Last night I woke up with a big face drooling on my head. No, it was not some sort slobbery dream or a crazy person coming to slay the qallunaat…it was my St. Bernard puppy who had figured out how to crawl onto the desk next to the bed. It was so bizarre to wake up with that droopy face and floppy ears hovering above!
I spent the day doing prep work at the school for the upcoming semester…I have three modules ready to kick me in the gut as soon as September 7th hits…one of which is ‘indigenous studies’. Reading through the syllabus and perusing the course material has been quite interesting. Unfortunately, I find that history gets so subjective sometimes it’s difficult to know where to base your lessons. What’s important? Which historian is correct? It’s a class that has ‘powderkeg’ written all over it.
I heard from my housesitter today…shots fired outside the window. Whaaatt??? I’m hoping it’s a polar bear, but I’m not holding my breath. I don’t think she’s having the best time there; however, I have to cling to the belief that my experience there will be a positive one. What more can you do?
I think it’s time for my last run with the dog and lights out from this land in the north. For any of my readers in the south: please pluck a leaf from a tree and smudge it between your fingers. Next, smell. It’s a smell you would miss if you were here but, for your first year, you wouldn’t be able to identify exactly what you were missing.