"You are where you are. And the sun comes up, but it never went down..."

May 1st. Sunrise 5:16 am, Sunset 10:23 pm...already 15 hours of daylight. It's "spring", but it keeps on snowing.

But the long hours of daylight melt each day's snow from the roads, trails, and roofs with ease by e.o.d. each evening. There's a sense of urgency in town as people preemptively put away their skis and winter gear and push the envelope of weather-appropriateness by unveiling their shorts and skirts, pairing wool socks with Keens instead of Sorels, traipsing through the break-up-and-thaw, and riding bikes to work.

Its that time of year, a friend says, when sunlight encases your weekend bonfire like parentheses do a trite aside, or cocktail-ed weekday nights slide easily into sandbag-eyed weekday mornings before midnight's even been noticed and flown past...

My first experiences of spring in big North can be correlated with this sense of 'days falling into days with reckless abandon'. In one sense its glorious. This timelessness recalls the days of the summer previous that flash through my memory with a certain 'saudade', and hint at the ones to come in my subsequent months up north; where daylight never fades and sleep becomes accessory. But alternatively, there's a stuck-in-the-mud mentality to this notion of time flying by before I can grab it; as if I shan't be wasting any more time doing what I'm doing, which is settling for anything less than sublime...but "no-night" leaves no time for face-planting into the commitment of forging new professional bridges. Days become quickly packed with adventures, events and goings-on, leaving me with half-hearted interest in the fact that I might be becoming complacent...dipping only my tippy-toe into the dream-pool and standing on the cold, coarse sand.

Here the ubiquitous sunlight sustains the ability to surround you in a sound and satisfying way, and leave you right where you are. For the time being at least.

'Privy'/ the Director's Chair

Again becoming privy to the notion of "home", week one:

I had been gone from Fairbanks almost long enough for me to forget its draw. As with all places we live, I think, the more time passes the more the details of both the gore and the glamor about a place get stuffed into the cobweb-corners of our minds. Although the time span of my absence was minimal and swiftly-passing, still cobwebs began to overtake the nuances of happiness-memories that had originally mentally committed me to more time here. When I got off the plane back east I was on a hell-bending mission just to "get back home". Unsurprisingly it took longer than expected. And I became frustrated, complacent, stir-crazy. But when, just before the point of surrender, the chance to return to north fell in my lap I actually hesitated on the decision. The move back to yard-privy and no-running-water were not the issues I was fighting, but rather the "what" and "why" of the opportunity which landed in my lap; they felt a bit too heavy. The cobwebs were clouding my synapses you see.

Because, here at home (versus everywhere else I have lived) things work out for me...not in some extravagant or luxurious way, but rather quite the opposite. I need or wish for simple things to make daily tasks more fluidly executed, and those things arrive before me. Like an ocean breeze, peace-of-mind sweeps over my psyche and a smile becomes more comfortable than a lonely inquisitive stare. The ease of putting aside my ego frees me up to bask in the company of others who live mostly ego-free. So at the end of week one, despite the weight I bear, I am happy not to have cut off my nose to spite my face.

Truthfully, my current challenges can be categorized only under the label of "time to create"...but the problem is that category is a big one; its the essence of "me". Where historically I used to be the creator on the stage transforming myself into the fruition of some mythical being of angst and grace, I am now the Spielberg of the show sitting in a very tall canvas chair, peering at the action from a great distance. As I suspected I don't really like or require the view from up here, when the dirty work below is so much more fun. I function best with hands-on tasks and the need to tackle quandaries with creativity and intellect. The height and isolation of the director's chair feel stale, stationary. Essentially right now I'm atop the golden throne when I'd rather be marching out to the privy.

I intend to make the most of the view up here, savor it and store it, while attempting to climb back down to the ground where I can get good and dirty.

voluntaryhomelessness.com

On my first day back "home", I spent part of the mild and sunny early-spring afternoon reconnecting with a long-lost friend over a dog walk in the snow. My "long lost" friend wasn't lost at all and I hadn't even really been out of touch for long, but I certainly wasn't expecting her to pop out of a bathroom stall at the PUB on campus in Fairbanks...and on my first night back to boot. Since we parted ways, she circumnavigated most of Alaska while documenting the life of a dog-musher/iditarod runner, and I circumnavigated the nation, not once but twice, documenting a whole lot of what I like to call "nothingatall" from town to town, job to job, coast to coast. And we both ended up back in the pub on campus on the same day. I really enjoy when life works that way.

Our dog walk conversations only scratched the surface of what we each have seen, done, and learned on our respective journeys. We both had rather monumental birthdays in there too. The most interesting thing (to me) however, is that it hadn't even felt like it was actually six months ago when last I was talking with her over life's ironies, our former urban-icity as simultaneous New York residents, and the frivolity of trying to plan the future. In truth, since I deplaned at Fairbanks International Airport yesterday afternoon, I've had a perpetual sense of having only been gone a few days rather than half a year.

But the evidential difference between our conversations then and now is the urge for a little permanence. Having both had a year of homeless and transient lifestyles, infrequent or illegitimate work, not much to speak of in regards to bank accounts but a goldmine of experiences to savor and cherish, new friends, and coinciding beginnings and endings in Fairbanks Alaska, we both acknowledged the urge to attain at least a temporary or short-term sense of stability. Not too much, just a few months, year or two at most. For me that means my own cabin and a car, maybe some money in the bank...and dare I say a full-time job. For she, a life back at home in Norway with her new dog, graduate school, more 'typical' living after shanty-hopping in the below-zeros of Alaskan winter, and maybe a new hairdo too.

We chuckled at the prospect of rent payments, haircuts, and social responsibility as we remembered that right now we are still both currently crashing in some dear friend's home. How realistic is it for us to commit to just one lifestyle after a year of wanderlust? Then she suggested maybe we should form some sort of union of homeless drifters, complete with a database or classified list for hitching rides cross-country and crashing on floors and couches. I said yes, and it should offer health benefits...for all categories of homelessness. Because the only difference between us and the destitute is the choice. We are voluntaryhomeless(dotcom).

(Post-script: So much for mild and sunny. I bite my tongue...its started snowing, and hasn't quit since.)

I hella heart Oakland

On my last Saturday in Oakland,CA I spent the day doing nothing-in-particular with a few good friends (which turned out to include a chocolate factory tour and a three-hour thai feast, interestingly) to commemorate my time in the place I've called home for the last six weeks before I embark, if only temporarily, to yet another 'home'. This side of the Bay sure doesn't measure up to the pace of our neighboring hub-counterpart San Francisco, but the essences are the same....

So why do "I hella heart Oakland"?? For one, people actually say 'hella'. I was thinking it was just the kids, the UC Berkeley- folk of age 20 or so...but no. My friend says 'hella'. Frequently. Like teens on the East Coast say "like! yah!". And instead of 'hearting New York" Milton Glaser-style, around here we DO "hella heart Oakland" on our tees.

Secondly, the evidence of citizens who embrace and utilize their rights under the First Amendment. Like today, three protesters climbed the Golden Gate to hang "free Tibet" signs and protest the Olympic torch ceremony.

And have you seen the all-pervasive Sarah Marshall movie ads that make you, well, not want to see the movie? I don't care how funny the movie could be...the billboards have single-handedly convinced me NOT to see it. This speaking-of-ones-mind spied in Berkeley, I feel, is a much better resolution for the obnoxious billboards...
Reason numero tres: the citizens of the Bay area love trash. They collect trash and resell it, they arrange trash into assemblages on the street, they save trash in their homes to visualize their footprint on the earth in a literal way, they glue trash onto signs and turn trash into art. I've even taken to doing the latter myself.

Today I took a walking tour of my "hood" to commemorate the sights of my usual walking routes in this glorious neighborhood...which yes, do include the creative use of trash. Slip into my neighborhood and take the virtual tour: Glorious Oakland Pics

As I prepare to leave this part of the west behind, I embrace it whole-heartedly, and perform daily rituals to keep its intricacies sacred, that I might return as if I'd never left and fall into line with the marching liberals hoping to make this world a bit better, if only a few persons at a time.