From the Vaults: Emma in Alaska
Here I am! Finally! Showered, laying in a foldout bed that’s screwed in halfway up the wall in a beachfront hotel in Homer, Alaska. The door is open, and you can hear the water, restlessly shifting and edging its way back up the shore after a dinnertime low tide. To be honest, I saw your email yesterday afternoon and I thought You know what? I’m going to leave it alone and unopened until I get to someplace like where I am now, someplace where I can be clean and happy and serene and comfortable, where I can savor it the way I reserve for expensive chocolate and doctor who season trailers. But I couldn’t help myself and opened it fifteen minutes later on my phone. EMMA PARDINI YOU GLUTTONOUS ASS, YOU! Ahem. Anyway, I tried twice to compose a reply on my phone and only ended up hurting my fingers, so here I am, indulging in more or less the way I intended, but completely at a loss for words. On one hand, I’m at a loss because I want to tell you everything, to share every moment of what I’ve been doing, but have no idea where to start; and on the other hand, I’m also at a loss because once again you’ve left me speechless with your sentiment. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined pointing things out to you over the past few days, imagining how you’d respond, how you’d react to everything I’m seeing if you were here with me. It’s actually gotten to the point where I’m withholding more than usual photos from facebook just so I can show them to you in person and get to tell you the stories that go with them when you see them for the first time (I guess I’ll let you and the rest of the world have one golden eagle now, though). Here’s where I run into my biggest problem: what have I actually told you, and what have I just imagined telling to you? Even in Iowa, I spent so much time on my first trip home this summer thinking about what I would tell you and show you if you came (including telling you that I’d been thinking about how I would tell you that I’d been imagining how you’d react to me showing you those things) that when you actually did come to Iowa, I subconsciously figured I’d be repeating myself if I did any of the things I’d imagined doing. All I can say now is that imaginary Andrew gets along well with Danes.
I’d keep talking but I’m not sure I can keep my eyes open any longer.
I saw some serious beards today and I thought of you. I saw an elderly man in a suavely genteel hat today and I thought of you. I saw two sea otters today and I thought of you. I saw a little kid react with shy amazement, curious wonder, and barely-concealed terror to seeing, apparently for the first time, the world’s most urbane magic tricks, and I thought of you. I looked around and realized that I’m surrounded by the most wonderful and beautiful and fantastic and surprising and breathtaking things, and I thought of you. I love you. Good night.
On Tue, Aug 14, 2012 at 9:12 PM, Andrew Hitzhusen wrote:
Ok, take two.
I found a new coffee shop today, the Bean Counter. Sort of frech with darker wood and higher walls. But i walked in, ordered a cappuccino and an oreo cupcake, and sat down with copy of an arts magazine. Sometimes i find myself doing little things, not consciously, that remind me of you. Just to pretend for a minute that your there. Im lying on the floor of my room, looking up at all the knick knacks that ive gathered, and thinking about what youd say, howd Id explain them.
I found out today that four ball juggling is just juggling two balls in on hand in such a way that it looks like theyre crossing. Thats crazy.
I was reminded today of how much of a badass you are. You’re sort of a cool person n the occation. I want to see a picture of an eagle. Im hoping theres a story involving a black bear. Im sort of wondering how the Danish men ended up hiking across the alaskan landscape.
Im caught in the delema of not wanting to be clinging and annoying and letting you know how much I miss you.
Im expecting more stories…
Enjoy ice cream lunches and palin town and other craziness far noth and west from here.
I love you