Deprived of sleep, I dream of women and Mormons; ham and eggs, toast and coffee

Thirty-one hours and 53 minutes after I got up, I went back to bed and took my iPhone with me. I had gotten everything done that I needed to in that time.

Couldn't go to sleep, though. Damn. It's like my body forgot how to sleep.

Sure do want to sleep. Sooner or later.

I think of all the sleep I have missed these past few months.

How can a person do this again and again and again?

Hell. I've been doing it for 35 years.

I gave up a bit after 3:00 PM, went out and laid down on the couch. Margie had the TV on, alternating between news channels - MSNBC, CNN, Fox.

I laid there for four hours, slipping in and out of strange dreams as pundits pundited and people vying to lead this nation demonstrated why our government has been stalled into nonsense, stupidity and ineptitude, why people are staging more and more occupations, and caused me to fear for the future of this nation that I once thought was better than this.

Then I got up, ate some mac and cheese and I'm still up. Been coming in and out of my office. Keep sitting down at my computer, trying to get some work done, but nothing happens. I go out and sit on the couch with Margie who has been watching various tv shows, all of which involve murder, mystery, crime solving and beautiful, mysterious women who make you want them but of course you cannot have them.

I watch a few minutes, get bored, then come back in here and fail to accomplish anything.

But I can always place a picture or two from the day on this blog, write a few words of nonsense.

So that is what I have just done.

I think I will go to bed now. See if I can get some sleep. 

Don't feel like I will be able to. Maybe if I lie there long enough, I will.

It is 10:47 PM now. I would tell you how long it has been since I first got up yesterday morning, but I can't do the math anymore.

I already put up a post today, so I will wait and post this tomorrow, see what happens overnight.

Overnight. I laid in bed, feeling like I would never sleep. Outside, the wind howled and tore. Jim settled down on my shoulder. He felt warm, comfy, but still I lay awake. Another cat settled at my ankles - I wasn't sure which one. Margie said she would come to bed at midnight but I was never aware of her doing so, so I guess I did go to sleep.

I awoke at just about 3:30 AM. I had imagined that I would get up about six when Mat-Su Family Restaurant opens and go there and order breakfast, but that was two-and-half hours away. So I stayed put, hoping I might go back to sleep. And I did - the in and out kind of sleep, punctuated by vivid dreams - and there were beautiful women in all of them.

Between punctuations, I would wake and check the time... 3:42.... 3:59... 4:12... 4:37...

Then I awoke and it was 5:54. If I could pop right up and head to Family Restaurant, I would be virtually assured of getting my favorite table... the one wedged in the corner between the window and the wall that separates the main dining area from the large, over-flow, one behind. The table where I can sit with my back to the wall so no one can shoot me in the back, the table from where I can sit and observe all the people that go in and out, from where I can watch their reflections play upon the night-blackened window and if the train passes by, that is a good seat from which to watch it.

But I didn't pop up. I dozed back off, fell back into a dream. Once again, there was a beautiful woman.

She wore a white blouse and a black skirt, which stopped at the top of her knees and her legs looked pretty good. Her hair was long, thick and black. She appeared to be about 25. She had come to the train station, which was in Iowa, to pick me up - along with the platoon of other brand, new, Mormon missionaries who had come in on the train with me. 

What the hell was I doing there? I had done this once before, decades ago, and once was enough. But, lacking the necessary conviction, I had none-the-less committed and so had to follow through.

The woman led us to a car and we got in. She was a new convert to the Mormon church and expressed firm and total faith and dedication to her new creed. She looked at me skeptically. Perhaps it was because of my age. All the other new missionaries were, like... 19, 20... perhaps it was because she sensed that I felt lust toward her, even though I knew that lust to be futile, just as it is 99.999999... percent of the time.

This is true all the time for all men, straight or gay - even those who deny it - be they monagamous or promiscuous. It doesn't matter. The Creator built this desire into men and it is always there and then we are told that God will condem us for it, even those who hold it only in their heart and remain faithful to one partner.

The beautiful woman drove us across farmland, freshly plowed. There were no mountains to be seen, there was no wilderness, the whole country was fenced and farmed and I did not want to be there. I thought about Margie, my children, my grandchildren - baby Lynxton. I would not see them for two years.

What the hell had ever gotten into me that I had agreed to do this?

Except to attend to funerals of loved ones, I hadn't been in a Mormon church in 30 years and now I was committed to a two-year mission?

The beautiful woman drove us to a church in the middle of a field. It was brick, with a tall steeple, no cross on top. She led us inside. Many people were gathered there, all Mormons, Iowa Mormons, but it looked just like Utah. The men all wore white shirts and ties, all had short, neat, hair and all were engaged in serious and earnest discussions.

I awoke again. It was 6:52.

Then a very curious thing happened. Jim, who was now lying beside me, suddenly rose into a sitting position, leaned back onto his haunches, lifted his paws into the air in front of him and sat up very straight, so that in profile he reminded me of a kangaroo. He had an intense glint in his eyes, the earnestness of which was magnified in his stiff, but spring-laden, posture. He stared intently at the south window - the same window that you see in the top frame, but now it was black beyond, because it is the darkening time of year.

Then I noticed the other two cats, Pistol-Yero and Chicago, also sitting up in very alert positions on the bed, intently staring at whatever Jim was staring at. I listened carefully, to see if I might hear a moose, or a vandal, but all I could hear was the wind and it was howling, tearing, destroying the very light snow cover that we had.

Then, in unison, all three cats began to slowly rotate their heads to the left, as though they were watching something move around the bed and into the wall. I listened as intently as I could, but, other than the wind, detected nothing. Soon, they were all looking toward the east window, the east wall.

I was fully awake now. I auto-started the car, waited until the cats settled back down and then got up. I dressed and then went out and got into the car, which was still warming up. The wind had indeed destroyed the snow cover. The ground was pretty much bare. The temperature was a warm 28 (about -2 C) and the lady on the radio said the winds were hitting 65 in some places. She said it would cool off toward evening and we could expect temperatures of about 10 (-12 C).

Still, in years past, it had not been uncommon to send the kids trick-or- treating in sub zero (sub -18 C) weather and Wasilla's lakes remain unfrozen, whereas, until recent years, they would generally freeze up in mid-October.

I drove to Family Restaurant. My corner table was waiting for me. I sat down and ordered, feeling very glad that I was here and not in Iowa, where I have never been. The ham was good, the eggs were good and so were the hash browns - not as good as Abby's, but Abby doesn't open until nine. I had Connie hold my mult-grain toast for desert, then lightly coated it with strawberry jam and washed it down with my third coffee refill.

Now, another big task awaits me and once I post this, I will get to it. I must complete it before I go to bed again. No matter how long it takes, I cannot stop until it is done. It could also take 30 hours, but I don't think so. I think I can complete it in 20.

Twenty hours. Not bad. Not bad at all.

It's going to be a good day.

They'rrrrrrre baaaaack.... in the blog: Jobe, Lavina, Kalib, Jacob and Margie - in that order

How long has it been since this face has appeared in my blog? Six weeks? Something like that. And look, in this, the very first frame that I shot of him upon our reunion, he is just standing around. STANDING around. Not wobbling shakily. Standing.

As though it is no big deal at all. As though it is just something that a little kid would be expected to do.

Jobe. 

Standing around.

And he walks around at will, too.

I was worried that after all this time, he might have forgotten his grampa. Remember how he loved me? How he adored me?

Has he now forgotten me?

After a brief period of study and contemplation, he walked right over and sat down on my lap. He had not forgotten.

And then he went out to play with Martigny. Martigny did not not want to play with him. Maybe it was the "woof" on his shirt that scared her away.

I'm afraid Jobe has been sick the past couple of days. Respiratory infection. 

Jobe needed rest.

Still, he gets up and moves happily around. He is getting better.

Then Jacob called, to say that he and Kalib were coming home from their walk and would soon reach the nearby park. I went out to see and this is the first frame I shot, right after they came into view.

Last time I saw them, there was a still a good amount of snow here. Now the leaves have come out.

Kalib went straight for the slide. As he started down, he looked up at his dad to see what his dad would do.

His dad came sliding after...

Kalib threw some pebbles into a slide chute and then watched as they tumbled and slid back down.

Then he ran off and his dad chased after.

Soon, they were in the house, eating popsicles. When offered a variety of colors, Kalib chose the green one. Then he saw his mom pick a red one for herself and decided that the red one would be better instead.

I also had a red one.

The red ones are best.

Although the green is pretty good.

It was about 10:30 PM now. Margie's flight was scheduled to arrive at 1:38 AM. I had come in early just so I could finally see the boys, but Jobe was now asleep and the rest would soon join them.

That meant I had three hours to wait.

The prospect horrified me.

What I could I do with all that time?

I could go sit in a bar and sip root beer, wink my eyes at honkey tonk women and say stupid things as they danced and sauntered across the floor.

Instead, I laid back on the couch. I sank right into it.

I closed my eyes. The lids were so heavy, I did not feel like I could ever open them again.

I fell asleep right there. At 1:09 AM, I forced myself to get up and go. I drove to the airport and picked Margie up. Her plane had come in half-an-hour early and she was standing there waiting when I pulled up, so I stopped, she put the one bag that she had left with in the back plus the other that she had bought and filled in Arizona and jumped in. 

I took off without even taking a picture.

As regular readers know, it is our tradition to go out for breakfast the morning after either one of us returns from a trip.

So this morning we went to Family Restaurant - no, not Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant but Denali Family Restaurant, just a few miles further up the Parks Highway.

I would not have even known about this brand new restaurant had I not gone to Fairbanks to cover Katie John's graduation, but I saw it as I drove home.

If they had named it, "Mckinley Family Restaurant," I would never have tried it. I would not have walked through the door. I try never to patronize a business that bears the name, "Mckinley." I stick to "Denali."

Inside, it was very much like Mat-Su Family Restaurant. The decor was similar, the menu similar, the food similar and the plates exactly the same. Even all the staff that I could see, including the waitresses, were staff I recognized from Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant.

So I thought maybe it was an extension, built by the same owner to compete with him/herself.

No. It wasn't. It was built by a competitor and the staff that I could see had all been hired away.

Breakfast was very good - the hash browns cooked just right and, I hate to say it, better than at Mat-Su. 

I will still continue to patronize Mat-Su. It is a bit closer. And Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant has helped me bear some extremely hard mornings. Very hard mornings. Mornings that followed nights of turmoil and grief, nights without sleep.

So I will keep going to Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant.

But I will patronize Denali, too. Good hash browns are a big draw to me.

Margie enjoyed it, too.

It was the first time she had drank coffee in weeks, she said. 

She stayed with her sister, who remains a pretty active, decent and abiding Mormon. She allows visitors to brew coffee for themselves, but Margie did not feel like brewing coffee for just one so she abstained.

Tomorrow, I will discuss a recent NPR story about the health benefits of coffee - particularly for the prostate - and will thank a generous, almost not-anonymous lady who bought me a coffee at Metro the other day.

Margie is glad to be home, but she says it feels cold here.

"I have come back to winter," she said.

This, even though the leaves are sprouting out here and it snowed three inches at her sisters house 6000 feet up in Arizona her final morning there.

Still, it was warmer there than here.

Which it ought to have been.

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(warning - slideshow contains additional photos of Jobe and Kalib not seen in the actual post)

All alone at Family on Easter Sunday morning

Margie has been gone for just about a week now and I have breakfasted out altogether too often, so I had resolved that on this morning, both for the sake of our pocketbook and my health, I would stay home and cook oatmeal.

But when I woke up for the final time, buried in cats, I did not want to get up at all. I certainly did not want to get up and cook oatmeal. So I lay there, thinking about it, and it suddenly occurred to me that it was Easter Sunday. I did not think it right that on Easter Sunday, I should get up, cook oatmeal and eat it all alone on the couch.

I decided that, fiscal prudence and dietary health be damned - on both counts, I am pretty much hopelessly lost, anyway - I was going to have my Easter breakfast at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant.

Had Caleb been around, I would have invited him, too, but even though we sleep under the same roof - I sporadically at night and he through astoundingly long hours in the day - I rarely see him. He was off, somewhere.

So off I went to Family, alone.

"Do you need a menu?" Connie asked, knowing full well that I wouldn't.

"No," I answered, "I'll go with the omelette today."

"Denver, with mushrooms, hash browns lightly cooked, twelve-grain toast on the delay," she filled in the rest. Normally, she would have been 100 percent right, but today, instead of toast, I decided I wanted pancakes.

A bit later, Norman came walking by, carrying coffee and water. 

I got to thinking about my grandsons, who I have not seen now for a couple of weeks. They will spend today with Margie, her mom, their parents, Lavina's mom, sister and other family members from both the Apache and Navajo sides of the family at Margie's place of birth - Carrizo Canyon, on the White Mountain Apache Indian Reservation.

It will almost certainly be warm, and they will gather seasoned oak and make a cooking fire. On that fire, they will cook Apache bread, slices of steak, hot dogs, and multi-colored Apache corn.

The adults will hide colored eggs here and there and then the little ones will go find them.

Some of those eggs will be hidden in plain sight and the bigger little ones will have to leave these eggs be.

These eggs will be for Jobe to find.

And yes, since he left here two weeks ago, Jobe has become a full-fledged walker.

In my mind, I can just picture the gleam in his eyes and his bright smile, as he toddles excitedly about, grabbing eggs with his chubby little hands. Maybe with a little help and guidance, he will then place his eggs in whatever type of basket he has been given.

And I will miss it.

I, his grandpa, who first photographed him only minutes after his birth, who, despite my wandering ways, have tried hard to document each step of his life as he has moved alone, will miss his first Easter Sunday Easter egg hunt.

Kalib, of course, will now be an old pro at Easter egg hunting. I hope he enjoys it, anyway. I hope he and cousin Gracie have a good time, gathering eggs.

I do pretty good alone. Better than most people, I think.

Yet, I felt awful sad and lonely, as I sat right here, in Family Restaurant, eating my Denver omelette with mushrooms. And yes, as I do throughout each and every day, I thought of Soundarya, too, and wondered how she and Anil might have spent the day, if they had but survived.

Even though she was Hindu, Sandy was very much up on all the Christian holidays.

Then along came Meda, refilling coffee cups. I had not seen Meda before today. She is new on the job - four or five days, she said. She said she loves the job, it is "awesome."

She was a little bit shy and slightly coy, but very friendly and warm and when she poured my refill, I felt a little better.

But still, I needed Jobe... and if not Jobe, at glimpse at that magical beam of the spectrum of life that Jobe currently occupies.

I looked around, and could not see a single child in Family Restaurant. I knew there would be plenty of children later, when families began to drop by after church, but I could see none, now.

And then, just as I finished my last bite, I heard a little squeal, accompanied by the sound of tiny foot-falls pattering rapidly across the floor.

A tiny girl, right about Jobe's age, scampered out of the large dining room beyond.

It was Molly.

Just Jobe's age.

On Easter Sunday morn.

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Train rumbles by family; the bike ride: air dancer, church chicken offers free eggs, art and soul; the wood gatherers

When I walked into Family Restaurant for breakfast, there was a different lady handling the seating and she tried to seat me in the wrong place. I refused to go there, because if I had sat there and a train came by, I could not even have seen it.

So she relented and gave me a booth by the window that looks out at the railroad tracks.

Sure enough, a train went by.

Sometimes, you just have to stand up for your rights if you want to see the train.

Between breakfast and coffee break, I took a break for lunch and ate it in the backyard with Jim. The temperature was 45 degrees, very pleasant, and I shot a nice little picture story titled, "Lunch in the Backyard With Jim."

But I don't have time to edit, process, place and write about the pictures, so I will just move on to coffee-break time. Here I am, on my coffee break. I have already been to Metro and now I am pedaling on the bike path that parallels the Parks Highway.

This guy or gal is dancing and waving at me, trying to get me to come into a nearby store and buy clothes.

I refuse. 

I pedal on.

At the corner of Parks and Church, I come upon a gigantic chicken with the face of man waving a sign advertising free eggs. The chicken is Ned, and he says the eggs are being given away at the Lamb of God Church, about one more mile up the road.

He says there are a lot of people who can't afford to buy eggs during this Easter Season and the congregation at the Lamb of God wants these people to be able to celebrate Easter with eggs.

But even if you are rich and don't celebrate Easter, you can still stop and get free eggs. They do not do means testing at the Lamb of God.

At least, you could have got eggs yesterday. The egg giveaway is now over.

Ned told me to let everybody know that each Wednesday, the church puts on a noon feed for the poor. But it is not limited to the poor. Anyone can come and eat. So you are all invited. Yes, my Hindu family in India - you too. You come here and we can go together to eat at the Lamb of God - just like we get to eat at your temple if we want.

I gave myself an assignment to go to the Lamb of God one Wednesday and eat.

The problem is, it could easily be another month before I am in Wasilla on a Wednesday again and by then I will probably have forgotten that I gave myself such an assignment.

But if I see another chicken in the road giving away eggs, I will remember.

The lady who was with Ned. I believe she was his wife, but I didn't pry, so I can't be certain.

I could have pedaled on towards the Lamb of God, but I turned on Church and pointed my bike towards home. Soon, I came upon this bike path art.

I remember when Maureen Dowd, columnist of the New York Times was in Wasilla and she described my town as a tiny, bleak soulless place devoid of culture and sidewalks.

Well, as regular readers of this blog have probably figured out, Wasilla is not tiny at all. It sprawls. You could probably drop half or more of Manhattan Island into Wasilla. We don't have no sidewalks, all right, but we got bike paths and plenty of culture - just look at the fine art you can find right on a Wasilla bike path!

There is soul aplenty in that there art work.

A bit up Church, I found these people gathering firewood from a newly cleared lot. They spoke to each other in what sounded to be Russian. They were friendly enough and I was tempted to hang out and learn their life history, but they were busy, I had a huge amount of work waiting for me at home, work to keep me going into the wee hours of the next morning, when I would stop only because I was ready to drop.

So I held my questions for another time, another day, should I ever meet them again. I pedaled home and got back to work.

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Two studies of the young writer, Shoshana; dog in the post office; six scenic views taken through the window or a red Ford Escape in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge; breakfast

Metro Cafe study of the young writer, Shoshana, #1,313,467,982.3333: The young writer removes the cap from the half-and-half.

Metro Cafe study of the young writer, Shoshana, #7: The young writer readies a lid before snapping it on a cup of steaming Americano.

In mid December, a photographer friend who lives in Greece and who I met at the online magazine, burn, air-mailed his book, Nicosia in Dark and White, to my street address. Months passed, and that book did not show up. So, maybe less than two weeks ago, he mailed me another copy, this time to my P.O. Box.

The very next day, the book that he had sent three months earlier did arrive at my house.

And now the one that he sent to my P.O. Box arrived, but since it does not fit into my box, I had to stand in line to pick it up.

As I waited, I saw this dog, a helper dog. When he lady and the dog left, I wanted to call out to her, to stop her and have her tell me something of this dog's story and what it does for her.

But I did not want to lose my place in line. I did not want to annoy the people in line behind me.

So I did not call out.

The two walked out the door and I have seen neither since.

Someday, maybe.

Scenic view in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge as seen through the window of a red Ford Escape, # 1: the river itself.

Scenic view in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge as seen through the window of a red Ford Escape, # 2: trees above the bank of the river.

Scenic view in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge as seen through the window of a red Ford Escape, # 3: the bullet-pocked sign put up in honor of Manvil H. Olson, for whom the bridge is named.

Scenic view in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge as seen through the window of a red Ford Escape, # 4: a tree on the river's bank is reflected off the dirty window of a school bus.

Scenic view in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge as seen through the window of a red Ford Escape, # 5: queue of mailboxes just across the bridge.

Scenic view in the vicinity of the Little Susistna River and the Manvil H. Olson Bridge as seen through the window of a red Ford Escape, # 6: the river itself, as seen while crossing back over the bridge.

I had another one of those nights that I could not sleep and so, at too early of an hour, gave up and went and had breakfast alone at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant. 

Readers will note that in the recent past, it was very dark outside during these breakfasts - and that was true even if I went late.

Now it is light.

Yep. The season of darkness is over for this winter.

By the way - Jobe and Kalib are here. Reader friends can visit them tomorrow.

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