After a very difficult week, I settled down to watch a little TV tonight. This was a mistake.

To those of you not from Alaska, let me explain about ARCS, which I believe stands for Alaska Rural Communication System. I suppose I should be grateful that it is here. I am trying very, very hard to be grateful.

In rural villages like this, there aren’t commercial broadcast outlets such as one finds in larger communities, and since we’re over a hundred miles from the next community of any size, we aren’t even able to glom onto somebody else’s broadcast. To this end ARCS was created. It provides a potpourri of broadcasts taken from other Areas, like Anchorage, Juneau and Mars.

Different networks programs are presented at different times to provide variety, balanced viewpoints and extreme frustration in the viewing public. A short study of the programming schedule will usually lead the casual observer to the conclusion that the job of Programming Director has been outsourced overseas, probably to a non-English speaking third world country where there are in fact no televisions, and mass communication is in the form of cave art.

As a case in point, Saturday morning is the purview, not of children’s programming as one might expect, but The McLaughlin Group, followed by some cooking shows.

“Debbie, since you and your little brother are home from school today and it’s snowed three feet since last night, why don’t you two sit down in front of the TV and learn how to be scream rude insults at people who disagree with you in any way. After that you can make flaming crepes in the kitchen for an afternoon snack.”

Friday night when one has just ended the regular working week, one can relax with an entire evening of community affairs programs. Programs with themes like recaps of the previous week in the Alaska Legislature and droning monologues about what-I-don’t-know-because-I-can’t-stay-focused-for-an-entire-minute.

Then there is the Public Broadcasting forecast at 5:30 p.m. So vital, it gives us forty minutes of low-budget forecasts twenty minutes before the professional commercial broadcast hosted by the cute Weather Sweetie. It shouldn’t be overlooked that the other fifteen minutes of the 5:30 weather broadcast is taken up by things like decades old NASA documentaries and spots on what an amateur astronomer would see if he lived in a place where the stars can be seen in the summer. (The easiest way to see stars here in the summer is to walk up to a large man and say something really uncalled for about his mother.)

Then there are the annual ANB events where one can spend hour after hour in the evenings watching someone else’s children performing native dances. (Note: I ‘m glad he kids get to be on TV- but prime time, c’mon!)
So that brings us to this week’s festivities- the Annual Public TV Beg and Whine Membership Drive. This is where we are asked, “if public TV didn’t do it, who would.” To which we answer, “elementary school classes with video cameras,” “public access cable channels,” “the Communist Party of Vermont,” “Lifetime for Women,” “Hallmark Theater”, and so forth.

I would suggest that terror suspects be coerced to give up information by making them watch public TV membership drives, but I’m sure we’d get into trouble with the international community if we did that.

Oh well, maybe I’ll just read a book.

Well! After a few small tasks ( an ambulance run first thing this morning, chopping some fire wood, taking the dogs out, some work at the fire hall, several hours tying to track down an annoying computer worm, feeding the dogs, some housework, chopping some more firewood, installing some new software, bringing in the dogs, going back to the fire hall for a few minutes,) I am at last ready to begin the things I planned to do today. Actually yesterday, as it's 12:30 in the morning.

The last few days I've had a nasty chest cold of the type that afflicts all kind hearted and generous people the world over. But I'm on the mend, and don't feel hot and cold at the same time any more.

Thursday, my Cub Scouts began building bird houses, and a good time was had by all. These kids are so cool. The bird houses are coming together quickly and no one has even bled. ( I absolutely refuse to compare this to Mary's daughter and the unfortunate "let's introduce you kids to American culture by carving Halloween Pumpkins and needing stitches international event". No how no way, my lips are sealed.)

Last night, well, the night before night actually, on of the ladies I go to church with called at the height of my cold and said that her kids were planning to come to my house the next night for a game and pizza. Have you ever had mental whiplash as something you said and promptly forgot came rocketing back into your awareness? Fortunately the sound of my voice sounding hoarse and gurgley got me a reprieve. Who wants their kids to bring home a cold that can make you sound like that?

This was especially merciful since about a year ago I bought this lady's three children crickets and sent them home with them to play. (For those of you who don't know, a "cricket" is a simple metallic toy that make a loud clicking sound, over and over again.) I must confess to having done this with a certain sadistic relish. Next week she stuck a cricket in my ear, clicked it few times while saying loudly, how do you like it?"

I'm trying to get up my courage to give all the elementary school kids fist fulls of chocolate covered coffee beans just before school.

There is a special kind of hurt we have when our friends are ill, especially when they're probably more deeply ill than they want you to know. You ask, and they assure you that "it's no big deal," even when words like "chemo" are involved. But there is that little waver in the voice that wasn't quite suppressed, and you try to believe you didn't hear.

Or there is the sudden assertion that you have been one of their special friends. A statement that by its timing brings you both a kind of humble warmth and a slight, sickly fear that emotional accounts are being closed, that they are making sure that you "will always know."

When one has been involved in medical work, one becomes all too aware of the transitory nature of health, youth and life itself. This awareness can become an all too unwelcome sensitivity.

In the last few days two friends of long standing have assured me that "it's no big deal," and let me know that I am their good friend. Perhaps in both cases years of healthy life lie before these two good people and the fears of this week will lie dormant for a distant future.

Now I'm having some of that special hurt, and I'm struck by the honor it is to bear it for people that you love.

The Autumnal Excitement continues unabated. The big thrill this weekend was when I asked our entirely-too-kind pastor, Jim, to help me get firewood. This was something I hated to do as asking for help is really unpleasant for me. But Jim came with the highest qualifications, he has a truck, a chainsaw that makes mine look wimpy and above all, and he won't tell me I'm a jerk for bothering him.

My four wheeler is working again "kinda sorta," although I'm going to try to keep walking a great deal to stretch out the wheeler's operational life, get myself in better aerobic condition and of course maintain my slim, boyish figure. (See lard- definition, and donkey-synonym.)

I just spent an hour updating the template for my blog with a title logo, which has steadfastly refused to appear so far. Hmmmm.

The weather has been a pleasant surprise today, sunny with wispy clouds instead of the forecast rain. Too bad the daylight is only eight hours or so.

Those of you out there in Blogland may not understand what daylight and climate are like at various times of the year at this latitude. Well, let me expound a bit. Summer and spring are generally glorious here in Yakutat. A sunny day in June can be eighteen to twenty hours of daylight, usually with cool to comfortably warm temperatures.

But in fall one is reminded that the Tongass is a temperate rain forest. We are around 118 inches for the year right now and it is a bit of a dry year. So winter and fall must bear most of the precipitation burden. And when we do have a sunny day in December, it is a bit different than folks from the "lower 49" might envision.

In December on a sunny day go to our wonderful, sandy shore: Cannon Beach. Now at noon face the sun as it shines above the horizon. Extend your arm with the palm up like a traffic cop giving a "stop" signal. Position your hand so that the heel appears to rest on the horizon right under the sun. Your fingers will eclipse the sun. That's as high as it gets all day. It makes me ask the sun, "Why'd you bother?"

But December is Christmas time, there are lots of colorful lights to take your mind off the darkness, the rain the snow and the huge, honkin' glacier advancing and threatening to flood out large parts of the forelands, wash woodlands, salmon, the weir, slow moving tourists and a former Forest Service outhouse out to sea.

After that, (December, not the glacial cataclysm,) things start to get lighter, the days longer, the snow generally thicker, and the possibility of spring something you can believe in.

Now I come the bit that has me so excited today. I've made my blog entry and am out of excuses to put off the housework any longer. Oh well, it's time to sally forth into the debris.

One of the grocery stores in Yakutat now has low-carb Cheetos!

Well, the Universe continues to operate in the manner I've come to expect.

Last night I finally had an evening in which nothing seemed particularly required of me. I was not need at the power plany, the Forest Service, the police department, the Church or for the dissemination of Wisdom and Enlightenment. So, foolishly thought I, that it would be a pleasant evening to play my preferred computer game (Civilization III,) surf the web a bit, maybe listen to some music and chat with my Lady on the phone. But no.

Those of you who would go out of your way to rescue a baby kitten from a tree, who would risk personal injury to keep a friend from driving drunk, who believe that life should be a wonderful adventure full of discovery and joy will have already realized that something bad was about to happen.

First there was the little wind storm. About the time that I was getting ready to make my phone call, a roaring began to rise outside. And rise and rise. Of course it got a little hard to hear the roaring per se, as the winter weather covering over my front upstairs window began to flap and shriek.

The shrieking and roaring helped to amuse me as I had to start shouldering the plywood that covers the window in the fall and winter. I was naturally having to shoulder it since it was blowing in and moving the file cabinet in front of it along the floor.

This only went on for an hour or so, easily dismissed as an aerobic workout before enjoying the rest of the evenings pleasures. And then it got dark. Really dark. The kind of dark that says, "hey you live in the middle of nowhere and it gets exceptionally dark around here this time of year."

So, being an ever vigilant EMT, I called the police department and asked if they needed someone to go to the office and monitor the phone for 911 calls, since the automated system crashes without electricity.

Well, the evening was going downhill fast, but this should be a short stint at the station. Two hours later the emergency lighting went out. An hour after that the phones died.

Also it had been discovered that the power was out because a large tree had blown down on a main power line- and wouldn't be fixed until sometime after dawn.

So with the help of Jody the Amazing Boy Cop we rigged a basic phone for any 911 calls. I moved a table over next to the phone and climbed under some blankets appropriated from EMS. All of theses activities being performed by flashlight, you understand.

So I settled back to keep from freezing until daybreak, when the morning dispatcher came in and miraculously the power came back on.

So now, a new ordeal faced me. One that I had put off about as long as I had dared. An ordeal only somewhat less painful to me that the unfortunate "setting myself on fire" incident that my closer associates as well as anyone who lived in earshot at the time will remember.

And the ordeal was, housecleaning. Oh how I hate house cleaning. It is full of little unpleasantnesses, like finding things you thought were in good order broken, having to make painful choices about what stays and what gets thrown out, discovering that some things get all fuzzy and soft in dark and forgotten corners.

But I made a good start on it today, and expect to continue for the next few days. Indeed I must, my Sugar-Pie-Honey-Bunch has given me that inspiring phrase that women have used since time out of mind, "or else."

This morning, when the sun was low, the light was striking the large frost crystals on the roadside just right to make diamond sparkles. Across the road from the house, Monti Bay was calm today, though I could hear the breakers on Cannon Beach a few miles away.

The Northern lights have been out tonight, green flowing curtains from horizon to horizon. I wonder if I’ll ever be happy with a night sky that doesn’t occasionally glow again. Later things are expected to cloud up and snow.

Woodrow, the Wood Stove is burning like a dull orange sun in the living room.

I’ve been thinking deeply philosophic thoughts for days, but now they won’t come into focus enough for me to right them out. Pretty day though.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be more verbose.

Occasionally, in the day-to-day routine of living in rural Alaska, reasons may present themselves for using a chainsaw in your living room.

Typical examples of these reasons might include, "hey its raining out there and this piece of firewood is too big," "hey its snowing out there and this piece of firewood is too big," "hey the TV is in here and this piece of firewood is too big," and the ever popular, "hey this could be fun." (Please note I didn't say that any of these were good reasons.)

With these justifications firmly in mind, let us explore a few standard procedures for indoor electric chainsaw use. (Indoor use of gasoline chainsaws is discouraged by the author.)

1. Determine that the electrical cord, stray items of clothing, the cat and your
toes are not under the cutting bar.

2. Ensure that as you complete your
cut, you do not proceed into the floor boards.

3. Recognize the advantages
of far-flung wood chips and sawdust, that is to say, now you can really see
where you need to sweep.

4. Do not tell your mother, girlfriend, pastor,
friends, public health authorities or anyone else about your project. They will only want to stop you from proceeding with your carefully reasoned plan. As though they never did anything unwise, like for instance, allowing themselves to become your mother, girlfriend, pastor, friend, a public health official in your area or anyone remotely connected with you.

5. Write your blood type in high contrast permanent Marker on your chest.

6. Promise yourself, however much you know that it is a lie, that it will
be "just this once."

What a festive birthday I've had! There were games and prizes all day, although those of you not having a birthday probably just thought that they were elections.

We got our first serious snow tonight, a few inches with strong wind gusts. The weather is supposed to turn stormy and rainy tonight or tomorrow, so my lovely snow should turn to disgusting slush.

It's only been snowing for a couple of hours or so, but the occasional vehicle passing by outside already has a muffled sound.

It looks like President Bush will pull off a reelection, so I should be able to retire without nightmares of a Kerry victory. Boy that was a close one!

Congratulations to the Nation for selecting four more years of Republican administration!

And now I find that I need to go out into the snowy night. With great effort, I've gotten my dogs, Spooky and Phydeaux bedded down in the bathroom. Normally, they sleep in their more-or-less grand kennel, but with the storm a coming, I decided to be beneficent. Now I find myself in need of the room that they currently occupy. Heeding the old adage "let sleeping dogs lie," to which I add, "especially if they're stupid and the cat will have a fit," I'm going to get on the four wheeler and go visit the Executive Reading Room at the fire hall.