"Sick as a dog". I don't really understand what the expression means, or from where it originated; but whatever, I'm sick, and probably closely resemble a dog today. So, I'll go with the expression.
You ever have that feeling where you just kind of know you're about to get sick? Like, for instance, when you lay down for bed and you're more exhausted than normal, or, when the bottom of your throat is a little tingly, or, when the palm of your hands and brim of your forehead are oily and gross. You know what I'm talking about? Well, last night, laying in my cubicle of a room, before closing my eyes for sleep, I felt all three of these things knocking on my door. And, sure enough, this morning when I woke up, my throat was tied together in a knot (a good knot too, Boy Scout caliber), my eyes were sealed shut with gook, and my stomach had somehow mistaken itself for a giant cement mixer.
It's to bad too, because I was called out of slumber for the third day in a row, at 6:51, with a substitute job. Not just any substitute job either; nope, it was no less than for teaching PE at the middle school again. The very same school, and class for that matter, that I was in route to when I had my morning of doom (see "Mr. Gibson" if you don't know what I'm talking about). So, not wanted to push my luck while being "under the weather" (gotta save those days for when I'm feeling invincible and in need of some humble pie), I declined, and rolled back over for three more needed hours of sleep. A large bowl of oatmeal, cup of hot soup, and bike ride later; I am sitting here in the library, staring out the window at the snow fall and cars drive by, wondering why anyone would own a two-wheel drive vehicle up here. Oh well, there are greater mysteries in life to dwell on, I guess.
On Monday, I subbed for a PE teacher at the high school. I was pretty nervous going into the day; mainly because I'm what, two years older than some of the kids? I was just hoping I wouldn't get tied to the rafters of the gym or something by a group of bullies. I realized when I walked into the gym how big it was (as well as hearing in detail from the principle about how the gym was designed in such a way that it trapped all noise inside its thick walls beautifully; thanks for the heads up chief), and that there were many great spots where a substitute could be disposed of without anyone finding out. But, I guess I don't really think straight in the mornings, because the day ended up going very smoothly and I didn't have any trouble with one student, not one. Later that night, I discovered the delicacy of waffles and ice-cream; where, instead of using syrup as a topping for the waffles, we used strawberry ice-cream! It was wonderful.
Tuesday, I filled in at the elementary school below my house as a Para-Professional; which basically entailed hanging out with a little fella named Davey all day. It was a blast, as Davey and I sat through his classes together, both, equally, finding it difficult to pay attention to the teacher. During 1st recess we played freeze tag (where, for some strange reason, I always ended up being "it" - I think there was something fishy going on), during 2nd recess we played wall tag (by this time the rest of the kids in the town of Sitka caught on that "Mr. G" was "it", and decided to play too), and during afternoon break we played hang-man. Davey is a really cool kid. After dinner was Wyldlife (middle school's version of young life), where I got to meet a lot of kids, and learn the names of students I taught at the middle school. It was a good time held by all.
Anyways, not much else has been happening recently. Just the same ol', same ol'. Sitka's getting a lot of snow and is beautiful, but, mostly it's just in hibernation; awaitin' the fishing and tourist seasons to come back around. I hope everyone back home is doing well.
Peace
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Picnic Rock
Patrick and Emily, acting normal for once
Brian and Patrick, taking a breather
The crew; Emily, Aaron, Patrick, and ISunday
It's Sunday. A quiet day in Sitka. The town has a similar feel to your typical southern, "Bible-belt" town; a little sleepy with nothing open for business (except, of course, for the "liberal hippie" coffee shop I'm at right now). The sunrise was spectacular this morning (one of the nicest benefits to the short days here is that I can sleep in till 9:00 and still catch the sunrise). I walked out of the closet I'm sleeping in and was greeted by the sound of hot bacon spattering in its grease, the sight of chocolate chip pancakes being flipped on the griddle, and the aroma of fresh coffee steaming out of the french press. At that moment I realized how much I lucked out with my living arrangements. Not only did I have a roof over my head and clean (sometimes hot) water; I have housemates that can cook! And I mean really cook (not quite to the level of my Mama or Uncle Karl, but decent all the same). I walked into the kitchen, sort of sheepishly, and was greeted with a warm "good-morning" and "how'd ya sleep?". After breakfast I made sure I was the one washing the dishes, but still, I couldn't get out of my head how fortunate I am. I have come to Sitka, "green" as a honeydew, and been adopted into a family. I sat for awhile at the table, staring out the window at the mountains and swirling clouds above, convinced that I am loved by a good God.
Yesterday; Patrick, Brian, Aaron, Emily, and I climbed up Mt. Verstovia - a large snow covered mountain overlooking town. With snowboards strapped on our backs we made our way up the steep slope, gaining nearly 3000 ft in just a mile and a half. Once we cleared the tree line and entered the alpine, the clouds began to engulf us and the snow consume us (there was about a 4 foot base beneath 6 inches of fresh powder). It was cold too; 17 degrees according to mountain-man Patrick. By the time we reached the top, the water in my bottle was as solid as a rock and the cap was frozen shut. On the pinnacle of the mountain there is a rock, dubbed "picnic rock" by the locals; we made it our base camp, and, after a quick snackeroo, proceeded to the main event. Backcountry snowboarding is nothing like anything I have ever experienced; there are no chair lifts, no snow-blowers, no ice-patches, and (especially) no other people. You quickly learn to savor each run down the alpine, because, once you hit tree line, you must unstrap, throw your board over your shoulder, and trudge a quarter mile back up the mountain. It was one of the more "I am now a man" experiences of my life. And was especially intense considering that it was my first time on a snowboard since my back-breaking incident. I am not going to lie, the first few times down the mountain were a little nerve racking, especially with the cliffs around and ever-present chance of an avalanche (I'm not trying to hype the story up, these are actual, present dangers); but after a while I was fine, and even took a few jumps for the heck of it. At one point the clouds lifted and I was able to see the surrounding area; unbelievable. Verstovia is surrounded on two sides by two bodies of water (the Pacific and Silver Bay) and on the other two sides by ginormous, jagged mountains as far as the eye can see. The town rests directly below, and far in the distance is Mt. Edgecumb - the massive volcano that towers out of the ocean. I wish I could explain the whole experience better, but I don't think I can (maybe a few more years of college will do the trick). After a few snowball fights and wrestling matches we solemnly trekked back down the mountain. Back to society, back to pavement, back to normality.
There is something about the mountains and the "wild". Something that stirs an energy inside of me that I cannot explain. Maybe its "the call of the wild" (thank you Jack London for the phrase), maybe it comes from having a hippie grandmother, or maybe it means I'm part bear; I don't know. But whatever this sensation is, I know that it is real. The "wild" has a power and mystery to it that is unnerving; it demands respect, generates awe, and challenges humanity to tame it. The "wild" reflects God I think. I could not help while standing on top of the mountain yesterday, but think of Psalm 121, where the author says "I lift up my eyes to the mountains - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth". I think I am beginning to realize what the writer of the Psalm realized; the mountains not only proclaim, but exclaim(!) the power and strength of God.
There are now a few folks pickin' bluegrass in the coffee shop, the sun is shining on the snow outside, and I am drinking some very tasty apple juice. I like Sunday's in Sitka.
Yesterday; Patrick, Brian, Aaron, Emily, and I climbed up Mt. Verstovia - a large snow covered mountain overlooking town. With snowboards strapped on our backs we made our way up the steep slope, gaining nearly 3000 ft in just a mile and a half. Once we cleared the tree line and entered the alpine, the clouds began to engulf us and the snow consume us (there was about a 4 foot base beneath 6 inches of fresh powder). It was cold too; 17 degrees according to mountain-man Patrick. By the time we reached the top, the water in my bottle was as solid as a rock and the cap was frozen shut. On the pinnacle of the mountain there is a rock, dubbed "picnic rock" by the locals; we made it our base camp, and, after a quick snackeroo, proceeded to the main event. Backcountry snowboarding is nothing like anything I have ever experienced; there are no chair lifts, no snow-blowers, no ice-patches, and (especially) no other people. You quickly learn to savor each run down the alpine, because, once you hit tree line, you must unstrap, throw your board over your shoulder, and trudge a quarter mile back up the mountain. It was one of the more "I am now a man" experiences of my life. And was especially intense considering that it was my first time on a snowboard since my back-breaking incident. I am not going to lie, the first few times down the mountain were a little nerve racking, especially with the cliffs around and ever-present chance of an avalanche (I'm not trying to hype the story up, these are actual, present dangers); but after a while I was fine, and even took a few jumps for the heck of it. At one point the clouds lifted and I was able to see the surrounding area; unbelievable. Verstovia is surrounded on two sides by two bodies of water (the Pacific and Silver Bay) and on the other two sides by ginormous, jagged mountains as far as the eye can see. The town rests directly below, and far in the distance is Mt. Edgecumb - the massive volcano that towers out of the ocean. I wish I could explain the whole experience better, but I don't think I can (maybe a few more years of college will do the trick). After a few snowball fights and wrestling matches we solemnly trekked back down the mountain. Back to society, back to pavement, back to normality.
There is something about the mountains and the "wild". Something that stirs an energy inside of me that I cannot explain. Maybe its "the call of the wild" (thank you Jack London for the phrase), maybe it comes from having a hippie grandmother, or maybe it means I'm part bear; I don't know. But whatever this sensation is, I know that it is real. The "wild" has a power and mystery to it that is unnerving; it demands respect, generates awe, and challenges humanity to tame it. The "wild" reflects God I think. I could not help while standing on top of the mountain yesterday, but think of Psalm 121, where the author says "I lift up my eyes to the mountains - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth". I think I am beginning to realize what the writer of the Psalm realized; the mountains not only proclaim, but exclaim(!) the power and strength of God.
There are now a few folks pickin' bluegrass in the coffee shop, the sun is shining on the snow outside, and I am drinking some very tasty apple juice. I like Sunday's in Sitka.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Few Photos
My housemate Kyle and his "Dreamboat"
Downtown Sitka
The town with Mt. Gavin in the backgroundThursday, January 22, 2009
Mr. Gibson
I am getting old.
Today, I had my first day of substitute teaching. What a rush! I received the 911 call at 7:01 this morning, with un-detailed instructions for my day's work. After a pro-longed shower and a quick bowl of cereal, I grabbed my bike out of the garage and hit the road. The time was 7:48. It was a cold morning, around 26 degrees, and, combined with the wind, the weather was very successful at brutalizing my face throughout my morning commute. But, I didn't feel all that bad, especially since I was passing child after child walking to school; it made me feel better to watch them suffer, all lonely and cold on the sidewalk (I know this sounds terrible, and you're right, it is, but do not fear, I get what's coming to me). The school I was heading to, Baranof Elementary, was the furthest away from my house, maybe a 10 minute bike ride. I arrived with a few minutes to spare, parked my bike in an inconspicuous place, and waltzed right into the main lobby. There I was greeted by two smiling ladies behind the desk, who, upon clearly noticing that I was a substitute, asked me who I was filling in for and what class I was supposed to teach. I responded that I was there in place of Sue Ross, who had a baby sick at home, but sends her greetings all the same. This statement led to an eyebrow raise from both women, and I was then asked a second time what class I was teaching. I responded that I was going to be teaching PE...
As the acronym "PE" left my mouth, I realized I had just revealed to these two ladies, and the world, that I had been homeschooled, and knew nothing of standard, public education. Elementary schools normally don't have PE, they have recess. So unless Alaskan elementary schools have military style recess, I was at the wrong school. My confident expression immediately fell, my face turned bright pink, and sweat began to build beneath my hairline. The two sweet women behind the counter, upon realizing the predicament I had gotten myself into, smiled, and said that they thought I was supposed to be at Blatchley Middle School (which, also starts with a "B" I might add), which was located a cold, windy mile back towards my house. As I sprinted back outside I checked the time: 8:02. My first day as a substitute, and I not only was going to be late, I had completely showed up at the wrong school (which is obviously inexcusable in Sitka, considering there are 4 schools in the entire district, and only 1 middle school)! As I peddled nervously, I thought about all the ways a principle could let a substitute know he was fired. But, before I could bog myself down with these thoughts too much, I was fortunate enough to swerve around some dog-excrement on the sidewalk, collide into a telephone pole, and jam my breaks into the spokes of my wheel. As I picked myself up from the cold, frozen ground, several cars, filled with the very middle schoolers I was about to teach, drove by; laughing and pointing from behind the windows, like I was unicycle clown or something. Upon a quick analysis of the damage, I realized the brake was so mangled around the tire, I couldn't ride my wounded means of transportation. So, I picked the bike up, threw it over my shoulder, and started to run down the sidewalk. This supposedly easy commute to my temp. job had quickly turned into Armageddon. I ran, with my bike over my shoulder, for the last half-mile; arriving at the school amazingly at 8:06.
Through the main doors I ran, right up to the front desk, panting, sweating, and looking like I had just had a cup of tea with a grizzly or something. The lady behind the desk was not at all as friendly as the two women that had been at the elementary school. So, upon hearing my story, and that I was here to sub. for Mrs. Ross, she referred me to the assistant principle (while also rolling her eyes at least 4 times). After a quick introduction to Mr. "2nd in Command" I was pointed towards the gym, where Mrs. Ross' office is located. At that point I was just praying for the apocalypse, because in the short hour I had been awake, I was convinced I had lived long enough. But, thankfully, the fate of the world is not in my hands, because, I was greeted in Mrs. Ross' office by beautiful, detailed instructions for everything I was to do in the day. The even greater relief though, was that my first class did not start until 9:27; I had time to breath (and drink a lot of water). The rest of the day was wonderful, especially considering it was my first experience in a public grade school, ever. We played ultimate frisbee, they called me Mr. Gibson, and I put on an exaggerated southern accent. It was a good day. And I dominated in ultimate.
I am going to sleep very well tonight...
Today, I had my first day of substitute teaching. What a rush! I received the 911 call at 7:01 this morning, with un-detailed instructions for my day's work. After a pro-longed shower and a quick bowl of cereal, I grabbed my bike out of the garage and hit the road. The time was 7:48. It was a cold morning, around 26 degrees, and, combined with the wind, the weather was very successful at brutalizing my face throughout my morning commute. But, I didn't feel all that bad, especially since I was passing child after child walking to school; it made me feel better to watch them suffer, all lonely and cold on the sidewalk (I know this sounds terrible, and you're right, it is, but do not fear, I get what's coming to me). The school I was heading to, Baranof Elementary, was the furthest away from my house, maybe a 10 minute bike ride. I arrived with a few minutes to spare, parked my bike in an inconspicuous place, and waltzed right into the main lobby. There I was greeted by two smiling ladies behind the desk, who, upon clearly noticing that I was a substitute, asked me who I was filling in for and what class I was supposed to teach. I responded that I was there in place of Sue Ross, who had a baby sick at home, but sends her greetings all the same. This statement led to an eyebrow raise from both women, and I was then asked a second time what class I was teaching. I responded that I was going to be teaching PE...
As the acronym "PE" left my mouth, I realized I had just revealed to these two ladies, and the world, that I had been homeschooled, and knew nothing of standard, public education. Elementary schools normally don't have PE, they have recess. So unless Alaskan elementary schools have military style recess, I was at the wrong school. My confident expression immediately fell, my face turned bright pink, and sweat began to build beneath my hairline. The two sweet women behind the counter, upon realizing the predicament I had gotten myself into, smiled, and said that they thought I was supposed to be at Blatchley Middle School (which, also starts with a "B" I might add), which was located a cold, windy mile back towards my house. As I sprinted back outside I checked the time: 8:02. My first day as a substitute, and I not only was going to be late, I had completely showed up at the wrong school (which is obviously inexcusable in Sitka, considering there are 4 schools in the entire district, and only 1 middle school)! As I peddled nervously, I thought about all the ways a principle could let a substitute know he was fired. But, before I could bog myself down with these thoughts too much, I was fortunate enough to swerve around some dog-excrement on the sidewalk, collide into a telephone pole, and jam my breaks into the spokes of my wheel. As I picked myself up from the cold, frozen ground, several cars, filled with the very middle schoolers I was about to teach, drove by; laughing and pointing from behind the windows, like I was unicycle clown or something. Upon a quick analysis of the damage, I realized the brake was so mangled around the tire, I couldn't ride my wounded means of transportation. So, I picked the bike up, threw it over my shoulder, and started to run down the sidewalk. This supposedly easy commute to my temp. job had quickly turned into Armageddon. I ran, with my bike over my shoulder, for the last half-mile; arriving at the school amazingly at 8:06.
Through the main doors I ran, right up to the front desk, panting, sweating, and looking like I had just had a cup of tea with a grizzly or something. The lady behind the desk was not at all as friendly as the two women that had been at the elementary school. So, upon hearing my story, and that I was here to sub. for Mrs. Ross, she referred me to the assistant principle (while also rolling her eyes at least 4 times). After a quick introduction to Mr. "2nd in Command" I was pointed towards the gym, where Mrs. Ross' office is located. At that point I was just praying for the apocalypse, because in the short hour I had been awake, I was convinced I had lived long enough. But, thankfully, the fate of the world is not in my hands, because, I was greeted in Mrs. Ross' office by beautiful, detailed instructions for everything I was to do in the day. The even greater relief though, was that my first class did not start until 9:27; I had time to breath (and drink a lot of water). The rest of the day was wonderful, especially considering it was my first experience in a public grade school, ever. We played ultimate frisbee, they called me Mr. Gibson, and I put on an exaggerated southern accent. It was a good day. And I dominated in ultimate.
I am going to sleep very well tonight...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Communication
Hey everyone! I have an address! Write if you wish!
Also, my phone does work at my house, but not many other places in town; if you want to chat or need to talk to me for some other reason, leave a message and I'll call you back.
I believe that we are going to get some precipitation today in Sitka, pray for snow and not rain!
1219 Georgeson Loop, Sitka, AK 99835
thomasgibson16@gmail.com
828-551-5467
Also, my phone does work at my house, but not many other places in town; if you want to chat or need to talk to me for some other reason, leave a message and I'll call you back.
I believe that we are going to get some precipitation today in Sitka, pray for snow and not rain!
1219 Georgeson Loop, Sitka, AK 99835
thomasgibson16@gmail.com
828-551-5467
Sunday, January 18, 2009
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