On Saturday, I woke up lazy to the sound of downpour beating against the roof. It was a pleasant sound to hear while wrapped in the warmth of my covers and I contemplated the possibility of just not getting up at all but to spend the entire day in bed, alternating between dozing off and then waking up just long enough to listen to the rain before dozing back off again.
But Jimmy, my good black cat, wanted to be fed and so he caused some commotion until I got up and fed him.
Margie was already up and had cooked herself some oatmeal of the usual variety, so I cooked myself some oatmeal of the steel-cut kind, which I like better, and ate it with blueberries.
I am too broke to go anywhere or do much of anything right now, but as soon as the last invoice I sent out gets paid, I am going to buy me some new Arctic gear and a ticket to a seat on an airplane going north and head out on my next trip, hopefully no latter than Wednesday, although I had been hoping for Tuesday and if I get that money tomorrow, then it will be Tuesday.
It would actually be better to go tomorrow, Monday, but there is no way it will happen by then.
Aside from buying gear and a ticket, there is a long list of tasks that I need to accomplish before I leave and it seemed that I ought to do some of them Saturday - but even after I got up, I felt lazy. I had a great desire to stay lazy, to feel no pressure, to do nothing but lay around and be lazy, or to lazily go about doing something unimportant.
Perhaps I would not have even left the house, but Margie needed an onion for some lentil soup and some Stone Baked, Spent Grain bed to go with it. I had not stopped at Metro Cafe since late Monday afternoon, so I took off to take care of both.
I forgot my camera, but I did have my iPhone, and so I decided that on this lazy day, I would limit my photography to iPhone pictures that I would take from the car, through the rain-smacked windshield.
So here I am, in the parking lot at Carr's, about to go in and buy an onion and some spent grain bread. Although it is not on my list, I will see a bunch of watermelons of the same brand, shape and coloring as the good one I ate in front of Jobe.
I will thump a few, find another that sounds perfect and buy it, too.
I will put it on the one credit card that still has a couple of hundred dollars available, because, as noted, until I get this next check my cash reserves are nil.
I love being freelance, but I am an artist, not a businessman and making money is always secondary to me and so I am in this jam. I have been living like this, with a few brief periods of seeming prosperity, for over 30 years now and sometimes I grow so weary of it that I just want to give up and go hop a train and disappear, let the kids take care of their mom.
Late the week before last, I was contacted by a person who thought I would be just the right man to take over a public relations position in the corporation that he works for, very near the top, and he urged me to apply. It would mean a steady income, health insurance and all that, but it wouldn't work.
It's just not what I do and if something is not what I do, I can't do it. Something inside me just will not let me do it. I cannot explain. It is just how I am. It is amazing that Margie and I have survived this long at all.
So I did not apply.
As long as I had a camera and a laptop and occasional access to power and wireless, I could hop freights, though. That is who I am.
But here in Alaska, the train only goes from points in Seward and Whittier to Fairbanks, probably less than 500 miles, so you can't really go very far when you hop a train. Plus, it can get mighty cold in those freight cars.
Besides that, the Alaska Railroad is pretty strict about keeping train hoppers out of their cars.
So that wouldn't work.
For nearly two decades now, I have lived by the comforting belief that it is okay that I am not a businessman, that I have not been able to accumulate the wealth to carry and sustain Margie and I into old age, because I have honestly believed that my cats would save us.
I have recognized that as important as the work that I have done out and about in Alaska is and that importance will only grow over time, it is not work that will ever put much money in our bank account... but my cats... that is another thing... they could put money in our bank account.
I have all these wonderful photos of cats, ours' and other people's, and good stories to go with them. So I have lived with the belief that it is just a matter of getting these photos and stories into the right hands and then they will market them and the revenue will come and Margie and I can slip comfortably into old age, me to sit at my computer and write, write, write, sort through and organize a life's work of photography, bring the writing and photographt together and leave something behind that tells the story of what I saw and witnessed during my short sojourn on this earth.
But, damnit, so far those cats just aren't coming through for us!
Yet, I still believe in them. I still believe the cats will come through. And so, early in my lazy Saturday, my day of doing nothing, without ever planning to do so, well before I set out on my expedition to purchase an onion and bread, I sat down at this computer, pulled up a single cat photo and then began to write a story to go with it. I thought that I would make the story very short, perhaps two paragraphs long.
The story covers the time period between February 13, 2001 - September 22, 2001, as it relates to our cats, and I have in fact written it up before. The first draft was over 400 single-spaced pages long and the selected photographs numbered in the hundreds.
Impossible.
This time, I decided to do it with one photo and two paragraphs of modest length. And then I would submit it as a photo with caption to a certain online publication, dedicated to exposing great photography. Yes, this is kind of arrogant of me, to even imagine that this one cat-and-family related image could possibly qualify as great photography.
Still, I decided to write the two paragraphs to submit along with the photo.
As I was putting in a lazy day and wanted to feel no pressure, I told myself there was no hurry. All I needed to do was to sketch out the idea, let it simmer and then revisit it later, perhaps after I complete my next round of travels.
Yet, except for the break to stop at Metro (where I found they had closed early so that everybody could go get drenched at the State Fair) and to buy the onion, bread and watermelon, I just kept sitting here, lazily writing at that story.
I would estimate that I sat here for probably 12 hours, maybe 14, and when I finally stopped about midnight, I had a 1500 plus word story and I had added three more pictures.
I decided just to go ahead and submit the damn thing right then and there because I knew if I didn't, I would pull it back up today and would spend anywhere from a couple of hours to a full day going through it and I couldn't afford the time and it probably wouldn't read that much different and besides some pretty sloppy writing appears in this magazine because they are concerned with photography, not words and if I could catch their interest with the photo maybe they would let me have another go at the words and maybe I would then even go ahead and cut it down to two paragraphs.
So I uploaded it all and clicked "Submit."
That left me with one more thing to do before going to bed - this blog. So I plugged my iPhone into this computer, downloaded the pictures, did a quick edit, which I then rapidly processed and organized into the slide show linked at the bottom, from which I posted the images that accompany this narrative. Now, all I had left to do was to write the narrative and then I could go to bed.
I still had the feeling that I had been lazy and relaxed all day, that I had done no work at all, but when I put my fingers upon the keyboard to create the narrative, I could not make my fingers type. The problem was not in the muscles and tendons that control my fingers but in my brain.
My brain was just too exhausted to provide the words to my fingers. I guess I hadn't relaxed as much as I thought.
So I went to bed, and held off this narrative text until after I had gotten some sleep, after I had cooked oatmeal, eaten it, read the newspaper and entertained an unexpected visitor, who came even as I was writing.
I feel totally bombed right now - lazy, tired, unambitious. It is Sunday and I do not want to do anything.
This iPhone picture, by the way, is not from the car window. I took it just after I got out of the car and saw Caleb through the front window, riding his bike on a device that let's him stay in one place and pedal and pedal and pedal, kind of like a rat in a spinning wheel.
I mentioned that I took all of today's photos with my iPhone. When I went to download them, I accidently let the download start from the beginning of the iPhone cache, way back in January. I caught my mistake and stopped the early download almost immediately, but not before this picture of the late Royce popped up in my editor.
Given how I had spent the day, it was as if a ghost had appeared on my screen.
So here is Royce, who many of my longer term readers came to know and love, back from the dead, to give you all a purr.
Now... one more thing... most all of you know that despite the fact that I live in Wasilla and that I could easily increase my readership by many multiples if I would just write about Sarah Palin every day, that is not the purpose of this blog and I do not want to do that. While we may live in the same town, she inhabits a world that I simply do not care to dwell in.
Yet, yesterday, I was struck by what from my point of view is somewhat of an amazing convergence that sooner or later I may be forced to take a look at - although I am certain neither of the subjects would cooperate with me.
Regular readers know that I was raised Mormon, served a Mormon mission among the Lakota/Dakota and that afterward I followed a life dream, left the exile that I was born into and moved to Alaska.
There are certain threads moving in this blog, such as what I see and experience when I travel to other places, most often elsewhere in Alaska, but anywhere. Then there is the Wasilla thread, and, although I have not gotten heavily into it and am not a good church goer of any kind and never expect to be again, there is the Mormon thread. These threads come from the tapestry of my life.
And yesterday, 47 years after Martin Luther King took history in his hands and reshaped it for the good in a powerful way that has not been matched since, I realized that the Mormon thread and the Wasilla thread had converged at the Lincoln Memorial in a manner that I would never have imagined. Glenn Beck, you see, is a Mormon and while he may be speaking to a largely evangelical audience and adopting the kind of language that he knows will appeal to that audience and is not saying anything specific about being Mormon, it is clear to me that he sees himself as playing a pivotal roll in the fulfillment of Mormon prophecy.
And there he was, sharing the stage with my fellow Wasillan, Sarah Palin.
What am I to make of this? I want to ignore it all and just let it all go away but, somehow, against all that I see as logic, I don't think that is going to happen anytime soon.