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.

I answer a knock upon the door to find two Mormon missionaries standing there, looking back at me; Kalib and Caleb; Breakfast at Family; Talkeetna alpenglow

I was in the bedroom, trying unsuccessfully to log onto an Apple help forum on my laptop, when I barely heard a knock upon the front door. Everyone else was gone, so I went to the door to find these two, Elder Smith of Nevada and Elder Wadsworth of Utah, standing there, looking back at me.

I was not interested in getting into any kind of religious discussion, but, having stood in their shoes, I have a great deal of empathy for these guys, who I know for a fact are really just young men, who want all the things that all young men want, like freedom and female companionship, but they can't have these things for awhile.

I also thought they might like to meet the cats. I invited them in. They posed with Royce.

Muzzy wanted to get into the picture.

He headed toward the missionaries, but this did not please them. In fact, it scared them. They did not think Muzzy was vicious. They thought he would mess their suits up. So I sent Muzzy to the garage.

Elder Smith, Martigny, Royce, Elder Wadsworth. 

Kalib and Caleb on the computer, where the missionaries sat not so long before.

I got up very late today. Very, very, late. It was necessary, though, because I had gotten up very early yesterday and had then worked until very late, not going to bed until about the time that many of the early risers among you were already yawning, stretching as you prepared to leap right out of bed.

How do you do that? How do you leap out of bed in the morning?

Margie had already eaten her oatmeal and so had Kalib, so I went to Family Restaurant by myself.

There was a man there who still reads the newspaper. Sometimes I do, too, but mostly I read it online. By the time the paper version reaches our house, I have usually already read everything in it that I am interested in.

I am part of the reason that newspapers are dying.

And the slow death of the newspapers makes my profession all that much more difficult. But new avenues are opening up. It's just a matter of figuring out how to go down them.

My waitress, who generally knows what I want before I order it. She is very good about not bringing my toast until I have eaten the rest of my breakfast.

As I paid my bill, this guy came walking by, aided by a walker. In my head, I saw how to make a good portrait of him and I decided to ask, but you see that little paper the lady at the cash register is taking hold of? That is the credit card statement that I have to sign.

I did not think the man would move that fast and I figured he was probably going to get in line behind me, anyway, so I sat my camera down, wrote in an extra two dollars for the tip, and signed the bill.

When I turned around, he was gone.

I wonder how he did that? I'm sure no one went out the door. I would have heard it.

I will see him again sometime, but he might not be wearing the "these colors don't run" shirt.

I was busy working away at 3:30 PM, absorbed in what I was doing, when I realized that I had not yet taken my walk. If if I didn't take it soon, it would be dark. So I took it. The sun had gone down, but alpenglow lingered upon the Talkeetnas.

A few days ago, one of my readers left a comment that said my blog makes her glad she doesn't live in Alaska.

I love living in Alaska! If I had to live anywhere else, I would damn near die.

The only thing that bothers me is that ever since I fell and got hurt 17 months ago, it has been one damn thing after another that has kept me from getting out and enjoying the country - except for a few work outings last summer on the Arctic Slope.

But I will get on top of things and I will take you out there and then you will see why I would not want to live anywhere else.

Except for Hawaii, maybe - but just for short periods at a time.

A school bus shoots down Seldon, the glow of the set sun behind it. Now the Talkeetnas are behind me. 

A boy with a huge talent was buried in Barrow today

Actually, he was no longer a boy, but a young man - a husband and father - but in my memory he is a boy, out on the snow-blown tundra, making people laugh, because that is how I knew him. The boy that I speak of is Perry Nageak and that is him sitting closest to the camera, with the uncovered head. 

The month was May, the year, 1997, and he was out at spring goose camp with the family of his uncle, Roy Nageak, the man to the right. In between them is Roy's son, Ernest, then nine-years old. Ernest had just shot the two geese - his first ever. I managed to shoot a nice little sequence of pictures that told the story.

As for Perry, what I remember best about him is how quick-witted and funny he was. What a story-teller!

I thought maybe someday, I'd see him on TV, making people laugh the world over.

Here he is, telling a hunting story, late at night in the tent - probably about 1 or 2 AM. Remember, this is the Arctic, and by May the time of the midnight sun has arrived.

You can see how amused he kept all the other young people in camp - his cousins and siblings.

Although you cannot see them clearly in this picture, there are adults in the tent as well. They laugh, too.

Since I learned of his death the other day, I have been trying to recall the specific stories that he told, but after 12 years, they elude me. I only remember how funny they were.

But wait... one comes back, even as I sit here and type.

It takes place on a caribou hunt. A boy shoots a caribou. Maybe the boy was Perry; maybe it was a brother, or a cousin. The bullet does not strike the caribou directly, but instead slams into the base of its antlers. The antlers fall off and then the caribou drops dead onto the tundra.

"Oh no!" Perry explains the story from the point of view of the caribou. "My antlers! My antlers! My beautiful antlers! I just can't live without my antlers!"

To Ben, Bonnie and all those who loved Perry, my deepest condolences. And thank you for sharing your boy with me for that one beautiful, wonderful, experience, back in May of 1997.

My prayers are with you too, for whatever the prayers of a man of doubtful faith are worth.

Speaking of which... that brings me back to today. I had to drive to town, to drop the Kivgiq prints off at the North Slope Borough's liason office in Anchorage. Afterwards, I drove to Wal-Mart to pick up a couple of things that I needed.

I returned to the car, and as I took my seat, I saw these two young Mormon missionaries talking to this man. Maybe they were trying to convert him. Maybe he was a fellow Mormon, and they were just having a friendly discussion.

I started the car and this brought KSKA, the Anchorage Public Radio station, into my speakers. The first sentence that I heard come was this, "I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints..."

The show was talk of the nation and the topic was a scene from "Big Love," the HBO series about a polygamist family belonging to a sect that had broken away from the Mormon Church. The most recent segment featured a scene that depicted an endowment ceremony in a Mormon temple. 

The caller was hurt and offended - as were all the Mormon callers who phoned in. Mormons are instructed that, once they step outside of the temple, they must never talk about the ordinances that take place within - not even among themselves.

The other point of view was that to tell the story the artist wanted to tell, it was necessary.

I could not only understand both points of view, but could empathize and justify each.

If my mother was still alive, I knew how she would have reacted. With horror. With utter and absolute horror. She would have saw it as a sign that the prophesied future times of the return of the persecution that our Mormon ancestors had borne was coming right back at us, that it was right around the corner.

And just beyond that - Armageddon, the cleansing of the world and the Second Coming of Christ.

I apologize for getting a little carried away here. Except for funerals of loved ones, I have not been inside a Mormon chapel for 25 years, but when one grows up as I did, this kind of thing never leaves you.

I thought about stopping, about getting the missionaries to pose for me, but I did not wish to interrupt their conversation and so just shot this image through the open window as I drove slowly past them.

I picked Melanie up at her place of work and then drove her to Ichiban's for lunch. It was Lisa who chose Ichiban's. She met us there, as did Charlie. Melanie and Charlie are going to ride the ferry to Cordova this weekend, just for fun.

They asked me for suggestions about what to do.

I've hung around Cordova a bit, so I gave them a few.

They can go down to the fishing boat docks, and watch sea otters play; they can go up the hill to the ski run and ski. They can walk all around, and drive here and there; visit with eagles.

Lisa and me. Lisa had asked me for a picture of Juniper, her cat. So I made a print last night and gave it to her today. She was most pleased about the timing, as some of her coworkers had been deriding cats, describing them as worthless, questioning why she would ever have a cat in the first place.

The answer was right there, in the picture, but such coworkers are unlikely to see it, even when they look straight at it.

Some of us ordered sushi.

When I arrived back home in Wasilla, I found Margie and Lavina watching what at first looked like an teen-exploitation flick, as the scene on screen depicted four high school cheerleaders running amok in a sex-toy shop. 

"What's this?" I asked. 

"Texas Cheerleader Massacre," Lavina answered.

I figured they must really be bored. I flopped down on the couch to see when the carnage would begin, determined to stay but minutes and then come out here and work on something.

But Lavina got the title wrong. 

It was, "Texas Cheerleader Scandal."

There was no carnage - just a rather oddly compelling story about a cheerleading coach trying to discipline some wild girls who were messing up the squad and intimidating all the other adults.

I watched it to the very end.

As he always does, Jimmy, who is here with me now even as I type, joined me and stayed right with me.

An evening sunbeam came through the window.

Kalib found it.

I spot two Mormon missionaries as they walk through the snow

Late this afternoon, as I drove home from the coffee shop drinking my cup and carrying another for Margie, I saw some Mormon missionaries walking down the side of the road ahead of me. It was a very warm day, 30 degrees.

Even so, I felt sympathy for them and decided to offer them a ride.

"No, thank you," the tall one, Elder Bjorkman from Emmett, Idaho, told me. "We're working, visiting people who live around here." I told him that my family originated in Southern Idaho, and I mentioned Malad, where Mom was born. 

He said that he had a close relative who came from there. I think it was an uncle, but maybe it was his dad; my memory failed to hold the information. I spent a summer working on my aunt and uncle's cattle ranch, just outside of Malad.

I don't ever recall hearing the name, Bjorkman, which was the name of his relative.

The short one, Elder Moala, is from Tonga.

Different kind of climate there. Maybe he will wind up in Barrow before he returns home. There is a noteworthy Tongan community in Barrow.

I told Elder Moala just a tiny bit about my own history involving Mormon missionaries from Tonga, Samoa and Hawaii.

I drove on, sipping my coffee. I did not even think to look into my rearview mirror, until I had gone aways. This is what I saw when I did. They were growing smaller and smaller. Soon, they disappeared altogether from my sight.

And yet, they never disappear, altogether.

Never.

One day, I will explain.

Notwithstanding the good parts - and there were many - it is a painful history and all the conclusions that it has drawn to have been painful.

For now, it is enough to know that on this day, I spotted two Mormon missionaries, walking through a warm snow, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska.

A dog named Shadrach - the missionaries wanted him to protect them from the fire in the firey furnace, but Hobart wouldn't allow it

I now back up to January 28, when Margie and I were at my sister's house in Salt Lake City, where we had stopped to allow Margie to recover a bit before continuing on to Anchorage. The character with Mary Ann is Shadrach, her blue healer, border-collie friend.

Shadrach is crazy. Mary Ann loves him greatly.

I called him, "Hobart." Mary Ann did not like that, but Hobart did. He came right to me, tail wagging.

Mary Ann and Shadrack fight over a ball. Hobart wanted to get that ball, so that he could give it to me.

In the afternoon, I took Shadrach out for a little walk. We soon happened upon two Mormon missionaires, one named Meshach, the other, Abednego. I am not lying! I could never make such a thing up!

The missionaires were greatly relieved to see Shadrach. A really hot lady had threatened to throw them into a firey furnace if they ever knocked on her door again. They said it would be okay, if Shadrach was with them. With Shadrach, they could just walk around in that firey furnace and they wouldn't even suffer a blister.

So I told them that Shadrach was really Hobart. They got depressed and walked away. What good would it do, to get thrown into a firepit with Hobart? Whoever heard of Hobart, Meshach and Abednego walking around unburnt in a firey furnace?

Monday afternoon, I leave for Barrow. I just checked current weather there: temperature, -39; windchill, -63. The welcome will be warm and I look forward to Kivgiq, but I hate to leave Margie.

And what has happened to all my good Arctic gear, the clothing that used to keep me alive up there? It has all disappeared, or fallen apart.

I think a cat peed on my parka, and that is what caused it to fall apart.

Well, it was old and worn anyway.

But what do I do now?