Niece Sujitha of India brings a new Thomas the Train into our lives - along with a huge amount of excitement; Jobezilla goes on the rampage

This is Sujitha Ravichandran, who became my niece after the second daughter of my sister Mary Ann married Suji's first cousin, Vivek Iyer. I attended the Bangalore wedding of Vivek and Khena and it was there that I met Suji - and her sister, Soundarya.

As I have written before, Soundarya, or Sandy, as she often liked to be called, and I bonded instantly. Thanks to the wonder of the internet, we kept in near constant communication; I called her Muse and returned to India to be there for her when she married Anil Kumar. After my return back to the US, we again resumed our online communications for another year-and-a-half - until that black day just over 13 months ago when she answered the accidental death of her husband with the intentional death of herself.

Soundarya and Sujtha had been extremely close. Sandy called Suji "Barbie" and Suji called Soundarya, "Soundu." Soundu - such a beautiful, sweet, affectionate nickname!

In times of tragedy, unspeakable heartbreak and bitter grief, one turns to any source of comfort one can find. Without a doubt, we both had others, but Suji and I did turn to each other - and in ways that we could have turned to no others. We made a pact to keep the lines of communication open between us 24 hours a day, seven days a week, all month long, 12 months a year.

I began to sleep with my phone, to ensure that I would not miss her should she call.

We conversed at any hour of the day or night. We shed many tears together, and groped to find answers where answers could not be found. She, a Hindu, and me, a lapsed Mormon Christian, found solace and faith in the spirits of each other.

Had it not been for Suji, I do not know how I would have got through these past 13 months. She has always been there for me, even if weeping, and I for her.

As we communicated, Suji came to better know my family - my family also being her family - and she fell in love with every member. She grew a deep fondness for Margie and the grandsons, Jobe in particular.

Last spring, she left Bangalore for London to be with her fiance, Manoj Biradar, who she plans to marry in a formal Hindu ceremony in March - and I plan to be there.

She was able to get a better paying job in London than any she had ever had in India, and so did Manu. Yet, life is a financial challenge for them, particularly with the wedding coming up.

So I was a bit stunned when she told me that she was wiring a generous cash gift to my bank in Wasilla, as a Christmas present for Margie and me.

It was the first Christmas present that she had ever given, she informed me. She worried that it might not be up to American standards of Christmas, but she wanted to give something that Margie and I could enjoy together - dinner out, perhaps. Something that would bring us joy - and if her gift brought a bit of joy to the family at large, so much the better.

Now I will tell you about Sujitha's gift, and show you how it impacted our Christmas, 2011:

I was a little bit lost as to how to spend that money, but I wanted the gift to encompass more than a dinner or two or three or four for Margie and me. Someday, we will accept the treat of dinner from Sujitha - in person, when we can all sit at the table together, Manoj, too. I wanted this gift to be something that could bring pleasure to the whole Hess family - joy that I could photograph and then share through the photos with her.

Something that my entire family enjoys is... Kalib, Jobe and Lynxton, whether we call them grandsons, sons, or nephews. We all enjoy these boys like crazy.

And Kalib and Jobe enjoy Thomas the Train. I will bet anything that it won't be long before Lynxton does, too. Kalib and Jobe have little wooden Thomas the Train engines and cars, tracks, and other Thomas the Train toys.

Those wooden toys are just right for them. They are rugged and tough. They can be grabbed and thrown, run over, driven off cliffs; they are a perfect fit to be grasped by hands that have yet to develop fine motor skills.

As regular readers know, I am an HO train modeler of sorts. I don't have the kind of elaborate setup that many serious electric train enthusiasts do, but, after I lost my first black cat, Little Guy, I was extremely distraught and since he loved to chase and pounce on electric trains, I built an HO scale electric railroad in his honor at about the seven-foot level on my eight-foot office walls.

I had never seen an HO Thomas train set, but I figured they must exist. To make a long story short, after some searching both online and on the ground, I found a Thomas the Train HO set at the Hobbycraft store in the Dimond Mall. It was priced a little higher than Suji's gift, but not by much. By adding $34.00 of my own, with Margie's full approval, I was able to purchase it.

On Christmas Day, I was the one who handed out the gifts, one by one. I had a plan for Suji's gift. I was going to hold it until near the end. Then I planned to stop, explain how Suji had given a gift of cash and had left it up to me as to what to buy and that I had decided that everyone could get some pleasure out of a Thomas the Train, HO scale.

I would explain my plans to keep it at the house and when the boys came out and wanted to play with it, I would set it up and we would all have fun. I knew that Kalib would want to take it home, but I planned to explain that it was a gift to us all and was too fragile to be played with in the rough style of little boys, especially "Jobezilla," but we would all have a good time with Thomas the HO train here at the house.

Yet, I had barely begun the gift distribution when Jobezilla hurled himself into action, grabbed the paper that I had wrapped Sujitha's gift in and ripped off a large section. Kalib's eyes went wide. "Thomas!" he shouted.

Kalib has not fully grasped the spirit of Christmas giving. His strategy this year was to refuse to open any gift until someone else started to open it and then if he saw something he liked, to claim it for himself. Thus, he had claimed a very cute stuffed dog meant for Lynxton and then when he had to yield it to his baby brother had wept bitterly.

Now, before I could begin my little speech about his Aunt Sujitha, her generous gift and my master plan, Kalib ripped off the remainder of the wrapping paper.

I now tried to give my speech, but it fell on preoccupied ears. In Kalib's mind, the HO Thomas the Train was now his. It was not a gift from the aunt he had never met and could not visualize; it was not a gift from grandpa. It had been bestowed upon him by natural order of the universe. It was his and no one else's.

Thus, he grew very angry when I returned Thomas, still in the unopened box, to my office for safe keeping until after we all shared Christmas dinner together.

After dinner, I set the train up, then invited Kalib over. He was thrilled and squealed mightily. Jobezilla was taking a nap. In fact, Jobezilla had napped right through Christmas dinner.

Jobezilla soon woke from his nap. His mom brought him to us, to see what kind of havoc and destruction he might wreak.

At first, Jobezilla was too tired and groggy to wreak any kind of destruction. Look closely and you will see his milk bottle and his cute little wrecking toes on Jacob's lap as Kalib lovingly watches Thomas pull his load around the track.

Jobezilla knew that he had a mission to accomplish, so he worked himself into position to better study the layout of his next destruction project. His dad tried to keep an eye on him and his big brother at the same time. In his enthusiasm to try and run the train and handle it, too, Kalib was prone to exercise his own moments of Kalibzilla.

Oh, did Kalib love this Thomas train! Before setting up the track, I had tested the Thomas Train on my own office railroad tracks. Lavina had come in to witness. She had wondered if maybe Kalib would lose interest after five minutes or so of watching it do nothing but go round the track.

Perhaps he would have, had Thomas stayed on the track seven feet above the floor.

According to the metadata, I took my first photo of Thomas in action seconds before 5:45 PM and my last seconds before 9:12 PM. Not for one second would Kalib's interest lapse. And, after 3.5 hours, in no way would he be ready to stop and go home.

When Jobezilla finally struck, he struck fast, without warning. I was not quick enough to photograph the moment - just the aftermath.

As his dad tried to restrain a screamining Jobezilla, Charlie came over to help put the train back together. Kalib wanted to do it all himself, but, as earlier noted, his motor skills are not there yet. There was a very real danger that his repair job could do more damage than the crash itself - which, fortunately, appeared to do no damage whatsoever.

Jobezilla quickly broke through his restraints and jerked Thomas off the track once again. I missed the more dramatic shots of the action that followed this capture. I was too busy trying to save Thomas and his cars from total destruction.

Charlie then put the train back together again as Jobezilla fought to find his way back to continue his rampage of destruction.

Peace was restored. Thomas the Train found himself with time to safely round the track, again and again. This should not be interpreted to mean that Jobezilla had been put out of action...

...No... Jobezilla had turned his attention elsewhere. Jobezilla now drove trains across his grandmother's head, who, with great courage, dedication and a strong sense of genetic survival, continued to feed her youngest grandson with his mother's own milk.

Then, as Kalib labored to put the windmill so necessary to keep water supplied to Thomas's steam engine to work, Jobezilla suddenly charged onto the railroad. Thomas the Train was about to experience a head-toe-on collision.

Yet, the derailed train was soon re-railed again. Kalib now began to pick up some train engineer skills.

It was a beautiful thing to see - Thomas the Train, steaming past the windmill that provides the water for his steam.

But where was Jobezilla?

It all seemed just too safe.

Oh, the horror! The horror!

There he is! Jobezilla! Or at least his thumb, toppling the windmill right onto Thomas! I feared this might have inflicted some lasting damage.

But it didn't. These HO Thomases are truly more rugged than I would have imagined. Soon, Thomas the Train was righted and running again. Then Kalib saw Jobezilla's bare feet threatening. Kalib shot his little hands out to grab the train.

"No, Jobe! No, Jobe!" Kalib screamed.

Naturally, his protective hands derailed Thomas, but Thomas survived.

And then, using the toes of his left foot, Jobezilla knocked Thomas askew, but Thomas did not stop. His wheels half on the tracks and half off, Thomas steamed past by Jobezilla's right foot, hoping not to get toe-clobbered again.

Jobezilla's dad pulled him off to a "safe" distance. With Jobezilla out of the way, Kalib gazed upon Thomas with love and adoration.

Jobezilla broke free again. Now, with great finesse, he derailed the trailing cars with a mere touch of the extended big toe.

Kalib again takes over the engineer's spot. Whenever he would goof up and his dad would try to take over, he would shout, "No, Daddy! No!"

"No Daddy, no Daddy, no Daddy, No! No, no Daddy, no!"

Well, look at this! It's Thomas, cruising fast and unbothered.

Oops... Jobezilla returned with a Thomas of his own, not an HO Thomas but a big, floor-running, Thomas. As Kalib shouted, "No, Jobe, No Jobe!" Jobezilla thrust the big Thomas onto the track in front of the speeding HO Thomas, causing a head-on collision.

It was horrible!

Just horrible, I tell you!

Oh, the enginamity!

Somehow, a revived Thomas squeaked through between the toes of a towering Jobezilla.

This time, the Jobezilla toes won. Thomas the Train went down again. This time, it was Melanie who came to help right the Thomas Train.

I told you the whole family would enjoy this gift!

Knowing that Thomas needed to cool off, Kalib improvised and turned the windmill into a fan.

It was a grand evening - the most fun evening of all to take place in this house in a very long time.

But it had to end. Kalib did not want it to. He wanted this evening to last forever.

He refused to leave and go get his coat on. There was nothing to do but for me to disassemble the railroad and put Thomas and his cars back into the box.

I began to do so. I tried to get Kalib to see if he could show me which cars fit in which impressions in the packaging, but he refused to be ameliorated.

"No! No!," he screamed. "I want Thomas! No, no, no!"

I packaged Thomas up, picked up the box and began to carry it back to my office.

"Bye, bye, Thomas..." I heard Kalib weeping and sobbing behind me. "Bye, bye, Thomas!" Oh, it was a sad, sad, sound!

His parents got him bundled up and his dad carried him to the car. He screamed all the way. "No! No! Thomas! I want Thomas!"

Finally, he was buckled up into his car seat. I opened the door and went to give him a hug. "No! No!" he screamed, shaking his head violently. I had never seen him so angry - and he was angry at me. He did not see me as the one who had brought the HO Thomas into his life, with crucial help from his aunt Sujitha from India who had made a big sacrifice that he had no appreciation for or understanding of. 

He did not see me as the one who would keep Thomas safe until he can return to play with him again. He saw me only as the meanie bully who had now taken Thomas away from him.

To be quite honest, even though he was only about two hours short of his fourth birthday, this offended me a bit.

"This Thomas isn't for you alone, it is for the family!" I spoke sharply. "If it wasn't for your Aunt Suji and me, this Thomas would never have been here for you to play with at all! And if this how you are going to act, if you are going to be mean to me when I have been nice to you, then next time you come back, I won't even get Thomas out. You won't be able to play with Thomas at all."

I knew that in my own anger I was speaking over Kalib, I knew he would not grasp my meaning at all.

But suddenly, he quit screaming. He went silent. He looked at me with a surprising expression of having suddenly understood. He lifted up his arms and extended them toward me. I leaned in. He gave me a hug. I gave him a hug.

In short order, I knew, this would all come together. Kalib would soon know that when he came out, we would get Thomas out. When he left, we would put Thomas back.

Even so, he cried all the way home.

And the next afternoon, when I showed up at his house for his birthday party, he was not very happy with me. But he was happy with his wooden Thomas trains - as you will soon see.

Yes, it will all come together. Thomas will bring much joy to Kalib - and to Jobezilla, and to Jobe, once Jobezilla morphs into Jobe once again. 

And joy to Lynxton; joy to Dad Jacob and Mom Lavina. Joy to Margie. Joy o aunts and uncles. To me.

Thank you, Niece Sujitha.

I guarantee you, had you not wired your generous gift that you could so truly have used across the ocean, there would be no Thomas the Train HO in this house. It was your love that made all this happen. Someday, Kalib will understand this. He will love you, as I do, as do we all - we, your family in Alaska.

This goes for you, too, Gane, brother to Sujitha, brother to Soundarya. I know you will be reading this as well. Please pass our love on to your parents.

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Our Christmas, 2011, part 1.5: we gather, we give and receive gifts, we eat

I took this picture the day before Christmas, as Margie and I were finishing our shopping. On Friday, the 23rd, we had heard from Rex that Cortney would like a kuspik for Christmas. So we stopped at the Alaska Native Medical Center gift shop, but the selection was small and the sizes too big.

After we got home, I called Arlene Warrior to see if she might know someone locally who had either kuspiks or atikluks for sale. Kuspiks and atikluks are pretty much the same thing, but they tend to be kuspiks if made by the Yup'ik peoples of southwest Alaska and atikluks if made by the Iñupiat of northern Alaska.

Arlene told me she had a couple that were nearly finished, that she would be home alone Saturday and would complete them.

I did not wish to put her out on the day before Christmas, but she said this would give her something to do.

So Saturday afternoon we went over to the warrior house, where I saw the BB gun I had as a child hanging on the wall, and she had two atikluks ready to go. Margie liked the darker one and I liked this one - with the blueberry-raspberry print.

Arlene would not let us pay anything, because she says she doesn't know how to charge and so only sews for family and good friends.

I would have tried to find a way to pay, but I had just shot the wedding of her daughter and I don't know how to charge, either.

Now, it is Christmas morning. Santa was still in the house. We were all very surprised at how tiny he was. We wondered what had happened to his white hair and beard.

As we waited to open gifts and eat, Jobe took a stroll in the backyard.

So did Kalib. I still find it hard to believe he is growing so big and handsome.

Four dogs had gathered with us. Here are three of them: Rex and Cortney's new pup Akiak, Cortney's Kingston and Lavina and Jacob's Muzzy, who is well known on this blog.

Lisa and Bryce arrived bearing gifts - even as it is written in holy scripture that wise men, shepherds, noble men and others arrived bearing gifts to a tiny baby born in a manger in Bethleham over 2000 years ago. So we gave gifts on this Christmas Day, because they gave gifts way back then.

Jobe opened one of his many presents with his feet. It was a sled.

Margie used her hands to open this gift from Lavina, which turned out to be a beautiful basket that she had brought on the trip back to Arizona that Margie and I missed when she went into the hospital for emergency surgery and I was in some of the worst stages of my continuing battle against shingles.

Jobe jumped right in.

Rex gave this baseball bat to Lisa and Bryce. Rex had once seriously hoped to go pro, and this is one of the bats he had used to knock the ball around.

Charlie received some beard socks.

I am not sure who received this book, Charlie or Bryce, but something in it had them both amused.

I was curious, so I had them show me... oh, no! What kind of book is this? And why didn't my mother give me some of this medicine?

The raspberry-blueberry atikluk had a cut more to Melanie's fit than Lisa's, so Melanie got it. Lisa wants one now.

Cortney in her new Arlene Warrior atikluk.

Margie offered the blessing.

And then we ate... and ate... and ate...

I was too busy eating to take pictures of the food items, but Jake's squash did not come out of the oven until I thought I had finished and had left the table.

Jake came up with this recipe of squashed stuffed with blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, walnuts, pinons or whatever he feels like putting in it after reading about how the Wampanoag brought squash cooked with berries and nuts to the first Thanksgiving they shared with the Pilgrims.

It is the best squash dish that I have ever eaten, bar none.

There were many more gifts, of course. I will not try to recount them all.

One came courtesy of our niece/cousin/aunty Sujitha. After dinner, I assembled that gift and then it became the center of joyous and excited attention for hours.

That gift, and all that followed in its wake, will be the subject of part 2. I probably won't post it until mid to late Tuesday afternoon.

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Breakfast, coffee break; Melanie comes out and we decorate the tree

Now, today:

In the morning, I got up and drove to Abby's Home Cooking. Abby had been at the wedding last night with her family, including daughter Emily who was a member of the bridal party.

So I decided I would go and let her fix breakfast for me.

I passed this cyclist along the way.

As you can see, another horrid mass of warm air has moved in from the Pacific - just like I speculated it would when I was trying to read the signs and predict the weather.

Damnit!

I hate this warm weather in December.

Funny, if any place else in the country, including the coldest states of the northern tier, had experienced the degree of consistent cold that we did in November, the religious among them would have said it was a sign that end was coming soon.

Hmmmm... perhaps all this warm weather in December here in South Central Alaska means... the end is coming soon?

There she is - Abby - cooking away behind the counter. This morning was the busiest I have ever seen it at Abby's. Every table but one was filled and there was action at the counter, too.

Shelly was not there to help her, because Shelly had run the restaurant all by herself all yesterday so that Abby could go to the wedding.

Abby's husband Andy was there, helping her.

Still, Abby was waitressing, cooking and busing.

If business keeps building up like this, she is going to have to hire more help.

As always at Abby's, I enjoyed my breakfast.

I guess I didn't totally work through the afternoon. Margie took the car and went shopping, so, having little rituals that I follow to keep me sane, when the time came, I walked to Metro Cafe for my coffee break. As I walked, this airplane flew by to both inspire and taunt me.

If it had been me up there, I would have had skis on by now.

I surely would have.

I'm not criticising, mind you.

This pilot might have a perfectly good reason to have kept this plane on wheels.

I can't think of a good reason, but the pilot might have thought of one.

Still, I would have rejected such a thought.

One of Carmen's guests had brought his 1974 yearbook to Metro. I would tell you his name, but I am going to let you see if you can figure it out for yourself.

If you can't, then I am sorry to say it, but your own education was a waste.

I don't care if you are a historian now, getting paid millions of dollars by government agencies and $60,000 a speech - if you can't figure this out...

Now, don't anybody post your answers in comments.

If you were wrong, I would hate to have to inform you.

In the evening, Melanie came over. We ate dinner, then we ate Alaska Wildberry chocolates. After that, we decorated the tree - or least Melanie and Margie did, after they went out into the yard while I was working on the wedding and cut it down.

For a long time, Margie had what she called "a Charlie Brown tree" all picked out.

They didn't cut it, though, because Melanie found another, even better, Charlie Brown tree.

Now, I have a very serious question to ask you:

Do you see any chocolate on the left side of Melanie's face?

Do you see any chocolate on the right side of Melanie's face?

Neither do I.

This is important, because a bit after I took these pictures, Melanie saw the image of herself in a mirror. She claims that chocolate was spread all across her face. She says she then washed that chocolate off.

She then began to scold me, telling me not to dare put a picture of her with chocolate on her face in the blog.

You didn't have chocolate on your face, I told her.

Yes I did, she insisted, and don't use any pictures showing chocolate on my face. Delete them. Delete them all.

I never delete a picture, I told her.

It didn't matter. There was no chocolate.

Margie hangs a Christmas tree ornament.

Melanie hangs a birch bark canoe ornament on a high branch. "We should get a star for the top," Margie said.

"Okay," I agreed.

This conversation has taken place now for, oh, I don't know... 25 years now? 30.

We really should, though.

Or an angel.

Or a cat, holding a song book, singing Christmas carols.

It could have a chip in it and really sing.

Last came the tinsel.

When it was done, I noticed they hadn't put the airplane oraments on the tree.

"Why didn't you put the airplanes on the tree?" I asked, reasonably.

"You have to do it," Melanie said.

"No," I said. "You could have done it."

"No. You always scold me. 'Don't put the airplanes on the tree,' you always say, 'only I can do that.'"

"No," I countered, truth on my side but to no avail, "I never say that."

Yet, it was clear that if the airplanes were going to get on the tree, I would have to do it.

So I did.

There were only two of them.

What happened to the rest?

I had enough airplane ornaments to decorate a whole tree all by themselves.

Not that I would ever do that.

But I had enough.

Where did they go?

Probably flew away, I guess.

Finally, the tree was done. The three of us stood before it and altogether we sang, "Oh Christmas Tree."

Or at least I did. All by myself.

Or at least I sang this much of it, in a non-existant key of my own invention:

"Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree! How lovely are thy branches!"

"Dad," Melanie challenged, "are those the real lyrics? Or did you make them up?"

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The party begins with a buttery shout, progresses to flaming fire, and ends in displays of affection

The party began with a shout,"Pizzles stop licking the butter!" It was Liza who shouted, instantly causing all heads to turn to look at Pizzles as he licked the butter.

Shortly thereafter, Rex fed a piece of buttered bread to Cortney. Nobody shouted, "Cortney stop licking the butter!" 

No, this indignity was saved for Pizzles alone. True, Cortney was eating bread that the butter was spread on, yet, however one consumes the butter, in one way or another, one must still lick the butter.

Afterward, poor Pizzles begged for a piece of the bread spread with butter so that he might lick that butter too, but nobody would give him one. I am proud to say that, a little bit later, when I was eating my salmon, I gave three pieces to Pizzles. They were tiny pieces, yes, but he is a cat. He is a tiny creature. Tiny pieces for a tiny creature - just right and quite generous of me, because I wanted to eat all of the salmon - my piece and everybody else's, too.

I should note that Lisa took a little heat for calling Epizzles, Pizzles, rather than the nickname that has become the moniker of preference for him: "Poof."

This is because awhile back, Pizzles, who had always been an occasionally well-mannered cat, started to pee outside his litter box.

Poor Melanie and Charlie - they tried all the known remedies to convince a cat to restrict his peeing to the litter box, but nothing worked.

Then, they suddenly realized, "Pizzles.... Pizzzz..." Kind of sounds like the whiz of a cat peeing, pisssss. It occurred to them that everytime Epizzles heard them call him "Pizzles," he could be misinterpreting his name as an inducement to pee wherever he wanted.

So Melanie and Charlie quit calling him "Pizzles" and stuck to his other nickname, "Poof."

And sure enough, Poof quit peeing in the house.

I understand that he started to blow lots of stinkers, however. Nobody told me this, but it only makes sense.

Poof was well-mannered on this night, however, and didn't poof often, because he wanted some of my salmon and he innately understood that I do not share my salmon with Poof cats who are poofing all about.

Pretty soon, Charlie appeared with Lisa's surprise birthday cake. Her birthday was actually November 22 and we had all planned to celebrate together as a family down on my wife and children's ancestral White Mountain Apache reservation in Arizona, but then Margie had to go to the hospital for emergency surgery.

I stayed home with her, of course, but given the fact that I was in the hard, early stages of the shingles that still bother me, if to a lesser but still sometimes very aggravating degree, traveling would have been pretty hard on me, anyway.

So we had a late celebration.

It has, of course, become a tradition that no matter whose birthday it is, Kalib, joined now by Jobe, with Lynxton on deck, helps to blow out the candles. But Kalib and Jobe are in Phoenix tonight. Tomorrow, they will board a plane and fly back to Alaska.

So Lisa had to blow her candles out all by herself. Without the benefit of the assistance of little people, this process, which normally takes at least 10 or 15 seconds, happened just like that. So I did not get to snap a bunch of frames, but had to settle for just one.

This was a wild berry cheesecake, by the way, made by Melanie with assistance from Charlie - I am pretty sure it was the best cheesecake I ever tasted.

Afterwards, the glow of young love brightened up the otherwise very dim room: Lisa and Bryce.

Melanie and Charlie.

Rex and Cortney... and a reminder of young love from a different time, which feels like maybe last week to me... the young love that made all of this evening's display of young love possible... Margie.

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During my time of hiatus, I took a short walk with Garrison Keillor, we got stopped by baby feet

No, the snow did not suddenly melt, nor did the sun burst up high, bright and warm into the sky. I have gone back to August 28, a date near the end of the six or seven week hiatus I took during the summer. On that day, Garrison Keillor performed at the Alaska State Fair in Palmer. My daughter Melanie, who is always thinking about her parents, bought tickets and treated us to the performance.

I did not come to photograph the performance. I just came to watch and to share the company of my daughter and wife. Of course, I brought a couple of cameras with me, because I always carry a camera or two.

In what at first seemed to be an unfortunate turn of events, Melanie and I got separated from Margie and the crowd pushed us up almost right to the corner that was highest and farthest from the stage.

Margie did find Charlie's mom, Cyndy, and so she had company even though she was not with us.

As for Garrison Keillor, he was was very, very, far away.

Still, I did bring a 100 - 400 zoom with me. By extending it to the 400 mm setting and then cropping a bit, I was able to get a few shots that showed that Garrison Keillor was actually in front of my camera, but there was no intimacy in the shots. They were distant point shots and nothing more.

I was not concerned, because, as noted, I had come just to watch, and a snap or two that proved that we had been there was good enough.

To the surprise of us all, at a certain point, Keillor left the stage and walked right into the middle of the front portion of the crowd. So he came a little closer than I had expected him to. Still, a fence separated those among whom he walked - those who had actual seats upon which to sit - from the rest of us, who had either to stand or sit upon the ground.

So I knew he would never go beyond that fence and make it to where we stood.

But Keillor did walk beyond the edge of the fence, then turned onto the path that skirted the common section. Melanie and I stood right at the edge of that path. Suddenly, the bard whose stories I have been listening to for 30 years and whose books I have read was walking straight towards us.

In fact, if I didn't move, Garrison Keillor would have no choice but to walk right over the top of me. So I scurried a person or two into the crowd and shot this frame as I fled.

I always knew Keillor was a man who wears elegant shoes.

And then he was right beside me. Back in the early 1980's, when I first heard him on the radio, I developed a mental picture of Garrison Keillor. I pictured him as tall, husky, robust, with a thick, black beard and black hair topped by a brown cowboy hat. I pictured him in Levi's and red plaid shirts.

I got his height right, and the color red, too, just misplaced a bit.

These days, I will often miss a show or two or three, but back then the only way I would miss A Prarie Home Companion was if I were somewhere out in Alaska beyond radio range. Whenver he came on, if I was not driving the car, I would lie upon the bed or couch, close my eyes so that there would be no visuals to compete with the images his words drew in my brain - images of Lefty the Cowboy, getting outflanked and dumped by a buxomy blond, Guy Noir, the private eye, who, for a time got killed on just about every show, but always managed to kill the bad guy who killed him.

Now, they both get to live.

There were the amazing sound effects of the recently deceased Tom Keith and Fred Newman, who came to Alaska with him; there was soul-soothing ketchup, be-bop-a-roo-bop rhubard pie, powder milk bisquits, children who were all above average, preachers, Norwegian bachelor farmers, Lutherans, Catholics and other brethern and sistren that he had grown up with, reworked into new characters and given a life they never expected to have.

I identified with Keillor's stories, because he could have just as easily been talking about the folks in the different Mormon congregations that I grew up in as my restless dad moved us to various places in the west, away from but anchored by my birth state of Utah.

There was always sexual innuendo in Keillor's stories, but as he aged, the innuendo gradually became blatant and the hypocrisy of some of his never-the-less always lovable characters obvious. His stories grew more and more risque, as if he were finally throwing off the shackles that had bound him while growing up. Having grown up Mormon, I could understand this, too.

And here, live at the Alaska State Fair doing a three-hour show that would not be broadcast on the radio, Keillor totally let loose and put in a performance that, linguistically, was downright ribald.

At one point, when he was still onstage and Melanie was standing right behind me, he told the young adults to take a look at that old, bent, gray-haired man standing in front of them, that breaking down old man who was their father.

Then, in rather graphic detail, which I would be happy to repeat but I know if I do, I will get scolded by my daughters who would laugh if Conan O'Brien uttered words of the same nature, he described that old man as a young man and went into some detail about the blast and how he made the young person's mother pregnant.

It might be hard for the young people to think of their dad like that, Keillor lectured, but they should be grateful to him for it, or else they wouldn't be here.

With Melanie standing just behind me, I felt a little self-conscious - but it also put my mind back to the night she was conceived. Theorectically, it could have been any of a few different nights in the right time period, but I know it was that night. I knew it at the moment - and what a special night it was. And what a wonderful gift came to us as a result.

And there she is, just to the left of Garrison Keillor - the very pretty, black-haired lady, holding a blue jacket, laughing at whatever it was that Keillor was saying at that moment, ribald or not.

Cats. Keillor doesn't talk about them near as much now as he used to, but in the earlier days, hardly a show went by without a cat being inserted into a story.

He even made up a song about Alaska cats.

As it happened, in the early 1990's, a cat moved in with us and then over the next few years I created a number of cat books. Since Garrison Keillor loved cats and I loved listening to Garrison Keillor, I knew that if I sent those cat books to Keillor he would love them so much that he would call up the right publisher and just like that, my cat books would be published.

He would have me on his show and we would talk knowingly and humorously about cats, my books would sell by the millions and thus my cats would fund my work for the rest of my life.

But Garrison Keillor never wrote back.

Years later, a package came in the mail, along with a letter from a Keillor staffer who said she had found my cat books in a box sitting in a back room somewhere. She did not even tell me if Mr. Keillor had ever even laid eyes upon them.

I decided that he must not have. If Garrison Keillor had looked at my cat books, then surely he would have loved them; surely he would have passed them on to the right publisher and we would be old buddies now - thanks to all those times I had appeared on his show to talk about cats. My work would now be financed for the remainder of my life. I could travel the Arctic at will in my restored airplane and I could have a second plane that was faster and could go farther without a refill. Whenver I felt I needed a break, I could fly off to India or Brazil or Tahiti or wherever I wanted and when Margie wanted, she could come, too.

I still have faith in my cat buddies. Right now, it looks we are plunging toward disaster, but I continue to believe that sooner or later, the cats will come to our rescue and everything will be okay.

The stroll was fairly short and soon Keillor walked back to the stage and resumed his performance. I was pleased to have had such an experience. I had not expected to get close to him at all. I knew it would never happen again...

...but it did; real quick. Keillor returned to his crowd walk and this time he brought the beautiful Heather Masse with him. They sang as they walked.

A little bit ahead of them, some baby feet protruded into the air. I knew that Keillor would pause when he reached the baby feet, because no one who had a heart could pass by without wanting to stop and give those baby feet a squeeze. Most people couldn't get away with making a baby feet stop and squeeze - but Keillor could.

So, staying low to the ground, I skedalled over to those feet and positioned myself. Sure enough, when Keillor reached them, he stopped and reached out to give those baby feet a squeeze.

Keillor squeezed the baby feet, first together and then just the left.

And then, accompanied by Heather Masse as well as some in the crowd, he sang to the baby: "Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you..."

It kind of looks like Keillor is a holy man, giving the baby a blessing. Or perhaps, he positioned his hand there to feel the spiritual essence of the baby. A logical person might surmise that Keillor is just using his hand to shade the baby from the sun that was beating down upon it when Keillor first spotted it, but, look - Keillor's hand is in the shade of his own body, as is the baby.

I prefer to think that Keillor cupped his hand over the baby because he wanted to feel its spiritual essence. It was a spiritual moment; it truly was. You can hear that spirit in the song.

Up until this moment, I had mostly been keeping crouched pretty low to the ground so as not obstruck anyone's view, but even though I did not come here to take pictures, I'm still a photographer and when I see a picture developing in front of me (as I do in every waking moment) I want to get it.

I needed a higher angle, so I could include the baby's face in the photo. I popped up and got it and as I did, someone shot a little video of the moment and later put it on YouTube. Here it is. You can hear a few measures of the song and then decide for youself about whether or not it was a spiritual song.

The song ended. Keillor and Masse left the baby, passed by the concession and beer tent and then moved on through the crowd. I took a few more pictures, but you get the idea.

Near the stage, the duo of Keillor and Masse brought their walking performance to a close.

By following them, I had figured out how to work myself through at least the outer edges of the crowd, so I was able to take this picture when they brought the show to a close soon after. This, and many of the other pictures, don't really work at this tiny size, but you can click on them or view the slide show to see larger versions.

Now, it was my intent to run back up, find the blessed baby and see what the family had to say about what they had just experienced.

This plan failed. The show had lasted well over three hours and so the urgent crowd moved in mass toward the "rent-a-cans." I got swept along.

By the time I escaped and pushed my way through the anxious mob, baby and parents had disappeared.

I was hungry. I rejoined Melanie, found Margie and Cyndy and then we all set out in search of food - which is found in abundance and at high prices at the Alaska State Fair.

I had been thinking that I might get a turkey leg, but changed my mind and went for a blue corn tamale.

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