A journalist observes life in the far north.
A Sunday morning without Alec is like peanut butter without jelly. Or sneakers without socks. Or a hammer but no nail.
I wander over to the refrigerator to check to see if something appealing has materialized since I last looked. Then I fiddle with the wood stove. Then I surf the net or play with Jade. This vicious circle has repeated itself for about an hour.
Big Al went to the mountains and I stayed home. I miss him.
For one thing, I had to make my own coffee. I never have to make my own coffee on the weekends. I don’t care for it. I like having the coffee made.
And another thing, the floor is a mess. Alec usually sweeps. I hate cleaning floors. I’d rather wash the toilet, given the choice.
Finally, there’s no one to talk to about the news. If Alec were here, we could debate the merits of changing Mt. McKinley’s official name to Denali. I asked Jade what she thought. She smiled and said “da.” Da, indeed.