Adventure 968: Alaska Anniversary Trip/A

Thirty-six years together finds us finishing each others' sentences, eerily sharing similar thoughts, and everything else a couple of spoons can find to do in the drawer. We caught our Uber to the airport at 4:15, treated ourselves to a first class flight to Anchorage, which met us with very fine weather, a couple more Uber rides, a free shuttle ride from the Alaskan Heritage Center to city center, where we enjoyed an early dinner at a comfortable dive bar called Humpy's (Named the whale, not the Wednesday-since it's Tuesday). We spent the afternoon touring the heritage museum, which was both inspiring and sobering. The inspiration derived from the exhibits, the art, and the local Native youth who demonstrated both knowledge and pride in their culture. The sober moments surrounded us like a lynch mob as we traveled the time line of Native assimilation. Pressing our fingers into the sad memories of abuse and worse, we read a too familiar American story. Some would like to forget this history, or worse, rewrite it. I, for one, hope we acknowledge its damage and make every effort to not only remember, but promise to serve our best angels in the future. God only knows. Tomorrow, we're up again at O' dark thirty for a train ride to Seward, and as our adventure continues we're once again grateful to realize that life is (and should be) good, especially today.

At Humpy's we savored salmon chowder and shared a plate of halibut tacos. Quite yummy.

The Heritage center captured much of the creativity of the Alaskan peoples.

These are numbered metal tags the Native people were forced to wear as identification during their years of forced assimilation. 

The bleached bone head of a grey whale. The whole skeleton wouldn't fit into the frame.

In a what a coincidence moment we ran into Tim and Sarah Yoder, formerly from Archbold, Ohio. It's a small world after all.

Several dioramas of Indian dwellings are presented at the heritage site. These totems represent history, world view, and a prescription for how life should be lived.

 

Since there were no trees on the tundra, many of the dwellings were underground structures constructed from driftwood that washed up on the beach.

The power of the art displayed creativity, preservation, and reverence.

My Bunny in the entrance to one of the dwellings.

I don't know what it is, but rest assured there's s story climbing this pole.

Selfie of the day: Welcome to Alaska.

The not so perma frost as seen from the glide path as we approached Anchorage.

Art shot of the day: A foggy future lies ahead.

My bunny working her phone magic before leaving Spokane.

The Routine

In our bed

around 4:30 A.M.

for thirty-six years

I’ve turned toward my Bunny

stretching my right arm under her pillow.

She responds

by wiggling the spoon

of her rump into me.

I drape my left arm around

her middle and gently

squeeze her right breast.

We sleep comfortably

until my right arm falls asleep.

I roll onto my back.

She responds

by rolling toward me

laying her head on my shoulder.

She drapes her right leg

across my body.

We sleep comfortably

until around 5:30

when, without waking me,

my Bunny rises.

Sometime later,

after making the bed,

I walk to the living room

dressed

to find my Bunny

sitting in her chair

sipping her warm milk.

I notice the last nibble

of her muffin.

Her smile

tells me we’ve begun

another day together.