When rest takes over, conquers all

Yesterday, soon after I got up, I discovered that a new, daunting and totally unexpected task awaited me and I could not rest until I addressed it. Rest was what I needed, the doc said. If I did not get rest, then I would not shake these shingles off. Yet, this task had to be done. So I turned my attention to it and here is what I had to do: open up a document, go a certain page, change a lower-case "i" to a capitol "I," make a pdf of that page and email it.

It took some doing and nearly put me in my grave, but I did change that "i" to "I" I did make a pdf and I did email it.

And that was it. Two minutes work, maybe three. I had no other job pressing me - not one other thing that I needed to do, and the day was still early. To be under no work pressure - what a strange feeling! 

I was under doctor's orders to get rest. I had been given the assurance that if I did not rest, I would not get over these shingles. So, for the rest of the day, my mission would be to rest. Nothing else would matter. Rest, and rest only

But how? How does one rest, especially after such a prolonged stint of not resting?

"I will read," I told myself. But no, I could not read. The weight on my brain was dragging it down below the reading point. Then the answer came to me. I had purchased the photo book, burn.02, weeks ago, but had not yet even removed it from the packaging. It would involve a little bit of reading, too, but not much, as the stories are told in the pictures.

So I got the book, freed it from the packaging, took a seat on the couch, and began to slowly page my way through. The photography, of course, was quite excellent and I was enjoying the experience, but still the weight was heavy on my brain and all the shingles remained in place -- although thanks to the vicodin and the other drugs, the intensity was less and it was more bearable.

Margie had a nice fire going. The heat felt good - much better than furnace heat or electric or natural gas heat can ever feel. Chicago thought so, too. Normally, if I go to the couch, I either have to scoot her over or she joins me within minutes, but this time she made herself comfy on the floor, where she could soak up the heat.

Jim was maintaining the office by himself and who knew where Pistol was? He tends not to join in the couch napping scrums, because of the animosity that he and Chicago hold for each other.

But about halfway through the book, as I was in the midst of the Arab Spring, as shot by Paolo Pellegrin, chapterm Pistol-Yero came nosing his way towards me.

I put the book down so that I could use my hands to keep Pistol from stepping onto my chest. After a few attempts, he got the idea and settled down onto my legs. Due to the heaviness of the weight on my brain, I did not pick the book back up, but just leaned back into the pillows and dozed off into another strange dream.

And then I rested - a strange rest that at once was both pleasant and troubling... I want to explain but it is too complicated. So, to keep it short and simple, I remained on the couch, in a state of rest both troubled and pleasant, for about three hours. Then I got up for my coffee break, headed to Metro Cafe, and took the long way home, sipping, with the radio on.

It was earlier than I normally go out and instead of All Things Considered, Fresh Air with Terry Gross was on KSKA. The segment was devoted to wounded veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars and a soldier who had lost his legs and five buddies to an IED was being interviewed.

As he spoke, I saw a raven, sitting atop a utility pole as another flew by overhead.

Soon, I was passing by the horses, wondering what insults I might have to bear today. "Hey Bill," Black horse shouted. "We hear you got the shingles. We don't care. We don't care at all. It is no big deal. They will soon pass. So we are just going to ignore you, as if there is nothing wrong."

And ignore me they did.

So I drove on. I decided the horses are right. Shingles is no big deal. It hurts like hell for awhile and then it is gone. At the moment, to me, it does seem like a big deal but it isn't. It is a temporary discomfort and nothing more.

When I got home, I found Chicago stretched out on my dreaming couch. I scooted her over, pulled the blanket up over us both and soon fell asleep again. The fire was hotter than it had been before, hotter than I normally like but somehow that heat just felt wonderful to me. I felt as though I never wanted to rise from the couch. I stayed there, Chicago purring at my side for about two hours, until about 6:30, when it was time to get up and take another vicodin. Margie had dinner just about ready, so I stayed up to eat it.

I should note that, except for the book, Margie put the other things on top of the couch to try to keep the cats off the cushions. She does not like the way they crumple the cushions when they lie on top of them.

After dinner, I asked Margie if she wanted to go to Dairy Queen. I expected her to say, "no," because it was very warm and cozy in the house and cold outside and she is not one who likes to venture out needlessly from a warm house into the cold, especially to get ice cream.

"Sure," she said.

So off we went. And here is Miranda, handing me the cone I bought for Margie. I had a banana split. During times of suffering, one must take pleasure where he can find it.

After we got back home, I decided to put this post together. I downloaded the pictures, selected the ones you see here, uploaded them into this blog in draft mode and then stopped, without writing one word. That weight was mighty heavy on my brain. I hadn't done much, but still needed to take a short break. It was about 8:30 PM.

I returned to the couch, adjusted Chicago, pulled the blanket up and then Jim joined us too, settling in on my legs. Again, I slipped into dreamland. Again, the heat from the fire felt wonderful to me. Again, I felt as though I never wanted to open my eyes again, or to ever rise fom the couch.

I stayed put, right on the couch, my blog unfinished, until midnight. By then, it was time to go to bed. Even though I was on my feet, I did not feel that I had fully awakened. I did not want to fully awaken. Having spent so much of the day asleep, I feared that if I did fully awaken, I would not be able to go back to sleep. But I wanted to do one thing only: sleep.

Still, certain things had to be done. The fish needed to be fed and so did the cats. Margie had already cleaned the litter. I had to check email, brush my teeth, etc., take my next vicodin and the other bedtime pills. I decided just to leave the blog unfinished.

So I spent five to ten minutes doing all that I needed to do and then went straight to bed. It was about 12:30 AM now. I feared I might have trouble going to sleep. If I did fall asleep, I felt certain that I would wake up at 2:30 or 3:00 AM, certainly no later than 4:00 and would not be able to go back to sleep.

I was wrong.

I quickly fell back to sleep. With a few, short interruptions, I stayed asleep until just a few minutes before noon - almost 12 hours - and this after spending more than half of the previous day napping!

I got up and took Margie out for a late breakfast. After that, Margie dropped me off at the house, then turned around and drove through falling snow to Anchorage, so she could help Lavina care for the little ones, because Jacob was off doing ski patrol at Alyeska.

I came out here to add words to the photos and complete the blog post I had started last night.

I did not want to do it. All I wanted to do was nap.

But I did it. This post is now up. Next, I will add a few more logs to the fire. Then, if necessary, I will adjust Chicago and lie back down on the couch.

Who knows how long I might sleep? Half-an-hour? Four hours, when my next vicodin is due? All day?

I don't know and I don't care. I will sleep however long my body demands. The doc says I need to rest, my immediate work is all done. I want to plunge these shingles back into dormancy, so I am going to rest.

I just realized - this is a long and boring entry. I could tighten it up, but the weight on my brain is too heavy for that. Couch, here I come!

The black horse, Hypotamus Two, the school bus and the red horse

"Hey Bill!" the black horse neighed at me as hordes of children packing sling shots boarded the school bus a short distance down the road, "shouldn't you be getting on that bus? You look like you could use some education!"

"No, Black Horse - what a foolish thing for you to say," I shouted back. "I graduated long ago. My schooling is long done."

"You?" the horse responded disdainfully, "You? You graduated? No. You are lying. You could not possibly have graduated, knowing as little as you do."

"Black Horse, I did graduate. Furthermore, I was Valedictorian of my senior class at Oxford."

"OK," the black horse answered, "explain Hypotamus Two, then."

So I explained Hyotamus Two in great detail.

"Dummy!" the black horse responded as the doors closed on the school children and the bus began to roll, "you don't grasp Hypotamus Two at all. A kindergartner could have explained Hypotamus Two better than you just did. You should have gotten on that bus."

The horse then turned his butt toward me and said no more.

"Black Horse was right," the red horse then interjected. "You need some education. You should have gotten on that bus."

A brief conversation with a black horse

Up ahead, I could see the black horse standing on its hind legs, holding one hoof in the air in a way that reminded me of a human hitchhiker. I sensed nonsense and trouble, and so resolved not to stop for anything. Yet, I could not just be rude, so I slowed to a crawl and rolled my window down. The horse dropped down to all fours.

"Hey, Bill!" the horse shouted as I rolled into conversation range. "I need a ride into town. Open your car door so I can get in!"

"No," I protested. "You're too big! You can't fit in my car! And you might poop on the seat!"

"C'mon, Bill, lemme in! I really need to get to town. I have a haircut scheduled, and a rally to go to."

"No!" I insisted, as I rolled slowly by. "You're a horse! Horses don't get rides from people - horses give rides to people!"

"If you don't come back and give me a ride, then one day I will give you a ride!" the black horse threatened after I had rolled completely past. "I'll buck you off and then I'll stomp on you!"

I drove away. I did not go to town at all. I went home instead, and ate a cupcake - chocolate, with banana frosting.

Lynxton had made it, especially for me. It was damn good.

Return to a missing day: bunny rabbit, cowboy and grandson, dogs, bear, horse hair and more

During my hiatus, I continued to take pictures as usual -- far too many to go back and blog it all, but I will blog a little bit of it. There are a couple of photographic encounters that stand out in my mind, and I will still blog those for sure. I thought about blogging one of them today, but my readership always falls on Saturdays, so instead, I closed my eyes, ran my cursor up and down over the list of missing days, stopped, opened my eyes, and found the cursor had stopped on Thursday, September 1.

So here we go on that day:

I decided to have breakfast at Abby's Home Cooking and to go by bicycle. When I stepped out of the house, I saw this bunny rabbit dashing through the yard.

Poor bunny rabbits.

They seemed to appear out of nowhere early this summer... two or three, maybe. Their numbers quickly grew. Soon, bunny rabbits were everywhere. One evening, I came driving down Sarah's way and there was a bunny rabbit standing at the end of every driveway, like little sentries. I passed maybe ten houses protected by these little sentries.

Then, a few weeks ago, their numbers began to decline. Dogs? Maybe someone had a feast of bunny rabbit stew, somewhere, with bunny rabbits packed into the freezer for later? Humanely trapped and gone to the pound? Perished on chilly nights?

There are still a few bunny rabbits out there, but, a month from now, there won't be.

Winter is coming. These bunny rabbits are not winter rabbits.

Around here, winter is the domain of the snowshoe hare, dinner to the lynx, fox, and eagle.

Snowshoe hares are Arctic tough. These bunny rabbits are not.

At Abby's Home Cooking, I found Tim Mahoney, drinking coffee and feeding a fresh cinamon roll to his grandson, five-year old Wesley.

Wesley already helps out on the ranch.

Tim and Wesley, headed out the door.

Tim and Wesley, getting into the truck.

I was pedalling home when suddenly this dog shot past me, striking from behind, grazing my left ankle as it passed. It gave me a start, but then I recognized it. I know this dog. He likes to stage quick ambush charges, which can really startle you, because he seems to suddenly materialize out of nowhere and for a moment you do not know what is happening.

He is not a mean dog, though. He just likes to give you a start. Once he has done so, he is harmless, even without the muzzle.

I wonder if he has had any bunny rabbits to eat?

As usual when I am home, the remainder of September 1 was pretty much spent at my computer - although I did take my usual 4:00 PM coffee break at Metro Cafe. As I was driving and sipping on Sunset, this dog came charging after my car. 

The dog falls back, as seen in my rearview mirror.

Continuing on, I saw that a conversation was taking place ahead, at the side of the road.

I have no idea what they were conversing about. Could have been anything... dogs, horses, women, politics, the high cost of gas, all the heat and fire in Texas and how they're sure glad they are here and not there... I don't know. 

Anything.

Peanut butter, perhaps. Does it go better with honey or jelly?

Honey, I say - but jelly can be pretty good, too.

Especially when you are cold and you have been cold for a long time, but now someone has given you a hot thermos of coffee and some Sailor Boy pilot bread cookies and there is peanut butter and you slather it on, spread jelly on top of that and you feel the heat of the coffee as it chases the peanut butter jelly down your gullet and then you have to say, this peanut butter and jelly is pretty damn good, so you lather up another.

I continued and soon saw a little black bear crossing the road ahead of me. I hoped to catch up to it before it disappeared into the trees, but it disappeared quick.

Lately, I have heard reports of some big grizzlys in this same area - of paw prints over a foot long.

On Shrock I had to pull to the side of the road to let this screaming ambulance pass by.

Somewhere nearby, someone's day had gone terribly wrong.

I hope not too terrible, but who knows?

Perhaps for someone it was the day that ended all days; perhaps someone just had bad gas and thought it was a heart attack, or maybe they shattered their shoulder like I did.

I don't know.

Come evening, I took my bike ride. These two passed me on Church Road and as they did, the kid in back waved at me. I did not have my camera ready and I missed the picture.

I felt bad about that, but there was a downhill stretch ahead of me, so maybe I could get another chance. I pedaled as hard and fast as I could and caught them and passed them about a quarter mile on. As I passed, they both waved.

I stopped at the Mahoney Ranch and took a few photos of the oats, standing in teepee-like bundles. I am not going to post those pictures, because on other days I got some, complete with Mahoneys, that I like better.

As I was taking pictures, I heard someone shout, "Hey, Bill!" I looked up and saw a Mahoney horse, in the distance, too far away for me to photograph. "I notice your hair is getting thin," the horse shouted with the full force of his massive lungs. "I left some of mine on the fence for you. Put it on your head. You'll look lots better then."

Now, back to just yesterday:

Okay... just to keep this timely, I return almost to the present, to yesterday: Kalib, pushing an empty stroller through the back yard. His mom experienced many contractions yesterday, but did not go into full labor.

We are definitely on baby watch, now.

Study of the Young Writer, Shoshana, at Metro Cafe #7,829: Shoshana with Jay Cross, pilot and aircraft mechanic. Jay was thinking that maybe my airplane could be put back into the air for less than I think. Someday,he wants to come by take a look at it.

Unless I get rich, I think that airplane is done for. As I have stated before, if I could come up with the money to put it back into the air, I would just buy another one, so that I could get there, quick. But if I get rich, I will buy another and get my wreck rebuilt and then keep both. That airplane and I had many good experiences together. I love that airplane, and that's why I keep it around, even though its no good anymore.

My next door neighbor hates my plane. He built a fence between us, just so he wouldn't have to look at it.

He doesn't like cats, either. In fact, he hates cats.

Otherwise, he seems to be a pretty decent fellow, but I doubt that we will ever be the best of friends. He keeps pretty much to himself and so do we.

I wonder how he feels about bunny rabbits? Hopping through his yard?

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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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