beating the blogging blahs~

i've been in a crummy slump lately. i don't really know why, but i just haven't felt like doing a dang thing. not even cooking has been fun. (thank goodness for a freezer full of venison burger and boxes of hamburger helper at times like this...) (and nope, you won't be getting daily posts from me as i follow julia childs' cookbook...)

as i read blog posts from folks all over, it seems the joy of spring has hit in full force everywhere. i'm just not feeling it yet.

at this point i would be remiss in not taking notice of the plight of those in japan right now. long time kodiak residents can certainly relate to them, sans nuclear nightmare, having lived through similar tsunami devastation after the earthquake of 1964. i hope we all continue to pull together to help these people regain their homes, their lives.

whether i'm able to romp through cherry blossoms or not, it's time to get myself out of this rut. the whale fest art show is less than a week away *gasp*. as i type this, sitting right next to me staring in it's eyeless sort of way, is my naked halibut tail, ready to be turned into a work of art for the 3rd annual KIVCB halibut tail auction. it needs to be done...soon.

earlier this week i did manage to go through all my sweatshirt pockets and the ashtray (used only for beach finds) in my rav for the little baggies of sea glass i've been collecting with my pal duff on our morning walks on the beaches. i perked myself up enough to get a bunch drilled and fashioned into jewelry:

Note to local lurkers: (i know you are there) you can now purchase these and much much more at Emerald Isle Framing, 334 Shelikof St next to the brewery, open T-Sat from noon. 907-486-0884. if you are not local and interested in my sea glass jewelry, please email me!! i haven't been keeping up my etsy store, but am happy to work with you on a custom purchase.

yesterday i hit the spring cleaning. right down to throwing open all the windows and doors and scrubbing and waxing the floors on my hands and knees. i know, who does that anymore? i have to admit it felt pretty good going to bed last night knowing every surface in the house including the toilets and the top of the fridge had been slapped with a hot rag and bleach. and when i got up for coffee this morning i was touched by my pal duff's little love notes to me in the form of perfect little muddy paw prints across the kitchen...we had a chat about feet wiping and the meaning behind the phrase "tan your hide."

{and if you are reading this devon, happy 20th birthday. we miss you and love you.}

i love my jug of sourdough starter

my family doesn't understand my deep attachment to my jar of sourdough starter. i can't explain it to them. it's taken me years of training to get them all to the point of understanding that if the jar is on the counter behind the sink, leave it there. if it's on the ledge behind the toyostove, do not move it. if it's on the bottom shelf in the fridge, don't bump it trying to make room for your sunny d. they all finally understand the basic sourdough rule: do not touch the jar. every summer i wrap it up and hand carry it with me on the boat ride to the lodge. the boys tease me that i should strap an EPIRB on it.
i don't know that i understand why i am so attached to it. it's not like i'm ma ingalls in a sod house in the middle of the prairie~ i can pick up a loaf of bread at safeway lickity-split. maybe it's a nurturing thing.
my friend veronica gave me a cup of her starter several years ago so i could get mine going. a friend of hers shared a cup with veronica long ago, with the story that it originated from relatives who carried it with them over the chilkoot trail in the 1890's.
i don't know if that is a valid fact or not, but when veronica handed me my jar of gooey, yeasty history, i felt a certain obligation to keep that starter alive. so far so good. i feed it, stir it, keep fumbling hands away from it. in return it turns out amazing muffins and sourdough french bread. and last night, a fantastic batch of pancakes. i wonder if they could be called vintage...

why i don't listen to the news~

i've been thinking about my middle son devon a lot today. i haven't seen him in over a year now. well, thanks to skype i have seen him, but you know what i mean, i haven't touched him, or fed him, or done his laundry for him.
i showed you him going off to air force boot camp, and let you know he made it through with flying colors. since then he's been sent to texas for training, over to florida for more training, and now is stationed at seymour-johnson air force base in north carolina, where he is a crew chief and engine specialist on F-15 fighter jets. two days ago he texted me a photo of himself in his dress blues, right after he received his second stripes. they are beautiful, and he looks so good...
it's been an emotional journey having him choose this path for himself. mostly i have been filled with pride, seeing him follow in his grandfather's footsteps, hearing his pride in himself over the phone as he met each test & obstacle over the past year. i know he loves what he's doing. i know he's being taken care of and that he's going to the dentist and eating meals. i know he still has a few months of tests and things before he is "deployable." i've chosen to focus on feeling the pride and telling myself he is on the ground fixing the jets, not flying in them...

and then i read the news this morning. two u.s. air men shot and two wounded, in germany. one of devon's best buddies from boot camp was recently stationed there. the air force base in germany is home to the only F-15 fighter wing in europe, and it's on devon's "wish list." my heart is heavy as i wait to hear from him. i can only imagine how his friends' parents are feeling.

pride can only carry a mom so far.

i see the person who did the shooting is 21. so young.

devon is 19. his 20th birthday is the end of this month. and i'm thinking if i would have talked him into college, he would have been worried about what he was going to be doing for spring break instead of doing the final pre-flight check on a fighter jet engine...

bless the families of those four boys.