Talking, Pictures

The willows are budding...

..and Bidarki creek falling to the beach is making icicles of cathedral grandeur...

I sent in my fourth of the five packets for the second year of the MFA program. Can scarcely credit I have only one more to do. This one was delightful to me, as I'd had the space, with Phil gone, with the house-sitting, to focus and get excited about my work. It feels somewhat like the picture above--falling, falling; but with such a sense of uplift. A pointer to my new life. I also read a poet about whom I'm excited in a full-blown epiphanic way, more than I have been even about my very favorite poets. His name is Andrew Joron. He writes speculative lyric, and he is auditory! I get it! And he did things around words and alphabet that I'm doing in my work right now, so there were lots of spooky coincidences. I'm in awestruck admiration, and also avid to make a connection with the poet and share enthusiasms. Now, a day or so of busyness, and then back to the writing and work...until an Anchorage trip next week.

"Why is Roxy barking so ferociously?" one morning when I'd let her out. Here's the view from the bedroom window, what she was reacting to. Moose's butt. She thinks moose are for barking at, which is scary at times. 

Do you see the moose in this one? Bedded down. They are everywhere at the moment.

Sometimes all you need to do is show someone a picture. I always seem to have all these auras and epiphenomena (ephemera?) I need to include radiating from the picture. See how monochrome all these pictures are. See how each of them is subtly colored, each with a different shade and cast. Oh, and I try to speak that, in real time talk. No wonder I stammer and backtrack.

Siri is teaching me to speak, it turns out, far more than the other way around. I'm surprised by how quickly I can type on that tiny iPhone keypad with one or two fingers, but it is awkward, put mildly, and makes everything sore very quickly. So I dictate my texts and dates and to-do lists almost exclusively. Even with the time correcting Siri's mistakes, it's quicker. I'm learning to speak slowly but not too slowly--this is a speech recognition system that recognizes words in context and too much space will lose that context. On the other hand, I have to leave more space between the words than I would ordinarily, not run words together; I have to be precise about my front and back vowels, avoid affricating t's and d's at the ends of words...Not only is Siri teaching me to talk; also making me even more self-conscious about my own pronunciations. 
But if you're saying something to a speech recognition system that's going to start anticipating the next thing you'll say, accurate transcription will be more likely if you say something predictable. Yikes, what does that say about our communications with one another? Do we WANT to be predictable? I think I need to stop this right now. Sometimes when you go through and correct, Siri will offer its own correction. And sometimes this alternative would be more predictable than what it originally offered. I was dictating a text saying that I was booking Roxy to get her hair clipped (so she wouldn't have icicles in her eyes all the time), and this was transcribed as "I'm f***ing her to get clipped..." I was horrified. Yes, there's a bit of prude in me, which is why it's so scary for people when I actually curse. How did Siri come up with that in the context? When I went to fix it, I was sweetly offered "booking." Siri, you're a twit!

The dogs are teaching me to talk, too. Alone (otherwise) in this big house, I'd rather not talk, but I talk to them, and some of it they definitely understand, good things like "Wanna come to bed?" and "Ready to load up?" as well as things like "Lay down!" (they understand that better than "lie down," which shows that this verb "lay" has extended its meaning in contemporary English). They are keenly tuned to body language, but because they have certain biases, they anticipate (like Siri), not always accurately. They are very very biased toward outings and food. 

Back to the bluff as envoi--some of those icicles are at such interesting angles, especially toward the top left. A frozen weeping mane... 

The Dangerous Affair of the Black Dog in the Night-time

Plus Sides to House/Dog-sitting:

• Indoor plumbing, including running water (including warm water, shower, laundry)
• Lots of space, so you can spin in a circle without running into something
• Full-size kitchen with a full-size oven (I was the main appreciater of this)
• Impressive dvd/streaming/tv set (Phil was the main appreciater of this)
• Lots of indoor plants (we only have room for a couple if we want to be able to set down a cup or piece of paper)

Minus Sides to Dog-sitting:

• Dog hair on your plate
• Being woken multiple times in the night by a dog obsessed with her dead bunny out in the yard but not wanting to stay out
• Getting stuck somewhere (home or a trailhead) because a dog isn't coming when called
• Dog coming home wearing a stench so noisome, the other dog recoils 
• Two dogs puking in the wee hours of the morning, having feasted on porcupine bones during a hike
• And, the BIG minus--take a big, goofy, brave foolhardy dog, like the one on the left below (she's much bigger now than in this photo from last year, a fair bit bigger than the other dog)...

 ...and take a bluff like this, with our cabin eighteen feet back from it (our neighbors where we're staying are just a couple hundred yards farther back, and Phil had been working down here with the dogs running around...

 ...and I got home at 6pm last Thursday to be told K had been missing for several hours. She didn't show up for dinner, which was a bad sign. We checked all closed doors in the barnyard, checked the truck...
We called the radio stations, the animal shelter, the police. We called everyone in the neighborhood. Phil and another neighbor drove everywhere looking. 
This is a big black dog on a dark night. Phil walked all over our and our neighbors' properties, paying special attention to the bluff edge where she'd been fascinated earlier.
Phil walked up the highway checking the ditches.
Phil drove the truck out on the beach, all the way up to beneath our cabin, shining lights up. He thought he saw a pair of eyes 30-40 feet down from the top of the bluff, the area to the far right of that photo.
Phil burst into the house, where I was working, and told me to come quick, this was an emergency, we got to get the dog, pretty sure she's clinging on to the edge of the bluff.
Phil, torn elbow tendon, bum knee, plantar fasciitis and all, ties a rope around himself, we deadman it around one of those posts up top, I hold on, and down he goes. First time, wrong place, so up he comes; we tie off to another post and try again. Yes, there she is; not enough rope; untie, pay out more--for a moment I'm all that's holding him there.
Stupid dog, very pleased to see Phil, but she doesn't want to climb up. And why did she never respond when he was calling from above?
Phil ends up having to climb one-handed while pushing her up with his knee and other hand. Did I mention she's a big dog?
When she gets to where she can sort of see the top, I start the cheerleading endless stream of noise which is so totally out of my character it just seems totally ridiculous--Come on K, yes come on, good girl, yes, you can do it, come on--blah blah...But it worked.
We got her home, and the first thing Phil had to do was pick her up and carry her all the way to the bathtub. She was caked. It took both of us scrubbing and soaping for several minutes. 
Almost done, I left Phil to finish up, and went to fix her dinner.
When I came back, there was a zig-zagging flail of muddy tracks all over the bedroom carpet, and she was back in the tub. Phil had let her out without realizing there was clay impacted between every toe, and she had done a dizzy happy dance all over the bedroom carpet. The funniest part about that was, the cleaner had just been there that afternoon; the whole place was, or had been, pristine!
I think we finally got to bed around 1.30.