Back to the Great North.

Yesterday, B and Z managed to talk me into putting the books down and heading downtown for Fur Rondy celebrations.  Rondy is an annual mid-winter festival held in Anchorage that will end with the start of the Iditarod on Saturday.  It is a good time to be in Anchorage and a happy coincidence for my short time up here.  We saw model trains and made it outside just in time for the fireworks to start.  Z loved the trains and the fireworks were really great too.

The cold is biting up here, even on the warm days–I felt naked walking down D Street in spite of the many layers of down and wool I was wrapped up in.  It is ridiculous to be up to my neck in Alaskan law and then get shaken up by a couple shivers.  But the thought crossed my mind that there is a certain amount of madness in leaving a South African summer for Alaska in January.  Fortunately madness doesn’t shake me up too much.

Back to the books!

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The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Awww!’
-Jack Kerouac

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