"I like her from a distance. You know, the way you like the Sun. Maris is like the Sun, except without the warmth." - Frasier, Frasier

An icy mermaid. I would consider it unlikely that an actual mermaid of these proportions would actually be able to dive under the water. You be the judge. Anyhow, you can click on it for larger mermaid goodness.

The Itch has started. And, it’s not the heartbreak of psoriasis (a noncontagious inflammatory skin disease characterized by recurring reddish patches covered with silvery scales).

It’s spring. It’s finally getting hot outside, and the snow is melting in earnest. We’re also now experiencing twilight lasting past 10PM. In a month or so, I won’t be able to go to bed or get up and see any real darkness. This is, of course, due to magic curse that the Pixies put on us for killing the Toad Queen, or perhaps the position that Fairbanks has way up high on the planet. One of those might be a children’s book, but after a while my memory just gloms together into one continuous mass. You decide.

Anyway, the Itch I’m talking about is the desire, pent up all winter long, to go out and accomplish a bazillion things outside in a flurry of Home Despot spending and sweating. The effect that the long daylight has on primates is stunning. You don’t feel nearly as tired, and don’t need nearly as much sleep. The Sun signals time for action, time to build some longboats and go pillage Vancouver. (I think that’s why the Vikings did all the raiding and pillaging: they just had to go on vacation after spending all winter inside in the dark. I’m just suggesting Vancouver because, well, it’s just asking for it, hanging out near the US and all.)

Part of what will happen is that the first week, we’ll spend silly amounts of time doing things, then note that it’s, oh, 3AM. And Tuesday, and if I go to bed right now, I’ll be late for work. The Sun, having ceased to go down at all will just circumscribe lazy 24-hour circles in the sky, ignoring our ceaseless ant-like activity down on the ground. Dang lazy, uncaring Sun.



Proof that Alaska rocks. Snow, Sun, and warmth.

The Boy has never used the comment that he shouldn’t go to bed, “because it’s not dark yet.” This is wise, because it will really come ‘round to bite him in December when we’ve got five hours of daylight. Some people cope by putting foil on their windows to keep the sunlight out so they can sleep. Though this has the added benefit of blocking out the mind-control rays put out by HAARP (an explanation of HAARP), it would make me feel far too much like an appetizer on a cookie sheet in our oven to be surrounded by foil. By that I mean to be surrounded by foil that wasn’t in my mind-control prevention hat.

To The Boy and The New Boy, this all seems natural. Long days, short days, it’s all nice. Last night, The Boy lamented that the snow was melting – he was sad that winter was ending after having snow on the ground for only eight or so months.

But the itch has him, too. He wandered off this last night and put on his boots and jacket and went to ride his bike on the melting snow. He feels the need to get outdoors and do things.

A friend was over, and noted that we weren’t following The Boy outdoors to keep an eye on him. “I remember the trouble I used to get into . . . “

Which, after all is the point. He’s a boy, there’s trouble to be found, scrapes to get out of, and, well, he’s not too young to get the Itch, either. As I look outdoors, I can see the vague outline of a longboat taking shape . . .