Brit in Canada. Filmmaker. Editor. Writer.

To commemorate the end of my "Short Short Series" I introduce to you all - the three people that have stuck around - my "Long Long Series". Hurrah! Let us read about my life in a grandiose tone layered beneath self-deprecation concealed by sarcasm.

I kid.

I'm going to introduce a new segment entitled, "My Nomadic Life". I've been blessed with travel from an early age, and through this constant upheaval I've lived in extraordinary places that often remain atop people's Bucket Lists for a lifetime (introducing the grandiose early, as my third grade teacher taught me, rip off the band aid quickly otherwise it's more painful later).

I've been bouncing ideas back and forth about how to write this segment in a relatable, well, let's be real, interesting way. I quickly realized that through my many moves the one thing that remains is music. To preface, music has always dwelled in the memories I hold and the places I've lived. It is a chapter title introducing the next segment of my life.

This chapter is The Ludlows, and it introduces the three wonderful years I spent living in Anchorage, Alaska.

The film score by James Horner transports me to the mountains, beneath the hills and across from the land which holds the most powerful creatures. My bedroom is a window to nature, it's my looking glass into a world that very few get to experience, and those who do share a tangible connection that survives through each passing memory. It transports me to the blow-up mattress that nestles in the corner of the large room that is patiently waiting to be filled with furniture and mementos from the land I call home.

In the basement I curl up on the far sofa that I claimed as my own as the film which holds the music and the memories whirls inside my soul. It's responsible for the emotion Alaska evokes from me, the score unintentionally attaching itself to a place it has no connection to but exists so perfectly inside its lands like a home it was always destined for.

Above all, it's in the mountains. The drives across quiet highways beneath towering glaciers and mountain tops that appear endless across the vast oceans. The water, so pristine, conceals the porpoise that are free in a state which take pride in its land and oceanic creatures. Never forgetting that we came from both.

Alaska is a place that holds one song. A song which lives in the mountains and the home beneath the hills across from the creatures that rule the lands that I so proudly walked upon for a fleeting period of time.

She's right handed, but I don't mind,

we balance each other out.

With her hand she writes of truth and love,

she writes of me,

I watch her brow furrow, the inside of her cheek bitten by pained teeth being shifted by unwanted molars. She looks up, making sure not to forget me while lost in her imagination, but with her I'm never forgotten