DISPATCH AND RECORDS CLERK - The Police Department is establishing a hiring list for full-time with benefits including 100% employer-paid health benefits (medi...
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Deadline for voters to register to vote or update their registration 30 days prior to Election day. http://www.elections.alaska.gov/ Where to Register to Vo...
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There will be an ANS Garage sale at ANB Hall from 10-2 on Saturday - ANS fundraiser with Grace's Fried Bread, also. Please call Grace Katasse Larsen for tables ...
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For Sale By Owner: Beautiful Home with Exquisite Views - 3106 Halibut Point Road, Sitka, AK 99835. 3 bedrooms, 3 baths, 1,645 sq ft. $617,995 3 bedroom/3 bat...
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Legally Blonde, the musical, will be presented at the Sitka Performing Arts Center on Friday, July 27 at 7pm and on Saturday July 28 at 2pm & 7pm. https://www.f...
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STA Community Picnic Fri. July 21, from 11am to 2pm at Baranof Playground. Enjoy picnic and traditional foods, games, prizes and races for all ages! Smoke-free,...
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Society of American Foresters (SAF) Dedication and new bench Ribbon Cutting Ceremony. Dedication at 4:30 pm at Yaw Drive Parking area by the Trail. Bench Ribb...
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Sitka Community Land Trust announces its next regular meeting for Monday, July 16th from 6:30-8:00pm. The meeting will be held at Harrigan Centennial Hall, Rm 7...
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Sitka Public Library will be hosting a free screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 classic “Vertigo” on Saturday, July 21st at 6:30 pm. Everyone is welcome. Refre...
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1300 square foot home for rent. 4 bedroom 2 bath. $1850 per month. New carpet, workshed. Paved parking. Call 907-747-3122 for more info.
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Harrigan Centennial Hall Building Attendant - Full-time, benefited, starting wage: $14.65/hr or DOE. Job duties include maintenance and staff support duties in...
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Plans, organizes and directs the overall planning, economic development, zoning, community development, land management and related functions within the City an...
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Registration for WhaleFest is officially open! This years Curious Creatures theme will have something for everyone! Again this year we are offering the Early Bi...
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AMHS staff is contacting affected passengers and rebooking travel. Service notices may be found at dot.alaska.gov/amhs/service_notices.shtml or by contacting yo...
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Rockwell Lighthouse available for: business retreats, vacation rentals, weddings & other events. To see photos, amenities, availability, rates and contact info...
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The Soupster copes with unpleasant memories.
Originally published May 8, 2014
“You hate my dog!” Laura overheard through the library stack. “You revile my pooch.”
Laura the Librarian, with an armful of books, turned the corner, “Soupster?” she said “Is that you?”
“Uh, oh,” the Soupster said. “Was I talking out loud?”
“Something about dogs?” said Laura. “Something about hating dogs?”
The Soupster reddened. “I am a confirmed animal lover,” he said guiltily. “I actually like dogs third best, right after cats and Australians.”
“Then why did you say you hated your dog?” said Laura.
“It’s just an expression I use to control my bad thoughts,” the Soupster answered.
“Stay there,” said Laura, as she tipped the books in her arms onto a nearby empty shelf. She smoothed her blouse and gave her shoulders and head a little shake. “Now,” she said to the Soupster, “Tell me what on Earth you are talking about.”
The Soupster looked around to see if anyone else was listening. “Well,” he said, lowering his voice, “When I say, `You hate my dog,’ it really has nothing to do with dogs, or hatred, or even you, for that matter.”
“You know, when a person has a memory of something that didn’t turn out so well?” the Soupster went on. “And when they figure out what they should have done that would have worked out fifty times better? Or when they remember something somebody once said and only now can they think of the perfect thing they should have said back then?
“I don’t have these problems,” said Laura,
“Consider yourself lucky, then,” said the Soupster. “But my mind sometimes gets locked in kind of negative territory. My saying, `You hate my dog’ breaks me loose.”
“Tell me Soupster,” said Laura. “how did you come up with saying you hate your dog… er… my dog? Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Well,” said the Soupster, “It started a long time ago with the old saying, `Love me, love my dog.’ That morphed into `Hate me, hate my dog.’ Finally, just, `You hate my dog.’”
“Fascinating, your noggin,” said Laura.
“Show me the noggin what ain’t,” said the Soupster.
“Well, your noggin, especially, ain’t ain’t,” Laura said.
“You hate my dog!” said the Soupster.
“Wait just a minute,” said Laura. “Didn’t you just finish telling me that all this had nothing to do with me or dogs or hatred or dog hatred or anything?”
“Ooops,” the Soupster said.
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The Soupster listens to a man who really knows what vacation is.
Originally published July 29, 2004
It seemed like slow motion to the Soupster, watching Red bearing right down on him, then the larger man knocked the Soupster to the ground.
“Whoa, sorry there,” Red said. “I’m running on all gears like a headless chicken.”
“Summer is the busy time in Our Town,” the Soupster commiserated. “Why else would Alaskans take their vacations in the winter?”
Red nodded. “I work May through September and take the rest of the year off,” he said.
“You pack a whole year into four months,” said the Soupster. “but you pay for it on days like today.”
“Oh, it’s not the work,” Red sighed. “Work I learned to handle a long time ago. Up at 4 to get the boat ready, take guests out all day. I’m cleaning up the boat long after they’ve left. And then I find myself up until 10 answering snail mail and e-mails and doing the books.”
“So why are you so crazy now?” the Soupster asked.
“Locational hazard,” said the Soupster. “You move to a place as nice as Our Town and you discover relatives you never knew you had.”
“You bet,” Red agreed. “I knew we had my sister and her family coming up this month, but she ran into our cousin in Seattle and guess what? They decided on a whim to come up together! That makes nine people in my house. Bless them, they’re very self-directed. Still though, they want to be sure and visit with me every day and I just don’t have time.
“Can you take them out on the charter with you?” the Soupster asked.
“Wouldn’t be fair to my clients,” Red said. “They’re paying top dollar for my full attention. Hunting fish is serious business.”
“So,” said Red, “I’ve got half a day I penciled out to do about a week’s worth of chores. Well,I’m walking to the bank today and what do you know — there’s my great-uncle Don in the middle of a walking tour. My father would never give me peace if I didn’t show Don the town, so there went my day to catch up.”
“Bet you’re looking forward to your vacation in two months,” the Soupster guessed.
“I’m not waiting that long,” said Red. “My sister goes back on the plane tomorrow and the cousin on the ferry the next day. Uncle Don is getting back on his cruise ship this evening. As soon as everybody leaves and I can get back to my regular 18-hour days, I’m gonna consider it vacation!”
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The Soupster remembers a determined little fellow.
Originally published August 22, 2002 and June 5, 2008
“Crash!” the Soupster heard as he stepped from the café, clutching a cardboard cup of java.
Across the street furious construction activity was under way – the systematic dismantling of portions of a large hotel for a major renovation.
This being Our Town, teams of workers scaled the building from ladders and scaffolding — working quickly to take advantage of an all-too-brief period between downpours and squalls.
“Crash, bang, ticka, ticka, bang!” sang the various fixtures and materials as they were removed and carted away, piled on the ground or, most musically, sent plunging through three long tubes that ran from the roof down to a dumpster. “Ticka, ticka, clack, clack, crash!” the tubes sang.
Striding purposely from one part of the site to another was Mel, who the Soupster still called “Little Mel.” Now six feet tall and 40 years old, “Little Mel” was the general contractor for the entire renovation. To the Soupster, however, “Mel” would always mean “Big Mel” – Little Mel’s late father, who had been the high school shop teacher.
Big Mel always had been surrounded by an army of students. Now Little Mel had his own army of tough and competent construction workers. As Little Mel moved among his worker-troops he exuded the confidence of a commander who does not need to argue but leads naturally.
It had been almost 30 years earlier to the day that the hotel was originally built, and the Soupster remembered seeing the two Mels back then. Father and son walking down the street toward their car. Little Mel, lugging inches off the ground a red fire extinguisher that was half his height and more than half his weight.
Big Mel had a much larger fire extinguisher in his arms. Father and son were carrying safety equipment back to the school.
Little Mel could make about five steps before he had to readjust the extinguisher’s position in his arms. The child had to pull with all his might.
“It’s okay to put it down,” said Mel. “I can’t believe how strong you are carrying it this far.”
“No!” said Little Mel. “I want to take it all the way!”
“Well, good job!” said Big Mel. “I am quite amazed!”
With another loud “Crash!” the Soupster was jerked back to the present.
Although he could not hear any voices from the construction site, he watched as one young worker strode angrily across the work site and confronted Little Mel. The young worker said something; Little Mel listened and nodded. As the young worker talked, he seemed to calm down. Little Mel kept nodding, then reached across and patted the young worker’s shoulder.
The young worker broke into a smile and Mel beamed back at him. They shook hand and the young man bounded happily back to work. Little Mel yelled something after him.
Through all the “bangs” and “ticka, tickas” and “crashes” the Soupster couldn’t make out what Little Mel had said. But he guessed it went something like “You sure are strong. Good job. I’m quite amazed!”
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The Soupster is called out on his talkativeness & put to the test.
Originally published July 12, 2012
Carrie told the Soupster he talked too much and her criticism stung. The Soupster knew he could go on and on – maybe a tiny, little bit? — but he didn’t know his friend had been suffering. And for “quite a while,” no less.
“I bet you can’t keep your conversation to a minimum even for one day,” Carrie threw down the gauntlet. “Not even for one whole day.”
“I can,” the Soupster insisted. “And I will!”
Today was the day. The first mission of the new, zip-lipped Soupster was to check the mail at the post office. As the Soupster strolled downtown, he had to duck into a few storefronts to avoid fellow chatterboxes who might stress-test his mettle.
“Soupman!” The call came from Charlie, a hiking buddy who, unfortunately, happened to be in a store the Soupster had judged free of customers. “Tell me what’s new with the Man in the Can?”
“Not much,” said the Soupster, wishing he could have thought of a one-word answer. “Gotta go,” he said slipping out of the store.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire? Two busfuls of visitors hit the sidewalk and poured around the Soupster like a human wave.
Hide in plain sight? The Soupster pulled his cap low on his forehead and attempted to avoid eye contact with the cheery migrants surrounding him.
No use! The Soupster felt his lapels being patted and looked down into the face of an older man wearing a tag that said, “Hi! I’m Horace!”
“Hi, I’m Horace,” he stated the obvious, grasping the Soupster’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “I’m new to these shores.”
“Hi, Horace,” said the Soupster.
“Yup, this is some different place,” Horace said. “Where’s all the big box chain stores? Don’t you have any big box chain stores?”
“Nope,” said the Soupster.
“Our bus driver said he was taking us all over town but we only went five or six miles one way and then seven or eight the other. That can’t be all the road you have.”
“Yup,” said the Soupster, zipping his lips so tight he could taste metal.
“And this rain I keep hearing about,” Horace plunged on. “It’s certainly not raining now. Is going to rain soon? Am I going to get wet? I mean, isn’t this town too nice to be built by people who get rained on every day?”
As the Soupster moaned silently, a beam of sunlight illuminated a break in the throng of tourists ahead. “Yup,” said the Soupster, shaking Horace’s hand. “Nope,” he added. And then the Soupster escaped.
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Soupster’s starlet-in-hiding and the wrongly accused charlatans.
Originally published November 6, 2014
The Soupster stepped out of the rain and into the lobby of Our Town’s airport to pick up an express shipment. He hoped that someday the animal heads and fish lined up along the front beam could be made animatronic, like something out of Disneyland. Visitors would take it as noteworthy, the Soupster surmised, if a 70-lb. king salmon winked at them and said, “Welcome to Our Town!” or “Please come visit Our Town again.”
The gangway swung open and passengers spilled out. The serious travelers flowed right out the front door, having whittled their fashion and toiletry needs down to carry-on size. The rest of the crowd oozed slowly toward the luggage carousel. At the front counter, the Soupster was told he could retrieve his package in a few minutes.
“Hi, Soupster!” said Skye Claire, sideling up next to him. Skye was a professional entertainer who holed up in Our Town periodically to hide from her adoring fans. “How’s my favorite purveyor of miscellaneous items soaked in rainwater?”
“And my best wishes to you, Miss Skye,” the Soupster said with a barely perceptible bow. “What’s new in the entertainment business?”
“I met a talking dog,” said Skye.
“I’m listening,” said the Soupster.
“So, I’m in the office of a talent agent in Seattle who’s trying out new acts for the annual Rainier Review,” she recounted. “I’m standing by the door filling out some contract forms, when the agent lets in the next act for an audition.”
“‘Spartacus, the Wonder Dog!’ trumpets the owner of a speckled black-and-white, longhaired,
medium-size hound. ‘Spartacus will now answer three questions.’”
“What was the owner like?” asked the Soupster.
“A bit forgettable,” said Skye. “Plus, me and the talent agent are busy staring at the dog.
“‘Spartacus,’ says the owner. ‘What do you call the material on the outside of a tree?’
“‘Bark!’ yelps the dog enthusiastically. The talent agent raises his eyebrows.
“‘Spartacus,’ says the owner. ‘Name a three-masted wooden cargo ship from the 19th century.’
“‘Barque,’ yips Spartacus. The agent crosses his arms and looks stern.
“‘Spartacus,’ the owner says a third time. ‘What is the best brand of root beer?’
“‘Barq’s’ Spartacus says.
“‘That’s enough, you charlatans!’ says the talent agent, who comes out from behind his desk and scoots both man and dog out of the office. I slip out with them. The agent goes back inside and slams his door.
“Spartacus looks up at his owner. ‘Henry Weinhard?’ Spartacus says. I almost fainted.”
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