mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Take It With A Grain of Salt Last night I attended a going away party for a woman I met during my former existence as a Cruise Ship Slave. She is heading off to Chicago to work as a chef in a five star restaurant for awhile. Many of my former colleagues were there with tales of where they'd been for they last six months or where they were going for the next six. These types of parties are common amongst my social set. Someone is always embarking on a new adventure, starting a new life in some exotic locale. The tourism industry is full of transients who seek out adventure at every turn. Now we've already established that I'm not quite as adventurous as some. My flexibility has a breaking point and as I live out the last few years of my twenties, I like the stability of waking up in my own bed with my husband by my side and knowing where my next meal will come from. If I had to be 100% honest, I'd say I'm not nearly as "freewheeling" as half of the people I know. Still, I give myself credit for not spending my entire life in the same town, fantasizing about moving or trying something new. I've traveled around, spent time in places that intrigued me, and established supportive communities of friends across this nation, but I've always had boundaries and safety nets. There were always clear lines regarding just how far I'd take my exploits. I might fantasize about a simple lifestyle camping alone out in the Southeast Alaska for five or six months and following that with a winter spent hitchhiking in South America, making money by selling some craft, but then instead I'd plan out a two week trip taking into account finances and the world I currently live in. I am, by all accounts, a realist. Many of my cruise ship comrades live by the seat of their pants, day to day. They sleep on your couch when they pass through town. They work for six months and put every penny away, never so much as splurging on a new outfit or a CD, so that they can travel in Africa for a few months. They return with photos and battle wounds and stories and I let them sleep on my couch and cook them a good meal. It's the way of the industry. I "ooh" and "aah" over their journey and they "ooh" and "aah" over my new home and my cooking and the wine. For the most part, it works out well but sometimes I get a bit too involved and try to live vicariously through their adventures. Perhaps, I advise them to do things I myself would not do in a million years. I have a very convincing demeanor, a certain way of speaking that makes you think I know better then you do, as if I can see into the future and I behold great things for you. And when your a person who lives on the edge, you tend to be susceptible to that kind of talk. Take for example, my dear friend Mary. Mary and I shared a room for several months on the ship. She was a few years older than me and had worked as a ski instructor at Yellowstone National Park. Imagine, if you will, a healthy and outgoing girl with very little direction. Mary and I were scheduled to take a two week break in Juneau, Alaska where corporate provided us with crew housing. Now if you've never been to Juneau, let me tell you it is a cultural void. It's beautiful for hiking and fishing and looking a glaciers but there are no museums or plays. The movie theater is still playing Cool Runnings. The only music to be heard is a Lynard Skynard cover band who play at the Roustabout Bar. Karoke is quite popular but how many times can you watch "I Will Survive" be performed by seriously alcoholic and domestically abused ladies before you want to shoot yourself in the head? So you can imagine how excited I was to find out that the local library was planning to have guest speaker Libby Riddles present a slide show on her life. Riddles was the first woman to win the Iditarod. Due to the lack of anything remotely intellectual going on, her appearance took on a magnitude close to that of seeing a Nobel Prize winner speak. I talked about it for days, begged Mary to attend with me, and even got dressed up like it was a first date or something. When we arrived at the library we found that the rest of town was not nearly as enthused as I was (Riddles was competing against Free Bird, yes that's the Lynard Skynard cover band, for an audience). We took our seats in this nearly empty room and listened closely as Riddles told her story. It was, in fact, a fantastic tale. She moved to Alaska, all alone, at sixteen. She built her own home outside of Nome by herself. She endured the dreaded winters and survived on her own canned and frozen goods. She taught herself how to mush. She struggled and triumphed. She broke down barriers and achieved her goals. She dared to dream and all the good stuff. Remember, I was starved for culture so her story is probably not nearly as good as it seemed to me at the time. On the way home, I talked enthusiastically about Riddles lecture. Wasn't it cool that she did all that on her own? Wouldn't it be great to know how to mush dogs and to work with animals all the time? Wouldn't that be a rewarding lifestyle? You know who'd probably be good at that? Mary would! She'd been looking for her next adventure. She wanted to try something new. Maybe this was a sign, maybe she should become a dog musher. Somehow as the night wore on and many glasses of wine were shared, I convinced Mary we should track Riddles down in town tomorrow. Mary should find her and plead her case. Perhaps Riddles would have a job for her in Nome. She could learn to mush dogs, she could be in the Iditarod. At 9:00 AM, Mary and I began walking through town trying to track down Libby. We headed up to a tour company she often lectured for and asked where we might find her. They gave up the information easily enough which was almost a disappointment. In my mind, I had fantasized a difficult search with lots of evasion building up to locating her (she was after all, as close to a celebrity as you get in Juneau) but I moved on quickly. Mary and I headed over to the hotel she was staying at and rang up to her room. She invited Mary up and I waited in the lounge. Mary reappeared less than an hour later. "Well," I asked expectantly. "She hired me on the spot," Mary said. "I have to be in Nome in two weeks. I will stay at her home while she is away on a book tour throughout the winter. She'll teach me to care for the dogs and mush them. Isn't this exciting?" Mary and I spent the rest of our time off together talking about how wonderful this opportunity was. She made her arrangements and gave notice with the cruise company. I encouraged her every step of the way and we had a very tearful good-bye with lots of promises of letters and postcards. About a month later, while I was cocooning in Seattle with Pete, I received my first letter. Dear Mrs-Roboto, Here I am 40 miles outside of Nome, Alaska with no gas heat, no phone, and absolutely no human companionship. I haven't seen Libby in a month. Once every other week a man stops by to deliver firewood. I talk his ear off and try to keep him here as long as possible. I can tell I make him uncomfortable. My daily schedule goes something like this. I wake up at 5:00 AM and go out to the kennels where Libby's 47 dogs are kept. Did you hear me? She has 47 dogs! I clean up their shit for two hours or so. I feed the dogs and then clean up their shit again around 9:30. I then take the dogs, in groups of ten, to a fenced off area and let them run for awhile. Then I clean up their shit. Next thing you know it is lunch time. I feed the dogs. Can you guess what comes next? Yep, shit cleaning. Dinner is a few hours later and then more cleaning of shit. Are you still as envious as you were back in Juneau? The snow is falling like a mother fucker. I haven't seen a newspaper in weeks. I am thinking of dressing some of the dogs up and having a tea party. Please get me out of here! Mary Of course it was only a matter of weeks till Mary left Libby's ranch. She gave up on my dream of her winning the Iditarod and returned to Yellowstone National Park. We still talk occasionally although I notice she's hesitant to take any advice I put forth. When I'm feeling particularly bold I ask her "But wasn't that a great experience? How many people can say they lived in the middle of nowhere Alaska with a bunch of dogs that won the Iditarod?" "Just shut up okay," she tells me. 11:58 a.m. - 2002-10-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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