Three trucks, three cats and a fire

Too much to do. Current events keep overwhelming desires and ambitions. I had an important task that had to be completed on Friday, thus I spent all day Thursday and Friday working on it - temporarily pushing my Kivgiq editing to the side.

Now I have another task that must be completed by the end of the day Tuesday and, except for going to town to pick up Margie on Saturday, I kept my Kivgiq take pushed to the side and that task was the only thing that I worked on.

I had thought that I could finish it over the weekend, but it remains in a state of chaos, so my goal now is to finish it before I go to bed tonight and then send it on its way in the morning, so I can get back to Kivgiq.

I am determined to get back to Kivgiq, and to do with it just what I stated I would.

So I really have no time for this blog right now at all. 

None. Zero seconds - that's how much time I have for it. ZERO SECONDS.

I will keep it going anyway - but simple and short.

With that in mind, yesterday I determined that I would take just one picture for this blog and I would make certain that it was a fairly dull image so that when I put it in this post and looked at it I would not have much to waste my time writing about it.

This is is. A blue Dodge Ram pickup truck.

I parked next to it when Margie and I took yesterday's lunch at McDonald's.

I know - this confession is going to cause me grief. I will be scolded and reprimanded on multiple fronts for taking Margie to McDonald's and thus ruining the health of the both of us.

But it was Sunday. Margie had come down with whatever had brought Kalib and Jobe down. She was not up to cooking, neither was I and anyway nobody has done any serious shopping around here for awhile and there nothing to fix for lunch.

So we went to McDonald's. Their new Angus burgers are actually very good. It was cheap. We could sit in the car with the heater going so it was warm.

And we got to look at this blue pickup truck.

I was even privileged to be able to take a photo of it.

Thus, I had all that I needed to make today's post.

I could keep it very short and simple.

One picture, plus one, two, or possibly three sentences. No more than that.

That is why I took this single boring picture of a blue pickup truck at McDonald's.

So that I could keep this post short and brief.

This will be my goal all week - until all my tasks and Kivgiq are done:

To keep these posts short and brief.

Then, this morning, as I was eating breakfast - steel cut oatmeal with walnuts, peaches and blackberries - one cat lay down in front of the wood stove and two more sauntered by.

No matter how brief one sincerely wants to keep his post, when something so dramatic and exciting as this takes place, one must go into action.

So I did.

And here they are:

Pistol, Jimmy, and Chicago by today's fire.

And this from India: 

Two trucks, passing in opposite directions.

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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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His heart broken, the two left-footed man sets out for New York City

Doubtless, you have heard about those wild, savvy, Alaskans who have such a deep knowledge of the land and environment that to them to look at a track in the snow is just like reading a book. If one knows how to read it, each track tells stories to the knowledgeable that will completely escape the average person.

I am pleased to announce that I am such an Alaskan. And yesterday, as I walked, I read novel upon novel in the tracks that other wanderers had left behind in the snow.

For example, you have heard about the famous person who has two left feet. Yesterday, I discovered that this is not just a figure of speech to describe a clumsy person who stumbles over himself when he tries to dance.

There really is a person with two left feet and he lives right here in Wasilla. Here are the actual prints left behind by his two left feet as he set out to walk to New York City.

Clearly, as indicated by the dipthong in the upper indentation of the right left foot, he is going to New York City. To understand why, just look at the asperance right smack in the middle of the left left foot.

Two days ago, his cat left him and moved in with a neighbor. He is heartbroken. He believes that once he gets to New York City, the cat will come to her senses and join him there.

But only if he walks. If he flies, the cat won't give a damn. Only by walking all the way through cold and misery does he believe that he can demonstrate to the cat the depth of the love that he feels for her.

It's all right there - in the tracks left behind by his two left feet.

When the dog who has been loyal to the man with two left feet for the past 30 years discovered that his human had left, he set out to find him.

Unfortunately, as you can see, the dog is going in the wrong direction. Instead of New York, the dog is headed towards Hong Kong. Not only does the dog have a long walk ahead of him, but a long swim, too. Perhaps if the dog had the legendary canine sense of smell, the dog would know. But this dog lost its ability to smell - even though, by hell, the dog does smell - during an unfortunate sniffing accident that it suffered as a pup.

It is sad, because the dog will search and search and search the streets of Hong Kong and will never find his man. He will find a friendly lady who will give him refuge every night and feed him hamburgers every morning - just before he goes out to search in vain again.

As for the double-left-footed man, he will find only disappointment in New York City. His cat will never follow him there. He will spend the rest of his days living in the subway, playing his accordian as passersby drop nickels, dimes, and quarters into his upside down baseball cap - the one emblazoned with a picture of a moose and the word, "Wasilla."

Sometimes, I wish that I did not know how to read tracks so well.

Sometimes, the stories are just too heart-breaking.

I saw a boy, walking down the road, leaving his own stories to trail behind him. I moved along, without bothering to read.

Margie and I went out for a drive, but this guy made us stop.

This from India:

I will explain nothing, except to identitfy the location as the temple cut into stone at Mamallapuram. I will leave the larger story to your imagination.

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So - just how much is that doggie in the window? Recipient of writing award wins gold medal and cash prize

It seems to me that I have written about the doggie in the window before, the one with the waggily tail. But I am too lazy to do a search and find out if I actually did or if maybe Grahamn Kracker did on his now slumbering blog or if I just wrote about that doggie somewhere else, so if I repeat myself, I repeat myself.

Anyway, the doggie that I reference was the star of song that was popular when I was a little boy, a pop song with a country tilt, sung by Patti Page*, with deep ache and longing in her voice.

"How much is that doggie in the window?" she asked so longingly.

Then the dog barked twice, "Arf! Arf!"

Patti sung on:

"The one with the waggily tail (Arf! Arf!)

"I do hope that doggie's for sale..."

Oh, did that song fill me with longing! I wanted that doggie. I would plead with my mom that we get that doggie. She would laugh and smile, and even sing the song back to me, but she would not take me to a store where there was a doggie in the window.

And then one day, she and Dad took me to the dog pound in Pendleton, Oregon, and let me pick out a puppy. I chose a white little fellow with light brown spots and, indeed, he did have a waggily tail. I named him, "Whitey" and he would come to me, his waggily tail a-wagging, smiling in that way that puppies smile. A scientist might tell you that a puppy cannot smile, that a puppy lacks the muscles required to smile, but anyone who has had a puppy or a good dog knows that, indeed, they do smile - with their eyes, their mouths, their entire countenance.

And so it was that Whitey would come to me, waggling and smiling.

Then one day, after Whitey had been with us for about two weeks, he went under the bed and would not come up. No matter what I did, I could not persuade him to come.

He had suddenly become frightened of me and I did not know why.

He had become frightened of everybody and everything. So we took him to the vet. He had distemper. So I was told that the kind thing to do would be to let the vet put him to sleep. This would put an end to his suffering, which would only grow worse if we did not. Would I agree?

I agreed. 

Grief-stricken though I was, I still had to go to school, so I did.

As it happened, my second grade teacher showed us a filmstrip that day. It was about Old Mother Hubbard.

Her own doggie was hungry. So she went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone, but when she got there, the cupboard was bare. There was no bone for the poor dog.

Thankfully, it was dark in that room. It can be a terrible thing for a second grader when his friends see him cry.

Actually, I did not intend to write the above story. I was just going to mention how, when I pulled into the parking lot, I found this particular dog behind this particular window. I was going to muse about how much time animals spend waiting all alone and lonely, not understanding why, for their humans?

What I was going to write about was "contemplating the future of this blog, part 4."

But I really don't have the time to articulate my thoughts on that right now, so I won't.

Today is the birthday of my beautiful and intelligent daughter, Melanie, so I don't think that I will be getting to part 4 tomorrow, either.

Happy birthday, Melanie! See you tonight!

On Tuesday of next week, I leave for Barrow. I have more to do between now and then than I can possibly do. Maybe I will get to part 4 before then, maybe I won't.

The fact is, though, it will be quite awhile before I can find time execute any of these ideas that I have to advance my blog and start up my electronic magazine, so I suppose it is okay.

A few of you have made some suggestions, with some helpful ideas. When I finally do part 4, I will include these ideas in the contemplation.

And this from India - Ramz receives a writing award:

Not so long ago, I introduced readers to my young niece Ramz, seen here at the wedding of Soundarya and Anil, and to her blog. I am pleased to announce that, yesterday, Ramz won a gold medal and a cash prize in an essay contest.

In her blog, she lets her mind travel far and back and forth through time. She visits Japan, Abraham Lincoln, and Albert Einstein. I wonder where her writing of the future will take her? Far away and back home, maybe?

*See Patti Page sing, How Much is that Doggie in the Window? 

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