So it's looking like we're going postpone our Seattle getaway until later in 2011––probably summer, when the weather will be nicer and we'll have the Perreault scion in tow to introduce to everyone.
I am already nostalgic for the theoretical January itinerary I had planned out in my head: endless meals at La Carta de Oaxaca and the Tamarind Tree, a stroll in the rain at Golden Gardens, a horror movie marathon at Kathy and Heather's (I never told them they were hosting movie night, but showing up at their place unannounced would probably have been fun), one last sail around Lake Union on Lisa B's Shady Lady, a shopping extravaganza at Big John's PFI (the cheese, oh, THE CHEESE!), crashing Laura and Ed's housewarming party (how could I crash a party I was actually invited to? oh, there are ways), winter storm watching on the coast, catching the Picasso exhibit at SAM ...
I was really looking forward to stepping off the plane at Seatac and inhaling a big lungful of thick, wet air. Oh, moisture, how I miss you. And I was really looking forward to seeing Seattle friends again. I miss you all (even more than I miss the moisture). But hopefully I'll see you in June or July when we do make it down.
Or maybe we'll see you when you come up to Alaska to visit us! You should totally visit. But I'm nervous about what I'm going to do with you while you're up here. I want you to have an awesome time, because after seeing Fairbanks once, you may feel like there's no need for a second visit. As my recent social activities have trended toward the homebody and teetotaler variety (e.g. rereading the entire Harry Potter series over a stimulating cup of decaf tea), and not the wild and crazy times of my misspent Seattle youth (e.g. drinking schmancy cocktails and the general raising of hell), I'm feeling a little insecure about being able to properly host you in the manner to which you've become accustomed.
If you came up during winter or while there was still snow on the ground (you know, until April or May or so) maybe I would encourage you to sign up for a lot of Alaskan adventure-y activities, like dogsledding, or flightseeing, or snowshoeing on area trails. None of which I'm really familiar with, so you'd have to figure those details out for yourself. I've heard that people have a great time charter fishing in Valdez, a mere six hours south on the Richardson Highway, but not having a clue what time of year fishing seasons begin and end, I'd also leave those arrangements to you. Same goes for any kind of hunting season, but since I'm preaching to a Seattle choir, I doubt if that will really come up as an adventure option.
If it was still hockey season, I would take you to a Nanooks game (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8THGqrjUDGI), or if you're feeling super classy, an Ice Dogs game. And if you were really jonesing for some hot winter sports action, we would hit the Curling Club to see John curl (it's like shuffleboard on ice!). Then we'd stop by the Marlin for a post-curling drink, but I'd want to leave after just one club soda, because I'd be sick of experiencing bluegrass and cigarette smoke while sober. Don't worry, there would be lots of other Alaskan bars for you to experience, all of which would still involve hippies and smoke.
After a dip in the pool at Chena Hot Springs (during which I would encourage you to run outside and jump in a snowbank to really get the full experience), maybe we would encounter (hopefully from a great distance) a moose or two on the way back to town, so you could fulfill your wild animal quota. Failing that, I would try to run over one of the numerous winter ptarmigan (the chickens of the north!) that hang out in the middle of the road as a souvenir for you to take back home. Of course, I'd probably also be talking non-stop about the beauty of the aurora borealis and your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see it while visiting Fairbanks in winter, but the fickle weather may not cooperate, so I'd end up taking you to the airport and pretending that the landing lights were actually the aurora. You'd think it was amazing.
After all this winter excitement, I'm hoping you'd be too exhausted to care about the fact that instead of running around all over town with you, I'd probably prefer spending a quiet and monotonous evening at home sipping decaf tea, sitting under a blanket in front of the stove, rereading children's books, and maybe if I was feeling really frisky, putting together a 1000-piece Thomas Kincaid puzzle (don't worry, you could help).
I haven't even thought ahead to visitor activities for summer or fall. Unless prearrangements are made, I suggest that for 2011, blackout dates might be in order for late April until early June. But then, maybe you'd like to experience first-hand the miracle of life and a lack of sleep with a newborn? It's up to you! Besides, with all the incessant, throbbing, harsh daylight of summer pouring through the guest room window, you may not get to sleep at all.
I really do have some ideas for helping you have a bonafide good time on your visit, though in my limited pregnancy-brain creativity, I'm having difficulty imagining Fairbanks summer entertainment as anything other than activities falling under one of two categories: 1) Wholesome Good Fun or 2) Hedonistic Daylight Hallucination. Examples:
Wholesome Good Fun
A nature walk at Creamer's Field or Birch Hill, canoeing down the Chena, hiking along the Pinnell Trail, shopping at the Farmer's Market, picking blueberries (only in August, and I'd probably have to blindfold you for the grueling 3-mile, uphill both ways, back-country trek to the super secret berry-picking spot, but it'd be worth it, I swear), grilling a fresh-caught salmon on our deck (I don't know where you caught it, but after making all those arrangements yourself for a ridiculously expensive fishing charter, I know you'd want to share your bounty with us), going to bed early (because the baby will probably be waking me––and everyone else in the house––up every two hours).
Hedonistic Daylight Hallucination
You've been drinking for hours inside the dark, cramped and smoky back room at the Marlin. Your body has begun to reject Alaskan Summer Ale on tap and you've started to twitch in time to the incessant mandolin strains emanating from the stage. You walk towards the back door, wanting to clear your head in the cool night air, but as you step outside, you are hit with a shock of smoke and light. It should be dark, but the sky is still bright as day. And you've accidentally entered into some kind of circle where people are smoking from a pipe and playing hacky sack. You take a hit from the pipe from the hippie on your left. Confused by the THC coursing through your bloodstream and blinded by the midnight sun, you ask someone for the time. It's 3 AM?! But that's impossible. You are not tired. And there is still a whole night ahead of you. If you hurry, you can make last call at the Boatel Sleazy Waterfront Bar, and even if you don't hurry, the bars in Ester outside of Fairbanks city limits don't close until five, and even if you miss those, head off in any direction into the woods, and you'll probably find some kind of party. Other than nodding off for a few seconds in the shower (you attempt in vain to wash way the pervading odor of patchouli and marijuana you've picked up during your nights out), you manage to avoid any real sleep during your visit, and you return to Seattle wondering if your entire trip up north wasn't some kind of surreal waking dream.
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