Airplanes, ice cream and the need to escape; the final picture of the living Royce

I just want to escape for a bit now - not forever, not for years, not for months, perhaps not even for weeks. Days would be good, but I don't have days to spare. Hours, perhaps?

Just for a bit - and then while I am in escape to imagine that this little bit is forever. I want to climb into my airplane as I once used to do and go up there, into the clouds, into the sky, as I witnessed someone else do here, above me, late yesterday afternoon or early evening as I pedaled my bicycle.

But I want to be more free than the folks in this plane were. They were in the air, but they were completely controlled by people down on the ground, people who gave them orders as to just what altitude, heading direction and speed they could fly.

I want to be in the air, my hand on the stick and my brain free to choose what direction to push that stick and if I should push it that way and then change my mind and decide I want to go the other way and climb or descend to a different altitude than that is what I want to be able to do.

I want to fly into the updraft and then just let go of the damn stick altogether and let the wind carry me; see how high it will lift me into the sky before it turns me loose, and then to see what the view looks like from that perspective. There will be many mountains to look at, I assure you, and fields of ice and snow. 

I know, because it has happened just this way before.

And if I should come upon an eagle, bald or otherwise, I want to push the stick so that the airplane goes into a hard bank, to fly a tight circle with the eagle at center, it's pivot point, close enough to my cockpit window so that I can see the eye that it locks upon my eye.

When this happens with an eagle, even though one is flying a 360 degree circle around it and it is matching the turn degree for degree, the eagle appears not to move at all. The only hint that the eagle is rotating is that the areas of light and shadow upon the eagle change. Only the rays of the sun mark its turn, for its eye stays connected with yours, it's eye looks right into your's, and does not blink. It's wings do not flap, it's body appears to remain stationary.

But my airplane is broken and I cannot do such things now.

Yet I must break away for a bit.

What will I do?

Will I ride my bike, on and on, never stopping?

No, I am not fit enough right now to do that.

Will I walk, hike, up in the mountains?

I don't know.

But I've got to break free for a bit, somehow.

Of course, there is always ice cream. We have a Dairy Queen in Wasilla and I love their soft ice cream. This is from one week ago. Jacob, Kalib and Jobe were visiting us while Lavina went to Homer with Sandy for Sandy's early bachelorette party. She is getting married September 4 at Lake Lucille, here in Wasilla.

So us boys went and got ice cream. The chocolate coated cone Jacob is grabbing is for him. The other one is for Kalib. The milkshake, strawberry, is for me. Poor Jobe! He got none.

He didn't feel bad, though.

It didn't bother him at all.

Kalib, with his ice-cream cone.

Remember the patch of dandelions in the black and white series that Royce defended from Happy the dog and then floated above? This is the very patch, 15 years later. And that's Kalib in it, the little boy that has emerged from the baby that Royce loved so greatly.

If Margie were not spending her week days in town, babysitting Jobe, there would not be so many dandelions here. She loves to spend the days of late spring pulling dandelions out by the roots. There have been years where it has appeared that she has gotten them all, but, of course, with dandelions, you never get them all.

The dandelions are always there, surviving, even when not seen, even when the ground is frozen solid and the snow piled atop it. The dandelions are there, preparing to proliferate again. To a young boy, this is not a bad thing.

To a young boy, it is a magical thing, one that supplies him with many tiny parachutes to launch into the breeze.

Oh, dear! I have gotten things completely out of order! Chronologically, this picture should have preceded the ice cream shots. In it, we have just begun the trip to Dairy Queen. Muzzy needs a little exercise, so he runs alongside the Tahoe as Jacob drives down Sarah's Way toward Seldon. When we reach Seldon, Jacob will stop the car and Muzzy will get in.

Then we will continue on to buy the ice cream.

Now I am in the car. I have just stopped by Metro Cafe where Carmen and Sashana presented me with smiles and a cup, plus a muffin and I did not pay for either one. Someone out there, one of you my readers who refused to identify yourself, felt badly when s/he read about Royce and so bought this cup and muffin for me.

It was a very nice thought and I thank you.

So I proceeded on, to escape as best I could while drinking from the cup and eating the muffin. I passed by Grotto Iona, the Place of Prayer, and there were horses there.

On my way towards Grotto Iona, I came upon a place where a vehicle had gone off the road and was down in the bushes. A tow truck had just arrived and there were a few guys there. Before I could safely turn on my camera and get it ready, the picture was behind me.

On the way back, I knew they were there. As I passed, I lifted the camera as high as I could, hoping that it would catch the vehicle down in the bushes, but it didn't.

Out of chronologically order again - here is Carmen, before the Grotto and the horses, before the vehicle off the road, even before I got my cup and muffin. I have not even reached the drive-through window yet.

Metro Cafe, headed to drive-through window study, #32.9: Carmen and Branson

Financially, though I have managed to go far and do many things, these past few months have been hell. But finally my latest contract has been activated and yesterday I got my first check. I took Margie to the movie in Eagle River - Jonah Hex. 

In many ways, it was an absurd movie and the bad guys came to predictable ends, but it was fun. It was escape and I enjoyed it. Afterwards, Margie and I dined at nearby Chepos.

The food was good and the atmosphere pleasant. 

And then, last night, as I was going backwards through my largely neglected take of the past week, I came upon this, the very last picture of Royce, alive and aware, that I ever took or ever will take.

Since his passing, Chicago has been a very needy cat. She wants to be with me constantly. As much as is practical, I let her.

The wedding of Rainey and B-III, part 1: getting there - I almost miss my flight; smiles, laughter and good food abound

I almost missed the wedding. At 3:23 AM on May 31, shortly after I arrived home in Wasilla from Arizona, I put up a post in which I noted that a spider had just bitten me and that I planned to go to bed for four hours, then get up, go pick up some distressed kitty cats, take care of some tasks, and afterward drive to Anchorage to catch a 1:00 PM Alaska Airlines flight that would begin my trip north, to Anaktuvuk Pass.

I arose at 7:40 and sat down at my computer at 7:50 to check my emails. I then decided to double-check my flight itinerary, just to be safe.

I opened it and damn near suffered a heart-attack. My Alaska Airlines flight out of Anchorage was scheduled not for 1:00 PM, but for 10:15 AM. It was my Wright Air flight out of Fairbanks to Anaktuvuk that was scheduled for 1:00 PM.

I dropped everything, grabbed my suitcase, still fully packed from Arizona, jumped into the car, made a quick stop at the place where the kitties were, gave them a pat on the head and told them not to worry, that Caleb would pick them up later in the day and then I would see them in just a couple of days more.

I then dashed off to Anchorage. I checked in for my 10:15 flight at exactly 9:15 - pretty much the last minute, if you have luggage.

Here I am, sitting in my seat, looking out the window at Denali, enroute to Fairbanks. Given the cloud cover, tourists down on the ground would not be able to see our great mountain.

I caught a cab from the main terminal at Fairbanks International to Wright Air on the other side of the airport and it cost $20. The driver turned out to be James Albert, the little brother of my friend, Rose Albert.

At 1:00 PM, I boarded the Wright Air flight along with half-a-dozen other passengers - everyone of whom was on their way to the wedding.

Those seen here in front of me as they pay rapt attention to the pilot's preflight briefing include Rainey's friends, Beth Marino, Joe Hickman and Neva Hickman.

I was kind of wishing that I had been the first passenger to board, so that I could have taken the right-hand seat. That way, if the pilot passed out or something, I could have flown the plane.

I really wanted to fly the plane.

I thought about asking, but then the pilot would have told me, "no!"

I would have felt silly and embarrassed.

Payuk Nay, cousin to B-III, was ready with his in-flight Wonder Classic White Sandwich Bread.

Soon, Payuk pulled out his harmonica and provided us with some in-flight entertainment. Elvira Gueco of Barrow grins from the next seat.

Beth Marino, a friend of Rainey's from college, looks out the window at what little she can see of Alaska's great interior.

She couldn't see much, because many wildfires were burning. As we flew north, it only got worse - so bad that we could not see the ground, not even the Yukon River.

After about an hour-and-a-half, the pilot flew into the pattern in preparation to land at the AKP airport.

The pilot brings us down on final.

After the wedding guests exit the airplane, Rainey hugs her friend, Beth Marino

Elvira Gueco gives an enthusiastic hug to the groom to be, Ben Hopson, III, who also goes by "B-3" and "B-III," both of which are pronounced exactly the same. Elvira is originally from the Philippines, but lives in Barrow now. She and her husband Ralph have befriended many Iñupiat. She is well-known for her cooking skills and would bring a touch of Asian to the wedding feast.

I should know the name of this little character welcoming Payuk home, but you know, my brain gets older every day.

The groom to be - B-III.

Just like Payuk, we all caught rides to our destinations in eight-wheeled Argos, the main form of summer transportation in Anaktuvuk Pass and countryside. 

The road system in Anaktuvuk Pass is pretty short - to the north, it reaches for approximately two to three miles to the dump and to the south it follows the runway and ends maybe a bit more than a mile from the village.

Even so, on a windy, 50 below day, a ride in a car, even just for a few blocks, is welcome.

Soon, I enter the house of Rainey and B-III, where I will spend my two nights in Anaktuvuk. That's Rainey's younger sister, Angela, to the right. Angela works out of Anchorage for the Arctic Slope Regional Corporation and used her frequent flyer miles to get me to Anaktuvuk. Thank you, Angela!

The fellow standing in the background is Rainey's brother, Sonny. Altough she occupies but a tiny spot at the left side of the screen, Casey Nay had done and would do a great deal of work and cooking to help make this wedding a success.

Payuk stirs come caribou stew. Soon, I would have a bowl. Superb, par excellence, exquisite. Not even in the finest restaurants of New York City can one find cuisine such as this.

Some readers may think that I exaggerate, but I don't.

No food is better than natural, wild, food, prepared right - and this was prepared right.

At this wedding, there would be no fancy, multi-tiered skyscraper cake with a plastic bride and groom standing in the frosting at the top. Instead, there would be wild salmonberry cakes, with salmonberry glaze, being made here by Sonny and Angela.

Even with all this cooking going on, there were war games to be played.

Rainey got out a pile of my old Uiñiq magazines to show me. The one on top is an issue I did in 1991 on Point Hope, the village where she was born and raised. Both she and B-3 were living in Barrow six years ago, when Rainey found herself pursued by many suitors.

One day, B-3 showed up at her house with two caribou that he had just shot. Then he took her for a snowmachine ride on the tundra. It was no contest after that. B-III was her man.

A year ago, they moved here to Anaktuvuk Pass, B-3's home village.

I should have used this picture in yesterday's post, when I explained what I see as the rather amazing connections that have brought Rainey, Dustinn and the family of Vincent Craig and myself all together as friends.

Just before 5:00 PM, we all left to walk to the cemetery to take part in the village Memorial Day service and feast.

Please do not suspect that I exaggerate the happiness that everyone felt this day. This is how it truly was. Smiles and laughter abounded. I saw no one get angry, I saw not one scowl nor sour face.

Life is not always this good, anywhere, but today, here in Anaktuvuk Pass, it was.

It would be tomorrow as well - despite the fact that Mother Nature would not exactly cooperate with the original wedding plan.

Later that evening - the two sisters, Rainey and Angela.

The wedding of Nasuġraq Rainey Higbee to B-III would take place the next day. If all goes according to my plan, readers can view that wedding tomorrow, right here.

Back online at Fairbanks International Airport, enroute AKP - to ANC

This is Anaktuvuk Pass, this morning about 8:00 AM. I will make a couple of good reports from Anaktuvuk -maybe three or four, perhaps even more, but this post is not one of them. This post has but one purpose - to let you know that I am back online and to get something up at a reasonable hour of this day.

I am online because I am at Gate 1 at the Alaska Airlines Terminal of the Fairbanks International Airport, where my plane is scheduled to board, shortly. The airport has free wireless - as, indeed, all good, full-service, airports should.

This is Nasuġraq Rainey, formerly Higbee, but as of yesterday afternoon, Nasuġraq Rainey Hopson, her cat, Harley and her sister, Angela. Eventually, I will prepare a good report on the wedding of Rainey and B-III, and I will also give Harley a post all of her own, because she certainly deserves, but I will not do so now.

Right now, I just have to get something up, so I can catch my plane.

And here is Payuk, with one of Rainey's puppies. The puppy's dad just might be a wolf, who Rainey spotted one day eyeing a penned dog in heat. Maybe the wolf figured out how to get to the dog.

And here I am, in the plane, wishing that it was my plane, as the pilot prepares to lift off the runway.

And here we all are, the pilot, me, Byron and Alvira, airborne, leaving AKP, headed to Fairbanks.

And here we are, flying through the Brooks Range.

There are wildfires burning and so the air is filled with smoke. Two days ago, enroute from FAI to AKP, the smoke was so thick that we could not even see the Yukon River when we flew over it.

Today, although hazy, we could at least see the Yukon.

And here we are, landing in Fairbanks.

This is all I am going to post for now. My plane is scheduled to begin boarding in 11 minutes. I want to get a treat before it boards.

Update, 2:45 PM:

Well, my flight has been delayed. By an hour-and-a-half.

Damnit.

Guess I will sit here and web surf.

The funeral of Vincent Craig, Part 4: A helicopter passes overhead, procession moves down the hill, military honors, Mormon honors, Apache honors

After the funeral service, the flag-draped coffin that held the body of my friend, Vincent Craig, was wheeled outside the doors of the big Mormon chapel and church house in Lakeside. Those gathered around paused, stood very silent and listened. Soon, the distant beating of whirling helicopter rotors could be heard, growing steadily louder as the chopper that they propelled through the air steadily approached.

Then the helicopter appeared, first as a tiny dot rising above the distant trees. Then it hovered directly overhead, beating the air loudly. All eyes looked up. This chopper had come from Overseas Aircraft Support, a company that rebuilds military helicopters. Vincent had showed up there a few years back, told them he had been a helicopter mechanic in the Marine Corps, had asked for a job and had got it. He had helped to rebuild this very helicopter, which, I was told by his coworker and pallbearer Richard Johnson, will soon be in service in Afghanistan.

After the helicopter disappeared, Vincent's wife, Mariddie, was surrounded by those who sought to comfort her. Before the service began, a small group of relatives and close friends had gathered in the Relief Society room, where Mariddie delivered the family prayer. She expressed her gratitude for the strength and love of her children, grandchildren, family and friends.

As I discovered when we buried my own parents, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints does not allow photography inside their chapels. I wish that I could have at least taken a picture of the congregation that had gathered in this building to say goodbye to Vincent.

This place was chosen for his funeral services because it is not just any ordinary chapel, but rather a Mormon Stake Center. While the chapel itself is large, behind it is a full-sized basketball gymnasium. A sliding partition separates the gym from the chapel. Twice each year, members of all the wards and branches within the LDS Pinetop-Lakeside Stake, a large area which includes the reservation as well as Pinetop-Lakeside and other non-Indian border areas, gather here for Stake Conference. The partition is then drawn and the chapel and the gymnasium become one huge meeting hall. Just like in Utah, white settlement in Arizona Apache country was pioneered by Mormons and their numbers remain strong. It takes a huge churchhouse to accommodate the people of all the wards when they meet. Even so, Dustinn recalled going to Stake Conference with his parents as he grew. Never once did he see this building filled to capacity the way it was for his father.

For his father, the chapel and the gym were packed to capacity.

As the many mourners had entered, Organist Ann Flake played "Oh My Father," a Mormon funeral standard that was also sung by the congregation as the opening hymn, led by music director and close family friend, Phoebe Nez. Jacob Zuniga offered the opening prayer.

Of the excellent speeches that were delivered in this building on this day, I was moved most by the memories and love expressed by Vincent's three sons, Dustinn, Nephi and Shiloh and by his older brother, Harrison. I will not try to recount any of their words here, but I might include some of what they said in the tribute that I will begin to put together after I post this entry. 

Vincent's close friend, Ronnie Peaches, told how the Apache people had adopted this famous Navajo as one of their own. The closing remarks, a summary of Mormon belief in the resurrection, was delivered by President Shumway of the Pinetop-Lakeside Stake.

One day, very near to the end of his life when his physical strength was fading but not gone, Vincent Craig asked for his guitar and then, from his hospital bed, spontaneously composed a goodbye song to his family. Dustinn recorded this final performance and that recording was played here, on this day, inside this chapel.

His voice was weak, but the beauty and love that came from it was strong. The congregation listened. Many wept.

Vincent's sister, Vivian Craig Begay, offered the benediction. Then, as the organist played, "God Be With You 'til we meet again," a representative of Owens Livingston Mortuaries wheeled the casket through a walkway too narrow to accommodate we pall bearers. We, and all the congregation of mourners, followed him into the sun.

Those of us who were pall bearers then wheeled the casket to the hearse. After we rolled it inside, members of the honor guard saluted as Vincent's brother, Harrison Craig, held the Marine colors.

I had to wait a long time before I could pull out of my parking space and enter the line of mourners for the 25 mile processional down the White Mountains to the Whiteriver cemetery. As a pall bearer, this worried me a bit because I did not want to arrive late at the graveside - although I was quite certain they would not start without me.

After I finally worked my way into a line that seemed to have no end in either direction, I saw this bumper sticker directly in front of me and I laughed.

No, not for the mistaken reason that readers unfamiliar with life in this part of the country can be forgiven for thinking. "Shi" is the Navajo word for "my." In one of his songs about the rituals of modern day Navajo romance, Vincent shouts out, "oh, shi heart!"

Hence the bumper sticker, made and marketed by the little company created by Vincent and Dustinn.

As the procession worked its way through Pinetop-Lakeside, some who could not be in it found a way to express their sentiment.

The highway that descends the White Mountains down to Whiteriver is a winding one. Sometimes, when the curves and slants were just right, I would catch a glimpse of the procession behind me in my rearview mirror. I could not see the end of it.

And off to the side, many vehicles traveling in the opposite direction pulled over to show their respect.

As we neared Whiteriver, I finally got a long view of the procession ahead. Even so, the hearse was beyond the reach of my eyesight.

I parked and followed this young family up into the Cemetery. Through Margie, I have many relatives buried here, including my father-in-law, Randy Roosevelt. His was the first funeral that I ever attended on the land of the White Mountain Apache.

A few of those gathered.

I don't know what the temperature was, but it was hot. Not searing, the way Arizona can be, but hot. Even so, a breeze ebbed and surged. It lifted the tie of Harrison Craig.

The pall bearers, minus myself. Vincent planned his funeral himself, with help from his wife. No one knew that I would be attending then and I was not on the list of pall bearers. The night before I was needed, Mariddie told me that one of those selected was not going to be able to make it and asked if I would take his place.

I must have gotten a dismayed look on my face, because she quickly added, "or would you rather take pictures?" 

"Yes," I answered. "I would prefer to take pictures." Then I thought about it a little more. How could I better honor my friend than to set my cameras aside long enough to carry him to his grave?

The day before, at the visitation, I had shot a couple of frames from the vantage point of a pall bearer. On this day, as we carried Vincent to his grave, my eyes saw many powerful images in front of them. I let them pass. I carried my friend with my full measure of solemnity and respect.

The family of Vincent Craig.

An Marine honor contingent fired their salute in three parts.

Vincent's fellow veterans saluted as Taps was played.

Two Marines fold Vincent's flag.

In a display of what struck me as pure and sincere humility, a Marine kneeled before Mariddie and presented Vincent's flag to her. Afterward, he stood up, saluted her and then marched respectfully out of the scene - as did the gunners and bugler. 

Ernie Crocker played two Mormon hymns on his harmonica, then finished with a love song dedicated from Vincent to Mariddie: "You Are My Sunshine."

Harrison asked all those not in military uniform who wore hats to remove them, then, as a family member and Mormon Priesthood holder, offered a special prayer of dedication.

Those who wore flowers pinned them to the Navajo blanket that had replaced the flag and would now go into the grave with Vincent.

All four of Vincent's grandsons: Kraig, Chance, Tristan and Ari. All three of Vincent's sons: Shiloh, Nephi and Dustinn.

At Mariddie's request, the funeral director noted that he was about to open the casket one last time and asked that no pictures be taken until it was closed up again. Then, in the Apache way, Mariddie and family placed items of food and drink in the casket, including a canteen filled with water and corn chips.

Then the coffin was closed again, sealed into the vault and lowered into the earth. In the Apache way, Mariddie and Nephi then brought an armload of Vincent's clothing to the grave and dropped them in with him. 

 

Family members and pall bearers then brought more of Vincent's clothing and personal items and, in the Apache way, left them with him. Now the grave was ready to be covered.

Please take note of the emblem on the top article of clothing. That is the logo for a skateboard competition that Vincent MC'd in Whiteriver in 2000 - just as he MC'd all the Whiteriver competitions. I have not forgotten that day in the late 1970's when Vincent organized and mc'd the first skateboard event ever held on this reservation.

I photographed it all. Somewhere, unseen now for over 30 years, the negatives lie in one of my filing cabinets - along with so many other invisible images.

Take note, too, of all the white shirts and black ties, worn at Vincent's request. A few days ago, I mentioned how, these days, I just basically will not wear white shirts and ties.

Yet on this day, in the midst of this Apache funeral for my Navajo friend, when I looked out and saw all these Mormon-evocative white shirts, black ties, and black slacks, I felt extremely proud to be dressed this way myself. 

As we all will be, my friend Vincent has now returned to the earth.

A moment of certainty and awe.

Mormon leader Ernie Crocker then prayed in Apache and dedicated the grave.

The ash that had been gathered from the cooking fires was then brought to the foot of the grave. First, the men scooped up handfuls, then circled the grave in the Apache way, sprinking ash along the edges as they did. Above is Ari, Nephi, and Emerson.

After the men, the women followed. The last one to circle was Vincent's sister, Elvira.

In the interlude, I take a walk to Riverview Park

Yesterday, the Craig family gathered at the home of Dustinn, Vincent and Mariddie's eldest son, to decide where and when the various events and services would be held. The final decision was that a visitation will take place Thursday from 1:00 to 8:00 PM at the local Fort Apache Branch of the Mormon Church. That chapel is too small to accommodate all the guests expected to attend the funeral, so the services will be held the following morning at 10:00 AM at the large Pinetop-Lakeside Mormon Stake Center in Lakeside, a town just beyond the border of the Fort Apache Indian Reservation, home to the White Mountain Apache Tribe.

After the service, a funeral procession will work its way 25 miles down the winding highway that descends the White Mountains into Whiteriver, where Vincent will be buried with full military honors. Vincent is Navajo, but, like my wife Margie, Mariddie is Apache and it is in Whiteriver that the couple and their family has spent most of their life. One can be certain, however, that many Navajos will be present, along with members of other tribes and plenty of non-Indians, too.

Afterward, there will be a feast at the Fort Apache chapel.

Just before the family meeting began, there was a feast at Dustinn's house. As the older people visited, Taikayah, a granddaughter to Vincent and Mariddie through Mariddie's cousin Alicia, hula-hooped in the backyard.

As evening approached, I took a walk toward Riverview Park, just a few blocks from Dustinn's house. A jet, on final approach to Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, passed overhead.

I found four softball diamonds, with a game going on each one.

A jet flew over the game as well. 

Not far away, a saguaro cactus stood tall as still another in an endless procession of jets slipped down toward the runway.

It was the kind of evening I have not seen in years. Not blistering hot as Phoenix can be at this time of year, but very warm, with twilight rapidly chasing the setting sun and then darkness coming in behind that.

It does not happen this way in Alaska. 

The feeling was pleasant yet, given the events of the past 24 hours and my state of mind, ethereal and strange.

A boy ran around the edge of the man-made pond at Riverview Park.

After the walk, I returned. I had a press release to write, but Dustinn and I stayed up into the morning hours, talking. He showed me many of his photos and video clips, including footage from his father's final performance February 6 at the Tahon O'Odhama Tribal Fair in Sells, Arizona. 

In the footage, Vincent looked very weak and peaked, but extremely determined to get out there, be Vincent Craig and please his audience - which he did. The emotion between he and his audience was strong. Dustinn also showed me several images from the project that he has been doing for years on young Apache skateboard enthusiasts. He employed many of these same young men to fill the roles of Apache men in the feature length film on the Chiricahua Apache Geronimo that he created for the PBS series, American Experience.

These tend to be young men who find it hard to find their place in modern society, but they do find it with their skateboards and with each other. They wear baggy pants and dress the same as do skateboarders in the big cities. Dustinn showed many pictures of them with their skateboards - and then also dressed in the type of clothing worn by the Apache Scouts of the later 19th century.

It was an amazing transformation. They looked the part. In my opinion, in his skateboard series, Dustinn is in the process of creating an exceptionally powerful story. When he is ready to show it to the world, I will provide links. In his efforts to work with these young men, who, I can see from his photos, respect and admire him, he reminds me of his father.

Now, it is late the next day and I have been diverted by many things, from the need to write a simple press release that proved very difficult for me to complete, to a strange, bizarre and time-consuming process to pick up a rental car and, after I did, to making a couple of wrong turns and then wandering around for far too long, always close to but seemingly never to reach my destination - but I did.

Soon, I must drive north, to the White Mountains, in my rental car. I do not have the time to begin the series of remembrances of Vincent Craig that I had planned to begin today. I hope to start tomorrow.