Part I - While I Was Responding

An Illustration of My Soul

This four-part series is a response to questions posed in a welcome email I received after subscribing to While I Was Drawing.

Answering an Email

I have a welcome email that’s been sitting in my inbox for a couple of weeks. It's from Emily who writes While I Was Drawing. I have been on a kick lately, adding illustrations and sketches to my writings, and occasionally just encompassing a story in comic panel. Emily’s posts seemed right up my alley when I found them back in mid-September.

So I subscribed and she immediately announced she's taking a break for a bit. I appreciate the effort that goes into putting lovely touches on a welcome email (I haven’t touched mine), and I like love the idea of talking about myself (duh). So I meant to respond to hers! I really did! She gave me a prompt and everything, but I certainly don't want to pressure someone who's taking a break with a reader response via email, so I thought I may answer the prompt here as part of a series.

I found Emily's site through the thread feature on the Substack App. I'm way into illustrating lately, so its no surprise I was drawn there (←ha, pun). In honor of Emily's excellent and relevant blog title, and in response to my continued delaying my response, I'm titling this series While I Was Responding - An Illustration of My Soul

Part I: Where Am I From?

Alaska.

Sitka: where if you’re too busy editing a blog, you fail to capture a dear in the driveway on camera

Part II:

Just kidding. Is there potential for more layers with any other question in life? I currently live in Sitka, Alaska a small town in Southeast Alaska. When I’m travelling, that's the answer: I’m from Sitka. I've lived here since 2009, and before that, I lived here from 1998-2000 and again from 2003-2006. It's home, and it will be as long as my soul can take it. Or, until I can’t afford it. The two factors are racing right now. I just had a birthday and my wife bought me ice cream. I haven’t looked yet, but in certain it's Tillamook - likely cookie dough because that’s what I’m into recently, and she pays attention to such things. She also may have paid over $11 for it at the cheaper of the two places in town.

Where was I? oh - where I'm from. Sitka. Sort of. I really love it here. I arrived out of cook school to the Coast Guard Cutter Woodrush. I was a scared little boy back then. I didn’t own rain gear and I don’t have great circulation to my hands in the cold, but Southeast Alaska has way more trees than ice, so my imagined reality was going to be way colder and more bare than this town teeming with life and art and love.

and wonderful balloons

It can also rain 9" in a week, though, and this human came from San Diego County, where sometimes we get an inch through an entire year.

Montclair and Mel and Rose

That’s right - I'm from San Diego. That's the answer I give at work where I'm constantly meeting folks that already assume I'm “from” Sitka. Chula Vista, actually. Close enough to see Mexico from our house. It's a land of near perfect weather, and as such, it's been growing in population so much that I don’t even recognize most of it.

Around home, though - the place I lived from 3rd grade through my entry to boot camp - that still looks quite the same. It’s still close enough to walk to a couple convenience stores to buy tootsie rolls and Slurpies and play arcade games, or do whatever it is kids do now. It's still across the street from my elementary school. It's still a couple miles from my middle school and high school. The neighborhood is still streets lined with single home dwellings with decent sized yards that I’d imagine are worth a damn fortune now.

There are some aesthetic changes to the neighborhood. There was an older couple, Mel and Rose, who lived across from us on the corner Of Montclair and Melrose (I kid you not). Mel kept an immaculate yard that looked like a grass farm. That shit was turf, and I remember the ledge it created with is driveway, where one would need to step up a couple inches onto the lawn as if it were a small stage.

We would often roll down the hill on our skateboards (sitting down - I’m not a magician) and strike that ledge to fly off our boards and tumble into the soft grass. I don’t know if Mel ever saw us doing that, but I like to picture him feigning aggravation to Rose, and her calling his bluff. In my imagination, I can watch a bit of joy creep across his face as he witnesses forever fun memories created as a result of his hard yardwork.

The Underground

There’s an empty lot that remains next to the school. It sits up a hill, creating a seam at the union of the two of dirt and fence and trees that is obscured from the roads and houses. “The Underground” we called it, only adventuring through it in the bright light of midday weekends or summers.

We knew people lived there.

We called them the Underground People because we were creative children. We knew they were up to no good. Probably evil homeless folks (I was raised to believe homeless folks were a bunch of scam artists and drunks looking to take your coins to the liquor store.¹)

We could tell they were bad because they did things that were terribly scary and fascinating. We would find empty coke cans, or even beer containers! Or soiled crumpled up magazines and newspapers. Once, we even found some pages out of a porn magazine. It had pictures that were interesting, but tried not to dwell on. I was too afraid I would be instantly smited for my evil feelings.

That time God smited me for reading smut

I did, at some point, find myself with some written words from the magazine. It was easy to disguise as it didn’t have any pictures on the scrap. Something about the passional descriptions of sex was the most gripping thing in my life. I could get away with lingering on those words while the other boys fought over the pictures. It's best if your friends don't know about the gravitational forces that suck you into the Smite Zone™.

The truth is, The Underground People were likely just older kids, unafraid of being in The Underground at various levels of sunlight. They probably didn’t look a thing like the Sand People from Star Wars, like I thought.

Where was I? oh. - Chula Vista, California originally. But I'm Alaskan now. I change bilge pumps and shit.

I miss Chula Vista like I miss the Coast Guard. I have some amazingly fond memories. I have plenty of trauma. I'm working to reconcile the two.

That's where I am from. What about you?

From my world…

I changed up my meds this week, and it’s resulted some pretty awful side effects. I left work early yesterday and ended up on the couch almost ever since. Fortunately, I was able to steal some stylin’ sunglasses from one of my daughters. I’m so glad the symptoms didn’t take me down before enjoying a great birthday. I feel so uncomfortable receiving adoration from folks, especially without the aid of alcohol. But I had a wonderful time surrounded by coworkers, friends, and family who really went all out to let me know I’m loved.

and the dogs - also loved by the dogs (Picture courtesy of Abigail Saiz)

1. This is just a societal view, and not directly taught to me. I’m sure my parents had a high level of empathy and understanding about folks that we not housed. They almost never said things like, "They’re a bunch of scam artists and drunks looking to take your coins to the liquor store.”