A journalist observes life in the far north.
It’s Thursday morning almost 10am. I had planned to take Lucky to the sitter and attend a 10am yoga class but I woke up with only about 15 minutes to drink coffee, dress myself, wake my kid, feed her, get her dressed, haul wood, tend the fire, call to see what time Lucky’s play group is happening and check on the chickens, whose water is starting to freeze so they need tending at least twice a day.
I am still working on forming another plan for the day. Maybe it will come together after a second cup of coffee. I woke up late because I was busy dreaming about being lost. I dream that off and on every few years. This morning, I finally looked up the possible meaning. One Web site said it means I am entering a new phase in life and I am reluctant to leave the old phase behind. Another site said my life is adrift. It said the key is where I was lost. I remember that. I was looking for the community of Bettles, a village of 43 people in the middle of nowhere, Alaska. I wonder how the village of Bettles figures into my psyche?
I am entering a new phase in life. Next week, I start a new work schedule. I’ll be working three days a week, sometimes four. I know many of you holding down full-time jobs are rolling your eyes. I’m excited because I want to get more involved in my newsroom. I miss getting plum assignments. I am there so seldom that other reporters are getting to write about the good stuff. I’m a little nervous too. The working mother thing is not for wimps. There’s a lot of juggling involved. Most days, there are so many things that need doing that all I can do to get through the day is prioritize and tell myself not to worry about the things that don’t get done, such as shaving my legs or sweeping the floor or writing a thank you note or returning a call.
OK, I have a Plan B: Babysitter, laundromat, work, babysitter, play group, grocery, vice presidential debate, haul wood ……