Through Blizzards and Avalanches Home...

Well, we sure saw some weather on our Anchorage trip of Wednesday and Thursday...and a lot of snow fell back at home in our absence!

Yes, this is an Alaskan winter, but by all accounts this year's is extraordinary. It's only my third winter here, so I have less basis for comparison, but old-timers are saying it's been many years since there was this much snow and cold. I have lots of pictures to share.
Driving up to Anchorage on Wednesday, there were blizzards most of the way, with strong winds gusting across the road, cramming the air with powdered snow, both falling snow and blown snow. I'd never thought of air as something with no gaps in it before.

 At our friends' house in Anchorage, the snow was above the mailbox.

 Snow half as high as a house...

 See that pile of snow in the middle of the picture as tall as the building next to it? And the snow berms along the roadsides were generally well above my head, some of them as tall as the bus stops! I am in constant awe of the infrastructure and constant work it takes to keep roads open in the winter here.

 We were glad that the truck was fully loaded: increased stability and traction, you know ;) We stocked up at CostCo, and Phil purchased a used wood-burning stove at Habitat for Humanity--that was some serious weight. And so aesthetic!

While we were town, it warmed up by 40 degrees, after hovering right around zero for the whole of January. Warm-up above melting point plus all that snow, and then some rain on the snow, equates to avalanches: big ones across the roads on the way from Anchorage to the Kenai Peninsula and Homer; smaller ones onto roads and buildings in town.

Coupled with the strange concept of air as something crammed and having no gaps was this eerie monochrome light, dissolving distances and making everything feel very intimate and immediate.

 When we set out for Homer on Thursday, we knew the highway was blocked by an avalanche at one spot, and that there were avalanche warnings in many other places. The avalanche blockage was right around the turnoff for Homer, and we were hoping that it was just beyond the turnoff, so we wouldn't be stuck. But we were prepared to stop. And stop we did, for 30 minutes at one point while they let off howitzers to cause controlled avalanches up ahead.
Most people were sensible and stayed off the road. If you look at the picture below, you can see that there are no tire traces in the oncoming lane opposite ours--what looks like one to the far left is the shadow of the snow berm. No one was on the road coming from Homer or Seward!

Closer to our turnoff, we stopped again, for about an hour--this was where the avalanche was being cleared. As you can see, it was raining on top of the snow at this point, which can't have made the job of clearing the mess any easier.

 We got lucky, though: it turned out that the avalanche itself was beyond our turnoff, so we were allowed to head on after that not-so-long wait, but the people heading for Seward got turned back. We've waited six hours for avalanches to be cleared before, so this really wasn't so bad. Phil took a nap. I broke the back of one of my critical essays for my "packet."

We had word that it had snowed non-stop since we left in Homer, warm, soft, blanketing snow, drifting over everything as fast as it could be cleared. But as we headed south, the temperatures began to drop again, as had been predicted. The roads were not so slick as things froze tight again. We even had the sun in our eyes for a bit. Welcome back, colors! In this particular stretch, the sun through storm clouds looked like a celestial body, angelic and radiant.

 But when we got home, I had to plow my way out of the truck using the door!

This is the path down to our cabin. You can just see where the path should be: the snow was up to my hips.

The cabin itself looked like a model house inside a snow-shaker. But what a delight to reach home at almost 6pm and still have some light to see by! Finding our way down to the cabin through such deep snow would have been even harder in the dark.

Kudos to my hero Phil for much heroic driving. He felt short on exercise after his recent trip, so this morning while I worked out and made breakfast, he was quite happy to shovel. I was impressed with how quickly he made our path into a reality again. Also impressed by how tall the walls on either side are.

Forecast says it's going to warm up again tomorrow. Everyone's anxiously anticipating what will happen when all these huge piles of snow start to melt. Our entire bluff, cabin and all, could become an avalanche! At the very least, there will be a lot of water downtown. Ebb and flow, change of state, pole to pole with ulterior harmony all over again. I am grateful for the experience.

So many other things I could talk about, but I want to let this stand alone.
There's a major discussion on my mind about the relationship between goal-setting, body image, and success: I'll try to get out a weekend post to talk about that.
love to all!

One That Worked Out: Carob Chip Apricot Bars

This was our backyard yesterday. Something about the frozen ocean, cerulean light trapped under ice, waiting to break out.

Phil and Tom flew home yesterday, two days earlier than expected: it's good to have them back. Phil and I then drove to Anchorage this morning for appointments and errands, through yet another blizzard. This is a brief post from a friend's computer, but I'll share some pictures of Alaska's monochrome wintry majesty when we get back home. Snow berms above my head in town here, but there's rain in the forecast: February bringing some warmer weather after weeks in single digits or below zero.

Today, I want to share a recipe that's a keeper. It's a dehydrated apricot and carob chip bar, somewhere between an energy bar and a blondie--but of course it has carrots in it, too! It's inspired by several recipes I've looked at or made at one time or another, by my recent experiments in carob chocolate making, and my current appreciation of dried apricots. In Israel, dried apricots and bright orange apricot fruit leather are staples. I always hated them. Then, one day, someone persuaded me to try an unsulphured dried apricot--brown, like a date, not that pretty bright orange (which wasn't pretty to me, even orange food lover that I am, because it tasted so bad to me). And those "real" dried apricots are just delicious, were just a revelation.
OK--quickly, I said! How about that recipe?

Carob Chip-Apricot Bars (gluten free, vegan, soy free, low sugar)
Mix together dry ingredients:
1 cup amaranth flour
1/2 cup quinoa flour (I ground both freshly in the Vitamix)
1/2 cup potato starch (not flour; can use tapioca or arrowroot starch instead)
1/2 cup erythritol
1 cup shredded carrot
1/4 cup flax meal
1 tb cinnamon
1/2 t salt
Blend together wet ingredients (best done in a blender, but doesn't have to be a Vitamix):
1/4 cup melted coconut oil
1/4 cup irish moss gel
2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
Mix wet ingredients into dry ingredients, and gradually add water, up to about 1/2 cup, until a stiff dough forms.
Stir in
1 cup homemade carob chocolate, cut into chunks  (Of course you can use chocolate chips instead, but my good angel is trying to keep me off the chocolate that feeds the bad angel.)
1 cup chopped dried unsulphured apricots

Spread the batter out on a teflex sheet uniformly, about a half inch thick. Dehydrate at 145 for an hour, then turn down to 115. After 2-3 hours, you should be able to flip the whole thing and cut into bars. It's then up to your taste whether to dehydrate until it's dry and firm or to leave some moisture.You could probably bake this too, at 325 for about an hour, maybe also flipping halfway through. I haven't tried that, so it's a guess.

Either way, these are delicious. Some might prefer them sweeter, easily accomplished with more maple syrup and erythritol, but I enjoy that the basic crumb (with its lovely texture from even that small amount of coconut oil) is not super-sweet, highlighting the sweetness of the apricot and carob moments. And the chunky crunch of the carob pieces and the gooey tang of the apricots are great too. Not being super-sweet, these are also very satisfying.

Another backyard shot. I love watching those gyres of sea ice floating out toward the icebergs.

Hope you enjoy the recipe!

"50 First Weeks" Reintegrating, Colorful Chia and Herbal Protectors

Happy Monday! It still is Monday up in this top-left-hand corner...

I missed sharing a blog this weekend. I had plenty to say, but not the time nor energy to say it. On that treadmill right now where a couple days of vortex and tragedy leave me behind the curve of the constantly accruing work schedule.

Well, and I'm pleased for the "50 First Weeks" theme for my Monday posts: starting things over is definitely the energy I'm needing. My previous "new beginnings" were ergonomics and housekeeping, and they're going to need to be "firsts" for this week all over again. The external keyboard has arrived, for an improvement, but getting up to stretch regularly has gone to nothing, and ditto housekeeping. So, those remain on the resolution pile. I also want to do more about exercise. I was working out like crazy until relatively recently, every day. Even now, I still spend at least 30 minutes a day on the rebounder and another 20 or so with my 5 Tibetans and others. And I'm not eating much. But it still seems like I'm not doing enough exercise--I'm not doing those 15-30 minute abs or resistance workouts every morning before lunch. I'm only hiking about once a week. Time to kick it back up, if only I can make the time.

I took a break from work today, and went to help clean my friend Jeanie's house. Phil and Tom are returning home tomorrow, and she wanted the house in order. I'm surely not the world's best cleaner, but I'm so honored to be able to help, to be asked to help, in this time. 

When I have no appetite, I tend to put a lot of colorful powders in my food, a bit of this, a bit of that, trying to keep it nutritious.

This rather minimal bowl of chia pudding is colored up with goji berry powder, spirulina, turmeric, and also some slippery elm powder to soothe my tummy. And some lovely mulberries.

I imagine my digestion flaming in different colors, like Heraclitus' God, altering as fire does when mixed with spices and assuming the name of each in turn.
But I'm burned out on chia pudding. A shame, as it's so convenient and so portable. Even just one tablespoon for breakfast with some of those powders is too much. I never used to burn out on foods. On the other hand, looking at my year of breakfasts last year, maybe I do burn out!

I make my herbal teas and see myself surrounded with their goodness. Two roots, two leaves:
Rhodiola, the grounding rose, the brown rose of earth and connectedness;
Astragalus, named for the knuckle bones they used to use in games of dice: life is full of chance and change
Scutellaria, aka skullcap--my shield, my cap blinkering me from the scarier ghosts in my peripheral vision
Gynostemma--the woman's scepter, I see myself in solemn procession, the scepter garlanded with unspun wool.

Sending love and appreciation to all...

Tragedy, Time, and Coming Out the Other Side; Condolence Cupcakes

On Wednesday morning, our dear friend Tom was called with the terrible news that his son had died in his sleep. The first thing he did was call Phil, and Phil accompanied him to break the news to Jeanie and bring her home from work. Yesterday morning around 6.15, I drove Phil and Tom to the airport: zero degrees and whiteout, so much snow in the air, but the little plane took them up to Anchorage to catch the big plane down to Seattle, where they are now, taking care of things.

Needless to say, it's a huge loss and shock: a new spin on the world around which we all change our plans. Saving graces: both Tom and Jeanie had had upbeat phone conversations with Luke the night before, and knew he was in good spirits. And I don't know if this is a saving grace or not, but my read is that this actually happened a long time ago, that the way Tom and Jeanie have been living their life for some time already reflects it as fact. Which means, in a way, that he's still here. We all sense that.  Tom and Phil down in WA are meeting hordes of people who loved Luke, who were touched by his generous spirit. I've barely gotten to see Jeanie since they left, there's been such an overflow of support from all the many other people in this community who love Tom and Jeanie.

Tom is so glad to have Phil with him--and isn't it a compliment to Phil that he's the first person Tom thought of to call. Encomia of Phil are pouring in from all quarters at the moment, and I hope he hears them, and recognizes how appreciated he is by so many.

I haven't slept since we heard the news, but I think I will tonight. I watched it snow all day and all night yesterday, as I immersed myself in work and reading, and trying to write something...into this morning...

 Our "bunny fence" isn't worth much with the snow up above it. I shoveled.

I confess that the nonlinearity of timing this exhibited--my certainty that it happened long ago--sent me into a tailspin: if "a" doesn't follow "b," then it won't make any difference if I don't take my meds, or eat, or sleep, and do take pills I shouldn't take... Going nowhere good. But by some other incredible serendipity, the phone rang first thing this morning, and it was the Naturopath's office, about something else. They got me to come in, to get my chemistry set right again, talked me down from paranoia about time being all out of order...So grateful both to my ND himself and to his wonderful office manager. I didn't want it to be all about me. And now, although I don't feel great, I'm ok, and although I'm still puzzled about the time thing, I'm not totally freaked out. I still don't understand, but I'm more likely to be able to be there to support Phil now.

I made a simple dinner for all of us on Wednesday night, the day the news hit. Short notice and busy day, and I wanted to make something sweet to finish with. In this situation, the temptation is to make something overwhelmingly sugary that I wouldn't dream of eating myself, and I did make a batch of Phil's energy bars, which are protein powder, nuts, craisins, oats in a matrix of peanut butter and honey boiled together, partly to be journey food for them. But I decided I also wanted to serve something raw, light, delicious, beautiful, and gentle.
So I made these "Condolence Cupcakes:" they're inspired by Shannonmarie's Lemon Rawtess Cupcakes, although I made them mini and didn't put pretty frosting and piping on top.

3/4 cup cashews
3/4 cup unsweetened dried shredded coconut
pinch salt
zest of one lemon
Blend all these until fine.
Add:
1/3 cup date paste or finely chopped dates
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Whisk in until well incorporated.
I ground the nuts with the "S" blade of the Cuisinart, but then, for incorporating the dates, I used the little "dough" blade, the plastic "S" shaped one that isn't sharp, to keep the texture fluffy. When it can be formed into a dough, fill the mini cupcake cups with little hollowed-out "cakes," reserving some 'dough' to top them.
For the filling, I used some frosting leftover from our Anniversary Carrot Cake (recipe is there).

Just a little blob of frosting in the hollowed-out cashew-coco-lemon 'dough' (like in the picture above), and then cover it with some reserved 'dough.'

It made about fifteen. And they were so well appreciated! Apparently some of them are in WA with Phil and Tom.
The lemon symbolizes the sadness, wrapped up in sweetness.

Today the snow finally stopped, and when I went downtown my copy of the Georgia Review, featuring a poem by a good friend from the program, no less, had finally arrived. I'd never seen the sky stippled white, gray and blue in quite this way before and had to stop to try and capture it, even though I could feel the marrow of my jaw freezing. Things are looking up.

Resolving to Write, Spousal Support, and That Slaw

We're having a blizzard again. Life is picturesque.

Last night, sixteen writers gathered in the conference room of the Homer Library for a "Resolve to Write" event, under the aegis of the literary organization 49 Writers and the Friends of the Homer Library.

As usual when a group of writers gets together, there was a feeling of camaraderie and of "being with one's tribe," as well as a sense of bumping up against intense ambitions germane to one's own. Some of us were present for the event last year, and so were able to check in on how successful we had been with our resolutions, and there were new faces too. And we all knew writers not present at the event. I'd say writers are a sustainable resource in Homer!

We were in a space of mutual witnessing, of hearing and being heard. Some of us had books at the publishers' in New York, in their final phase of editing. Some had bold resolutions to get a whole body of work published, or to submit work to publishers every week. Some of us had just applied to MFA programs; some of us had just commenced MFA programs. Some wanted to get better at using social media to promote our work, others sought advice on how to avoid the distractions of the internet. We discussed problems of potential audience--how to choose it, how to allow it to choose you--and of preferring to read a genre other than one's chosen writing genre. We shared suggestions for online sources of inspiration (including, ironically, on how to get off the internet), and recommendations of journals to read and subscribe to. We laughed, often.

As you probably noticed from the picture above, Phil was one of the attendees! He confessed to writing mostly for fun, and mostly letters to friends. He enjoyed copious brownies, and didn't say much else the rest of the evening. He says he came because he's nosy!--really, he was there to be supportive, mostly of me (and to see what kinds of people I get to hang out with), but also of the community and the library.

We haven't been doing that much together lately, because I've been so very busy, and because Phil's regular outdoor adventures are ambitious undertakings demanding more time and energy than I can spare right now. It was an interesting change of pace to spend an evening together, along with a group of variously familiar and unfamiliar people, and to compare notes afterwards about what we thought about what was said.

More troubling to me, though, was Phil's reaction to my own stated "resolution" this year. Funny how when your spouse comes into your "home turf" that's totally separate from the relationship, he feels dismayed at things you think are reasonable and normal.

I noted that although I absolutely regard myself as a writer first and foremost, and feel very "seen" and supported in my various writing groups within the community, there are a few people who regard me as a "wannabe" rather than a bona fide writer. And I stated my desire to banish the possibility of that perception by doing whatever it takes, in terms of submitting and generally putting myself out there.

After the meeting, Phil expressed deep concern at this statement of mine. His worry was that I'd shifted my focus from the internal satisfaction of doing the best I can as a writer to the external badges and trophies of recognition.

I understand his concern, but I don't believe that's what I've done. If there are people who don't recognize me as a writer, then there's something amiss with how I'm projecting my intention out into the world. So to me, getting the whole picture, internal and external, on track, is part and parcel of doing the best job I can. As my inspirational friend Erin pointed out to me last night, submitting our work is another aspect of literary citizenship. And of course, it could also be true, as Phil pointed out, that those who won't acknowledge me as a writer have a problem with their perception. Still, it shows me that I could do more.

I'm grateful to live in a town that fosters this kind of group energy, that features such an inspirational cast of writers to whom I can look up, and I'm honored to help facilitate the creative energy wherever and however I can.

Some more from our picturesque day--snow filigree on a deceased thyme plant...

...and the broom of winter.

Now for that Thai 'slaw recipe I promised in my previous post. It really is so simple, if you have the right ingredients.
Veggies
1/2 head green cabbage, sliced fine (best with a mandolin) 
1 large carrot, grated
1 cup grape tomatoes, halved
cilantro--as much as you like, roughly chopped

For the Sauce:
2 tablespoons deseeded tamarind, soaked in water for 30 minutes beforehand
2 dates, pitted and soaked along with the tamarind
1 teaspoon miso + 1 teaspoon sea salt (if you like tamari, can do 2-3 tablespoons tamari)
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar or coconut vinegar
1 teaspoon red Thai chilli paste (the kind that's an amalgam of lemongrass, galangal, ginger, and garlic. I'd rather make my own, but haven't been able to buy galangal, or, except rarely, lemongrass, in town.)
2 teaspoons lime juice (lemon works also)
2-3 tablespoons extra virgin coconut oil (It really is worth it to use the extra virgin rather than the expeller pressed for this recipe: the coconut fragrance of the extra virgin gives the whole palate of the dish a wonderful lightness.

Enjoy!

"50 First Weeks:" Chinese New Year and Backyard Wildlife

It's still Monday here! (I know I'm late getting my post out today....) Welcome to the second of "50 First Weeks." And Happy Year of the Dragon! Oh, and one other "happy" thing this week: I got a prize for my participation in "6 Weeks of Bliss:" for my "community cheerleading" via Facebook shares! Now I need to get used to the idea of myself as a community cheerleader!

Before I talk about how this week will be a "first week" for me, I want to share some backyard wildlife from up here, together with the joyous pronouncement that the days are definitely getting longer.

This big guy by our outhouse has some vestiges of sunrise in the background, but barely 9am and it's definitely daylight.

But what do you think of this little guy?

 Too cute for words, but he thinks he is the most vicious, dangerous, fearless villain. He's a "least weasel," or ermine, and it's probably not such a good thing that he's taken up residence under our cabin. Weasels have a habit of tunneling through insulation and reducing its effectiveness.

Here's the moose again. This one's a bull--his antlers have fallen off and you can see the stubs, but maybe not in the picture. Somehow that picture (taken from inside the cabin) brings home to me how close to the edge of the bluff we are!

And one more with the sun coming up.

Last week was my "first week" of picking back up on housekeeping and getting the house in order a little better. But it was also my first week teaching, and of course, there were glitches with the new software almost every day, and a whole group of people to get to know through the veil of the internet, and grading, and.... Truthfully, I think every week will be a "first week" picking up on getting the house in order. Which seems apt, given the entropic inevitability of everything ending up in a mess all over again!

Given the many hours I'm spending at the computer, though, between teaching a web-based course, writing, and my other jobs--and blogging, of course!--this week is going to be the "first week" I finally get serious about ergonomics. I've regarded the injunctions to stop and stretch every 20 minutes max, to do my foam roll and other physical therapy exercises, to adjust my equipment to improve my posture, all as things that I'd probably resolve to do "some time in the future." Meanwhile, my back, neck, shoulders and hands continue to be stressed and strained. Why not now? Especially with this "50 First Weeks" idea--if I don't do well this week, next week will be another opportunity to start afresh.

I've already ordered an external keyboard, so I'll be able to put the laptop at eye level and type comfortably. Um, I forgot to order a mouse at the same time. Duh?! Probably not too hard to get one locally. Oh, and lots of hardback books while I was at it ordering, so that I could make a good tower for the computer to sit on and have good reading for when I take a break ;) I spent much of today standing at the counter with the computer perched atop a pile like that.

This is something I've procrastinated taking seriously for so long, it seems seriously daunting. But the "50 First Weeks" idea helps to detract from that apprehension, and really, it shouldn't be that hard to tear myself away and stretch (or pee, for that matter)!

I hope that my choices for the "first weeks" don't seem unrealistic or overambitious. I'll be glad to do better at ergonomics.

I'm going to leave it at that for tonight, but I promise I'll be back by Wednesday, and will even share this Thai-flavored 'slaw (yes, of course it involves carrots!) that was so good it had to be made twice (and I still almost forgot to take a picture)! OK--now I should go stretch!

Much love. What will be a "first" for you this week?

Five Things about ME? (final Bliss Challenge)

As another week draws to its close, the days are lengthening! Somehow it got to 6pm here, and the sky is still full of deepening oranges and purples.

The last one of "Bliss Connect's" Six Weeks of Bliss Challenges is a tough one for me. We're asked to share Five Things about ourselves that our readers may not know.

Well, I figure most of you guys know most of the peculiar scoop on me--my word and poetry obsessedness, my remote bluff-edge-tiny-cabin-Alaska domicile, my marriage with a husband whose kids are older than me, my good friendship with his daughter and ex-wife, my gluten-free, dairy-free, animal-products-avoiding food ways, my incapability of following a recipe, my obsession with herbs, my belief that any and every favorite food dish can be converted into a (green) smoothie.

So, how to come up with Five Unusual Things?
Try these on for size...
1) Although I'm left-handed, and generally left-sided, I'm partially deaf in my left ear. I had fluid buildup in my ears as a little kid, and at the time, the waiting list for the necessary operation was two-to-three years--long enough for some permanent nerve damage, fortunately only in one ear.

2) I know the Isha Upanishad by heart. In Sansrkit as well as English. My dad was studying Sanskrit when I was learning to talk, and he tended to practice out loud. I picked up all kinds of extended passages, and still have them in my head. My school had some interest in those subjects as well, and when I was six years old, we had to memorize the Isha Upanishad in Sanskrit--and a few years later, in English, so that we'd have a clue what we were saying. I wonder whether any of my classmates still remember it too? (I think I might have been the only one who actually got it memorized.)

3) I almost became a professional musician. Despite the hearing loss, I was a very serious Classical musician through my second year of grad school. At one point, while I was an undergrad and taking music lessons at one of the London conservatories at the same time, my teacher encouraged me to start auditioning for English Horn positions in serious orchestras! When I decided to do Grad School in academic studies instead, my dear friend Nick, a wonderful conductor, cried. He said, "Who else is going to play English Horn?" (Actually, he said "cor anglais," because that's what it's called in British. And yes, I played oboe too.)

4) I have a persistent auditory memory. My current facebook profile pic commemorates my headstand rendition of a poem during a skit at our last MFA Residency. What you might not know is that when I was an avid oboist, I once memorized a whole piece without playing it once until I performed it for a workshop! It wasn't a perfect performance, but it didn't stop, either. On the other hand, I do not remember everything everyone says perfectly, so if I get in an argument with you, don't let me say "You said xxxx: I remember exactly what you said!"

5) If my life had panned out slightly differently, I might have become an interpreter. Translating is still my favorite job, and I can't wait to start doing literary translation also. I'm reading so many poetry books at the moment, but a volume that arrived in my mailbox just a couple days ago gave me so much delight.

It's a bilingual Anthology of Modern Greek poetry! I work with Ancient Greek on a daily basis, but I adore Modern Greek too, and it's been a while since I encountered it.
I opened the book at random and read in Greek, glancing over occasionally to see if I agreed with the translation:

"The dawn smelled of thyme:

it was the sprightly little Faun, who woke

and put on his cap of bright-gold sun

and rode his gust of wind down to the sea.

"This is the place where I was born."

(My translation is a little different from what's in the book.) And I was enthralled.

Tell me something I don't know about you?