It has been a good day. I woke up at 7:00 sensing that the world was not hot. I let Iggy out, and realized that my intuition was correct. It was a mere 70 degrees. I took advantage of the opportunity and went for a run. I came back and noodled at my computer for a bit, catching up with this and that. I took a shower. At 9:00, I walked down the street to redeem my father’s day present from Robbi, a 90-minute massage. I considered withholding this detail, fearing that I would risk your wrath. But if it makes you feel better, the massage didn’t feel good. It actually hurt. I am a tense guy. But as I walked home, I felt light, loose, and relaxed, a thing I seldom feel. I get the sense that the massage was a self-motivated gift on Robbi’s part. She knows I need some rewiring, and was willing to fork out a bit of cash to make it happen.

After the massage, I took some time to gaze admiringly at my newly-created filing system. The personal satisfaction was tremendous. I could have spent the whole day there, beholding the splendid organization. But I did not. Instead, I sat down at my desk and perused the list called “To Do While Robbi is in Alaska.”

One of the things I’ll be trying to do in the weeks ahead is research opportunities for grants and fellowships. It turns out that there is a great deal of money out there in the world for people who write things or make art, and I know that we should start applying for them. I found a great resource on the Pen American Center homepage. For only $12 a year, you can access their online grant database. So I did. And now I have some research to do.

I also consulted the list of things I’d like to write. From short, amusing stories about a menacing imp named Bushy Washington to a memoir-style essay on my time working with the Behrs in Alaska, I have a lot of ideas. Today’s task was tackling the manuscript for a project I’m really excited about: the definitive illustrated history of Williams College, Robbi’s and my alma mater. It’s an old place with a long history and many colorful moments. Its story seems rife for parody, and so we will have at it. But first I have to write the sucker. Fortunately, I know the place pretty well already. We’re hoping that the finished product will be a hit with the alumni crowd.

Another long-neglected project is the story of a middle-aged man’s tortured love affair with Laura Ingalls Wilder. I would be lying to deny the strain of autobiography that motivates this piece. I was kind of a girly boy, truth be told. I asked for a dollhouse for my fifth birthday, and got one. I read all of the Little House books from cover to cover, with rapt enthusiasm, over and over again. The story is the tale of the narrator’s unflappable admiration (and romantic longing?) for Laura, who is, of course, dead and inaccessible, and his attempts to balance these feelings with his present relationship with a living, breathing adult female partner named Nancy. The story has potential, but there is a long way to go. Wish me luck.

I’m also writing two children’s books, a young adult book, and three books for the Idiots’Books subscription series. In other words, it’s high time I got started. My sleep patterns have returned to something more akin to normal. I only slept eight hours last night. I’m feeling caught up, energized, ready to take advantage of this time.

I still have not heard from Robbi, which probably means she’s too busy fishing to take the skiff across the river to the Native town of Egegik where the closest pay phone is to be found. There are no phones in Coffee Point where she and my babies currently dwell. There is no public water or electricity. No roads. No stores. No Starbucks. Fortunately for her, Robbi doesn’t drink coffee, so she isn’t missing it.

My favorite thing about Alaska is sleeping there. Exhausted from the fishing, there is no better feeling than crawling between mountains of quilts and sleeping bags to get warm in a cold room.

It’s mid-afternoon in Coffee Point right now. My family could be fishing or they could be resting, eating, sleeping. There is no set schedule. We fish when the Department of Fish and Game tells us to. We rest when we can. I find myself missing that experience, as I sit here in Maryland on the last day of June, surrounded by hours and things I’d like to write. I miss it in the abstract. The reality is challenging, tiring, smelly, and unpredictable.

The hardest thing is not being able to talk to Robbi. As I said, there are no phones in Coffee Point.

Back to my writing now. The night is young. I hope to have a draft of the Williams book beneath my belt before I sleep.

So that this post will not go unadorned, here are some pics of my favorite people, distant and yet everywhere around me.