(Disclaimer: This blog is in two parts. And while the content might sound inflammatory to the lay reader who does not know my sons, please be aware that the following material was cleared and approved for publishing by my boys, as they are good sports).
One phone call.
That’s all that separated me from spending the summer of 2022 in Alaska and working at one of the most elite resorts on the Kenai Peninsula. One phone call that would tick off another item on my bucket list: to spend a summer in Alaska.
Choosing to tackle anything great requires forethought, preparation and diligence. Just like scoring tickets for the Masters’ requires a lottery, Groundhog Day advance reservations, and New York Fashion Week calling in every favor you have in your social arsenal and then some, the process for spending the summer in Alaska is arduous.
Planning to work in Alaska for the summer of 2022 has been simmering on my back burner for almost a year. I visited the lodge in 2021, and fell in love with it. I got to know the proprietor and some staff, and the idea began to form in my head: “Why not me?”
Why not me?
When I asked her, the proprietor told me to start early. Send a letter of interest in the fall. Applications open in December. Interviews are in January. You’ll know by February.
I followed all the rules. I wrote a great letter of interest, had a successful Zoom interview with Lantz, bugged all of my friends whose names I had used for references, finally had a great phone interview with Laura.
“Great Mary, we’ll let you know Friday.”
It was in the bag, so it was time to speak to the most important people in my life to whom I go for all important decisions.
My sons.
A few weeks ago, through some strange twist of fate, all three boys were home at the same time and preparing food in the kitchen. I made them stop, look at me, and focus. You must say this to boys.
“Stop. Look at me. Focus.”
Then I posed the question:
“I’m going to be offered this job. It would be a big commitment for all three of you, taking care of the house for twelve weeks. What do you think? Am I crazy or can we pull it off?”
They all stared at me, and each boy proceeded to give me a different answer. If you know my sons, you might think you know who said what, but you’d be wrong.
Boy 1: (Appraising me, and nodding): “Wow, what a great opportunity. That’s hard to pass up. Not sure about the viability of it, though. Let me think about it and get back to you.”
Boy 2: (Nodding through mouthful of food): “So go. Sounds great.”
Boy 3: (Staring at me): “What’re we gonna do about food?”
One leading with his mind.
One leading with his heart.
One leading with his love for Belgian waffles and sausage links.
By Thursday of that week I had decided to take it, despite the obvious logistical nightmares:
Getting there: If I flew, I would either have no personal transportation or I’d have to do what the young kids do when they get there, which is to buy a clunker for the summer. If I rented or bought a car from here and drove, I’d have to drive through Canada, and Laura told me some horror stories about that situation.
Communal living: What if my roommate talked all the time? Had mental problems? Was a young kid and was shagging all the time? Am I too old for that?
The complete isolation of the lodge: The isolation of the resort is what I loved about it, but without a car, I couldn’t even go out to dinner, or do touristy stuff on my days off unless I caught a van ride.
But I didn’t care about any of that. I decided to say yes and figure logistics out later.
(Part II Monday)
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