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Like a stuck song jailed in my brain, a good story has been simmering for weeks now.  For the last couple of days,  following a clear dream (that terrified me), the issue has not been how to develop the plot, but how to tell the story without casting a dark shadow on those I MUST draw the characters from.  They have done nothing wrong.  Exactly the opposite.  They are perfect. 
Perfect people give me the willies.  In the six decades I've been watching, I've known exactly four perfect couples, and three folks who got it right on their own.  The catch phrase is "old souls"; folks who instinctively know the right direction, choose the right partners and careers, are comfortable with their bodies and their faith or lack of it.  Perfect people are untroubled (from this viewpoint).  But evidently God wants to challenge all of us, because in every case, the perfect people I've known suffered some random disaster that dramatically changed or ended their lives.
They all reacted heroically, of course.  But being close to the tragedies that felled them due no fault of their own, the rest of us suffered, too.  Makes you jaded.  Most of us fail the life test early on; I sure did.  All I could do was start over, and celebrate the folks still on their game.  But after watching them cut down, I'm like the fan at baseball watching a pitcher's flawless performance; you don't dare mention it, for fear it will end, and you'll be blamed.  I love these people.  I don't know if I could stand the heartbreak. 
Of course I have to write the story, if just to purge it from my thoughts.  The characters might be changed enough to deny liability should the plot or future similar events prove true.  But I'll know.  I know now.

(edited)

The Sitter

The family was considering going to an "R" rated movie. The youngest in the group (four) wasn't interested. Neither was the oldest (eighty eight). Finding a sitter on short notice was proving difficult.

"What's wrong with Great-Grandma?" asked Great-Grandma, miffed that nobody had considered her capable of watching a kid for a few hours.

"We'll be fine", she said. "We both know how to use a phone if we get in trouble."

The cars hadn't left the drive before the evaluation started.

"Do you know how to make cookies?"

Yes, I do.

"We should make cookies."

No, we shouldn't.

"Let's go to the park!"

I don't drive anymore.

"Do you want to play on the computer?"

Do you know solitaire?

"Hmm. I think I'll take a nap."

Sounds good.

"I'll get my bear. You start the movie."

Movie?

"I can't go to sleep without my bear and my movie in my room."

OK. Get the bear. We'll see what we can do.

When the family came home, great-grandma was slumped on the couch, snoring. The four year old and the stuffed bear sulked next to her, arms crossed. The DVD player, the computer, and the kitchen needed reconfiguring.

The little girl has a new respect for her regular sitter, offering plainly that great-grandma "doesn't know much."

And the next time there will be an answer to the question, "What's wrong with Great-Grandma?"

Not Like You, Dad!

My friend was worried about his sensitive youngest son. The hockey coach said the boy was distracted. His teacher (fourth grade) reported worse work than usual. Dad decided it was time for a talk.

Ok buddy. What's wrong?

Sorry Dad. I don't feel good.

Really? Should we see a doctor?

No.

So?

The boy started to weep. "It's Heather."

Heather? Hockey Heather? (The only girl on the Mighty Moose team.)

"Yeah." Sobs.

What about her?

"I'm in love. And it hurts inside... so much." The tears are falling hard, now.

Dad put his arm around his son and just sat for awhile.

Then, "Listen Buddy, I understand. I've been there."

Yeah?

Yeah. But listen. You need to leave a little room in your head for the rest of your life. You don't want to be like me.

What?

"Look at me. I'm old. I'm chubby. You're mom tells me what to do." He opens his empty wallet. "I don't have any money. I don't have a degree. I can't even skate."

His son stared like he'd never really seen his own father. Then they hugged again.

"You're right, Dad", he blubbered. "I don't wanna be like yoouuu..."

That's right.

Later, after they'd beaten the Mooscateers, the boy asked his father if he'd really ever been in love to the exclusion of everything else in his life. "Still am", He said. "Thank goodness you're half your Mom or you'd be worthless." He winked.

My friend hopes the boy carries a picture of him, pulls it out whenever he faces a life decision, shrieks, and does the right thing.

There is more than one way to be a role model.

Luminarias

Harken back a few years. I was THE expert on luminarias in the old land. Tonight we decorated the Alaska house. Looking at the finished display, I had to laugh. The spacing was shoddy, some bag seams had been placed out (sinful!), and the little tea candles were barely bright enough to light the bags. We put out a third of the number I'd deem adequate, and our steeply pitched roof and lot don't make much of a palette for the maestro of Christmas candle light.
But our little display drew a minor parade of light watchers. Our neighbor's house blazes and both of our homes are visible from the main road, so quite a few folks drove by, many of whom I am sure, living in Alaska, had never seen luminarias.
Lame as it was in comparison to past efforts, I couldn't help but be as enchanted as ever. The soft flicker reached into my heart and pulled some favorite memories with friends and family. The thought of a village street in Penitente New Mexico on Christmas eve, a chosen young couple and baby leading the townsfolk along the farolito lined path to midnight mass, celebrating the birth of God's promise of peace and forgiveness; it charms and awes me still.
Merry Christmas Alaska. And Merry Christmas too to those who live in places with more Christmas tradition. May it never fail to stir us.

The Company

Out takes from the best weekly report yet -
Facility One: Routine ops - Preparation for solstice party.
Facility Three: Whiteout conditions. Stayed inside for training covering new paperwork.
Facility Four: Completed an exercise on prevention and response to workplace violence.
Facility Seven: Almost finished knocking out our punch list...

Flaky Weather

- At first they were thumbnail sized feathers. You could count ten-miss'ippi from the time you saw them 'til they lighted. The trees were already laced with hoar-frost, so the flakes clung as if they were magnetized. So lacey and light the shovel wouldn't hold them. Should'a used the leaf blower. Overnight things got a bit more weighty. The shovel works now. The operator, however, is not so ambitious because the sky is still falling. I'm waiting for the right moment.
- The Christmas bear on the lawn has no legs and wears a white gnome hat. He's like one of those ads with a splotch of color in a black and white background, all the life in the picture blanketed or dulled by winter dim. "Another week and things will start lightening," we glibly tell ourselves, knowing full well that winter is just begun.
- Next week they predict we'll settle into negative numbers on the thermometer. "They" predict. I want that job. An Alaskan meteorologist is not held to any standard of accuracy. No expectations. Smile at the poor suffering populace from your warm studio and share your best wild ass guess. Don't keep records. Don't look back.
- The weather is unpredictable, so Alaskans wager. The Nenana ice classic puts a tripod on the river ice, and folks wager on the spring breakup. I know someone who missed the gist, and bought five tickets, then recorded the same time and date on all five. I told her she'd better hope not to win, for she'd be famous as a lucky idiot. She corrected me. She'd be a RICH famous lucky idiot, and would happily claim her five shares of the prize.
- The fluffy snow is taller than the rat terrier now. It's grand comedy to watch her poof her way to the shelter of the spruce tree for her morning business. Some day soon she'll brush a branch and get dumped on. Hope I see it.
No. Vik is sure to clear a path off the other side of the deck so the poor hairless mutt will have a place to go; when it stops snowing; IF it stops snowing. Meanwhile the dog sleeps all day in front of the wood stove... and tries to hold her water.
- The cat is well prepared for the outdoors. He's longhaired and white, with an excellent insulating layer of chubbiness. But his idea of winter adventure is demanding to be let out, then wandering to the edge of the deck to watch the occasional vole dart about under the bird feeder. After a minute or so of "hunting", he lazes back to the door and complains to be let back in. If I can't be a weatherman, I want the cat's job.
- Late in arriving this year; this is sure to be the storm that makes the pavement disappear. We'll drive on ice until April. One would think folks here would be expert winter drivers. One would think. Last year in January, there was a fluke rain over the ice. Eighteen cars were off the road in the sixteen miles between my house and the city. Over a hundred accidents in the metro area. Seems lots of folks have to learn every year to slow down, and that fancy SUVs still don't stop on glare ice.
- If you let it, the cold and gloom can overwhelm. If you let it, the serene beauty of Alaska in winter can overwhelm you, too. Right now the snow is fresh, and soft, and pure. The forest is frosted, the field is a quiet, untracked blanket. Snow has it's own smell, and faint wood smoke also hangs lightly in the air. You can hear the little sounds, like the chittering tiny birds, or the skier on the trail in the distance. Ravens return calls across the valley, and somewhere a steep roof whumps off its load. At night the city lights will bounce off the undersides of the clouds, creating a "snow-glow" in the distance. The mountains will reveal themselves after the storm, and the light will play off contours that only show themselves in winter. Ansel would be scrambling to capture the patterns of dark and light on film. I am content to sit here and describe them to you.
- My good neighbor ruins the silence with the little snowblower he loves to use. His dogs are supervising from the window. His wife will light the night with her holiday decorations, which she won't remove until March, when she'll start lighting the neighborhood in a different way with brilliant floral displays in her container garden.
- Now, though, the snow is getting heavier. The afternoon is waning. The fire needs stoking and dinner needs considering. The driveway will still be there, somewhere under there, in the morning.

UPDATE! - I used my own snowblower last night. Then we got another foot. The Christmas bear is gone. (buried) Valdez has blizzard warnings and six feet on the ground, so I won't complain. (much) Happy Holidays!

The Global Warming "Scientist"

The response to the recently hacked email from research scientists charged with documenting global warming has me miffed. Here's why:

- They took my money (tax) to produce scientific data (truth) and conspired to hide the facts (fraud) from the public (freedom of info act) because the actual numbers didn't support their agenda. Like an arsonist firefighter, a crooked judge, a bought legislator, they violated me, you, their cause, mankind. Science is the search for truth. When the data doesn't support a theory, you try to learn why. To ignore or manipulate the data is anti-science. Jones and Mann should be in prison for misuse of funds or at least banished from the scientific community. (DISPLAY their names!)

- Folks want to know who did the hack, who funded it, and why. Nice redirect, but wrong focus. If the emails are real, they bring into question the entire premise of global warming, casting a shadow on all the untainted research that's taken place. If that sells oil in the short run, blame the guys who lied about the cold temps, not the guys who caught them doing it.
- I know a few things about global warming. When I was a kid, we didn't need sunscreen. Glaciers, in general, have thinned and receded. Big chunks of polar ice are breaking off; of a size and frequency we've never heard of. China and India have horned in on our party, using energy at logarithmically increasing rates. Oil is a finite resource. We'd better be looking at how we will ADAPT to less available energy, much higher prices, and the possibility of high temps, storms, and drought.

- Bad science publicly predicted we'd be out of oil by 2000. Sold plenty of books. Bad science predicted the millenium would crash the world's computers. Maybe measures taken saved a few. Bad science has created plenty of folks conditioned to ignore good information that suggests we should change our ways, or at least prepare for what we think will happen if we don't. You really can't blame people for thinking the whole thing is a hoax, however. Like politics and religion, most folks won't hear what they don't want to believe. And weve also been conditioned to understand that EVERYBODY who gives us information is serving their own purposes, even those scientists paid with our own dollars to just give us the facts.