Fearless Leader

Our tour guide for the ground portion of this trip is Erin, and she is young, energetic, and very ernest. "I have never loved anything so passionately as I love Alaska," she told us this morning as our motor coach rolled north from Anchorage, and it was clear she meant it. She reminds me of former students, all grown up and going for it, and I like her for that.

In fact, being around Erin makes me see the sixth grader in many of my fellow passengers. Here we are, on a big field trip riding our bus to an exciting place. Some people want to be first; others want most of Erin's attention, still others call out funny comments when she speaks to us on the microphone. "Did anyone call seatsies?" someone actually said as we waited in line to reboard after a stop. 

Erin mentioned she's an introvert, and I believe it. Her interactions with us are friendly, but there is just a faint awkwardness underneath that I recognize all too well. She wouldn't be making conversation if it wasn't her job. She's pretty good at it, though. She listens, makes connections, and shares personal information. 

On the train to Denali, she was talking to a couple behind us, answering their question as to how she came to be an Alaskan tour guide. It was a round-about route, starting in college in North Carolina, featuring a couple of summers as a deck hand on a halibut fishing boat, and then on to six months of solo backpacking through south Asia, including Indonesia and Vietnam.

"I spent a year backpacking through Vietnam," the guy laughed. He was a big guy with white hair, probably in his early 60s.

"Really?" Erin seemed impressed.

"Yeah, but he didn't do it voluntarily," his wife added.

"Ooooooh," Erin nodded. "Well, I did like South Vietnam a lot better."

Anchored Down in Anchorage

Of course I have discovered in the last two days that Alaska is nothing like an elevator. After a few hours of sleep, we headed out into the bright Anchorage sunshine. At 9 AM it was a breezy 67 degrees that knocked the drowsy right out of us.

100 years ago the Corps of Engineers laid this city out in a perfect grid that remains unchanged today, so navigating downtown is as easy as A B C, 1 2 3. This particular grid is bounded by Cook Inlet to the west, Ship Creek to the north, and Delaney Park to the south.

The park is a lovely green space 4 blocks long and 1 block wide. It was originally left undeveloped as a fire break, but it also served as the first landing strip in town once airplanes were introduced in the 1920s.

On the far side of the park we found a well-fortified chain-link paddock and were amazed to discover a reindeer named Star within it. A little research uncovered the tale of a typically eccentric pioneer couple who, after helping to settle Anchorage, decided in 1962 that they wanted a wild animal for a pet.

The little reindeer we saw is actually Star the VI, and while number one lived a long life, II through V were not so lucky, but that's a story for another day.

Down toward Cook Inlet we visited the Oscar Anderson home. Built in 1915, the little six room wood frame building was one of the very first houses constructed in Anchorage, and is pretty much in its original condition with many of the family's furnishings. In many ways, the story of the house tells the story of the town, and we learned a lot about both in our 45 minute tour.

Everywhere we went people told us how extraordinary the weather was. "I've lived here all my life and I love it," one young woman who chatted us up on a corner while waiting for the light to change said. She swept her arm from the park across the way, its beds brimming with amazing begonias, dahlias, snapdragons, and hollyhocks to the jagged peaks of the Chugach Mountains behind us. "It's beautiful here and with days like this, why would I ever leave?"

Going Up

It's a long way from Virginia to Alaska, and a plane-change in Portland only lengthens the trip. It was pitch dark when we landed in Anchorage last night and although my weary nose was pressed to the plexiglass, I couldn't really make out a thing. The taxi ride to the hotel was a brief blur past darkened windows on deserted streets. It was the middle of the night here, but it was early morning back home, and we were tired. Fortunately, the clerk at the front desk checked us in quickly, and we were on our way to the eighth floor when it hit me that we were really in... Alaska. 

Years ago my sister took my oldest nephew to visit my mom. At three, he had been hearing all his life that Grandma "lived in MInnesota" and he was excited about the trip. Once there, though, he seemed a little disappointed. "Minnedota looks just like a house!" he observed. 

And that's kind of how I felt last night. "Heidi," I said, "Alaska looks just like an elevator!" 

Smell My Feet

We had only just found our seats and buckled in for our 5 hour flight to Portland, Or, when a horrible stale vomit-like stench filled the air. I wrinkled my nose and looked around. "What is that?!" I demanded of Heidi. She raised her eye brows and jerked her head back. I peered through the crack between the seats and immediately spied the problem. The eight-year-old boy behind us had taken off his shoes and you could practically see a greenish gas rising up from the floor. Just then the ventilation system went full blast, so I angled my overhead air back and down, and blew that kid's stinky foot odor right back to him. 

I Want to Guard Your Life!

In general, I have a lot of respect for the kids they get to lifeguard at our pool. Many of them are visiting the US for the summer: hired by contractors, given a bed in a group home and a bike to travel to and from work, they work 5 or 6 ten-hour shifts a week, and then sightsee and practice their English on the off days.

Even so, it seems like kind of a thankless job, at our pool, anyway, involving long hours spent all alone, except when you have to enforce the pool rules on a bunch of entitled residents most of whom are considerably older than you. Even the best and brightest of them can end up surly and slumped in the corner by August.

That is not the case this year, however. Our job is split by two young women, Carmen and Anna, who were as friendly and engaged this week as they were in June. Neither of them hesitates to confront patrons about rule infractions, but both of them are as sweet and helpful as can be, especially when it comes to the kids we have brought to the pool. Carmen gave Richard some pointers when he was trying to spin a "straight up 375" off the board, and Anna was more than happy to let Annabelle have a second chance at the swim test so she could go into the deep end.

So when some thunder rumbled this afternoon when we were at the pool, I wasn't surprised to see Carmen jump right up. "If that was Thunder," she said, "and we hear it again? You have to get out."

"You're the boss!" I agreed. "And if that was thunder and we hear it again? I don't want to stay in!"

She nodded. And smiled.

Survivor

For some reason, the last few days there have been a number of bees and wasps floating in the pool when we visit. Nobody likes bumping into a drowned bug, and those particular insects are scary dead or alive, so it's usually my habit to splash them into the skimmer.

If, in the ride to the side of the pool, the poor soul weakly waves an antenna or leg, either in reality or my imagination, then my action plan is different: she is lifted up and out of the pool in a wee handful of water to sputter and dry and hopefully fly away. That's the best case scenario, anyhow, although these last two days at the pool have had a high insect mortality rate.

Until tonight, that is: tonight the large wasp that I found in the deep end literally shook her head once she hit dry land. After that her actions were more like a dog than a bug. First, she wagged her back end, presumably to get rid of any excess liquid. Then she buzzed her wings to try to fly, but she must have been too heavy, so she jiggled each leg dry, and then used them to squeegee the rest of her body.

In between each motion her wings rose up and vibrated, until at last enough of the pool water was gone so that she could lift her body into the air and fly back home to her sisters.

That Guy

We have seen the preview for Meryl Streep's latest movie, Rikki and the Flash, a kazillion times this summer. Coming out this Friday, the story of an aging rocker who has prioritized her career over her family is directed by Jonathan Demme, and reunites Streep with her Sophie's Choice Nathan, Kevin Kline. Plus, her real daughter, Mamie Gummer, plays her daughter in the movie.

Oh, I'm in-- I will totally see it, but whenever the trailer is on the screen, I'm always drawn to the lead guitarist in the band, who is also Rikki's boyfriend. Who is that guy? I wonder every time. He looks so familiar! And then, of course, the thought is gone-- swept away by the concentrated drama of the next preview or whatever superpyrotechnics await in the feature we have paid to watch.

But, tonight, my question was answered as I thumbed through the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly-- the guy? Is Rick Springfield of the late 80's General Hospital and Jesse's Girl fame. By all accounts he is quite good in the film, holding his own with Streep and amusing the cast on set by playing any rock song ever in between takes.

Oh, yeah. That's him!