The book, the boat, and runs

Writing now, from this L-shaped couch on Finn Alley, Sitka, I feel like I’m stepping out of the marathon at the tenth mile or so, and stopping. It doesn’t seem right – but I also want to keep this account updated.

The book, THE ALASKAN LAUNDRY, is due to Lippincott Massie McQuilkin Agency February 28th. We submit to publishers the first week of April. Thank you to all readers; this has been a collective effort. In the wee Adak shower, looking out as snow sweeps the docks, scrubbing the oak floors of the galley – I write and re-write that acknowledgements page. Thank you…I feel very lucky to have all of you in my corner. Everyone knows who they are. Big big love.

When I first came out to Alaska, I had a cardboard box. Well, I had a few cardboard boxes. But I had one cardboard box – I think there is a photo of it in one of the first blogs. Inside that one cardboard box I had  three  prized possessions: my Oxford Blues Boxing photo, my Occidental Leather carpentry belt, and my favorite books with all their notes inside. The Selected Works of Rainier Maria Rilke, A Sport and and Pastime, Crossing to Safety, Fugitive Pieces, and poet Charlie Smith’s Heroin.

Somewhere, over the course of the trip west, that box disappeared. Just up and vanished. Moving onto the Adak, the three objects that I believed went far to define who I was – or at the very least, the story I had been telling myself, something along the lines of carpenter, writer, and fighter – went out the window. Reboot. Back to square one.

And then work began on the Adak. And Sitka. Friends and sister convincing me to try EHarmony – not so good. Starting Sitka Wild Foods. Considering the Adak as a spot for a Wild Foods Charters. God, I was going to have a coffeeshop in the galley of the boat. Really?

W took the long trip across the country, the ferry trip north, and moved onto the boat. And, after three months, disappeared, similar to that box. She left, and life became hallucinatory – something like walking through a deep fog, with strikes of lightning every once in a while. Back to Philly to work for/at Greensaw, and live in that shop hovel, the batcave. My sister getting married in Ireland August 24th to a great man. Long walks through Northern Liberties, where I took this one photo of boys playing basketball.

Then back to Alaska. The first days on the boat were awful – remnants everywhere. The book, the book. The book. The book. And, much more importantly, close friends and family. Went out with buddies Rick and Xander on Sound Judgement, hunted, found a dead deer, cut it up because the meat looked fresh (not the best idea). Set crab pots and got some dungee and tanners – recalibrated. Reshuffled.

January 25th ended up doing Burns Night on the boat. And of course, due to all the good people here, it turned out beautifully. I mean, just take one look at Rick in his kilt, and tell me you wouldn’t have wanted to witness this guy in the flesh. His Toast to the Lassies was a thing to remember. And things started to – clear. Slowly. Funny how being in the presence of good, centered, grounded people who act out of ease, gentleness, and compassion will do that for you.

I wake each morning at 5 am to work on the book. Cut off at 7 pm. Lunch of PB & Js on tortilla rolls at Shannon’s. Luckily, a friend in town studies for the Alaska Bar, which she will take at the end of February – we keep each other going. And the stakes are high – up at Halleck Island here’s an example of what happens when boats don’t make it. An old Samson tug, just the hull and the winch remaining.

Here in Sitka we gain a good three minutes of sunlight each day. We’re soon to have a second renter aboard the Adak – they keep us afloat, it’s great having Mr. Dan aboard. The new stove works great. Discovering Judo in town – and what a great teacher has always been right under my nose.

These life lessons, how hard-earned they are! That it’s always darkest before the dawn, and that when things go bad you need to find new runs, as Cal and I have – this one up at the water tower, on the new cross trail. Run run run run. Finish the 26.2.

I don’t think I had never loved fully. Always one foot on the ground.

Trust should be earned, and not given. That sort of thing.