I seek a July 4 photo of American freedom for a civilian mass audience of Greece: Part 1 of 4: Breakfast at Abby's

I had wanted us to be at Abby's Home Cooking right at 9:00, so that maybe we could be her very first customers. But, when you are a sleepy person on a Fouth of July morning and you and your wife have two little kids to get ready to take with you - well, it just takes longer to get ready than you think it will.

So it was closer to 10 when we pulled in.

As we got out of the car, Kalib suddenly said, "taste of home."

I don't know how he came up with such a thing, but he did.

On the third of July, my friend in Greece who I have met only in a burning place online made a comment wishing all his friends in the USA a happy Fourth. Civi is an amazing guy, full of goodwill to just about everybody, but life has been challenging for him in Greece lately - as it has for his entire nation.

So I told him that on this fourth of July, I would find a picture to take, just for him.

Maybe I would find it during breakfast at Abby's?

We had barely sat down when my nose caught an aroma wafting through the air... and it wasn't home cooking.

It was Jobe. Margie had changed his diaper just before we left the house, but he waited until we all sat at the table to drop the bomb... and it was a smeller!

That's not Pepsi Kalib is drinking for breakfast, by the way - it's apple juice.

We placed our orders - eggs, bacon and hashbrowns for me, biscuits and gravy for the Margie and scrambled eggs, apple juice and toast for the boys and then dashed back to the car and off to the house to pick up a diaper for Jobe.

For some reason, I had imagined us having a nice, peaceful, relaxed, breakfast, but it wasn't working out that way. Neither boy wanted to sit still - they just wanted to jump up, run around, roll around, crawl beneath things and cause chaos. 

One kid would take off, I would catch him, sit him back down and then the other one would go.

I had my hands more than full and could hardly touch my camera, but I squeaked this one off. 

Paulie Parkhurst, the sister of Abby, came to the rescue. She took both boys from me and led them to a place where a play area had been set up, just for people in our situation. Paulie was very good at this, and Kalib loved her immediately.

Outside the window, Abby gestured to what I believe was a friend or relative, coming to check out the new restaurant on opening day.

It seemed to me that it should have taken Margie maybe eight minutes to get to the house and come back with the diaper, but it felt much longer than that. MUCH longer. But maybe that's all it was - although I do not think so.

In time, she returned and we commenced to eat breakfast.

Margie took charge of feeding Kalib.

I took charge of feeding my little man, Jobe. Everything was now peaceful and calm - for about three minutes. Then those boys were rambunctious again.

When I eat breakfast out, I generally ask to have my toast served after I have finished everything else, so that I can slowly eat and savor it as I sip coffee.

When my toast arrived, Margie took the boys so they could walk towards home. "You can enjoy your toast in peace," she said.

I hated to see them go, but, indeed, I did savor and enjoy my toast in peace.

And I got a little bit of a chance to visit Paulie, Abby and Abby's husband Andy Hammond. The morning of July 4 might seem an odd time to open an out-of-the way restaurant, but they had their reasons.

Abby and Andy first met in Canada, 20 years ago on the Fourth of July.

They got married in Dawson City, Canada, where the Mahoney's have a ranch, one year later - on July 4. At the wedding, they served a pig and a bear leg and then danced on a platform that Andy and Abby had made.

Since that time, the Fourth has been a doubly special day to them, a day of taking on and trying new things.

Hence, they opened their restaurant on the Fourth of July.

"We had a wild time," Paulie remembers.

Given the fact that there was a parade going on in town, and people were out camping and fishing, shooting off crackers and rockets and doing Fourth of July things, there weren't many customers on opening morning.

In fact, most of the time we were there it was just us - which, given the circumstances we faced with our energetic and rambunctious grandsons, that was probably for the best.

But, here is what I have to say - although I did not really get to savor it, the food was good. This is a real, genuine mom-and-pop and brothers and sisters and children and friends of children operation.

I know - down on the Parks Highways where everyday cars pass by by the thousands - this time of year, tens of thousands, I suspect - there are many good restaurants to stop and eat at - everything from sushi superb to some very excellent Mexican cuisine.

And for breakfast, there is IHOP, Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant and Denali Family Restaurant and maybe somewhere else too and you can get very good, satisfying and filling breakfasts at all these places and they are right on the highway, which is not Main Street but is Wasilla's main drag, and is a very busy place.

But, I urge you, if you are in this area and you are hungry, turn off the Highway at Church Road, drive about 2.5 miles down until you reach the corner of Church and Seldon.

There you will find Abby's Home Cooking.

Give it a try.

Margie and I will be back... I think without the boys next time, unless Jacob and Lavina are here with us.

When I stepped out the door and got into the car to leave, I discovered that Margie and the boys had not gotten far.

So, I stopped and picked them up.

"Want to go see if the parade is still going?" I asked.

I'm pretty sure Civi will enjoy these breakfast pictures - yet I did not yet feel that I had gotten my special picture just for him.

I wanted that picture to speak of America and the idea of freedom, which at times we speak always of how free we are enjoy more than we do at other times. Indeed, I would say that in starting out this little venture, Abby and Andy are acting in the best spirit of the freedom we Americans seek and boast of

Even so, and although I am pretty certain Civi will be impressed by this family and what they have, I still felt that the the special American Fourth of July freedom picture that I wanted to take just for him had not yet appeared before my camera. Maybe I would take it at the parade.

I will post something from the parade within the next hour or so and you can see if I succeeded.

And don't anyone worry - Metro Cafe will always be the coffee shop where I go every afternoon when I am in Wasilla and sometimes mornings too.

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Carmen rides a little bike; frog appears; in the long but waning light of early summer, one can feel the approach of winter

Yesterday afternoon when I pulled into the Metro drive through, I saw Carmen, pedaling through the parking lot on Branson's bike. Hence, the above study:

Carmen in the Metro Parking Lot, Study, #52: Carmen transforms into a little kid.

I ate lunch in the back yard, so that Jimmy could spend a little time outside. A frog appeared - the biggest I have seen around here in a long time - the body must have been nearly three inches long - and around here, that is a huge frog.

While the frog population appears to be much smaller than it once was, one must still be careful walking in the backyard, because these guys are well-camouflaged and easy to not see and so step on.

It is an awful thing, to step on a frog.

I took this picture well after 10:00 PM, as I was riding my bike down Church Road. When I looked up and saw these clouds, I could feel the impending darkness. This may seem absurd to people in lower latitudes who have never seen the night sky look like this, but up here, many of us get this feelng the day after summer solstice:

The dark of winter, coming on.

Yesterday, I found fireweed in bloom. The blooms start with the bottom flowers and then progress upward as we move through summer. When the top flowers bloom, it is said that summer is over.

Summer is wonderful right now, and yet I can feel its end so strong.

The feeling is made all the worse by the fact that I have a great deal of production work to do this summer, and that work must all be done inside, at my computer.

I have long had this theory that I should not have any production work to do in the summer. Summers should be spent outdoors, shooting. Winters can be spent inside, producing.

Yet, somehow, I always lose a signficant portion of my summer to production.

Right now, I am producing work based primarily on images that I shot during the winter. So, except for a few fleeting moments, I am pretty much stuck inside this summer. Fish are running, animals moving and I am pretty much stuck inside, producing work built of the images of winter.

Everything is backwards of how it ought to be.

This must be the last such summer.

Next summer, I must be free to spend most of my time outdoors, shooting, living. No more of this summer production work!

An hour or so a day producing this blog would be okay, but that's it.

Next summer!

This one is already lost - mostly. I will still ride my bike most everyday that I am home. I might get in a short canoe trip, a hike, I might catch and cook a fish and next week I do plan a field trip north and at least part of that will be outdoor work.

But I should be able to be outdoors, everyday, most all the time.

Here I am, on my bike, late at night, corner of Seldon and Church. A light rain has fallen. The air smells sweet, and fresh. It is wonderfully cool against my skin.

I bike through a late night sunbeam, down by the Little Susitna River. My shadow follows.

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Mended computer; Shoshana study; the vandalized fence; young music producer Alan Drumsbarger

I back up to the day before yesterday:

The stress of the combination of being both without a working computer and the necessary capital to pay bills took its toll, so much so that once I found myself with a good working computer and funds enough in the bank to carry us for some time, I suddenly felt drained. All energy left me.

At 4:00 PM, Margie drove into ?downtown? Wasilla to shop for groceries and pay bills. I had her drop me off at Metro Cafe, so I could walk home. I would have ridden my bike, but I did not feel that I had the energy to pedal it.

That put me on the inside of Metro. There, I saw Greg pull up to the window. I often see Greg through that window, but usually I am in the car and looking at him on the inside on the other side of the counter. Somehow, Greg and I often wind up at Metro at the same time and he has appeared in a number of studies. Today, it was reversed - I on the inside and he out, looking in. Hence, the above study:

Study of the young writer, Shoshana, #6921: just after she handed a Rockstar power drink to Greg, he on the outside looking in, me on the inside looking out, and accepted his payment.

I had to pay Shoshana for my coffee and pastry of the previous day as well, because on that day I had not been able to scrape together even enough loose change but they knew I was good for it and so carried me for a day. Now I am flush and the summer ahead looks good.

Such can be the life of a freelance photographer/writer. You gotta love it to do it, and if you don't love it, you can't do it. To live this way, it must be the only way your soul will allow you to live.

I walked on the bike trail towards home. I had not gone far before I came upon this fence, newly bashed in several places. Alas, folks, this kind of thing is part of Wasilla, too. It really is. Most folks here are decent, I believe, but there is an element who simply have no respect for anybody or anything but would sure whine mightily were the situation reversed even slightly.

Somebody spends money, works hard, takes pride, and then someone who understands nothing of life comes along and does this.

Probably a kid or a couple of kids, and since we were all kids once, we must forgive kids of many things, but in a case like this, forgiveness should come only after a significant price is paid - including full restoration of the fence.

I walked a little further down the bike trail, then turned around to get a comprehensive view of the damage. I saw a stranger coming along.

It turned out to be Alan Drumsbarger, who is not a stranger any more. "Nice camera," he said, when he caught up to me about two blocks down. We then walked and chatted together for a few more blocks. Alan was born and raised in Wasilla and now runs a little music recording business, 49 State Records, along with relatives and friends. He has a studio in his basement.

He is also a guitarist and base player, and stands in with many bands.

As we walked and talked, he told me all about his studio, and the hard and soft ware that he uses to record and produce music. He told me many things, more than I can take the time to write here. When I asked him if the business was profitable, he laughed. It's an art, you know, and artists are driven by other forces first and profit second, or maybe third or fourth or fifth or maybe they don't even give a damn about profit, but it is just one of those evil necessities that must be figured out, just to allow them to survive and keep making their art.

He did not say it that way, but I know for a first-hand fact that is how it is with some artists.

You will notice that I once again have four photos, whereas I had set a time-saving limit of three.

Well, with this computer now running hot and fast, trust me, I prepared these four photos MUCH faster than I would have prepared three, before Bruce pointed me toward this fix.

Now, if only I could do something about the many time-wasting inefficiencies built into Squarespace, my bloghost, I could add even more images in the same time.

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No car, computer going down at worst time - but that kid George has talent!

I am now in my third day without a car. Once again, Margie has gone off to town to help take care of Kalib and Jobe, this time because Jobe fell a little under the weather for awhile and Jake's job took him out of town. I am a person who likes to drive, but, whenever Margie has gone to town for a few days I have not really been bothered by the lack of a car.

I have my bicycle, and this time of year I bike every day, anyway.

So I just get on the bike and go.

When I get to Metro Cafe, that means I go inside instead of through the drive through. I suppose I could go through the drive-through and then drink my coffee as I pedal my bike, but I don't want to.

So I go inside. And once there I shoot serious, brilliant, studies like this one:

Looking out the Metro window from the inside, Study #3671: Claudia pays for her coffee with a credit card.

Within 8 minutes of posting this, I expect to receive a call from MOMA in New York, offering me $42 million if I will just let them hang a print of this in their hallway for three days. That ought to take care of a few problems I face, and allow me to blog full time and make my new electronic magazine.

Branson always wants to ride my bike, but he is too small for it. Today, Carmen told him to stay off it because he might scratch it. "This bike is already scratched up," he answered.

It's true, too.

Yet, today, I absolutely needed a motor vehicle. I had to take this computer to the shop and see if I could get it fixed. I have been working on layout and writing tasks lately, but now I must switch gears and get into photo processing for CMYK offset reproduction.

My computer has lost all its power and speed. When I am working in Lightroom and in Photoshop, It grinds to a near halt and the Mac color ball spins and spins and I just about go crazy waiting for it. And I will be working with large, high-resolution files - 100 mb each.

This morning, after drinking coffee and working through the night, I went to bed at 6:40 AM, then got up at 9:53, borrowed Caleb's truck and hauled my big, heavy, Mac Pro over to Machaus.

Then, after my afternoon coffee at Metro, I pedaled my bike back home, exchanged it for Caleb's truck once again and headed back toward Machaus.

I had to be there before six and I thought it would be no problem, but then I came upon this cop in the road, directing traffic because the stoplight was out. Maybe that lineman in the background above is trying to fix the problem.

The cop was not nearly so efficient as the light is, when it works, and after five minutes, I was still sitting there. He had sent the oncoming left-turn traffic through twice and everybody else at least once, without even letting us move. So I was worried that I would not get to Machaus until after 6:00, but I got there at 5:55, so it was okay.

Bruce at Machaus did find one thing that he fixed and it helped, but he did not charge because he had a feeling the overall problem was not yet fixed.

He was right. This computer is still dragging like crazy, especially when it comes to Lightroom and Photoshop. And I have over 300 images to prepare for offset. And if this computer malfunction costs me an average of 10 or fifteen minutes wasted time for each image - which, in fact, it is doing and sometimes more... well... make that times more than 300 and you see the problem that I am up against.

I do not know how I am going to deal with it.

It is time for a new computer, I think, but I don't have the money at the moment and even if I can find it soon, which I believe I can, rumor has it that Mac is about to release a brand new, top of the line, powerhouse computer with the pending Lion operating system and it would be stupid to buy a new computer just before that one comes out.

What do I do?

What can I do?

Nothing but slog through it, I think.

Day and night. Slog through it until its done.

All the time, wondering why I have to get stuck inside during the time of long light?

This is George Rasputkov, the aspiring young photographer, and I first met him when he was a boy and I would be out walking our now deceased dog, Willow. George was one of a group of children whose parents were immigrants from the countries of the former Soviet Block and they all loved Willow.

"Willow!" they would shout when they saw us coming. Then they would come and pet Willow and wrap their arms around her and she loved it.

She was an attention hound, that dog.

Tonight I met him again as I was out pedaling my bike home from the Little Susitna River.

Now he is grown and he loves photography and wants to become professional.

He showed me a few of his pictures  on his LCD and his iPhone and he is good. He has the talent. I complimented him on what I saw. "I give the credit to God," he told me. He said he is Christian. I do not yet know the history that brought his family and so many others here from the old Soviet Block, but I think that has a lot to do with it.

Now we are Facebook friends, so, when I get the chance, which won't be until I get this project out of the way, I will give his work a good study. Surely, I will look at it right away, but study will have to come later.

Yet, generally speaking, it really only takes me a glance to determine whether or not I like a photograph. My first glance at George's work proved pretty positive.

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Dog carries blue football to grave; boy smiles on fourwheeler; two thought they would employ sexy girls to compete with Metro, but the Metro girl won

I was pedaling my bike through the graveyard when suddenly I saw the dog, Cloe, standing in front of this grave with a football in her mouth. What a predicament! I knew that the moment I stopped, Cloe would become interested in me and would turn away from the grave but I was already alongside the grave and if I did not stop I would roll right past before I could even lift my camera and then if I turned back the dog would move. I squeezed both brakes hard and then, even before I came to a complete stop, let go of the right while still squeezing the left, lifted my camera and shot as I was almost catapulted over the handle bars. 

If I had been, and if I had broken my neck and died on the spot, they wouldn't have had to carry me far. They could have just dug a hole and dropped me in right there. 

Except I want to be cremated and to have my ashes scattered here and there, from the Arctic Slope to Hatcher Pass to Arizona to India. So that wouldn't work, after all.

I got the framing and the moment good, but, damnit! When I pedal my bike I try to keep my shutter speed at 1/400 of a second or so, but sometimes the knob rubs against my clothing and changes the shutter speed without me knowing it.

That's what happened here - the shutter speed had slipped down to 1/40th of a second and at that speed, from the seat of a bike that I am bringing to a stop while almost going over the handle bars, there is no way I am not going to get motion blur.

I capture a once-in-a-lifetime moment and it is blurred.

Oh well. From the vantage point of life, death is kind of a blur, anyway. I guess I just have to live with it. 

Sure enough, when I came to a complete stop, Cloe dropped the ball and came to me.

A bit further on, I saw these two, the little one looking back at another four-wheeler.

This is Sean, in a photo that I took inside Metro Cafe after pedaling my bike here at breakfast time because Margie had taken the car to Anchorage so she could babysit Kalib and Jobe.

Sean lives just a couple of hundred yards or so up Lucille Street from Metro and he and his buddy Justin had been planning to start a coffee shop of their own and then Carmen and Scott built Metro and beat them to the punch. Still, they thought they might do it. They could still build their stand and hire beautiful, sexy, girls to serve as baristas - baristas in bikinis, no less.

So, for awhile, they stayed away from Metro. They did not want to take a chance that they might come in and then find they actually liked the coffee and the people, because then they might be reluctant to build their shop and compete with them.

But finally, they came in to sample the competition's product. There, they beheld the beautiful-always-modestly-and-tastefully-attired-young-writer barista Shoshana and that was it. Justin fell in love.

So did Shoshana. And one coffee shop staffed by bikini-clad baristas who would be popsicles for eight months of the year fell to the wayside without ever opening.

Now Sean comes often in the mornings, often by himself, to sit, eat, drink coffee, shoot the bull and lament with Carmen. He laments because once, not so long ago, he and Justin were together most all the time, hanging out, being best friends, cooking up schemes.

Now, Justin is always with the  beautiful-always-modestly-and-tastefully-attired-young-writer barista Shoshana - who was not working this morning.

That's why I didn't do one of my famous studies on her. Instead, I did the above study:

Inside the Metro Cafe, Study #1976: Sean, who did not get to open a coffee shop staffed by sexy, bikini-clad baristas

Sean is an ex-Mormon, by the way. Now he goes to a different church. He didn't say which one, but apparently, judging from what Carmen said, he takes it pretty seriously.

From my bike, as I pedal down Gail Street, through the rain. Today is sunny. Sunny and warm. An airplane is passing overhead. Jim is walking back and forth across my desk and keyboard, blocking my view of my monitor, meowing impatiently. He wants me to take him outside. I try to take him out for awhile everyday now that summer is here. 

But it is never enough for him. He always wants more.

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