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.

We're All in This Together

Just a drive through Mendenhall Valley

I have only been in Juneau since December first but I already know that this is unlike any other place I have lived or visited. People say here that we are all in this together. It’s not a bad thing. Juneau is not something to be endured. It something to be experienced. Juneau is beautiful, small, and isolated. To leave town, you either have to take the ferry or fly or, be like bears in Haines and swim. But, really, with swimming, you aren’t going to get far. Even if we take the cold out of the equation. 

This isolation, this sense of being all together in a rugged environment, with cold winters and tourist filled summers, really affects how you treat your fellow man. I’ve noticed that my normally short fuse is getting just a little bit longer and, when I have gotten upset with someone, I have been quick to apologize. This is a state capital, yet, with a population or right around 30,000 folks spread over a mind boggling 3,255 square miles (my home town of Portland is only 145 square miles) with only 91 miles of paved road, running into your neighbor, your bank teller, your pastor, your bartender is an everyday occurrence. It helps keep your attitude in check. It helps you fake that smile and that friendly greeting and what I’ve discovered is that it those faux-happy expressions into true expressions of friendliness ad gratitude.

Starting to make some friends, the festive type. 

Whether you live in Downtown or Douglas Island (where I live), or in the Valley, or Out the Road, people seem pretty much the same: laid back, easy going, salt of the earth, just, good people. I’m not used to that. I’m used to the hipster snobbery of Portland, Oregon. I’m into the me-first attitude and the what’s mine is mind and what’s yours is also mine attitude. I'm used to those with friendly faces and daggers for your back. This attitude, the Juneau attitude, is refreshing and really gives that feeling of everyone being in this together.

Like many folks, before moving here, I sold most of my belongings… especially my furniture. Basically, if I couldn’t fit it in my car (which I barged over) or get mailed in a regular sized box, it didn’t make the trip to Juneau. I liked the idea of simplifying. Selling half of my books, most of my DVDS and a bunch of other stuff that was not being used and was taking up space. Part of the desire to move to Alaska was for a fresh start. To simplify. To breathe in the things in life that matter. To be outside and one with nature. To fall in love again with the Creator and with the Creation. To renew my poor opinion of mankind. 

This is starting to happen. 

One of my friends here called me a couple of weeks ago. His girlfriend was moving in and he had some extra furniture. He asked if we wanted it. A sectional. A bench. An ottoman. He topped it off with some cookware, pots, pans, plates, etc. Of course we sad yes. Later, I posted an ad on Next Door asking if anyone had any dishes that we could buy for the holidays, as we had company coming into town. I had to take the ad down because, within minutes, I had more texts and e mails for people willing to give us dishes or let us borrow dishes. Nothing in return. That’s just how people are here: generous, kind, unassuming. I guess that’s the norm here. People don’t throw stuff out. They don’t sell it at exorbitant prices. They just give it away. And why shouldn’t they? After all, we are all in this together.

Welcome to Juneau Alaska!

The reactions, of course, were varied. When we announced that we were leaving good jobs, breaking a lease and packing up to leave for Juneau, Alaska, we had lots of support, lots of skepticism, and lots of tearful goodbyes. In the end, friendly jealousy and lots of loving support was the prevailing reaction.

But, we don’t have kids. Alaska was on my bucket list (only state I had not been too) and, well, why not seek out some adventure? Besides, Northern Exposure is one of my favorite shows. Surely Alaska is like that, right?

So, I arrived Thursday, Dec 1, 2016 at 1:05 PM Alaska time, and hour earlier than Pacific, where I have lived my whole life. Sure, I packed up and moved to Vegas in 2002. But, you could drive or fly home from Vegas, but, Juneau? You had to ferry or fly. No roads in or out. Some say the isolation kills you, Others would say the bears and wolves play a role. I like the fact that it takes an effort to get here and an effort to leave, 

I debarked the plane and made my way to the airport where my wife (who arrived sixteen days prior) was waiting for me with a Santa hat and a sign asking me to join her for our next great adventure. I accepted. We hopped into the car that we barged over and our adventure, officially, began.

I was told that the vastness of Alaska is what would strike me. The hugeness. The cold.  The pictures don’t do it justice, they say. Everything is so big. Well, yes. Massive. Looking out my windows now, snowflakes crash violently to the gravel. Behind the shroud of clouds, majestic Mount Juneau beckons for hikes and explorations. A mile and a half from town, my hope is to be more outdoorsy. My hope if to write more. inspiration is everywhere. The beach is a mile away.

I’ve learned that Tongass National Forest, where I currently reside, is a rain forest. It rains here. A lot. But I’m from Oregon, so that’s okay. The rain here is different, though. It’s more like a constant mist. It feels clean and fresh. Like everything else here. The people here are decidedly laid back and much more polite than my hipster friends in Portland and I have not seen anything even resembling traffic along the main drag through town, Glacier Highway.

It’s not totally foreign. Fred Meyer is here. Costco is here. My wife and dogs are here. Last night, we introduced ourselves to Downtown Juneau the way we lived our lives in Portland, Oregon by enjoying a First Friday Art Walk and then topping it off with tacos at the Taqueria. I did all the tourist stuff here even though I am, almost, a resident.

I’m a night owl but when you only have six or seven hours of winter daylight, you make it a point to get up early and enjoy the day. This morning, as my wife sleeps, I have been up for hours, reading in front of my window (Jeff Buckley’s biography, if you must know), sipping coffee, and listening to Christmas music. Last night, we bought our first Alaskan Christmas Tree Ornaments Next week, we get a tree. This is my favorite time of the year. 

It’s different here. My TV has hardly been on, the cold permeates to the bone, but brings with it, a strange comfort. It’s a fresh start in a fresh land, away from anyone I know, but I’m pleased to be on this adventure with my wife and our two fur babies. I think I’ll stay awhile. I think I’ll tell you all about it.

View from my backyard. Who wouldn't be inspired by that?