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Scatta moose scatta moose can you do the fandango.

Captured in the backyard of Happy Wife’s coworker’s friend.

First, let me mention a new feature at the Alter Ego. No more BIGGER links. Simply click a picture once and if I’ve loaded a larger version it will appear automatically. If I didn’t it won’t.

Weird contraction that, “won’t.” Adhering to the rules I’ve always thought it should be willn’t.

Alas, nobody asked me.

As mentioned, Dr. Jeff and his wife, Dr. Wendy, were in Alaska for a week and stopped by. I love this. As soon as they stepped out of the rental car titular greetings and hugs were exchanged… “Doctor, Doctor; Doctor, Doctor.” In fact, the salutation is not really titular when applied to Wendy as she really does help people. By comparison Jeff and I are poseurs. Still, we’ve all got the club card and it’s fun to pull it out, especially in the company of academic kin.

They and Happy Wife (HW) meandered down to our Nest under a bluesky day; I followed a day later, also under bluesky. It just keeps coming. Fun and frivolity ensued. Including a walk to Tonsina Point with the beasts (aka dogs):

Here’s your chance to test drive the new feature. Click the picture. Feel the magic!

Why HW’s hand is on the butt of an Airedale I’ve no idea. Some questions are better left unasked.

I’ve other things to talk about. Like the irreconcilable difference between HW and I when it comes to pleasant summer weather. Have I mentioned this here before?

Last night, back in Anchorage, we were settling in for the evening behind a glass of wine or three watching the latest episode of Fargo while being graced (HW would say cursed) by the warming rays of evening sun shimmering through our living room window. Roughly 8 o’clock. Granted, when said rays of light stream directly into my eyes it can be annoying, but this is brief and requires only that I change chairs. Other than that, sunshine beaming in through the window past 8 pm is a delicious feature of an Alaskan summer. Payback really, for the accumulated deficit of winter. That is if you ask me anyway.

Ask HW and you hear something very different:

“I hate summer.”

Evidently she overheats easily. Were it not toxic I’d consider mixing her a drink of ethylene glycol. Instead, I lovingly reassure her, “There there dear, don’t worry, it will be September before you know it.” And quietly lament the fact that I know it’s true.

Weatherlady said to expect record high temperatures in Anchorage the next few days.

Consider me expectant.

Still anxious we’re going to use up our summer allotment of nice weather, so that by the time the bike tour begins I’m going to be apologizing to everyone with a variation on the fisherman’s lament: “You should have been here last month!“

Shrubberies and plant life can’t keep up this year. The grass is only variably healthy; orphaned patches of wheat blighted by dog pee dot the swaths of early green. Buds are cautiously emerging on branches, as if to say, “Already? Are you sure?”

It was opening day for the south side Farmer’s market. Happy Wife and Lucy went. Cod, halibut, white king salmon and fresh eggs were obtained. I had the latter lovingly prepared for my morning victual, accompanied by buttered toast and oven-crisped prosciutto. Try it instead of bacon sometime.

BIGGER.

Off we go on our bikes then. See you around.

Remember my idea to pen a letter to your younger self? Well, just call me Johnny-Come-Lately again. Turns out you can buy an entire book of such letters, which includes one by Stephen King. His advice to himself: Don’t do recreational drugs. King had in fact become dependent on drugs and alcohol, although he admitted in his book on writing (more a memoir really which I very much enjoyed reading), that his dependency coincided with some of his most prolific writing. Some of the commenters at that link evidently agree. A good outcome that involves high personal costs I believe is referred to as a Pyrrhic victory.

BIGGER.

65, clear, and nary a breeze brings out the spiritual me. Especially when I’m out on my bike on the 3rd of May!

That’s the aptly named Exit glacier back there, the halfway point of my ride last Saturday. You’ve seen it before if you’re a regular here. Some will coldly say, “Yeah, “Exit”, go ahead, get outta here, and good riddance.” But such an attitude I think only serves to enforce the stereotype of cold being a harsh mistress, and ignores the magnificence of its boldest expressions. Don’t get me wrong, clearly I love a warm day in Alaska, wouldn’t mind enjoying a few more, but so much of the grandeur of our surroundings up here is made possible by winter, and the outwash of its brief, annual retreats. Winter’s bad rap is undeserved.

Had the man come today to pump our pooh.

Quote of the day: “A straight flush always beats a full house.”

Happy Wife (HW) on the backyard deck this morning prior to leaving for work, performing a pro bono exam on Harry.

You know, if by gazing into one ear you can see clear through to the other side…

I’m kidding! Srsly, he’s a smart boy.

Although, as it is with human children, it is a mistake to confuse intelligence with obedience when it comes to dogs. If I shout, “Harry Come! Harry Come! Harry Come!” Three times like that, and we have clear evidence that Harry hears the call but refuses to come, that’s not an un-smart dog. That’s a disobedient dog. Compare: A mother shouts to her son out the kitchen window, “Johnny, Come to dinner!” Three times she does this. Each time Johnny acknowledges, “Okay, Mom!” But Johnny no come to dinner. Do you conclude Johnny is un-smart? Of course not. You conclude Johnny disobeys. Same with Airedales.

Hard to tell from the washed out color in that pic, but that’s a spotless bluesky morn behind HW. And no end in site if you believe my phonecast. Mid sixties, even 70, through the weekend. This is the first year in recent memory when I’ve logged over 150 miles on the road bike before May 1st. See what I mean:

BIGGER.

If you click the bigger link you’ll see Mt. Susitna back there, aka The Sleeping Lady. A little eye candy for any of you tour riders looking in.

This is a picture taken from a point you’ll experience on the first day of riding on the tour. In fact, very early in Day 1’s ride, before you reach the Kincaid pavilion seven miles further, after which you’ll continue pedaling through southwest Anchorage, down South Port Pkwy, through the Ocean view subdivision, over the bridge, down the Old Seward Hwy, up through the South Park neighborhood, eventually popping out on Goldenview Rd. Now the fun begins. From there, you’ll descend very briefly to Rabbit Creek Rd, climb Rabbit Creek to Hillside Drive, turn on Upper Huffman and climb (crawl really) to the aptly named Toilsome Rd, which you’ll turn onto and continue climbing toiling until eventually reaching the lunch stop at Glen Alps parking lot. ~35 miles — smile, you’re over half done for the day!

Large, pan-fried shrimp on an underlay of risotto, a medley of fruits drizzled with evoo, an amorphous helping of Burrata. Obtaining the latter for Happy Wife (HW), especially when she doesn’t expect it, often places me in her high favor. And that’s all I care to say about that.

That was last night’s dinner. Today I ate grass-fed beef. Tomorrow, who knows. We tend not to plan very far ahead when it comes to meals. I marvel at the inventiveness of HW who can open the stainless steel refrigerator doors, pause briefly to gaze upon the mishmash therein, and conjure up a perfectly respectable dinner for us. By the way, if the refrigerator doors are stainless steel why doesn’t a magnet stick? You know the answer. Are the counter tops also not really granite? The faux brickwork on the front of our house should’ve tipped me off.

As leader of an upcoming bike tour I needed to pass an online first aid and CPR course. Took the exam today after a brief review of the relevant material. 50 questions. I’d assured myself when I left school for the last time five years ago (can you believe it?) that if nothing else, at least I’ll never need to take another exam again. Oops. Passed with a score of 96%. Did you know that before administering CPR to an infant you’re supposed to check for consciousness by tickling her foot while making noise? Try that on an adult victim and you could end up being the one getting checked for consciousness.

I was not the winner of the Nenana ice classic. You may recall I purchased seven guesses, the earliest one being April 29th @ 3:42 pm. The ice went out on the Tanana River this past Friday, April 25th @ 3:49 pm. I was within seven minutes of the actual time of day, but late by four days. Damn global warming.

Shaping up to be another warm year. Recall last summer? Daytime temperatures are already in the 50’s and it’s still April. Been out riding at least a half dozen times so far. And would you look at that? The sun is out again today. Time to go shed a pound or two.

Later…

Got word yesterday from an old friend that he’s retiring soon. I have a problem calling friends old. It’s not the chronological connotation that troubles me — I readily accept we are, all of us, getting older — but rather in the sense it means, “former; something from the past.” A kind of “that-was-then-this is-now” sentiment, as if to say, “He’s no longer my friend.” That leaves me feeling deeply melancholic, losing touch with the friends that shaped me, and me them, while we were all coming up. There’s a separate human emotion that captures this affliction and I don’t what it is, precisely. But it is.

I accept that geographic separation has a lot to do with this, as much or more even than does the child-childless fork in life’s road. “Oh, they’re pregnant with their first? Well, we’ll never see them again. Haha.” Still, people can and do stay in touch in a meaningful way even when separated by thousands of miles. I’m especially covetous of the accounts of old shoe boxes filled with letters inseparable friends exchanged with each other right up to the end.

I also accept that the different forks we take expose us to different people, places, relationships, opportunities. In a word: Experience. So much so in fact that friends on different forks may no longer recognize each other years on. Who wants to keep in contact with somebody he once knew who time and distance has transmogrified into somebody unrecognizable? “Remember? That guy we used to party with in the basement. Listening to Cheap Trick thunder away on the JBLs upstairs, draining a case of Rhinelander beer, he drove that beat up Valiant with the acrylic window on the rear door, he had to replace the glass because some jerk smashed it while parked downtown when we all went to that concert together — who was it again, Queen? Anyway, yeah, he moved away years ago. Somewhere on the west coast now. Don’t what happened to him, or when, but it seems like he kinda got radicalized.“

I admit that at certain times on my fork I’ve not stayed a good friend. In the way I presume I was at one time, where people I called friends genuinely enjoyed me and valued my companionship enough to say, “He’s my friend.” If I’ve lost that, and I feel I have, I’d like to have it back. I won’t say I’m ashamed of how experience — my experiences — have shaped me, but if those experiences have shaped me into somebody unrecognizable by old friends, I regret that.

Intellectually, I understand the fragility of relationships, how separation and dissimilar experiences may fracture them, but whatever it was that held us together in the basement so many years ago, idling away the hours of humid summer days, unsure of ourselves and what fork we’d eventually end up on, whatever glue that was, I’m sure of one thing: We were, all of us back then, friends.

Did an overnight at our Nest in Seward this weekend. Needed to empty and refill the hot tub. Something happens to a tub of water kept at 89 degrees or warmer for 4-5 months that I’m concerned may render it incompatible with human immersion. The water kinda smelled weird, too.

First, I remembered to drop the power to the tub — don’t want the pump coming on when the tub is empty! That would be a very costly mistake.

Next, hooked the garden hose to the drain plug and let her rip. Later, I hand bailed the remaining water best I could with a plastic trash can, then Happy Wife (HW) stepped into the tub in knee high pants and bare feet like she was fixin’ to mash grapes, wearing on one hand a terry cloth mitt impregnated with surface cleaner.  First she sponged the last stubborn puddles of water then a wipin’ she went.

Next, I refilled the tub with forty degree water direct from our well deep in Alaska ground.

When you turn the power back on red warnings start flashing on the hot tub’s control panel. ICE ICE and then FL1 FL1. 

I pat the console reassuringly, “There there tub, you’re in Alaska, you’re not going to freeze, just the new water is a little cold is all.”

FL1 means the filter(s) are clogged. How can this be? They weren’t clogged before I emptied the tub, nor have they been moved. This is the nature of things generally, isn’t it? Make any change to a system and everyone’s upset.

“Crap,” I said to HW, “now I have to reach into icy water and change the filters.” (We have several spares).

“No worries, I’ll do it,” she said, “I’ve waded water that cold or worse in the back country.”

“Okaaay.”

“Holy crap you weren’t kidding that’s cold!” She exclaimed.

Finally, the red light indicating that the heater is operating came on. This only happens if the filters are happy. In the meantime the ICE ICE warning keeps flashing and if the console had arms I imagine it would be like Robot in Lost In Space — “Warning Will Robinson! Warning!”

And then the heater light went out again, and FL1 FL1 reappeared.

Dunked my hands in the icy water and partially unscrewed one filter. Heater light goes back on. Yeah!

I go inside and begin to imbibe a Nestarita — 1 can frozen limeade, 1 can Tequila, 1 16 oz Pabst; stir ‘n serve over ice — which HW had prepared for us. I take a peek outside at the console:

FL1 FL1 … ICE ICE

Crap.

Dip hands back in icy water and further unscrew filter. Heater light comes back on.

Two Nestaritas later, same thing, water had warmed eight degrees to just under 50 before the heater light went off again. This time I just remove the filter entirely from its base. Light comes back on.

Much later, after dinner and a movie, I look again and the ICE ICE warning has disappeared, water temperature is over 65. Goal is 103. I daringly screw the filter I’d removed back into its base. Heater light stays on. I turn on one bank of jets. Pump works, jets work. I switch on the other bank of jets.

Jets no work. I hear the pump laboring. Crap. Then the heater light goes out. Crap Crap.

Unscrew filter, heater light comes on, puzzle over non-functional bank of jets.

I see one of the jet nozzles in the tub is not completely submerged. Air in the line!

Fill trash can with water from bathtub and decant into hot tub. Repeat 3 times. Jet is now completely submerged. Try again. Jets no work, at least not very well, although I see one or two sputter. Come on, you can do it. I cycle the pump by turning the switch on and off repeatedly.

Success! Eventually all jets are functional, the temperature is by now close to 80, I screw the filter back in, the heater light stays on!

Next day, mid morning, we both slide into a 103^o tub, naked ‘n giddy.