...And we did NOT die!

Sorry to leave you in suspense. Anna and I got in and out of Canada, no problem. The Canadian border guard on the way in told Anna: "You are REQUIRED to have a valid passport to enter Canada." Then he waved us on. This made me question whether Canadians have a different meaning for 'required' than we do in standard American English.
On the way home, the US Customs and Border Control didn't even notice Anna's expired passport, which made me wonder if all the people paying attention at our borders are too busy building walls in Arizona.
Anna polled all the employees at the rental car counters before we left Seattle and every one of them said we would never make it. Lesson: if you are looking advice for international travel regulations, Hertz and Enterprise night shift workers are not the answer.

Another typical Steph/Anna international travel debacle

Anna & I are going to Canada tomorrow. We've done this before. More than once. Last time, she forgot her passport at her apartment and missed her plane. This time, she packed her passport weeks ago. This morning, she sat up in bed and realized: My passport is expired. 

Anna is a champion of internet research. She was able to tell me how much of what kinds of frozen Alaskan fish and game I could bring through customs, and she never missed a beat on Facebook. But even Anna doesn't need the Internet to know that she can't renew her passport in 18 hours. But she did find a place on the Canadian government website that states they will accept an expired passport with another form of ID. Anna's driver's license is valid, but for good measure, she's bringing her library card, her lease agreement, her electric bill, and a bank statement. She also printed out the Canadian website and underlined and circled and starred the word 'expired.'

Problem is, Anna's not certain she can return to the United States on an expired passport. In fact, she sounds fairly sure it will be a problem. But we talked ourselves through it:

Anna: "It doesn't explicitly say on the US State Department website that expired passports are NOT accepted."
Steph: "It just says you need a 'passport'? So really it could be from a crackerjack box?"
Anna: "It could be homemade."
Steph: "I guess the wording is in your favor. Did you print that out too?"
Anna: "Of course. My dad is a lawyer, and your dad is a lawyer, so between us, we are basically one whole lawyer. I don't think we will have a problem arguing this."
Steph: "Actually, my mom is a lawyer too, so between us, we are really ONE AND A HALF lawyers."
Anna: "That's right. We're well-represented. No problem."

That solved, we're meeting in Seattle tomorrow, and driving to Vancouver. Sunday, Anna's dad may get a call from a Canadian customs detention center... but, my dad's gotten a call from me in jail, so I can tell you first hand, lawyers can handle these things.

Ode to Homer Women's Nordic

I went skiing for the first time this year and it felt so normal.  I guess that comfortable feeling compares to flailing around at hockey as opposed to going back to something I've been at since I was three. Because, in reality, strapping boards to your feet and holding sticks in your hands and waddling through the snow is not really "natural" behavior for humans.
But that's what I do, six days a week if I can, with a training team here in Homer. They have become my closest friends and the highlight of my winter. The team is 5 years old and led by an Amazon named Megan who organizes training for the group like we're olympic athletes instead of a group of varying skill levels, ages 24 to 65.
If the hockey team is "cool," the nordic team is tough. (Not that I'm saying the hockey team is not tough. I would not say things like that and still have as many teeth as I do.)  These ski women show up in 15F (-10C) degree weather when it's blowing 30 knots. They circuit train in the rain. Megan tells them to ski interval sprints uphill and they do. None of this behavior is "normal."
If the hockey team are the girls I want to hang out and party with, the nordic team are the women I want to be when I grow up. Who can ski everyday from 11-1? These women own businesses, run fishing operations, direct non-profits, teach, practice medicine, make art, host exchange students, donate kidneys, have great fashion sense, and can probably even check in to a flight online and get an aisle seat in an exit row without paying an extra fee. And, in their free time, they ski. It's an individual sport: their competing only with themselves, and they couldn't ask for tougher competition. This group lives up to the bumper sticker: "Alaskan women become the men they thought they wanted to marry."

Some things DO get better with age

The first time I bought a mattress, it made me a little sick to my stomach. Why?  In general: people with wanderlust do not own furniture.  My mattress only held me in place for about 7 months, and I managed to keep crossing borders and oceans for years, despite owning my own bed (this must have been before TSA got really restrictive). I bought that mattress 7 years and 11 months ago (but who's counting?). Last I checked, it was growing mold in my brother's garage.
Sans moldy mattress, I just hosted another Chili Cookoff at a house I own in Homer, AK: at a property that houses 6 mattresses (7 if you count the futon). Knowing my squeamishness at giving my life any kind of anchor, imagine the mental turmoil of planning a fifth annual something. I never really imagined being here this long. I never really imagined being anywhere this long-- because I really like new places: New places, new people, new events, new jobs, new adventures.
But, there is something really fun about being able to collect this many friends in your garage on a Sunday night.
My ex-boyfriend and I started this chili cook-off tradition together, and the terms of our break up were that we would keep co-hosting it. Homer has a lot more interesting "ex" transactions than this one, but we still managed to butt heads once or twice getting things together. I resorted to my Midwest passive aggressive roots, which he was mature enough to completely ignore, and we managed to pull off the biggest chili feed yet without a hitch. 


There were 24 chilis and around 120 people in total, and if you don't believe me, come smell the garage. All sorts of meats were represented and a few veggie chilis were presented as well. The guys that won the Golden Crockpot (our judges' award) were complete strangers to both of us and to most of the people in the garage. They were a pair of Coast Guard guys ("Coasties" as they're locally known) named Tim and Colt, who heard about the event through a friend of a friend. The Golden Ladle (the prize awarded by vote of the masses) went to Zach Brown for his "'Cause Beans are for Poor People Chili", which was a meat-only event that I would have given a prize for name alone.



Kelly Snow won best presentation for use of PBR logos: we really promote infringement of trademark laws. And, Randy Pine won spiciest for a rabbit chili that sent me running outside to refill my beer. He and his roommates just went into their yard, killed some wild rabbits with a .22, and made chili out of them.

Bill & Judy Steyer won the Golden Peeler for best veggie chili with an Indian kick. Megan & Jan Spurkland made Ginger Moose Chili and won the Golden Nut, which, as it sounds, is a totally made up award for a chili that was very interesting and that we didn't have a prize for, specifically.
The best chili, in my personal opinion, was called Chuck Norris, and was made from slow-roasted pork ribs and cherry tomatoes.
Greece, and Africa, and the Maldives had to wait, but I've definitely bookmarked a spot in this little community, if only by one annual event.  Hospitality is hard to practice as a rolling stone: its just really difficult to pack an adequate number of mattresses or crockpots.

Advertising Christmas? Already?

I know it's early, but I went to the post office yesterday and the clerk tried to sell me yuletide stamps. On Halloween! I mean, I know Halloween was on a Monday so we were all done celebrating it anyway, but that doesn't mean October is over and I am ready to talk Santa Claus.
...but, what do you want for Christmas? I want a new vacuum cleaner. One that actually vacuums. The service mine performs is to take dirt off the floor in front of it, and shoot it out the back. After running this piece of machinery around the room, not only are the floors still dirty, but so are my feet and ankles.
I want one of those vacuums that they advertise building a hovercraft out of in the back of Boys' Life magazine.  There is no way my vacuum could be turned into a hovercraft.
Of course, we shouldn't get everything we want. If I could turn my vacuum into a hovercraft, I would. Then I would have a hovercraft AND the same old dirt-spraying vacuum. And, I don't really need a hovercraft.  So, bad idea. Good thing it's too early for Christmas wishes.