For Eli...

This is a difficult one to write. Difficult for many reasons which will more than likely become apparent, but I will continue.
Perfect Husband has an uncle called Bob- I know, brilliant isn't it? Bob really IS his uncle!! Bob and Perfect Husband are only 3 years apart in age and grew up together like brothers. Although Bob now lives in Arizona and they don't see each other much, they are still close. Me and Perfect Husband had a holiday early this year and went to Las Vegas, then drove to Phoenix to stay with Bob and his partner, Eli. As Perfect Husband had never met Eli and I had never met both of them, we didn't really know what to expect, but we had an amazing holiday.
Eli is from South Africa, and we hit it off straight away; weirdly enough British people seem to have more in common with South Africans than with Americans.....something no doubt to do with the old British Empire etc. So while Perfect Husband and Bob reminisced about the old days, me and Eli sat by the pool and talked long into the night about ex-boyfriends, shoes, sequins, and the merits of being bitchy and a little bit devious and how much fun that could be. Eli told me how in love with his dog he was; as he had no children his dog, a large and incredibly ugly although at the same time very sweet Boxer, was his one love in the world, besides Bob of course, and Eli's mother. Eli was a promising opera singer and upon hearing this I immediately requested that he sing to me which he obligingly did, filling the hot night air with the rich tones of his deep voice, singing to me in Italian and making me clap my hands with delight. During those few short days Eli and myself became BFFs, so much so that Perfect Husband actually began to feel jealous, despite me reminding him that as Eli was in a gay relationship with his own uncle his fears really had no basis in fact!!
At the end of our holiday we all hugged and thanked Bob and Eli for such a fab time and discussed our plans to move to Arizona-oh the shopping trips we would take! The bargains me and Eli could hunt for! The bars he would take us to! The good times we would all have! I had seen a green leather jacket but had not seen the point in buying it because it's always so bloody cold here, so Eli had promised that when we moved there the first thing he would do was to take me straight to that shop so we could buy that jacket "it was MADE for you" he said.

Eli was killed on Tuesday evening, on that very same motorbike he had taken me on for a ride around their neighbourhood.

I don't know the exact circumstances of the accident, nor do I need to; it won't bring him back.

I found out that something was amiss on Wednesday morning when Bob changed his Facebook profile picture to one of him and Eli together in their motorbike gear. I commented that they looked like trouble and thought no more of it. Soon however comments like "so sorry Bob" and "you are in our thoughts" started joining my flippant jokey comment, and I watched with a growing sense of dread. I messaged people, rang and texted; desperately trying to find out what was going on, until finally Bob himself replied and confirmed my fears: that Eli had been killed and Bob was at an utter loss. I looked down at my shaking hands through a veil of tears that dripped on to my desk. I shook my head when a co-worker asked if I was ok, and went to the toilet where I spent the next few minutes crying, looking at texts Eli had sent me, washing my face, crying again, feeling as if I was going to throw up, trying to make sense of the situation, trying so hard to compose myself so I could go back to my desk and get on with my job, but failing miserably.

Since then I have written a post on Facebook which was a nod to Eli and the impact he had on me in the short time we spent together during that holiday. It got several "likes" and oddly enough, some were from friends of mine who had no idea who Eli was, and I find this strangely comforting. I believe people are basically good, despite the odd monster here and there, and people DO care about each other. When they see something sad, they will reach out to each other, either physically or virtually, and offer comfort, love and understanding. People that know me but didn't know Eli still share a sadness that he died suddenly and tragically, leaving many with a sense of loss and hurt that they can't see past, and everyone can understand that, because everyone has lost someone at some point in their lives, and we all know how raw and painful and confusing that feels.

So I thought I would share this with you. We all have that connection; love and loss, and that searing pain that goes alongside it. We all feel for each other, we all share, and this is where our comfort and our peace is to be found.

This is me and Eli on a scorching hot day in June, and this is how I remember him. This large man with huge muscles, tight t shirts and a booming voice, a man who knew a bargain when he saw one, who loved his man, who was looking forward to taking his mother shopping when she came over for Christmas, who made such hilarious bitchy comments about people who had crossed him, and who told me that to his ears the sweetest sound in the world was the sound of his dog snoring.

So goodbye Eli, thank you for those few days, and the next time I see a green leather jacket, I'm just going to buy it anyway, even if I have to wear it under my parka until the Summer.

Murderers at the bus stop! It must be Monday again....

Ok so it's Monday again...after a weekend where it snowed constantly, to the point that every time the dogs needed to be let out for a pee we had to clear a space for them in which to do it!! Whiny dog's pretty much ok in the snow; she's taller and has plenty of body fat and a thicker coat, but poor Bindi the rescue Chihuahua does NOT cope well in freezing temperatures and snow up to her shoulders. She has a large wardrobe of padded coats of assorted thickness (mostly pink) but even with one of these on she has learnt to do her business as fast as possible and head back into the warmth of the house.
Needless to say I was not looking forward to this morning's journey into work, and sure enough it was -17c and pretty bracing. The snow on the roads had been cleared which makes life a little easier, but elsewhere the show was at the top of my snow boots.
As I approached the bus stop I could hear loud voices and see that there were 3 men standing there. Something about their manner and the way they were swaying ever so slightly told me they were all drunk, so I turned down my music so I could hear their conversation. I figured it would be pretty interesting, and it was.
The main speaker was telling the other two how he was going to go to Bear View that night and cause some trouble. Here's how that conversation went:
Drunk Number 1: Yep, tonight I'm going to Bear View and I'm gonna cause mayhem, oh yeah I'm gonna cause some trouble. I'm gonna whack someone. Somebody's gonna get whacked.
Drunk Number 2: Can I help?
Drunk Number 1: No. You just watch and laugh. If someone says to you "Hey what are you laughing at?" and then I whack him, you can say "That's what I was laughing at"
Comedy genius, there.
Then Drunk Number 1 proceeded to say how he was the nicest man in the room and how we're all on this planet and in this life together, but if you get on his blacklist that's it-you're gonna get whacked.
You might think I was a bit scared and intimidated by this, especially as this is America where people shoot each other randomly on a regular basis, but the truth is, I wasn't.
I'm four feet eleven inches tall and with my pink children-sized snow boots and my full length parka with the hood up so only my eyes were showing, they probably thought I was waiting for a school bus and therefore not worth bothering with. Actually, the state they were in, drunk and all, they probably thought I was twins or even a small group of school children.....
I figured the bus driver wouldn't let them on the bus anyway, but didn't get the chance to find out as they ambled off together, still talking about their plans for the evening.
I have to say I personally wouldn't plan on drinking so early in the day (except Christmas Day when it's perfectly acceptable to start on the alcohol as soon as you're awake) but in view of the fact that the sun doesn't rise here until after 10am in the middle of Winter I can understand it; the dark and cold can really get to you. I usually cure my Winter Blues by purchasing something incredibly sparkly off the internet; it's amazing how a bit of glitter and glamour can perk oneself up.....
So, back to what Drunk Number 1 was saying: I actually agree with the "We're all in it together part" we're all sharing the same planet, we're all part of the same Earth family and should respect each other and treat each other, and our fab little planet with care and love; however, I don't agree with the whacking people part.
So I would say that you have to be fairly careful which parts of a drunk's philosophy on life you choose to follow.
All in all it was an interesting start to my week, and I also sat near someone on the bus who I think may be actual Santa......

The Elephant Man is back........!!

Yays!! The Elephant Man is back on the bus!
Actually to be more precise, Elephant Man is actually Elephant Man Lady. I know this because I have actually seen under that voluminous hood, one day in the Summer when she was only wearing two coats instead of her usual four, and the hood was down.
Elephant Man Lady is another regular on the bus, although I hadn't seen her for a while, so I was pleased to see her again. It's reassuring to see the usual characters; you could say we are like a sort of large dysfunctional family now. A family of mutants and oddbods who mutter to ourselves and sometimes each other, and shuffle onto and off the bus in our giant snowboots and thick coats, trying not to knock each other over on the way.
Elephant Man Lady sits on the bus in her four coats, pulls that voluminous hood right over her entire face and shoves her phone underneath it. Maybe she is secretly reading saucy texts or 50 Shades of Grey or something and doesn't want any of her fellow commuters to see. She normally spreads herself and her bags across two seats, probably in a "keep away" kind of fashion, but I sat next to her the other day just to see if anything would happen. It didn't, although I got the feeling there was a certain amount of bristling annoyance under the hood caused by me invading her personal space.
Today there was a new person on the bus whom I shall call Yoga Man. Yoga Man looks a bit like Robert Carlyle the Scottish actor, and was dressed in the way of the person who would like to cycle to work but remembers that this is Alaska and therefore Freezing At All Times (except for about 9 days in the Summer when the snow finally disappears and the mosquitoes appear in herds) and so they put their bicycle onto the front of the bus, ride most of the way to work on the bus, then cycle the last 100 yards or so, arriving at work pink cheeked and out of breath, to the admiration of their coworkers who presumably think they have cycled the entire way.
Yoga Man had trousers with lots of zips on, drawn in at the bottom with shiny, light-reflective cycle clips. He had the usual huge backpack with drink bottle attached, which seems to be the norm here- although not for me of course, I carry my Harrods Union Jack bag to work proudly.
Several minutes into this morning's bus journey, Yoga Man earned his new name by suddenly beginning a series of increasingly strenuous arm exercises. He started off by clenching and unclenching his fists, looking very much like a baby trying to wave. He then moved on to clasping his hands together and making a lot of weird undulating arm movements which I'm sure I've seen in the video to Madonna's Vogue. Just when I felt he was going to hit someone, he stopped, piled on a few extra items of warm clothing and got off the bus with his bike. Ah, I thought, so he was merely warming up his muscles for the bike ride, although I couldn't understand why he'd only warmed up his arm muscles and not his legs. I soon found out.
As I got off the bus at the next stop and was waiting on the corner for the lights to change he almost ran me down as he whizzed past me on what looked like a push bike but sounded like a moped- no leg muscles needed!! Kinda reminds me of the time I was in the bike shop in Anchorage getting a new tyre for the pink child's bike Eskimo husband had bought me at a garage sale (size was perfect and colour matched my nail polish!) and I overheard a man asking the sales assistant how much it would cost to have an engine fitted on to a bicycle because "my wife doesn't like to pedal"........!! Way to go, America!! However, as that sounds like I'm being a bit negative I will finish with a quote from the original Elephant Man himself: "I sometimes think my head is so large because it is so full of dreams....."

Oh no, now what do I do?

Oh no, it happened.
After surviving Thanksgiving; four scrumptious days off work, eating and drinking nice things that Perfect Husband concocted and put in front of me, a spot of shopping in the sales (Body Shop you complete me...) and a trip to the cinema to see the second in the series of the Hunger Games films (v.excellent, although it almost undid me for a while; first I felt tearful, then I felt sick, then back to tears again, and also most envious of her fabulous dresses- who knew Lenny Kravitz was so adept at designing clothes?) then alas, it was all over and work beckoned.
I don't mind being at work; it's a pleasant little office and the one colleague who really does my head in is on holiday until tomorrow so even better, I just hate the getting out of my nice cosy bed part.
The temperature was a ferocious -15c this morning, and my walk to the bus stop in the dark was not made any better by the fact that I saw that moose and her two (now huge) babies again yesterday, just around the corner from our house.
Thankfully this morning they were nowhere to be seen so I yet live, which is always a good thing.
So there's me getting on the bus feeling all smug that I hadn't got frostbite or a hoofprint on my forehead, when a voice said "Oh I still haven't given you that shirt"....... and there she was, buried under several layers of hats, coats, gloves and carrying a huge stick. One of my crazy lady acquaintances, whom I now know goes by the name of Shirley.
Shirley befriended me on the bus one day, and I chatted back out of politeness, because I don't like to be rude, although really that just encouraged her more. She was telling me about her earrings and I remarked that they were nice (I once had an English teacher who was so old and lined she resembled a used teabag; she was tiny but ferocious, a bit like an old version of myself, and she loathed the word 'nice' because of its mediocrity in the face of so many better and more descriptive words-I still feel a sense of guilt when I describe something as merely "nice") and before I could stop her, she pulled them out of her ears and gave them to me! Sweet and generous gesture though this was....ick! No thanks. Previously she had mentioned that she had a shirt for me and she just knew it was perfect and I'd love it because it had my flag on, and she made me take her phone number so I could call her and we could meet up so she could give me the shirt. Needless to say I didn't quite get around to making that call, so today she wrote down her name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to me.
Now what do I do? It's too bloody cold to walk to work so I am on that bus regardless, and it's only a matter of time before I see her again.
Maybe I should just take my chance with that moose........