A journalist observes life in the far north.
She was on the west coast on business and decided to visit me. It’s her second time in Alaska.
I also saw my friend Ginger, who has lived in Alaska for two years. She is moving to New York because the U.S. Army wants her husband to teach calculus at West Point.
At present, I have the privilege of being in the same state with two of my childhood friends. By midnight on Tuesday, they’ll both be gone.
For my one night in Anchorage, I stayed at a Motel 6. It was only 100 bucks and considering tourism is still in full swing, I expected a motel room that cheap to be fleabag. I was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness and newness, although the front desk people were odd.
For dinner, I ate a seafood salad at the Brewhouse downtown. Ginger and her husband—they spoil me—picked up the tab.
I had to laugh the next day, after Donna arrived, when we met Ginger at a coffee shop. I was digging out money to pay the bill for our coffee and fending off Donna, who was about to pay the bill, when Ginger swooped in behind me and handed the barista her bank card. Sneaky, generous bitch.
The road trip, quick as it was, was just what I needed as autumn sets in. I was feeling restless and trapped in my routine. That happens when I don’t mix things up.