Bears in the Driveway

At the Alaska Bar

I haven’t blogged in a while. But, this has nothing at all to do with laziness. Juneau, Alaska, with it’s jagged mountain peaks, quaint and cozy downtown area and welcoming populace forces you to be out and busy. All the time.

Plus, this time of year, the sun is rising at 5:30 AM and not setting until well after eight (it'll be light for about eighteen hours a day, at peak daylight). Come home from a long day of work, and still have the opportunity to take the dogs for a walk through the neighborhood, or down to Sandy Beach, which is only two miles away.

When I lived in Portland, I didn’t hike. We didn’t hike. We wanted to, but, we never did. It seemed too difficult. Here, nothing seems too difficult. I can’t explain it and there’s probly no logical reason for it. I still have financial obligations, I still have a 45 plus hour per week job, I still a wife and a family to take care of. But, it’s just… easier.

And that ease defies logic. Sure, there’s no such thing as a traffic jam, but there’s also no such thing as overnight mail (unless you want have the package shipped to or from by plane), groceries arrive once a week by ferry and, by Sunday, the pickins are slim… even at Costco, the internet has plenty of days where it is spotty, and the weather is extreme. Nothing about living here in Juneau should be easy. But, it is. For us. Maybe it’s just the change we needed in our lives.

Fish Creek

One of our favorite shows before we moved here was Northern Exposure. Now that we live here, we are re-watching the show and are amazed by the way it captures the quirky nature of the people, the way it captures the scenic beauty (even though the show was actually filmed in Washington State), and just… it feels like watching our friends and neighbors. We say this to each other all the time.

We are like the less whiny version of Joel Fleischman.

Sandy Beach

Fish Creek

You see, we didn’t just move from one state to another, we moved from one culture to another. Here, we have to watch out for crows the size of a small dog, for Porcupines sleeping in trees, bald eagles (which are everywhere! The main drag through town, Egan, has a bald eagle or two perched atop every street sign) looking for easy meals in the form of house cats and small dogs, for nasty little red squirrels, the overly aggressive cousins of the grey squirrels inhabiting Portland and the rest of the Northwest.

And bears. The bears are awake now.

About a week or so ago, I was letting the little dog out to go to the bathroom. This was about 9:30 in the evening. As I was letting her out, the upstairs neighbor (we are the downstairs unit of what is essentially a duplex) said to me “Good evening. There’s a bear outside in the driveway.”

A bear in the driveway. That’s not something you hear or experience every day in Portland. Or, really, ever.

No sooner had he said this then both the dogs bolted from the comfort and safety of the living room and up to the gate, where they proceeded to bark their heads off. I grabbed my camera and ran to the gate, but no bear. Not anymore. Not even a flash.

I was exhilarated and disappointed. I wanted to see my bear!

But I knew he’d be back. Bears patrol an area in search of food and, this time year, fresh out of hibernation, they are hungry and cranky.

Fish Creek

In Portland, we thought nothing of walking the dogs after dark. So, last night, just after sunset, the little one made her way to the gate, asking for a walk. This is also new behavior for her. She seemed indifferent to walks in Portland. So, we leashed her up, along with her big sissy and made our way out the street… and a voice was telling me to be alert.

Sure enough, about five minutes into our walk, I look back and see a dark shadow lumbering about fifty yards behind us. It was clear the shadow had come from our driveway, which is part of his nightly patrol. I said to Andrea, “There’s a bear.” And I pointed. She couldn’t see it. Neither could I. 

This was disconcerting, especially considering that the bear was between our house and us. We would have to go past it in order to get home.

Sandy Beach

Then, I saw it again, lumbering, very much like a dog. Closer now. Within 30 yards. There was no doubt. This was a black bear. Perhaps a juvenile, about five feet in height. Not huge, but certainly big enough to do some damage.

Fish Creek

Bella, the big dog, starts going ballistic, barking like mad. Andrea’s bear survival training kicked in as she starts waving her arms and stomping her feet and yelling “I’m a bear!” and the bear once again disappears, this time up the hill.

Losing sight of a bear when you are out in the open, with no weapons of any kind, is not one my list of things to do again.

Sandy Beach

Sandy Beach

But, being fish out of water, we don’t know what to do. So, we call our landlord. This made sense at the time. He assured us that most black bears are afraid of people and want nothing to do with them. Yes, I’m thinking, tell that to the guy who had his eye yanked out of his socket by a black bear here in Juneau last year. Small comfort. “We always walk around with bear belts and bear sprays” he said to me. Great advice. Not helpful at the moment.

Fish Creek

But, it felt comforting to have someone on the phone with us. And, we walked our way back to our place, my eyes glued to the hill, Andrea making as much noise and possible.

And, we were home. Safe and sound.

We had been waiting for a bear story. Now we had one. It’s just too bad I didn’t have a chance to take a picture. But don’t worry. There will be more chances. Of this, I am certain. 

Oh, also, no more dog walks in the dark. Lesson learned.

Alaska, my muse

Just outside Thane, about a mile from downtown Juneau. That's downtown Douglas on Douglas Island. 

I know that I haven’t updated this blog in a while, but that’s not because I have grown bored with it. It’s not because I stopped being creative. In fact, quite the opposite. If you are a naturally creative person, as I am, you cannot live in Juneau and NOT create. It’s like breathing. It just happens. You don’t have to try.

I haven’t updated because my creativity has kept me to busy to do so.

I’ve always been a writer (poetry, short stories, failed attempts at novels/screenplays) but music is my first love. My dad is and was a professional musician so, naturally that was my bent too. I played in bands all through high school and throughout my twenties. I recorded half a dozen albums, went on half a dozen west coast tours and, never had much success, and only sporadic bouts of fun.  Making music, in a band, is, difficult. Egos, long road trips, very little financial payoff: All of these factors contribute to a difficult life style.

And, I have had many friendships end or become permanently strained as a result of being in bands. So, in 2010, about a month before my wedding, I quit my last band, and swore off music. I even wrote a poem about it:

Flailing Empty Capillaries

You were there from birth,

passed down from father to son,

waltzing through my veins, My muse.

We embraced, in perfect pitch,

a song, and then I found

another

and I left you.

Still I see you

tattooed on my wrists. Thick

black lines, a G

and an F. Permanent,

my former muse, over my veins,

under my skin,

a perpetual reminder.

I stare at you, remembering.

Still wanting

to create with you. After all,

you are still in my blood,

but you’re left my heart.

Empty capillaries flail

like strings waiting to be plucked,

longing to be played once again,

but I’ve forgotten the tune.

The irony of that poem is that one my “Permanent markings,” the G (a reference to the G or Bass clef) has since been covered by a feather quill and ink, which I had published shortly after I published my first book. Yet, tattoos never go totally away. If I look closely, I can see it through the ink blot. It reminds me of my roots. It reminds of, perhaps, my first love.

But, I made this trek to Alaska, selling all of my musical equipment, with the exception of my Blues Harmonicas. I haven’t played a guitar for at least a year. I sing, I sing a lot (in the shower, at home, at the karaoke bar), but, really, the creative side of me musically was dormant, perhaps in danger of dying.

Enter: Alaska. My muse, all of my muses—writing, drawing, musically—has/have been reawakened. It’s glorious! I a no longer tormented by unwritten ideas, I am no longer bothered by the expression trying to get out and be expressed. So, I embarked on something I have never done before: Solo music.

Under the name The Proper English, I have composed two songs completely using my IPhone. One is a middle eastern inspired, dance/trance piece called “Pipa Longstocking” (the Pipa being a Chinese instrument, which makes up the lead instrument in the tune). The second is a spoken word piece called “Open Air West Side Market on the First Day off Spring.”  Set to, what I like to call, Youth Group altar call music. The poem, first published in an anthology poetry collection about Portland, Oregon ironically enough, is a tribute/mockery of my home town.

I don’t know if they’re any good, these songs. I have never ventured being a solo artist before. I have never created music without a band to hide behind. Even my first band, Five Minutes Cooler, where I was lead vocalist and wrote most of the songs, I still had two or three bandmates (the band fluctuated from a trio to a quartet throughout its four-year career) to hide behind.

But, something about Alaska, coupled with approaching middle age and with it supreme confidence, gave me the strength to write these songs and share them with the public. I hope there’s more. One thing I know for sure, though: Living in Alaska has revived my muse. In every form that she takes.

New Years in Juneau

What has party crashing, dinner with friends, babies, Contra dancing, booze, bands, and a smoking hot broad? My New Years Eve. My First New Years Eve in Juneau, 2016.

For my fifth blog I was going to recap the journey of how Andrea and I made it to Juneau. If for no other reason than that I wanted to have this information for posterity, as memories fade over time and I don’t want to forget how we got here.

But, then New Years’ Eve happened and it was one of the best ones I have ever had… and it seemed uniquely Juneauian.

I am typically not a fan of New Years’ Eve. New Years’ Eve typically serves to remind me about the resolutions I didn’t keep, the inevitable passage of time, and the struggle to write the correct date on important documents for a couple of weeks. Sure New Years’ Eve can also be a time of reflection, and a chance to start over, but, more often than not, it ends up being a bummer that leaves me a little blue.

New Years in Portland, which is by comparison a huge city, is great. Plenty of things to do, plenty of friends to visit and parties to go to. I have no complaints about the experiences there. Juneau, with its diminutive population, kind of forces you to be creative and truly seek out an experience, or, be fortunate enough to have the experience drop in your lap. We had a little bit of both, and it ended up being one of the most memorable New Years’ Eves that I can recall.

It started innocently enough. I asked my wife if she wanted to go on a date for some Thai food. She said yes and asked if we could invite along another couple. “Of course” was my enthusiastic response.

There were no takers for going out, but our friends and their brand new baby invited us over for coconut curry soup and, baby holding time (the latter being the most appealing to my wife). We stopped in and the food was absolutely delicious. The company was great too. Starting to make friends here in Juneau and it feels great. I told my wife it no longer feels like a vacation; it feels like home. I mean that in a good way. Later, my wife held Baby Sophia. She was the first non-family member to ever hold the tiny little person. I’m pretty sure I saw tears in her eyes. Later, husband and I went down stairs and I checked out his boxing gym. Later, I held the baby while he showed off his boxing skills (not on the baby. I feel like clarification I needed here0. I have four younger siblings but still, holding something that tiny and alive is a new experience. But, I held her to my chest like a pro, even climbing a flight of stairs in the process.

“Time to go, Contra Dancing starts soon,” I said.

All I knew about Contra Dancing was that it was like square dancing.

“Empty your minds and you’ll be fine.” Our friends said.

So on to Down Town Juneau.

You wouldn’t think that in a town of 30,000 people spread over 2,000 square miles that you would ever have any parking issues. But, aside from the fact that there is no Taco Bell, parking in Down Town Juneau might be my only complaint—especially on weekend or holiday. But, in a quaint little twist, the paid parking is seventy-five cents an hour, coins only. I dunno. I kinda love that.

But, I digress. After trying to find parking for several minutes, including a slippery adventure up a super steep hill (Juneau is filled with enough steep hills to make San Francisco blush) which proved to be too much for my front wheel drive car and we were forced to retreat, we finally found some parking about two blocks from our destination. Although it was bitterly cold, it was clear and crisp. The perfect night for a walk.

My wife wanted to go dancing for New Years’ Eve so, when she heard about Contra Dancing, that seemed like our best bet. There is an unsurprising lack of dance clubs in Juneau. Contra Dancing is square dancing, but a little different. I’m not sure how it’s different but I’m told it is. It was a motley crew of individuals in the best possible way. Young and old, short and tall, skinny and fat, hip and uncool. I, somehow, land in the middle of all those descriptions. It took me awhile to get the steps down but I never felt embarrassed. My wife and I had a blast and, as demonstrated by our shortness of breath, had a great workout. We lasted until about 9:30 when we headed out.

“Want a drink?” I asked.

She blushed and batted her eye lashes, hooked her arm around mine and said “Of course,” and, with that, we were off to our favorite bar in Juneau. Alaska Hotel & Bar.

Perhaps I will go more into this historic hotel at a later time. But, that is not pertinent to this already lengthy blog post.

We walked four icy  blocks through Down Town Juneau and through the large double doors into the packed bar. A costumed band was preparing to play. The bartender saw us and waved. I guess we are regulars now, like Norm and Cliff. I ordered my usual, a Kodiak Brown, and Andrea ordered a cider. We sat down at a table, right next a nude photo of one the whores that used to work in the bar back when it was a brothel. There were Pop-Its and, as the band played throwback style rock n roll, dressed in costumes that reflected events of the current year and the year to come (Donald Trump on the drums, Father Time on vocals/guitar, for example), we sipped our beers and chucked our pop its. The festivities were in full swing, yet somewhat subdued, perhaps in reflection of the strange melancholy that was 2016. We stayed about an hour and, wanting to get home before midnight, we stepped out and started the icy walk up hill back to our car.

As we walked, arm in arm, we heard some smooth jazz music. Live, for sure. It was at the Rockwell, a Down Town eatery we have been dying to try, just waiting on a first born to sell to be able to afford it. We walked in and we saw a three-piece jazz group with a female vocalist. Upstairs, we heard loud dance music. We watched the jazz singer for a few minutes and then, instead of heading outside, we peeked upstairs and decided this may be our chance to dance.

Happy Retirement Myra and Norm. The sign at the stop of the stairs said. Who were Myra and Norm? And why do they have such amazing music playing? We had to climb up and check this out.  We even talked ourselves into the party. “We promise not to drink the free drinks. We just want one dance.” My wife pleaded with her doe eyes. The grandmotherly figure manning the coat deck obliged.

“When you find a song you like, just go in and dance.”

It didn’t take long before Uptown Funk made its funky appearance and we, too, made ours. The dance floor was lit from below and occupied by dancers, young and old. Our first party crashing. And it only took us moving to Juneau and walking around for a few hours to do it.

The New Year was already a success, and it was still an hour before midnight. We stayed for another dance before figuring our icy walk home and ring in the new year, with our fur babies by our side.