Hit with the ball, the big wheelbarrow race, the sign lies, Mahoney horse, looking back at Barrow through the water glass
Sunday, June 5, 2011 at 3:42PM 
Kalib and I played catch. His objective was to dash in close enough and throw the ball hard enough so that instead of me catching it, it would bounce off my head.
Quite often, it did bounce off my head. Today, my artificial shoulder is very sore from throwing and catching the ball. I suppose that is not correct. The artificial shoulder has no nerves. There is no feeling in it. It cannot possibly be sore. It is the muscles and connections around it that are very sore.
Twice, Kalib knocked the lens shade off my lens when he struck it instead of my head.
Jobe and his grandma engaged in a series of wheelbarrow races. Jobe won every time. "Damnit!" Margie exclaimed after the last one. "I can't understand it. I run as hard and fast as I can and the damn little kid doesn't even run, he doesn't even walk he just cutes away in the wheelbarrow and yet, every time, he crosses the finish line before I do!
"Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!"
I was shocked.
Margie doesn't usually swear like that.
And it got worse after he beat her in the next race - the race that followed the final race.
I would quote her, but I don't use that kind of language in this blog.
The road ahead is not really closed at all. There is merely a detour around a construction area. Here we are, paying taxes to our Borough government and they use that money to lie to us.
The weather, by the way, is about 20 degrees cooler than it was on that glorious Memorial Day weekend just one week ago. It is good, though. As much as I enjoyed feeling those temps in the upper 70's, I feared the country would soon catch on fire and burn up.
So the cooler weather and the moisture is good.
And there is a Mahoney horse, not caring whether the road is open, closed, or detoured.
Yesterday, I stated that I was going to use the day to completely work my way through my recent Arctic take. I only partially succeeded. As you can see in the above pictures, I allowed myself to be distracted often and frequently. I did very loosely edit all of my Point Hope pictures and I got into the Barrow pictures, but not very far.
At one point as I edited the Barrow pictures, I drank a glass of water. Just before I put the glass down, I noticed the screen looked kind of neat through the glass, so I took this picture through the water glass.
Here is an assignment for astute readers:
Once I get to Barrow in this blog, try to remember this picture and then see if you can match it up to the scene from which it comes. I might use this very picture or I might use a different frame of the same scene.
Anyway, see if you can match the two up.
Reader Comments (3)
Boys are the best LOL
Sometimes, Bill, when you write, I think that you might exaggerate things just the tinsiest. Today, I find myself thinking, 'Surely, Margie would never use language like that in front of the boys.' But then I remembered that you once said that Jobe was a mighty cusser. "Self," I thought, "that little guy must be learning it from somewhere...." But Margie? I cannot bring myself to believe such a thing about Margie! But still, the fact remains. Jobe can cuss. Looking at the pictures today, I have figured it out. You said a while back, that horses cannot be trusted. At least Alaskan horses. The boys are learning to cuss from the Mahoney horses. A responsible grandparent would be keeping them away from the bad influence of Mahoney horses.
Duck!!!!