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2022 books & things life in alaska

January 9, 2022


There is a need inside of all of us, whether we admit it or not, to know and be known. We’ve all been saying it for years, online and off. I wish I could be more vulnerable. I value authenticity in others. I just want the real thing, whatever it is.

I agree and yes, this is a human condition conversation for the ages. But this, this is also how I feel about the weather.

I want to wear a sweater during actual sweater weather. I want to sweat in July. I want a holiday’s temperature to authentically (and aesthetically!) match its theme. I want my environment to be real with me. So if we’re gonna have winter, let’s have winter. Bring it.

I can’t put this book down; I want to send it to everyone I know. It specifically addresses cold weather, but in it I’ve found a compelling argument for a seasonal mindset year-round. There is something deeply moving, deeply empowering about letting Mother Earth take the lead and choosing to dance to the rhythms she sets for us. Our ancestors were right.

I truly, truly love it here. Alaska is now my home and I already feel connected to her, in my gut and in my bones. She is unapologetically herself. She gives me exactly the weather she’s got to give. I know where I stand with her; I am getting to know her and vice versa. I love that. Knee-deep in the snow with my daughters and dogs is exactly how I want to watch a January sunrise.

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2022 COVID-19 health & wellness

January 8, 2022

A new day. So far, several staff are positive and/or exposed, but nobody is terribly ill. No more residents have tested positive. The sun has come up and so have my spirits. Each day that I test negative means I get to hug my family. And so we keep going.

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2022 COVID-19 marriage motherhood

January 7, 2022

It’s Friday. I’ve left work early and surprised my kids by picking them up at school. Did I have to call my husband and get tips on how to enter the school parking lot at this hour because I’ve never done it? Yes. Did I feel sheepish about that and then brush it off because it takes a village to raise a kid and I’m simply one part of the whole? Yes.

I greet my children on the crosswalk. They shriek with delight at the ice cream sandwiches that await them in their seats; we are lucky enough to live in Alaska where things stay frozen without much assistance. I deposit three kids safely at home before taking the baby to ballet; mask over your nose sweetheart and do you have the right shoes? I meander around the thrift store until it’s time to pick her up. What a delightful view of town I have, to leave early on a Friday!

We drive home into the sunset, literally; we ooh and aah over the pink haze that drapes across the snowy mountains in the distance. I climb the stairs to my room and take off my work clothes. The house smells so clean. What a treasure, to crawl into bed and wait for Shabbat to begin. Good Sabbath to you.

And then, the phone call, the one my long term care facility has gone the entire (!!) pandemic without. One of your residents has tested positive for COVID-19.

I pack a bag and hug my children. My husband loads the car with my favorite pillow and a shirt or something that smells like him. I do not remember. I float around the house grabbing items I think I may need if I’m unable to come home for awhile. We have come so far. How many more will follow this test result? Did I update our PPE guidelines? Do I have the staff I need? Do I have what it takes? What will happen next? In the end, I settle on the trite but true. This is what I signed up for. I can only hope my team feels the same. And so, I return to work. Good Sabbath to you.

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2022 community life lately

January 4, 2022.

On my way to work each day, I drive past one particular house that always seems to grab my attention. A couple sits at a table on the other side of a large picture window; man and woman, in the same seats, engaged in the same ritual of eating together, each and every morning. The sight of their grey heads in my periphery brings me a strange comfort on my morning drive. I wonder what’s on their menu, and what they talk about, and if they ever switch places at the table.

What would it look like, for us to smash together our collective hunger for change with the satiety that accompanies mundanity? What if a full life is actually the combination of both, a marriage which leads to adventure?

I think we can.

I think we can do it.

I think we can have it all.

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2022 community health & wellness

January 3, 2022

When I heard the growling and the screaming in the yard, I ran toward the sounds and stuck my hand directly into the mouth of a dogfight.

When the registry card arrived in the mail, I told my husband You must not forget. I am not just an organ donor. I am a bone marrow donor, too. If I cannot speak and will not survive, give them all I’ve got.

When the rapid response team showed up in that tiny hospital bathroom to pull my fallen patient off of my lap, my pregnant belly came into view.

When that man stumbled out of the restaurant, clearly drunk and intent on driving, I chased him down and stood in front of his car, calling him an Uber just as the police showed up.

When we came upon the accident, two cars and a guardrail and a sheet of ice, I was out of the car before my husband could slide to a full stop.

I do not know another way. I am scared of many things and anxious much of the time. I dread heights and hard conversations. But the moments above are what remind me that so far, I have always been alive enough to help. Alive enough to help is as good as it gets.

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