ALASKA - everyone should visit

When Barry and I joined Stu and Gay for a cruise to Alaska in the 1980s, few people were  going there, I did not expect to have the time of my life. We sailed on The Love Boat. Princess Cruises was one of the first to sail up the coast from California, past Canada, to reach the forty-ninth state. 

Every day on the ship was perfect, although a bit cold sometimes. We traveled in the fall. I had never been on a cruise ship and had some trepidation about going, but the flight to San Francisco was more frightening than the ship. We were young and I had never been far from home, had never flown in a large airplane. It was a 747 with seats on each side and another row of seats down the middle. Barry put earphones on me and helped me find music that I could turn up loud and lose myself, forget where I was. We were served champagne although we were not in first class. It was the eighties, and flying was more of a luxuary then. 

Life on the ship was a ball. The shows each evening were lots of fun and Barry and Stu often sang with the big bands. They became well known by the other passengers.

But the scenery of Alaska really impressed me. One of our outings was sailing on a raft on the Mendenhall River at the foot of the Mendenhall Glacier. Our guide was fun and knowledgeable. He pointed out Eagles, and their nests. We wore warm jackets and never got hot or cold. We stopped at an island and were served smoked salmon on crackers with wine or beer. All of us on the raft had a chance to talk together. The mountains and the sea, the rivers and the glaciers, made me feel I was in another world. We drank water from a glacier after hiking on the frozen ice for a bit.

The Mendanhall Glacier

I wish I could go back now and travel the interior of the state. We only stopped in towns close to the water, but it was fun to go into shops and to talk to people who lived there year round.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The following was in a newsletter sent to me today by a company from which I order Alaskan Salmon. It reminded me of our trip so many years ago.

Because I need to eat more fish, and because it is easy to take one piece of frozen fish out of my freezer and cook it for myself, I am delighted to order a box every couple of months and it is sent to me quickly packed in dry ice so it never thaws until the day I want to cook it. 

This Wild Place

By Mandy Dixon

 

Fall in Alaska is a quiet magic. The summer rush starts to ease off. Light comes in lower across our bay, the water turns a deep indigo, and leaves swirl in the wind. You can smell the last cranberries — sharp and tart in the air. After all those endless summer days, the season finally exhales. Everything gets hushed. This is my favorite time of year.

 

The air has that first bite of cold — enough to wake you up in the morning, but not too sharp yet. The sky opens up wider somehow. Evenings stretch out in rose and gold, and suddenly the wood stove becomes your best friend. Guests who come now feel it too. They’re stepping into a different Alaska, something quieter and more intimate.

 

Cooking in autumn has its own pace. Summer’s all about speed and abundance — fall is about depth and taking your time. The catch is still incredible — halibut, salmon, scallops, crab — but now I can lean into it, slow things down, and bring some real warmth to every dish. Root vegetables and squash start showing up, along with hearty greens, apples, and mushrooms, taking the place of those tender summer shoots. The kitchen fills with the smell of things roasting, stocks simmering all day, chowders that warm your hands while you eat.

 

Here at Tutka Bay Lodge, autumn draws us back to the water. The fjord is still generous with us — crab pots come up heavy, late-season salmon still flash silver in the bay, and kelp hangs slick and gleaming on the rocks. Our guests figure out pretty quickly that autumn here isn’t about rushing around. It’s about honoring the ocean’s steady rhythm.

 

This is the preserving season, too. Salmon smokes over alder, roe gets cured into jeweled pearls, seafood goes into jars for winter. It’s what people have done here for generations — carrying the essence of the sea forward into the dark months.

 

Fall at Tutka Bay shows you something true: wildness and comfort aren’t opposites. They’re companions. The tide sets our tempo, the catch shapes what’s on the table, and seafood becomes more than just dinner as everything slows down. It turns into a story about this place, about resilience and gratitude — a reminder that in this brief, beautiful season, we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. Nourished by the sea, anchored by the wild.

 

A Busy Weekend

Today is Monday. I had a busy weekend. That is good.

On Saturday, Nadine, a former student and dear friend of mine, drove down and picked me up to go for lunch. As most of my women friends understand, it was a long lunch. We had not seen each other in several years, so Crabapple Tavern let us sit for three hours while we talked, laughed and had a delightful time. She was good medicine for me. And she said we were good for each other. 

I admire my friend who is courageous, unafraid of traveling anywhere she wants to go, alone. I remember when I could do that. The year after Barry died, I drove down to Florida and spent a couple of weeks alone in a condo belonging to the husband of my sister-in-law. That is a long way to drive and especially for a senior woman who had never gone anywhere without her husband in the driver's seat.

Barry and I traveled together when we left town whether to go back to south Georgia or to explore the mountains where we lived. I didn't go off on trips with my friends and leave him at home. He didn't go without me except when he traveled for work. It never entered my mind at the time that one day I would not have him beside me. We enjoyed each other's company and we enjoyed vacationing with Gay and Stu, my sister and brother-in-law. Barry and Stu were like brothers, kidding each other, finding the same outlandish things funny. When Barry's brother died, he said to Stu, "You are the only brother I have now."

On Sunday, we attended a concert by a big band here in Roswell. They did a tribute concert celebrating Johnny Mercer's music. Mercer was a Georgia native. He wrote so many of the songs I love, songs that were the sound track of my life with Barry. Moon River was our song. Also, Days of Wine and Roses, which was co-written by Mercer and Henry Mancini. Often Barry sang songs like Autumn Leaves and Summer Wind both by Mercer. When we first married, he never went to a gathering of friends without his guitar. And he was always asked to sing. That was in the sixties and folk music was popular.

As I sat and listened to all that music from those fabulous musicians, the lyrics sung by a fine singer, I thought of Barry who led his own band when he was in high school. He played drums, but he also played trumpet and later in life he played guitar. For two hours Sunday, I felt Barry was with me, listening to our music. Gay and Stu also thought of him and how much he would have enjoyed the concert. 

Barry plays his guitar and sings

Memories. What life is made of. I have some fabulous ones, but also some very sad ones. Ups and downs, laughter and tears, hold on to today, we know not what tomorrow brings. 

While I Waited, Life Happened

As fall approaches, this poem comes to mind. It is in my poetry book and was published on Your Daily Poem. 

While I Waited, Life Happened by Glenda Council Beall Next

In the waning days of fall vacation, leaves fly like goldfinches, poplars' jeweled showers rain upon the mountains of West Virginia. Temperatures plummet to freezing after dark, but mornings crisp as caramel apples draw us outside where cows seek sustenance burrowing beneath tall weeds bronzed by season's cold. Three horses clip remaining blades from pasture overgrazed in the drought. Smoke plumes from burning brush cut to make the raw road, drifts across the pond's mosaic surface. I find myself nostalgic for my own country roots; Soft sounds of mourning doves and lost calves calling for their mothers; riding horseback in the woods, quail flush and scare my pony; crows caw from stands of willows. Boundless days stretched before me; days of wasted youth; Hours of restless yearning, wanting always what I did not have, waiting to learn what I would become, waiting to live, oblivious to the riches I already possessed. Given a second chance, I'd hold that gift of time cupped tightly in my hands. I'd breathe, taste and savor every second I have squandered — not fritter it away, but hoard each precious minute, clutched firmly against my breast. From Now Might As Well Be Then (Finishing Line Press. 2009) Used with the author's permission.

What Can We Do?

Each day I read where some lawful person is kidnapped by masked ICE men and carried off to jail. Today it was an American citizen, not an illegal criminal, who was dropped off at her work and was suddenly surrounded by ICE agents. 

I put myself in this innocent woman's place and feel her terror as she is handcuffed and dragged to jail. Innocent of any crime, she was held for three days. They gave her no water and she was told she had to pay for food. Of course, she had no money. Her purse had been taken from her. 

I wish every American citizen who votes would stop and put themselves in the position of this woman who was simply on the way to work  like she had done many, many times.

When did our country become such a place? Why is this happening? I hear that the ICE police are required to arrrest a certain number of people, innocent or not, so they grab Citizens of the USA, not for what they did, but because of how they look, and fabricate crimes that did not happen. 

It must be frightening for anyone with a dark complexion to walk on the streets of our large cities. When I see people I went to high school with praising this administration for this cruel behavior, I wonder how they became so evil and mean-spirited. I'll bet if the situation was reversed and their white daughter was kidnapped like that, these men I know would be ranting and raving, going down to the governor's office and their congressman's office to demand this kind of illegal behavior end right now. They would never again vote for a president who did such awful things to innocent people. 

But I am sorry to say, racism is still rampant in the deep south. My homeland is not what I thought it had become. Now I hear that this president plans to strip the  museums of things that make slavery look bad.  

...Smithsonian that its museums would be required to adjust any content that the administration finds problematic in “tone, historical framing and alignment with American ideals” within 120 days. 

Slavery didn't just look bad, it was terrible and the aftermath was horrible, too. When I was a child, black people were being lynched in nearby counties in south Georgia. And the Sheriff was involved in the hanging. When authoritarian racism overpowers other chambers of government, we are in a terrible state. We must elect people who will not stand for this dictator to destroy us.

But I cannot give more money. I wish they would not keep sending me requests for funds. My small income does not provide extra to support a political party. I might not even be in this world when this administration leaves office. All I can do is use my voice to speak about injustice and cruelty and hope someone out there listens.

What about you, my friends? What can you do? What more can I do?

My latest adventure was this past weekend.

Gay and I drove up to the mountains where I lived for over thirty years. We made reservations at the Holiday Inn Express where we have received the utmost care from housekeeping each time we stay there.

We had planned to stay three nights, but the prices had gone sky-high. We had paid less that 100 dollars a night or a little over one hundred dollars, but for this weekend, the rooms were two hundred dollars plus tax, etc. We were told that although we are good customers the local hotel could not give us a discount. The prices are set by the big company.

I was disappointed and still don't understand why good customers are not given a little bit of favor. To stay three nights, Thursday - Saturday would cost over 600 dollars. Needless to say, we canceled Saturday night. During this time of year many things are happening in that area. Friday and Saturday nights in Hayesville, two concerts were planned. 

In Hiawassee, we first thought there was a vintage car show. The old cars spruced up to look like new, filled the parking lot at the hotel which we were told was completely booked.

But, we later learned that those cars were going to be a part of a grand parade down the main street of Hiawassee. The occassion was the birthday of the major event-setting for concerts and festivals, the Fairgrounds, on the lake where Barry and I often spent time listening to music and enjoying the wares spread before us during Fall Festival. 

At ten o'clock on Saturday morning, I needed to be across the main street for a workshop led by my friend, Scott Owens. We heard conflicting times as to when the parade would be blocking Main Street, but decided to make sure I was across the street by 9:30. 
My sister dropped me off and was to come back to pick me up at noon.

All was fine. Gay checked out of the hotel at 11:00 AM and found she could not get on the street because it was filled with old cars, a few floats, open convertibles, tractors, and horses. She simply parked in a lot overlooking Main Street and watched the parade go by. She said it went on for over an hour. 

At 12:30 she was able to cross the street and pick me up. But traffic was horrible. A group of us were going to meet at a restaurant down the way on Main street and we made it just in time before a mule drawn wagon approached. A long stream of cars crept behind the wagon. One of our group missed lunch because she didn't see the restaurant and drove past it. When she realized she needed to turn around she said the traffic was almost at a stand still, so she sent a message she would not be there.

I constantly gripe about the traffic in Roswell, GA, especially after three o'clock, but I had never had traffic interfere with my plans in the mountains. I had never been in Hiawassee when they held a parade on the main street that runs through the little town. 

In spite of the parade, and outrageous hotel prices, I had a very enjoyable time while there. 

It was good seeing many of my dear friends, and I am so blessed that Gay is happy to be there with me. These trips take a toll on me, but when I can come home and rest a couple of days, I am fine. 

No more trips now for awhile. As fall is approaching, I have plans for myself at home. So many things I want to do and soon will be able to do, I hope.

Hugs to my virtual friends out there. And hugs to my family and friends close by. What would I do without you?

Stu and Gay, my best friends and family 

My next adventure was not much fun

moveable kitchen cart

After spending a wonderful weekend in the mountains of NC and North Georgia, I came home energized and anxious to write and submit some of my work. Gay was pleased to see me feeling much better and anxious to start writing again.

All was well until Tuesday evening. I was in the kitchen making myself a cup of coffee. I turned away from the Keurig to get some water and suddenly my foot slipped, I felt myself falling and reached out to balance myself on the kitchen cart I bought for storage. But it moved, and I fell on the hard floor. I realized quickly that I could not get up. My left leg, foot, and my hip were all in great pain. 

I was fortunate that Gay and Stu had come home and were upstairs. I called out loud and repeatedly, afraid they might not hear me, but they did and called that they were coming. Gay said when she arrived Lexie was sitting close by my head which was resting on the floor. I didn't even realize she was there, but it was so sweet to know she sat by me quietly as though she could comfort me. 

That was the beginning of another night at the ER. 

"Just give me an ice pack and help me to bed," I told the firemen and my family. But all of them insisted I should be checked out to see if I had any broken bones.

Many hours later I was dismissed with the assurance that nothing was broken.

In the days that followed, I felt as if my back was broken. The pain was atrocious and sitting was almost impossible. Today is the first time I have been mostly pain free. I drove my car up to Canton, GA and Gay and I had dinner at the https://www.crackerbarrel.com/ after trying to shop at an outlet mall. Too much walking was involved for shopping so I won't do that again any time soon. 

We were all so thankful that I had not broken my hip. I know that could have made a huge change in my life and in Gay and Stu's lives. 

Life is good and I am very blessed. Next weekend, I will go back to the mountains when my dear friend, Scott Owens, poet, wil be in Hayesville and in Hiawassee. 

We will have a good time and I will feel good, I'm sure.

Have a good week. Hug someone.

The Adventures of Glenda and Lexie

This is Lexie trying to tell me something important. If I could just learn dog language we would have the most interesting conversations. 

Life is never dull for me. I will begin with my visitors on my deck a few weeks ago.

One evening, my darling Lexie, began going out on the deck and barking. 
After ignoring her for a while, I decided to open the door and turn on the light to see what had upset her.

As you can see in the photo above, an opossum had dropped by and found appealing the food that I had left for the birds.  I tried to shoo him away, but he would not move. He crouched a little bit and hissed at me. Lexie had calmed down once she knew I had seen the visitor. So, I said, "Mr. Possum, have fun. I am going inside."  Opossums are good animals who eat ticks and help keep us safe.

In a short time, Lexie began barking again. I went to the door and looked out. The opossum was still eating, but another creature had arrived. In back of the opossum, I saw four small feet clutching the post. I could not see the body that was behind the post until suddenly the new guest poked his head around to see me. The little bandit evidently thought he might chase off Mr. Oscar P. Opossum, and eat the remaining berries, but that was not to be. 

As soon as I opened the door to step out on the deck, Rocky Raccoon disappeared only to show up a few minutes later, his head cradled between the forks of a nearby tree. He was so cute, I had to laugh. I said to Lexie, "Come inside now and let them figure out who will eat the remainder of the berries." 

I never expected to find two wild animals on my deck here in the city. That did not happen in my home in the mountains. But the empty lot on one side of me here is forested and our back yard is left to the Ivey and wild flowers. Just as I learned to live with deer eating my Hosta in the mountains, I'll feed these small creatures and hope they will leave my suet feeders alone. 

I'll post about another recent adventure next time.

Be kind and enjoy every day. 

Sandy Benson Writer

I found time today to peruse some of our members sites and discovered Sandy Benson has a blog that I had not seen before. She published books, and I reviewed one of them; however, I really enjoyed this post on her blog. 

https://www.sandygbenson.com/short-stories

She wrote a short story and then turned it into a play for the Peacock Playhouse in Hayesville, NC. Sandy is a volunteer for the theatre and helps with the production of local, original talent that performs there several times each year. Carroll Taylor, author of several books, also writes plays that have been performed at the Peacock Playhouse. 

They are both great additions to those who help keep the theatre seats filled. 

Living in a small town

This newspaper clipping was found among my mother-in-law's belongings, and I recently came across it while going through boxes of Beall information.

It reminds me of how small towns are very different from big cities. Obituaries in small-town newspapers are written so the reader knows who has died and who he was related to in the town. Because all the residents of Rockmart GA knew who Mrs. Beall was, it was appropriate to say the woman who died was Mrs. Beall's mother.

Mrs. Beall's Mother Dies Suddenly Sat. It looks like a news item, which I am sure it was. The Mrs. Beall in the headline was my mother-in-law, Helen Alexander Beall, who was co-owner of a popular dress shop. Her mother was Mrs. Roy P. Alexander, and the Alexanders were a well-known family in Roopville, south of Rockmart. 

Now that I no longer live in the small town of Hayesville, NC, I subscribe to their online version of the Clay County Progress, the weekly newspaper.

The obituaries are usually written by a family member, and some laud the interests of the deceased as well as listing the family members. Many of the elderly people are living into their 80s and 90s, and most of them were born in a distant city up north. The obituary informs us of where they worked and the titles or rank held if the deceased had been in the military. 

I am led to believe their happiest days were after they retired in the beautiful Appalachian Mountains. "He loved to fish and hike," or "she volunteered at Granny's Attic," and always lists the church activities, deacon, elder, Sunday School teacher, or sang in the choir. 

We know the subject of an obit was a native of the area because he was born in Clay County, or born in one of the Georgia counties bordering North Carolina. We learn where he went to school, what he did after graduating from High School, and if he had always lived there. 

If it is an obituary of an elderly woman native to the area, she is lauded for being a great mother and grandmother. She loved quilting or baking or helping at her church. Hardly ever is a job mentioned for this woman. We learn that she was loving and giving and happy in her garden or putting up vegetables from the garden. 

When I first moved to Hayesville, I often found that an obituary of a native would mention that she had worked in one of the mills that flourished there before they were all closed and relocated overseas. That move affected families, especially single mothers, in a negative way as their opportunity to earn a living had ended. There were no other jobs similar to the ones that had been lost. 

There is a big difference between an obituary written by a loving family member and the impersonal ones written by a member of the newspaper staff or the funeral home. I feel a bit sad when I read those not written by someone familiar to the deceased. 

I have written or helped write obituaries for my parents and siblings. It is a heavy undertaking, and I have written my own for my family to have when I am gone. 

Today has been a long day, and I am tired. I began home physical therapy today and went to my chiropractor who helps me so very much. She is the most unusual doctor. She says she is a functional chiropractor, which means she does other kinds of healing even if she has to get down on the floor and work on my poor legs as I sit. 

The world is filled with people who help others in diverse ways. I am grateful for those people who don't necessarily follow the norm, who find more than one tried and true way to make me feel better. 

In a world filled with war, murder, death, and torture, it is often hard to face another day with hope. But I know that hearing about the horrible things going on in our country and around the world will not help me because I can't do anything about those atrocities. But I will concentrate on where I can still be of use to others. I will spend tomorrow working on my new writing class, which begins on June 30. My six students will make me happy, and they will enjoy writing their memories. 

Thanks for stopping by and reading my thoughts tonight. I appreciate you and your comments.