Creating the occasion.

“Oh, well we’re undressed,” touts a family that had just walked into the front doors at Addie Camp. I stood there at the hostess stand with a smile on my face, wearing red pleated plants and a white silk blouse.

“Wow, you had to pick the fanciest restaurant in town,” says a grubby looking fisherman to his buddy. This was after he gave me the up down, no doubt judging my 1950’s high waisted shorts, tucked in off the shoulder salsa top, and red lips as “fancy.”

“We’re not really wearing the proper attire,” whispers a woman to her husband, looking at me sideways as I wait there in a tight black fifties dress and rhinestone accessories.

These are common phrases I’m greeted with at the front doors of Addie Camp. As hostess, it’s my job to welcome and bid adieu to the guests and naturally, my favorite part is being able to dress to the nines for a few hours a night (we have so little occasion to dress up here, as you know).

See, since I was in middle school, I’ve had a history of being a little bit of a rebel when it comes to dress. Calls to the office about me wearing “the wrong blue” (you can’t approve blue as an acceptable color and then deny turquoise, it just doesn’t work like that!), skirts being too short, lace not being considered a fabric (it is), and distracting the boys with my pencil skirt and corset (if they’re distracted, that’s on them). I’m also six foot two, so anything I put on my body naturally stands out. So I get it, I don’t exactly fit in with the Alaskan stereotype.

You know the one I’m talking about.

Xtra Tuff boots with the classic Salmon Sisters fold over print, North Face or Patagonia sweatshirt, and a Carharrt beanie. Draw it up, that’s what most Alaskans consider to be proper attire!

But I’m not most Alaskans.

Sure, I own all of the above items, but I also have closets (yes closets) full of vintage dresses, silk skirts, and embellished tops that are dying to be worn. And yes, while there aren’t many occasions here to dress up, that doesn’t stop me. I simply create my own occasion for such beauties to be worn.

Like working at Addie Camp.

Most of the time, it’s received well. And even though I’m not one to care about such trivialities like what people think of me and what I’m wearing, it does bother me when someone eyeballs me and what I have on, and choose not to stay and eat because they feel I am a representation of this “all too fancy restaurant.”

(what they don’t know is that I would dress up in the same outfit for a trip to the grocery store or a run to the bank)

I know I will always get curious looks for dressing the way I do in a state that dresses the way it does, yet there’s still no place in the world that I feel most comfortable standing out in. I somehow thrive best in a town that prefers wearing camo print over paisley. Does it make sense? Not really, but I love it nevertheless.

So please, don’t judge a book by it’s cover and assume that my mink stole and suede kitten heeled accessories dictate the dress code in the establishment I work in. Take it and and understand that I am merely a woman who takes an ordinary occasion to dress up and turns it into an extraordinary one…

I’ll See You in my Dreams.

“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream..”

Bum bum bum bum.

“Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen..”

Bum bum bum bum.

“Give him two lips, like roses and clover. And tell him that his lonesome nights are over..”

Mr. Sandman did indeed come through the other night, per my lonesome request.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dream in which my man made an appearance, but a nightmare.

I really don’t know how many more midnight frights this girl can take!

So I’m in bed, dreaming, or I guess I should say “nightmare-ing”, and all of a sudden, I wake up.

To my absolute horror, I see, clear as day, what appears to be a man crouching with his hands outstretched, creeping across my closet.

Eyes widening, my heart begins the most intense pounding, and I literally feel like it’s about to leap out of my chest. As the realization settles in that I have someone in my house, I wait in frozen fear for this perpetrator to pop out from behind my bed.

Unable to stand the intensity of waiting, I manage to turn on my lamp. As soon as the room floods with light, I pry myself from my soaking sheets to face my terror.

Well of course there’s no one there.

And there never was.

As I make the rounds in each corner of the house, I begin to cry, scared of myself and my wild imagination for playing such cruel games on me.

I can’t say I have ever felt as petrified and terrified in my life and even though it wasn’t real, the fact that my mind tricked my body into seeing, believing, and reacting the way that it did and making my worst nightmare feel so real scared the sweat out of me.

So of course I want to know the possible causes.

We can rule out that there wasn’t actually anyone in my room; well, besides Guji.

Did I imagine this because I watch way too much Dateline which has caused me to develop a fear of being attacked in my home? Maybe.

Did I imagine this because I have a wicked and wild imagination? Could be.

Or did I just have a nightmare that crossed over into reality when I woke suddenly? Likely the cause.

Whatever the reason, when I had to get back into bed that night, I had to calm myself down. I tried texting others, I contemplated calling my mom, even briefly thought about making a call to the police to ensure that there really wasn’t a creeper looming in the shadows, but at the end of the night, I alone had to overcome my fear.

And that’s a powerful moment for me.

Not just learning how to calm myself down, but realizing that I don’t need someone else to reassure me I’m okay.

Fear could run my life, if I let it. Obviously, there’s something deep within me, this fear of being broken into, that triggers a response, and I believe the only way to diminish that fear is to learn how to cope with it, which is what I proudly did. Resisting the urge to reach out to others to help me calm down, I learned how to rely on myself to get through it, reinforcing my confidence and self esteem.

Sure, it would’ve been nice to snuggle back to bed with the big burly man of my dreams to protect me, but at the end of the night, I can do just as good a job.

So, with the cat once again lounging on my chest, and my nightlight turned on to help protect me, I was able to fall back asleep again.

Now Mr. Sandman, let’s try this again…