The air temperature was 50 degrees. The water temperature was much colder. Of course, I couldn’t let G3 be the only one to defy the cold, so I too changed into my swimsuit and ran into the water.

There were even some fascinating etchings in the ice. Some looked like a mosaic. Others looked like jellyfish. The roof of one looked like a dinosaur’s spine. None of the caves were deep or dark but some of the walls seemed to have a slight glow due to the sun’s light reflecting off them.

I had never had mead. I read about it—often. Usually in novels or historical accounts. I knew it was alcohol and that in a time long before water was safe to drink people drank mead. I also knew that it was made from honey but that people sometimes, when talking about it historically, mislabeled it as a type of beer.

It seems the national park opened a visitor center here to do nothing other than draw tourists who wish to experience the beauty of America so that local Alaskans could take advantage of their fellow Americans.

The glacier was beautiful. I know, in every Alaskan post I have gone on about the stunning views, but I am not exaggerating. Seeing the glacier up close was amazing. The glacier looks like water frozen in motion. Parts of it look like waves.

When I was planning the itinerary for this trip, I did my best to take into consideration what all three of us wanted to do. I successfully managed to squeeze everything in except for Valdez. It was the one place I wanted to hit that didn’t make the cut. It just seemed too far removed and too long of a drive to make work. I was disappointed, but realistic enough to recognize that I just had to let it go.

Tonight we are boondocking. It’s what they call dispersed camping up here in Alaska. That means we can camp for free on public land. Finding a site was a bit of a challenge. Most—perhaps all—of the pullout areas are more geared towards RVs. We also wanted a spot with a good view

The knives are forged by Mark Knapp and right on one of the glass counters was a plaque that read “Mark Steele Knapp Champion Forged in Fire.” There was a time that was one of G3’s favorite shows. It was even a show I enjoyed watching.

Sled dogs are working dogs, not pets, although many of them seemed to really like the attention they get from tourists. They came right up to the ropes and let us give them a bit of love.

We were ten minutes out from the visitor center, returning from our bus trip, when we saw a moose. It was further away than the one we saw yesterday but she was out in the field drinking from a pond, not partially hidden by trees.

G3 caught up to us on our way back down and then pushed on ahead. The steep downhill killed my knees far more than the uphill had but they didn’t hurt as badly as Kati’s did. When we were about a mile away from the visitors center I spotted G3 up ahead frantically waving for us to catch up.

As we drove, off in the distance, the craggy snow covered peak of Mt. Denali rose up on the horizon. The sight of America’s highest peak—completely white and backed by a bright blue sky—was awe inspiring. Not since I first saw Mt. Kilimanjaro have I found a single peak to be so stunning.

The scenery, allegedly, is beautiful but I wouldn’t know because all the lovely mountains surrounding Anchorage are obscured by clouds and the rain is being a persistent nuisance. Disappointing. Oh well. That is part of traveling, dealing with weather that refuses to cooperate.

The views from the plane, as we approached and reached Alaska, were absolutely stunning. Snow capped peaks rose up out of the clouds and made the ground appear much closer than it was.

Perhaps it’s because I know that feeling too well. The extreme isolation. The inability to connect with peers. The moment when you push the world away, accepting that it will never accept you. The crushing sadness that comes when you want to give up and you hang your head because it seems nothing you do will ever matter, ever make a difference.

It’s been three decades since I last saw Karl. More than thirty years since I decided I wanted to be a writer. In that time, I’ve gone through I can’t even guess how many wallets, but each time I get a new one, I remove the wrapper from the old and slip into the new. And whenever I feel discouraged or on the verge of quitting, I reach into my wallet, carefully unfold the now brittle paper, and remind myself of the journey I embarked on more than thirty years ago.

Ever since I can remember, I have disliked comedy. Maybe ‘dislike’ is too strong of a word. Perhaps ‘indifferent’ is better. I find movies that are categorized as comedy either boring or frustrating because I perceive them too literally and the plots tend to irritate me. Stand up comedians make me feel as if I am lost in a crowd, trapped in a maze designed by the chaos of words that confound me.

As of January 1, 2026, I am no longer an Assistant Scoutmaster for my son’s Boy Scout troop. While I enjoyed my time as a leader, it is apparent that it is time to move on. I

The evidence my eyes saw did not at all match the rhetoric of the government. Immediately, I thought of Orwell’s well known quote from 1984, “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” I was not the only one. Within hours, the quote was trending on social media. My second thought was, “Damn, I’m teaching the wrong novel.”

I am part of a lost generation of autistic women, girls who never really fit in socially but functioned well enough in school to be overlooked. Girls who could perform academically, even if they struggled to make friends. Girls who were labeled as being shy because making eye contact and conversations were difficult.