Autumn Leaves

Finished my painting, now I just need to hang it in our new camper's bathroom.

Marty Lorenz, My Father

I am afraid for my father. I find myself grieving the part of him that I have already lost, heartbreaking in that I have only recently come to appreciate the part of him he chose to share with me.

We were never close. He didn't like children, his own included. I barely got to know my three older half-brothers before they were sent away to their mother, never to return. Not for a couple decades anyway. And then, only fleeting moments before they disappeared again, ran off by a larger-than-life figure that they would never be able to please.

The only part I know of my father is the part that he left inside me. Like all strong personalities, he passed on some of his character traits, and it is those that I inherited that allow me to understand and relate to him in the most basic instinctual ways. His dark humor and straight forward candor, as demonstrated in this sign he had me make for his yard.

What I don't understand about him could fill a library. What I don't respect, a book. What I love and appreciate completely fills my heart, and it is his voice that often rolls quietly around the back of my head, especially in times of crisis, when a calm, determined, thoughtful voice needs to be heard above the chaos.

The stroke scarred his brain, and now the mini strokes and seizures continue the damage. At first he was in denial, then defensive, and now he is in that delicate fragile place when he is starting to realize there is nothing to be done and some day I am going to walk in the door and he isn't going to know who I am anymore. Not one to want to be a burden, or lose control over the quality of his life, he is preparing himself to go out on his own terms. And preparing me for the day when I stop by his house and he is no longer there.

It isn't a pleasant thing to consider on Father's Day, but there it is. I am glad for the rain to cover my tears, and for the fact that at the end of the day over the yearsI have been some small comfort to him, and he to me.

Pioneers of Alaska Picnic at Snider Park Wasilla

Catch all the excitement at Pioneers of Alaska.com.

Bird dogs gone wild

I admit I was bored and looking for cheep entertainment (pun intended) so I placed a Silver Dorking pullet in with the papillon pups for over an hour, sat back and watched.




Weighing in at just under a pound, the puppies are a lot larger than the chick. But they are also significantly more clumsy and slow, so I figured the bird had a fair chance since she could easily hop out of harms way at will.







The interesting thing is, she didn't. Miss Kitty let the pups lick her, smack her with their paws, nuzzle her feathers, climb all over her. She took an amazing amount of abuse, then decided the best place to take a nap was in the dog pile.




It was really sweet, it was hilariously funny to watch, and an experiment I want to try with Walburga next.
She is far more inquisitive and brave, and the puppies are getting more mobile. I am wondering if they will chase each other.

Divine Miss M

Michelle Booher-Wallace, my amazing cousin that I grew up with, is here visiting with her family. She is spending her days and nights at my mother's house, pouring through the love letters that were written between our grandparents when Chris Sorenson first came up to Alaska. Very sweet. Very sweet. He was such a farmboy, you have to love him.

Anyway, Michelle is spending her time visiting the past, visiting with my parents and sister, showing her husband around town. I catch her for a few minutes at dinner, and that is about it - so don't want to hear a lot of whining from her friends about how little time she is spending with them. I am feeling it myself.

We did take time for one little family excursion, a visit to the old family sawmill for some hooligan fishing. Didn't catch a thing, except a few candids of Michelle.