Mike Roselle

1052481_10153177183200974_7859043656050098126_o.jpgBrother, Sinner, Saint. I used to hunt down and collect brother figures, pummel them with questions, keep them up on a pedestal longer than they wanted and lob more questions. I don't think I ever went to school; more like, I created the situation of being tutored by flotillas of friends who floated into my voracioius orphanage. 

Mike Roselle is a throwback for me but such an illustrious one in this desperate year. When he walks somewhere I walk alongside if I can help it and I'll have a question in a moment. Sit down nearby and after a while he can hear it coming I'll tender a subject he might address. Its enough sometimes to get a verbal painting of the Arctic 30 blow by blow, of the order of War and Peace, so vivid and full with tangents to explain motivations of characters in the plot, and at the end like a chaser his friend Cat walks up with the email of Captain of the Arctic Sunrise and suddenly that chapter in my book has its primary source. 

Last week I stayed with Mike and let the new year come up Coal River Valley. I washed dishes and stoked the fire and asked questions, and like all my questions in recent years my questions have apocalyptic accents. Mike is more patient with me than he is with the end of the world. He's got wisdom he doesn't know what to do with. His first arrest in the ice above the arctic circle was in 2003. Thanks Mike!