;)
It is kind of a Sunday tradition around here for me to take whomever of my children might be about to IHOP for breakfast. Today, that meant Caleb. Our waitress was Kimberly. She was friendly and chipper, and brought coffee and multiple-flavored creamers immediately, then took our order.
Kimberly turned then away from our table, saw some people standing right behind her and shrieked. They shrieked too. Then they all started hugging. Some of her family members had come up from Kodiak, and had surprised her. Above, she hugs her brother.
;)
I am not certain if this is Kimberly's sister, sister-in-law, good friend, or what, because I had to let her work, and let them eat, so I did not ask many questions. I did give Kimberly the address to this blog, though, and she can add any information that see might like in "comments."
;)
I then looked out the IHOP window and saw ravens flying, including this one, mysteriously trailed by flying saucers. Some might challenge me on this, note the uncanny resemblance the saucers bear to the lights in IHOP and argue that there must be a connection.
That's the trouble with this society - even when you have photographic proof, the skeptics stand ready to shoot you down.
;)
Down towards Chugiak, I saw this flying object in the sky. Now, what do you skeptics have to say about this?
;)
And here is a sled dog, a member of the team owned by Diane Benson, Tlingit poet, playwright, actress and former candidate for Alaska's lone seat in Congress, mother of the Iraq war veteran, Latseen Benson, who is making a life for himself despite the fact that he lost his legs in that country. If you are curious, you can find the story on my other blog, the one about cats, beginning right here.
;)
This is Charlie, in the parking lot at Taco Bell. None of us had expected to meet here. In fact, I had been out and about and had planned to go back to my house for a few minutes - just long enough to fix myself a sandwich and then go pick Margie up from work. But when I stepped into the house, my nose was struck by an aroma most foul.
Muzzy had pooped on the floor. Muzzy is not the kind of dog who poops on floors, but when I saw the various piles he had left in an array spread before the back door, it was obvious that his tummy had gotten upset. I was wondering what to do about this when Caleb drove into the driveway, coming from wherever he had been, and then walked into the house.
I decided to let him deal with it, but I had no desire to make a sandwich as he was doing so, so I headed off for Taco Bell. Along the way, Melanie and Charlie pulled up beside me in Melanie's little car, then followed me to the parking lot.
"What are you doing here, Dad?" Melanie chided in her reprimanding tone.
"I'm going to get lunch," I said, "and then go pick your mother up from work."
"Why are you just getting lunch now? It's too late! And I can't believe your going to Taco Bell!"
"I can't believe you grew up in my house and can't believe I am going to Taco Bell," I countered. "Get in, and you two can come with me and then we will go pick up your Mom and get coffee."
Soon, we were at the drive-through and when it came time to order drinks, Charlie said he didn't want one and Melanie asked for a small Pepsi. "And I'll have..." I began.
"A small Pepsi!" Melanie interrupted me, "order a small Pepsi!"
"...a large Pepsi."
"Dad! A large Pepsi? Why? I can't believe it!"
We got our food and drove to a place in the parking lot where no cars were and stopped there to eat it.
"Dad," Melanie said as I reached for the large Pepsi. "Charlie and I need to share one drink, so you take the small Pepsi and we will share the large."
Did she think I would fall for this?
"No," I said. "I want the large Pepsi." I reached for it, but suddenly felt bad for Charlie. He had insisted that I let him pay for it all and it would not be right for him to now only have half of a small Pepsi - even if it was his own fault for not ordering a drink to begin with.
So I drank the small Pepsi - which was not enough to wash down a quesadilla and a burrito - as they shared my large Pepsi. Then we went straight to Wal-Mart, picked Margie up and headed to the nearest coffee shop. Charlie tried to pay again, but I wouldn't let him. You could say that I put my foot down, and when I did, the car moved forward and we drove away, because the gas pedal was beneath my foot.
And this event happened, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska.
Some readers might get confused, and think that it happened in Amarillo, Texas, but it didn't. It happened here. In Wasilla.
We don't go to Texas to get coffee. Everything is too small down there. We feel enclosed, trapped; we scream for elbow room, whenever we are down in Texas.
That's the trouble with living in Alaska. Afterwards, no other place can stack up. Outside, it all falls short.