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Home in Alaska

After banging out some words on pages this morning, I took a lovely walk with my classmate/writer-pal Charlotte around a nearby lake here on the University of Alaska Anchorage campus. We talked about our projects, inhaled the fresh, clean Alaska air, exchanged exaltation's regarding the mentors we'd drawn, and enjoyed the many friendly dogs with their humans who shared our path. The walk was followed by a nap. I'm still recovering from the residency. This evening, I ventured to town for dinner. Hanging out in coffee shops alone is one thing, but eating solo in a fancy seafood joint can feel weird. So I took a book to read, though not just any book; I chose one to perpetuate an eccentric, adventurer-to-the-great-north-country image, to help me look the part. And since I don't have a Craig Childs adventurer-style beard, a book about fly fishing with pastel watercolor salmon swimming across the cover seemed like the next best thing. Opening Days, written by another writer-pal, Richard Chiappone, isn't about fly fishing at all. Oh sure, there is lots of casting and hooking and reeling and fly tying and so forth, but the fly fishing is incidental. Opening Days is a collection of essays, short fiction and poetry about conflict, desire and futility. It's hilarious, touching and so beautifully written I became engrossed in it to the point where my halibut turned cold and the waiter grew concerned about whether I would ever slip any money into that black vinyl folder on the table. I did pay the man, eventually, then walked out into the still bright night, passed a dollar to a pathetic fellow on the street, then rumbled back home on the bus.

Home. Tonight is my last here in the dorm. This place feels like home, as much as any place. I can't wait to come home to Alaska again next summer.

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