Ketchikan, Alaska 2013 - Day 3

Breakfast burritos cooked for you while you sleep, and then served to you by your favorite person on the planet, while you gaze out over sleepy, drizzly Ketchikan, is my new favorite way to eat breakfast.  Of the 6,000 mornings Chad and I have had together, this one takes the prize. 

Last month, Chad found a little Baptist church a mile from his house, where he could go on the weekends he doesn’t fly home.  Their drummer moved away 6 months ago, and so they were happy to find out that Chad plays the drums, and welcomed him to play on the worship team.  This morning he took me to church, and after meeting Pastor Doug and his family, I sat in the back while Chad and the worship team went up to play.  After 2 songs, Doug (who is also the worship leader) stopped playing and turned to Chad:

“Do you want to introduce your guest?” 

“Not really,” Chad replied.

“Come on!’ Doug urged.

Slowly and quite uncomfortably, Chad stood up, “Hey everybody, that’s my wife,” he said, as he pointed at me.

And the next thing that happened is the one thing I dread most in the world (besides slowly burning to death):  Eighty heads turned and followed Chad’s finger, which was aimed right at my face, and they collectively stared at me.  Right through to my soul.  Some people even began to clap.  I’m not sure what happened next, because I was overcome with humiliation, and completely mortified.  It's like I floated outside of my body, and looked down at myself, standing there with a giant phony grin on my face as if I welcomed the attention.  I tried desperately to find a way out of that situation.  I was just about to point out the window and scream, “Oh my God, It’s Satan!!!” and run out the door, but all I could do was just stand there frozen.  Like a smiling idiot-mannequin.

The next thing I recall is Pastor Doug saying, “Ah, don’t you just love the drums?” And then, looking at me, he said, “I think God brought us the sunshine this weekend to persuade you to move up here.”  More heads turned.  I silently prayed for a distraction to take any attention off me.

What seemed like 10 to 12 hours later, worship ended and Chad came and sat down next to me, and I began to relax.  A sweet, elderly Filipino woman named Wilma walked on the stage.  Ten days ago, Wilma’s husband, Jess died of cancer.  He was a pastor at the church.  Today she was saying goodbye to her church, and leaving Ketchikan to go live with family.  In her beautiful Filipino accent, Wilma told the story of Jess’s passing.  She told us how she held him in her arms during his last minutes on earth: 

“..I told him, you can let go now, Papa.  And as tears ran down his cheeks I said, ‘don’t worry about me – Jesus will look after me.’  I would like to sing you the song that I sang to him as he took his last few breaths.”  And she began to sing "His Eye is on the Sparrow..."

Now, it might be beneficial for you to know that Chad and I are criers.  I’m talking big, enormous, Folgers-commercials-send-us-over-the-edge, crybabies.  So we were bawling as she started to sing.  That’s when it happened.

It doesn’t happen often, and it only happens when I’m unable to cope with extremely sad situations – I started laughing.  It’s the kind of laugh that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.  The kind that makes your shoulders convulse, and is utterly irrepressible.  I did the only thing I could think of, which was bend down to reach under the seat in front of me and grab the book of hymns, looking for some way to hide.  Only Chad knew what was happening; to the untrained eye, it would appear that I was just emotional.  Thankfully, I quickly got a hold of myself.  That could have been ugly.

Minutes after Pastor Doug started preaching, footsteps were heard pounding up the stairs, and a door burst open into the sanctuary.  A woman ran to one of the pastors and we heard her say “Come. NOW!”  As he ran after her, every mom in the room followed.  I could read all of their minds: “what’s going on, is it my baby?”  It only took a few minutes before we heard a siren approaching.  It turns out, after Wilma sang her song, she went out of the sanctuary, fainted and collapsed.  She woke up, and was eventually okay, but she was taken to the ER to be checked out.  It was quite an unreal morning.

So that’s not quite the distraction I had in mind, but we were able to slip out of the door unnoticed immediately after service, and we drove to Annabelle’s Famous Keg and Chowder House for lunch.  It’s a beautiful old restaurant that reminded us of one of the McMenamins restaurants we’d find at home, which made us think of The Spar, which is where we have Saturday morning breakfasts with our friends.  And we started to miss them.  We’re not used to missing people that aren't our family, so this was new.  Since I did not obtain written permission to write about them, I will just tell you that their names rhyme with Kevan and Myndi Snappleby.

I like to make this boy laugh.

After a yummy lunch of blackened halibut wraps (me), and potatoes O’Brien, topped with prime rib, eggs, and pepperjack cheese (Chad), the rest of the day was spent doing boring stuff, like checking out the “mall” which consists of an H&R Block, AT&T, Radio Shack, and a $1.29 store.  We spent precisely 4 minutes there.  Then we stopped at Tongass Trading Co. to pick up souvenirs for our kids, whom we miss like crazy.  Chad’s having a tough time being away from them.  The last hour spent waiting to leave for the airport, felt like we were waiting on death row for one of us to be taken out and executed.  Some couples do really well when they are not together.  We do not. 

"I have been... and always shall be... your friend." 

I’ll fast forward through the sad goodbye and get to the moment when I texted Chad from my seat on the plane.  Immediately my phone rang and I heard: “Wait!  Come back, I made a mistake! We can work things out.  You left your Chapstick in my car and whatnot.”  I’m sure the people on the plane were concerned about the weirdo who was crying and then laughing and then crying and then laughing…  I will be glad when he’s home for good and my emotions stabilize a bit.

 

After only three days, I can say that I adore Ketchikan.  The people are friendly, everyone says "hello," and there is no rush to get anywhere.  As much as I love Olympia, if you so much as say “hello” to a stranger, he will scowl at you and ask if you plan on recycling that bottle you’re carrying, while he shoves past you to get to his next protest.  I’m just saying – the older I get, the more small towns appeal to me.  And you can’t get much smaller than Ketchikan, Alaska.

I'm so blue-hoo-hoo

blue-hoo-hoo, blue-hoo-hoo,hoooo

I'm so blue 

I don't know what to do

- Madame Blueberry (VeggieTales)

- Rachel