A Hole in My Heart & Three New Loves

It's been a long time since I've been a faithful blogger, and nothing has changed.

Well, everything has changed, and that's the reason for the current long silence.

On April 12, 2013, I lost a sister-of-the-heart, a friend, a buddy and a neighbor. It's left a big hole in my soul. Penny passed away after a long, long year of misery and pain. It wasn't expected, not by a long shot. I'm relieved she's out of pain and back in the arms of her husband, Larry.

We spent a lot of time together, more so over the past year when she became so immobilized. We spent many evenings on the back deck doing dinner, wine and Margaritas. We watched DWTS together. We hung out, and so did our "kids."

I miss her so much. Every time I look "down the hill" at the little white house with red trim and see a light on, I think, "she's home." Then I remember. She's home, all right. Just not where I can see her.

As a result of her passing, I now have three new family members. Katie, Kasey and Sombra came to live with me last Saturday, a week ago today, when Penny's house was closed up for the interim. I knew if this ever happened that I would be getting Kasey and Sombra. Katie was an unexpected but much loved and much wanted bonus.

Those in the know think it's because Katie comes with a trust fund. Not.

Katie reminds me--always has--of my dearly loved, departed, Goldie. I fell in love from the first moment I met Kate, many years ago. She has Goldie's love of grub, Goldie's mellow personality and is just an all-around great dog. I had to negotiate for her, and I'm pleased to say, I "won."

Sombra means "shadow" in Spanish, and she's as black as night and just as feisty. She came complete with a hole in her cat suit, which means she and I have done battle from day one with her wanting to go outside and me telling her she can't. Not yet. So far she's thumbed her nose at me twice, but I've gotten her back none the worse for wear.

Kasey is a story unto himself. I got him because just about everyone else is afraid of him, and I got the short straw. He's been known as the ADHD/ADD dog and the Energizer Bunny on Steroids. He's also an escape artist. When he stayed with me before, he escaped--from my fenced yard.

I wasn't ready for Kasey, but I got him anyway.

I've fallen in love with Kasey.

Following the advice of our local dog trainer, I've managed to calm him down a lot. He's still got quite the personality, but he's actually a pleasure to be around. He's also Foxy's best friend. Foxy has never been known for her good taste.

All of us are settling into a routine that seems to be working for us. Unfortunately it involves getting up at 5 am on work days (as opposed to 5:30--not a big deal).

Oops, gotta go. Time to haul Kasey's little butt back into the house from his tether out in the back yard.

Penny, your guys are doing well. I miss you so much.

Life in Alaska

I can't even remember when my fascination with Alaska began. Maybe it was about the time, at 12 years old, that I decided my life's ambition was to be a hermit.

Yes, really.

In my mind's eye I can still see those photos I created of life on an isolated sea coast. That was before I discovered MOUNTAINS. Big Bear. Lake Arrowhead. Idyllwild. Everytime I visited one of those places, I felt my heart melt, my muscles relax, my mind ease. Way back when, I knew that my future had to involve MOUNTAINS.

I read about high places, and I dreamed. Everest. Nepal. The Himalayas. K2. Annapurna. And Alaska.

Watching Northern Exposure whetted my appetite. How I wish those television episodes were still available for viewing now that I've seen the region for myself.

***

The above was the beginning of a very long introspective blogpost which was supposed to focus on the folks who spoke on Life in Alaska during our Road Scholar program.

You're lucky I changed my mind, deleted the rest of what I'd written and cut out the retrospective.

Suffice it to say that we were blessed to have the company of Bill and May Smith, who accompanied us every step of the way during our adventure.

May is a lifelong Alaskan, originally from Unalakleet, a native village on Norton Sound. If you, like me, ever watch Flying Wild Alaska, you've heard of it. It's the home of the Twetos. And the Twetos just happen to be May's relatives. Just a little name-dropping here.

Bill is an Outsider, but he's been in Alaska so long he might as well be Alaska-born.

They now live in a smallish town just to the north of Anchorage, where May taught for many years until her recent retirement.

During our program, we had the opportunity to ask Bill and May what it was like to live in Alaska, and they regaled us with stories of their lives here. If we had questions, they answered them, probably ad nauseum to them. They shared samples of homemade smoked salmon with us and showed photos of their getaway on the Kenai peninsula where they go to fish each year.

As I listened to the Alaskans tell us about their life in the Great Land, I thought about my earlier desires to move there, obviously unrealized. If I'd been younger, if I hadn't just bought a house, if I didn't have the blessing of living close enough to my daughters, son-in-law and grandson to see them often, I knew I could have lived, no, thrived, in Alaska. The move is not to be.

As if I needed any reminders, Bill and May (as well as Kimber and Mollie) brought home the connection group leaders make between Road Scholar participants and the program's management. They truly are the glue that holds each program together. They provide the backbone and the framework to the program and keep everything moving smoothly. They are the ones who make programs look like they run like clockwork.

In particular Bill and May went out of their way to provide support and very practical assistance to just about every member of our group. On the last day of our program, they offered us a great adventure that perfectly capped off our time together in Anchorage.

Yes, you'll have to wait to hear about it.

In the Interim

Unpacked - check
Stowed suitcases and that bloody backpack - check
Completed work project - check
Prepared and filed taxes - check
Cleaned house - check (well, sort of)
Laundry - done
Ironing - almost done
Blogpost written - next on the list


It's hard to believe I'll have been back from Alaska a month on April 13. Where has the time gone?

I came back to learn about some family health problems that surfaced before my departure--but my children sweetly made sure not to mention a word of it until I was safely home, knowing there was nothing I could do but worry. My daughter had called me in the middle of my trip, having misread the note I left for her detailing my travel plans. When she discovered I wasn't due home for another week, she immediately wished me a safe journey and hung up. It struck me as a little odd at the time, but since we're not big on phones in my family, I didn't worry about it.

When Farida finally told me what she and her husband had been dealing with, I was really thankful I hadn't known. I also realized why Farida had hung up so quickly before she gave any hint of what she and Jason had been facing.

Four weeks later, the problems still exist. They seem to be improving, but there's a long way to go before they're solved. I've learned more than I'd ever wished about our healthcare system, ticks, lyme disease and how serious a bite from that tiny six-legged critter can be. I've also learned that there's a huge debate going on about whether chronic lyme disease really exists, what it masquerades as and the enormous debate amongst heathcare professionals about how to treat the symptoms that manifest. It's really scary stuff, and if you want to know more about it, the film Under Our Skin, available on both Netflix and Amazon, is a real eyeopener. Be prepared to be shocked.

Despite all those issues faced by my son-in-law, he and Farida have now just about finished laying the laminate flooring in my house, and it looks just beautiful.

I'm finally in a place that I can get back to chronicling the Alaska journey.

Next up:  An Inside Look at Life in Alaska

High and Dry

Well, shucks. I just realized that I left you all hanging by your fingernails after meeting my new friend, Pam. The fact is that life intervened, and I had a project I had to complete. But then, it's always something. Now that the project is done--or nearly so, once I meet with my clients--it's time for taxes. In the meantime, let's move on with our story a bit at a time

***
One special part of every Road Scholar program I coordinated was the evening of introductions. Of course, I had the advantage of receiving and reading all the "prep mats" the participants sent in, so I had a bit of a preview of the makeup of each group. Without fail each one was filled with fascinating, involved people who'd come from every walk of life, with a preponderance of them from education.

This time, I was meeting the group from the other side of the desk, and it would prove no less engaging. There ended up being 25 of us. It should have been 26, but one California participant cancelled at the very last minute. Of course she was the only one whose name sounded vaguely familiar, and I had been anxious to see if she'd attended one of my programs.

Contrary to all of the other participants, I was watching the program to see how it was organized, the level of service provided, the quality of the program team. Only one word fits every aspect of this program:  Excellent.

Jodi, Mollie and Kimber, our on-site program coordinators, went out of their way to provide us with the best experience possible. They kept us informed at every step of the way as to what to expect and what we would be doing and where. Jodi shared only the first evening with us; Mollie and Kimber were with us each day and were available to offer any help required. As they shared meals and events with us, they also regaled us with stories of their lives in interior Alaska--living in "dry" cabins with no electricity and no running water.

Meals have always been an important part of any Road Scholar adventure, and the cuisine served at the Westmark was excellent. One of the attendees who'd participated in an earlier edition of this program said that the quality of food had actually declined.

"It was gourmet-quality," Marty told me.

As far as I was concerned, it could hardly have been improved upon. The first night, each day's breakfast and some lunches were buffets. The rest of the meals were beautifully prepared, plated and served. The final dinner was the piece de resistance, served in a penthouse dining room with an expansive view of the Cook Inlet.

As we finished that introductory dinner, I saw a bearded gentlemen standing next to Mollie and thought to myself that looks like Mark Nordman. Nordman has been the race marshal, overseeing every aspect of the Iditarod sled dog race for many years. No, it couldn't be. He'd have way too much to do to attend a Road Scholar program just a couple of days before the race.

Yes, it could.

That caliber of speaker set the standard for the rest of the program.

Georgia Peach

Judi, Pam and Lilian - First Breakfast - Photo courtesy of  Lilian Kosten

I've been around the block. I know how Road Scholar works.

When I signed up for the program, I requested a double room, with a roommate to be assigned. In some ways it's a crapshoot, but during my eleven years, I had few (if any) failures in pairing people who'd never met before.

Sending an email off to Denali Education Center, I asked the staff if they'd assigned me a roommate that they give her my name and email/phone number, so she could contact me if she wished.

A couple of weeks later there was a message on my answering machine from a lady with a thick southern accent. We communicated briefly over the next few weeks before we met in person. Her name was Pam, and she was a recent widow from a small Georgia town on the outskirts of Augusta. She'd participated in a few RS programs, mostly hiking. She'd done a lot of traveling with her husband and was now ready to venture out on her own.

I liked what I heard and what I read in the emails we exchanged. I liked her even more when we met in person, the morning after we both arrived.

Pam and her Alaska Boy Friend

On a whim and without consulting Pam ahead of time, I invited Facebook friend Lilian to join us for breakfast and instantly wondered if I'd overstepped my bounds. I needed have worried. The three of us chatted as if we were lifelong friends instead of just-mets. It was a delightful introduction to Alaska, to the program and to the ladies.

After breakfast I moved my luggage up to the room we were assigned, and Pam and I settled in to get acquainted. The more we talked, the more we discovered we had in common. Her beautiful soul just shone through her every word. 

When I coordinated programs and was faced with pairing two unassigned doubles, I used to do a lot of thinking about who to place together, if I had a choice. I have no way of knowing if Mollie, Kimber and Jodi of DEC do the same. If they did, they did a bang-up job.

As a friend and a roommate, Pam is a real keeper.

Anchor-Town

Looking back at Anchorage from Earthquake Park, the magestic Chugach mountains  in the background.                 Photo by Judi Hussain

I may be a minority of one, but I LIKE Anchorage. Before Gayle and I visited  in September, 2011, I'd heard it wasn't a pretty city. To me, it's lovely for a couple of reasons.

We were there in the middle of September, and the streets were filled with flowers, both planted and in baskets. I love flowers of all shapes, sizes and colors, and there were profusions in bloom. Besides that, Anchorage is an eminently walkable city. Contrary to Outsiders' perceptions, downtown ANC is flat and at sea level. That means those of us living at 3,000 feet really notice the elevation difference. It's quite possible to cover a lot of ground in a short time and not even feel tired.

Gayle and I stayed at the Westmark Hotel, so when I noted that the Road Scholar program would be housed there, I was really pleased, because I knew we were in the center of the action. Honestly I didn't realize just how central we'd be until we got info on the Iditarod Ceremonial Start. But that's a story for another post.

Just four or five blocks from the Westmark is the Anchorage Museum, a must-see if you're ever in ANC. The displays of Native art and culture must rank among the best in the world.

If you have a hankering to shop, the Fifth Street Mall provides a wide selection of stores. Nordstrom's is just across the street. The Denai'na Center, where the Mushers' Banquet is held, is two blocks down. Across the street is the People Mover, the public transit system. It's a great place to know about, but one you might not want to frequent after dark. Just sayin'.

Another block down is Oomingmak, the Native-operated store that specializes in products made of musk-ox wool, the warmest fabric known. The fabric weighs nearly nothing yet a neck warmer made of it keeps you toasty. It isn't inexpensive, though, because it takes time and talent to be able to weave it.

Fourth and D, where the Ceremonial Start begins, is two blocks up and two blocks over. And while you're walking there, you can stop by the Alaska Public Lands Building, operated by the National Park Service, and view their exhibits or watch a film about the sled dogs of Denali National Park.

The streets are lined with art galleries and trinket shops, a buyer's paradise, especially if you're lucky enough to be in the city on First Friday, which we were. On First Friday most of the galleries, book stores and gift stores stay open late, offer samples of wine and hors d'oeuvre and other treats, all aimed at enticing you to purchase. Both Jon Van Zyle, the official artist of the Iditarod, and Albert Lewis, who created the phenomenal Born to Run: Athletes of the Iditarod, had exhibits that evening.  We didn't manage to get to either one because we decided it was a must to go see the Ice Sculptures on display down at Shipyard Park.

Deja Vu All Over Again

For eleven years I coordinated Road Scholar (formerly Elderhostel) programs for a conference center in Oakhurst, CA, so I understood the program's value. When I decided to pursue a dream of attending the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, it seemed  natural to find out if Road Scholar had any offerings in that area. Of course they do. There isn't much in the way of an interest or a travel destination world-wide that Road Scholar doesn't cover. In this case, Denali Education Center in Denali, AK, coordinates a week-long program that includes virtually every facet of the race that takes place in Anchorage and environs.

Road Scholar programs provide major value in the following areas:

• All-inclusive. Unless specifically stated otherwise, every Road Scholar program includes all lodging, meals, program transportation, entry fees and gratuities
• Expert instructors and lecturers 
• Attendees who are lifelong learners, engaged and informed, most often with an educational or professional background.

In this case the program perks included all of the above, plus access to the Alaska Public Lands Building, tickets to the Mushers' Banquet, where mushers draw their start numbers for the race, info about the Ceremonial Start in downtown Anchorage and transportation to the Official Start in Willow the following day. On other occasions we visited the Wells Fargo Museum and the Iditarod Race Headquarters at the Millenneum Hotel.We also enjoyed presentations by special speakers on many aspects of life in Alaska and mushing in particular. A field trip to Alyeska Resort in Girdwood and the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center rounded out the program week.

Twenty-five participants traveled from throughout the United States to enjoy this program. Two facts particularly fascinated me.

• A heavy dose of students hailed from California and other western states
• With the exception of two persons who'd previously attended this program (one for his eighth time!), a teacher who included the race in her curriculum prior to her retirement and myself, it seemed like most of them had little prior knowledge of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. My misguided theory held that these would all be hardcore mushing addicts (just like me). 
• Each attendee had his or her own reasons for being there, and many said it was because they thought it sounded "interesting." That's the great thing about RS--interests are intense and varied, and minds are open to new experiences. Several planned to travel on to other adventures in Alaska's interior with Road Scholar.

Cousins traveled together. A mother from Texas met her daughter from Idaho. A vet and his wife came from Wisconsin. Groups of ladies ventured to Alaska from Washington and Oregon. A couple from Nevada. A fantastic cross-section of the country came together to learn about mushing and participate in The Last Great Race on Earth.

This was my first time to experience a Road Scholar program from the other side of the desk, and I found that the group was so compatible that we would often break up into smaller groups to attend various activities and then morph into yet other groupings as the days and the week progressed.

For more information on Denali Education Center and the programs they offer, visit here.

Fast Friends

Mushaholic Lilian

My Facebook page indicates I have 344 friends. Of those, probably 300 are mushing buddies, none of whom I'd met in person until this trip to Alaska.

Many folks have commented to me that Facebook is a waste of time, too invasive, not worth bothering with. I beg to differ. Quite by accident in 2011 I discovered that Facebook is THE place to watch dogsled races and share stories, photos and opinions with people the world over. My Mushpeeps range from Canada to Mexico, from England to South Africa, from Norway to Germany, Austria and Switzerland, as well as throughout the United States. We all share an admiration of sled dogs doing what they love to do and the mushers who are the weakest link in the team.

One of those Swiss friends is directly responsible for my volunteering for Iditarod this year.

Lilian has come to Alaska for the Iditarod every year since 2001. She likes to say that she and Lance Mackey were rookies the same year. When I began to entertain the notion that I could attend Iditarod, she encouraged me to volunteer. When she's not catching up with her multitude of Alaskan friends, she spends time at Iditarod Race Headquarters in the communications room, stats and the phone room.

It all sounded like a great idea to me, so I put in my application.

Lilian and I met in person the morning after I arrived in Anchorage, as we got together for breakfast with another brand new friend, Pam, who will be the subject of a following post.

For the three of us, it was as though we'd known each other forever. There were no uncomfortable silences, no wondering "what am I doing here?" We laughed and talked and broke bread together for what seemed like seconds, yet it must have lasted close to two hours.

From then on, it seemed everywhere I went in Anchorage, Lilian would pop up.
The Alaska Public Lands Building. The Banquet. The Millenneum Hotel. The race restart. The one place we shared that we didn't see each other was the Ceremonial Start. But then we were two among thousands. Based on the pictures she posted later, I should have seen her. We were just about in the same place!

While she was in Alaska, she took loads of photos and told me I could share them, so you'll be seeing some of her pictures in my blog posts, properly credited, of course.

Lilian knows everyone, everywhere. What a joy it was to get to spend time in her company.

Learning to Juggle

From the moment I stepped out of Gayle's car at the Fresno airport and struggled toward the building, I knew I was in deep doo-doo.

A last-minute decision to change my packing strategy caused the problem. I second-guessed my decision to use a tote bag instead of a backpack. That blankety-blank backpack became an albatross around my neck, er, back. I loaded it with every electronic device I own except a laptop plus everything else I might need in case of getting stranded midway. Add to that a big, heavy, bulky winter coat (carried, not worn) and snow boots on my feet. I hope you DON'T get the picture. It wasn't pretty. This was on a day Fresno was enjoying balmy 74 degree weather.

Add to that two (2) bags to be checked. I could barely move.

In addition to "normal" clothing, I'd packed a pair of snow pants, a balaclava, two complete sets of thermals, heavy gloves, heavy socks, light socks (as an underlayer), snow hat, Yaktraxx, an extension cord (to plug in my electronic gear, since hotels never have enough plugs, especially near the beds), heavy sweaters, turtlenecks, a pair of lace-up shoes and a pair of loafers. Oh, and an assortment of hand, toe and body warmers.

What I didn't take was a lighter weight, short-sleeved shirt for the trip back to Fresno. (The temp yesterday in Fresno was an even balmier 84.) Or one collapsible trekking pole for balancing on Anchorage's icy streets.

Struggling with the backpack, I clambered aboard the totally-full plane to Salt Lake City. I shoved the #@%* backpack under the seat in front of me and laid the #@$* coat on my lap. My feet, in the snow boots, barely fit into the remaining floor space. And there I remained for the better part of 2 hours.

The flights from SLC to Seattle and then Seattle to Anchorage were every bit as crowded and cramped.

In the Seattle airport there was a layover of a couple of hours, so I took out the race guide I'd received from Iditarod Trail Committee and read it cover-to-cover. Finally we boarded for the last, longest, leg of the flight--just as crowded and just as tightly-configured. I truly felt it was the longest flight of my life. I couldn't sit still, yet couldn't move. And the bloody backpack still constricted my feet, which by now were not at all happy to have snow boots on them despite the fact that I'd worn the boots a lot at home without a bit of discomfort.

After an eternity the flight attendant announced our pending arrival. Suddenly he said, "folks, we're going to prepare for our landing right NOW." That was a little strange. My seat mate and I looked at each other with question marks in our eyes. Trouble with the plane? Stuck landing gear?

When the plane taxied to a stop, the flight attendant took the mic. "Please remain in your seats. Do not move. We have a little issue we have to handle before we deplane." Again my seat mate and I exchanged looks.

Two security officers made their way to the back of the plane and returned escorting a very drunk, handcuffed fellow between them. I hadn't heard any commotion, so it was a complete surprise.

When we were able to exit, I retrieved the two bags I'd checked and limped my way out of the airport to hail a taxi. Of course they were located across the ice-covered road in a special shuttle/taxi lane. I prayed a lot on that short jaunt that I wouldn't slip and make even more of a spectacle of myself.

The taxi ride was uneventful, thank heavens, and I arrived at the Westmark Hotel with much thanksgiving. At the counter ahead of me were two passengers I'd seen at the Seattle airport.

"Are you in the Road Scholar program?" I asked them.

"Yes, and I saw you reading the Iditarod book," one of them replied. "I wanted to ask to look at it, but I didn't."

"You should have," I replied. "I'd have gladly shared."

Small world, I thought.

I made my way up to my room and collapsed in relief. Of course I didn't fall asleep until 4 am. That's the way it goes.

The Last for First

I'm back!

After an absence of over a year, it's time to blog again.

I just returned from a long-dreamed, long-planned trip to Alaska for the 41st running of the Iditarod sled dog race. This trip has been a major focus of my life for over a year and a half, since Gayle and I returned from our Holland America sea/land cruise. It was during our stay in Fairbanks that I made up my mind to return to Alaska for Iditarod 41. Since making that decision, it seems like everything in life has revolved around this decision.

And now it's over.

The journey was everything I'd hoped and more. There were wild highs, face-to-face meetings with Facebook friends, new friends met at the Road Scholar program I attended, encounters with mushers and handlers and participation in the behind-the-scenes workings of the Last Great Race as a phone-room volunteer.

Rather than tell the story over and over, it seems better practice to tell it once, for all time. It'll be told in short spurts, and you can read (or not), whatever you want.

So let's get underway with a disclaimer. With only a couple of exceptions, I took no photos, but many of my friends did. When photos are in order, I'll provide links to those friends' photos. Where it's my photo, I'll post directly. This one is Anchorage at sunset, looking toward Cook Inlet, a view from our room at the Westmark Hotel, our home during the Road Scholar program.

One more disclaimer. I've set up an email list consisting of people I met during travels, YSVB volunteers and others who've expressed an interest. If you don't wish to receive these emails each time a post is published, please email me at judith.hussain@gmail.com. It won't hurt my feelings at all.

Let's review the end of the trip first. When I left Alaska, just last night, I promised myself I'd be back. Landing in Fresno some 11 hours later, I wasn't so sure. The flights to and from were abominable. No other word for it. Part of it was my fault, which will be the subject of the next post, and part of it is the way the airlines have shrunk everything to the bare minimum with no regard for passengers' comfort. Friends have assured me that with a few bottles of wine and a little time, the memories will fade, and I'll be ready for air travel again.

I'm not so sure.