One more.

I got to eliminate one more thing from my "Things To Do Before I Die" list featured at the bottom of this blog.

Yay!!!

Which one was it?

GO TO A HOCKEY GAME

Saturday evening my father and I went to a hockey game between the Alaskan Aces and Canada's Victoria Salmon Kings.

We were gifted two buddy passes to an Aces game for Christmas. When I found this out I almost shed a tear realizing that one more item on my list would be taken care of, with no prior planning for it.

It was fun. I took my dad to dinner before the game and we enjoyed good times talking and laughing... and eating ourselves silly (it's Wednesday and I still feel full, ha ha).

I'm not much of a sports spectator... but I learned that I wouldn't mind a job in sports photography!

We were one row away from the rink, and sitting right next to the Zamboni. Great eh? I took some mad photos! Most of them look as if I were on the rink (I whipped out my good zoom lens).

Problem?

I took nearly 800 photos.... which means I have to invest some time SORTING through them and pulling out the best ones and trashing all the ones that didn't work out. (Meaning it's gonna be a good while till anyone sees anything.)

I'm into still-life, well behaved people, and whatever-else-that-doesn't-move-fast photography. However, I learned a lot on Saturday and think I may pick up a new interest in sports.

Watch out, the world isn't nearly ready for me!!!

Fun Family Moment

Yesterday evening while I was at home visiting with my parents between my busy-as-usual moments, my father put on his old rollerskates.

He had been attempting to stretch the boots so they would fit more comfortably.

Yes, you read correctly earlier, he put on HIS old rollerskates. My father has his own skates... because he is so awesome! Dad used to dance a lot on skates in his younger years. Then he did in his older years. Then he fell on ice while carrying food trays for his father's wedding a few years (13 years?) back... and saved the trays instead of himself.

After that, his skates went on a lot fewer trips to the roller rink... so did I for that matter.

Dad wants to get back into skating again. Yay for dad!

His first adventure? Skating cirlces in the kitchen and dancing on the skates in the living room while I had some country music playing on the computer.

Mom's first exclamation: "Turn the music up!" (And I did.)

Mom's second exclamation: "Take pictures!" (You bet I did!)

It was sooooo fun!!!

My family cracks me up! Dad had mom and I laughing so hard one of us could have easily peed our pants, but we didn't - Thank goodness.

And that's how we like it.

Here's the long promised road-trip post - Originally dated October 20, 2007

Last weekend Dad and I went on a mini road trip. We drove to Soldotna, ate a very late dinner, crashed at a fairly decent hotel, bought my car the next morning, and drove back home to Anchorage with a lot of stops so I could take pictures (sorry dad).

Here's a little picture tour and commentary of our little daddy-daughter trip:

The whole way there was in the dark, since we left after I got out of work.

And gas prices skyrocketed when we left the city.

The temperature ROSE to 37 degrees Fahrenheit (the fuzzy photo is of the external temperature reading in dad's car)... which means it was warm enough to rain, and rain, and rain, and rain some more. (See the wet road?)

We arrived in Soldotna late and since it was dark and rainy, we decided to check out the car the next morning.

We found a 24-hour backwoods Alaskan diner and enjoyed hot cocoa and soup at midnight.

At the hotel the parking lot near our door was closed to cars-it was recently repaved. To avoid being drenched by a very long walk around the building in the rain, we parked illegally much to my dismay. Looking back I guess, to quote an old coworker referring to my one instance of not finishing my shift closing tasks 100%, we all need to get in touch with our "bad side" once in a while, eh?

The hotel wasn't too bad. Other than the funkified parking lot, my only quip was the fact that the doors only had knob locks. Yikes. I had trouble getting to sleep since I'm used to sleeping on a practical firm twin bed, and there I was with tons of stretching space on a double bed that was softer than I am accustomed. When I can't sleep I usually read. I forgot a book so my only other option was to talk.

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Did you know there is only a knob lock on the door here?"

"Yes. No worries though, I brought a gun. I'll get anybody who gets in
here."

"Thanks dad. Goodnight, love you."

"You too, hon."

Dad then returned to his own feat of getting to sleep. He uses a c-pap machine to help him breathe at night. It's probably hard to sleep with sometimes. Can you imagine having a semi-noisy machine attached to your head via a hose strapped to your face covering your nose? Imagine, and imagine it good.... 'cause that's why I started laughing shortly after talking to dad.

"Dad?"

"Yes sweetie."

[Laughing] "I doubt you'd need a gun if something were to
happen."

"Why's that?"

[Laughing still] "Anyone who walks in here will see the c-pap hose
and with either be scared and run away, or laugh till they pee their pants. I
doubt we're in any danger with that thing around."

[Laughing] "I think you have a good point there."

The laughter was fun, it was a great reminder that my dad's not just my dad... he's my friend too.

The following morning we headed over to where the car was stored, pulled into the drive way, and the license plate spoke to me.

CTR. To me, and most everyone who belongs to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, CTR stands for, "Choose The Right". It's one of those great little reminders like the whole WWJD thing that was oh-so-popular a few years ago. 801 just so happens to be the area-code for a lot (if not all) Utah phone numbers. Not that I liked Utah all that much when I was there, but it was a convenient fluke with the licence plate I've decided to throw in there as well.

I did check out the car, and it ran very well and looked good under the hood. Only 77,000 miles on it and it's 13 years old. The original owner passed away recently, and dad used to insure her. Dad and I both felt good about the car, no denying it. We went in the house to finalize stuff and what was on the wall right inside the front door? A mesmerizing photographic giant family tree this woman created. The woman must have been super awesome, that's all I can figure. She was not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, but I did ask since we are big on geneology and you know, the world could very well have shrunk even more that day.

The car is mine now, and I've named it "Jean" in honor of the woman who used to own it. My old car out in Maryland was named "Mike" and I intended to pass that name on, but I couldn't. When I got in, it was definitely a female car, I could just feel it. Jean, the woman, left sticky notes in the car... I loves sticky notes! Jean, the car, had all her radio stations set on country channels... I enjoy country music! It was a match made in heaven! No pun intended there considering Jean, the woman, is no longer with us.

The drive back to Anchorage was less scary, as I was driving my car instead of being a passenger. I'm not a good passenger since being hit by that drunk driver 2 years ago.

It was pretty going home, here's some pictures:

(That's Dad exploring.)

When you gotta go, you gotta go.

Or I guess it's "When I gotta go, I gotta go."

Our outhouses up here are accessible... at least these ones were.

I like signs. This one cracked me up. It mentions toilets... There's no toilet! It's just a fancy piece of plastic sitting on a hole in the ground!

Might as well get a snapshot right? If I didn't, who else would?

Ooh! A great Alaskan moment happened on the way home too - aside from the pit stop.

I met a duck hunter.

Yes, you read that correctly.

And yes again, you are indeed seeing what you think you're seeing.

On my last picture stop there was a pickup truck in the pull-off too. As I went back to the car to continue on, a man came out of wherever in chest waders carrying dead ducks in one hand and a sack of fake ducks in the other. I, being who I am, didn't hesitate a single second to go talk to him. He let me take a couple pictures, though he didn't want to be in them. That's ok. Talking to him was cool, it was like visiting with an old neighbor.

And that's what being an Alaskan is all about. We're ALL neigbors up here. Better yet, we're family... and that's how we like it.

I saw mommy kissing Saaaa-nta Clause

I recieved an email from my mother this evening. Attached was a photograph of my father wearing a red flannel shirt, crazy measuring tape suspenders, a red elf hat, and a white beard.

Elf hat? White beard? What?

Thats right folks, you are reading the blog of the luckiest girl in the whole world. I am now living the wildest dream of every kid out there. My dad is Santa Clause. Well, not really THE Santa Clause (discontinue reading this paragraph if youre really sensitive) because Santa doesnt exist. But, my father will be one of two Santas (rotating shifts) at the Sears Mall back home in Alaska this year.

-Sniff- If I could magically get myself to Alaska while hes Santa, I'd stand in line with all the little kids and surprise my dad. The two of us have always been very close and if I did that, Sears Santa would be all soggy with tears. It would be mighty appropriate though, for when dad cries, he sorta does this pseudo laugh thing and his belly shakes just like childrens imaginings of the jovial Santa Clause.

My father is a very selfless and giving man. One of the great examples of my life. His favorite project is, ironically, OP Santa (Operation Santa Clause). My father has read this post and offered clarification on the WHO of the operation for me. (His refining appears below in quotes).

"Op Santa is a joint effort of the National Guard, Alaska Air Guard, Alaska Army Guard, National Guard Bureau, Salvation Army, Anchorage School District, many Churches, and lots of people who gather toys, clothes, and food and distributes them to various villages in the state each year according to need."

Most of my teenage years I helped with man labor to move gathered clothes and such to storage for OP Santa. I also had the opportunity to assist with choosing age appropriate books for all the school children in the villages.

Finally I had the opportunity to fly to the village of Kaltag in 2002 right after my 18th birthday, and truly witness the miracle that takes place with each trip. It was magnificent, and one of the most tremendous sights ever. There was a big feast and music and dancing and joy. The whole village fit in the gymnasium of their small school house without a lick of crowding. There was Santa (not my dad) and Mrs. Clause (I think she was the mayors wife) and the children, teenagers, and elderly ALL took their turn sitting in their laps.

You know I dont believe in Santa Clause (obviously), and Im a religious person who has oft found myself quite sickened by the extreme worldliness of holiday celebration lately. However (and this is a major breakthrough for me), as I recall that trip, and the light that was shining in faces young and old, and remember the joy my heart felt I am coming to grips with the fact that there is one thing that has nothing to do with the religious aspect of the holiday, but adds the perfect amount of charm to the season.

What is it that I type so frantically about? Why of course, its Santa Clause.

Santa Clause, an imperfect man (he's probably a stress eater like the rest of us good folk) with a heart of gold. A man who loves people and desires for their happiness. A man who wears a red suit despite the fact that we all know a black one, which might scare the children, is by far more slimming. A man who perseveres through sleet, snow, reindeer flatulence, cold wind at high speeds, and figuring the best way into a trailor (they have no fireplaces) just to spread joy around the world one night a year. A man who loves everyone, and believes in everyone.

A man who this year, my father looks like and every year, my father IS.

I love you dad.

Always,

Your Little Princess