A book is born, a voyage completed

I just finished editing a book by a friend of mine. About a year or so ago there were a couple of posts on here titled Conversations with Patricia. She is the author. I wasn’t asked to do the full-blown edit, just look for Alaska references to make sure they are correct and because she lived in Alaska for several years, there weren’t very many. Very pleasant and funny reading, it is satire about the Governor Interrupted under the working title: “Alaska by Heart: Recipes for Independence, by Sarah Pagan."

That’s all I will say about it at this point; you will have to find it and read it when it comes out in the near future. Final edit has been sent to the publisher so it won’t be too long.

Other than that it’s been a slow summer with a lot of recent overcast skies but not much rain, just threatening without fulfillment. For excitement there was one of the neighbor’s cats playing with a vole in the driveway the other day. How they do tease those little guys. I seem to recall reading there are no mice native to Alaska, just voles and shrews. Watching the vole reminded me of a conversation around a campfire so many years ago. As we sat there we could see voles scurrying around a huge rotten tree stump. It wasn’t long before someone called the stump Volehalla, which of course led to several other vole puns and the thought of a book similar to the “Book of Terns.” We were going to call it “High Voltage.” Some of the suggestions were Voletaire, voleuptuous, voleume. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

That was also the night of my first and only cruise paddling a kayak. The folks I was with were staying in a tipi they had erected on an island. I had anchored my boat offshore and had ridden to the beach in someone’s skiff. After a night when numerous beers had been consumed and even more vole puns offered, people began to tire and head off to bed, including the ones who owned the skiff I rode to shore in. So the consensus was to pack me into one of the tipi dwellers’ kayaks and set me on my way toward my boat. Despite my objections, and after only the briefest of training sessions, I found myself floating away from the beach out onto an ocean, paddle in hand and operating a type of boat I had never even been in before. And, of course, life jacket? I don't need no stinking life jacket! I truly don’t recall how I managed to get to my boat and even less about how I got from that low-to-the-water kayak and over the gunwale of my boat which would have necessitated standing up in that less than stable watercraft.

 Sometimes you have to wonder how you survived your adventures to live this long. Also how such a common occurrence as a cat playing with a vole can trigger such vivid memories. At this moment I can almost feel the heat from that campfire and the tickle of various bugs landing on my skin. Funny no chill of fear though, which probably should have been the strongest feeling of that night. But then, what’s the fun of doing something if you know how?