Author name: Rod

Ah, those quirky Alaskans.

(Picture linked to article if yur dying to read more).

I call it Rod’s Funbox.

Decant into quality ice-filled shaker the following:

4 shots (or so) quality Tequila.

2 shots Triple Sec.

2 shots lime juice.

Shake vigorously.

Place shaker on ice in Funbox. Fill two tall, lime-rimmed glasses with ice and place on ice in Funbox. Place litre of Jose Quervo margarita mix on ice in Funbox. Put sliced, fresh watermelon in container on ice in Funbox.

Take Funbox to front yard boardwalk, wait for Happy Wife arrival.

Say goodbye to July:

BIGGER.

Dude shoots and kills a grizzly with an AK-4774.

Near Anchorage.

Happy Wife slept in a tent in the cool grass of the backyard last night. With Harry. No, I didn’t kick her out of the house, because no, we didn’t have a fight.

“I’m hot,” she said.

“Well, of course, dear, you know I think you’re smokin’.”

“No, not that hot. I mean it’s too hot in the house to sleep.”

Sure enough it was pretty stuffy in our bedroom (upstairs), must’ve been 80? Downstairs was cooler but evidently not cool enough.

Summer is a harsh mistress for the snow bunny.

BIGGER.

Harry saw and inspected it first. Seen on the bluff trail overlooking Cook Inlet. One of our usual places for a morning hike, just minutes from home. Sure, this unprecedented, glorious summer weather we’re having has a lot to do with it, but I must say I never jade to the simple pleasure of my morning walk with the dogs. Even when coming on fresh evidence that we were not alone. And I don’t mean the small children playing on the sand dune this morning, not 300 feet from where I took this picture.

BIGGER.

The mottled quail egg looks like earth from space, except instead of oceans of blue, oceans of pooh.

Good thing we didn’t eat the shells then.

Instead, said shells were gently cracked, allowing gooey albumin and yoke to decant into thumb-pressed depressions in the breakfast stratta, which was then returned to the oven to bake for an additional five minutes or so. While we waited we talked about the morning news, and were saddened to learn — fearful really — that J. J. Cale had died. Fearful, because when artists you came up with start passing it’s like hearing the whoosh of the Reaper’s scythe overhead, your own head. Finally, with coffee in one hand and a bowl of stratta in the other, the five of us repaired to the sun-splashed deck. The morning was still and quiet, save the last boats of the day’s fishing fleet departing Seward harbor.

Only two forkfuls into the stratta and a collective Mmm went up. When food is good nobody speaks.

Earlier last week I made dinner for Happy Wife. I started with a potentially award-winning bloom of broccoli I picked from our garden, and stir-fried a mighty nice (if I don’t say so myself) beef & broccoli dish. Served over rice dusted with sesame seeds and sliced shoots pruned from our Walla-Walla onions. Our neighbor recommended the pruning; said doing so would redirect the plant’s energy into growing the fruit and not the shoot. Because it rhymed it seemed like wisdom.

We ate outside on the deck in the warm evening air, unpestered by mosquitoes!

BIGGER.

Harry held rapt by something in the water:

BIGGER.

Minutes later, down the beach away, I saw people swimming in the ocean. Big deal you say? Let me remind you that even with the unusually warm summer temperatures we’re experiencing this year — with no end in sight — the water in Alaska is cold. My estimate of the temperature in Resurrection Bay is ~45 degrees, possibly warmer, but even so cold enough to turn one blue after ten minutes or so.

I took Otis for a ride to Exit Glacier, aptly named since it’s nearly outta here. At the site of this photo 115 years ago I could have leaned Otis against the glacier’s head wall:

BIGGER.

Cool glacier; cool outwash plain; cool Fireweed; cool bike; not so cool out-of-shape, aging white dude:

BIGGER.

Ceiling fans? Seriously? What’s next, our throw rugs?

Good grief.

I swore the seat belt in 6E had two male ends. I looked to Happy Wife, befuddled, “My seat belt is gay.” She shushed me and shot me a compound facial expression, “Get over it, you must’ve made a mistake, look again and figure it out, and don’t talk so loud.” All in one look!

There are people who study facial expression dynamics. I imagine an app for this would be useful for befuddled husbands everywhere. Simply snap a photo of wife’s expression and use it to search some vast database of all female facial expressions, to discover the True Meaning.

Eventually I did get over it, figured the seat belt out. The female end had a metal “tongue” protruding from it that made it look like another male end. The purpose of this additional appendage was unclear to me. It certainly did not look like the demo seat belt used by the flight attendant — who I’m pretty sure was gay — to provide pre-flight instructions to the passengers on how to fasten a seat belt. I whispered to Happy Wife that maybe I should mention this to the man, that my seat belt did not look like the demo and maybe I should ask him for personalized instruction on how to properly fasten mine? This produced a very different facial expression on Happy Wife, one which I had no difficulty interpreting!

One day Up north we kids rented kayaks and lazily paddled a portion of the Wisconsin River:

BIGGER.

Happy Wife in tandem with big sister, big brother with great nephew Caleb. I was voted into the single, and asked (told really) to take pictures.

The following day Happy Wife, Caleb, and myself accompanied our friend Dan on a ~23 mile bike ride that included 7 miles on a newly created trail. A trail that Dan himself had a large role in getting built. What a sweet ribbon of asphalt that was cutting through a sugar maple forest! Dan stopped us briefly to observe a tree that had been ravaged by a rapacious Pileated Woodpecker:

BIGGER.

We all agreed the tree appeared to have been dead prior to the assault.

Another day, overcast and rainy, we ventured into the cozy town of Boulder Junction. Much shopping ensued. Antique stores and boutiques of myriad craft work were thoroughly browsed by the women, while we men (us men?) went to the bait shop where I marveled at the artifice of fish lures:

Arrived home Sunday at 6:30 pm.

We’d flown from Minneapolis to Anchorage, got a cab home, greeted Lucy with great enthusiasm, unpacked, I inspected the yard and ran back into the house to alert Happy Wife that the blue spruce trees were once again being ravaged by red-headed caterpillars, drove to pick up Harry from friends who had cared for him during our absence, dropped him back home, celebrated reunion, drove to Lowes to buy 32 oz of Sevrin, returned home and sprayed trees, beheld with great satisfaction the red-headed ones curl, stiffen and fall to the ground, mowed the backyard lawn, drove to Fred Meyer to get a frozen pizza and Pinot Noir, baked and ate pizza while enjoying wine with Happy Wife, caught up on episodes of Dexter, felt jet-lagged, went to bed and drifted off to a glorious night’s sleep.

10:48 pm. 30 minutes before sunset.

Earlier that day we’d shared an egg & bacon panini at Surdyks at the Minneapolis airport — chased with Bellinis and Chenin Blanc:

The day prior Team Nibbe bid farewell to a fabulous week of fun in the north woods over a robust breakfast at Leif’s Cafe in Eagle River, WI:

A little shout out to Leif’s: Their pancakes are as big as Frisbees, the breakfast tacos unconquerable, waffles so big they create their own orbit, the coffee pours bottomless and the service prompt and courteous. Reasonable prices too. I am certain, however, that if I lived in Wisconsin I would need to redouble my commitment to portion control else my BMI would go logarithmic.

More vacation highlights later.