as the snow begins to melt and we finally see the ground again...

Within two months of us moving to Alaska we had more than a foot of snow on the ground. It was November.

At first it intimidated me. Seeing that blanket of whiteness everywhere made me feel a bit weird. But the people of Anchorage know how to take care of business; roads were plowed within hours, the pathway on the side of our building was shoveled and salted, and everyone was able to go about their business. It was a telling comparison to Oklahoma City, which had received an equal amount of snow in December and the entire metro shut down.



Abbie wasn't too daunted by it, at least not after her little puppy walking path was cleared. Before that, the snow was taller than she was. Watching her try to jump from one snow bank to another with her little midget legs was kind of hilarious.

The snow is melting now. Of course, we could always experience another freak snowstorm next week and the process will start over. But I can already see the dead, crushed grass from where patches of snow and ice have melted. The roads are no longer slushy from melted snow because the slush has completely dried. The days are getting longer and longer and I can go outside in a t-shirt, jeans and ballet flats and barely feel a chill, even though it's still about 40 degrees every day.

I no longer hear the untouched silence and hush at night, the abnormally calming quiet provided by the snow. It is quietest outside at night as snow falls around you, padding the echoes of cars and footsteps and electricity. Despite living off of a main road, I always felt like I was in the middle of the woods, surrounded by tall trees and snow banks. That quiet and the light provided by the reflection of the snow which lit up the night sky more naturally than any bright moon could. That's what I'm going to miss.

planes, trains and automobiles.

Like, literally, all three. That explains my venture throughout California in February.

~*~

I can't say I remember my trip from Fairfield to Concord that first night - I sincerely blame my lack of food and the strength of Pam's double vodka tonics - but apparently Brian has it all recorded, via Flo's digital camera, as he drove. Lovely. My rambling about potato wedges and another traveler's lap band surgery [she kept pawning off her box lunch items on me, it was weird].

And in true Stephani fashion there's more than one moment where I'd accidentally hit my head against the glass window. What kind of intoxicated evening would it be if I wasn't getting injured?

~*~

The wee hours of a Friday morning down I-680 and 880 are no friends to any driver. So I chose Amtrak. It was the only Bay Area source of mass transit that would safely get me from Concord to Santa Clara. I didn't really have a choice.

It had only been hours since I was dancing on stage at 1984 in SoMa but I tried to rest my eyes as we passed through the backwoods of the East Bay, as dawn crackled behind the Oakland hills. As we passed through Berkeley, the woman in front of me began to blare Green Day's "American Idiot" on full volume from her Razr phone. Although it might have been a subtle tribute, it was nearly 7am, and no one cared.

The train conductor was excited about Super Bowl Sunday, it seemed. He jovially spoke to regular commuters about his plans to make gumbo and jambalaya in honor of the Saints' first trip to the biggest game in the NFL. Even as hungover as I was, it sounded like a decent plan.

~*~

It was the first time I'd seen my parents in months and regardless of the fact that I was dressed in black capri-cut sweats and my long-sleeved grey workout shirt, I was comfortable. We barreled down the 101 at a comfortable speed; it was an unusual jaunt down to Los Angeles. I was used to I-5 and all its dreary desert had to offer.

I talked their ear off. It wasn't too unlike when I was a kid, driving up to Sacramento to see my grandparents. I talk and talk and even though I often don't make a lot of sense they don't care.

The rain began to hit hard once we ventured into Ventura County. Glenn Beck, in all his breakneck conservative fear-mongering glory, woke me from the nap I'd fallen into in the backseat. Eventually we made it onto the 405 and then onto Sepulveda, taking us onto the Pacific Coast Highway to my parent's house.

It was the first time I was able to really comprehend that this was their new home.

~*~

I didn't do my hair or dress like what I consider a "grown-up" but my dad took me from his office to LAX, so I could head back up to NorCal to see my in-laws. My dark hair was a wavy mess and my violet flannel top threatened to show more cleavage than I was comfortable with.

My dad, as he always does, helped me get checked in. I'm 26, with a husband and my own home, and he still helps me with my bags at the airport. I got checked in and through security [I feel like a regular Ryan Bingham when it comes to that] and even snagged a McGriddle before boarding my Southwest flight. A-16. Not bad for a non-commuter.

I got an aisle seat. Even for an hour flight, an aisle seat is heaven with my thirty-six inch legs. After we landed I got my bags and my brother-in-law picked me up, and on the way to my in-laws' place, I could barely hear a thing.

~*~

Laura is one of my personal heroes. For the low price of a lunch at Sushi King and a few bucks here and there for gas, she picked me up all the way in El Dorado Hills so I could get back to Solano County to see my baby brother and my mom [one more time].

She was still clad in her workout gear when she met me at the Tobins' house, and we made it back to Fairfield in less than an hour. I'd already added a week to my time in California to factor in time with my brother, who I had not seen in more than a year. It was worth it.

~*~

I had come back full circle, it seemed. I'd stayed in five different homes over the course of three weeks and seen almost everyone I'd wanted to see.

But as I felt shortly after I came home from NorCal last winter when I was home on Christmas break, I don't belong there anymore. There are the people I miss and those I know will make the effort to spend time with me, and there are the places I always manage to make it out to see. But my home no longer lies in the Bay, though it may be the home I hold dear in my heart. I have lived elsewhere, and moved on.

It's never an easy move to make, no matter how many times I come and go.

But it is what it is. I'm back in Alaska now. Time to keep growing.

a brief segue - musings on the Olympic Games

Today marked the opening ceremonies for the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver... and here I am, like I am every year, alternating between home nation pride and bawling idiot nerding out over the journalist packages dotted here and there throughout the NBC coverage.

I really can't help it... I grew up watching the Olympics, every year. One of my most vivid teenage memories was watching the 1996 Atlanta opening ceremonies when Muhammad Ali lit the torch and my mom lost her shit. I didn't understand it then. I do now.

It's the agony of defeat. The sheer thrill of the win. The shock and awe of the upset. The exhilaration of hometown pride and unimagined strength against all odds, against all competitors, against one's self.

Sarah Hughes and her complete upset for the women's figure skating gold. Apolo finally completing his perfect race, only after three medals, in his least advantageous event. The American sweep in snowboarding half-pipe. Derek Parra and his school of "how to completely lose your shit on the gold medal podium". Jim Shea, after winning gold, bringing out his picture of his gold medal winning grandfather, which he carried for luck. Lindsay Jacobellis, thinking she had the win in women's snowboardcross in the bag, showboating only to lose due to error. The 1000m short track wipeout, giving Australia her first Olympic winter medal. Tanith Belbin and Ben Agosto. Shizuka Arakawa. Marc Gagnon. Ted Ligety. Shani Davis. Vonetta Flowers. Jamie Sale and David Pelletier. Chad Hedrick.

I can't wait to keep watching. Who knows what will happen this year?

adventures in Space-A travel.

A week ago I went on what I now call Part One of the Space-A adventure. And I was not disappointed in the slightest.

And now as I type this blog I'm sitting on my parent's amazingly lush sectional couch in their bungalow in Redondo Beach wearing a hot pink Snuggie watching Julie and Julia. I live a pretty good life, no?

To start with, about 12 days ago I was talking to my mom after a jaunt to the gym and she mentioned my baby brother, Dale, was set to be released from prison on Feb. 10. And that she and my dad would be picking him up from McFarland in central California and driving him up to Fairfield, where he's to be paroled for now. The wheels started turning. Patrick had said there were two Space-A flights a week to Travis AFB in Fairfield. I started doing research.

In three days, I made plans. I joined a forum solely dedicated to helping Space-A travelers and learned about what to expect. We found out Dale would be stuck in prison for another month, but that didn't change my plans - I needed to get away. A friend said I could stay with her in Concord for a few days. Mom suggested I meet her and Dad in San Jose on Friday and drive down to the beach with them for awhile. Sherie, my other mama, told me when I asked to see them, "why are you even asking? You're the only daughter we have..."

So I was nervous. I'd never done this whole Space-A thing before and all I'd heard was "it's a free flight. There are no guarantees. It's the military so you pretty much have to be patient and expect the worst." We got to the terminal on base at 4 a.m., the earliest I could check in that day, and had no idea what to expect.

But... I never want to fly commercial again!

I flew on a C-17 [after the KC-135 we were going to take "broke" on the runway - oh, old jets] and even though we were in jumpseats with loads of drafty air and noise, it was easily the most comfortable method of travel. Plenty of leg room [no seats in front of us!], half the seats were empty, and soft drinks that we could get up and grab ourselves. The flight was only 4.5 hours so I snapped on my headphones, tuned out the enveloping noise with some Regina Spektor, and relaxed. It was easy to do.

Brian, Flo's fiance, picked me up on base and we headed straight to Cloud 9, a regular dive bar we've been going to for years. My arrival coincided with a reunion they'd had planned, which was incredibly convenient considering I'd only came up with the idea to visit four days prior.

Part two of the Space-A adventure will come soon...

healthy living, making changes, et cetera, et al...

My last blog post was a wake-up call for me. I wrote in the still-dark hours of the morning, at the end of the weekend, after several weeks of worsening insomnia. It wasn't getting better, and neither was my seasonal affective depression, which I finally came to terms with. I had never really expressed my frustration at my insomnia before that point, but putting on the record was a start.

This isn't as much a "resolution", per se, as much as a desire to simply get healthy. I'm tired of feeling like I need to lose weight [I'm not overweight but I have gained weight since moving here]. I'm tired of being inactive, both work-wise and physically. I just wanted a change and I knew the job thing was out of my hands [let's be realistic here] and the only thing I could do was start making broad, sweeping changes.

So in the past 10 days or so, here's what I've added to my life -

1.) HAPPY LAMP!

Words cannot express my love for my Happy Lamp. In all seriousness, this is a Philips goLite. The lack of sunlight here has only made things worse and this light both simulates natural light and also gives me a sense of calm. I perch it on the edge of my sectional couch and it relaxes me. Patrick will usually ask me, "so are you happy??" He's a nerd.

2.) Vitamins, tea, caffeine, all that jazz.
When I was in college I would consume about two venti iced coffees from Starbucks a day. One Splenda, a tiny splash of cream, and I was set. I also had a rockin' metabolism in college from hiking up and down campus, having an actual sleep schedule and drinking enough caffeine to stun a rhinoceros into cardiac arrest. I haven't touched more than a Diet Coke's worth of caffeine in months. So, two cups of pure black tea [no sugar, sweetener, honey, cream, nada], two Vitamin D tablets [see #1 on this list] and a One-A-Day weightsmart tablet. And sometimes a couple of Relacore capsules to give me another boost. I don't feel quite as sluggish.

3.) Cardio and more cardio.
We have a workout room in our apartment complex. It's a two-minute walk across the parking lot. I've known this but have been too lazy to actually check it out. So the day after I hit rock bottom [i.e. posted this blog, see above] I decided to actually go. I threw together a workout mix on my brand new iPod [finally!] and power-walked on the treadmill for 25 minutes. The next day I did 30 minutes and threw in some arm weights. Day after that, 35 minutes, increasing speed and incline, with more arm weights.

I hate exercising so that first week I pretty much had to force myself to go, but now I'm in a pattern. Patrick comes home, we relax, watch American Idol/The Office/et al, then gym time! I'm developing a pattern and I feel great. I know I can't expect weight loss to happen immediately - but I can't give up from discouragement.

Lady GaGa, Black Eyed Peas, David Guetta, Ke$ha, Kelly Clarkson, Pink, even some obscure techno remixes of classic 80s songs... they all have a place in my workout, and in my ever-strengthening heart. I'm sure someone will walk by at some point and see me geeking out to 'Bad Romance' on the treadmill and think I've lost it. Oh well.

4.) My motivational speaker from afar, aka. Mom
She sent me a Facebook message the afternoon after I posted my blog [I'm sure she sent it that morning but I woke up at 2 p.m. that day] and basically said, in a nice, Momish way, "no more excuses, play like a champ" [she really didn't quote 'Wedding Crashers', but whatev]. Since then she's been my wakeup call [literally, she calls me at 1o a.m. to wake my happy ass up], my personal trainer and my dietitian, to a point. It's good to have someone to actually hold me accountable here.

It's been about 10 days and I've only missed two days of workout [Sunday = Golden Globes coverage, ALL DAY]. I slept through the Pilates class I wanted to attend on base this morning, but hey, it's a process and I'm getting there. I haven't stuck with a workout regime this long before - and for Lent [Feb. 25] I'm giving up red meat and fried food.

It's a process. It's not going to be easy, nothing here has been. But I have yet to give up and that counts for something.

thirty days of night.

Insomnia!

I guess you could say I've dealt with it before. Maybe a long time ago. But it's never been like this.

This insomnia has been in my world since I moved here. The first night I slept in Anchorage, I woke up at 2pm the next day. I couldn't figure out why - I just figured I needed the sleep after the crazy ferry adventure. But it didn't get better. I found myself unable to fall asleep before 4am most nights. Even if I crawled into bed with Patrick. Nothing happened. I'd stare at the wall, wide awake, reciting U.S. capitals in my head like one would count sheep. But I still couldn't sleep.

So I blamed it on not having "our" bed. I was able to sleep well on the ferry, but for all I know that could have been because of the rocking waters. I tried to sleep on the bed on airman's quarters and our aerobed before our furniture came. Nothing happened.

But it wasn't until we got our furniture and the same pattern repeated itself that the concern grew. I've overslept through two appointments with mental health at the Elmendorf AFB hospital. The other one I missed because I was in the urgent care clinic all day from stomach cramps. Randi pointed out an ironic example I could have made - "why didn' t you go into the doctor sleep-deprived? You would have made your point".

She's right. I need to reschedule, perhaps for a time like 3:30 p.m. It's more than frustrating; I am well aware that I wasting my days by oversleeping because I can't fall asleep until 6am most nights. Regardless of what over-the-counter aides I might take. It's frustrating and I know it's doing a number on my metabolism and my ability to find a real job.

I know part of it is our "night". We get about four hours of real sunlight a day. As of now it's getting "better" which means we get five more minutes of sunlight a day, but when you really get down to it, it is exhausting and depressing. I lay in tanning beds - not to get dark but to feel better about my day and to absorb as much Vitamin D as is humanly possible. I do what I can to feel normal but it's hard to feel normal when my days are dark and covered in a tenuous shroud of fog blocking whatever sun we get here.

The insomnia is a futile point of protest here. I don't know why it came about or where it came from. But it's here, mocking me, nagging at me. I don't know what else to do.

yeah, so, 2009? not so traditional for us.

So... 2009 is just about over. Hell, the bloody decade is just about over. Where the hell have I been?

Right... the Aughts are a bit too much for me to handle right now, in one blog post. So about 2009... which, by the way, I don't feel truly started until April 1, when we got orders.

Oh sure, there was a lot that happened in my world before then, including but not limited to: The official "goodbye cruel world" exit from The Vista; making a few new friends which would only further the influx of amazing people I met before I moved; Patrick's epic return to the US of A; and the start of the realization that "hey, these people are not good people... so... yeah, find new friends ASAP, mmmkay?"

But I digress.

So, April 1. Bloody April Fools Day. After I'd left The Vista so my class schedule was full of gaps that used to be spent staring at InDesign. I was parked in my favorite booth at the on-campus Starbucks, and my friend Ronnie had just left for class. We had two classes together that day [it was a Wednesday] and after class we usually headed to the 'Bucks and got some coffee. He had just left, so it was me and my laptop and some inane Web site I was browsing to pass the time.

And then Patrick called.

"Hey... Steph. Um. We got orders. To Elmendorf. What do you think? Can I accept?"

As I drew a massive blank, I said in shock, "Yes. Yes... oh, my God. Seriously?"

He was serious. I was confused. We were set to transfer to a different jet over the summer, a completely different MOS, a new base and everything, with more deployments to boot. But, Elmendorf? That meant more AWACS. I didn't understand. Which is why about 10 minutes after he called, as I not-so-silently freaked out in the middle of UCO Starbucks, I realized, "Oh holy shit. It's effing April Fools Day. He's probably full of crap."

And I called him back and called him out. Patrick is far too well known for his ability to prank with a completely stone-cold straight face. But he swore he was serious, and even offered to put his commander on the phone.

I had three exams that day and I was stuck on campus. My mind went from stressed about tests to stressed about a move that was, apparently, set to occur in only four months. A move to a place 4,000 miles away, a place I'd never even set foot on, a place the military considers to be overseas. How would we get there? Would we drive up through Canada? How would the animals get there? What if something terrible happens and I can't graduate?

So I spent the next few hours silently freaking out. More than once I was on the verge of tears, and when I got to my last class of the day I ran into Ronnie again and told him what happened. Class was canceled after the exam, and he found me out in the hallway of the Mass Comm building, bleary-eyed and exhausted. And he said the one kind thing I'd heard that day.

"You need a drink. Let's hit up Old Chicago."

And that was the beginning of the year, for me. Everything changed.

My friend base shifted because I realized I only had a few months left here and I was definitely not spending it with people who caused me more stress than necessary. I finally graduated college and my parents flew in for the big event.

Randi became one of my great all-time BFFs, and remains so. Through her I met so many wonderful friends this summer - David [who I actually met first], Nicki, Josh Josh, the Pauls, Josh #9, Red, Mahkesha, Lawrence. My friend Josh, from the Air Force, has been a wonderful presence in both my life and Patrick's. Aaron, my "gay husband" for the summer. Greg, my favorite meteorologist ever. Every one of you will always have a place in my heart.

Las Vegas with Randi a week after graduating. The "July 4 in the country" at David's mom's place in Harrah; the white trash party; the OKC Pride parade; many crazy nights at Nancy's, Skky Bar and JJ's; even more adventures at the Copa with my favorite bartender ever; the road trip to Texarkana; all the hilarious parties at Red's; gossip time in the sun by the pool; brunches at Cafe Nova with bottomless mimosas.

I miss you all so much. The memories have been a gift I've taken with me to Alaska.

The last four months have been difficult but rewarding. The song "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day... well, the title alone has described how I felt about the move. From Sept. 1 when the evil TMO guy practically declared my home the next Grey Gardens, to the long drive up to Washington, to the even longer ferry ride to Alaska, to the two weeks in base housing where I missed my babies...

The job hunt. The relentless, ever-burdening job hunt. With no connections here, and no real consciousness of this city. With a winter of ever-diminishing sunlight, to the complete insomnia I've suffered since I've been here. It has been hard. But now, on December 30, I can look back and say this has all been so worth it.

We're making friends. I have people I trust here, already. I have a better handle on this new place than I did in Oklahoma, I know what mistakes to avoid, and I know that I'm so much stronger and complete than I was in early 2006, when I made that first move.

I still miss you all greatly. But knowing you has made this easier, because I know I left this year and Oklahoma with lifelong friends, and in the best way possible.

and i think i'll try defying gravity.

Christmastime is such a bitch, I swear.

This is the first Christmas in my life where there hasn't been some member of my nuclear family - as in the one I grew up with, not the one I married into - with me during the holidays. And the only Christmas I spent out of California was in 2006 and my mom flew in. Now we're up in Alaska and things are different, suffice it to say. There's a foot and a half of snow on the ground, I know about five people, and I still don't have a job. Money is tight and we don't even have a Christmas tree [this both relates to laziness on my part and a lack of funds].

I just don't care. I kind of want Christmas to come and go and I'm becoming more than tempted to spent December 25 half-drowned in mimosas, Cafe Nova style. At least it's a Chapman family tradition, right?

I don't think I have a reason to be so down in the dumps, but maybe I do? I'm 26 and here we are - up in the Last Frontier, where airfare is a cool $600 on average even if we're flying direct to Los Angeles. I miss my parents. I miss my BFFs in OKC, Randi and Nicki and the gay boys. This was one hell of a summer and it evaporated in a heartbeat, even though we all knew it was coming. I'm adjusting. It's human.

And I don't know, I've done the blog thing and I take all this seriously but, I don't want this venture to be a picture perfect portayal of life as an Air Force wife, because there is nothing perfect about this. It's hard, and it can be shitty, and there are a crapload of lessons I've learned along the way. I've been shunted into a foreign environment twice now since I've turned 21 and even though it's exciting, it's also intimidating and sometimes depressing. All I can do is give my best example of how I handle it. It's not just going to be pictures of pretty things and sanitized detailed descriptions of what we do here - it's going to be relatively unfiltered. I've censored myself too long because I used to only want to depict the pretty things in life, but there's so much more to it than that.

So. Here I am. I'm in my own winter wonderland, so to speak, at least for now. And while it's scary and emotionally tolling, it's going to be one hell of a ride.

i'm in your road sign, protecting your wildlife.

One of the first things I noticed in Anchorage were these adorable little signs on city roads.



I mean, seriously! Best marketing strategy ever. Who would want to litter and hurt the poor moose? And what a cute moose at that. Who could ever want to do something to cause them harm?



Oh... right.

alaska and roofies, a perfect match apparently.

So I'm in Alaska now and it's a combination of culture shock and weird familiarity. The familiarity comes from the whole "West Coast" deal going on here, including but not limited to: fresh seafood, Safeway, Round Table Pizza, a serious lack of Baptist churches, et al. It's the second week of December so we've been here... three months? That seems weird. But it's true, we've been here awhile and I still haven't made any "lifelong friends" as one would put it but that's okay. After my time in Oklahoma I've learned to be really choosy... it's for the best.

So I've been this this place called Chilkoot Charlie's twice now, once on Halloween and last weekend. On Halloween I was roofied. I was with two other women, one of which I've known for years [my friend Natasha, we went to high school together]. Needless to say this put something of a damper on my mindset of the Anchorage clubbing experience.

Here's what I think happened. I ordered Natasha a double Cape Codder. She said it was too strong and put the drink down. After about a minute I said, "Girl, we don't waste liquor, there are sober children in Cambodia". And I went back, grabbed the drink and finished it. I remember nothing from this point, and I wasn't drunk before it.

Not to mention the next time I went I noticed in the ladies room signs that said, to some point, "Do not leave your drink unattended and do not accept drinks from anyone except your bartender or you will be roofied." Wow.

Patrick knew immediately what happened. And then I talked to another Alaskan about it, and they said [paraphrased}, "yeah, it happens here all the time, it happens to all of us at some point, just be careful, it's really big up here".

.......

Yeah, I still like to go clubbing and dancing every so often, but to expect to be drugged? No thank you, Last Frontier, I will gladly bring in my sippie cup and tell you to fuck off when you look at me. I like being conscious.