Adventures of a Drama Teacher

{March 20, 2014}   The Life of a Drama Teacher

ImageI just procured myself a new set of coveralls/overall, Carhartts to be exact. After two trips to Sears, and the dreaded mall with no luck, I finally succumb to ordering on the internet. I hope they fit. Point being I wanted the ones that look like the ones my man wears. I find a man in work clothes; you know heavy work, sexy. I guess he does too, I mean, like the work clothes thing, he likes me best in my Carhartts/overalls/coveralls whatever, I have worn out three pair in our relationship tenure. He’s off again, working, as I finally get a chance to write, six days into spring break, where I’ve done literally nothing but catch up since he left, and I am still not caught up. The life of a teacher; and a theatre teacher at that. Our Town looms immediately when school starts up, a new principal is taking over, I’ve asked for a raise at school, my son has had a miracle girlfriend since Christmas time that has pulled him somewhat out of the trenches of the abyss of teenage angst only to have her family moving them across the nation to Florida at the end of this school year. My focus, or most important focus, is of course my son, his health and happiness.  I contacted an agent who wants to package my Donny Osmond jukebox musical (if I can get all the permission). I have done the preliminary ground work on all permissions requested but have yet to get a response from Donny, and only Sony/ATV of the copious music publishing/song publishing companies has gotten back to me on permission and royalty payment information, and even Sony hasn’t given permission or price yet. It’s a wonder that jukebox musicals get produced at all. I guess my next step is send the email request again, and package all for snail mail request as well? We are producing, again, under the ascap education umbrella The Road to Shambala but have requested permission and royalty payment package from all the publishers that be as well. It’s funny these music publishing companies don’t want to make money? Why don’t they get back to you? So the metaphorical pounding of payment continues. My students debated the superiority of The Road to Shambala over Sweet and Innocent  in an argumentative paragraph for PARCC and Common Core preparation after Sweet and Innocent being the interest of the literary agent and a possible Broadway package. The majority thinking that The Road to Shambala has better music and theme. Some students, though, the ones who’ve gotten the privilege of reading Buying My Way into Heaven (RED), think that the raw, gritty realism of RED makes it a better script, which doesn’t matter anyway without the Red Rocker’s permission.  So there I am, or here I am, in my fiftieth year wondering about the choices I’ve made in life. Our culture influences our creative thought and there is nothing original under the sun, only the scaffolding to build something new. It is our influences that give us inspiration yet, we still continue to doubt that maybe success with this particular project is not meant to be, then you think but it IS Sammy Hagar and Donny Osmond that influenced so much creativity in my life and they taught me/the world not to give up on our dreams. So I am putting it out there again, the world needs a Sammy Hagar musical and a Donny Osmond musical, and The Road to Shambala is just damn cute especially if you love The Wizard of Oz. The Road to Shambala is a great way to introduce children to diversity.  So hurry Carhartts get here, so I can continue to build with my students and create a new version of Shambala for future advertisement and package sales. Let my son’s involvement in this project influence his happiness. Stay tuned. AND I am massively bummed that Sammy and The Wabos will be here on  April 5th, which of course is OUR TOWN. The life of a DRAMA TEACHER!!!!!Image

{July 17, 2013}   Go away little bear

Me & DingoCauldron dropDoggie on Dance platform


Go away little bear, go away medium sized bear, black bear just “Go away!!!” I am not supposed to be alone with you.

I am back where eagles fly. Wolf Creek, Alaska where I pen my hopefully someday famous juke box musicals. I just finished the rough draft of my latest, “Sweet and Innocent” done with the greatest hits of Donny Osmond. “The Road to Shambala” with the greatest hits of Three Dog Night is currently being shopped by producers; and not yet after one year of personal and electronic attempts have I heard anything from the Red Rocker camp besides (we have passed on the scripts to Sammy and his manager to enjoy), no endorsement or comments thus far on” Buying My Way Into Heaven” with the music of Samuel Roy Hagar, my spiritual enlightenment piece.

After observing four rather large eagles fly past the bay view bedroom window I share with my spouse OO7, on our island Shangri-La, I am placated that this flying feathered fowl foretaste assures me that God, and the god of all rock and roll stars, and I are linked in the cosmos. So patience is my friend.

I am excited to begin work-shopping” Sweet and Innocent” with my students when I return down south to commence another school year.

This year has been different in the company that has tagged along with me on my annual sojourn-a high school friend, fellow artist and dog lover (the tallest girl in school for all those who went to school with me) is with me and gone is my teenage son Morrison James aka  Mojo, who stayed south and attended camp in Oregon so he could be with kids his own age. Unfortunately,  Mojo missed our Dingo Dog’s obsession with the two seals that tease the pooch daily by flapping their tails until the cute k9 swims out in the bay to meet them-only to have the sea-dogs dive and come up and slap their tails again yards away. It looks to me as if the seals are saying, “hehe hehehe can’t catch me land doggie”. I promised Mojo to watch carefully over our pup pup-but in the great outdoors which is monikered “Seward’s Follies”, that it is nearly impossible to keep a curious k9 behind on my daily hikes; when a pod of killer whales swam past the place, OO7 did make sure to hold the Dingo’s collar and we were careful not to alert the pup to their presence. How do I explain to my son that our dog was devoured by killer whales? I also had to communicate with a rather large eagle that was thinking about my dog; I could see it in his eyes, I could. “That’s my baby” I said when Eagle and I had eye contact. It gave me a look that said, “He’s too big, I was just thinking about it.”

I do believe, though, that our doggie is smarter than I realize as for the first time in the 12 years I have vacationed in this Alaskan wilderness, I came, or should I say a bear came rather close to where I was enjoying my daily meditational, exercise dance hike. I know the score- make lots of noise etc. (I always do-singing at the top of my lungs whatever songs I am working on at the time). This year on my first hike I spied several piles of what I determined to be bear scat but didn’t really think too much on’t.  But a few days ago whilst I was visualizing to the Donny Osmond song, “Go Away Little Girl” at my waterfall platform I heard a mighty crashing behind me (which was hard to hear considering I was listening to the 70s Teen Bop Star in my earphones AND the waterfall itself is rather loud) but a crashing sound I did hear to turn around and see a rather medium sized black bear across the ravine from me! I didn’t totally freak as there was a ravine between us, and I immediately started fumbling with my iphone to get the video going, started worrying about Dingo Dog maybe pursuing chase while singing” Go Away Little Bear, Go away medium sized bear”, that’s a black bear not the scary brown bear, oh maybe I should be scared?” Go away bear,  you go!” It ran faster then and disappeared into the dense forest before I could get the video going.  It was big, not a cub, cubs are what you really gotta be watching out for.  Or their mothers that is. So I decided to ascend from my waterfall haven to tell the tale to our company. Since then I have been a little more aware on my hikes and Dingo Dog stays closer. In fact the very next hike he wouldn’t move from the dance platform. He’s better now, but today we realized that there is a fallen tree that goes across that ravine so if the bear, or a bear, or if we wanted, a traverse could be done quite easily. Hmmmm, food for thought. I do not want to be food for thought.

It’s been a warm one, the whole trip from leaving Mesa, a stay in Las Vegas with a glorious Vegas show The Beatles “Love”. Ten days with the family in Oregon then the long drive through Beautiful British Colombia to Hyder, AK where OO7 fetches us in his spy-plane. I finished reading the Bible a mere two years to the date (Independence Day) that I commenced the epic historical saga; this 4th of July having several momentous happenings such as Dingo Dog’s second birthday among the list of “There is a God after all” events in my life.  Most importantly, I finished the first draft on my newest musical, and I am happy, as long as I am not caught alone with the bear again.

Fat Bottom Girls
An AIMS Writing Essay by Tomi Griffin

“Fat bottom girls you make the rocking world go around” crooned Freddy Mercury in Queen’s 1970’s monster hit Fat Bottom Girls. Our school’s monster budget deficit forces us to have to choose what compulsory curriculum should be included in our daily high school schedule. Suggested cuts are to P.E., our lofty physical education program. Yes, lofty I say, not because it is not unnecessary for life, but because it is unfair in life that most schools put more funding into sporting teams than into their other programs. (This is hearsay by the way; I have not actually studied the statistics). Well I say, those who want to be physical- will be physical, don’t waste precious school resources on physical education when we know (hearsay again) that too many teenagers want to just sit and veg all day, fall asleep in class and careless about their health and physical appearance. It’s a free country, why push the physical stuff on everyone and waste more time and money? There are other ways to skin a cat. Or should I say dog?

For it is a dog eat dog world out there, so the dogs must fight. The really smart kids would like more money put toward their intelligence. Brain work. Smart kids already know how to get exercise, they do. That is because they are smart. They would rather work on things that build their creativity, and expand their brain power and sometimes, is physical as well, such as performing arts.

Classes that are active will give the students needed movement. The smart kids would have less and less competition because they already know how important exercise is, they do it on their own, they get on with it, so that they can get other things done, to improve their position in life. It’s a dog eat dog world, Darwin might say take out the unhealthy ones. Think of the money the schools could save by making classes more physically active, even a five minute stretch before the classes sit, would help circulation, focus and concentration. It’s also a free country, so the fat bottom ones who choose lack of physical exercise can choose to sit it out. No more dumb jocks getting the needed dollars for their gladiator games. Make them pay to play these barbarian rituals. No disrespect to the entertainment and traditional value of sports, they are even at times amusing, and perplexingly, generate funds (hearsay again).

The schools should try spreading the wealth, let the dogs eat the dogs and the cream rise to the top. Let those video playing couch potatoes go down if they so choose and let the smart kids triumph! I am sure more kids get ahead in life by intelligence than by professional sports. Let the physical education be extra curricular only. Cut those programs; give the money to the smart kids.

Besides, who cares if America is obese? Let the people choose what they want. Darwin would say survival of the fittest. According to Freddy Mercury “Fat Bottom girls make the rocking world go around.” They can get on their bikes and ride when they get home from school.

Virgin Overalls

Virgin Overalls

Well Guys and Dolls, Redheads and such:

I made it once again to Alaska this time in a very different way. As you know I am married to OO7 and with that comes a uniqueness that can’t really be explained but I will try anyway.

This summer is my 30 year class reunion. (Yes I know I graduated when I was 5, but that’s another story). Anyway OO7 says to me, he did, “Do you want to arrive in a helicopter at your reunion? “ I say, and excuse my French here, “Hell No! That ain’t my style. You fly the helicopter (we don’t own one, but ya’ll know OO7’s a pilot and D our daughter a helicopter pilot so it’s not that far -fetched) anyway, so I said, “YOU arrive/fly in, in a helicopter at YOUR class reunion (his reunion will be in two years). But I wouldn’t mind taking the bus.” So that’s what we did, at least for the first link of the tour.

OO7 got off the ships, flew to AZ, we took off to New Mexico where the bus had received a new RED stripe on its side and we traversed through Texas, Colorado, Idaho, then at last to our hometown of Boring, Oregon where the bus now awaits. We got to stay the night in a La Grande truck stop! Oh how I miss La Grande (EOU where I got my undergrad degree). So the bus ride was kind of  eventful (for 007 anyway);  two blown tires and an air-ride problem that made me feel like we were on a stage coach being chased by wild Indians, but OO7 being the MaGuyver /Honey Badger that he is fixed the problem with a tooth pick and piece of gum. But I digress.

We left the bus in Boring and took my Drama-mobile which we had towed on a trailer and drove to Bellingham Washington where we boarded the Columbia of The Alaska Marine Highway system-kid, dog and all, and spent 36 hours on the inside passage until we reached Ketchikan. From Ketchikan we hoped on our RED Cessna 185 and flew home (dog’s first plane ride went well, I puked).

We have now been here a little over a week, I finished the rough draft on my current musical project-Buying My Way Into Heaven, and am anxiously awaiting the sale of tickets to Sammy Hagar’s birthday bash this October in Cabo as I have already purchased commercial plane tickets for me and Mo. Unfortunately OO7 can’t go with us as his secret spy schedule will not allow, and it looks like maybe  we will not arrive at my class reunion in the bus after all because he may have to go out on a mission and I ain’t driving that thing without him just like I will not fly the planes solo.

I think there’s a pattern going on here as I sit in my RED flannel PJs with my RED toenails, inside my RED accented cabin, writing on my RED computer after having chosen RED for the paint colors on our planes and bus, (cause Green ain’t mean compared to RED) BEFORE I wrote my new play, while my Sammy Hagar music lie dormant in my little grey cells. Now I am a REDHEAD again, always and forever!

So…Here I am enjoying my peace (Chickenfoot), exercising, writing and basking in the glory God created for us. All good.  It used to upset me when OO7’s schedule takes him away but not anymore. I found the following quote in my RED writer’s notebook, I wrote it two summers ago here in AK. Nothing amazing, just little daily writing warm-up like I give my students:-write down everything you are thankful for then create a short poem, here’s my poem:

I am Beautiful

I am Smart

I have Honesty in my Heart

Wherever I am

Is where I am supposed to be

A higher power moves through me

My happiness spreads to one and all

Wherever I go, I stand tall

God Bless and may the Birthday Bash Ticket God shine on me!

Paint it RED!

{January 7, 2012}   2012 I have been waiting for you

Fabulous Fridays flee fast and furious.

Happy New Year! And as usual it is always a busy one for me. The Tragic Tale of the Dane demands my attention; well, teaching in general demands my attention. I have one assignment left to knock out to finish my 45 hour SEI class, which as usual I learned something from and rather enjoyed though it stole quite a few (3 days holed up wearing my flannel  RED pajamas, on my “Princess Bed” {so my son calls it},  with my laptop reading and planning and writing  and hop, skip and a jumping through what we teachers call flaming red hoops). Again, I enjoyed it and have one of my student aids making me up a Spanish cognate board with theatre terms to give some color to my blackbox theatre style classroom. Today was one of those perfect days as an educator. All my days are a whirlwind of pinball action, improv, experience and performance. Every child I interact with, I enjoy their company. I love to watch them grow as human beings. Fridays we play paperball and do improv and perform. I have quite a few unique students this year, I love them all. Tomorrow, I am on a theatre run as I do before each show. The depot, the fabulous fabric store and Fun City for stage make-up and guns (ideas? I don’t know as we’re vacillating on the appropriate way to portray this part of our play with recent tragic events at school).

I am happy as the new-year brings. Excited for my classes each day, excited for every new play. Into the Woods is after Hamlet. The end of the school year will be next. I hope to finish Red, aka Buying My Way into Heaven, rough draft by the end of the school year, (I actually initiated my guitar player from Shambala into the writing team today, excited, excited, excited as he is on my passion project team in my Creative Writing class so now we can write the libretto as we write the dialogue and story too. We are still libretto poor for Shambala which that, and the rights search, are holding us up!

We had lovely Australian students visiting today, they were beyond adorable. One of my Creative Writing students whom used to be one of my drama students brought her Australians into the Theatre 2 class just so they could experience the Zoo Woe and another one of my warm-ups. And in theatre 1 we had the two blond Auzzie boys start off our Speak the Speech with Australian accents. What a delight!

007 is off again on a secret mission which gives me the liberty to put all my passion into teaching and writing and all the other fun and exciting activities I engage in like painting my French doors, reading Halo with my son or visualizing my next writing project; maybe a Romance Novel!

The only downer for me is I have a sullen teen. Ah, life cannot be without at least one woe.

{November 20, 2011}   That Most Memorable Christmas

That most memorable Christmas

The main reason the job of life scanning is so overwhelming is: each photo takes you on a “Cold Case”, so-to-speak, in the aspect of deciphering the exact time the photo was taken. Then your mind wanders and the nostalgia pours in. Stories are ignited.

A batched scan job of one of my mother’s things; a collage of memories from the 70s. I decide to keep the ones that came out and re-scan the others. So the first photo takes me to Boring Oregon. Must be late October or early November 1970 as my sister was born, as per my wishes to Jesus, and she is pretty little here, but not a drooling newborn. Where Touché Turtle is the cartoon in the background, the TV is in the spot in our little red and white cottage where my parents erected the 12 foot flocked tree with cerise ornaments described in the previous entry. I remember those big windows. My neighbors were Theresa and Tracy Dempsey and this was down a little gravel road off of Bluff Road. Indians lived a little further down the way. We didn’t hang with them. Too bad, now I would totally dig hanging with Native Americans! I have some great students who are native and friend Rene and a few others. But off on a tangent I go.

At this Boring house, we had these gigantic inner tubes that we rolled around in, on, jumped in, on, stacked and generally abused, like kids do. We called them the Giant Donuts. We played outside a lot. I learned to ride a bike here. That Christmas too, I was in the pageant at school and all I remember is playing a doll. My mom made me up. After the show Santa was there in the Cottrell Grade School gym/stage/auditorium and when it was my turn to sit on his lap I observed, that Santa’s costume was not complete, he’d forgotten his gloves and he had a bandage on his thumb in the same place my daddy cut his thumb. Boo ya, I was putting two and two together BEFORE those Santa stifling students informed me the hard Santa facts!

Alright, I gotta go for a run. That’s my nostalgic tangent for the day. Here comes Santa Clause, here comes Santa Clause right down Santa Clause Lane…

{November 13, 2011}   Random Christmas Cheer!
Sam Romey & Tomi Griffin & Mo

2004 My Mardi Gras Tree


I never really was religious. I wasn’t baptized; my parents’ idea of church was one Christmas with family-friends and their children (maybe those photos still exist and I will find them in my scanning quest, and I’ll reunite with those old friends {Theresa Corkill} on Facebook). I went to a Baptist Kindergarten where I colored pictures of Jesus with my friend Debbie Dodson. I prayed to Jesus once to make my paper doll into a real baby. Not long after, my sister was born, and I believed. I still believed in Santa that Christmas too.

1970 Still Magic



I remember the last Christmas I truly believed. It was magic!

I was all of six; we lived in the bromidic little town of Boring Oregon. Our tree must have been at least twelve feet tall, completely flocked in winter white, decked out with shinning cerise ornaments. My first themed arbor.

My parents always perpetuated the innocent charade. As we went over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house, we searched overhead for signs of the Cardinal Fat Man. Flashing illuminations in the December sky instilled the fantasy further.

Early to bed, I was the first to awaken Christmas morning; I laid there too frightened to move for fear of disturbing the fat man in the act of arranging his magical display of desired goodies. Eventually I made a bee-line to my parents’ room without even the slightest glance toward the enchanted living room. Not too much time elapsed before my parents lead us unto the fantasia.

That year I received a Baby Catch-a-Ball, an Easy-Bake Oven, my favorite doll of all time, Theresa my black baby, and a doll, almost as big as me, that strapped to my feet and danced with me.

I now realize why people believe in Jesus. It’s the innocent magic of believing, like Santa. Or is it ignorant bliss?

I was enlightened soon after that Christmas by kids at the bus stop. I argued my belief like a Born-Again Christian.

Once the truth was out the magic was gone.

I went to vacation Bible School in the second grade; that was fun, it was what all the kids were doing, all the rage; and I accompanied different friends to their various houses of worship over the years. I visited the Mormon Church when I was infatuated with Donny Osmond and the Catholic Church when it was Jerry Destremps (who btw I believe is Buddhist now), the Lutheran Church with my friend Doreen in hopes of running into a teenage crush on Mt. Hood. I would say, and did say in my first religion class at St. John’s International school in 1976 with Br. Brennan, that I learned my Jesus stories from Andrew Lloyd Webber (On Thursday night you will find him where you want him. Far from the crowds, in the garden of Gethsemane) I don’t remember our Br. Brennan’s response to that, I think it was. “Give that girl a fish!”  I am surprised at myself for being in such Christmas spirit this year. It’s not that I have ever been “Bah Humbug” but circumstances have dictated the past several years that I haven’t partaken in the traditional holiday decorating and much anticipated tree ritual.

This year is special. I am studying the Bible for the first time. I am an educator so I am finally reading it cover to cover. I must say it is not what I expected so far and we’ll leave it at that. But, I am still in the Old Testament.  I am writing a musical about people finding Jesus, so I guess I best be reading and studying fast so I can get to the New Testament and help my characters get to the end of the play. I bought tree decorations today. My theme this year RED-for the blood of Christ (part of my play).  I may even go Christmas crazy and do another themed tree in the family room! Within my study and new enlightenment, just for the record, I now think people believe in Jesus for other reasons than innocent magic.

{October 8, 2011}   I DREAM

Inside the bottle

I wanted to be Jeanie. Growing up in the 70s that was the thing. I was overly dramatic, I suppose, then too. I vividly remember pretending in my room that I was locked in my bottle by my master. It wasn’t so bad, yeah, Barbara Eden’s character was vexed a time or two by the imprisonment. But man, I always thought, “I WANT to be in THAT  BOTTLE!” My fantasy room, the shiny, the sparkle, the subtle 70s sexual innuendo. I could imagine the satin, the colors, the textures. Stereotypically girls want to be a Princess or Queen of their own country (marry a Prince) but No, I wanted to be dominated by a flyboy. A goofy-ass flyboy.

I am intrigued I had never reflected too much on my childhood Jeanie obsession before, what with the myriad of journal topics and activities I have done with my students over the years. I mean stuff like, “What celebrity would play you, in a movie about your life?” and “Who is your celebrity crush?” I don’t have one now, really,  that I can think of, so I told my kids, Donny Osmond, because that is the very first celebrity crush I ever had, and which prompted my purple passion which leads me back to my Jeanie obsession.

Since moving into, and remodeling and decorating, this house with my goofy-ass flyboy spouse, I have nearly completed my dream bedchamber. And the more I dance around it deep in reflection, listening to either the randomness of Saturday morning acoustic rock or Sammy Hagar letting my thoughts wander or concentrate on writing at hand, I realize my room is inside Jeanie’s bottle. The colors, the style, the textures! Satin and lace pillows. Surprisingly again, I have never googled Jeanie or Wikipediad before this date, but today I did, and sure enough this is where my style began. I guess I need to create a new costume for my repertoire. I have designed and built one of these before, The Apple Tree (Lady and the Tiger),  in high school. It wasn’t PINK though.

Future Fly-Boy?

The Grandbaby in my Jeanie Bed. Will he be a future Fly-boy/Pilot like his mama and grandpa? It is my baby’s birthday today, he is a teenager officially. Happy Happy Joy Joy, Oh happy day with joyous glee.

{September 8, 2011}   What to do?

Writers write. Yes, I write, I have been writing in between the writing for career ladder, and the new design templates we teachers have to do this year, reference letters, essays for Arizona Teacher of the Year, editing a puppet show and my passion project play using the musical stylings of Mr. Samuel Roy Hagar. So I fear my Blog has suffered to the extent that I probably won’t follow the guidelines of my Creative Writing students who presented “How to Write an Online Blog” and KISSS, keep it simple and somewhat  short.

In a nut shell, I am overwhelmed again with the fast and fury of the school year! I am blessed with humongous classes of wonderful teenagers eager to learn. Oh my, what a grand super-marchet of new raw talent, and the amusement we’re having creating an original Bread and Puppet style puppet show (that’s like 14 foot puppets for those of you who don’t know) in our outdoor amphitheatre in November, this show is for younger children and will center on bullying and solutions, our main stage show, Almost Maine,  I am producing and mentoring a student’s directing, getting ready for Shakespeare competition in Utah, directing Hamlet and mentoring a new student teacher. Take a breath Ms. G, take a breath. That is just a little bit of what my adventures have consisted of since returning from my summer spirit walk (sojourn to Alaska and back).

Lucky, yet unlucky, my other half is still working for the man, on the Alaska Marine Highway. I miss my days at sea I do. Although Sam does an entirely different job than I did, the life of a mariner is always an adventure. But it is what it is in the economy so he will be there for a few more weeks, anyway, we make it work somehow. But in his absence over the years I have perfected my craft enough to be nominated for Arizona’s Teacher of the Year. Silk purse into sow’s ear. Scratch that, reverse.  Our unconventional lifestyle has also allowed me the time and gives me the material to write. And kids, what do writers do? Writers write. How’s that for KISSS?

{July 12, 2011}   Remote LOVE

I woke to Sam’s call; off of watch and the need to stay another week on the Columbia Ferry working for the man. I was for-warned yet I was highly disappointed. But the day was blessed with sunshine and I took my upset-self out onto the deck to discover, like yesterday’s extreme giddy delight, another (or the same) pod of orcas dancing through our front yard as the Inner Island Ferry (not the one Sam is on) made its daily morning pass like clockwork. I guess Mo and I will ferry it again to Ketchikan Wednesday as the Columbia will be there for a few hours, take a tour of the Alaska Marine Highway cruiser with Sam, then we’ll spend another night with my good friend, and fellow across-the-bay neighbor, Taya, who works in town at a tourist shop during the summers.

 Sammy Hagar’s “Give to Live” started my day off and I spent more time than planned watching the whales dance, and skip; flipping as it they had just won the ocean’s lottery. Today I spotted at least three; yesterday’s delight, I cried I was in such extreme giddy, (forgive me but I have to say it was a whale-gasm) there were at least five of these, magnificent creatures of the sea, doing the whale bop nearest as I’ve ever seen them myself in our very yard, near Clark Bay on Prince of Wales. It makes me feel like I have won the lottery myself to have the grace of all majesty change my mood so quickly that it inspired such bold, warrior-princess-courage that Mo and I took the boat out and pulled the CRAB POTS!!!! BOO YA!!!!!! I caught crabs, the good kind. Sometimes, as my friend Noni touted today on her Facebook status, it’s just so flipping great to be me!

So, on the 4th Mo and I made our first courageous adventure in just taking the skiff to Hollis and then attempted to take our truck to the ferry terminal. But, alas, the newest addition to the used motor-vehicles Sam doctors, wouldn’t start (my bad, I, not having hands on experience with this rig, forgot what Sam had told me to do, sort of like growing up with my dad and the stand on one foot, hold your right pinky in the air and blink while you touch tinfoil to make things run) but we were saved by the local Taquan air lady and new friend, Sandra, who took Mo and I the two mile jaunt (I used to run this all the time with Matt) to the terminal and then picked us up when we got back from our over-night stay in K-town.

Although it was cold and miserable on our country’s independence day in Ketchikan, we watched the somewhat rinky-dink parade, Mo competed for candy and we were determined to have a great time as both Mo and I reminded ourselves of the Cold Wet Rainy Day we spent in Paris having fun. We did enjoy a Johnny Cash impersonator at the Fish Pirate Saloon and sat and looked at the cruise ships as I informed Mo of my days on the sea here in Alaska. Although the singer vocally mimicked The Man in Black, he himself had another physical look that was interesting with white hair and matching handlebar mustache. He took a break and the establishment played “Joy to the World” which is always a sign from the powers that be to me. We hiked around downtown looking for art, chocolate, and eventually saw a movie, Transformers, which I didn’t really like, but, hey, we were out of the rain. Then we proceeded to Taya’s pad and she and I stayed up all night, as girls do, chatting.

Another ferry ride (not the one Sam is on) and Mo and I made it back to Wolf Creek and I spent a day cleaning and painting; for Sam’s dad, step mom and guests came out and I played hostess for a day and a half, and a good one too, I made breakfasts, dinners etc. When they left, we preceded them in our skiff and I was surprised with giddiness at a whale diving down in front of Mo and I as we so boldly drove the boat to Hollis. When we got to the dock, I followed Sam’s instructions and Boo Ya made truck go and Mo and I traversed into Craig and had yummy, yummy pizza, did some shopping, and felt triumphant.

 But then today’s news; I am to be challenged without my mate for another week, that is okay because Sammy Hagar is with me, and “if you want love, you’ve got to give a little”. If it wasn’t such a warm day I’d be wrapped in my Sam’s (fluffy-puffy) shirt as I was immediately this morning after his call but before the fickle Southeast Alaska weather decided it would be a beautiful day, all day.

We are remote, but what a place to be; foxgloves are booming, The Red Rocker is crooning, whales are jumping, and we got crabs.

et cetera