Finding Gentleman

I've been serenaded, once or twice. I've been told I was beautiful, been handed a rose, been asked to walk down an aisle, and been told 'I love you'. I've been on dates, on picnics, to movies, to dinners, to extravegant tropical resorts to spend a weekend. I've been paid to act in love. I've paid people to love me. I've seen more aspects of romance than most girls my age. And I realize that in a way, that makes me very blessed. I was very much so the ugly duckling in high school. I went unnoticed and if I was approached it was only in the highlight of a cruel joke. So when the world turned and things changed and that awkward girl grew up to be me- I found love in a million places. It was all I ever wanted, all I still want. I'm the epitome of a hopeless romantic, and it's doomed me to fall for every gentleman who removes his hat and bows in my presence.

Back To Autumn

The permanent snowfall I thought we had had, has almost completely melted away. I'm quite disappointed that the browning scenery is now still evident. Hallow's Eve this year will be a autumn-looking day. Typically it's begining to look like Yule by the time the 31st arrives. I shouldn't complain, it's been years since I've seen a fall-dwelling Samhain. I suppose I'll quite enjoy it. And the tiny witches and ghouls will probably much enjoy the easy walking without a need for boots.

Eskimo Nanny

I've played nanny lately. If there is one thing that makes me yearn for an Eskimo husband- it's being the caretaker to Eskimo children. They are the happiest children you will ever meet. They scream with delight with even the littlest activities. They laugh and smile and are as sweet as could be. Every activity is exciting and every second is an adventure. And how sincerely would I love to be a mother to such kids. At the moment, I could name ten worthy Eskimo husbands that I would absolutely wed. But, alas, my merely twenty-year-old mind knows that we have many a' dreams to achieve before the day of breastfeeding begins. Perhaps when I'm twenty-two I'll settle down. As for now, I'm quite enjoying testing my mothering skills on the greatest children in the entire world.

The Simplest Pleasure

I'm quite well known in the village. Well I suppose in an iscolated town of merely 600 everyone knows everyone- and everything about everyone. But I, especially, have a tender heart for children. And I visit them quite often- and they visit me. So we adventure and play and explore and I teach the virtues my mother taught me in the hopes they will grow up to be magnficiant souls. And it's such a wonderful thing knowing children, because wherever you walk they are outside. And they wave excitedly and scream your name as if you are a celebrity. 'Dawn! Dawn!' they shout- and run towards me. It's so simple, so child-like, and yet so flattering that I often find myself with the biggest accidental smile. Simple pleasures, loves, simple pleasures that I believe could not compare to a million dollars.

Coho's Broken Doghouse

This, is a story of fate. Coho's dog house is made of thin wood, packed with hay for comfort, and placed on the side of my rocky mountain hill that I call a yard. We have no roads in the village, and everyone travels my fourwheeler (or as we call them 'Hondas'). An older woman, around 60 in age, was turning her fourwheeler around in our yard and as she did so she pressed the gas while in reverse. Her fourwheeler spun backwards, directly towards a pile of old barrels and a big wooden dog house. There was a crash, a very loud one. Coho's chain was tangled on a tree and she was stuck at a safe distance (blessed be her hyper running antics that get her stuck). And the woman had landed directly upon the dog house. Because it was not made of hard plywood (like most doghouses in the village) it broke her fall, and the hay inside cushioned her. Had she landed on the rocky ground, surely a boulder would have cracked her head or broken her spine or done some sort of irreversible damage. She got up, shaken but fine, and walked away in a physically okay manner. The fact that Coho had been tangled instead of inside, spared her life. And the fact my doghouse is made of soft wood that easily split, and filled with hay, perhaps spared the human's.

A Freedom of Opinion

I don't believe in being rude or cruel. I believe in having poise and grace and kindness even to those who may not stand the straightest around me. I believe in giving children and animals my entire heart- and every person I meet a portion of it. And yet, I often feel attacked or taken advantage of or even drained by other's energies. Trust me, I am nowhere near a perfect soul. Some nights I come home and punch a pillow just to keep my sanity, and then turn around and smile sweetly at the person who made me do such a thing the next day. And there are so many of them. So many people who say things without thinking- subconciously hurtful things. There are people who will willingly take you down, only so they can use you as a stair to climb up to their pedistal. And people who will never do a kind thing, but expect respect merely for being mean and demanding. Those are the people I will never understand, never know how to change or influence. Because I, myself, will keep an opinion secluded forever just to spare a single soul's feelings. And I often think that if perhaps we all started realizing that a freedom of speech also gives us the right to have a freedom of our own inner opinion (that need not be spoken) we could all live peacefully- not hatefully.

An Action, Not Emotion

We tend to make sex a bigger act than it is. Especially ones like me, who are holding onto their virgin innocence until the exact right person and moment arrives. I mean I've been there- I've been amidst the moaning, sweating, breathing deeply- passionate exchange on the bedsheets. But I haven't ever truly been... there. And it's sad to think that after two years with a darling I still refuse to go there until I have some sort of permanent idea of who will be mine forever. I need that justification that if I act to bring a child into the world, then that child will be brought in also with the man whom helped create that child. And yet- sex is just sex. Good people can do it badly, and unattractive people can do it magically. It can happen at good times, at bad times, and at the wrong times. It can be over as quickly as it began or it can last an entire night. It's just an action... but to me I want it to be an emotion. And I know that it's not, but I'm still holding onto that hope that maybe if I find the right person and the right moment it could be.

Twenty Eight Degrees

Today our first perhaps permanent snowfall fell. We've had snow, lots of it, but none of it 'sticks'. Today, on the other hand, it's a mere 28 degrees so the snow that is falling is covering and coating and staying. And I'm quite happy with it. And the children are ecstatic. Even the empty trees seem to happily be taking to the coat of cool white colors.

Eskimo Marathon Runner

I don't typically whisper the secrets of a stranger's name, but today is a different day- one in which I have found someone worth mentioning in my diary. His name is Christopher Shawn Redfox II. Don't worry, this is not a love note, but rather one of mere adoration. He is a marathon runner. Two years ago his brother, Jerel, passed away. He was merely 22, Chris was 20. They had grown up together and the loss was obviously taken very hard. But, inspiringly, Chris did something that most villagers do not do. He didn't drink away the pain, or smoke away the hurt. He started running... marathons. And he did so in the name of his beloved late brother. He worked terribly hard and has made the promise to run a marathon in each of the 50 United States in dedication to his brother. And I've witnessed as hundreds of village children (who feel trapped in iscolated poverty- so distanced from America) became inspired by him. He's proving to them that they can do anything they set their mind to with a bit of hard work. And I honestly admire him deeply for such a thing. So I am sharing his site, where you can donate to his cause if you see fit: http://redfoxmarathons.tripod.com

Learning Life Lessons

Adults often speak to me as if I am their age. People often forget I am merely two years older than a legal child. My mind is still growing, my stupid decisions are still accumulating, my heart is still niave and wild and yet to go a certain direction. I've had people at forty years of age insult my lifestyle. I've had ones at fifty judge my actions as if I am too mature for such a thing. I've had people old enough to be my mother publically humiliate me for the sake of their own values- but not mine. If you do not like the life I live, do not live it. Preaching to me the path I should walk will not make me change direction. I am young. I may be mature, I may have more responsibilities than most. I believe I make decent decisions- I do not drink nor smoke nor practice sex freely. But I still have an innocence and stupidity and often times complete and utter faith in something unworthy of my heart. But I am young enough to learn my lesson, to experience my mistakes, and to make my own virtues rather than have every one taught to me. So before you treat me as though I am a generation older, remember I am still young enough to experience life for what it is- the good and the bad- without your ideals on what is appropriate. I will learn them on my own time, and it will hurt and I'll wish someone would have warned me. But deep down I'll know I learned a life lesson for what it was- a part of my life- which makes it much more meaningful than a few words someone told me once.

Thick Frost in Afternoon

There is nothing sweeter than the very earliest days of winter. Still, not a layer of snow has made home on the ground. Instead thick layers of frost coat branches and grass in the morning, and fade only in the sunlit spots by late afternoon. Coho and I curl up on the couch and read books and play. Well... she plays. I scold her for biting too hard and then persuade her to quit playing and lay down for a belly rub instead. Of course, then she insists I continue until eventually she decides it's time to go outside and play in the cold by herself. The woodstove crackling in the morning is becoming more and more welcoming- and although I still have a few tasks to do before snow breaks- I'm beginning to be quite fond of the idea of the white stuff arriving.

Woodstove Incense

The winter winds are slowly closing in on the tundra. Even yesterday, as we ventured up the frozen slough, they would catch peices of ice light enough to slide across the glass and push them down the water nearly as fast as they could go. The bald eagles seem to be the only ones strong enough to soar in such strong gusts. I did see a flock of late snow geese fly over, cackling happily at how fast they were going with the north wind helping them along. But the ravens, chickadees, and seagles have all but settled in for a while. I'm with them. My knit sweaters are looking more and more appealing and the smell of the woodstove is becoming my newest home incense.

Newfrozen Ice Music

We ventured off on our last boat ride of the season today. The temperatures have reached well below freezing so all creeks and waterside areas have begun to ice over. As we turned into the clearwater slough that we often paddle through to admire the scenery- we were greeted by a sheet of welcoming frozen water. Our boat, fortunately, was strong enough to break through. So we explored up even further into our loving autumn scenery. Permanent snow is yet to fall, so the dead leaves, grass, and bare trees are still the only thing we have to gaze upon. But I wasn't doing much gazing- rather listening. Ice makes such a unique music when touched by rushing water. It clinks and chatters and sings it's own sweet little song. I closed my eyes for a majority of the ride and just listened to the beat. The beat of winter on the water, the beat that one can only hear for one or two days a year.

Across The Northern Sky

The aurora in my western Alaska home is not always as evident as it is in the center and northern parts of Alaska. But as I escaped my front door this evening I was greeted with a sight to behold. The green haze stretched completely from east to west across the northern sky. They were moving so slowly and gracefully tonight. I love when they dance to a slow moon song. You can watch and it looks as if they are standing still- but when you blink for just a second somehow they entirely change. It's unquestionable that they are utterly magical. But at such times- when they sit still yet somehow changing- they seem to imminate more inspiring energies than any other moment.

One More Farewell

You know that saying 'If you love something, let it go'. It's becoming truer and truer at the moment. After a tearful farewell to my white furry love yesterday, today I decided it was time to bid my seven dwarves (blackfish) goodbye too. I am running low on bugs to bless them with and their happy little faces are getting bored with the aquarium scenery. So today my darling took them to a small still water pond here in town and released them to frolic freely to their heart's content. They swam away with glory and although I will miss their cheerful peers from behind the glass- I know it was time to say goodbye. So off they went, to live out their lives freely in a place not too far from my cabin. And now every time I walk by such a place, I can recite their names and know they're looking up cheerfully at my presence.

Saying Goodbye Pup

Today- my little white girl was sent away to a better home. After a week of interviews, I finally found a wonderful woman who welcomed this little darling with open arms. And so it became time for me to say goodbye. Her time here would be cut short- and the children were antsy to kidnap a full white (prized) dog for their own. So this morning I tucked her away in the side of my parka, zipped her into my body, and took a twenty-five mile trip by fourwheeler to the airport. It was an exhausting ride for both of us. Her sweet little nose peeped in and out of the frigid wind to check the scenery, and she slept curled into my warmth most of the way. When we arrived, a crate was waiting from her future 'mum'. I placed her inside and said goodbye. There were many tears whiped away and I faught the gulp in my throat with all of my strength. She cried a little- and so did I. But in my heart I know she is going to a home without the terror of children or the impatience of a Coho. I'm happy, and sad, but most of all grateful fate fell into a place to bring this love into my home and have her sent away to an even better one...

Happenings of My Pup

The pup has finally officially calmed down. She's adorable and precious and finally showing affection for the human kind. For one week now I have been searching for a home for her. I want her to be loved as dearly as she should be. She's absolutely priceless. She has four phases. When she awakes she's very calm, cuddly, and in dier need of kisses. But after a few minutes the energy renewel has hit full force and playing ensues. So we play- for many hours, until she begins to get hungry. She's learned if she goes to the stache of moose scraps on the porch and sits- she will be fed. So she piles on the food- in a way that even a starving dog would eat- and then more playing ensues. She gets hyper and hyper and more and more ridiculously wild until finally- literally within a minute she goes from a tumbling toddler of excitement to the sleepiest baby in the world. And she sleeps- so sweetly, until the habitual actions can become evident once again.

Dreaming of Forever

Do you believe in soulmates? I always thought my heart belonged someone. Whether or not I'll ever garuentee that they're a part of life is uncertain. But I know that within, I'm searching for them- and perhaps a moment will appear when they will become a part of me in a way I have never experienced. I like the idea of forever, but I don't know if I believe in it. I like the idea of someone who flawlessly fits together with me. I'm in love with the aspect of love. And my hopeless romantic heart wants to think that it has an equal. My views on marriage are minimal, if that. I don't appreciate the idea. My views on permanent love are... undefined. I want it, yearn for it, could live my life with it- but I don't need it. I think I could spend my life happily without it. And yet, for some reason, it's an ever so evident part of my dreams...

The Pup's Habits

The pup has learned the habits of this home. She and Coho both run to the door now when I peek outside, slide across the wood floor, and await by the moose meat for chunks to be cut off and thrown in their favor. She knows where her blanket is when she wants to sleep, and where Coho's is (and how she is not allowed there). She's trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms, and loved me enough to give kisses almost constantly. And I have to admit, the idea of not keeping her is aching in my heart. I've taken Coho without my landlords permission and yet another female dog will not sit well with the higher power...

Awaiting Hallows Eve

The idea of Hallows Eve has consumed me. To me, it's a day of rebirth. The dead visit earth and it's the one chance to say all of the things you forgot to say- to the people you love and lost. It's a day when candles light the way home for people you care about, and children visit in exchange for gifts. The childrens energies renew the house, give a good aura, and keep innocence in order as spirits also walk in and out the front door. I love such a day- and always give the most extravegant gifts. This year I am even more excited, as I have officially gotten a very good amount of gifts to give, candles to light, and spirits I hope to meet.

Addiction of a Poet

I go through phases where I spend countless sentances just rhyming. I don't know where my inner poet comes from, or why exactly she appears- but she does every once in a while and refuses to leave. I speak in poetry to my animals, darlings, and friendly trees beyond my bedroom window (whom I whisper secrets to every night- they are the very best secret holders). For some reason I have taken on her again. I feel like every other sentance should rhyme and it takes every ounce of my concentration to ensure that such a thing does not occur- especially when I am writing something so dear to my heart... like this diary. But I seem to have made it through a paragraph now and the urge to collect likewise words is overwhelming. So I'm off to grab a notebook, pencil, and candle and play poetry writer to my hearts content.

Midnight Puddles

There is an ever so faded glimpse of sunlight on the horizon, but between the bouts of enormous rainfall- ominous dark clouds- and winds of a hurricane's strength, it's hard to believe that those rays of light will ever make it to my cabin window. We have had such weather for almost one week straight now. I mean, I am fond of the excuse to hide away in my covers for long periods of time- but the dirt roads are calling my name for a walk that I just can't give them. I've been sneaking around in the night hours to feed some starving pups around town- and even in my fifteen minute reign of the village I accumulate more mud and soaked clothes than any poised girl should behold. But, alas, I suppose my inner five-year-old does get the best of me in such times. And those puddles can be oh so irresistable. Besides, who quite cares when the hours are so late that only the dogs awaiting their food are awake? No one sees me, so I shall play in this harsh weather to my heart's content.

Rascal's Patience

The pup has now been passed onto Rascal. Coho has all but become annoyed with the responsibility of a rambuncious little devil. Rascal, on the other hand, has the patience of no animal in the world. And although the wolf in his blood should bring out anger- he only has the heart of the sweetest soul in the world. So the pup can growl, bite, and play constantly without even a nip of Rascal's impatience. Coho, on the other hand, refuses to allow the small terror into her home or even remote area for that matter. So not only has she all but kicked him from her side of the family- she has fully passed on all of it's hyper antics to Rascal- who evidently has taken to the little white fluff ball quite fondly.

Emotional Bedroom Chaos

My body has been craving the attention of a man. Perhaps my motherly instincts are in dier need of a child to behold. I've had dreams of birth, of labor, of the beauty and pain they both behold. But even more than that the covers are calling my lonely name. I need kissing, sweating, moaning, breathing deeply. I need the grasp and release of a bedsheet. I need a passionate exchange of two physical beings wrapped up in one emotional chaos...

Tune Of Droplets

The rain and wind are picking up. It may be one of our last autumn rainstorms. I'm enjoying the dark solitude. I like the sound rain makes. It's heavy, so my tin cabin roof beats with the rythem of the falling droplets. Snow doesn't have that effect. It merely brushes by in a wisp of the wind. So for the time being, although I am stuck indoors peering out, I am dearly enjoying the tune of one of my last little rainy days.