Life is serious

Well, anyway, it has been lately. This is a picture of my newest granddaughter, Maureen Charlotte. For months before her birth we were told to anticipate problems. She was too small, her limbs were disproportionately too short, maybe she had Down's Syndrome, maybe she had dwarfism. We thought about those things, and, really, we thought about how other parents who had kids with challenges viewed their children as gifts. But even though you know without a doubt a new child is a gift, it's impossible not to worry. You worry about whether your child might suffer. Maybe they will have painful physical challenges. Maybe they will have to suffer mean or thoughtless remarks from ignorant people. Will you be able to advocate for them? Do you have the wisdom to help them deal with other people's attitudes? It can be pretty stressful.

So here is Maury, having been in this world an entire three days when this picture was taken! She was small, but not too small. She weighed 5 pounds and 2 ounces. She was perfectly proportioned. She doesn't have classic dwarfism or Down's Syndrome. But she has some challenges. She has a pretty extensive port wine stain on her face, and although that can be treated and made to disappear almost entirely, there is a serious syndrome that can sometimes be associated with port wine stains, so she is scheduled for an MRI. And she is not gaining weight as quickly as one would normally expect. So that's a concern, too. But she's alert and active and given to expressing her needs quite, er ... vocally!

And she is, absolutely, unequivically, an amazing gift.

Give a little whistle

This is my granddaughter, Gracie. She's learning to whistle. Also she has very blue eyes!

Seduced

I was seeing someone local. Someone steady and fair, someone who was always there for me. But you know how those relationships go. Predictable, safe. A little boring. Lacking in variety and excitement. Then I took a trip and met someone in a city a little south of here. He tempted me with pastries and gourmet coffee. He opened new doors for me. He was experienced and ready to fulfill even my most secret wishes. He offered mystery, fantasy and romance. I'll call him "Mr. Big." You can just imagine why! Oh sure, I knew he'd forget about me until the next time I showed up in the city. I knew he'd had a million women before me, and he'd have a million more. But it was too late for me. I'd been seduced. I began planning my trips with him in mind. I even started making lists of all the things I wanted from him, every whim and desire. I could scarcely wait to walk through his doors and into his arms.

I'd come home debauched and ashamed and return to my steady relationship, vowing never again to give in to my base desires. But still I would return for more. Then the unthinkable happened. Mr Big came to my town and took up residence! Can you understand what that meant for me? I tried to stay away, but it was hopeless. I passed him on the street and he gave me smoldering looks that invited me to come to him and try something new, something deep, something delicious, something scandalous, something banned by decent people. And, oh god, I did, and I can't stop. I'm so ashamed.

I was seduced by Barnes & Noble.

Don't call me a baby boomer

Here's how my day is going so far: I couldn't open the file I need on our shared drive, so I called computing and was informed that I needed to take the drive off my computer and then add it again and remap it. Of course, I have no clue how to do that. So the friendly (but, as we shall see, not too bright) computer tech promised to walk me through the procedure. Yep. Well, we got the drive off my computer and guess what! The friendly tech did not know how to add it back on. So now I am divorced from the drive with all my work on it. And I have been reassured that someone will get back to me on that. Right. I'm not holding my breath. Anyway, things have gone rather badly this morning and I'm in a black mood, so I figured why waste it. I will take the opportunity to rant about one of my absolute pet peeves. So! Don't call me a baby boomer!! And absolutely don't stereotype me and then blame me for all the world's problems! If you've got to call me something, call me a 60's person.

Here's why. I was born in 1948. The baby boom "generation" is defined as having been born from 1946 to 1964. Do you really think I have anything in common with someone born in 1964?? Think again. The people I grew up with were concerned with social issues. We cared passionately about civil rights, the war in Viet Nam and environmental issues. We still care about that stuff. Many, many of us are still deeply involved in today's social issues. We still think that bigotry and discrimination exist and and that this issue needs to be recognized and addressed by every single American. We think that we have the right and, indeed, the responsibility to question American involvement in Iraq. We try hard to make choices in our lives that lessen our impact on the environment. We care about the quality of the lives of everybody else on the planet and we understand that what, and how much, we consume can negatively impact those lives. So yep, 60's person. But don't even assume everyone born in 1948 is a 60's person. Stereotypes are a drag.

Here is what 60's people aren't:

We don't toss feces filled diapers into the trash.

We don't buy cheap plastic crap.

We don't think we are the center of the earth, either personally or as a nation.

We don't throw away things just because we didn't like the way it tasted, because it was out of fashion, or because there's a newer, shinier version.

We never, ever wanted our hair to look like Farrah Fawcett's.

Okay, well, I got that off my chest just in time. A friendly and intelligent (!) person from computing called back and I can work. Yay! Oh, yeah, and I don't know what the photo above has to do with anything other than it sort of reflected my mood.

P.S. But don't assume that everyone born in 1964 tosses disposable diapers in the trash, buys cheap plastic crap, thinks they're the center of the earth or ever wanted to look like Farrah Fawcett. Stereotypes are a drag.

I'm so outa this old town

That's right. MizMagee is headed south. But, true confession: not south enough. Just south to Anchorage. No palm trees, sandy beaches, trade winds, or fruit flavored beverages with little umbrellas. Still, I don't want you to think I'm not enchanted with Fairbanks this time of year . March can be charming up here. A little cold, a little dreary, what with the dirty piles of snow, below zero mornings and all. Still, here are some pictures taken around this time of year just to prove it's not all chapped lips and wind chill. For example, the Mecca Bar, above, presumably dispenses liquid sunshine, although I've never worked up enough courage to go in and see for sure. But the sign is sunny and bright, even at night!

See, you practically need sunglasses for this one! Who says downtown is drab and boring?

We have tall buildings, and, better yet, lens flare from the sun. That's right.

And, when all else fails, we have purple benches, sea shells and, omigosh, spigots to remind us there might come a time when we actually have a lawn to water, sun to sit in and, um, okay, not the ocean - it's far away - but the shells are a nice touch anyway.

Be back later!

Waiting

Waiting for summer.

Waiting for this new grandchild,
waiting to know.

Waiting for peaches and plums.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Waiting for the axe to fall.

Waiting for birch sap.
Waiting for snow melt.

Waiting to see what's around the corner.
Waiting to see what's over the edge.

Sometimes it's just all about waiting.

The persistence of winter

You probably think this is a picture of the Butrovich Building, up on the ridge at the University, with the early morning city lights in the background. But actually it's a picture of what the longest cold snap in interior Alaska since 2000 looked like just before my fingers froze to the buttons of my camera and I sprinted to my car, hoping that the excruciating pain I was experiencing was a sign my hands weren't frozen solid (I mean, they'd be numb, right?).

This has been such a charming winter. Flat tires, viruses, chapped lips, dry hair, static cling. Everyone I know has been sick. Oh wait, everyone includes me! That's right - rub your screen with Purell before reading this blog entry. It's swarming with microbes.

But I admit, when you scrape a little hole in a frost covered window and peer out, it is kind of pretty. Especially at sunrise.

P.S. What I'm ordering from Amazon.com: Palm tree, sand, sun lamp, shore bird CD.