Here in Seattle, we're on multiple alerts: waiting for both snow and terrorists tonight. Let's see which arrives first, or if either arrive, or neither.

My nephew K, a new Navy recruit, is an astute student of history. When he went on a road trip with friends last summer, he brought along a copy of Herodotus that I'd given him for his birthday. My guess is that he's already mused about the similarities and differences between ancient and modern warfare.

Some things stay the same. Like an Athenian youth off to confront the Persian forces, K leaves behind a young woman who would rather he stayed--in his case, his girlfriend, A. She is stoutly anti-war, and although they'd been together for a couple of years, I thought his enlistment might put a swift end to their relationship. But it hasn't done so, and she traveled halfway across the country to attend his boot camp graduation ceremony earlier this month. I'm crossing my fingers that she'll stick with her young man, because she's a true "catch": beautiful, talented, and socially graceful well beyond her 18 years.

And some things change. K returns for a few days of leave next week, just missing Christmas and his birthday, which falls on New Year's Day. This afternoon, his mother J and I contemplated what he might want for presents. We know that anything we give him must be small and portable. After some discussion, we arrived at two possibilities: either a gift card for the local outdoor gear store or DVDs for his newly-purchased portable DVD player. I had thought of a phone card, but he's already gotten himself a cell phone.

Of course, the Athenians had no Gore-tex, couldn't call home, and couldn't watch the latest LOTR while rowing their triremes...though they won their war, against all the odds.

During Christmastime 1980, my brother R, his wife J, some friends, and I traveled down Baja California and back. We traveled rough and cheap in a tiny car we rented in Tijuana. Each evening, having neither the money nor the inclination for hotels, we took our sleeping bags and dispersed out into the desert for the night. One evening, a pair of young and curious coyotes cautiously nuzzled my face; another night, pigs from a nearby farm surrounded me. Each morning, we woke, cooked up coffee and breakfast, and continued our rambles. We hiked through amazing Dr. Seuss forests and up in the high country, watched for birds, whales, and dolphins along the beaches, and stocked up on supplies in the little towns along our route. We spent Christmas Day body-surfing near Cabo San Lucas.

At some point--I think it may have been during a night spent camping and drinking rum on the sandy beach below a volcano--we developed a plan to pool our money and buy a live-aboard sailboat. We would sail around the world, choosing an itinerary that best pleased us, and staying however long we liked when we happened upon a congenial port or island. We would keep our expenses down by fishing, and perhaps we would work from time to time--say, while waiting out hurricane seasons. It seemed a solid plan--we even gave careful thought to the boat's dimensions and layout.

We'd long ago forgotten that plan. But tonight, I stopped by R and J's house to drop off a present for my nephew O, arriving in time to join them in watching a rented DVD of "Pirates of the Caribbean." We watched salt spray fly, swells roll, palm fronds rustle in the wind, and hulls slice through the water. By the end of the movie, I had remembered our old plan.

Hey, I said--remember when we were going to buy that sailboat? R and J did remember. Well, it wouldn't be too late to do that, I pointed out. O agreed to be cabin boy. It seemed a solid and agreeable plan to him. I remembered that our cousin C had sailed with her father to Cuba and back, not so long ago.

Of course, the difference between then and now is that then, we were more than half convinced that we would really buy that boat...

Bring on the cookies...

In the U.S. during the Cold War, we knew--without anyone having to tell us--not to say in public that there could possibly be any positive aspects to Communism. In the current political climate, we now know that we'd darn well better "support the troops," or risk shunning. As someone who spoke out against the invasion of Iraq, I can see that my support for the troops is under question in many quarters.

But the concept itself is troublingly squishy: just what does it mean to support the troops? The natural association between supporting someone and condoning their actions creates difficulties for me. On the philosophical level, I've gotten only this far, so far: I support US military personnel in the same way that I support all fellow beings who are in danger or suffering in some way. I empathize with them and wish for them to be safe and well. I also feel a particular debt of gratitude to U.S. military personnel, who--I'm willing to believe--have chosen to put their lives at risk because they have judged doing so to be a way to protect others or end injustice. While I can wholeheartedly support the troops in this way, I can't agree to condone whatever the US military might do or has done. My Lai comes too immediately to mind.

And then there's the personal level, and the issue of supporting one particular troop, my nephew K. Now I'm coming to see that the "support the troops" concept is difficult not only on a philosophical level but on a logistical level as well.

K recently graduated from Navy boot camp and has just started an intermediate training session. He'll then come home for a brief period of leave, and then will be assigned to a Navy warship. That ship is at its home port now, but the rumor is that it may leave for a different port a few days before K is to join it.

K's mailing address changes with each move, and his mom, J, faithfully updates us with each new address. Yesterday, he reported a new mailing address, good for about the next 2 weeks. I'd already mailed off a Christmas card to his old boot camp address. Although I hope that card will be forwarded by Christmas, we're hearing that mail sent to the boot camp address has been taking a long time to get to K (because of security precautions, I suppose). So I'm only guardedly optimistic.

Meanwhile, K's birthday is January 1, so now it's time to send a birthday card to the current address, hoping that the card will reach K before he moves on again. I'll need to wait to hear what the next address will be before I can send anything else.

And J has alerted us to one more development: K is now authorized to receive care packages (he could receive only cards and letters while in boot camp). He's also reported that he's lost weight. K's grandmother's response: Bring on the chocolate chip cookies! Mom will bake a batch tomorrow to mail off on Monday morning, hoping they'll reach K by his birthday.

I hope the cookies, cards, and K will meet up at the appropriate times and places, but I'm starting to imagine that as K travels about the world, a cloud of letters, cards, and packages will be following along behind him, never quite catching up before he moves off again.

How owning a cell phone can improve your skiing opportunities:

Yesterday afternoon, I made a date to go cross-country skiing with my brother R. That evening, I went off to a meeting, leaving my cell phone--my only phone--in my office. Meanwhile, R was offered the chance to work an overtime shift at his fire station, and took it. He left two phone messages to tell me he couldn't go skiing after all, and his wife J tried again this morning. Knowing nothing of that, I came home from my meeting, set the alarm for early-morning wakeup, pulled out my topo map for our intended destination, Mt. Amabilis, and packed a trail lunch. This morning, I pulled into R and J's driveway just as J was pulling out, on her way to take my nephew O to school. R was already gone. She explained.

Had I gotten R's message, I doubtless would have switched off the alarm, slept in, and spent the day on chores and holiday shopping. Instead, I pointed my car towards the Cascades and headed off to the nordic trail system at Snoqualmie Pass. An hour later, I took a seat on the chairlift and headed up to the upper trail system. And what a lovely day I had! The snow was fluffy and freshly groomed. Over the course of the day, a new North Pacific front slowly chased out a high-pressure system, sending shafts of sunlight and dark, scudding clouds playing back and forth across the landscape. One moment, a ridgeline was outlined as a bright arc of sunlight; the next moment, it darkened just as a different peak ignited into light.

Avalanche hazard had blocked off the long trail around Mt. Catherine--my usual choice--so I contented myself for much of the day with a series of small loop trails, alternately circling up and then down a series of small hills.

Climbing up, then sliding down, over and over...the action reminded me of a long-ago day during a sailing trip in Prince William Sound. Dad and I sat on an rock outcrop above a channel that connects a small bay to the Sound proper. A tide rip was running strongly down the channel, and a sea otter was playing in it. Over and over, the otter slid down the channel, propelled by the current, then swam back up and slid down again.

So I spent much of the day like a sea otter in snow. Later, when I stopped in the bottom of a quiet canyon to eat my sandwich, alert grey jays soon congregated. I held up small crumbs to them. One by one, the jays fluttered bravely down onto my upheld palm to take them.

Driving back, I found myself heading into darker and darker weather, and raindrops began to spatter on my windshield when I reached the outskirts of Seattle. I didn't stop by the office to pick up my phone.