Meanwhile, back in Wasilla, skateboarders roll for Jesus

I went to the bank this afternoon to transfer money from the business account to the family account so that the mortgage check would not bounce. I was kind of horrified at how little money was then left in either account. As I drove away via the city park route, I suddenly became aware that there were an unusual number of kids rolling about in the skateboard bowl. I had only a second or two to react, but lifted my G10 pocket camera and shot a blind frame through the open passenger window as I passed. As I did, a man's voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, entered the car.

"Dear Jesus," the detached voice pled, then paused, "will you be my Lord?"

That was all I heard. I drove on. The camera had failed to focus.

Oh well. Life is a blur, anyway.

Next, I drove to a nearby kiosk and ordered an Americano for $1.50, plus tip. Afterward, as I headed toward home, I saw this kid carrying his skateboard away from the park.

I wondered what his role in the revival had been, or if he had gone there to skate and that was it.

Maybe there was free food, too.

Time to eat cake

This was where it got very frustrating for me. Remember those two chairs that I asked you to take note of in the previous post? They were about to come into action, kind of like thrones for the bride and groom, but you will see no pictures of this event in this blog at all.

This is because all kinds of people insisted that I go eat dinner. I did not want to go eat. I wanted to stay and shoot. I did not want to miss anything. But I began to feel that by not eating I was being rude. So, finally, I capitulated and went out into the adjoining room, sat down, and ate.

To a degree, I can understand their concern in thinking that it was time for me to stop and take a break, to sit down and eat - as many others were already doing. In this regard, an Indian wedding is much more informal than a western wedding. People wander in and out at will, carry on conversations and break away to go eat.

But back to their concern. If you could have seen me, you would have been concerned, too. I told you how hot it was. Steaming hot. Even the people there said it was hot. Hotter than it was supposed to be. And I was sweating. I sweated and sweated. I soaked my shirt. My hair was plastered to my head.

My sweat dripped into my eyes and stung them, causing my lids to swell a bit. Ganesh and others repeatedly brought me water and lemon juice and, with no exaggeration, I am quite certain that my consumption of these liquids reached into the gallons. And not once did I have to visit the restroom.

I sweated it all away as fast I drank it.

So I can understand the concern, but what they did not know about me is that when I shoot pictures, physical comfort becomes inconsequential. All that matters is that I follow through and do the job I set out to do. Anyone who doubts this just needs to look at my larger body of Alaska work.

If I concerned myself first with comfort, and gave in to discomfort, huge amounts of this work would not exist.

And I have been much, much, much more uncomfortable in the cold than I was in this heat, and for much, much, longer periods of time.

But I hate to be rude. And I began to feel very rude by saying "no," each time someone tried to get me to set aside my camera and go eat.

So I thought I would eat quick, and get back to it.

But the food just kept coming and coming and coming, long after I was filled. And it felt rude to get up and walk away from it.

At times, such as above, I could see a bit of the ceremony from where I sat at the table. So I shot and ate.

Finally, Murthy told me that it was okay to leave my banana leaf, even though the servers kept piling food upon it. "The food will not go to waste," he said. "It will be eaten by the cows, the monkeys, the street dogs..." by all the varied animals that one sees all over in Bangalore, anywhere in India that I have been, walking around with the people, seemingly possessed of as much right as any person.

So, my belly stuffed beyond comfort with food that can only be described as "exquisite," I left my banana leaf behind and returned to the wedding. This was what I found happening when I reentered.

And then there were more blessings, that the bride and groom might live in abundance...

..including blessings from Bhanumati, mother of the bride...

...and the Priest, Sri. Nagesh Bhatt. And yes, when Hindus accept blessings, they do humble themselves.

The bride's parents receive blessings.

Finally, the bride and groom were free to have dinner themselves. By now, most of the guests had eaten. Soundarya took my arm. "I want you to come and eat with us," she said. I was already stuffed, yet I entered the dining room with them, sat down beside her and began to eat again - and to take a few pictures from that position.

And then they did something very familiar to anyone who has attended a standard American wedding: they fed each other cake. And don't be worried that the photographer standing in the background is not going to photograph the cake exchange.

He will stop them, and have them pose like they are eating cake. Here they are, posing.

And then they get back to eating cake for real.

So the wedding ceremony is over... well, sort of... before the night ends, rituals must be performed at the homes of the parents.

I return to the wedding

For those who are following the wedding, especially my relatives and friends in India, I apologize for having left it so long. I kept not having the time that I felt I needed to get back to it. But I am back now, and will finish this very evening, before I go to bed.

I left the wedding after Anil had tied the knot that bound the sacred necklace to the body and soul of the woman who was now his wife, to the applause and cheering of those in attendence.

There was still much more to come, however.

And so we continue...

Soon comes a ceremony in which the brother of the bride, Ganesh, repeatedly hands his sister a large scoop of rice, after which she and the groom stand and together pour it into the fire, further symbolizing the bond between themselves and their families. The bride and groom then circle the wedding platform. This happens a total of seven times.

Here is Ganesh, transferring the rice.

The bride and groom drop the rice into the fire.

The bride and groom circle the wedding platform. Please take note of the two chairs at right, now occupied by Anil's brother and his wife.

In the US, everybody knows about the exchange of rings that go on the fingers of the bride and groom, thus telling everyone that they are married. In India, the groom also places a marriage ring upon the second toes of both feet.

Feet seldom disappear into shoes the way they do here, so this ring will almost always be visible when Sandy is in a public place.

And then he dips her toes into rice, formed into the shape of an elephant, which rests atop a banana leaf.

Afterwards, there is a reception. Well-wishers line up to offer their congratulations.

Anil is congratulated by some of his friends.

Everybody wants to get their picture taken with the bride and groom. For the most part, I leave this task to the local photographer.

You might think that the ceremonies are all over now, but they aren't.

India, Wasilla, work - I have hit that proverbial wall

To the 3.578 billion people out there who read my blog daily, you who hardly sleep at night because you are so excited to get up to see what I have posted that you can't even shut your eyes, let me say that I am perplexed. I am confused. I do not know how to proceed.

I just don't.

I am a perplexed, confused, man.

Anyway, here is a picture from India - a Hindu temple at a place called Hampi, which was a thriving city until Muslim invaders destroyed and ruined it in the 1600's, then left it to fall into the earth.

The temple did not fall, however. Much of Hampi did, and is now rising once again from the earth, but the temple stood tall through all the centuries that have since passed.

When I returned home, it was my plan to spend two weeks posting pictures and a narrative from my India trip. In that time, I planned to cover the entire experience. But here it is, two-and-a-half weeks later and I have not even finished my account of the first three days, including Sandy's wedding.

I have nearly two weeks of work beyond that wedding to cover, work that I shot over a fairly large swath of southern India and risked not only my own life but that of my beloved daughter to get.

You will see what I mean, if and when I get to the images that make the point.

I skimmed through the entire take the other day and was rather amazed at some of the images I spotted. For two weeks plus a day, I did pretty good, I think.

I have hardly even posted a hint of it, so far.

What is to become of all this India work? Will it just be buried, unseen, in my computer, as was my last trip to India? As is so much of what I shoot? Where do I find the time to edit, process and post it? Before it becomes ancient history?

Meanwhile, life is moving on in Wasilla. People need to know that the antics of our most famous citizen are not indicative of us all. Other than the short time I spend each day riding my bike and snapping pictures as I go, I am so overwhelmed that I cannot document this town, as I planned when I started the blog, as I promised to do. And in nine or ten days, I head north, to the Arctic Slope, where I plan to stay until late July.

So, what do I do?

I don't know.

My black cat knows what I should do.

He has a perfect understanding of everything.

I wish I were as wise as he.

Yet he can be very silly.

I think maybe I will eat some enchiladas.

I really love enchiladas.

I ride my bike down Wasilla Main Street and then on past Wasilla Malibu (India: much more to come)

First, all of the pictures in this post, with the exception of the one inside KFC, were taken as I pedaled my bicycle. When I get on my bike, it is my tendency to turn away from where the most people are and to go where there are the fewest.

But today, about one mile into my trip, I found myself headed towards "down town." I was about to turn away when I changed my mind and decided to continue on.

Not so long ago, I had heard Wasilla Main Street touted as a strip of ultimate wisdom, a place rich in the good, strong, values that have made our great country what it is. So I decided that I would go straight to Main Street, peddle the entire three blocks and see if I could find subjects to photograph that would exemplify these values. Perhaps I could soak up a bit of that wisdom myself.

Here, in the image above, I have just turned on to Main Street. I see an example of friendship. That's a pretty good value. 

And then I spot these guys, working hard. Hard work. Yes, it took a lot of hard work to make America what it is. Furthermore, what they are working on is the sign for the new clinic of the Back and Neck Pain Relief Center of Wasilla.

In the year 2006, my back began to hurt terribly. I did not know why, but it became so bad that I could hardly function. So I called the Back and Neck Pain Relief Center and went in and set up an appointment with Dr. Tyan Payne. When I arrived, I found a very tiny woman and I was a little skeptical that she had the strength to do the job.

But she did. And she put my spinal column back in alignment. What a difference for good she made in my life!

Now that I have shattered my shoulder and had it replaced with titanium, I am reluctant to go back, but maybe one day.

I would recommend her to anybody.

So - healing. America is kind of messed up on this front and I am outraged with my health insurance company, whose salesman was a downright liar and the company is a ripoff - but this is a good place and they really do heal. To heal is a good value.

As I prepared this photo, I accidently clicked the wrong button and it switched to black and white. I could have easily switched it back, but black and white somehow seemed more appropriate, so I left it.

I am not certain what American value is represented here, but it must be a good one.

I am just about to the end of Main Street. Once you cross the Parks Highway ahead, you are no longer on Main but on Knik Road.

Well, you can see Wasilla is doing its part to keep the automotive industry alive.

Sadly, though, I feel no wiser than I did when I first pedaled on to Main.

I turned off Main Street and soon pedaled down the bike trail that leads past Wasilla Lake. I call this beach Wasilla Malibu. On hot days, especially weekends and holidays, it is crowded with people, just like Malibu Beach, California. No one is surfing, but people do waterski out there.

Today was hot - 78 degrees here at the house - but it was not a weekend or holiday and the crowd was not so huge as it sometimes gets. Nor were there as many young women in bikinis as there sometimes are. This was a bit of a relief for me, as people might have thought that was my sole reason for taking pictures.

Still, the crowd was big enough to begin to convey the idea and so, as I pedaled by, I raised the pocket camera and clicked off a few snaps.

Now that I have established that I am not doing this to get pictures of young women in bikinis, but just to document the true life of Wasilla, maybe it will be okay if, when they are here, sauntering about in droves, I get a few pictures.

Sometimes, when you are pedaling a bike and taking pictures, it is hard to nail down your focus. I don't care. Focus is not always all its cracked up to be.

Hey, wow! Wise words! I must have picked up some wisdom on Wasilla Main Street, after all.

I pedaled on down to the largest accumulation of fast food restaurants in Wasilla. I ventured into KFC and ordered two hot dogs, french fries and a Pepsi.

I planned to take the long way home and so figured that I would pedal a total of close to 15 miles. I needed those hot dogs to fuel my journey.

I pedal past Wasilla Malibu again, # 1.

I pedal past Wasilla Malibu again, #2.

I pedal past Wasilla Malibu again, #3.

I pedal past Wasilla Malibu again, #4.

I pedal past Wasilla Malibu again, #5.

I took many more pictures as I pedaled the long way home, but I haven't time to post them, so I limit this to the images from Main and Malibu.

Probably, no one will ever see the other pictures, including me. I am certain there are some masterpieces among them, images that MOMA, The International Center of Photography, The Louvre and all the best museums in the world would just love to hang on their walls, but, since no one is ever going to see these images, they are just out of luck.

Sometimes, the best art is the art that no one ever sees.

I should pedal down Main Street every day. I would become so wise I that I could not stand myself.