Confessions

my rain boots, seen off the boardwalk

I have developed a problem with online shopping.

It began innocently enough. I needed rain boots. There are no clothing stores in town, but the two main food stores both have a second floor that's kind of like a small department store. Unfortunately, it seems most Alaskans are quite a bit bigger than I am. The stores do not stock anything small enough for me-- not even in the kids department. No sweat-- I headed to the online Mecca of shoe-shopping-- Zappos. I bought a quite excellent pair of rubber rain boots that brought me joy, warmth, and dry feet.

That was the gateway purchase.

I got a little carried away one cold Saturday night, huddled with my computer next to a broken, rattling heater. A week later, I received four boxes at the post office containing seven sweaters, four pounds of tea, six containers of vanilla caramel latte cappuccino mix, and a kettle.

No big deal, I told myself. It was just a one-time thing. It wouldn't happen again.

I was good for awhile, but when I saw that a bag of dried mango was $22 at the grocery store, I slipped a little. (That was the week I caved and spent $10 on a half-gallon of orange juice.) I googled dried mango and came across Nuts.com, a website that sells snack foods and other riches. Before long, the ER, the clinics, inpatient, and OB all knew where I was working in a given day based on the concentration of Nuts.com bags scattered throughout each department.

I started looking for websites that offer free shipping to Alaskan PO boxes (difficult-to-fulfill requirements). I began to frequent Kohls (free shipping on all orders over $75!), Sierra Trading Post (free shipping during select sales!), and Amazon (free shipping on orders over $25 if labelled as eligible for Free Super Saver Shipping...and you can sort your searches by this!). I always had an open order. I began to buy nonperishable groceries in bulk. I refused to admit I had a problem. "It's just Bethel," I'd say. "This is how you do things here." It's normal to go to the post office to pick up your tissues, your soap, your new Tupperware, your new small appliances, your coffee, your batteries, your beef jerky, your extension cord, your toilet paper...right?

My friend Susan was an enabler. She asked me to make a fudge cake one night, but I told her it would have to wait, as I was out of Baker's chocolate. "Don't worry," I told her. "I'll have chocolate coming in next week at the post office."

Her reply should have been a clue there was something wrong. "Is it bad that that sentence made complete sense to me?" she said. "I have to stop by the post office tomorrow; my salsa and crackers are waiting."

Last month, I hit rock bottom. I received a medium-sized box labelled Heavy - Handle with Care. Very excited at what new riches were in store, I high-tailed it home and clawed it open.

Yes, folks, your eyes don't deceive you. That is 8 pounds of graham crackers-- 27 sleeves, to be exact. Apparently I thought I needed graham crackers.

Are there support groups for this kind of thing?

The Perils of Poo, Part Two: The Poo Strikes Back!

(Disclaimer: the below story contains some bad words. Trust me, they are warranted.)

It started out innocently enough...I got blue-tagged again last week. This time it was because we hadn't plowed the way to the water and poop tanks. No biggie, right? We'd had a week of snow (those of you whining about Nemo can suck it), there was a lot there, it was reasonable!

We rationed water for a week. I took shorter showers and did no laundry. The dishes stacked up in the sink. Monday morning I took a shower, and everything seemed normal.

Monday night I came home from a trying ER shift to my neighbor standing outside my door. He told me I had a problem. Thinking he was being facetious, I started shouting about people at work. He cut me off and said, "No, you have a problem. Go into your house."

There was a lovely puddle of water extending from my water heater and pressure tank that apparently went through the wall into my neighbors' apartment and had flooded a closet. Also, my water pump was making a continuous grinding sound. It was not a happy sound.

No sweat. I called my property manager, who we'll call Charlie. Charlie's number was disconnected. Awesome.

My neighbors gave me a beer, and we began the process of tracking down our landlords, who are currently touring the Lower 48 in an RV. Eventually Charlie appeared, gave us his new number, surveyed the situation, shut off the breaker to my pump, and told me it was all my fault because I'd run out of water. I enquired a few times why, if I had run out of water, the main symptom was water flooding two apartments. He didn't have an explanation for this. I'd run out of water, and as Wednesday is Water Day, everything would be fixed on Wednesday.

Class, raise your hands if you believed this!

Yes, I didn't think so.

Fast-forward to Wednesday. Fortunately, I had the day off, my first day off in awhile. I eagerly awaited the arrival of the Poop Truck and the water truck. Around 2 pm, I finally heard the grinding of the truck idling. I looked out the window and saw the Poop Truck Man struggling with my Poop Tank Heater. He couldn't get it out.

CRAP.

(literally)

I pulled on my Carharrts and ran outside in time to see his back - he'd just blue-tagged me again: frozen septic. I'm starting a blue tag collection.

After much investigation, it seems that the outlet to my Poop Tank Heater went bad. I stole some electricity from my neighbors, thawed the poo, enjoyed how shitty my apartment smelled (literally), got Charlie on the phone, and got the Poop Truck back. As I was coming back from all this, my neighbor shouted at me, "You're so full of shit it took two trucks to haul it all away!!"

Sad, but true.

They filled my water tank, and I called Charlie back to prime the pump and get things running again. Charlie came over, banged on things for awhile, and then made his patented "AHA!!" sound that I've come to dread. I've gotten to know Charlie's AHA's. I heard them a lot during the saga of my broken heater that began with my carbon monoxide poisoning. Charlie's AHA means he thinks he's figured out the problem, and it's so small, so minuscule, so simple that he'll have it fixed in 5 minutes flat and life will be happy again.

Class, raise your hands if you trust this!

Didn't think so!

We spent the next hour pouring water into the pump, turning the faucets on and off, playing with the pressure gauge, flipping the breaker on and off, and watching the water leak out of the pipes. He finally concluded the pump was bad and that it was actually quite fortunate that I'd "run out of water" (please note: I did not run out of water) as otherwise, the entire house would have been flooded to no return.

Charlie told me to do my dishes, flush the toilet, take a shower, and then shut off the pump for the night; he'd replace it tomorrow. He left, and I pulled out some nice fresh pajamas! (Living large!) I got all ready to shower. I was so excited! I turned on the water...and it fizzled down to a drizzle, and then stopped. No more water. No shower! No clean dishes. No flushing! Nothing.

I shook my tiny fist for a few minutes, and then broke into my neighbors' apartment to steal some water.

Apparently the shit smell in my apartment is turning me into a thief.

BLAME THE POO!!

Caribou - It's What's for Dinner

Please note: this image came from the
website backcountrytaxidermy.com

A few weeks ago, a friend's husband gave me some caribou he had shot. It's been living in my freezer ever since...waiting...

Please note the duct tape.

This week I finally bit the bullet and tossed it in the fridge to defrost. Determined NOT to work on my day off (the novelty!), I began researching caribou recipes. Shockingly, my current cookbook collection doesn't quite cover game recipes (Mark Bittman, you have failed me - "How to Cook Everything"? Yeah, right. Try "How to Cook Everything You Can't Buy in Bush Alaska")

Next stop - my favorite internet recipe resource - epicurious. A search for caribou yielded one recipe: Rockin' Moroccan Stew...a vegetarian recipe. Huh?!? A search of the page revealed that the last line of the recipe reads, "Make sure you have a few camels standing nearby to add some North African ambience. A moose or caribou will do."

NOT helpful. Also - since when are there moose in North Africa?

Next try: a phone call to a friend who has eaten all kinds of crazy foods. He's eaten moose! He's lived in Maine! He MUST know how to cook caribou!

Not so.

Finally, in desperation, I turned to my friend Google. I found lots of websites discussing proper butchering and curing of "bou" meat. (Look at me using the lingo!)

Marinading.

After sifting through websites that purported to be helpful ("8 Tips for Cooking Game Meat" included helpful hints like #2 "Drink more," #5 "Use expensive cookware," and my favorite, #8 "Accompany everything with bacon jalopeno macaroni and cheese.") I wound up at a website called CDKitchen with a very simple roast caribou recipe. Apparently marinade is key.

Marinade, man!

Marinade.

After a night of marinading, I smothered it in sauce and roasted it at a low temperature. Combined with some yummy split pea soup and mashed potatoes (fried in bacon grease...) it was a feast, AK style!

Please ignore the blackened goo on the bottom.
Turns out I need a real roasting pan.

leftover mashed potatoes

...my next-door neighbor saying, "MMM!"

Ah, the smell of toasted poo in the morning...

Okay, it's time to get real. It's time to talk about poo.

As a pediatrician, poo holds a very important place in my life. We talk about poo a lot - how many times? What color? Hard or soft? Formed or liquid? Any blood? Can I help you poo better? Let's try these medicines! Are you SURE you're not constipated?

And let's not forget my fascination with poo. It blows my mind. Think about it - no matter what you ingest - potato chips! beef stew! candy! pork rinds! anything! - your intestinal tract is so freakin' smart that it extracts whatever it needs and then is able to turn it all into the same substance - POO. It blows my mind! How fascinating is THAT?!?!

I suppose it's appropriate that, given my long-term fascination, I now live in a place where the health of your Poop Tank can be an important part of your life. No, I'm not using a euphemism for your colon. I actually mean a Poop Tank - some call it a sewer or a septic tank, but let's be honest here - it's a Poop Tank. Here's a photo of mine:

This photo was taken in warmer, happier times, when the average temperature was 40 degrees, and my poo was always happy and warm. (Yes, warm poo is happy poo.)

I suppose I should back up. There's no sewer system in Bethel (not so easy to engineer that in the tundra), and most houses are also not on public water. That means that you get your water delivered and your septic contents hauled - you can choose between twice weekly, weekly, bi-weekly, and monthly. I get water weekly, which means Wednesday is Water Day! It is very exciting - I do all my dishes and laundry and take a nice long shower right around Tuesday...Water Day is such a great day that there's even a local song about it called - you guessed it - Water Day.

This beast is my water tank:

This system works very well, except for one thing. It's sometimes...uh...shall we say...COLD here. (Who knew, right?) Some houses have their tanks inside, but most have their tanks outside and covered with foam insulation, like mine. I have a water pump that circulates water in and out of the house every 3 minutes and 54 seconds. It's really loud and sounds like a garage door opening every time, but you get used to it pretty quickly. Now, the Poop Tank is another problem. I'm sure you get where I'm going with this...

A few weeks ago, I woke up one fine Wednesday morning to this tag on my door:

My Poop Tank had frozen.

Turns out, I was supposed to have a Poop Tank Heater. Yes, a Poop Tank Heater. They exist.

After a few conversations with my property manager, we tracked down my missing Poop Tank Heater, and The Best Next Door Neighbors in the World helped thaw out my poo and got the water people to come suck it out of my Poop Tank. Here's a photo of my Poop Tank Heater:

It's heavy! Here's another one of it in action:

Now, apparently the trick is getting your poo warm but not too warm, especially on Water Day. Worst case scenario: your home will be flooded with what I like to call eau de poo. That would be bad.

I'm learning a lot here.