The Last Frontier

is a place of simplicity. Contrary to what you might imagine if you've never visited - let alone lived here - this is not a place of hardship. Inconvenience, yes. (In fact, I'm sitting at Jessi's laptop listening to her vent about the idiocies of special offer promotions where you discover, after countless minutes of data entry, that "Ha ha! We faked you out! We neither ship free to Alaska nor will we let you have the aforementioned 40% off since you apparently live on the ends of the earth!" It's rather like having a corporation stick its tongue out, seal it lips, and spit upon you in glee).

So, cold weather, yes.
Breathtaking skylines and mind-blowing vistas, yes.
Incomparable rhythm and majestic bounty, yes.
But hardship?
Definitely no.

But, here, the highway sports no billboards. The birch trees are brilliant and the pomegranates hang heavy on the bold rusts and marigolds of autumnal leaves. The sun is rising around 8:30 and, by the time the city's Happy Hour makes its first call, Alaska's shadows have long grown long, heralding the impending close of another day in The Last Frontier.

The pace is calmer. Smoother. And, although Anchorage is fast opening its routes of consumerism to big markets like Target, Old Navy, and Imax, the era of the boutique and artisan shop is far from over since, after all, what man makes with man's hands has beauty and value because it is just that: made by man's hands.

I find I'm happy here, not because I've seen the faces of friends and family or felt their embrace or seen them smile (though, undoubtedly, those are all true). Rather, I'm happy because I feel as though I'm in the cradle of God's creation - rugged, untamed, but gently coaxing...wanting but not demanding I see past its harshness in the hopes I'll embrace its inner beauty.

That's rather like me, really. Hoping inwardly that you'll love who I am, despite my quirks, my eccentricities, my penchant for correct grammar and acts of service or inexplicable love of elephants and order...that the world will look beyond my obstacles and see me for the grandeur of possibility I can be. That they can help make me.

If I, too, were The Last Frontier.

30 Days of Thankful

Each year for the last three, I've purposed every day of November to faithfully carve time on Facebook to write one entry. It's quite the important entry, I dare say, because it's shaped my entire month - one 24 hour chunk at a time.

I hear the murmurs in increased numbers - the plaintive melodies decrying FB's lack of merriment, of honesty, of good 'ol kindness even. Okay. I see that. But I offer this in retort to said decriers: You do realize, do you not, that the networkers et al - NOT the actual network - are the guilty offenders? Because, see, the network's not alive: it's nothing without the content we put in it, post on it, spread through it. And - yes, yes - we can hide some posters, limit our feed exposure, or flat out unfriend, if you're really interested in spreading your point. But, then again, few people accompany their unfriend with any feasible explanation. So, here's the rub for you....

Why not change the content we post? Better choose what we spread? How about we claim Facebook for the beauty it can offer rather than the crud it can spew? (I suddenly feel a bit like Amy Madigan's character, Annie, at the PTA meeting on banning books..."Come on! Come on! Let's see those hands!" Yeah, think it. Post it. See it for fun.)

So, come October, I start compiling my list of 30 - which isn't a lot when you see your life through the lens of thankful, I note. I think of who matters deeply; what's changed me; which nouns fill my happy place of want; which nouns faithfully fill my treasured column of need. I reflect and pray and smile quite a bit actually because, in the end, I'm left with nothing but a cup running over...nothing but love.

So, come November, I practice what I preach. Some were on the list...some strolled in just by being.

Either way, it's good to contemplate your content. To contemplate your life. It's even better for the soul. Well, my soul, anyways. And just maybe yours, too.Which doesn't have to happen solely in the eleventh month.

  

     Thankful is funny like that: 

it's cool any month of the year, like a superpower that never runs out of juice.

So here's my contribution to the good juice...in the order I posted my thankful's.

For stacks of essays waiting to be graded that remind me teaching is who I am, not just what I do...I am truly thankful.

For a treasured friend - a necessary part of my core - whose quiet strength and Godly perspective signifies Comfort to all whom she loves...for Amy Roek Cunningham, I am truly thankful. Love you.

For 9 pounds 9 ounces of miniature Craig who has grown into 4 feet of his own soul-blessing self...I am gloriously thankful. Happy Birthday, Elijah: you will always be my best reminder to laugh hard and live big. I love you.

For words - long and short, skinny and tall, juicy and dry, clean and...not - for the way they are alive and fail only when they should: I am thankful for words.

For the "A-Ha!" moment that lights my students' faces when they get it, do it, and like it once they're done...for that singular moment of superb connection, I am thankful.

For the moments that have defined me and for the grace that made them sacred...I am blessedly thankful.

For a day to celebrate the birth of my friend who represents depths of loyalty and devotion I can only aspire to reach...for my hysterically insightful Jessi Chavez, I am beyond thankful.

(Here's to one that's true every year. Of course.) For indoor plumbing - and the creature comforts it so faithfully provides through cold, infirmity, and dark of night...I am blissfully thankful.

For having had the extraordinary opportunity to live in The Last Frontier, where all that is most beautiful remains still untouched...and called Alaska - I am an awe-inspired thankful.

For pumpkin. For bread, coffee, creamer, muffins, cheesecake, candles, lotions, and even the big ol' orbs we place on the stoop...for pumpkin, my scents are delightfully thankful.

For your bravery, your resilience, your valiant belief in duty before self and God above all...you are my daddy, my friends, and my beloved Craig most of all...for my freedom, I am humbly thankful.

For the Chai Spice walls of a cozy parlor awash in the glow of afternoon sunshine...and a Kindle to go along with it...I am thankful.

Because I woke this morning with his arm around me and listened to him breathing beside me...for the presence of my soul mate Craig, saturating every day of life until it's just the right side of dream come true - I am ever thankful.

For 4'11'" of golden locks, dimpled cheeks, artist's hands, blue-green eyes, and the warmest heart of compassion I've ever encountered...for my only begotten beauty-girl, Grace Abigail, my mothering heart is thankful.

For my Someone, my Peach, my reminder that wisdom isn't separate from humor and all that glitters really IS golden...Michelle Rice Zitzmann, there aren't words for the depth of thankful I am for you. Love you.

For lists that get trumped and goals that get traded in favor of what's better, grander, more beautiful than any I'd imagined...for learning to yield my Type A to His "Type Perfect", I am infinitely thankful.

For a warm bed to climb into come night's fall; for a roof that shelters the heart as much as it does the home; for a full pantry, a cool fridge, clothes that fit, and soap that cleans...for having everything I need more than than everything I want, I am thankful.

For coffee - all kinds; and its packaging - cups or mugs or paper carriers; and its smell - nutty, sweet, slightly bitter; and its warmth - through my hands, across my lips, down my tummy...for my sensory love affair with coffee, my taste buds are thankful.

Gettin' this one in under the wire: for the simple pleasure of cuddling with Elijah beneath a fuzzy blanket, belly-laughing-until-tears watching old The Cosby Show episodes...my merry heart is thankful.

For the gift of knowing and being known, for counting people as gifts and realizing, "They see me and let me seem them, too...no hiding required" - for the gift of acceptance, my friendship meter is thankful.

For Good Wife dates with Jill Singleton Bailey including decaf, pumpkin pie, pajamas (for me), and delightful chats on solving life's great puzzles...the plot of the show among them - for a 30 second drive to hang with one of the smartest, wittiest gals I know, I am thankful.

For my last name: a tangible gift my husband gave to say I belong to him. It's a reminder of legacy and of love. It's alliterative (and that's just cool) AND, even after 15 years, I never tire of being called "Mrs. Covak"...for a name far greater than mere signature, I am thankful.

For our house - more than walls and paint and windows, it's a dream we built together with sacrifice and faith, stitched together by three hands intertwined...His, Craig's, and mine. We've brought our babies home to this house, watched them take their first steps here and, one day, will watch them walk out of it to build their own homes. For the realization that a house loved becomes a home where your story begins, I am thankful.

For the perspective of joy: realizing I have a blessed life is rarely based solely on circumstances and always based on perspective. When I see through eyes of love and peace, I don't see circumstances...I see the bounty of the good life. And I am blessed. For the perspective of joy, my happy heart is thankful...and hoping yours is, too!

For the Day After traditions: halls are decked, leftovers consumed, carols a playin', and pizza is gettin' eaten. Welcome Holidays!

For beer. That's right - beer. For blondes and pales and schillings and every seasonal there is. For the foam and the hops and the finishes, too. For the pilsner, the stein, the pint, and the weizen...for all the fashions in which beer arrives to please the the palate, I am thankful. (No belching, please.)

For LG 47, boys, girls, men, women - Christ the center of all: you are a rich group who make me laugh and think and feel and DO better and bigger than without you...for Steve, Michelle, Jessica, David, Lynne, Micah, Becca, KJ, and Craig, my never-alone heart is thankful.

For my second-favorite lefty who's all giggles and smiles...until he's not; who lives life all in and teaches me what it means to love with heart wide open, especially when he says, "I love you, Mommy" about 50 times a day - for my miracle Judsen Ames, my smile is surely thankful.

For the unexpected gifts that rearrange moments, days, and even years of my life: for every one from snow days to drop-in guests, from marriage proposals to sticks with two lines, my life has been full of rearranging...and I am thankful for it.

(And, to be posted tomorrow….) For the memories of what made me then, the adventures carving me now, and the dreams and hopes deferred for tomorrow…for His promise of “the best is yet to come”, I am eternally thankful.

3,282 Miles Away

It's twice the size of Texas. If you really want to get right down to it, it's bigger than even the entire 22 smallest states in the Union. There, you will find places where 24 is the collective hours of continuous dark. And light. Its land is pocked with volcanoes; it also boasts hold of half the nation's glaciers. It is inhabited. But one mustn't forget it is untamed.  

It is, as you see, a study of contradictions. Yet, its simplicity confounds. Baffles. Hypnotizes. 

It is called The Last Frontier.  
We once hailed it "Home"...3,282 miles away.

Not much bothers Alaska. It runs on its own time. In its own way. Like the most stubborn child, it cannot be hemmed by staunch structure, and pressing it only fences it further in. Life ticks along differently there, defined more in terms of light and dark, less in dusky shades of gray. It is, in fact, far less complex than typicals think.

Of one factor's impact, though, you may be certain: Mother Nature- aka Elohim (the Creator God) - moves and shifts and molds that land quite unlike any other. Glaciers snail forward, mere inches over weeks-come-years; the air snaps crisp before it ripples to supple summer. It is hard. It is gaping. It is steady. It is perfection.

And here's how I know.

 

My friend, Marita, posted these. Locals snapped them.

In case you didn't know, there's a solar storm happening. Which, here in Colorado, doesn't mean much. But in the land of the midnight sun, the sky is ablaze with the paints of God. 

Now, I love Colorado. I know He has us here. 

But, as they say, I left my heart in Alaska. 

And that is where it stays.

3,282 miles away.

When I Get the Bucks Back

I'm all about Costco. Not Sam's. Costco.

Warning: This can divide or unite the Tribe of Warehouse Shoppers. Breathe deeply, if necessary.

When we lived in Alaska, warehouse shopping was a way of life for most - the cost of milk alone would pay for your membership twofold. In fact, most residents of the Last Frontier hold two club memberships: one to Costco, and one to Sam's. Ironically, we were military then so the commissary was our primary stop...but, oh my, how times have changed.

The advantages of membership are plenty, but some are bigger than others:

1. I get some bucks back for my spending.
2. They issue coupons for their items.
3. Generics are excellent and nearly always cheaper.
4. The bakery is absurdly delicious! (Hmmmm....which one doesn't belong?)

As you can see, where shopping is concerned, I'm cash driven.

Anyhow, they have one more policy that makes my "I'm on a budget, people!" heart go pitter-pat: they price adjust. Like Target. But bigger...as all things are in the warehouse world.

A month ago, we bought a Norton package. For 50 bucks. Craig saw it went on sale online. So I took my receipt back.

And left with 25 more dollars in my pocket than when I came -
which I promptly spent on a birthday gift for a friend, a new shirt for Elijah, a "You're 3!!!" present for Judsen, and a $5 lunch for me and that same tot.

See...I can make a buck stretch. With coupons. And sales. And time spent.

Especially when I get the bucks back.