Sister-in-law, Debbie (l) as Selfie the Elf
Debbie is the queen of disguises and costumes.

January 6, 2018 - Saturday

-25 degrees/clear skies/calm winds

Pentoga Road

Oh, c'mon. It's eighteen above zero in Kotzebue, Alaska, and twenty-five below on Pentoga Road. I thought I was moving south in retirement so that I might have a bit of a respite from the bitter arctic temperatures in my old age.

As usual, I'm a day late and a dollar short. My life story.

With Dad's passing, Mom wanted to sell their home in Florida and almost begged my sister and/or me to take it. At one point, she faltered and said, "I'll give it to you."

Barb and I talked on the phone quite a bit.

"You want it?"

"Nope, how about you?"

"Uh huh, not me."

My sister and I are pretty much polar opposites, but one thing we agree on is that neither of us enjoy intolerable heat and high humidity, at least year round. 

A daughter of Foster City in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, Sargie feels the same. 

We're Northerners, darn it, and we're proud. 

We live for the excitement of paying high heating bills, continually blowing on our fingers to regain some semblance of feeling, experiencing occasional frost bite, and the thrill of skidding into snow banks alongside the road, those that keep us from going on into the ditch.

In the summer months, we get to wave our hands to clear away the clouds of mosquitoes and at night, there's the thrill of multiple checks for wood ticks just before shower time.

Darn straight. We're Northerners! Who'd want to live in the south anyway, especially during the winter months?

Hmm, sitting here in the dark, huddled next to the wood stove in these January early morning hours, the thought of living in Florida doesn't offend me quite as much as it once did. Wonder why?

Look who sneaked away from the Vision Center long enough on Friday to hold her great nephew, Lincoln.

Someone ought to check Sargie's coat pockets to make sure she didn't bring the little guy home. She gets that newborn, motherly, look on her face and is liable to do anything. 

I'm always teasing Sargie that we should have a baby, a love child, to make our union complete. She laughs on the outside, but it scares me when my bride gets that faraway look that tells me there's still an inkling of young motherhood left in there somewhere. 

Different, but on the same subject, I find it strange that the females on either side of the family are quick to proclaim who any day-old baby resembles. They do it with such excitement and glee.

"He has his Grandpa Steve's hair, his daddy's face, and Courtney's eyes!"

Guys are different. They look at a new born and say, "Yep, it's a baby." 

I was very young, naive, and downright stupid, when my oldest son, Josh, was born. I remember his mother and my mother-in-law spouting off the names of the various family members that he resembled.

My first thought?

I pondered who, on either side of the family, looked like a prune. 

Thankfully, he quickly inflated and went on to be like all babies, perfect in every way.

Friday dawned clear and cold. I took my morning walk and was happy to get back home over an hour later. With a temperature of -12, accompanied by a stiff breeze, sitting by the wood stove felt wonderful.

I piddled around outside later in the morning, mostly measuring the ice shack and the width of the Tundra, only to find that the snow machine and ice shack won't fit into the trailer at the same time. Only one thing to do, make the ice shack 18 inches thinner.

Work was going to begin today, but after talking with the head of my Pentoga Road Engineering Design Department, Mississippi Brother Garry, I decided to wait until next summer for the major rebuild. The mini building won't fit through the double doors in the shop and it's too cold in the barn. I'll use the ice shack as it is on our local lake and utilize the Clam, my ice fishing tent, when I travel to other bodies of water.

Tiring of turning tea sets and other goodies for the munchkins in my life, I worked for much of the day turning a wine glass.



Finding the right piece of maple was the biggest challenge. I had to look high and low and at one point, considered raiding Neighbor Mike's firewood pile, but finally, I found what was needed.

I wanted a glass with a stem, a fairly slender stem, one that was almost delicate. To do that, I had to shape and sand the cup portion first.



To do otherwise could have caused the stem to break.





So the afternoon went. Things went well until I was separating the wine glass from the tenon using the bandsaw. A tooth in the blade caught and jarred the glass. Naturally, the stem cracked.

Oh well, that's what glue is for and unless one has his nose right up to the glass, he'll never know. Keep it to yourself, would you? It's our dirty little secret.

Yooper Brother Mark stopped out for a quick visit Friday afternoon. The boy has been so busy at the plant that our social time has been severely limited. Things seem to be good in his life, just busy.

I drove to Iron Mountain last night to keep Sargie company on her drive home. She had to close and with such cold temperatures, I hated the thought of her driving alone on our dark and remote roads. 

I'll be riding back with Sargie later this morning. There's an errand or two to run in Iron Mountain before returning home. With a high of just ten degrees, I think I'll spend the rest of the day in the shop being creative... or possibly, taking a nap... or maybe, I'll take a ride on the wild side of life and do both. 

Life's full of decisions and I'll cross that bridge when I get there.

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...