One of the things that struck me when I went through the slides the first time was how much our house changed over the years. Following is “time lapse” photography showing the house through the years, you can decide for yourself how much it has changed.
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While the exterior of the house was being transformed so was the interior, to a lesser degree. There weren’t as many slides of the inside of the house, but there are some. Come on in…
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The 1964 Alaskan earthquake, also known as the Great Alaskan earthquake and Good Friday earthquake, occurred at 5:36 P.M. AST on Good Friday, March 27. All five of us were in downtown Anchorage when the quake hit…
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When I was 9 years old my parents decided they wanted a getaway from the hustle and bustle of Anchorage, which at that time had a population of about 100,000. With a 99 year lease on a plot of land from the State on a small lake about 60 miles outside of Anchorage they built a cabin. No running water and no electricity it was heated by a wood burning stove and lighted with Coleman lanterns. I loved it…
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In the spring of 1969 my parents took off for a trip to Europe leaving us kids at home with a babysitter. They were so taken with Europe that the next year they rented out our house, packed up us kids and took off for a year in England…
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Dad worked in the transportation industry while I was growing up. He worked for companies that operated tugboats, barges and trucks throughout the state. I had no idea, until I saw the next group of pictures, the adventures he had…
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These are pictures that didn’t fit neatly into the previous chapters, but represent the Alaskan experience or my father. Kind of a mishmash, but I feel a need to share them…
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Dad died suddenly while walking alone down the path to his beloved cabin. When I heard where and how he had passed I felt a profound sense of him having come home…
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Epilogue Perfection: The complete and utter embrace of the imperfect. That’s where the good stuff lives—in cracked memories and dusty slides,in unfinished houses and unspoken goodbyes,in silent walks and soft regrets,in love that wasn’t always expressed the way we needed—but was there, stubborn and steady, just the same. This story isn’t perfect.Neither was the man.Neither am I. And that, it turns out, is what makes it whole. LEAVE ME A NOTE
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I have a deep seated reluctance admitting to others I’m a writer. The rules of the written English language have bedeviled me most of my life. I’ve always enjoyed writing, but throughout my many years of schooling I was consistently told I lacked the proper writing skills. I couldn’t grasp the rules of punctuation – I just wrote.