My day so far - as interpreted through my iPhone

Awhile back, I wrote that I was tired of writing about my shingles and that I would write about them no more until I could state they were gone. Yet, I keep writing about them. I guess that is because they are the dominant force in my life right now. They rule over everything else and so I keep writing about them and I will do so today again.

I have also written about how I have turned the clock upside down, and about how odd my sleeping habits have become. I have written about my determination to get more back in sync with the world around me. Yesterday, it seemed that maybe I had succeeded. I got up at 8:00 AM. I took Margie out for breakfast and then, after I got home, that weighty, heavy, feeling that has come over me at least once and sometimes twice or thrice every day since I came down with shingles, bore down upon me and so I laid down upon the couch with the cats and semi-passed out for three or four hours.

The same thing happened in the evening, but for not as long. Even so, by 1:00 AM, I felt so tired and weighty that I had no choice but to go to bed. I was glad, for I thought maybe I would get up at 8:00 again; maybe I was getting more in sync with the world around me.

I did not get up at 8:00. As every night has been, even if at times the day presents false signs to me that my shingles are easing and the pain and itch will soon be gone forever, it was a helacious night. While the pain was bad, the itch was worse.

The itch was absolutely maddening. Sometimes, I would scratch it - not violently, nothing that would break the skin - or maybe I would pinch the itchy spots all over so that a sweep of pain would replace the itch, because I prefer the pain to the itch.

So I was in and out of little bits of sleep until 12:45 PM today - the best sleep coming after 8:00 AM, when I had hoped to get up.

Margie had made some wheat and blueberry pancakes for breakfast, still had some batter left and so cooked five more for me. I told her four would be all I could eat, but when I finished the four, I wanted another and so I ate the fifth, too.

Even in this state of protracted misery, I found them to be delicious.

Although I had gotten up less than an hour before after spending 12 hours in bed, that weighty feeling engulfed me again. I had no choice. I had to lie down. You might not believe this. You might say that I could exercise proper will power and discipline, refuse to yield, stay up and do something productive with my day.

You would be wrong. Whether it is the shingles, the drugs that I am taking to fight it that don't seem to be doing me much good except maybe for short periods of time, but I can't be sure, maybe it would be even worse without the drugs, when that weighty feeling hits me, I have no choice but to lay down.

And the second couch is the best place. The TV was on, a football game - the Green Bay Packers vs. The New York Giants. The Packers went into the game undefeated, but the Giants wanted to change that. For some reason, I wanted the Giants to change that, too. I don't know why. But I did. So I laid down upon the couch and tried to watch the game.

But I couldn't. I could not keep my head to the side. I could not keep my eyes on the TV. I could not keep my eyes open. Once again, I dozed into that strange state of being mostly asleep but still being cognizant of the world around me. I could hear the play by play and so my sleeping brain created great dream scenarios of a football game being waged, although the action did not necessarily match what was being described at all.

Three hours later, I began to come to. The Packers remained undefeated. I felt sick inside. Not about the Packers winning, but about the wasted time. Add the nap to the time in bed and I had spent 15 hours in bed or napping. This is happening to me every day. Sometimes 16, 17 - even 18 hours.

This is exceedingly frustrating to me. I have come to a very rare period when, except for preparing a few photos that I took back in August for a client whose organization, country and way of life I like very much but a client that doesn't have the kind of resources available to pay much, all the big projects I was working on are done.

Originally, I figured I would be left with enough resources to survive without working for anyone else for three months - and, totally unleashed, I could accomplish a great deal in three months - perhaps enough to set the foundation for my future work and survival. But then something happened and I had to make some major revisions to a project I thought I had completed and so I lost one month of the three. That hurt - but I had still had two months. And in two months I could still do a lot to advance my own projects - projects that I hope to build to the point where they can pay my way.

But at the very moment I cleared the time, I got smacked down by these shingles - almost surely due to the stress and effort I had put myself through to get to that moment. I fell into this horrible, shifting, sleep schedule. The doctor said the only way I would heal would be to get plenty of rest. It is hard to rest good when you are perpetually hurting and itching. When sleep comes and takes over and prevents me from using the time to do something productive, I know I must yield and let it. I must sleep for however long my body demands.

I keep thinking that next week I will be over this and can get back to normal. I can still make good use of whatever free time I have left. But next week has came four times so far. I fear that when the shingle-free time finally does come, my window of opportunity will have closed and I will have to go find somebody willing to pay me to do some work - which can be pretty hard for a freelance photographer/author in the middle of winter-time Alaska.

I wanted to take a walk, but about Friday the weather turned horrible. A couple of those Pacific winter storms that I dread so much swept in and overpowered the blessed, steel, cold that had dominated November, pulling up a mass of warm air from the South Pacific. The temperature climbed from -21 F into the high 30's, maybe even low 40's. A wet snow started to fall but then turned to rain.

Along with the sounds of the football game, I could hear the pitter-patter of that rain as I napped on the couch.

To get to the main roads that had been cleared of snow and ice, I would first have to walk roads of ice coated by rain water. I did not want to do that. Nothing is more slippery than that. And it was a bit after 4:00 PM, anyway, so I got in the car and went on my afternoon coffee break. I brought my camera, but forgot to to put a card in it, so it was worthless to me.

I had my iPhone, of course, so, as I took my break, I used it to shoot the images that appear here.

They are, top to bottom:

Street light on Polar Bear Road or Drive or whatever Polar Bear it is;

25 mph sign on the other side of the bridge that crosses the Little Susitna River where Shrock Road becomes Sunrise;

Mahoney's Grotto Iona - A Place of Prayer;

The restored monument to two people who died at the corner of Church and Shrock in an alcohol-caused crash;

The keyboard to my old Mac Pro, challenging me to somehow get something done, before that weighty feeling once again overwhelms me and takes me down.

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Exceedingly brief conservations with two moose, three horses and maybe another horse, maybe not; Bus, and Mary in the Grotto

After warming up the car for a bit, I jumped in and headed for coffee. I had barely gone a 100 yards or so down the road when I spotted a moose standing by the McDaniel's house. Like us, the McDaniels were among the first residents of this subdivision when it was new, nearly 30 years ago. 

Back then, perhaps because we all moved in at about the same time just after Charlie Bumpus had cut the new subdivision from semi-wilderness, we in the neighborhood all knew each other and we knew each other's kids. Pretty much everybody got along and looked after each other and their kids and it was a good place to grow kids.

It is not that way today. We who are still here from back then still know each other but for the most part this has become a neighborhood much like you might expect to find in California, where few neighbors know each other by name and everybody tends to live in their own world and at least a few live in paranoia.

I do know this moose, however. I have come upon this moose thousands of times over the past 30 years. It is a moose that always misinterprets things and each time I see it, it attempts to engage me in futile conversations that go nowhere.

So I hoped the moose would not see me, that I could drive by unnoticed.

"Hey, Bill!" the moose dashed my hope with a shout, "do you know whose kid this is?"

"What kid?" I answered, flummoxed, for I could see no kid.

"You blind?" the moose fired back. "This kid right here. The only kid in sight. For half-an-hour now, I've been asking the kid who his parents are, so I can take him home. Damn kid won't say a word."

"That's not a kid," I answered. "It's a lawn ornament."

"You think I'm stupid?" the moose retorted. "I know a kid when I see a kid. Now, whose kid is this?"

I had to get going and I could see that the conversation would be useless.

"Oh... yes...  I can see that you are right and I do recognize that kid. That's Alphonso, son of Rudy Guiliani, would-be President and the former Mayor of New York City."

"Okay, thanks! That's all I wanted to know," the moose said. It then turned its attention to the lawn ornament.

"Hey kid - pack a lunch bag of twigs and bark. We're going to New York City! I'm taking you home!"

I took advantage of the distraction and drove away as quickly as I could.

I stopped at Metro, bought a coffee and a cinnamon roll from Elizabeth and drove away. Remember how, just so short a time ago, it was completely dark during coffee break time? Well, look at it now.

I had not been by Grotto Iona for awhile or seen the Mahoney horses, so I thought I would swing by.

As I neared, I saw this school bus passing by the Grotto - A Place of Prayer. The driver did not stop to pray, but I'll bet he wanted to.

"Hey Bill!" the first Mahoney horse that I spotted shouted out at me. "Look at me! I know how to sleep walk! I'm walking in my sleep right now!"

"Pleasant dreams!" I shouted back.

"Hey Bill," the second horse shouted. "I know how to poop in the snow! Look, I just did."

I did not know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

"Hey Bill," this creature shouted out at me. "I've got ten bucks for you if you can tell me what I am, right now! No hestitation! Ten bucks!"

To be quite honest, I have not totally figured this creature out. Sometimes, I think its a mule. Look at the head - there is kind of a donkey shape to that head and mules are half donkey.

But I have known a few mules and they did not look quite like this.

Sometimes I have wondered if it might be some kind of horse bred special for cold climes. Before I made this post, I dropped by Facebook to see if Ron Mancil was there. Ron knows all the Mahoney stock well and I figured he could tell me.

But Ron was not on Facebook.

So I remain unsure.

"C'mon now, Bill!" the creature shouted back. "What am I?"

I had to come up with something, right or wrong.

"You're a creature of God!"

"Yes!" he shouted. "Come and get your ten bucks!"

So I got out of the car and went over. "Climb on my back and we'll go get it!"

So I climbed onto the back of this creature of God. The creature bucked ten times and on the tenth sent me flying nose first into the snow.

"Ha! A Creature of God!" the creature shouted. "Fooled you! I'm Satan's spawn!"

I staggered back to my feet. The final horse turned away from me. "What a dupe!" the horse muttered. "What a dupe! I have nothing to say to you. Nothing at all."

Humiliated, I climbed back into the car and pointed it toward home. Then I decided to stop for a few minutes at the Grotto, to see if I could regain my composure, to see if I could find some peace there.

Even though I am not Catholic and hardly know what to believe at all, everytime that I have ever stopped at the Grotto, even when beset by bitter grief, I have felt a bit of peace there.

This day was no exception.

Coming down Wards, I heard another voice shout out, "Hey Bill!" It was this bull moose, who has lost his antlers and must grow a new set.

"What?" I answered.

"Bethca can't see me!"

"I can too see you!" I countered.

"No you can't."

"Yes I can!"

"No you can't!"

"Yes I can!"

"No you can't."

I gave up, went home and ate some Kracker Jacks. 

I am getting tired of Kracker Jacks.

For four months now, I have been eating nothing but Kracker Jacks; Kracker Jacks everyday. Kracker Jacks for breakfast, Kracker Jacks for lunch, Kracker Jacks for dinner, Kracker Jacks for snacks.

I am tired of Kracker Jacks. And the prizes are nothing like they were when I was a kid.

I thought about getting my rifle and putting some moose on the table, but it was the wrong season for that.

So I tore open another box of Kracker Jacks.

Sure enough, there was a two-deminsional paper moose inside.

When I was a kid, it would have been a plastic moose - in three dimensions.

I tell you - America is going downhill!

I live on Sarah's Way in Wasilla, Alaska - so I know. No joke. I live on Sarah's Way. I am proud to say, though, that my street was named for a very good Sarah - Sarah Bumpus, daughter of the late Charlie Bumpus, a former mayor of Wasilla and builder of this subdivision.

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Depending on your monitor, pictures will appear larger and be much more impressive

In the Grotto Iona - a moment of peace

It is true that I am not Catholic nor any longer a follower of any religion, but during yesterday's coffee break I stopped at the Grotto Iona, built by the Mahoney's both as a place to bury their dead and as a place of prayer, open to all who seek solace. I did not pray, but I did find a feeling of peace there. I will take peace wherever I fan find it, and for however long I can hold it.

Here, you will find a larger slide of the image.

The young writer, Shoshauna, Study #4; a shot of Tequila on a cold day; Mary in the Grotto - five studies; he walks his pet scorpion

The young writer, Shoshauna, Study #4: On this day, I had to buy my own coffee. That's okay - everybody should buy their own coffee now and then. I would have bought a cinnamon roll, too, but other customers had already eaten the entire day's supply.

I did not want any of the other available pastries, so Shoshauna retrieved a basket full of biscotti and then sorted through them, telling me what kinds they were. I settled on cranberry with a white chocolate frost.

I think that I enjoyed it as much as if it had been a cinnamon roll.

Sometimes, one's day gets out of order. I actually encountered this dog earlier, before I drove up to the Metro Window. It is Tequilla, and she is trying to frighten me, even though she knows I know her better than that.

As this was the first picture that I took of the day, I was going to put it at the top of the post, but then I decided that I would rather have the image of Shoshauna greet my readers than this one of Tequila.

After I left Shoshauna and Metro behind, I drove off sipping the coffee and crunching the biscotti and soon found myself passing by Grotto Iona. It had been a long time since I had actually stopped and gone into the grotto, but on this day I felt that I should stop and go inside. So I did.

There was very little daylight left. I pushed my ISO to 6400 and then underexposed by at least a full stop and then lightened it up a bit in Lightroom/Photoshop.

Thus we have:

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 1

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 2

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 3

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 4

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 5

And this one from India:

One day, while walking through an ancient site the name of which slips me at the moment, Melanie, Vasanthi, Murthy, Buddy and I came upon this fellow who was out on a morning walk with his pet scorpion.

As this is the first time that I have ever pulled it out of my India take, I never showed this picture to Sandy or told her of it, so I cannot say for certain how she would have reacted, but I think I know.

As far as I could tell, Sandy loved all creatures. She found cobras to be cute, she gently held praying mantises in her hand and would bring her blurry little camera close to even bugs of a sort that many might find horrid and repulsive and would take the sweetest, most heart-felt photo imaginable.

I believe that if I could show her this picture, she would adore the scorpion. "Chooo'weet!" she would say - "chooo'weet" being a word that she also used many times to decribe puppies and kittens and Kalib and Jobe, who she never met but loved through my photographs. If anything about this picture bothered her at all it would have been the way that the string had been tied to the scorpion's stinger.

Now, when I made it a project to drop in random shots from India on a somewhat regular basis, I stated that I would do so without direct reference to Sandy, but that the photos themselves would be silent evidence that I was thinking of her.

And now I find I keep dropping the pictures in and writing about her, anyway.

After this one, though, I am going to try to go back to my original plan. I will let future photos stand in silent memorial.

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Three studies of the young writer, Shoshauna; two studies of the aging photographer/author whose blog just won an award / two sisters

The recent great drama for the moon, of course, was the total eclipse that overtook it just as winter solstice began. Even after the drama, the moon would linger, in full, throughout the solstice.

As all who frequent this blog know, I am a person who must get out into the open air and do something every day - walk, ride my bike, cross-country ski (at least before I shattered my shoulder and I hope very soon again) but lately I haven't.

Until yesterday afternoon, I had not taken a single walk since I last strolled across the lagoon in Barrow almost two weeks ago. I just have not been able to make myself do it and I have been atrophying. Yesterday, I decided that I must break through this and so I went walking.

As I walked, I could not help but think that this winter solstice day marked one month from the morning that I received the news that Anil had been killed in a car crash.

And today, this day, when I sit here writing, marks one month since I got the news that Sandy had followed her husband.

One month, yet I feel ten years older than I did when I awoke November 21.

I have been resisting the idea of old age - it has been my theory that old age is concept that applies to other people, but not me - that no matter how many years I accumulate, I will remain a young man.

Right now, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

Still, I intend to fight it.

Late last night, I also learned that this little blog of mine had been voted in as the Best Photography Blog of 2010 in the Blogger's Choice Awards.* For this, I would like to thank all of you who have cast votes on my behalf. And thank you, smahoney, for nominating my work in the first place.

I feel great sorrow that I cannot share this news with Sandy. I will share the news with her, and I will feel that she knows, but I won't know this for certain.

Or maybe I will.

Even when you feel something in certainty, it is hard to know for certain.

After I learned that I had won this award, I went into the house and told Margie. She did something she does not often spontaneously do that much anymore. She spontaneously reached up, put her arms around my neck, lifted her face to mine and kissed me right on the lips.

"That's wonderful," she said. "I'm not surprised. Well, I am surprised. But I'm not surprised."

It was a nice moment.

This woman has gone through so much, sacrificed so much, including anything even resembling security as old age approaches, just so I could follow my dreams and be a photographer/writer in Alaska - wandering here, wandering there, never working for money but always for love, sometimes bringing in a sudden flush of money but most of the time accomplishing quite the opposite.

Thank you, Margie.

Even before my walk ended, I started the car with the remote from about 100 yards away. I then poked my head into the house and told Margie that I was headed to Metro Cafe. OK, she said.

So here I am, pulling up to the drive-through line at Metro Cafe.

As I saw the people inside, I remembered the words from Cheers that Ice Road Truck Driver and India's Most Dangerous Road driver Lisa Kelly employed to tell CNN why she likes to go to Metro Cafe.

"Sometimes you just want to go to where everybody knows your name."

I don't think that everybody who was inside Metro Cafe on this day knows my name. 

But Shoshauna does. Shoshauna knows my name. And she had a smile on her face as I approached.

When I got to the window, Shoshauna informed me that, once again, an anonymous person had bought my coffee and my cinnamon roll. I have an idea who this anonymous person might be - in fact, I think there might be more than one anonymous person.

Whether I am right or wrong, I appreciate it.

Study # 3: Shoshauna, the young writer, preparing my coffee.

I was still sipping that coffee when I drove across the Little Su. I had finished the cinnamon roll.

I turned around at Grotto Iona, A Place of Prayer, and headed back towards home.

Along the way, I saw this car.

And this from India - Two Sisters:

Actually, I do not know that they are sisters. They may have been cousins, aunt and niece, teacher and student, mentor and apprentice - or just friends.

I know nothing about them, other than what you can see in this picture. I took it in a flash of a moment through the window of a taxi, hired by Murthy and Vasanthi, to take Melanie and me touring about southern India with them - and with Buddy.

I cannot even tell you what village we were passing through. It was one of countless.

*Two other Alaska-related blogs won Blogger's Choice Awards: Palingates, for Best Political Blog and conservatives4palin for Worst Blog of All Time. Congratulations to the both of you.

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