to visit; 6 days was long enough. Maybe I’ll try Philadelphia next November.

Nuka's Elegy (4/29/2016 - 2/18/2025)

Through tangled fields, your nose would lead,
Finding lost treasures with quiet speed.
No need for chains—your heart was free,
Bound by love and loyalty.

The Unalakleet called, and you would go,
Chasing the current, swift in its flow.
Sticks were treasures, carried back true,
Each one a promise, a gift from you.

Through tangled fields, your nose would lead,
Finding lost treasures with quiet speed.

A constant companion, on couch or trail,

Ready to please, never to fail.

No stranger you met, only friends on the way,
Your love was a light that never would stray.
You pressed against us, warm and near,
A steady presence through shadow and fear.

When days grew dark, you held me tight,
A warm, calm soul in the coldest night.
Your tail, a rhythm both sure and sweet,
An excited thump, a heartbeat's beat.

Meek and mild, yet strong and true,
A friend to all who knelt by you.
Children would gather, you’re name they’d call,
To roll in the grass and toss your ball.

Now silence lingers where paws once pressed,The echoes remain, though you're at rest.
In the whispering wind, in the river’s deep song,
I hear you, sweet Nuka, running along.

And though you've gone where we can't see,
Your spirit lingers quietly.
In rustling grass and skies so blue,
My sweet girl, we remember you.

My Big Story of Little Libraries

Sutton Public Library

I work from home as an English Professor teaching online classes. When we first moved to Sutton and were waiting for our internet to be installed, I went to the library every day to use an office space for work. The library is where I made my first friends. It’s where my husband and I attended our first community events. It’s where I joined the book club, then an exercise group, then Threads (a fiber artist group). It is where I found a place to serve and be served by my community.

It has grown into a space for a community garden, yearly summer picnic gathering space, Trunk or Treat location, and so much more. It became My community as I joined in on Ladies’ Movie Night featuring Barbie, silent auction fundraisers, and was invited to join Friends of the Sutton Library (our local library board) where I soon became President and then Vice Chairperson of the MatSu Borough Library Board.

When I was 10 years old, we moved from St. Louis to rural northern Wisconsin, Hayward. We lived in a house one block from Main Street, and the local public library was only four blocks away. I was tall for my age, head and shoulders above my classmates, quiet, and shy; I didn’t make friends easily, but I’d been born with a love for reading and writing. My home life with a new stepfather was rocky, at best. I spent many afternoons and weekends in the children’s section of the library, sitting snug in a corner under the big windows overlooking the hustle and bustle of Main Street. I discovered Laura Ingalls and Ramona Quimby, National Geographic World Magazine for kids, and everything written by Judy Blume.

Hayward's Carnegie Library

The Carnegie Library in Hayward was built in 1904 with funds from Andrew Carnegie and the townspeople of Hayward. Seventy-four years later, in that same library, I wasn’t bullied and there were no expectations placed on me. I was allowed to come and go as I pleased, leaving my bike parked outside on the bike rack while I lost myself for hours in imaginary worlds. As I moved into junior high school, I discovered Shakespeare and read his complete works before my first day of ninth grade, thanks to the public library.

I met one of my best high school friends in the school library during the lunch period one day that first week of ninth grade. Debbie, my only friend in the world, and I stopped into the library to the delight of our newly found freedom to roam the school during lunch and happened upon Sue, sitting at a table scattered with books and magazines. I recognized Sue from grade school, so we approached to see what she was doing. She told us that she was trying to find out if drinking alcohol was worse for the body than smoking marijuana. The three of us became fast friends.

School libraries continued to be important spaces to me as I finished high school and went to college, mostly relying on them for research and romance novels. However, if I’m being honest, I lost touch with libraries when I became a parent. My kids brought home library books from their schools which we read together, but my busy work and life schedule kept me from seeking out public libraries for many years. As a high school English teacher, I made time in the class schedule to take my students to the school library regularly, for pleasure reading and for research purposes. Still, I couldn’t have told you where the local public library was. However, I knew where all the popular bookstores were.

It wasn’t until I moved to Sutton five years ago that my need for a public library returned, and that need returned with a vengeance. I became involved in our local library just months before COVID hit and programming shut down. However, they still figured out a way for patrons to check out books remotely and, even though the doors were closed, the workers would wrap the books in plastic bags and place them on a table just outside of the door with the patrons’ names on them. When COVID passed and the doors reopened, I masked up and attended gatherings. Then, when restrictions eased and I joined the local and borough boards, it was just before the popularity of challenging books came into play, and that’s a story for another day!

Exhale: The Beginnings of a Story Started at The Tutka Bay Writers' Retreat, 2024

 As we pulled away from the dock, I could feel myself viscerally exhale. The anticipation of the peace and quiet, along with the creativity and adventure, that waited across the bay had me holding my breath coupled with the anxiety that followed me down the hillside into Homer.

I left Homer ten years ago with nothing more than my Jeep packed with everything I could stuff in the back seat and passenger front seat, and my dog tucked into the hatch storage area. Life there had not gone as planned, having moved there for a teaching position that was job-elimated due to funding after only 3 years, I floundered for 3 more before cashing in my teacher retirement to buy the Fresh Sourdough Express Bakery and Cafe. The owner-financed loan agreement was unattainable and two years later, on the verge of bankruptcy, an empty bank account, and no retirement, I ran away from Homer with my tail between my legs. It was not my proudest moment, and I never look forward to coming to Homer because I’m afraid of running into previous employees that may still feel slighted by me. I’ve only been back twice, and both times were only to have lunch before boarding the water taxi to Tutka Bay. I don’t stop at any of the cute shops. I don’t have lunch in town with the locals. I don’t dare walk into a grocery store. I just head straight to the spit where I can blend in with the tourists, holding my breath as I scan the faces. So, the moment that boat pulls away from the dock, I allow myself to relax and breathe. Feeling the familiar ebbs and flows of the ocean current as we bob out of the marina and into the bay calm me. Water is my solace in a world of chaos. It’s so predictable and unpredictable at the same time. I can set my clock by the tides and breath more clearly facing the wind that swoops down off of Grewingk Glacier. Once, we were caught out in the bay, miles from the spit, when an unforecasted gale blew up, reminding me how unpredictable the sea can also be. So much like life, we control what we can and let the waves of time take the rest.

Home is Where Whiskey and Water Meet

The whiskey-colored slough at low tide reveals a teaming bed of life invisible at high tide. Murky and dense with moss and bull kelp, the wet scent of laundry that’s been left in the washing machine too long catches on my inhale. I give a little cough. 

What kind of barnacles or sea creatures are on those exposed rocks, do you suppose? She asks. Too small to be edible, I reply as I remember describing the taste of swan to fellow writers yesterday.

She laughs.

I walk on, continuing down the meandering boardwalk supported by soft logs 20 feet above the bottom of the slough. When the tide comes in, the change is drastic. The blueness of the icy bay waters blends with the bourbony slough, creating a murky dark green not unlike some of those smoothie drinks that the millennials carry as they walk across the Fairbanks campus.

The grassy undergrowth disappears and the tide brings with it a freshness, a newness that covers the damp laundry smell with a brininess, bringing with it fish and waterfowl. Nearly twelve hours will pass before the sea bottom reveals itself again, bearing new treasures, perhaps a starfish or some other sea creature that will make the long wait for the tide to come back in and carry them back home. Some will live out their life in the slough, having found a quiet place protected from the vast, and often violent, sea.

We are not so unlike these sea creatures. Some of us are swept into a foreign land, waiting for the chance to return to where we came from, home. Others find their home in the new land, forcing themselves to adapt and adjust, forever grateful for the safety and security that the new land offers, far away from the madness that was our life before. 

Moving to Alaska 17 years ago was not a decision that I made lightly; however, it had always been in my heart. I yearned for the far north, even when I lived in the extremeness of northern Wisconsin, I knew there was more. I let the tide take me to this foreign place where I found a safe harbor. I did not immediately find the safe harbor; I found myself being tossed and turned, broken and smoothed, not unlike the sea glass on the Bering Sea beaches. Persistence and a sense of adventure brought me finally to the arms of a man who is my forever, who is my safe harbor, who is my home.

Had I never taken that chance, at 40, no less, to see what lay beyond the horizon, I would have never found my home. Now, the tide takes me from one corner of this fast state to the other, showing me all of the beauty and blessings that abound in the Last Frontier. However, I always find my way back home to my safe space, my center of the universe, where I prefer whiskey in my glass.

The Joyful Journey of the King Cake

“Lassiez les bons temps rouler!” Let the good times roll! After spending eighteen years as an adult in Louisiana, from age twenty through thirty-eight, this saying is as much a part of spring as Mardi Gras (French for Fat Tuesday). This year, Mardi Gras falls on Tuesday, February 13, and the weeks leading up to it are filled with food and fun that is grounded in centuries-old tradition. My favorite food tradition of Mardi Gras is the King Cake.

The first encounter with this circular confection is akin to stumbling upon a hidden treasure chest during a grand adventure. The vibrant colors of the sugary topping - purple, green, and gold - not only represent justice, faith, and power, respectively, but also symbolize the three wise men who followed the star to find the baby Jesus. Often filled with swirls of cinnamon, cream cheese, and/or pralines, this fattening concoction lives up to the pre-lent season’s reputation of carnival revelry. The most important feature of the King Cake is the small plastic baby figurine hidden within the layers of dough. This tiny treasure carries significant symbolism, representing baby Jesus, and the person who finds the baby in their slice of cake is bestowed with good luck, designated as the king or queen of the festivities, and has to bring the King Cake next time!

Beyond its delectable flavors, the King Cake carries layers of symbolism that prompt reflection on the essence of the celebration. The plastic baby reminds me of all of the hidden surprises that life offers and the interconnectedness of joy and community. The cake also serves as a reminder that traditions are fluid, dynamic, and capable of evolving while still retaining their core essence. As I move forward during this Carnival season, my friends on Facebook posting pictures of the hundreds of parades and multiple King Cakes, I am grateful for the time I spent and the friends I made in such a unique part of the United States.

Mardi Gras holds a special place in my heart as I recreate the decadent tradition of the King Cake. I have a friend who’s having a birthday party this weekend, and I think I’ll whip up a King Cake to share, but where to find a little plastic baby? At any rate, since food is my love language, “Lassiez les bons temps rouler!”