Saturday Night Lights

I am feeling like delving deep into my emotions cavity today, so pardon me if you only tune into the blog to listen to me be a snark face. I have just observed a trend that I find worthy of sharing. The snark will be back next week I am sure, or maybe even by the time I get to the end of this post because we all know I have a hard time with serious emotions and snark suppression.

Anyway.

Most people up here in the bush have stories of their pre-mushing/handling lives that go like this:

I was sick of my job

I was sick of society.

So I sold everything I owned and I came here.

Literally, over and over and over I have heard this story. It seems that everyone and their mother was at “their wit’s end” before they arrived HERE.

Here where I look out one window and see a beautiful frozen lake (water freezes in forms bigger than ice cubes???), out another at a pine forest that smells better than any little car scent tree you will ever buy, and still another window (ok we have a lot of windows here) at 28 dogs, serious athletes, but all ready to give you a big slobbery hug (possibly even accompanied by a garlic breath burp if you are really lucky….).

Here where on a Saturday night, you can find Stan, Cecile (yay, new handler from France) and I all sitting on our couch with no TV, no computers, no lights, watching the Northern Lights flicker over the mountains.

Here where your work is your exercise and your time is rarely wasted with the “keeping up appearances” aspect of city life. No really, here I don’t change my clothes. Sometimes I even take such short showers that I have to get back in because I forgot to rinse off all the soap.

Here where free time is spent studying four languages and BSing in another.

Here where, despite my previous difficulties maintaining an active prayer life despite a true desire to do so, I have no problems praying everyday because I realize that I am blessed to have what I have, here and at home.

Wit’s end has led people here, and from here I am not sure where God will lead me next but one thing is for certain:

 Here is my wit’s beginning.

Where is yours?

And does it have puppies playing in snow, because really this feature would add to anybody's here!

Sometimes here it snows in feet. When this happens I always feel like Pippin in the Inn of the Prancing Pony when he realizes that the beer is served in pints. "It comes in feet???" (If you don't understand this reference, why? What have you been doing with your life if not watching the all three  movies of the Lord of the Rings in their extended edition? It only takes about 11 hours...)

Here we also have to crawl on our roof to knock the snow off our satellite. This rather precarious activity is always a great time to  focus less on maintaining your footing and more on taking a bird's eye view of the kennel. 

For the honor and glory.