A Delaware Family Christmas

I left Pierre before dawn Christmas morning, beginning my ping-pong holiday journey to the east coast: Pierre to Watertown to Minneapolis to Detroit to Philadelphia. All of my flights arrived in their destinations early, so my concerns about the short connection times were alleviated.

Even though I moved away seven and half years ago, descending into the airport with a view of the Center City skyline still gave me a feeling of "home." This remained the case even with the recent completion of the Comcast Center, now the tallest building in the city, surpassing One Liberty Place.

I arrived in Philly after 3:00 p.m., picked up my car, and headed south on 95 into Delaware. I could have driven blindfolded. (It's comforting to know I can be away for so long and not have the place where I grew up change. Well, besides the Phillies winning World Series.) True to my intention, I arrived at my parents' house just as Christmas dinner was about to be served. Good thing too because I'd only had a couple of Pop Tarts and a Clif Bar since 5:15 a.m.

It was still daylight out when I arrived, which I thought would eliminate the element of surprise. I put on the Santa Claus hat I had bought the previous night in Pierre, walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. My dad answered and... just looked at me. He didn't even recognize me. Granted, I had the hat on, I was a bit scruffy, he hadn't seen me in two years, and wasn't expecting me. But still!

The funniest part was even though he didn't know who the hell I was, he still let me in the house. So, I walk in, standing just inside the front door. All three of my siblings are sitting on the couch, craning their necks to see who just walked in. They all stared for one, two seconds, and then, "Oh my god!"

So, the three of them all run up and give me a hug. My mom and grandmom then come in from the kitchen to see what all the commotion is about. It's only then my father finally gives me a hug. Dad, come on!

My sister's two boys were also there. They claimed to know who I was, even though I'd only seen them just once before. The eldest was in a grim reaper costume.

We sat down to dinner. I was asked who I voted for in the presidential election. Obama, duh. Dad actually voted for him too. Or, as he put it, "I voted for Biden and Obama just so happened to be on the ticket." Whatever. A vote's a vote. My grandmother, on the other hand, called Obama a socialist twice before the gravy got cold.

After dinner, presents were opened, and the happy family watched The Bucket List. The Cleavers ain't got nothin' on us, let me tell ya.

Friday, four of us went to breakfast, and then my sister accompanied me when I stopped by to see my hairdresser. I started going to her when I was just a kid; my dad and brother still see her. She squeezed me in for a much-needed haircut. (I don't think there's anywhere in Mission to get a haircut. It sounds like, though, there are folks here who "do hair.")

After Sis and I walked the mall and Barnes and Noble, I was off to my grandmom's. She treated me to lunch at Booth's Corner, followed by tea, cookies, and Judge Judy at her place.

Saturday, I headed over to Jersey to see a long-time friend. After brunch (I had scrapple - yum), we people-watched at the Cherry Hill Mall. And then that night, the family went to a neighbor's Italian restaurant in Wilmington, where an unexpected family reunion took place. I hadn't seen my great aunt (who is also my godmother) in, I don't know, 20 years. She had told Mom she wanted to see me specifically the next time I was in town. I had had only one memory of being at her family's house when I was a kid. Whatever had come between my mother and grant aunt had evidently been reconciled. My surprise turned into a surprise for me.

I was up at 3:30 a.m. the next morning to head back to the airport. My trip was over and it had turned out even better than I could have hoped. My flights back to South Dakota were just as uneventful as those three days earlier. I was back in Mission by sunset, in bed before 9:00 p.m., and back to work the next morning, almost as if I had never been gone.

Almost.

The latest

Just some things worth mentioning:

• The wind was blowing harder this afternoon than it had since my arrival. It was blowing so hard the water inside the toilet was swishing back and forth. I'm still trying to figure out the physics behind that one.
• I'm growing my beard back. To keep my face warm in the cold South Dakota winter? No, I'm just too lazy to shave regularly. But it does look good, if I say so myself.
• Thanks to a certain someone's going-away gift of an Amazon gift card, I picked up a nifty headlamp for a mere 93 cents. I gave it a test drive after work tonight and it works like a dream. I would have stayed out longer but the headwind was brutal heading out the Dump Road (see bullet #1).
• On a related note, the view from the top of the rise this evening looking back at the lights of town was awesome. Open spaces rock.
• On another related note, having barking dogs chase me while running is a lot scarier at night compared to during the daytime. But I haven't come across any mountain lions... yet.
• I had a very productive day at work today. I got the go-ahead on the partner family story I wrote up for the grant competition. I submitted it this afternoon, so cross your fingers it gets picked for publication. A $10,000 grant would be oh-so-nice. I also finished up a letter of inquiry for another grant. I love tangible results. Now, if only the money would start flowing in...
• My Christmas trip was a smashing success. It's a story for another post (soon, I promise), but I will say I know I don't visit the family much when my own father doesn't recognize me.
• My 2009 running schedule is set: one marathon and four half marathons, all in South Dakota. I'm going to stick with a strict marathon training plan this time around, with days and projected mileage marked on a calendar already. I'm not sure if I can beat my 2006 time of 3:48:38 because it's a trail run with an elevation gain over the first half of the course; however, my goal is to finish this race not feeling like I want to die.

Getting in the holiday spirit... for once

After work on Christmas Eve, I made the 100-mile drive drive up to Pierre to catch a flight Christmas morning. Since I drive faster than I had remembered, I had more time to spend in Pierre than I had planned. Since I just love my government buildings, I walked over to the state capitol for a visit, where Christmas at the Capitol was in its final days. Organizations throughout the state sponsored and decorated trees, which were on display under the dome and along the main halls.

Now, I'm no fan of Christmas, but I have to say I really got into the spirit walking throughout the building. The smell of the trees (real trees, the only way to go) was evident upon entering. My favorite tree was decorated by the Oahe Episcopal Women, which was adorned with knitted caps for babies (representing warm babies' heads in Africa, I think). But the whole scene - the trees, the smell, the lights, the music, and the relative lack of crowds - really gave me a good feeling.

It didn't hurt matters either that all of this was in the capitol. There's just something about walking around the halls of government, footsteps echoing, I find enchanting. After looking at the trees, I made a visit to the House and Senate chambers, followed by more exploring. I'm hoping to make a return visit to see the Legislature in action. The session here is shorter than in Alaska; it is not to exceed 40 legislative days.

After my fun evening, I went back out into the windless cold and walked back to Chez Super 8 along the snowy sidewalks. Is it possible to label an evening's events as romantic if one is alone?

A simple wish

I'm off to Pierre tonight to catch an early flight tomorrow morning. My Christmas wish is for both of my tight flight connections to pan out. And I'd like a new pair of jeans. And world peace. That's all.

Merry Christmas everyone!

One month down

I've officially been an AmeriCorps VISTA member for exactly a month. So far, so good. Sandy and LaCosta have not held back their gratitude for my presence. I still sense a bit of concern from each of them in regards to me sticking around for the entire year. I don't think that has anything to do with me though; the last VISTA only lasted two months. But I continue to reiterate I love it here, which is the honest truth. Whenever LaCosta has introduced me, she tells folks I'll be here for a year and "hopefully longer than that." And Sandy has joked more than once he'd like me to take over the Executive Director role from him.

The job definitely has its challenges. Since I'm basically starting from scratch, I really need to take heart in the small breakthroughs over the coming year. I was told at PSO first-year VISTAs are laying a lot of the groundwork for future VISTAs. (FYI: When a site submits a proposal to host a VISTA, they submit a three-year plan.) I look at the 5K I'm trying to get off the ground, for example. My goal, of course, is to have that become an annual event. I've read first-year races like the one I'm planning don't draw much of a crowd. And the fact I live in the middle of nowhere (not that I'm complaining, but it's true) doesn't help matters. But I am a runner, and I certainly know the difference between a poorly run and a well-run race. I'd prefer the latter.

I do have projects on my plate with tangible results, which I need. It's nice to be able to point to something and say, "I did this." On Friday, I created a volunteer database, complete with hours worked and contact information. Most of it was data entry, but it felt good to have that completed by the end of the day. And I'm also working on a Habitat for Humanity International grant/competition, writing up a "compelling" partner story to appear in future mailings. The affiliate that has its story chosen gets $10,000 in unrestricted funds. And do I have a great story (sorry, no details)! The family's mother is stopping by tomorrow to give me more details about their current living situation, and she really wants this to turn out well for our affiliate.

Besides the job, I've really settled into a grove living in Mission. This is the first weekend since arriving that I haven't traveled. There really isn't much to do in town; plus, a reinforcing blast of cold weather arrived Friday night, so I've stayed inside most of the weekend. I did get bundled up yesterday to walk to the grocery store, but quickly turned around when I realized the wind wouldn't let me keep my eyes open. I did get antsy today and made the walk. It wasn't as cold or windy today, but my face was a nice shade of pink upon returning home. (It's 15 minutes into town to the grocery store, one way.)

Speaking of the cold, the heat has not returned 100 percent to the building. We had some pipes leading to the baseboard heating units burst during last weekend's cold weather. The pipes have been repaired, but the heat isn't fully functioning yet. I've had a space heater in my room all week, so I try to stay confined to my womb of warmth. That is, until I hear water flowing and race downstairs to check the pipes.

It's no coincidence I've been getting a ton of reading done. Folks know I'm an avid reader, but I've picked up the pace. I guess a lack of TV and heat will do that. I've made a considerable dent in the pile of books I bought in Chicago during PSO.

In other news, I registered to take the GRE in March. I'll have to go to Rapid for that because I live at least three hours from the nearest testing site. Grad school still looks like my plan post-VISTA. And the most probable option is the MPA program at the University of South Dakota. But we'll see. I have a couple (well, more than a couple) options brewing in my head right now. It's nice having choices, I must say.

So, there's the latest from me in Mission, South Dakota. I've inadvertently been blogging about non-VISTA nonsense (e.g. last night's dream), probably since things have been going so well for me here. I'll leave you with a photo of my co-workers. This photo will appear in our upcoming newsletter:

From left to right: Yours truly, Eric (the construction manager), Sandy, and LaCosta.

Fist Bumps in the City

I don't know if it's the wind blowing outside or the wacky dreams I'm having tonight, but I can't stay asleep.

In my dream, I first passed unnoticed through a scene in Sex and the City. All four of the main characters were there when Trey made a surprise, and unwanted, appearance. He was escorted away by an unknown man. This transitioned into my staying at some hotel, needing to take Jasmine, our family's dachshund that passed away last year, outside to go to the bathroom. We made it to the elevator doors (we were on the eighth floor), and when they opened, there was an unattended baby in one of those carrier things on the floor. Just as the doors were about to close, the baby's parents arrived. They fetched their baby and decided to take the stairs instead, but not before I scolded them for leaving the baby. The doors then closed and Jasmine and I were on our way.

The elevator moved so slowly. The weirdest thing of all was during the ride down, I was giving fist bumps to Jasmine. Why I was giving fist bumps to a dachshund, that's beyond comprehension. The elevator doors finally opened to the ground level, a combination lobby and restaurant. Jasmine, really having to go to the bathroom now, ran out immediately. She raced past a former co-worker sitting at one of the tables, and then by a waiter delivering something to another table, knocking him and whatever was on his tray onto the floor. The last thing I remember is Jasmine changing direction a couple times, not being able to find a door outside.

Fist bumps with a dachshund. That's a new one.

Being John Malkovich

Sometimes when catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see my father. It's mostly the facial expressions. I've been told I look like my grandmother, and she thinks I look her son, my uncle. But there's a certain resemblance several folks have seen over the years which recently surfaced. I remind people of John Malkovich.

I don't think I look like anyone famous, and it's certainly not everyday I hear the sentiment from others. But when I have, the same name has been uttered. When I first heard the remark a decade ago, I told my mother about it. She was taken aback. If I remember correctly, she said he was creepy.

What's most fascinating is the diverse people and under the disparate circumstances I've heard it. A co-worker in Delaware. A friend in Juneau. And, just last month, a fellow VISTA in Chicago. Her explanation was the most thorough: My mannerisms, my speech, the way I look, all reminded her of Malkovich. "Not that that's a bad thing," she concluded.

I'm still not so sure. Before leaving Juneau, I saw Burn After Reading, a movie I really enjoyed. (My two companions had their own opinions.) My mind did wander a bit as I watched Malkovich, trying to pick up any hint of familiarity. I don't know. Maybe?

Where I run

My favorite running route so far here in Mission is the dirt road that runs north from the four-way stop. Starting at home, running to the T junction and back is 12 miles.

Here's the view at the top of the rise looking south back toward town:

And here's the vantage to the north. It's another 2.5 miles to the T:

And I was worried there wouldn't be any hills here! When I'm out running, I typically encounter only a vehicle or two. It really is a desolate feeling out there. And I absolutely love it. Just me, the wind, and the sound of my shoes crunching on the gravel.

***For Amy (and Molly): People just call it the Dump Road. I've never seen a dump out there, so I just asked Sandy about its whereabouts. He said when he was a kid, the dump was out this road, but it hasn't been there for some time. But people still call it the Dump Road.***

Chilly, inside and out

The chill in the building began yesterday morning. I had chalked it up to the property being old and drafty. Well, come to find out we're out of propane. The thermometer inside is currently at 40 degrees (it's 10 below outside). Luckily, I had a space heater to keep me warm last night. That, and the multiple layers of clothing and blankets. My room is a small cocoon of warmth in an otherwise frosty building.

Sandy told me this morning he felt bad I had to live in such circumstances after moving from "someplace nice." But I'm a trooper. I came here expecting an adventure and I think I'm getting it, in spades. Plus, we'll have propane (and presumably heat) again in a few hours. Now, if only I could keep my hands warm in the meantime...

Osni

That's Lakota for "It's cold." I woke up about 20 minutes ago to a cold room and a chilly pillow. There's a draft coming in one of my bedroom windows I need to do something about. It's down to 5 below, with the wind chill at 32 below. Not much snow though; I can still see the grass out there. Gotta go find my gloves...

Mission, South Dakota

Some photos of my new hometown:

A trip to the city and back

Folks, the weather is in the midst of taking a dramatic turn for the worse. Each time I check the National Weather Service forecast, the situation looks worse and worse. Now, it's supposed to get down to 27 below tomorrow night, with a wind chill between 44 and 49 below. Yikes.

I drove to Sioux Falls last night, since the VISTA Christmas party was scheduled for this evening. Sandy called me from Mission just as I was pulling up to Morgan's house in Parker saying the temperature had dropped, the wind had picked up, and the fog had rolled in. I decided to bail on the party and head for home.

It didn't get bad until just east of Winner. As Sandy had told me, visibility was limited because of blowing fog. There isn't much between Winner and Mission, so when I decided to continue my drive, I was on my own. It turned out to be an intense drive, one that required every ounce of my concentration. I was able to keep a steady 50 miles per hour, but a few nuts decided that wasn't fast enough. Hopefully, they made it to their destinations in one piece.

Many drivers here don't realize you're not supposed to use your high beams when it's foggy. Not only is it blinding to other drivers, but it really does more harm than good. All the high beams do is illuminate the fog in front of the driver. So stupid.

LaCosta had left me a message during my drive. She was in Sioux Falls this weekend as well and was wondering how I made out with the roads. Unfortunately, within the last hour, she was only pulling into a gas station in Mitchell, so she still has a ways to go.

It's a nice feeling knowing Sandy and LaCosta both care so much about my well being, even if it is a bit parental.

***

I did have a good day in Sioux Falls today. I ran 14 miles on the bike trail that loops around the city. It was relatively flat as I looped around the airport, before dropping down into Falls Park. I don't know if that portion of the trail was near a sewage treatment plant or what, but it reeked. Otherwise, the run was pleasant.

I stopped at the Sioux Falls Area Humane Society for their Howliday Open House. I wouldn't say it was a mistake going there; I did buy some bake sale goodies and a calendar. But I really shouldn't have walked through the area with the dogs available for adoption. The way they just sat and stared at me as I walked by was heartbreaking.

The rest of the afternoon included buying new running shoes, picking up photos, some light shopping at Target, a walk along Phillips Street downtown, and an unsuccessful search for jeans at Penney's.

P.S. Whoever in the Sioux Falls planning department decided to put all of the city's retail on 41st Street should be fired. Immediately. The city is fairly easy to traverse except for this glaring exception. Think Dimond Boulevard in Anchorage, but worse.

Are you serious?

Before leaving Juneau, I shipped six boxes of photos, books, and music back to my parents for storage during my VISTA year. My mom said they arrived last week, but the mail lady wasn't a happy camper. Evidently, between the heft of some of the boxes and the fact she actually had to get her ass out of the vehicle, she felt it necessary to tell my dad, "Next time, could you have these shipped via UPS?"

You have to be fucking kidding me. You're the mail lady from the post office. Quit your bitchin' and do your damn job. You know, it's shit like this that gives government workers a bad name. There's dead weight no matter where one works. But this "not my job" attitude and lack of ownership in one's work are so stereotypical of public sector employees, so it doesn't help when an incident like this occurs. So, to my private sector friends out there, I promise you they're not all like this. I sure as hell wasn't.

Mystery solved in the Heart City

Residents of nearby Valentine can rest a little easier because the Butt Bandit has been sentenced to more than a year in prison.

I feel safer already.

Fry bread and pie

Yesterday was the first time I really immersed myself in community-wide events. After my morning run on a snowy dirt road, putting my Yaktrax to excellent use, I went to an arts market at Sinte Gleska. Once there, I got to chatting with the two folks manning the front table selling raffle tickets. It didn't take long before the man said, "Oh, you're the guy from Alaska." Evidently, my reputation preceded me.

It was good to meet both of them. They were with CREDO, the Community Resource Development Organization. I'm hoping we'll be able to work together during my year with Habitat.

Overall, the market was fair. Yes, there was fry bread. And I did buy a small piece of pottery from Jodi Jensen. I really liked her work and the prices were reasonable.

After my afternoon nap, I went down to Lakeview for a chili dinner/pie auction to support a former resident about to undergo a stem cell transplant for her leukemia. LaCosta has invited me down, and among the desserts she made was an Oreo pie. That was the one I had my eye on. It took awhile for that one to go on the auction block, but I was ready when it did. Luckily, the bidding wasn't as high as some of the other pies. Some went for over $100. I was able to walk away with it for $50, which is exactly how much I had wanted to spend going in.

When I returned home, I had to hold myself back from just throwing my entire face into the pie and licking the tin clean. My restraint was admirable though, as I only took an appropriate serving for one person. Can I just tell you how good it was? It's one of those desserts you don't even have to chew. Just scoop and slurp it down.

I think I may head downstairs to the kitchen now to pay a visit.

Enjoy it while it lasts

The weather around these parts doesn't seem to stay the same for very long. Last week was windy and cold, and we received a couple inches of snow. Today, on the other hand, the wind switched direction, resulting in sunshine and a temperature around 50. A southwest wind this time of year, though, means a cold front can't be far away. Indeed, snow is in tomorrow's forecast and the wind chill tomorrow night should slip below zero.

One thing I learned from living in Juneau is when the sun is out, you get yourself outside, because the sun seemed to make only fleeting appearances, especially this past summer. Since I went running yesterday morning, I got myself in the car this afternoon instead for some exploring and picture taking. (By the way, photos will be on this site shortly. Remember, patience is a virtue.)

I went down through Rosebud and St. Francis, home to a purple Catholic church. I crossed the state line into Nebraska, driving through the McKelvie National Forest (yes, a national forest in Nebraska) to the Merritt Dam and Reservoir, and then back up to Valentine.

Just south of Valentine along Highway 20/83, the Cowboy Trail passes high above the Niobrara River on an old railroad bridge. The Cowboy Trail is part of the Rails to Trails Conservancy. When complete, it will stretch 321 miles from Norfolk to Chadron. I practically had the bridge to myself, even with the nice weather. I plan to go back down for a run in the near future.

One thing I like about this area, and something I witnessed in abundance during today's drive, is the courtesy wave from passing drivers. Some stick to the classic lifting of a single finger off the steering wheel. This shouldn't be my pressing concern in life, I'm sure, but I was extra vigilant to ensure I returned every friendly gesture. I don't want to appear snobbish. I had little to worry about today, though, since I was driving through areas so remote they made Mission seem like a metropolis.

Here in town, the local drivers are just as friendly. I walk into town during lunchtime most days and it's not uncommon to receive a wave or two along the way. I do worry about the inadvertent snub, mainly because I'm famous for it. I can pass right by someone I know on the sidewalk completely oblivious to their presence, as my mind tends to wander when I walk. I'm thinking I need to start waving at every single passing driver, just to be on the safe side.

Past, present, and future

I've been in Mission for a week and a half now. I've settled into some routines here. I've met a ton of people already. My responsibilities at work are coming together nicely, including planning an inaugural 5K to benefit the affiliate. I'm working on my running schedule and travels for the year. I think this will be home in no time.

All of that being said, I've had my first opportunities to take a look back at the time I spent in Juneau. It was my goal and dream to live in Alaska, and I made it happen. I accomplished so much in my time up there. However, it's been surprisingly hard since arriving in South Dakota to put my time up there in perspective.

I guess part of it is due to the fact that, although much of what I'm experiencing is new, there's a lot that's familiar and comfortable here. Namely, the driving. I can't tell you how nice and what a relief it is to be able to just... go places. That statement might seem odd to someone who has never lived in Juneau. But after spending five and a half years, albeit good ones, off the road system, to be able to travel and live spontaneously is wonderful.

Another reason why I haven't been able to reflect upon my time in Juneau is I'm more of a forward thinker than someone who dwells on the past. There are specific goals I'd like to accomplish, as well as states of mind (e.g. happiness) I'd like to maintain. There's only so much on this planet within my control and I can't change the past. My future is in my hands. But I guess even that's debatable.

My year as a VISTA is going to fly by. One of my concerns is, already, what to do next. I have several paths I can choose. Which leads to another matter: Is a year in Mission enough? A year in Juneau certainly wouldn't have been.

Well, I guess the answer at this point is simple, a lesson I learned and incorporated into my life successfully just this past summer: Live in the present, because everything works out for the best. It always does.

"Oh, bury me not on the lone prairie."

I nixed plans for a morning run and to head down to Valentine today because of the weather, specifically the wind. It has been howling all day and continues into this evening. I can hear it blowing through the windows and the fireplace, and the building has creaked and moaned with the higher gusts.

Appropriately enough, I've been reading The Great Plains by Walter Prescott Webb. It's an examination of life on the plains up through its original publication in 1931. Right now, I'm on the chapter devoted to the literature of the plains. I'm not a fan of most poetry. Okay, I hate about 99 percent of it. But included is The Dying Cowboy. I think this poem resonates with me because of its starkness and imagery. And because the wind tonight is telling me, "Welcome to South Dakota, Bri."

Read all about it

Since leaving Juneau back on the 11th, I've felt completely out of touch with what's been going on in the world. It's hard here in Mission too because the local paper, the Todd County Tribune, isn't online. The Tribune is published weekly every Wednesday. My subscription should begin next week, but I did pick up a copy at the grocery store this evening. I feel more informed already. Several items of local interest:

• There were three lockdowns at the high school last week.
• The new tribally run grocery store, Turtle Creek Crossing, is scheduled to open in December.
• There doesn't seem to be a word limit for letters to the editor. Plus, there's a lot of ranting going on. But it's hard to decipher why most of the writers are complaining because they assume readers already know what they're talking about. I'm going to have to keep my copies of the paper so I can refer back to them.
• An arts and crafts market will be at Sinte Gleska, the local college, next Saturday. I'm hoping there will be fry bread.

Thanksgiving memories, past and present

Today isn't the first time I've spent Thanksgiving on an Indian reservation. Back in 2002, I took a road trip from my home at the time time, Arlington, Texas. Wednesday night brought me to Santa Rosa, New Mexico. The following day, Thanksgiving, I headed north through Santa Fe and spent a couple hours in Taos.

I then drove west on Highway 64, arriving around sundown in Shiprock on the Navajo Nation. I was hungry, but nothing was open because of the holiday. My only choice was a convenience store, so I bought some snacks there and parked in the empty parking lot of a neighboring shopping center to eat. I saw a guy wandering around, but didn't think too much about his presence. After eating, I got out of the car to throw my trash away, still not worrying about the lurking stranger.

As I walked back to the car, I heard footsteps behind me. He didn't say anything until I made it back to the car. I was opening the door when he tried to start a conversation. He was young-looking in the way he dressed, but I remember that his face aged him prematurely.

I don't know how long I humored him with my attention. But it didn't take him long to say, "You're very good looking." Uh-oh. Now I knew what he was after. And he probably looked a little rough around the edges because he had been turning tricks. Hell, I'd look that way too if I was a male prostitute.

The car door was already open, so I sat down to make my getaway. He then made his final pitch, asking, "Do you want to...?" I slammed the door, started the car, drove south down what was then known as Highway 666, and spent the evening in Winslow, Arizona. The following morning I was at the Grand Canyon, a world away from that parking lot encounter.

***

By comparison, Thanksgiving 2008 was tame. I went for a run this morning. I ran close to 10 miles. My runs since leaving Juneau had been a bit sluggish, but I felt great this morning. I would have gone further, but needed to get home and cleaned up. Black Dog did spot me when I made the turn onto Omaha Street. She accompanied me back up to the building.

Sandy had invited me to his mother's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Well, I'd actually call it lunch since we ate at noon. There were about a dozen of his family members there. The food was great and consisted of the typical holiday fare (turkey and ham!).

The only downside of the afternoon was when the little boy began choking. It was pretty scary there for a moment. He was able to cough up whatever had gotten lodged before throwing up a couple times on the kitchen floor, the second time just a few feet away from me. I was worried the sight would make me want to barf too, but his vomit was surprisingly odor-free. One of the other family members was afraid of that as well, so she stepped outside for a bit. Another said, "Something like this happens every Thanksgiving." Let me tell you, nothing says Thanksgiving like the Heimlich Maneuver.

The boy was fine though. In fact, later in the afternoon, he found a piece of rope and wanted me to drag him across the floor like a wayward calf. I guess that's what ranch kids do for fun around these parts. I felt like a cowboy! His aunt later scolded him for playing with the rope in the house. I got off scot-free.

What's that you say, baby doll?

I just came across this article in the Rapid City Journal from November 14th. There's a doll out by Mattel that supposedly says "Islam is the light." A couple of women from Mitchell were "appalled" and had the doll pulled from shelves in their town.

Be sure to watch and listen to the video included with the article. And then you make the call!

Here kitty, kitty, kitty

During this afternoon's lunch hour, I paid a visit to the BIA. I had been calling around town looking for a map of the local fire trails. LaCosta had told me these trails are a nice alternative to running on the roads. The random worker I questioned in the hallway of the building was nice enough to provide me with what I was looking for.

While we were waiting for the map to print, he told me about the mountain lions. This was the first I'd heard of them in this area, although he'd only ever seen tracks. I had been wondering if there were any predators I should be worried about encountering while out running. In Juneau, it was bears. When I was down in Louisiana back in April, I was wary of alligators while running on the levies. And here, it's mountain lions.

I know what to do when surprising a bear: make a lot of noise, put my arms in the air to appear larger to the bear, play dead. But mountain lions? Sadly, but humorously, my first thought when he mentioned them was a scene in the original Parent Trap movie. You know, the classic with Hayley Mills and Hayley Mills. The twins, their father Mitch, and his fiancée Vicky go camping. The girls want to break them up so their parents have a chance of reconciling, so they conspire to make Vicky's life miserable in an attempt to drive her (and her mother) away. Anyway, to make her look foolish in front of Mitch, the twins tell Vicky the way to scare off mountain lions is to bang two sticks together. Those girls!

So, when I go check out the fire trails, I'll be sure to find a couple sticks to take with me, just in case. I feel safer already.

Don't be afraid of the dark

My first day of work is in the books. Today was devoted mostly to information gathering and asking a ton of questions. Nothing glamorous, but very worthwhile. I also learned how to pronounce the name of our affiliate, Sicangu Tikaga Okiciyapi. Just say the c like a ch and you've got it!

I think I'm going to enjoy living and working in the same building. I just need to make sure I'm showered and dressed before the others arrive in the morning. God forbid they see me prancing around in my unmentionables. They should at least get to know me better first. And buy me dinner.

I have been warned by a couple people I shouldn't go out after dark. Or, at the very least, have a couple people with me. Ummm... I don't think that's going to happen. I went for a run after work today and I was out past sundown. Granted, this was only one run, but I found those to be out and about to be friendly as opposed to bloodthirsty. I'm going to invest in a headlamp so I can see better while running the dirt roads at night, potential attackers be damned.

I chose a slightly different running route this evening. I ran through town, coming to several dead-ends and having to backtrack. I then made it to a new dirt road that ended at a pond. Well, it looked like a pond in the twilight. I'll have to venture back during daylight hours.

One of the hazards associated with running the dirt roads at night is the wheel ruts. One false step and I'll have a twisted ankle. Then again, it couldn't be worse than this little scrape on the East Glacier Trail this summer:

Oh, and Black Dog did not accompany me this evening, probably because of the new route. But let me tell you, I can not overstate the cacophony of barking I stirred up as I ran through town. There are dogs everywhere.

Every runner needs a dog

I went running this morning, my first run since Ketchikan a week and a half ago. And more importantly, my first run in Mission. Running here is going to be very different from Juneau.

There are a lot of dogs on the reservation. Some have owners; others just roam around. After running down the dirt road leading from my building, I was on Omaha Street. That's where I met the dogs. Well, one in particular. A black... something. I'm not good with breeds. I would guess a lab, maybe. Anyway, she left her yard and began running with me.

Typically, when this happens, the dog follows for a bit before returning home. Not this one. I knew I wouldn't be able to lose her once we hit Highway 83. There, she kept to the road, a four-lane highway. I thought she was going to get hit. And I just knew motorists driving by were thinking, "Hasn't that guy ever heard of a leash?" I know that's what they were thinking because that's what I think when I'm driving.

Anyway, we crossed over Highway 18 at the four-way stop and proceeded up a dirt road. It was a surprising good running surface with minimal traffic. It reminded me of Basin Road in Juneau. There was a definite rise in elevation along the road. I had been worried about a lack of hills in the area, especially considering the trails in Juneau. The big difference here though is the roads are so straight. It'll be a challenge to keep focused while running due to the long sight lines.

Another challenge will be the wind. I felt it out there today and the winds were relatively calm. There aren't too many trees around here, so there isn't much to break the wind.

I made it to the top of a rise with Black Dog at my side. What a view! Looking north, the dirt road continued. Turning to the south produced a wide view with Mission in the distance. Absolutely beautiful! I decided to make that my turnaround point, so Black Dog and I headed for home.

That dog had a death wish, I'm sure. Upon returning to the four-way stop, she just kept running. Luckily, the truck heading west on 18 was stopped and kindly let us pass, probably thinking, "Why doesn't that jerk have that damn dog on a leash?"

We got back to Omaha Street, where I expected Black Dog to return to her yard. No, she stuck with me, trailing me up the dirt road back to the building. I sat outside at one of the picnic tables for a bit to soak up some sum. I tried to read the dog's collar, but she wouldn't let me. While she was cleaning herself, I slipped back into the building. She didn't try to follow.

Not a loser

I drove into Winner yesterday afternoon to switch over my driver's license, car registration, and insurance. I'm a State Farm customer, so I stopped by the local agent's office. Come to find out, my new agent is also the mayor of Winner. His wife runs the front office.

The topic of Alaska came up; they had questions about traveling to the state. And they asked about Sarah. I always love speaking with people who are enthusiastic about Alaska. They both pulled out road atlases to locate the cities that came up in our conversation. Very cool.

So, I'm kind of a nerd. I took advantage of my conversation with the mayor, asking him about...

• economic development in town: Wal-Mart thought about coming in, but later passed; a small call center recently closed
• population growth: stagnant and projected to decrease through 2025; the kids leave after high school
• comparisons to local communities: Mitchell is doing well, with Cabela's recent opening; otherwise, rural South Dakota isn't doing so hot
  

After an hour-long chat (I was the only customer), I went to lunch and then back to Mission. Upon returning to the office, I mentioned how I had just met the mayor. Sandy asked, "Did you tell him you knew me?" I said I had mentioned where I'd be working but no specific names. Sandy then said, "It's a good thing he doesn't know you know me."

LaCosta and I couldn't tell if he was joking. Time will only tell if he was. At the very least, it serves as a possible harbinger of the small town politics I may have immersed myself in.

Just me

I have plenty to share, but for now, here are a couple photos taken this afternoon.

Shooting bullets

• The last week and a half has been something else. Between the ferry, the drive, several hours at my new home, more driving, orientation in Chicago, and another stay at the Motel 6 in Sioux Falls, I'm feeling awfully rootless. But I'm now just a morning's drive away from Mission. Thank goodness.
• I'm learning my way around Sioux Falls. Here's an analogy: Sioux Falls:South Dakota::Anchorage:Alaska. I'm not sure I'd ever want to live here, but the amenities are all here. The Roll'n Pin Restaurant is my new favorite.
• I'm sure I'll beat this dead horse over time, but I just can't get over how everything is so damn cheap in the Lower 48. Everything.
• Tomorrow's errands include opening my post office box, begrudgingly getting a cell phone, visiting the DMV, and changing over my car insurance. I think the last two errands involve a drive into Winner. Speaking of which...
• ...My car is holding up well. I had my concerns because it was packed pretty good. I thought the additional weight would give me problems going over the passes, but all went well.
• I'm excited about starting work on Monday. I came away from PSO with a ton of great ideas. Many of the VISTAs told me they're interested to hear how my year turns out because of where I'm serving. Most of the folks at PSO are working in urban areas (Cleveland, Chicago, Toledo, Minneapolis, Columbus). Those of us in the Dakotas are in the smallest towns, with Mission being the most remote by far.
• I was thankful before PSO that I'm going to be able to live where I work. But many of the VISTAs have major housing issues and the cost is going to eat up a significant portion of their stipends. So, now I feel downright lucky.
• It's supposed to get down to 4 degrees here in Sioux Falls tonight. Cold and dry: the way winter should be.
• Hunting is big in South Dakota. Since I first arrived in the state last week, I've seen signs and marquees that read "Welcome Hunters!" I think the state colors are officially bright orange and camo. East River deer hunting season opened on November 15th, while West River opened on the 8th. Which leads me to...
• ...A South Dakota geography lesson. Everything west of the Missouri River in South Dakota is referred to as West River. Everything east is East River. The river generally splits the state politically, topographically, and employment-wise. I live West River.
• It is so dry here. My skin is begging to go back to the rain forest.
• Time for bed.

When in Chicago

Outside of orientation, there was some time to explore Chicago. Before this trip, I had only driven through the city, so this was my first opportunity to see some sights.

Tuesday night, I dragged Amy into the city on the Blue Line. I wanted to go to the Sears Tower. It was a relatively clear night and figured the view would be spectacular. There was a short movie on the construction of the building before the minute-long elevator to the top. And once there? Beautiful! The views were completely different from each of the four sides. When up that high, I most enjoy looking down on the streets and highways, trying to place what I'm looking at on a mental road atlas. Afterward, we got to know one another over dinner at Giordano's.

Last night, another VISTA and I traveled to Myopic Books, just off the Blue Line. Knowing my entertainment options (and bookstores) will be limited in Mission, I wasn't stingy with my money. We ran into three other VISTAs in the store, so we rode the train back to the hotel together. The requisite Sarah Palin conversation ensued.

Overall, I enjoyed my limited travels in Chicago. I don't think I'll ever live in a big city, especially considering my tendency to move to places with subsequently smaller and less dense populations. That being said, I think living in Juneau has giving me a new appreciation for city life.

The weather was chilly during my time here. Definitely cooler than average, but certainly no record breakers. But you should have heard the folks from the Midwest bitch about the "cold." One would have thought I was with a bunch of Floridians. I, on the other hand, was grateful for the "nice" weather. Hell, I didn't even mind the brief snow shower on Monday.

Let's get oriented

I'm sitting on the floor of Terminal 2 at O'Hare, passengers zipping by with their luggage just inches in front of me. I have two hours until my flight to Sioux Falls boards; in the meantime, I'm decompressing.

PSO (Pre-Service Orientation) was a success. I've gone through a variety of orientations over the years for jobs I've held, and I can honestly say this one was the most worthwhile.

The welcome and introduction were Monday night. The speaker was a bit into his speech when he said, "I just met a man earlier this evening who just relocated from Alaska to North Dakota for his VISTA assignment." Yeah, that was me. He had noticed the Alaska address on my paperwork. He had chosen the wrong Dakota, of course, but I knew he was talking about me. He continued, "Could you raise your hand?" I was thus known as "That guy from Alaska" for the remainder of PSO and the Sarah Palin conversations commenced.

That night's speaker did approach me after the close of the evening's activities because had forgotten my name. I was then able to correct my Dakota of residence. Right in his footsteps were two young women from North Dakota, ecstatic they had located a fellow VISTA from the Peace Garden State. I corrected them, but we bonded anyway. The three of us and Amy from Sioux Falls were the lone Dakotans in the crowd. The majority were serving in Ohio, Illinois, and Iowa.

Besides being the Lone Ranger from Alaska, I was also one of the few folks there to relocate for VISTA. One of the women from North Dakota just moved to Bismarck from San Jose, California, and she was as excited about her move as I was about my own.

The group of about 200 VISTAs and supervisors was broken down into smaller groups. So, I was with the same group of 28 VISTAs and Bob the Facilitator for the majority of the week. Just in this smaller group was a wide range of backgrounds, life experiences, and demographics. I was pleasantly surprised, in particular, with the range of ages of the participants. I was under the impression that most of the volunteers would be fresh out of college and, at 30, I'd be one of the older ones present. Hardly. (Although I will say, when it came time to complete the evaluation and I had to fill in the bubble next to the range of years that contained my birth year, I was definitely not in the youngest cohort.)

In the smaller groups, the conversations became quite contentious at times. What amazed me was how vocal I became when discussions revolved around the definition of poverty and organizational culture. Evidently, I have some hot button issues, and when they're triggered, I become assertive with a need to have my voice heard.

One topic in particular revolved around work/life balance. We were asked to agree or disagree (in varying degrees) with the following statement: "My job defines who I am as a person." I strongly disagreed. Those who agreed with the statement spoke first, which just got me riled up. Then, I jumped in. I've had jobs that I've enjoyed thoroughly and have fit both my personal and professional interests (e.g. at the Alaska Department of Labor). But I have always drawn a line between work and my personal life.

I wouldn't say I was attacked, but those who strongly agreed with the statement noted the 24/7 aspect of serving as a VISTA. I was able to counter that by saying I needed time off from work because I had goals in Mission outside of my VISTA assignment. Plus, my supervisors were well aware of my hobbies and have been 100% supportive from the beginning. (They had already lined up folks with whom I could run even before offering me the position.)

Then, there was a statement about timeliness. People learn pretty quick when they meet me that if I'm ever late, there's a damn good reason for it. And I don't even wear a watch! After sounding off on the work/life statement, I was on a roll, so I volunteered myself as spokesperson again. This time though, I had caveats. In some cultures, lateness is tolerated and nothing ever starts on time. If when I get back to the reservation I learn that's the case, then I'll have to be the one to adjust. On the flip side, there were always several VISTAs that never seemed to able to make it back to the sessions on time. That lack of professionalism made my blood boil.

Finally, earlier this afternoon, I and the others were officially sworn in as VISTA volunteers. In fact, we repeated the same oath President-Elect Obama will give on January 20th. Pretty cool, I think.

Here and now

I'm in Mission. More details to come, but I now have to hit the road for Parker and Sioux Falls. No rest for the weary.

My first impression though is that this is going to be an awesome year! It'll be an adventure, no doubt, but I'm so glad I'm here.

Revelation and anticipation

On the road today, I stopped for lunch in Big Timber, Montana. An interesting name for a town considering the lack of trees. But it was a town with many positive qualities. It got me to thinking about how it would be neat to live in such a small place in the middle of nowhere someday. It wasn't until later back in the car that it hit me: "Duh Bri. Where the hell do you think you're moving?"

Tonight, after 650 miles of driving, I'm in Wall, South Dakota. More importantly, I'm a mere two hours from Mission. Over the past four months, I've only been able to make an educated guess as to what life will be like for me there. I have a bit of nervous excitement this evening, knowing that tomorrow I'll finally arrive. Well, after a quick stop at the Wall Drug first, of course.

P.S. The animals were out in full force again after sunset: more deer in the road with a couple more off to the shoulder, a rabbit, and some sort of varmint whose eyes blazed in my car's headlights.

Home of the Trojans

Sometimes, one just needs to properly take a hint to know when to act. After having a too-close encounter with a couple of deer on I-90, seeing the backside of another four-legged critter on the shoulder, and passing over three roadkill blood stain splatters on the pavement in quick succession, I figured it was time to pull off the road and call it a night.

The day had begun in Bellingham, followed by pizza in Ellensburg and gas (the kind that goes into the car) in Moses Lake. I paid $1.919/gallon, by the way. Six hundred miles later, here I am in Drummond, Montana.

The woman in the motel's office saw I was from Juneau and asked, "What do you think about Sarah?" I gave an ambivalent response. 

I walked down to the Wagon Wheel for dinner only to find out the kitchen had closed a half hour before. The young man who greeted me must have sensed my starvation because he checked with the cook, who offered to cook me up a burger and fries. I sat down at the counter and looked around the place. What caught my eye was a small chalkboard above the partially exposed kitchen: Population 332, Elevation 3,948 2/10. The erasable population figure makes sense; I imagine it's easy to count heads in such a small town. But how often does the elevation change?

Oh, the tab? A whopping $4.95.

I walked back down Front Street to the motel as the second train to pass by town since my arrival sounded its whistle. Any wagers as to 1.) how many trains pass through Drummond every night, or 2.) how much sleep I'm going to get tonight?

By this time tomorrow, I should be just shy of Mission. I'll say goodnight for now and thanks again to the folks at the Wagon Wheel.

Hurry up and wait

Monday was insane. I severely underestimated 1.) the amount of shit in my apartment, and 2.) the amount of time required to pack it all into my car. I was up at 7:00 a.m. and went to work immediately: shipping boxes back to my parents for storage, closing my post office box, trying to figure out how I ended up with eight Sudoku books, making a run down to the Salvation Army, and throwing away so, so much.

After dinner with friends at the Canton House (oh Dinner C, how I'll miss thee), I went back home to clean. I kept finding more stuff that needed to be dealt with. I would pack a couple boxes into my car only to return to an apartment looking as though there was still as much detritus strewn on the floor as before. And then I was literally about to walk out the door for good when I happened to look in the kitchen drawers only to find... More junk! So much for my "less is more" philosophy.

But I did make it to the ferry terminal in plenty of time. In fact, I was first in line and had time to squeeze in a quick nap while waiting. After midnight, I drove onto the ferry. I then staked out a spot on the floor in the lounge between rows of bucket seats. I had my pillow and blanket, and I fell into a fitful night's sleep.

Yesterday, by comparison, was mellow. All day, I alternated between napping and reading. I was able to upgrade my accommodations to a row of seats with a table, so I slept elevated off the floor on cushions. No, I still didn't sleep well.

This morning, I arrived in Ketchikan for a six-hour layover. I went running out South Tongass Highway, 11-12 miles total. I went to the Pioneer Cafe for lunch where I learned that smoking in restaurants is still allowed. I sat up at the counter, with one smoker a few seats to my left, and another a few seats to my right. If I hadn't already ordered, if I wasn't so hungry that I was about to gnaw off my left arm, and if I had been aware of a smoke-free establishment somewhere in town, I would have walked out. Alas...

Which brings me to the present. The ferry leaves in about an hour at 5:00 p.m. I'll be in Bellingham at 8:00 a.m. Friday morning, when the drive to South Dakota will commence. Tonight's agenda, in the meantime, will include a nap, reading, and dinner. I'm hoping I still have that bench seat for my bed. It beats the floor.

Ketchikan memories

In March 2001, I took my first trip to Alaska. I was still living in Delaware at the time. I flew to Bellingham, and then made the 36-hour ferry ride north to Alaska's First City. Seven and a half years later, the place hasn't changed. It still rains a lot, the town is a bit run down, and the people are gritty.

I actually almost moved to Ketchikan. Back in May 2003, I bought a ferry ticket only as far north as Ketchikan. I arrived on Mother's Day, so I made a phone call to my mom from the ferry terminal (where I'm now writing this). The conversation went as follows:

Me: Hi Mom. Happy Mother's Day.

Mom: Hi. Thanks.

Me: Guess where's I'm at?

Mom: New Mexico?

(A quick aside: I had told my family and friends that I was leaving Texas, my home for two years, for New Mexico. I made a slight detour, to say the least. Now, back to the reenactment...)

Me: No. Farther.

Mom: Arizona?

Me: Nope. Farther.

Mom: California?

Me: Farther.

Mom: (With a sense of hesitation in her voice) Alaska?

Me: That's it!

After this conversation, I drove around town for a bit. It didn't take me long to realize that if I really wanted to make a go of things in Alaska and have things work out, Ketchikan probably wasn't the right place to plant roots. I returned to the ferry terminal to buy a ticket to Juneau later that afternoon. I arrived in the Capital City the next day, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The first post

There's a pile of junk in the corner of my apartment I'll need to address eventually and my voice echoes off the walls. (Not that I'm talking to myself. Yet.) Otherwise, the place is empty. Tomorrow is for errands, cleaning, and one last dinner with friends. Then, it's off to the ferry terminal and the three-day ride on the Malaspina to Bellingham. Two days of heavy driving later will bring me to my new home in Mission, South Dakota.

For now though, I'm off to bed. Well, I guess technically, I'm off to the floor, because I sold my bed several hours ago.