Cocoon mode,* day 18: Deemed hopeless by her would-be surgeon, the blond lady battles her cancer and makes amazing progress; dirty mirror, missing pet noted at accident scene

Maybe two weeks ago, I was pedaling down the Seldon Road bike trail when I spotted a familiar-looking biker coming towards me. I thought I must be wrong, because it looked like Patti, the fit, blonde lady who was supposed to be Outside, undergoing surgery for a deadly cancer.

But it was her, and she was pedaling hard and fast. She was intent on moving and did not want to stop for anything.

"I thought you would be Outside!" I shouted as we drew close.

"No!" she shouted back as she zipped past. "I'm doing something else now, it's better."

I did not see her after that and the other night I walked up by her house and all the lights were out, so I thought maybe she had gone Outside, afterall.

Today, I took a short walk before I went bike riding and as I neared her home, I heard a sound that I could hardly believe. A lawn mower. Someone was mowing a lawn - her lawn, it sounded like.

Last night, it had been snowing and raining at the same time and while there was no hint of snow on the ground this morning, everything was wet.

But it was Patti, mowing her lawn. She saw me coming, shut down the mower and walked over to chat.

So I asked why she hadn't gone Outside for her surgery. Her answer was most dismaying - the doctor who was going to do the surgery looked at all the data, and declared the cancer to be beyond treatment, hopeless, there was no point.

"But it turned out to be a good thing," she said. She continued her chemo-therapy, took up naturopathic therapy and resolved in her mind that, whatever the damn doctor said, she was going to beat this.

And guess what?

Her cancer markers have dropped, she told me,  she is improving, experiencing remission.

"What the doctor didn't know is that I am too mean to let this cancer beat me," she said.

"i've never thought of you as mean," I responded. "Tough, but not mean."

"I'm mean on cancer," she emphasized. "I tear cancer apart."

And she is not experiencing the usual side-effects of chemo therapy - no nausea, she has all her hair.

"Tell your readers I am a miracle woman."

I guess if I'm going to take pictures through the outside rear-view mirror, I ought to keep it clean. As you can see, the autofocus on the pocket camera latched on to the dirt on the glass, not the image of the people.

Oh, well.

Margie has been so miserable these past few days that I had not been able to get her out of the house - until this afternoon. She and Kalib came with me on coffee break. Kalib fell asleep in his car seat so we took a long drive and happened upon the aftermath of an accident and witnessed paperwork being filled out.

There were many more people than this standing around, but this was the view that I had in the one second that I was stopped at the red light. The accident was not the only sad thing marked here. If you could see this image full-size, then it would be clear that someone has a missing "baby" named Socks.

I am not certain if Socks is a little dog or a big squirrel or maybe a kitty, but I will keep my eyes peeled. I know how much it can hurt to loose a furry friend.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Cocoon mode* - day 12: Kalib and Caleb pedal off on their bikes to listen to Peggy Sue

So I stepped outside and there was Kalib, sitting on his bike, like he was going somewhere - Texas, maybe.

Then Caleb came along. "Nephew," he said. "Let's go! The open road awaits!" Little Kalib's legs were too short for him to properly pedal, so he propelled himself by chugging with his feet.

Off they went. Soon they disappeared. I went back into the house to read the newspaper. Later in the afternoon, my cell phone vibrated and shook. It was them. They had called to let me know that they had gotten a little carried away and had pedaled all the way to Texas - Lubbock, to be precise, where they had gone to pay tribute to Buddy Holly.

They had called from Lubbock's famous Buddy Holly Bar and I could hear "Peggy Sue" in the background, mingled with the sounds of random gunfire and brawling.

Trouble was, they were too tired to pedal back home. 

I sighed, climbed into the Escape, drove to Lubbock, picked them up and brought them back home.

It was not at all how I had intended to spend my afternoon, but I could not leave them stranded in Lubbock, Texas, even if the entertainment was good.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Cocoon mode* - day 9: Three more pix from the car: little kid morphs into cop, then insurance salesman; bike jump; Iona Grotto - I get my tail kicked by a lady at the New York Times

Every morning before I go to bed, there are a few blogs that I must check out. At the top of the list is, Lens, the photojournalism blog of the New York Times, and I have mentioned it before. This morning when I opened it up, I damn near died. It featured a photo story titled "Essay, Motor Drive," by Monica Almeida, a talented photographer who relocated to Los Angeles from New York City, but still shoots pictures that wind up in the New York Times.

The essay was comprised of 16 pictures that she took from her car. It was presented as a visionary leap of sorts, the transfer of street shooting skills from the sidewalk to the vehicle.

And of course I have been doing the same thing for years and years and if I could select 16 of my best shot-from-the-car images and put them before a national audience... well, I know this sounds arrogant, but I guarantee you, that audience would see something that would go even beyond what was presented today in Lens.

And now, if I ever get the chance, everyone will think that I am just a copy cat.

Oh well. Monica did it. I didn't, and that's that.

Congratulations, Monica.

Speaking of which, all three of today's pictures are from the car.

This one as I wait in the drive-through to Metro Cafe.

The young man to the left is Dave Eller, who I pretty much got to watch grow up as he was a classmate of Jacob's. Dave grew up to be a cop and I was always worried that one day he would pull me over for speeding or something, but really, I don't speed much and he never did.

In fact, I got my last speeding ticket close to 25 years ago, when Dave was still a kid.

This past year, he left the full-time police and joined the police reserves. I believe that he is an insurance salesman now, or works with insurance companies in some capacity.

This belief is born out by the fact that his camera-shy companion hides his face behind an Insurance brochure from Hartford.

As for the Metro Cafe grand opening Saturday, from noon 'til two, I failed to note the location: Lucille Street, just south of Spruce. 

And here I am, driving by the skateboard park. One commenter on Lens expressed his horror, charging that the practice of drive by shooting is more dangerous then driving and texting.

I suppose it could be, but not the way I do it. It is not anywhere near as much a distraction as talking on a cell phone. When I drive by shoot, I do not take my eyes and concentration off the road ahead for even as long as does every driver who turns his head to look over her shoulder at the traffic behind him. 

When I see something that looks like it might make a good picture, I lift the camera, point like a gunslinger shooting from the hip without ever bringing it to my eye, shoot, and put it back down again.

Usually, when I shoot, I am not even looking at the subject. I have already got a glance of it, just as anybody driving past at that moment would have, and a glance is all I need to know that it is there.

I have a very good sense of where a camera is pointing even without looking through the viewfinder, although it is a fact that sometimes I miss the subject completely.

In this case, the subject was beyond the practical reach of my pocket camera, so this is a significant crop.

Shortly afterward, I passed by Iona Grotto. Remember how, on that day that I pedaled my bike past the bare-breasted young woman and wound up on my knees in front of a grave here, I gave myself an assignment to learn more about the husband and wife buried within? Paul and Iona Mahoney.

Yesterday, an airplane mechanic by the name of Ray Cross called me on behalf of Paulie Mahoney, the daughter of that couple, who asked him to give me her phone number. I called her today. She was very happy, glad that I am interested and promised to help me piece that story together, once I get my big project out of the way.

So, even though I have not done a very good job of it so far, please stay with me. I will yet find the soul of Wasilla, as I promised I would when I began this blog, one year and nine days ago.

And even as I do, I will keep searching for the soul of the larger Alaska. And, in this cocoon mode period, some ideas have come to me on how I might do that.

Speaking of Cocoon mode, I have gone over my time limit by about 15 minutes. Damnit! I so lack discipline!

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Cocoon mode* - day 6: I conduct a scientific experiment involving the rain, my bike, a pickup truck and a cow moose

Come noon each day that I was in India, I was quite taken by the fact that my shadow was directly beneath me. This, of course, was because the equatorial sun hung pretty-much directly overhead. Here in Alaska, even at noon in June, the sun always angles its way in, so one's shadow always falls away from him. It never appears directly beneath him.

Or so I have always believed.

Then, this morning, I was riding my bike through the rain when I looked down and saw what appeared to be my shadow, directly beneath me. I reasoned that this was because the rain-filled clouds had dispersed the sun's rays, causing them to come down upon me from all angles, as if from a big, dome-shaped lightbox, but that fewer of those dispersed rays actually struck the ground directly beneath me - hence, the shadow.

But then I got to wondering if it was a shadow that I was seeing beneath me at all. Perhaps it was just the reflection of myself and the bicycle, caused by the thin layer of water upon the pavement and it only looked like a shadow because too much of the light was being absorbed by the pavement to reflect the colors back.

I noticed that when cars and trucks drove past, I could see their reflections on the wet pavement, traveling directly beneath them.

So I was very confused. I decided that I would take a picture of a truck passing by and then study the reflection beneath it and see what I could learn.

So here is the picture. I have studied it and I have learned nothing.

Later, I took my coffee break in my car. By now, the rain had ceased. Just before I reached home, I saw this cow moose standing in someone's driveway. I decided to continue the experiment and so photographed her posing with her shadow.

I figured that once I got home and could sit down and take a good look at this picture, all my questions would be answered.

As you can see, very strange things are happening with the shadow of this moose.

I end the day in an even greater state of confusion than I began it.

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

Wealthy philanthropist sought: please provide resume; car breaks down in the rain, man stands in doorway where free people used to stand and pee

Despite Friday's disappointment, we finally did get Kalib to the Alaska State Fair - on Saturday, the same day that he drank a milk shake for breakfast and I took the bike ride described in parts one and two.*

It was beautiful, sunny, day and the fair was crowded and we had to park a long ways away from the entrance. This beautiful young woman took our five dollars and gave us a yellow ticket to put on the dash board. I cannot remember her name, but it started with a "C" and she spoke with a strong southern accent.

She was a very empathetic person and she saw my frustration and knew that I needed to talk. "What's the matter, dear?" she twanged sympathetically.

"Oh, it's this damn blog I said." And then, for the next half hour, as Kalib, Lavina and Jacob grew very impatient with me and the miles-long line of agitated drivers that piled up behind me honked their horns, rolled down their windows, extended select fingers and shouted epithets, she listened as I lamented.

I told her of the great potential of this blog, but how I am always thwarted from reaching it by the need to make a living, how the only blogging that I ever get to do is to take a few pictures when I walk or ride my bike, or drive to a coffee break, take my wife into Anchorage to the hospital - things like that.

"I need a philanthropist," I told her.

"Maybe I can be your philanthropist. I always wanted to be one of those," she smiled, as an angry man came running over. "How much do you need, Hon?"

"Oh, not much," I said. "A million dollars would be nice."

"Oh, my!" she lamented in her pleasant drawl. "I don't have a million! But would this help?"

She then held up the fan of parking fees that you see here.

"Sure!" I said.

Being of a kind and generous heart, she handed the day's parking take to me. Unfortunately, the running man was her supervisor and he had come over to find out what the delay was. When he saw her hand me the money, he fired her on the spot and pointed me out to the State Trooper who had completely failed to unsnarl the traffic behind us. "Arrest that man! And the toddler with him!" the supervisor shouted. " The trooper tried, too, but I gunned it, weaved through the parked cars and the screaming, teeming, fleeing crowd, ditched him and found another lot to park in.

Fortunately, I already had the yellow ticket, so it was all right.**

As for today, I pretty much spent it right here, where I sit right now, in my office at the side of my house, in front of my computer, working on my big 96 page project, plus another one that has interrupted it with an earlier deadline.

No matter what, though, I will always ride my bike, or walk, or ski, or do something to get out of the house and into the air. Today, it was my bike.

As I pedaled through the rain, on the roller coaster park of the Lucille bike trail, I spotted these two guys, both obviously trying to pretend that if they peered under the hood long enough and made the proper wise statements, they could get that car going.

Normally, I do not stop but take my pictures as I pedal, but I had reached the very top of the highest and steepest of the roller-coaster hills, so I stopped, took the picture, and then took off again. I hadn't gone three feet before I inexplicably lost control of the bike. That's when I took the inset picture.

Fortunately, I regained control before I plunged down onto Lucille Street. I pedaled on, wondering what the outcome would have been had I come down on my artificial shoulder, in front of a big truck.

A little further down Lucille, I saw this guy standing in the doorway to this apartment building. I hold nothing against anyone who lives here, but this structure is a great annoyance to me. Not so long ago, the building and the parking lot was woods. And sometimes, when I would be walking down Lucille I would realize that I needed to pee.

So I would just step off the trail and walk into these woods, find a secluded spot and take care of the matter.

And now this apartment building sits there. And this kind of thing has happened all up and down Lucille Street.

Every day, Wasillans lose more and more of the freedoms that we once took for granted.

* I will try to make Kalib's great fair adventure the subject of my next post.

** It's possible that I may have employed a bit of literary license here.