Archive

I was cleaning out some files on my computer, and found some e-mails I'd sent my mom a long time ago, some stories I'd started, and some papers I'd written as examples for my kids. I also ran across something I wrote in an attempt to calm myself. Some of it is interesting, so I thought I'd post it for everyone here. 

   Here I stand, in a shower 1975 miles away from my parents, and 300 miles away from my house, getting ready to wash my hair. I’m standing in a high school locker room, and it has a shower that’s nicer than most of the ones in my village back home.

   I reach for the shampoo, and suddenly remember who used it last. His name was Kevin Hunt, and he was a volleyball player visiting my school. He’d finished playing, and was getting ready to shower himself when he realized that he’d forgotten his own shampoo. I went to my locker and looked at my choices. I had half an inch left of my very girly, expensive shampoo, left by an old roommate, or a brand new bottle of the cheep, unscented, generic stuff. I took the generic stuff, and, on an impulse, grabbed the conditioner.

   He took them, but refused to use the conditioner. When he came back into the gym where I was talking to his coach, he had the goofiest grin on his face. “Feel my hair,” He said. I shot him a questioning look that he responded to verbally, “I used the conditioner.”

    We had a good laugh. I told him he could keep them. I always seemed to buy a set whenever I needed to make the last three dollars for free shipping on an online drugstore site. He laughed and said he had his own back at home. Then he helped me carry some boxes back to my classroom. A really classy kid.

    He went home the next day and killed himself. No one told me the details, and I didn’t push them. I’d known this kid for a day and a half; they’d probably known him their whole lives. I had no business to pry. It’s not uncommon up here, where the sun barely rises for weeks at a time, and fresh fruit is something seen on TV, along with tall trees and clean running water.

   I pick up the shampoo again, and continue on with my cold shower. I am only one of 350 teachers here for the conference, and all the hot water has been gone since we got here. I use the shampoo. It’s all I’ve brought with me to use. I watch the bubbles run down the drain and think about the kids up here in bush Alaska. What life must be like for them, cut off from everything they see on TV and think is how it’s supposed to be?

   I can’t ban them from watching television, and I can’t convince them that not everyone is like the characters on the OC, but maybe I can convince them that life is a wonderful thing.

    I rinse off and get out of the shower.

Still Sick

It was suggested that I go to the clinic, because I'm still sick. I know what will happen. They will tell me that I am sick, and to drink plenty of fluids, and get enough sleep. I can handle this on my own without going over there. While I'm in this mindset, this is as good a time as any to explain how the clinic here works:

First, you must make an appointment. Usually not for today. Usually for two to three days away. Sometimes for tomorrow.

When it is your appointment time, wander over to the clinic. If no one is behind the glass window, don't worry, I don't think anyone's assigned to work there.

After hanging out in the waiting room for a while, watching daytime television, you'll be called back to one of the exam rooms. If you're lucky, you'll get a parent-teacher meeting done while waiting. After all, in a town this small, the chances of knowing the other people at the clinic is pretty high.

After making it to the back, the health aide will give you a basic physical. Temperature, blood pressure, etc. Then they sit down with THE BOOK. Now, the book looks an awful lot like the self diagnosis pages of the Mayo Clinic's Family Heath and Medical Guide.  But it's not. It's much more specific. It's, umm, laminated. Yeah, let's go with that. Laminated.

Typical conversation:

Me: I think I have strep. Six kids at school have strep, and I'm susceptible.

Health Aide: Well, you have a fever, so, Any aches, headache, cough or runny nose?

Me: No, just the throat.

HA: Any nausea, vomiting or diarrhea?

Me: No.

Okay, I'll let you figure out the rest.  Eventually, they do the swab, and it turns out that sure enough, I have strep.

Then I get some pills, and get to spend a day at home.  Good times.

Well, devoted readers, that's enough from me for today. Happy spring break, everyone.

Paper Crafts

Inupiaq days are coming up. In April. On the middle/high school side, this means inviting elders, setting up times with the military and dentist, thinking up service projects, and talking to elders about them sharing stories or helping us butcher an animal.

On the elementary side, it means finding the tagboard. The little kids need to do more hands-on crafts, which means preparing more hands-on crafts. The actual elementary teachers are full to capacity this week. Since we're pretty empty over here on the high school side, I agreed to help trace and cut out a few projects.

Project One:

Traditional Eskimo Sunglasses. They used to be made out of wood, and were used like all sunglasses: to block the sun. Currently, we use tagboard, and string. And of course, what good is a piece of paper without some markers, glitter, rhinestones, or paint.

However, these paper pieces don't just come that way. First, a pattern must be procured. We asked the bilingual teachers to sketch one for us, and it turned out very nicely.

After it was traced 106 times, the individual units were cut apart from each other, then trimmed to the right size. Then the eyes were cut out, and finally, two holes for the thread were punched on the edges. Of course, for an authentic look, we'd make the kids bore holes in it, but that could be tedious, especially with the kindergardeners.

Here are the ones we have done as of right now, in the four stages of done-ness.

Project Two:

Little Eskimo people. These little guys work pretty much the same way as the glasses, except that they're bigger. We can only make 9 little guys per piece of tagboard. Understandably, we don't yet have 100 of them done. Not even close. Maybe 40, and those aren't even all cut apart yet.

It's hard to see the pencil marks with this picture, but that second to the right pile is actually little paper dolls I've cut out, except for the tricky part under their arm, in their necks, and between the legs. One of the kids is willing to do it.

These little guys are going to get felt or fabric kuspuks, followed by fir trim. I'm going to guess this is more for the little kids than the bigger ones. (Bigger being 5th or 6th grade).



I was cutting today while my kids worked on their research papers. I'm only needed for clarification while they gather resources, so it worked out well for everyone. One of my girls asked if she could help, instead of working on her writing assignments. I told her that if she studied hard, stayed focused during college, and came back with a bachelors degree, then she too could cut.

Yeah, I'm not laughing either.

And for those of you who think that my life is all fairies and roses, here is my cutting injury:

And that's not a "I just pulled the scissors off" sort of mark. It's still on me, and I've taken pictures, done a job search, and written this whole post since I took the scissors off, and it's still on me. No wonder people like my mom get arthritis in their hands first.  I'm not even thirty yet, and I have caught myself rubbing the joints on my hand like I used to see my grandmother do when she was SEVENTY.

And on that note, I just realized that my other gramma's birthday is today. Which means that my parents' anniversary is also today. And I spaced until just now, at quarter after nine at night, Alaska time. There is a special room in hell for people who forget their parents' anniversary. It's right next to the one for people who leave their cell phones on during class.

Grocery Shopping

There are several ways to get food to the table here in Shishmaref. One of the fastest involves going out and and converting an animal into a piece of meat with the assistance of a small piece of magic we call "a bullet." 

Here are a couple boys with the leftover packaging, after they converted the caribou into steak.

Here is the meat. It's drying out. It can be re-hydrated later for use in soup. 

There is also fishing.

 These guys were probably caught in late August or early September, and were cleaned, split, and left to dry. They'll be eaten over the winter. 

Another popular way of getting food

 is to buy it at the store. While faster, it is more expensive to purchase one's food. It also requires one to make decisions not required while hunting. When hunting there is one choice: the animal in front of you, or hunger. At the store, there are more options.  Food is brought to the store one of two ways, in airplanes all year, or on the barge.

 We get two of these a year. The barge brings gasoline, furniture, and anything else too large to fit on the plane. If you'll notice, this one has a piece of construction equipment on it. 

 The Shishmaref Native Store has four isles, making it one of the larger stores in the area. 

Always available are: Pop, bottled water, canned milk, and juice are available at the store for drinking. It also has a pretty good selection of frozen foods, considering the size.

Mostly always available are: Cereal, flour, canned goods, and dried pasta. Frozen hamburger, banquet chicken.

Pretty regularly available are: Cheese, eggs, and margarine. Potatoes, and onions. Frozen chicken parts. Bread.

Less frequently available:  fresh fruits and vegetables. They had six heads of lettuce last time I went, and half a box of tomatoes. There was also half a box of oranges, so I got some oranges and tomatoes. The lettuce wasn't worth it. I saw bacon yesterday. Hamburger buns.

Very rarely, we'll get bananas or kiwi. Red peppers are unheard of, as are melons and bagged greens. Hot dog buns.

We don't get fresh milk, cottage cheese, or sour cream. 

(Don't even get tricked into thinking that tomato is from our store.)

While you could live on the supplies in the store alone, it might get boring after a while. Luckily, there are other options. One of them is to fly to a store in Nome, and bring back supplies like fresh meat and produce. This gets pretty pricey pretty quick, and is bulky to try to hide in luggage.

A phone call can be placed to Wal-mart or Fred 

Meyers, and they'll mail groceries in COD. Then one just has to go to the post office and pick it up.

Personally, I get most of my dry or canned goods (pasta, corn, flour, pineapple, etc) from Span Alaska sales in Everett, Washington. Then I get my fresh and frozen stuff from Nome when I pass through. Union training, and dentist visits have kept me in the meat. I also have an additional freezer so I can keep larger quantities of meat and tortillas than the average bear. 

If you see me over the summer, and for some reason I just can't get excited over canned pineapple, this is part of the reason. Things that used to be a treat, like canned Mandarin oranges, which I can no longer stand, just aren't as magical as they used to be. 

Another guy I go through, for unusual items, is Mike Werts, out of Anchorage. I fire him e-mails from the senior class, asking for 20 cans of nacho cheese, 15 boxes of chips, six boxes of peanut butter cups, 1000 Mr. Freeze, etc etc etc, and he just buys it, boxes it up, and mails it to me. He'll shop at Walmart, or Costco, or the grocery store. Really, he's just great. He gets a cut, but it's worth it, and his shipments get here in four to seven days, instead of 2-4 weeks, like items from the states take.  

New Doorknob

Today, instead of a general idea of Alaskan life, I would like to share with you the events of my morning. I find them both amusing and action-packed, and I hope you do too.

7:25 Alarm Clock goes off "Beep Beep Beep" We're too far from any radio station to have a choice when setting the alarm. Beep is my only choice.

7:25:03 Hit snooze for the first time. The plan is to do this until the clock says 8:00.

7:30 The phone rings. Because of a previous event involving me sleeping in, and getting a call from the school, I take morning phone calls very seriously. I jump out of bed, wrap my blankie around me, and race for the living room, where I left

 the phone the night before.

7:31 Answer the phone. It's my Dad! He wishes me a happy birthday, and we chat until it's time for me to leave for school. Unfortunately, I'm still sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, instead of being dressed like I could be if I had a longer phone cord on the phone. 

8:13 We hang up, and I head to my room to get dressed.

8:16 Dressed in black pants, my tie-dyed green and white school shirt, and a camouflage handkerchief, because it's Friday!  I leave my room, ready to find my shoes and go to school.

8:17 Attempt to open the door so I can leave my house. It doesn't open.

8:17-8:25 Twist, pry, shove, rattle, and curse the doorknob. It refuses to open.

8:25 Claim defeat and call the school. Floyd is very sympathetic to my cause, and informs me that he will send help. 

8:26 Move the shelves away from the window in the kitchen so I can communicate with whoever shows up to save me. 

8:27 Try to open the window. Realize it's locked, unlock the window and try again. Realize that it was unlocked in the first place, it's just frozen in place. Unlock the window for real and pull harder.

8:28 Feel pretty proud of myself for opening the window. Realize that this is the least of my problems.

8:30 Greet the principal, and both maintenance men as they troop onto my porch. Watch my principal fiddle with the door for a minute, decide it needs the attention of the maintenance men, and leaves. 

8:32 Talk to the men as they work on the door. Go screw the doorknob in

 tightly, hoping that will help. Try to take the screen off the window so I can pass them my keys.

8:33 Realize the screen is also frozen in place. Watch Warren hit it with his Leatherman, breaking up the ice, while John works on the doorknob.

8:34 Listen as the maintenance men decide that taking the doorknob off is the best bet. 

8:35 Try to unscrew the doorknob from the inside while John twists and wrenches it from the outside.  Curse John for trying to pinch my fingers. Realize that the

doorknob is completely unscrewed, but still won't move. 

8:36 Return to the window, where the screen is mostly free. Use the screwdriver my dad gave me to pry it the rest of the way out. Silently thank Dad for getting me tools. 

8:37 Get a chair John can use to land on when he comes through the window.

8:38 Watch John break the doorknob, twice. 

8:39 Race to school, feel guilty about how late I am. Watch how no one seems to care.

8:45 Start school like a regular day!!

10:00 Receive new key for the new doorknob the maintenance guys are putting in. Wonder just how cold it's going to be in my house with the front door open for an hour.

Recess, at 20 below

Recess at 20 below is actually a book. Which, by the way, I've never read. Also, when it really is twenty below zero, we have recess inside. We actually have recess inside from Mid-October to the beginning of May. 

We do have playground equipment. It looks something like this. There's a slide or two, and some ramps, a climbing thing, etc. When it was put in, because there was no solid land to put it on, the guys putting it up had to sink all the uprights into 5 gallon buckets of cement. These were then buried, and the rest of the playground was built up around it. 

Last summer, when we came back from break, it because obvious that a lot of sand had blown away from the playground, and some more was brought in from somewhere else (where? I don't know, the whole island is sand, it's not hard to find) and piled up to make the toys safer. There was no longer a big gap between the bottom step and the ground. 

This toy is still fun to play with in the winter-time, to a certain point. In March, when the snow comes, it becomes difficult to walk on any of the ramps, or use any of the slides. Simply because we can't find them under all the snow.

December is the dark month, January is the cold month, February is the short month, and March is the snowy month

We have already had the opportunity to discuss December, and how it is the dark month. The fact that January is cold and February is short are self-explanatory, though we may discuss the cold later on. 

 

I would like to take today to show a couple pictures for those of you who are less than willing to believe me when I start telling stories about the snow.

This first picture is what I found when I opened the front door of my house on Sunday afternoon.  I shoveled it out, all the way to the ground, and actually found boards, but the next time I opened the door, it was like this again, so I gave up. I've started sticking the snow I shovel either into a rubbermaid tub to melt, or directly into the storage bin. This way, I have somewhere to put the snow besides on top of other snow that I'll have to shovel later. I heard from one of my aids this morning that they used a dustpan to dig themselves out, as their drift went higher, and they just didn't have the leverage. I'm not sure why this picture is so bright on the top, it was a rather dark and dreary day. Probably just a reflection of the flash.

I have told people about my snowdrift before. I have also mentioned the snow that piles up outside my door. It was once said that we don't really get snow that deep, just that the snow blows up against the door. In my defense, I would like to submit the following picture. Notice, if you will the snow piled up against the door, the very slight depression, and then the snow drift, you will see that my porch really is buried about as far as it can be.  In the back, you will notice Ken's house, and how he has his own drift starting. Between this drift and his house, there is a road. There were not a lot of people on it this day, for some reason.As a little piece of perspective, I offer this shot, which goes along the side of my house. You can see the length of this snow drift, and get an idea of how high it is. That's my door frame on the left, and the roof line at the top. The drifts in the front and back actually got so tall that high school boys climbed up them and walked around on my roof last night.  *Thanks high school boys, thanks.*  At the very end of the snowdrift, you can see, sort of off to the right hand side, the honey bucket bin (more on that later), and half obscured by the falling snow, Mary's house. Her house is only 12 feet away from the end of my house, and my house isn't that long.  To the right of Mary's house is her father Rich's house. It's only 4 feet away at the closest point. 

This morning, to avoid spending an hour digging myself out, I simply dug enough of a space to stand, so I could close the door. Then I climbed up on the porch railing, and rolled out into the road. Luckily, there are not a lot of people out and about at eight a.m. on a Monday morning.  

My plan was to borrow a shovel from the maintenance guys and dig a path back in this afternoon. Then I would spend parts of the evening digging out the rest of the porch, so it would look nice. In a bizarre twist of fate, the roommate wrenched her knee this morning, trying to follow my plan. I assumed she would dig herself some stairs to get up on the porch railing (not everyone is as freakishly tall or long-legged as I am) and roll also. Alas, she tried to follow my actual footsteps, which led her to a painful situation.  She talked to the principal this morning, and he sent a boy over to shovel the path open again. So there is one thing off my list of things to take care of. 

Shortest Day of the Year

It is currently 5 p.m. and still light outside. I know what most of you are thinking: this is not a big deal. Saying it's light at four in the afternoon is like saying the sky is up, and rain falls down. Those of you, however, haven't spent a winter in Alaska. 

Actually, according to The Old Farmers Almanac, we have 10 hours and 42 minutes of sunlight today. By March 21st, we'll be at 12 hours, just like everyone else. 

Our shortest day of the year is on December 21st, the winter solstice. On that day, we had 2 hours, 49 minutes of sunlight. My first year up here, over Christmas break, I sat and watched the sun come up, go across the sky, and touch down. My own records say 1 hour, 55 minutes. 

In the weeks leading up to the solstice, and in the couple after, I find myself getting grumpy.

 Two or three hours of light is just not enough, even with our freakishly long dawn and dusk time. I started taking pictures, because I just couldn't believe that people had decided to form towns up here. Here are some of the pictures out of my classroom:

This one was taken at 12:10 p.m. That's Angie's Portable on the right, and Laurie's on the left, for those interested, and a sign welcoming people to the playground in the front. This picture is facing due South, and that bright spot is the sun, thinking about coming up.

Here's a couple minutes later, we've finally, fifteen minutes after noon, reached a level of light so that we can see outside without turning porch lights on. But we leave them on anyway, because of what's coming: 

Yup, sunset. And what time was this picture taken? 2:48 p.m. There the sun goes, setting over the tank farm. (Burying  tanks of gasoline and oil in a ground that undergoes 100 degree  temperature variations is not the best idea. So the tanks live above ground.)

Lest you feel too sorry for me, please remember that in the summer-time, the opposite happens. Mostly. The sun sets around 1 a.m. and rises again around 3. However, because of the freakishly long dawn and dusk, it never actually gets dark for weeks in a row. 

Here is an interesting piece of information I found out while I was looking up actual sunrise times, from the Alaska Science Forum, May 10th, 1976: 

Shortest Day--Shortest Night

Article #66

by T. Neil Davis

This column is provided as a public service by the Geophysical Institute, University of Alaska Fairbanks, in cooperation with the UAF research community. T. Neil Davis is a seismologist at the institute.

Why, asks Mr. Jim Schneider of KUAC, is the shortest day longer than the shortest night?

Looking over sunrise-sunset times, he noticed that the shortest night (June 21) at Fairbanks is only 2 hours, 11 minutes long, but the shortest day (December 21) is 3 hours, 42 minutes.

Were it not for refraction of the suns's rays in the atmosphere, the shortest day would equal the shortest night at a particular latitude. Atmospheric refraction bends the rays so that they can pass over the horizon. Hence, the sun appears to rise before it actually reaches the horizon and it is still visible at night after it is actually below the horizon. Consequently, every day is longer than it would be if there were no refraction.

Hopefully this clears up any questions anyone has been having, and allows me to post some pictures while I was at it. 

For those of you who looked at those photos and thought to themselves, "That doesn't look so bad," I offer this: 

Remember that sign from the beginning of the post that welcomed people to the playground? That's it, sticking out of the snow behind that snow drift. The only reason we can see it is because the school is built up high enough to give us a view over the drift. And if you wonder where that snow drift goes, here is the rest of it:

These are not the best pictures, I took them with the laptop camera, and it's not getting the light right. I'll take more some other time. 

Thanks for listening. I hope you find this science stuff as interesting as I do. 

Church in the Bush

When the Russians took over Alaska, they brought the Russian Orthodox church with them. As time passed and most of the Russians left the state, there was room for other schools of theological thought. Small missions sprung up in in the larger areas. When the time came to spread the word to the rest of the state, it was decided that it would be best just to divvy up the smaller town, as places like Shishmaref aren't big enough to support two churches. 

I'm not sure how it happened, but Shishmaref ended up Lutheran. I don't think the LDS were invited to the meeting, as I have not seen a single town that is all Mormon. Along with the English Language, stove oil, and frozen waffles, the Lutheran church has a big white church, and graves with white crosses on them, and a pastor who has to write "For Church Use" all over the box of wine (more on that in another post). 

When I first moved here, I had a roommate, Darcy. She was religious, and went to church every Sunday. I asked her if she minded going to a different church than the one she was raised in, and she said they were all about the same. Some of us, however, are highly attached to our religions, and don't want to leave them behind just because we move to the middle of nowhere. Enter the joy that is teleconferencing. 

My little congregation out here consists of people from little villages across the state. There are usually 15-20 families that call in on Sunday morning for Sacrament meeting. By the time we get to Relief Society, there's maybe nine women. 

Our branch presidency is based in Anchorage, and the rest of us just call in on teleconference. 

We can mute ourselves individually, so no one hears us anything going on on our ends. The presidency can also mute all of us, just in case. Prayers and talks are done over the phone, the passing of the sacrament is done in every little town that has a priesthood member. Songs are a little tricky, as there is a bit of a delay over the phones. If we all tried to sing in tune with everyone else, we'd really be behind, and they would hear us even after that. So songs are played at one place, and we all just listen, or sing along with-out sound on our end.

It's awkward sometimes. I don't ever know if I'm being heard. Maybe I'm just talking to myself here, and everyone else is wondering where I am. I know it doesn't sound like "Mute off" and "Mute on" could be confusing, but it's true, it's sometimes hard to tell them apart.

There's not a lot of time between classes to socialize, but we do get out faster than the average group. When I go home in the summer, and one class gets over, I wonder why everyone doesn't just automatically go to the next class. I get used to the idea of hanging out in the hall about the time I've packed for Alaska again. 

How do you like the pictures? I realized my blog needed a little something to perk it up. So far, I haven't really had anything to put pictures up about, so I've been snagging them online. As more relevant things come up, I'll post real ones.

Ode to a Maintenance Man

While some of you may think you have good maintenance at your place of employment, that is only because you have never know the joy of having John  and Warren as your maintenance men.

So today, in honor of them, I've created this little list:

-When pop came in for the senior store late on Monday night, John was out there hauling NINETY cases up the stairs so we could use the dollies to get them into the storage room.

-When I locked myself on the elementary side 

of the building, with no shoes and no keys, right before everyone left for Stebbins, and I was about to be left behind, Warren came and found me.

-When my house was colder inside than outside, and I was sitting in front of the oven, which was turned all the way up, in my sleeping bag, over Christmas break, John came and made the heat work again. Then he sat in the basement with a blowtorch to thaw the pipes, so I could function.

-This morning, when I opened my front do

or, and found 30 inches of snow on my porch, I just sort of froze. I couldn't imagine digging my way out through that drift. Then I saw Warren shoveling one of the portable steps.  I whistled at him, and showed him how deep my porch was. I figured he'd laugh, and that would make it all better, and I'd dig my way out. Well, I was wrong, he came over and started shoveling. So I did  too, and we met in the middle, and I was able to leave my house in a lot less time, and a lot warmer, than I had figured. 

-When the class I sponsor got to be seniors, we needed another chaperone. If it was a man, then we wouldn't have to pay for a second advisor and a chaperone, we could just do with just the one. Enter John. Cool like a kid, responsible like a grown up. And, since he has no immediate ties anyone on the trip, I can trust him to be impartial during arguments. 

-Monday, I stumbled to school, already tired, and took a shower. Then I realized that my keys were still at my house, and I didn't want to go outside with wet hair. Just then, Warren came around the corner, and let me in. Very nice. Very, very nice.  Any time I don't have to tell the principal about my incompetence is a good time. 

-They put a new water pump in my house when mine broke, so I could stop scooping water out of the reservoir, and just turn on the sink like a regular person. They also took the frozen pipes out from under my sink so I could catch my drainage in a bucket and take it out, instead of backing up a bunch of pipes which would start to smell.

In addition to all these specific moments, they also keep the school running, and the heaters at our houses supplied with oil. They bring in the mail, bring in the visiting teams, and bring in the clean water when the school is out. When their hands get cold from working outside so much, and their fingers crack open, they just wrap them with electrical tape, and keep going. 

I don't care if they can't fly, and I don't even care when they make fun of me for being dumb, they are my heroes. 

I was just reading over this post again, fixing some tense mistakes. I almost make my self look like an idiot. Well, maybe I am, but these are instances from the last four years, and like Jessica Simpson says: "I'm not really that dumb. Tape anyone long enough, and they're bound to make some mistakes."