We tried to go to the Alaska Native Heritage Center over the weekend because L wanted to go through a "secret tunnel" that runs between two of the longhouses. The setup is that they have different types of housing scattered across a garden area with a pool in the center. Each home represents a different region of Alaska and thus a different Native Alaskan people group. I always forget that they close for the winter and don't open up again until after Mother's Day so we ended up just driving through the gate, down the winding road and to the door. We just stared up at raven statue outside for a minute before deciding to go get our nails did instead. But every time we go to the Alaska Native Heritage Center I recall the time I was stuck inside the gates after they closed. I forget exactly why, but I know I'd finished up a rehearsal for Rocky Horror and somehow took for-freaking-ever to get back to my old white pickup truck. Did I go find someone to open the gate? Of course not! That would make sense. No, I off-roaded up the side of an embankment and went around the gate. Somehow it worked out perfectly and no one was the wiser (I think?) but still. Please file under: Questionable Decisions I Made After My Frontal Lobe Was Formed. Woof.
From a random page in the book I grabbed off the shelf in the study room this morning:
"The dilemma is that we may unconsciously be convinced that our important relationships can survive only if we continue to remain one down. To do better - to become clearer, to act stronger, may be unconsciously equated with a destructive act that will diminish and threaten our partner, who might then retaliate or leave. Sometimes, to develop a stronger "I" is to come to terms with our deep-seated wish to leave an unsatisfactory marriage, and this possibility may be no less frightening than the fear of being left." (Lerner, 1985)
One time, when I was living in the fairy house I found a handwritten manifesto that one of my roommates had left out in the living room. I am nosy as they come, so I read it. It was a detailed account of his 35-year-old feelings for an 18-year-old he'd met at a local rec center. He was in a relationship with someone that he didn't really dig - and he talked about that in the manifesto, too. There was mention of not being able to find a tiramisu in town that was good enough for them and that being a source of...disdain, I guess? But I think about it every so often. Life is so fucking strange. One minute you're living your life and the next you're falling in love with someone half your age. And for why? Some researchers say it's prolonged eye contact that does it. Proximity. Time spent? I don't think I could ever. The one time I tried to date significantly below my age it gave me the ick almost immediately.
But I do wonder if he'd meant for me (or someone) to find it. He did break up with his partner not long after, but never brought a teenager home for the housemate to meet. Hm. That reminds me of a couple of other stories about the fairy house - but those are for another time.
Gotta finish up the Things That Are Due Today and trek out through the Unsurprising April Snow.
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