Homer, Alaska - Oped - Move stirs up internal storm; friends provide safe harbor 07/16/08

Story last updated at 10:29 PM on Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Move stirs up internal storm; friends provide safe harbor

Writing teachers always say, "Write what you know." That being the case, this column is about chaos.

The chaos that comes with moving. Clutter. Sorting. Boxes. Garbage bags. Address changes. Doors to lock. Doors to open. To-do lists. Revised to-do lists. Misplaced to-do lists.

The worse part isn't trying to remember where I put the cat's food. Or whether I just mistakenly threw away a bag of bedding instead of the bag of garbage from a seldom-opened refrigerator. Or if I e-mailed directions to a good friend who volunteered to help move furniture.

The gear that drives all the craziness is internal chaos. That enveloping, peace-grabbing, doubt-striking, blood-pressure rising, breath-sucking cloud into which my inner voice keeps whispering, "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

For the past 15 years I've lived in Ninilchik. The first three years, "home" was my mom's basement while I worked to get my own cabin built. Since then, "home" has been a one-of-a-kind special place big enough for me and the dogs and cats that have moved through my life since then.

The cabin's design unintentionally turned out very similar to the Russian Orthodox chapel in Kenai. As a result, the chapel's influence became a sort of guiding light during construction. Housewarming gifts noticeably focused on the chapel pictures, bells, icons. There's even a bronze and brass church-like dome on the roof crafted by a sculptor friend in New Mexico.

At some point the suggestion was made to use the dome as a sort of time capsule, so family and friends sent items to be put inside it before it was sealed in place. My daughter Jennifer wrote a beautiful "prayer for my mother's home." My daughter Emily gathered a gorgeous bouquet of Alaska wild cotton from the North Slope, where she was working at the time. A history of both sides of my family was compiled for future reference. Little items arrived from people around the country wanting to infuse the cabin and my life with their energy.

During my years in Ninilchik, I've either commuted to Kenai or to Homer to work. Or I flew back and forth to work assignments at Prudhoe Bay or Fairbanks. Those commutes occasionally got long, but I never tired of the scenery, the wildlife or the stories I discovered while covering those miles. In addition, I can't begin to count how many books on tape and CD I've listened to while driving through winter darkness and summer's nonstop daylight.

Now, however, the planets in my universe have aligned in such a way that a move to Homer is the right thing to do. Time to move out of my little cabin. To separate myself from its family- and friend-filled energy. To put aside the daily road trips.

In exchange are lots of other positives. The fortunate find of a nice place to live. The nearness of some very special people. A much-deserved rest for my car. Sleeping later in the morning. Getting home earlier at night. Fewer motor homes with which to contend. Fewer miles of icy roads.

To my long-distance grandkids who have only known me at the Ninilchik cabin: Yes, we will still have the cabin. Yes, we will still have the tree house. Yes, I am moving your toy boxes to Homer with me.

To my cat: I'm looking for your food. I'm sure I put it in one of these boxes.

To the friend who volunteered to help move furniture Saturday and waited two hours for me to show up because the e-mail about where and when to meet didn't make it to her inbox: You're amazing. Yes, there will most definitely be other ways you can help in the days ahead.

And to those of you who raised your glasses yesterday and welcomed me to Homer: Bless your hearts. The reminder of your friendship was a much-needed moment of clarity in this swirl of chaos.

McKibben Jackinsky can be reached at mckibben.jackinsky@homernews.com.

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