Ode to Avy

My friend J., who slogged with me through Discipleship and college and boys and messy breakups and trips to Denver and random New Zealand men and weddings in Sheridan and all the other sense and nonsense that make up a full, random, hilarious and painful life - THAT friend is moving to Alaska.

And I'm sad.

I'm really sad.

Because as far away as Spokane seemed before, Alaska might as well be Mars, and I don't have a spaceship.

I'm really glad for her - after months of unemployment, employment has found her. But employment is moving her to Alaska.

Life is like that, I know. But we had all had fingers, toes, eyes, legs, arms crossed for somewhere in Colorado. Or Wyoming. (Well, most of us. The boyfriend in Alaska was, clearly, biased toward the Alaska route ...)

Avy, I hope you fare well with the moose and bears and grizzled outdoorsmen and shooting practice.

Alright, fine - she's going to live in Anchorage, which will put her within snowmobiling distance of hair salons and coffeeshops and Wal-Mart and such, but still. It's Alaska. And she hates moose. What if a moose wanders into Starbucks?

A friend/coworker moved here from Alaska, and she tells (hilarious) stories about the outhouses, the commodity that running water is, and other such Alaska-ish things. She doesn't seem the type to have been slinging a shotgun with her across her university campus, so maybe bears and moose aren't THAT prevalent, but still ...