Mike and Maggie Williams, plus other people bumped into while dining; missing Jobe; Kivgiq edit progressing

This is Mike Williams and his wife, Maggie, who walked into Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant one day last week just after I had sat down for breakfast. Margie was still in Anchorage, babysitting Jobe and Kalib.

Any Alaskan who pays much attention at all will know who Mike Williams is and I have written a bit about him before. For those who may not have heard of Mike, he is a Yupiaq tribal leader and dog musher from the Kuskokwim village of Akiak and a recovering alcoholic. He was raised with six brothers and a dog team in that time before snowmachines took over the daily work of dogs.

He loved his dogs and he loved his brothers. He would race his dogs and one race he did was the Iditarod. When he would reach Nome, he would take care of his dogs, and then he and a brother would hit the bars and drink up a storm.

But his brothers got killed - all six of them - one after the other and each killing came as the result of alcohol abuse. One brother had served in the thick of the fighting in Vietnam and had come home safely, only to die from alcohol.

So Mike went to war against alcohol abuse. He sobered up. He created a petition and carried it with him as he raced the Iditarod Trail. Each time he would reach a village, he would take that petition around and commit all who would sign it to a year of sobriety.

Did all who sign it succeed?

No, but some did, and I heard testimony from a few of the them in the year 2000, when the Running Dog was still airworthy and I used it to follow Mike and his team along the Iditarod Trail from Wasilla to Nome.

Mike is not racing this year, but his son, Mike. Jr., is. Mike and Maggie had come to Wasilla to make the food drops that Mike Jr. will need to feed his dogs as he races along the trail.

After I took this picture, I put down my camera, pulled out my iPhone and placed a call to Mitt Romney, to see if I could convince him to finance this blog and the electronic magazine I want to add to it.

Mitt thanked me for calling, wished me well, said it was a worthy cause but he just couldn't afford to help. It was disappointing, but at least the three of us sitting at this table all got to make good use of our phones simultaneously.

If the Running Dog was not broken and I had the money for gas, I would love to follow Mike Jr. up the trail to Nome in this year's race, but the Running Dog is broken and gas is really expensive these days, anyway.

At the very least, I will photograph him at the starting line.

On another day last week when Margie was still in town, I did another breakfast at Family. As I was leaving, this fellow, Franz, noticed my camera and asked me about it. He wondered what kind of things I photograph, so, to demonstrate, I sat down at his table for a moment and took a photo of him.

Then we engaged in an arm wrestling match, which I easily won.

I jokes. We did not. And with my weak, fragile, artificial shoulder, I cannot arm wrestle anyone.

But when I was younger and my shoulder was real and I could, I almost always won - even against people much larger than me.

Not always.

But almost.

Now I have done my bragging for today.

On Friday evening after Lavina brought Margie and Jobe home, none of us wanted to cook. So I ordered a Pizza from Fat Boys and then went to pick it up.

This fellow, Ron, was dining inside. He noticed my camera, commented on it and asked what kind of pictures I took with it.

So I sat down with him while I waited for the Fat Boy to box up my pizza and gave him a demonstration.

So Margie had Jobe all of last week and I had him Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Now he is gone back to Anchorage and I am missing him. There are reminders of him all about the house.

As to my Kivgiq edit, yesterday I did complete my initial pass through of Day 2. Today, I begin on Day 3.

I mention this just to assure those who love Kivgiq that I am sticking with it and will yet make my big series of Kivgiq posts.

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Jobe's parents come to get him; Kalib loses his spatula - what could take its place? Two beggar boys and a puppy; tomorrow, I return to Kivgiq

In the morning, Jobe's parents called to tell us they were about to leave Anchorage to drive to Wasilla. They suggested that we meet them at IHOP, where they would buy us breakfast.

So, about 45 minutes later, I bundled Jobe up and packed him into his car seat.

Then we were all together in IHOP and it was busy there - as it always is on a Sunday morning.

Jobe was happy to see his parents, alright, but the moment after he exchanged his greetings with them, he wanted to come back to his grandpa.

That's just how it is with Jobe and me.

Kalib, however, was most content to settle down in the loving arms of his mom.

Except that he also wanted to spend time with his dad. 

Jobe did find himself the recipient of some special Mom love, but even then his mind was on grandpa.

We returned home and in a bit Jobe's Uncle Rex showed up. Jobe was glad to see him, but still his thoughts were on grandpa.

Then Dad decided to read a book to Jobe. For a moment, Jobe was interested.

Then he decided he would rather be held by his grandpa than to hear how the story came out. So he pushed away from his dad...

...and came to me, so that I could hold him, which I did. Afterward, I decided that I had better go into my office, so that Jobe could visit other people. Plus, I had to put up yesterday's blog post.

Perhaps one day, Jobe will rebel, as young people do, and grow tired of his old grandpa. Perhaps Jobe will avoid me then, strive not to be seen by his peers with me.

Perhaps not. Perhaps he will be one of those young people who hangs tight with grandpa, no matter what.

He will always know his grandpa loves him. And, whether his rebellion draws him away from me for a time or not, I will know that he loves me, too.

He has already made it manifest. Such love does not just go away, but survives through youthful rebellion.

Plus, maybe before he hits that rebellion we will catch some fish together and cook them over hot coals and then eat them and then, even when he is rebelling, he will sometimes remember such moments fondly.

Jobe - my canoe has been dormant since I shattered my shoulder, but it will soon be time to activate it again.

Maybe Kalib, The Spatula Kid, can cook those fish for us. But it was kind of sad - Kalib came to the house with no spatula. His spatula is lost. No one can find it. His parents tried to give him another, but he would not accept it. It was THAT spatula or no spatula.

So he found a pair of tongs and has been packing those around instead. I understand that he has used them to turn hot dogs over, or maybe it was hamburgers.

He finds the tongs to be good for grabbing many things.

Still, I hope the spatula is soon found.

If it is, will he still want it?

Or will he only want the tongs, now?

Now that he has learned that he can grab things with them.

Just be careful what you grab, Kalib - especially when it comes to human and cat body parts.

When it came time to go, Kalib headed to the car with his parents. Jobe did, too. 

This is the last day of the three day weekend and I have actually managed to rest up a bit. Tomorrow, I will return to my Kivgiq photos.

And this from India: Two beggar boys and a puppy

At one stop, I came upon these boys and this puppy. They were beggar boys, hoping to get a few coins from anyone who would give them. I believe that I have mentioned this before, but I was counseled by a number of sources not to give money to the beggars. I was told that what I could not see on the streets was the Fagan-like scroundrels operating unseen in the background - unscrupulous, cruel individuals who would send young children, mothers, and old people out onto the streets to beg and who would then collect the bulk of their earnings and keep them for themselves.

As to adult beggars who might not be tied into such rings, I was told that most of them were people who could work but who had chosen not to, but to beg instead and I should not encourage them. There are temples all about India where food is gathered in generous quantities and served to the poor, that none are turned away, that those who truly need it can find sustenance at these temples and that those who truly want to help donate to the temples - not the beggars themselves.

Still, it was very hard for me and I did pass on a number coins in India. Even if it should be true that a Fagan-like character was going going to take most of the money I gave to a child or mother of the street, that child or mother's survival is still tied to whether or not he or she is going to bring back enough revenue to stave off the wrath of Fagan.

The fact is, though, that so many people are out begging that one with limited resources himself can only give out so many coins and then he must stop or he will have no more coins for himself.

I have found this to be true in many American cities as well.

The bigger boy wanted me to photograph him with the puppy, but he did not want the little boy to be in the picture.

The little boy was determined to be in the picture.

I believe that I have also noted that in the short time that we were blessed to spend with Soundarya and Anil, who truly did not have that much themselves and would struggle with financial matters up until their deaths, on a number of times I saw one, the other, or both of them step quietly aside to give a coin to a beggar.

That's how my Sandy was - and her husband, too.

Generous people, both.

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A boy, a dog, a pizza, a cat and a wife on Super Bowl Sunday; Durga, in the form of a beautiful woman, slayer of the buffalo demon

Yes, all who have returned from yesterday, you guessed it: I ordered our Super Bowl Sunday meal from Fat Boyz Fatery Pizza. As Fat Boyz is only 1.5 miles from the house, I decided to walk over, place my order, then walk back home, get in the car, drive back, pick it up and bring it home.

That would be a three mile walk - not as much as I want or need, but better than no walk at all.

As I walked down Seldon towards Fat Boyz, I saw this boy and this dog walking in the opposite direction, coming towards me. I decided immediately that I would not take any pictures. I would give them a sociable nod hello and just keep going.

That's because, given all that I must do before I leave for Barrow tomorrow and given the fact that I knew that, in spite of myself, I would not get much done during the Super Bowl, I wanted to keep this blog post very short.

I figured that the pizza and Margie watching the Super Bowl would be all that I could deal with.

But when I reached the kid and the dog, the boy stopped me.

"I'm exhausted!" he exclaimed.

"How come?" I asked.

"Because I just got up!" he said.

So I figured that if he was up to it, I might as well take a picture for the blog.

"What's the dogs name?" I asked, as I shot the above.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "This dog has had lots of names. I think its Smokey now."

As to his own name, the boy said it was Unknown. I showed him my blog on my iPhone and he said he recognized the folks at Far Boyz. 

I then thanked him and was about to move on, but then Smokey playfully tipped Unknown onto his back.

Smokey and Unknown. BTW - Unkown assured me that Smokey does not bite. Unknown's mother insists that he wear the muzzle when he is out walking, just to be safe.

Unknown tries to get up but Smokey licks him in the face.

Unknown again tries to rise, but Smokey puts his weight on his shoulder.

So Smokey and Unknown take a break.

Then Unknown again tries to rise, but Smokey takes him back down.

Finally, Unknown manages to get up and they start walking down the street. "That Smokey's a good dog," I tell him.

"I don't know," Unknown answered. "He had his manlys cut off a few days ago."

Then Smokey tripped him up a bit.

I was reminded of a recurring dream that comes to me in one form or another. Somehow, I fall down. I keep trying to get up, but I keep tripping and falling again. Over and over.

"Who you for, Unknown?" I shouted after them.

"Green Bay!" he shouted back. "Of course I'm for Green Bay."

I did not see them on the return, so I assume they made it home safely.

Soon, I made it to Fat Boyz. My camera was too cold to use inside, where it would just fog and ice up.

No sooner had I walked in then I was informed that, just before me, someone had placed an order because they had read about Fat Boyz on this blog.

You know, when you are a blogger, you want to make a difference in this world. You labor hours and hours upon end, reaping far, far, less than minimum wage, just hoping to make a difference. Sometimes, you wonder if it is all futile, if you are laboring in vain, your images and words slipping into the deep abyss of cyberspace, making no difference whatsover.

And then you walk into Fat Boyz pizza and find out that someone has just placed an order because of your blog.

Suddenly, you know its all worthwhile.

Suddenly, you know you and your blog are making a difference in this world.

You feel new strength, new determination to carry on.

And carry on I will.

I will!

Damnit!

I will!

As I walked home, I saw this guy walking towards me. I could have stopped him to learn his story but I decided I had enough to deal with already.

And then this airplane flew overhead and I remembered how my life once was, how I hope it will yet become again. It will yet become again.

I was not created to remain always upon the ground.

As I drew closer to home, I saw Jared, out in his yard. Jared was not going to watch the game. He had other things to do that interested him more. Jared has a snow plow and anyone can hire him to come and plow their driveway or road.

Unfortunately, of all the winters that I have ever seen here, this has been the least snowiest of all.

We have a dearth of snow.

It is terrible.

But there's lots of February still ahead, March and April, too. March can often be the snowiest month of the year.

So there's hope for Jared, yet.

As every US reader already knows and maybe some of the rest of you, too, towards the end of the first quarter, the packers put a touch down on the board and then, 28 seconds later, Nick Collins intercepted a Steeler pass and scored six more.

Unkown would get to celebrate a Packers victory. We were for the Packers, too - mostly because Green Bay is a small town. I googled the population: just over 102,000 - less than half the population of Anchorage?

Can you imagine, if Anchorage had an NFL team?

But that's not the important part of this picture.

See how the Fat Boyz pizza is already half eaten.

Today's pizza was truly super.

"Oh, this is good!" Margie said upon taking her first bite.

She offered many more praises before the game ended.

At some point in the second quarter, Chicago joined us.

She had no interest in the game whatsover.

Maybe if it had been the Bears...

From India... Durga, Slayer of the buffalo Demon:

While walking through one of the ancient Hindu temples of Pattadakal, Melanie and I met this priest, who invited us to enter a tiny, dark, alcove in which sat this idol of Durga.

I asked my friend, Kavitha, who wants to come and hike with us in the Brooks Range this summer, before returning to India to take a long trek and bike ride at 17,000 feet in the Himalayas that will finish in Tibet, if she could help me with Durga's story.

This is what she wrote:

The mythological story goes thus –

Long, long ago, there was a demon king called Mahishasura <Mahisha is Sanskrit word for buffalo and Asura = demon>. This demon had the capability to change between human and buffalo at will. He terrorized the earthling, invaded heaven defeated the gods, and drove all the Devas <Gods> out of heaven.

The gods got into a meeting to strategies against the Asura. Since he was invincible to all men, they decided to create his nemesis in the form of a woman. The Devas combined all their Shakti <energy / power> to create a beautiful woman. They named her Durga.

According to legend, Durga created an army to fight against the forces of the Mahishasura. After nine days of fighting, Mahishasura's army was destroyed; she finally killed him on the tenth day of the waxing moon. Durga is therefore called Mahishasuramardin i(literally the slayer of the buffalo demon), the destroyer of Mahishasura.

This event of victory of good over evil is celebrated in various versions in India.  It is also said that the region where Mahishasura ruled is now called Mysore.

Thank you, Kavitha (Cawitha)!

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At the recommendation of Lisa Kelly, the Ice Road Trucker, I return to Fat Boyz Pizza and find a super pie - and they are open Super Bowl Sunday; Kalib and Jobe make a surprise visit

This is not the Fat Boy, Tom, but rather the medium boy, Mike. Mike has just pulled this pizza out of the Fat Boy oven.

After we became aware that the the new mini-mini-mall that was being built on the corner of Seldon and Church Roads, where previously the only businesses were those that catered to moose, ravens, foxes, hares, bears and such - namely, nature's own smorgasboard, we were very excited to try out a pizza.

Fat Boyz Fattery Pizza would be only one-and-a-half miles from our house and in this sprawling, flung-hither-and-thither community loosely known as Wasilla, a mile-and-a-half is like being right next door.

So, on the very day that they opened, we ordered pizzas. 

Those pizzas were okay. Not super - just okay.

I like my pizza super, so I did not bother to return for awhile.

Then Lisa Kelly, the Ice Road Trucker, convinced me that I ought to give Fat Boyz another try.

She did this that day that I found her at Metro Cafe. She did it by naming Fat Boyz as one of her very favorite places in Wasilla, right alongside Metro Cafe.

I figured an ice road trucker ought to know a super pizza from an okay pizza.

I figured maybe there was just some kind of first day glitch that made that first pizza just okay and not super. I figured I should give them another try.

This is John Boy, hard at work just beyond the range of the desserts.

So, finally, thinking that Lisa Kelly should be paid attention to, I ordered another pizza - a small one. With Canadian Bacon, mushrooms, olives, onions and green peppers.

I brought it home. Margie and I ate.

And... oh, my! It was way better than ok. It was good... it was super!

Super - just right for Super Bowl Sunday.

Usually, Mike closes on Sunday, but today he is staying open.

So now we have place just one-and-a-half miles from the house to order super pizza.

This is the Fat Boy, Tom. Tom used to be the executive Chef at the Hilton Hotel in Anchorage, but decided he would rather work for himself and stay in the valley every day.

Business is doing good, he told me, so much so that he will soon open a second restaurant in "downtown Wasilla."

This is Shelbi, picking up her order of two pizzas. I had planned to order a pizza, too, to bring it home and finish off this post with pictures of Margie and I eating it. But Kalib and Jobe changed my plans.

They showed up unexpectedly at the house, with their mom and dad. Before I alerted Mom and Dad to my plans for evening pizza, Mom got dinner cooking - spaghetti and salad.

So that is what we ate instead of Fat Boyz pizza.

But that spaghetti was pretty super itself.

The salad was good, too.

And Jobe crawled quickly beneath the coffee table from one side to the other.

Margie, Kalib, Jobe and I hung out for awhile in the guest bedroom, the one that used to be Lisa's room, the one that later Jacob, Lavina and Kalib stayed in while they saved up money to buy a home of their own.

Right after I took this picture, I sat about to take one of just Jobe, as he crawled onto me.

Just as I was pressing the shutter, Kalib thrust his head between my camera and Jobe. Kalib stole the picture for himself.

They are gone, now, and they are holding a big Super Bowl party at their house in Anchorage. They invited us to come, but I leave for Barrow Tuesday and I have an impossible number of tasks to perform between now and then and I cannot take the time to drive back and forth to Anchorage and to socialize in front of the TV.

Still, it is Super Bowl Sunday and Margie and I must eat.

I wonder what we will eat?

The answer should be in tomorrow's blog - assuming that we make it through this day and into tomorrow.

I believe we will, but one never knows for certain.

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Contemplating the future of this blog, part 1

On a painful day in the recent past, I wrote of how I once heard a teenage girl speak a name and immediately fell in love with the woman named, a woman who I had never yet met but who would become my wife and the mother of my children.

The girl who spoke Margie's name was Martyna White Hawk, Lakota of Manderson, South Dakota, on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.

One week ago, I received a Facebook message from Martyna in which she told me that on January 25, she was going to hold a memorial walk for the three children of hers who had been killed one year before in a terrible traffic accident. MADD - Mothers Against Drunk Driving - was going to walk with her and she hoped that the Lakota Times might come and cover the event.

As soon as I learned this, I just wanted to drop everything and go. I wanted to be there.

Yet, the total sum of my business and home checking accounts, plus the one cent still left in my savings account, did not add up to the required airfare from Anchorage to Rapid City, or the rental car that I would need from there.

I checked my frequent flier miles and came up 10,000 miles short.

I sent an email to an important person in the photographic world who works at a national blog that has plans to soon feature some of my work to see if by any almost impossible chance he might be able to help me get there.

He responded that he was moved by the story but did not have any resources available to help me do it.

So I had no choice but to resign myself to the fact that I could not go and to hope only that the Lakota Times would show up and they would do a good story and that I could read about it there and post a link here.

The night before the walk was scheduled to take place, Margie had gone to town to babysit Kalib and Jobe and so I had stayed up almost all night, pittering away at my computer. When she is gone, it is very difficult for me to make myself stop what I am doing and go to bed. Even so, as has so often been the case these past couple of months, once I did go to bed, I was only able to sleep briefly before I awoke, exhausted, yet unable to sleep further.

So I got up, thinking maybe I would walk to Family Restaurant - but that would be close to an eight-mile walk, roundtrip, and while I could use an eight-mile walk, I didn't have time for it.

Just as I was about to cook oatmeal, Caleb pulled into the driveway, home from his all-night shift at Wal-Mart. "You can take my truck," he said.

So I did. And here I am - at Family Restaurant, once again, eating breakfast and photographing reflections in the window.

The day must come - IT MUST COME - when this blog and its evolution gains enough resource that if I suddenly find I have the need to drop everything, hop on a jet and go to South Dakota, I can go. 

In one month, Sujitha and Manoj will experience a formal Hindu wedding in Bangalore. Those who have been with me since the day that I mentioned how Martyna spoke Margie's name know why it would be important for me to be there.

Last winter, my dear and best friend down in Arizona, Vincent Craig, lay in a hospital bed, battling cancer, and I wanted to drop everything and go see him, but I couldn't, until late May, and then I got there and stepped into his hospital room just hours before he died.

While I was glad that I made it, I should have been there in time to sit down with him, talk with him, joke with him, laugh with him, cry with him, but I didn't make it and I will regret that for the remainder of my days.

And then all that happened in India in November - I want to say that I should have been able to hop on a jet at the first notification to scoot right down and then maybe that could have changed at least the final, tragic, outcome but, you know what?

After someone dies in India, things happen so fast that even if I had left on the next scheduled flight, it would have all been over by the time the plane touched down in Bangalore.

Yet, still I should have been able to jump on that plane and if I had possessed the resource, I surely would have and maybe... maybe... I can't be sure... but maybe just the knowledge that someone was coming from Alaska could have forestalled and then prevented the outcome which has now become destiny - but it did not need to be destiny.

Destiny only becomes firm once it has happened and then it seems as if it was always going to be destiny and that it was just beyond anyone's ability to change it. But before any one destiny becomes set and firm, other destinies abound in endless possibility and this could have come to a different destiny.

Anyway, I am rambling, going off track. I did not mean to go here. I only meant to state that this blog must find a measure of self-sustaining independence so that when the need arises, I can get up and go to wherever it is that I need to go at the time.

Or, if I just need to stay home for awhile, I can stay home. I can't always do that, either, you know. Sometimes, I want to stay home, but I must go.

The kids in this bus, btw, might have wanted to stay home on this, the morning of Martyna's memorial walk, but they had to get up, get dressed and go.

Not a single one of them were thinking of Martyna, or of her children, but I was.

I fear that I have rambled too much, and have missed the opportunity to delve into today's headline, "contemplating the future of this blog."

I spend a fair amount of time thinking about different options that I might pursue to find the means to fund this blog and to build it in to what I want it to be, but I think it is time for me to stop just thinking about it, to write it down, and start coming up with a plan to achieve it.

It can be done - I am certain of it - but not if I just keep going as I am going.

So, I was going to begin that effort, right here, today. I was going to write down some of what I hope to do and to contemplate the possibilities of getting me there. While I do not expect any readers out there to have the answer for me, if any had any input or ideas after reading what I thought would write about today, then I would have been very glad to read those ideas.

But I have used up all my blogging time and then some, and have already written more words than most readers are likely to read.

This is a cat, by the way - a black cat that has just crossed the road in front of me. So maybe some good fortune will come my way.

One thing that bothers me about this blog is how small the horizontal pictures appear.

So small that the cat barely appears at all.

This is the same frame, cropped. Now you can see the cat better, but I prefer the full-frame, horizontal image. It just does not work so well on this blog. It works a little better in slide show view.

Anyway, since I blew it today, I will change the title of this post to "Contemplating the future of this blog, part 1." I will continue this discussion tomorrow in "part 2".

I have run out of time to even jump into my India folder to randomly grab an image. Even so, I have been posting the India images to accomplish a specific purpose, and in this post that purpose has already been accomplished.

This image, by the way, is from the drop-in to Metro Cafe that I made with Margie the other day.

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