"Tuesdays at the Cabin" are becoming a coveted tradition in my life, occasionally requiring intense guarding, lest I be required to go into town (next week has already been taken from me by a writing center meeting). Many understand the importance of this day to me, but few know why it is so important. As I am currently working on a paper outlining the features of Native Alaskan writing*, it occurred to me that I might write out the features of "Tuesdays at the Cabin" as well, so that others might be able to better comprehend their beauty.


Common features of "Tuesdays at the Cabin":
1. An early beginning.
2. Getting dressed is optional; pajamas may be worn all day.
3. A LOT of homework.
4. Home-cooked meals.
5. A constant supply of tea.
6. Many trips to the outhouse.
7. Picture taking.
8. A short afternoon nap to collect my thoughts.
9. Singing.
10. Dancing.
11. Dish washing.
12. Writing time. (Of course!)

If I were efficient, or had less to do, this day would probably result in an early bedtime, but it never does.

*For those interested in Native Alaskan writing, definitely check out Our Voices: Native Stories of Alaska and the Yukon, edited by James Ruppert and John W. Bernet. I am fortunate to have Ruppert about 20 feet away from my cubicle anytime I have questions.

What I Learned on Thanksgiving:

The cabin is a jungle gym. I have obviously not been enjoying it to its full potential.

Photo Courtesy of Liz E.

Ice, Ice, Baby

Yesterday started out as a typical morning: I got up before dawn, threw my stuff together for the day, ate breakfast, packed up my dirty laundry so I could do it at a friend's apartment in the evening. When I headed out the door, it was raining.

Raining? There's been snow for a month and a half already. Last week the temperatures were below zero. But yes, it was raining. My parka felt a little overkill.

Still, I jumped in the truck and left. The roads in the hills weren't bad at all, just a little wet. I keep forgetting, however, that the hills are warmer than the valley that is Fairbanks, and the farther into town I got, the more slippery the roads became.

I'm not really sure why I continued driving. My rationale was that I had to get there to teach, though, being the teacher, I can cancel class for things such as hazardous driving conditions. I arrived on campus to find half empty parking lots and buildings. While I was on my drive, the e-mail went out saying classes were canceled for the day. The trip was not all wasted though. I took a shower and went to the store for some necessities before making the trek back.

Yes, I drove back on the ice. I was not keen on the idea of being stuck on campus, especially considering the forecast said the rain would continue until at least this afternoon. If I was going to be stuck somewhere, I preferred the cabin. Fourteen miles is a very long drive when you are going ten to thirty miles an hour. But the truck and it's (now working) 4 wheel drive served me well, and I made it back just fine.

The warmth and rain continued all day yesterday, last night, and is still going today. I haven't been out, but Doug went driving around the neighborhood and says the ice is 3 inches thick most places. Doug says in the 30 years he's lived here, he's never seen ice like this. It figures. I wondered why everyone was going so crazy about it. I mean, it was slippery, but we get that in Iowa. The rain is now supposed to last through tomorrow, and classes continue to be canceled until after Thanksgiving.

Not sure when it's going to be safe to drive again, so now I'm hunkered down by myself for awhile, stocked up on food, water, dirty laundry, and hours and hours of writing time. What else could a girl ask for? (Well, other than a shower.)

The Family

Being a new MFA student means being part of a group of displaced writers chasing their dreams. Most people think I'm in Alaska, so I must be meeting a lot of Alaskans. Truth is, we have a couple of those. But most of us are from the lower 48 -- from Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Illinois, Washington, Tennessee, Wyoming, South Carolina, Oregon, Massachusetts....

With the holidays approaching, we've pieced together our family the best we can. Most of us first years are getting to be good friends. In the office, we rely on each other for help with homework, teaching, and writing. Writing is held as a sacred act. Teaching and homework can be interrupted, but if anyone even mumbles the words, "I'm writing," those being distracting apologize and leave. Most distracting for me personally is Wisconsin, an antsy nonfiction writer whose desk is near mine. Still, I especially relish the afternoons when we're both writing, when I know magic is happening, when he interrupts me every fifteen minutes with, "Hey, Lisa, how does this sound?"

On weekends, we gather to pretend, for just a little while, that we are not drowning under a pile of homework, grading, and revisions. Last weekend, this meant meeting up at Wisconsin's cabin to can the sauerkraut he'd been making in a bucket under his table. There was food, drinks, music, dancing, and, of course, canning. All the food was homemade, and almost everything had to have kraut in it. It was sauerkraut day, after all! Crackers and hummus, pizza with sourdough and kraut, chocolate sauerkraut cake. In all, we canned something like 32 pints of sauerkraut that evening. I like to liken these sorts of events to a barn raising: we get together, get work done, and have a good time doing it. (The picture is from when the "Iowa Waltz" started playing. Of course, I had to dance to it!)

We're making plans to have Thanksgiving at my place. A big turkey-stuffing-mashed potatoes-pie kind of Thanksgiving, the way it's supposed to be done. I'm looking forward to having the family together for dinner.