On tax day, I take prints and visit Warren Matumeak and daughters; I return to Wasilla and find a Tea Party; my coverage is interupted

It had been very chilly in our bedroom when we went in to seek sleep the night before. After I tucked Margie into the single bed where, as a result her injuries, she still must sleep, I jumped into our bed and the cold sting of the sheets against my flesh almost shot me back out again.

But I held my spot, because I knew that the blankets would hold my body heat and soon I would be warm and toasty.

Sure enough, it happened just that way. Sooner or later, insomniac me went to sleep. And then, somewhere around 3:00 AM, I dreamed that I was out in the country somewhere but was inadequately dressed and so was getting cold. Then I woke up and discovered that I was inadequately blanketed and truly was getting cold.

I keep a special quilt on the bed just for such moments, but the quilt was gone, folded and put away somewhere. Oh well, I figured, I could just reposition myself a bit to create a better layer of air insulation between the blankets and me and I would warm up and be fine.

I did not want to get up and go search for a blanket.

And so the rest of the night went, me always thinking that I had found just the right spot, dozing temporarily off, then waking, chilled, again.

In the morning, when I finally got up, it was to a clear, blue, sky and a beautiful world. Barefooted, I stepped onto the back porch to shoot this image. The porch was frozen and I felt the cold, sting of ice against my feet, but it was only for a few a seconds and I did not mind at all.

A few months back, Darlene Matumeak-Kagak got in touch with me to request a print of a photo that I took at Kivgiq 2003 of she and her sister, Mae Ahgeak, dancing with their father Warren Matumeak. Warren is pictured in my April 14 post, drumming and singing.

Providing prints to people who want them is a very difficult thing for me because, literally, I have received requests for THOUSANDS of prints, dating back to my film days and it is just impossible. Furthermore, the big majority of people who want these prints are Alaska Native who have befriended and helped me and without whom none of this work that I have done would have been possible, so it has always been my policy not to sell prints to such folk, but to give them and, despite my huge backlog of undelivered orders, I have given THOUSANDS away.

So I always tell people that if they want a picture, don't be afraid to keep sending me little reminders. In time, a reminder may well hit me when I am in a circumstance that makes it possible for me to make a print. The digital age has made it easier for me to get pictures to people in .jpg form, but even then, there are so many that it remains a challenge -plus a .jpg is not a print.

Darlene and her husband Jake have been very good to me over the years. Warren, her father, is one of the great men of the Arctic, a man who I greatly respect, love and admire. So, when I learned that he was coming to Anchorage to get chemo for cancer, I decided that I needed to make those prints right now and deliver them personally.

So here I am, in my car, looking at the Talkeetna Mountains from the stop sign at the intersection of Seldon and Lucille as I drive to Anchorage. Sitting alongside me in the passenger seat is three, 13 x 19 Velvet Fine Art prints that I had made late the night before.

The road was slick, but the temperature was rising and would hit 40 come late afternoon. I don't know what the low had been. About 10, I would guess.

Pioneer Peak and the Chugach Mountains, as I cross the Knik River bridge.

Someone in the opposing, north-bound lanes of traffic had been pulled over. Police officers were positioned at both the passenger and driver doors and, if I recall correctly, three patrol vehicles had stopped.

I don't know what happened. For all I know, in the end, the driver got off with a warning. I could do some investigative reporting and find out, but I don't think I will bother.

After I got to town, the very first thing that I did was drive out to the Dimond area to pick Melanie up so we could have lunch together. Along the way, while stopped at a red light, I saw this scene. I thought about how thin is the line that separates me from being part of it and wondered if and when I might yet cross that line.

I did not recognize the man, but maybe I know some of his family, somewhere out in Rural Alaska. Maybe some of his relatives have brought me into their home, be it a house or a camp, and have fed me.

For some reason, I failed to take any pictures during my lunch with Melanie. We got to talking and I just forgot. I can tell you this, she is a big help to me and her mom right now and to her youngest brother, too. I need to be more of a help to her.

She has also helped many cats, and that is just one of the many trillion reasons why I love her so.

As I do all my children, and those with whom they have united to bring even more family into our lives.

After I dropped Melanie off back at her work, I drove straight to the airport to meet Warren and his three daughters, who were already headed back to Barrow. Given what I had heard about his cancer, he looked surprisingly strong and good, and his spirits seemed high. He told me, though, that how he looked on the outside hid what he felt inside.

His doctors here in Anchorage had started him on some intense chemo and he would stay on it back home in Barrow for about two more weeks and then he would return. If it was having the desired effect, he would stay on it. If it wasn't... well, he said, he had experienced 82 wonderful years in this life and was ready to go to his home on the other side.

Those of us who know him here, I answered, are not ready for that. We need and want him here. This, he said, was what he also wants and is hoping for, but, if not, he is ready. He has already experienced many miracles in his life that have kept him here when it seemed, perhaps, that his time was already over.

He told me about one, in the days before snowmachines, when he had been out on the ice with his dogs and had to cross a wide section of very thin ice, one inch thick at most. His dogs did not want to go on, but he had no choice and so urged them forward. He leaned into the sled, which was buoyant. The dogs pushed forward and as they did, their paws punched repeatedly through the ice, but sea ice is flexible in a way that freshwater ice is not and the dogs managed to keep moving forward without going all the way through. A couple of times, Warren gave a push with his foot and his boot also broke through.

Finally, they reached stronger ice about two inches thick and soon were on safe ice. Warren stopped his dogs, and offered a prayer of thanks.

All too soon, it was time for them to head for security and then on to the Alaska Airlines gate where they would board their flight back to Barrow.

One of his daughters offered to get a wheelchair to make the journey a little easier for him, but Warren said, no, he needed the exercise and he would walk.

This reminded me of another of his survival miracles, one that happened about 24 years ago and that I wrote up in an early issue of Uiñiq. In that instance, Warren suffered a heart attack out on the tundra while hunting caribou with his young grandson Tommy, who, if I remember right, was eight years old at the time. Warren knew that he was going to die and so had his young grandson bundle him onto the sled and then told him to drive the snowmachine toward the moon, because in that direction he would find his grandmother at camp and could return his body to her.

It was a tough and long ride, but young Tommy saved his aapa's life. 

Afterward, I would often see Warren in the evenings on the indoor track built above the Barrow High gymnasium - walking and walking and walking, building up the strength in his heart.

Behind him here are his daughters Darlene, Alice and Mae.

This is the photo that I had printed in triplicate for them, with Darlene dancing at the left and Mae at the right. Suurimmaanitchuat.

I should note that in his work days, Warren served as Planning Director for the North Slope Borough and later as director of the North Slope Borough Wildlife Management Department. He is a choir director at the Utqeaqvik Presbyterian Church and is well known for his oratory from behind the pulpit.

Do any of you regular readers ever pick up on the conflict that tears always within me, between the pull of my communal home on the Arctic Slope and my physical and blood-family home in Wasilla?

Now, at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, I had once again taken a mental trip back to the communal home, but it was time to return to Wasilla. As stated in the sidebar at right, one of the primary reasons that I started this blog was to better get to know Wasilla, where I have lived now for nearly 30 years. Yet, outside my house and family, Wasilla is a town in which I have mostly been a stranger, because my work, heart, and soul has always been out in the rural areas where I have done my work.

Yet, I love Wasilla and I want to know what this place, where I have for so long kept a physical presence, is all about. I want to find its soul, but, even since I started this blog, a lack of time and financial resource has severely limited my search. I am not even close to meeting this goal.

Perhaps I am little bit frightened by this goal, too. I don't know.

As I drove back to Wasilla, I passed this Volkswagen.

The first car that Margie and I ever owned was a lemon-yellow Super Beetle. We loved that car like we have loved no car since - but I do love the Ford Escape. Among the many cars that we have now ground down, I love the Escape second only to the Super Beetle.

Back in Wasilla, it was Tax Day, and the Liberty Tax mascot was out, seeking to draw in those who had procrastinated almost beyond hope.

It would prove to be a very hard tax day for us, as we came up owing, with no funds to pay the difference. It won't be fun, but we will get through this. It happened before, in 1997, about ten times worse than now. We got through it. I never wanted it to happen again, but it did, and we will get through it again.

Not far down the road, I saw a man riding his four-wheeler like he was part of the US Calvary, leading a caravan of three, charging to the rescue of his beleaguered nation on Tax Day, charging to Wasilla's Tea Party rally.

All of a sudden, my coverage of Tax Day and the Tea Party is interrupted. This is because, as I sat here, diligently working on my report, my office door flew open and Kalib came charging in.

His mother had brought him and Jobe out to visit us while she goes to Metro Cafe to go online and do some homework.

I thought he had come rushing in to hug me, so I extended my arms, but he was not interested in giving his grandpa a hug. He just wanted to feed his grandpa's fish, and he didn't want to waste any time getting at it.

After he fed the fish, he disappeared, but I soon followed him into the living room and this is what I found: Kalib, Caleb, and Jobe.

In time, I came back to the blog, but I had stated that I would have it up no later than noon and here it is, nearly 2:00 PM, and I cannot spend another minute of this day working on this blog.

So I will save the tea party part for tomorrow. Or, perhaps, by then, life will have moved on and so will I have and my tea party coverage will just languish, perhaps to one day be seen, perhaps never.

We will see.

PS: My niece, Shaela Ann Cook, has a new blog. I have given her a link and invite all to visit her site. You will see that her outlook towards food is very different than mine, but it doesn't matter. We love each other and she supports Iñupiat whaling. She wants to make a movie on my book, Gift of the Whale, if only she could find the means.

It was a Kalib-Jobe kind of day and it began at IHOP

I had a big day of work planned when I started to come to this morning, but Margie told me that Lavina had called and she was coming out with Kalib and Jobe. Lavina hadn't eaten, was hungry and wanted to meet us for breakfast at IHOP.

So I took a shower and then off we went to IHOP. We had not been there long before Kalib decided that the table was rather bland and so began to shake salt and pepper all over it.

His mom put a stop to it.

Kalib could have tripped the waitress and caused her to spill coffee and Pepsi all over the floor, but he didn't. Despite his mischievous, rambunctious nature, he must be a good boy, or else he certainly would have.

Jobe was with us at breakfast, too, but you couldn't see him because he was in his car seat and there was a blanket draped over it. Right after we entered the house, Lavina removed the blanket.

Royce observed. Wouldn't it be nice if Royce could raise another baby, just like he raised Kalib?

Momma and son. Do you think they have a connection?

Gramma and grandson. Do you think she loves him?

Margie bestows love on two grandsons at once. Caleb studies Jobe to see if maybe he has grown enough to begin to learn how to golf.

Caleb decides that, indeed, Jobe is ready to begin learning the fundamentals of golf. At the fundamentalist level of golf is a golf ball.

"Golfball," Caleb coaches. He documents the moment on his iPhone so that the technique with which Jobe observed the ball can be reviewed later.

Thanks to Uncle Caleb, Kalib already knows about a golfball and about clubs, too. He grabs a club and then his uncle hands him a ball.

Kalib studies the lay of the rug in preparation to make putt. Trouble is, he doesn't know where the hole is. He doesn't care. He will putt anyway.

Kalib raps the ball.

After scoring 18 holes in one, Kalib spots his mom outside, coming into the house. I don't know what she was doing out there, but whatever it was, I'm certain she succeeded at it.

A bit later, when I was working in my office, Kalib came out and wanted to feed my fish. I gave him a fish pellet and he ate it, then smiled mischievously.

Now grandma has Jobe again.

She looks into his little mouth and sees that there are no teeth in there, yet. That's good. It could be pretty tough on Lavina if there were.

Jobe goes down for a nap in the buckskin cradle board that his Aunt LeeAnn made for him.

He dozes to the soothing strains of Haydn, played on a classical cable station.

Kalib, by the window, eating a oatmeal chocolate chip cookie that Margie or Lavina or maybe both made while I was out mailing a package.

Kalib stands by his mom as she feeds his little brother. Lavina is very modest about such matters.

I could not believe it. Come evening, they left. I did get some work done today, but not as much as I had planned to. Of course, even when I work all day and all night, I never get as much done as I plan to.

This is Iditarod weekend. Lavina wants to watch dogs pull sleds tomorrow, but needs someone to babysit Jobe. Margie wants to hang out with Jobe.

How convenient.

You'll be seeing everybody again tomorrow.

A black cat is sprawled across my chest and has been for every word of this post. Somtimes, he touches the tip of my nose with his. His nose is wet and cold, as it should be.

He could pull a sled in the Iditarod if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to. He prefers to stay home and be warm.

People just keep feeding me; another dog charges into traffic; Green Terror swims into the house; Kalib returns to play golf, study properties of light

It used to be that Caleb and I would go to IHOP together just about every Sunday - at least those Sunday's when I was home. Then it just stopped happening. Sometimes I would ask, but he would decline - usually because there was a game he wanted to watch. For awhile, he had a girl friend and tended to prefer her company to mine. I didn't mind. Last night, he asked me if I wanted to go to IHOP with him this morning.

When I got up, after spending a long, hellacious, night battling with Squarespace,* Kalib was once again battling opponents from all over on his video game - but he broke away and off we went. Melanie greeted us happily and sat us down. She was not our waitress, but just the same, she brought our food to us.

For reasons that I do not fully understand, we both ordered off "The All You Can Eat Pancakes" menu. "I love IHOP pancakes," Caleb said. "IHOP just has the best pancakes."

Later, he added this, "I'm beginning to hate that video game. It's just addicting, especially when you play online with other people."

I told him that, based on some comments left on this blog, he just might open the door one morning to find one or more girls ready to snatch him away from the video game.

He claimed not to be interested. All he wants now, he says, is for the snow to melt so he can get back out to the golf course. That won't happen for awhile.

He made it sound like it had to be golf or girls, but not both together.

This made me think of Tiger Woods, but I did not utter these thoughts.

Caleb bought my breakfast. That was nice.

Later, I headed out on my walk. I had barely stepped out the door when I saw the dog that nearly killed the rabbit at the corner where the chicken crossed the road, the rooster got shot and the drunken ice cream lady crashed her good-humor vehicle.

"Dog! Dog!" I once again found myself shouting as I saw this hapless, unsupervised, character charge straight into the path of this car, on Seldon. The dog turned away from death at the last possible instant. I don't know if my call had anything to do with it or not.

Maybe.

The driver of the car did not slow down - not by one mph.

The sky was laced so beautifully with high cirrus clouds. An airplane flew through it. (Sorry, Norman Maclean.)**

You will recall that yesterday, as I dealt with a loose dog, Margie called to tell me about Uriah getting caught in the explosion at the White Mountain Apache Sunrise Ski resort.

Well, my phone rang as this dog, Tequilla, was barking at me. It was Margie, with good news about Uriah. He was on his way home from the hospital in Phoenix. He is going to be okay. He will need to lotion his second-degree facial burns and try to keep the direct sun off of them for awhile, but the scarring should not be bad at all.

As Margie updated me, Tequilla followed along. She barked at me throughout the entire conversation.

Then this guy came along, running with this dog. Lucky and Dale. Lucky is the dog, Dale the man. Dale is Lucky, too. He wound up in my blog, just because he ran with his dog.

Then this boy came by, on a four-wheeler. I believe he is a child of Russian immigrants.

Further along, I found the headless stuffed turtle that the black lab had been carrying when it almost got run over yesterday.

I stopped at Pet Zoo today and bought this little Green Terror to put in the 90 gallon tank with my old parrot fish and the baby yellow peacock that I bought a couple of days ago.

I have had two green terrors in the past. One was so mean that I eventually had to clear out all of his tank mates and let him have a 55 gallon tank all to himself. The other was docile, and never went after another fish.

I will never let this guy beat up my parrot. The parrot is too big for the Green Terror to bother now and I hope that as he grows, he will just accept the parrot.

If he doesn't, then I will have a problem to solve.

Green Terrors are very beautiful fish and they are smart, too.

My mean one really liked Lisa. Whenever she would come into my office, he would get excited and swim to the glass to greet her. She liked him, too.

Right now, this little baby is about two inches long. It should grow to eight to ten inches.

About 4:30 in the afternoon, Lavina called to tell me that she, Jacob and Kalib were on their way out to see me and they wanted to take me to dinner. I was surprised, because she is still experiencing contractions, although much lighter, and I did not think that she would want to leave Anchorage.

All week, she has done nothing but stay at home and get bed rest. "I just had to get out and go somewhere," she said.

On the way out, Kalib fell asleep in the car, so they took the long route through Palmer to give him time to snooze. 

Here he is, just waking up. He is not happy about it.

They took both Caleb and I to Jalepeno's. Another free meal for me. The little girl in the background is named Raeligh.

Jerry, the manager and a member of the owner family came along, to admire Kalib and to speak Spanish to him. Once, a couple of year's back, I came here by myself and ordered a meal that cost $14.00 plus and paid for it with my debit card. The next day when I checked my bank account online, $1400 plus had been removed from my account.

It was an honest mistake. Jerry quickly had the money transferred back into my account.

When we returned to the house, Kalib and Caleb resumed their ongoing golf game.

Lavina gave Royce some love. I'm afraid Royce had a hard day today. His progress seemed not only to stop, but to reverse itself. He almost fell off the couch twice. He shook and shivered for awhile, even though the fire was warm. He did some drooling. He walked stiffly. Although he begged to get it and dug right in, he left much of his soft food uneaten in his bowl.

Early in the week, Lavina had been convinced that new baby would come before the week ended. Now, she feels it could be a few days yet. If its not here by the eighth, the doctor plans to induce it, for medical reasons.

That is our little grandchild who she holds.

Kalib manipulates a "This American Life" ap on Caleb's iPhone.

I'm not quite certain what Jacob was up to, but he was in the back, rummaging through this and that. Then he came out with this - a wedding invitation. The couple pictured is Margie and me. The invitation is to our wedding - 36 years ago. Jacob said he was going to keep it.

To see Margie standing there, beside me, in that picture... see how beautiful she is? She chose to go with me. How did it happen? How could it not have happened? Someday, perhaps I will tell you more of our story, how we came together. But not right now.  

I don't know why the decades pass so fast, but they do. Not so long ago, it was she and I who were making babies and it was our parents who so eagerly waited to meet their new grandchildren.

Now, save for Margie's mother, our parents are in the grave and it is us, Margie and I, waiting to meet our new grandchild.

And here is the first one. He is experimenting with a flashlight. The world remains a new and exciting place to him. He wants to learn about everything.

Kalib helps Caleb put his clubs back in the bag. Then he leaves with his parents.

There was certain desperation evident in Royce tonight, the intensity of which I had never before witnessed. He seemed desperate to communicate something to me. He kept looking into my eyes like this and when he was close enough, he would reach out with a paw and touch me, and look at me this way. His motor control was not good. His claws would dig painfully into my skin.

He was trying to tell me something. What? It made my eyes water, just a little bit.

*That battle continued tonight. Problem not solved. Hours wasted. Eaten up by Squarespace - the nightmare blogging program from hell.

** Author of A River Runs Through It.

On my second day with Margie gone, I breakfast at IHOP, find a pleasant diversion involving Jennifer, Heineken and Jazz, then head to iPhone disappointment at the At&t store

It is 9:30 AM and I am on my way to IHOP. Look how light it already is!

Just a short time ago, it was still night at this time; soon it will look like this at midnight. Shortly after that, it will start to get dark again.

This earth just keeps spinning and spinning and plunging through its orbit at a maddening pace.

It does not slow down. It just goes, goes, goes.

That's good, I guess.

We would not want it to stop.

But it spins the years off way too fast, and carries us to old age and death much too rapidly.

It is exhilarates me to see the light coming back.

Now I am going up the hill towards IHOP.

This is Melanie, who used to work at Cafe Darte - the coffee kiosk across the street from the Post Office. She was an excellent barista. Her coffee was always good. Sometime after she left Darte, I happened upon her in Carr's, carrying her new baby.

I took a picture of the two of them and put it in this blog.

Today, as she led me to my table, she told me that her step-father had googled Sarah Palin to see what he might find. That search eventually led him to this blog and when he got into it, he found the picture of his step-daughter and grandbaby.

Melanie says he now visits this blog frequently. 

Melanie says, "hi, Dad."

As regular readers know, there is another Melanie that says those same words to me.

I really wanted good hash browns today. And IHOP came through. Cooked just right, each shred firm and flavorful, not reduced to mush. Someone had made cat ears out of the ham. Nice touch.

But don't worry, Family Restaurant, I will be back.

I must spread my great wealth throughout the community.

After breakfast, I came home and found Pistol-Yero, looking at me.

I went into the bedroom and this sight made me very sad. Margie has experienced a great deal of pain in this bed. When I looked at it, empty like this, the image of Margie lying there, hurting and in agony, superimposed itself upon the quilt.

It made me feel bad.

This bed is at the foot of our big, king-sized bed, which I sat on as I took the picture.

Many of you already know this story, but for those who don't, Margie and I both used to sleep on this big bed, together. Then, on June 12, 2008, I took my fall in Barrow and found out how rotten my insurance policy really is and how deceptive the saleswoman was. I wound up in Providence Hospital in Anchorage and after two surgeries came home with an artificial shoulder.

I was too fragile and in too much pain to share a bed with anyone. So Margie had this bed placed at the foot of our bed and in it she slept.

It took me more than half-a-year to heal to the point where I could dare try to share th bed.

And just when I was ready to, Margie took her first fall and then she could share a bed with no one.

Many months passed and then, on July 25, we crawled into our bed together for the first time in over 13 months. On the next day, July 26, she took her second fall.

And as improved as she is, she still cannot share a bed.

So that also made me feel very sad when I looked at this bed.

Now she is far away, asleep in her sister's house in the high country of the White Mountain Apache Tribe.

How good it used to feel when she would cuddle up next to me, lie her head and my shoulder and there fall asleep. How I long to have her head resting upon my shoulder, once again.

It made me feel very sad to look at this empty bed.

Caleb was playing war games with his cyber-friends. He communicates with both those on his side and the enemy through a headset as their avatars fight their way through a common battlefield. I can't remember the name of the game, but it pits good Americans against bad Russians and some Russians have complained that it unfairly stereotypes them, but Russians play it, anyway.

"You should play with some Russians," I suggested.

"Oh, I've played Russians," he answered. "I've played people from all over the world."

A bit after that, he built a fire and then got in his car and headed for Anchorage. That was 12 hours ago. I have not seen him since but that doesn't worry me. He's a man, with his own life to live and it is the weekend.

Royce, Chicago Kitty and some of Kalib's toys. It was just me and the cats now.

I took a walk. It wasn't long before I came upon a neighbor from down the street, Jennifer, playing with her two dogs, Heineken and Jazz - a pleasant diversion for my eyes.

Further along, I came upon this dog. When he was a pup, he once tried to follow me home. A high school classmate and baseball teammate of Jacob's built this house and lived in it for awhile. Then he sold it and moved on to something bigger and better.

I could hardly wait for the 24 hours to end so that the money would go back into the gift cards and I could pick up my new iPhone. At 4:00 PM, I headed out, NPR's All Things Considered Weekend Edition on the radio.

Just after I turned onto Seldon Street, this kid shot past me like I was sitting still. Curious to see how fast he was going, I accelerated to 45 mph in a 35 zone, but he just kept getting farther ahead of me, so I dropped back.

He was not riding on the road - he was on the trail shared by snowmachiners, fourwheelers, pedestrians, bikers, old men, children and mothers pushing babies in strollers. In fact, Lavina has often been one of those mothers, pushing Kalib, right here, where this kid speeds by.

It is after 4:30 PM. Look how much light is still left! Not so long ago, this time of day was pitch black night. Or as pitch black as night gets around here. It never gets dark dark, the way it does down south in places without snow.

Kendall Ford, a bit after 4:30 PM.

After this, I returned to the At&t store where I would not pick up my iPhone. You can find the story in the previous post, if you have not read it already.

Kalib feeds the fish, waves goodbye and then he leaves to be surrendered to his parents

I didn't really settle down to sleep this morning until about 7:00 AM, so I did not get out of bed until after 11:00. When I came out, Caleb said that I had a Kalib hairdo, kind of like what you see here, on the real Kalib. Except that mine is thinner, of course.

Judging from the look of things, Kalib must have been playing indoor golf.

Margie planned to drive him into town to surrender him to his parents, so I would not have a car for the rest of the day. I would not be able to go out for my late afternoon coffee break or anything. I pulled out the oatmeal, but before I could add water to it, Margie said, "why don't you go out for breakfast? Then you at least have some kind of outing today."

So I did. And as I backed out of the driveway, Kalib came to the window.

I ate breakfast with strangers, but that was okay, because the food was truly excellent, even the hash browns. Sometimes, at Family, they turn the hashbrowns into mush with a hard, crispy coat, but today they cooked them just right. They were excellent.

On the way home, I passed by this dog.

Right after I got home, Kalib decided that he wanted to feed the fish. When they saw him coming, the fish got excited and came to greet him. The fish know that when they see Kalib, they are going to get fed.

Kalib feeds the fish.

Then it was time for him to go. He gave his grandpa a hug. It still annoys me to hear the word "grandpa" applied to me, but I sure do enjoy having a grandson.

He reached the door, turned, and waved bye-bye.

He was anxious to get going.

Uncle Caleb buckled little Kalib into this car seat.

Uncle Kalib then cleaned the headlights off. As you can see, the weather has turned dreadfully warm. It was 31 above at this moment.

Margie gets into the driver's seat, Caleb says goodbye to Kalib and then my wife drove away with my grandson.

When she returned many hours later, she informed me that Kalib and his mother were both delighted to see each other.

As I have already informed you, Margie leaves for Arizona Thursday night.

"Somehow," she told me, "I have got to find a way to spend some more time with that little boy before I leave."

What will she do? How will she do it? How is she going to bear being gone from him for almost a full month?

She has gone to Arizona a few times since Kalib was born, but he and his mother have always gone with her - or she has gone with them.

Except for a very short walk, I spent the rest of the day, into the wee hours of this morning, right here, at my computer.