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I’m not sure why we got a copy of “Alaska” magazine in the mail. No one in my family remembers subscribing it to it.

For the most part, we tend to do a pretty good job keeping track of the magazines we subscribe to. There was one time at my dentist’s office when I filled out and mailed in a random magazine reply card out of boredom. Four weeks later, I received my first copy of “Cat Fancy” magazine with a two-year commitment that required a letter from my congressman to get out of. Note to Don Young: I am still waiting for your help on this one. Please call!

The copy of “Alaska” magazine came the same day that we got the recent issue of “The New Yorker.” Both of these magazines were in our mailbox when I came home from work a couple of weeks ago. I brought them into the house and immediately tossed them into our ever-expanding pile of magazines and newspapers that we plan on reading when we have some leisure time. We have a 6-month old and a 7-year-old at home. Leisure time will come, that I am sure of, and when that time comes I will read said newspapers. What I am not so sure of is how interesting it will be to read a newspaper where the “news” is 18 years old.

That night we were blessed by surprisingly early bed times for both boys, so I was able to sit down and catch up on some reading. I decided to start with the two new arrivals, so I cracked open the mysterious “Alaska” magazine first. I immediately flipped to the story written by fellow News-Miner columnist and occasional cage-fighting opponent Ned “I am a fancy science writer who occasionally skis a billion miles through hostile conditions just for the heck of it” Rozell (he goes by “Ned”).

It’s rare that I get jealous reading something by Ned because the adventures he goes on are so beyond my own abilities. But this month’s article was a little different. He talked about the joy of being able to commute to and from work by skiing, biking or hiking. That type of daily bonding with Mother Nature is easy to do when one lives a mile or two from work like Ned does and the distance can be covered by groomed ski trails.

I, on the other hand, live in North Pole and work at the university. No opportunities for skiing or hiking there, and a bicycle commute might be possible if I were willing to begin my commute at 6 a.m. As I read about Ned’s encounters with ravens, foxes and quail grouse, and how he enjoys living his life in such a simple manner that allows him to connect with the outdoors, I felt a tinge of jealousy. It sounded so much like the right thing to do. It sounded so appealing.

Closing the magazine with a sad sigh, I said to no one in particular “That is the life I want to live and that is what I want to do.”

I then picked up “The New Yorker” and began combing through the “Goings on about town” section. I am a lifelong Alaskan who enjoys life here, but lurking inside is someone who would love to take the family and make a break to the Big City. “Goings on about town” allows me to experience what one can do in the Big City without leaving the Golden Heart City.

As is usually the case, the section featured a plethora of options. The new David Mamet play with Nathan Lane. A concert with Joshua Bell and Jeremy Denk at Carnegie Hall. Countless gallery openings and museum exhibits. Don’t get me started with the food. And how about heading to Madison Square Gardens to take in a Knicks game, simply to join the locals in screaming for the firing of Coach Isiah Thomas? It sounded so much like the right thing to do. It sounded so appealing.

Closing the magazine with a sad sigh, I said to no one in particular “That is the life I want to live and that is what I want to do.”

I had no sooner put the magazine down when I heard a muffled cry from upstairs. I went up to Harrison’s room where he was lying in his crib with his blanket wrapped all around his body and head. You see, we McCrea men are not stationary sleepers. We like to move. If you were to film our slumber with a camera and watch the video later, you would think that we were auditioning for a Jackie Chan movie.

I rescued Harrison from his blanket, and the second he saw it was me, he broke out into a large smile. “Thank you dad,” his smile seemed to say. “Thank you for rescuing me from the blanket from hell.”

I carried him downstairs and sat with him on the couch. He wasn’t quite ready to be awake, so lying back in my arms, he peered up at me while his eyelids fluttered. I talked to him about what I had just read in the two magazines. I talked about how Ned once saw two coyotes on one commute to work. I talked about the restaurant review of Dell’anima and how the ricotta ravioli sounded pretty darn good.

After a while, he grew weary of my conversation and went back to sleep. Ever so quietly, I carried him back upstairs and gently set him down in his crib. He stirred for a second, gave a tiny whimper and then went back to sleep. I tiptoed out of his room. Closing his door with a happy sigh, I said to no one in particular “This the life I want to live and this is what I want to do.”