Last night I had a few hours to myself and (among other things) I took a drive down the coast a bit. There are 100 forest fires currently feeding on the land in Alaska, at least one of which is obvious in the scent of the air here in the city. This is a small one, seen across the Inlet.

This land is not forgiving, but it is generous. Want to do a little free-wheeling rock climbing? Pull over.

I can be more than a little predictable when I’m home, my first outings are always the same…Flat Top, Beluga, McHugh, Potter’s Marsh, Girdwood, Portage and Jewel Lake. Last night it rained and I sat under a tin roofed shelter for a few minutes listening to the plinking of the drops before I became overly fascinated with the signage around me.

8am came far too early and found Kev and I rolling out to the Valley to Mat Valley Meats. Our mission: collect the quarter of the buffalo Todd killed for the reception. Todd is a friend of Kev’s and has 700+ (?) acres that crawl up the side of Sleepy Mountain. On that land there’s a home he built with his own hands and his own trees, a hay farm that supplies the Alaska State Zoo, his herd of buffalo, a few caribou and countless other exciting and rustic bits that make it magic. Todd and Roxanne recently welcomed a new addition to Pitch Fork Ranch, a little girl named…crap. I forget. I’ll meet her Saturday and I’m sure I’ll never loose the name again. Either way, my most sincere congrats to the two of them – they’re some of the most genuine and wonderful people you could ever hope to meet. With any luck I can pop out to the ranch before I head south again to snap a few pictures and catch up.

The whirl of pre-wedding planning and events are coming to a peak, this morning I created the program for the ceremony and tonight is girls/guys night out – I don’t know what they’re up to, but we’re taking salsa dancing lessons. WOOT! Tomorrow is the rehearsal / rehearsal dinner and what promises to be a great night of laughs and a shameless, continual outpouring of love and appreciation with the full family. Uncle Danny, Auntie Kay, Auntie MuraAnne and Uncle Paddy are already here, Kev’s boyhood friends are all accounted for and Auntie Moie arrives tomorrow.

As apprehensive as I was about being “home” again, the days so far have been nothing but spectacular and filled with life affirming encounters / conversations / sights.

Even the mosquitoes – which are worse than they’ve been in decades due to a weak winter and a wet spring – are nearly bearable. Hell, if that’s all I can find to complain about…

I have been assimilated. Between the day-to-day of Kev’s world and the wedding planning/coordinating I’ve been oddly busy with not much that you probably want to read about. All of it is invaluable even if it’s not thrilling content for you. The highlight so far was having “the kids” together in one place at one time, and props to Steve and Michelle for tolerating us as we giggled wildly while sorting through photos of Kev from our youth as part of a decorating project for the reception. This is the family after dinner, before too many Arrogant Bastard Ales. L to R in back: Brian, Suzanne, Kevin. Front is obviously Jen and I.

The groom-to-be and I, isn’t he stunning? He’s just as sweet and charming as he is adorable…my baby boy. Please don’t ask me why my eyes go up and his go down, I don’t know. I blame it on the mailman, much like Brian’s height and Jennifer’s intellect.

I’ve mentioned that one of the genetic links my siblings and I share (aside from a love of sleep and snoring) is “the bat face” – well this is it.

The boys had too much to drink last night so after a stint on the front porch getting fresh air, I suggested a walk. What you get is a picture of the sky at 2am and them next to a very petite stop sign conveniently hidden in a bush. For us, it politely and impishly suggested in a weak, hushed tone that you “please…stop?”.

Random: this is the tattoo parlor that marked me on my 18th birthday as I attempted to assert my independence in the form of a permanent ink spot on my right shoulder as gifted to me by Erica Ash and in partial honor of Gaea.

This is how the coffee shops roll here, where real estate is a commodity that is more than a challenge to secure. Aside from the bookstore/coffee joint/cyber café I’m using for a tech fix home base and your random Starbucks. It’s original and organic and brags of ingenuity and entrepreneurship.

Aside: since rebooting my phone about an hour ago I have no ability to text. Odd, unexplainable, true.

Biggest brother Bri and I got up early-ish and changed our game plan. We made a run for some Bad Ass and some groceries, following which I made an epic load of my famous eggs and after allowing that sack of rocks to settle in our stomachs for an hour or so, we hit the driveway with Mike played a little more “moose”. When Mike had nearly worn Brian out, we went for a short ride around the neighborhood. Kev set me up on his Szazbo and we ran through the woods like a pack of unruly teenagers…at least when we weren’t on the street and reminding Mike to watch for mailboxes, because he’s 6.

So Bri and had I agreed that the point to our being here is to be with Kev and not to spend 8 hrs on a mountain, so we compromised and decided to climb Flat Top instead, which only requires an hour commitment and not the 6-8 that the originally planned for O’Malley Peak would have taken.

This is Flat Top from the parking area. When we were stepping out on the trail head, we bumped into Jennifer (one of Michelle’s sisters), her husband Brian, their friend Kat and Kat’s friend Steve, who were descending. Jen told us that when they arrived there was a brown bear in the parking lot and they’d just passed a momma and baby moose. They’d spotted porcupines and a few other creatures out on the trail, none of which Bri and I encountered.

The climb is steady and a little steep, but it doesn’t get rock-scrambly-sketchy until the last 100 yards or so. From the top of the mountain you can see the Powerline Trail which runs up the valley and pops out by Indian, I’m hoping to ride it with the boys but I’m not sure time will allow for it this trip. That’s Anchorage behind and below Bri.

As soon as we got back to Kev’s pad, the boys ventured out for a “real ride”, and I set in to relax a bit. It was short lived, the phone rang 20 minutes later and I had to hop in the rescue vehicle and collect them from Beluga Point because Bri managed to get 3 flats, exhausting their supply of fix it your own damn self bits. My arrival coincided perfectly with the launch of a downpour.

There’s a certain amount of lawlessness here…motorcyclists without helmets and underage booze sales and general do-your-own-thing-as-long-as-you-don’t-hurt-anyone-else-ness. The Last Frontier.

I’m going to pick Ariel up from soccer practice after I post this, and dinner plans involve Suzanne (our step-mom) and hopefully Jennifer (my sister) and Steve (her husband) as well. Brian is slated cook so maybe they’re better off staying away? If nothing else, we’ll be afforded the midnight sun.

Aside: I’m addicted Mancala.

Everything is where I left it 15 years ago: the mountains, the ocean, the shops, the homes, the playgrounds and the parks. The air is the same scent and you’ll just have to experience it yourself because I can’t put it in words. It’s a gorgeous and perfect blend of snow and ocean and good dirt and pine and spruce and birch and no noticeable trace pollutionary corruption. Sweet…I think I just invented another word.

I’m tired now at 7:03/3:03, still jet lagged, sitting at Kaladi Brothers ($20 for the month of WiFi sounded a bargain) glancing at the picture of Kerouac (a sign?) and at the pedestrian traffic thinking I’ll see a familiar face as though those years hadn’t passed and I’m in the neighborhood of my youth. As if.

4 hours out of whack, I’ve enjoyed two peaceful nights of sleep, a few games of moose (like horse only Alaskan), some four square and hanging from monkey bars (I can still do a cherry drop, BING), buffalo tacos, a close encounter with a momma and her calf (photo doesn’t do justice to the 3 feet and a car door separation), a run up Hilltop (jingling my keys all the way b/c I didn’t have a bell) and some Bad Ass Coffee.

Tomorrow the plan is for Brian (older of the two brothers) and I to get up early and climb O’Malley Peak – the trip should be about 8 hours RT based on his previous visits. Mind you he’s done them solo and he’s a full foot taller than I am so we’ll see how that impacts the TT. My sister and her husband arrive tomorrow, as do my dads surviving siblings….things are about to get crazy in old Anchortown.

When I fly I wear comfy shoes (usually my Keens or Birkenstocks) with socks so I can take the shoes off and still have warm feet when I curl up in my seat and pass out before we even taxi. I wear jeans because in the event of a water landing, they can be used as a flotation device according to a Dateline report I saw years ago. I wear a t-shirt and either a light sweater or a hoodie because I get cold on planes, but I like to be able to quickly disrobe when I hit my destination.

I wear whatever jewelry I’m bringing with me so I don’t have to worry about which bag I put it in or losing it.

I arrive at the airport on the average of 2 hours early, because I exist at the whim of Murphy and I’m obsessed with planning and allowing adequate time for any task.

I walk to my gate at Hartsfield instead of taking the train, regardless of which concourse I’m destined for / arriving from. I’m usually sweaty by the time I get there (see also: previously mentioned layers) but I don’t mind. Tough skat for whoever has to sit next to me. I just hope it’s no one I know.

The two hours of bonus time affords me the opportunity to return calls, read, watch CNN Airport Network (shameless plug), cool off and people watch. The people watching is the best part, especially when it’s a flight to Anchorage…the combination of social classes, grooming habit levels, and fashion non-statements make me a happy girl. I’m a tireless spectator of the familial interactions, lovers tiffs, food tug-of wars, crying babies, crying grown ups, and singles scoping out the crowd for their potential airborne love connection. It’s all fodder for my idle mind and lackluster imagination. That last one repulses me to no end, BTW – the airport hookup is just plain sleazy, sketchy and suspect. It’s right up there with going to the grocery store when you’re hungry or finding a partner after last call.

The smells surrounding me just now are less than enticing, hosting a hint of vinegar and too much bargain bin perfume with intermittent waves of ice cream/ waffle cone joining the assult. The air is stale, the lighting is less than flattering and yet I feel every bit as comfortable in the pleather and steel chairs as I do with their cousins who comfort my bum while doing time in hospitals. That’s not sarcasm folks, I really am actually comfortable in hospitals – which is a long story (21 years worth) that I may or may not expand on in the future.

Growing up when we’d get bored during the summer months, we were known to hit the airport soley for entertainment value. More than once the girls and I piled in the car and headed down Minnesota with our Marlboro reds and The Cure blaring through the open windows. There were a good many military youngins who would make their way through town, making a stop over on the way to a crappy station assignment on Unalakleet or Adak. We’d strike up a conversation, take them on a tour of town and end the night over Chinese.

It really is a wonder we didn’t end up dead, we did some excessively stupid shit back then.

I guess it demonstrates one of the things I remember as a bonus about growing up there, never a worry about child abduction, gang violence, grafitti, litter or much of anything else you might consider bad. We had litter, sure, but as I recall every school in Anchorage had a “clean up” day where we’d all go out and – you guessed it – pick up trash. It was the America poets wrote about, the beauty Thoreau and the like articulated beautifully but could never capture. No one can. She’s pristine, this land of my nearly forgotten years, she’s spectacular and remains innocent despite her having been used and abused since she was found.

The flight time today is 7hours and 33minutes, the temperature is 60 on the other end and I’m remembering that my trip to Dublin last September boasted similar statistics.

One last bit – use the newly enabled commenting functionality over the 10 days (but you don’t hve to stop there) to let me know what you want to get out of this trip. Pictures, state/local history, gruesome details of family adventures, etc.. I’m sure you’ll get all of the above whether you like it or not, but it’s always polite to ask.

Wild hair meets longstanding dream and gives birth to spontaneous purchase. Film at 11.

Some people are scared of change, the suggestion of which causes me to revert the attitude I held on the grassy game fields of my youth – “NOT IT!” Clearly. See also: new site design…just because.

Friday night before I crashed, on the eve of my trip north and a non-vacation vacation, I bought myself a ticket to London for November 21 – 28. I’ll greet her sights on my own a) because I’m a bad ass b) because people don’t *get* that I like to be alone for the holidays c) because you only live once d) because I wanted to and e) I’m a girl who makes her own dreams come true.

Yes, I have a friend or two that have proposed a union and adventure across the pond, but this is just one of those things I need to do on my own. My second unchaperoned foreign expedition, another item to be checked off my list. I can only honor what my soul requests and hope others can understand.

Kissy boo!

Simon & Garfunkel are on loop/extended dance remix in my head, in my heart.

Itinerary is posted, clothes are packed, body is ready to hike and ride (and sit on my arse for 8hrs en route), psyche is ready for family ad nauseum, and fresh sheets are on the bed for when I come back to Atlanta at 6am on the 6th, crawl home and collapse.

Due in no small part to the fact that I’m a dorkasaurusrex, the laptops (yeah, plural), Blackberry, digicam, videocam, cell, iPod and all their sundry cables and adapters are making the voyage with me. You should expect multi-media posts of the land time forgot at regular intervals provided I can find some free WiFi to rock.

As much as I fear the ghosts that greet me each time I return “home” to my North Coast, I’m aching to see my family, my friends, and the land that built me.

I’m thrilled that Kevin and Michelle are going to make it legal, and can’t wait to see him officially (in my eyes) become a man while I boo-hoo my little baby heart out and ruin my once a year makeup job. He’s come a long way and I couldn’t be more proud of him if he won the Tour de France and the Nobel Prize on the same day. He’s my baby boy, my Irish twin, and so much more than “friend” or “brother” can convey.

Now, if someone could come sit on my suitcase so I can close it, that would be great. Thanks.

Kissy boo!