Some good news! Larry goes home to Barrow, I get a free cup, Raven sits upon a pole; driver of the ric

There has been much sadness in this blog lately and I believe that sadness is going to linger for some time, but I have some happy news to report today. Larry Aiken has gone home to Barrow. His radiation and chemo therapy was painful beyond anything he would have believed, but did succeed and killed his tumor.

So, the day after I took this picture, Larry got to board an airplane and head home for Barrow. There, he will spend about one month learning how to eat again and to regain his strength and weight. Then he will come back to Anchorage for major surgery to remove the killed tumor.

His fight is not over, but he has completed a huge part of it. "I am absolutely going to beat it," he told me.

He gives a great deal of credit to his sister, Ruth Aiken, who called him everyday from Barrow to say, "Larry, don't you dare give up on me."

Earlier on the day of this photo, Larry received a certificate of graduation from the radiation therapy staff that gave him his treatment. 

The certificate declared that:

"Mr. Larry Aiken has completed the prescribed course of radiation therapy with the highest degree of courage, determination and good nature. We appreciate the confidence placed in us and the opportunity to serve you."

I pulled up to the window of Metro Cafe where Shoshauna informed me that, once again, an anonymous benefactor had bought me coffee and a cinnamon roll.

Thank you, Anonymous.

After I drove away from Metro, sipping and chewing, I came upon this scene on Shrock Road. If you look closely, you can see a whale in that cloud.

And here is a raven, sitting on a pole in downtown Wasilla. That raven does not care who the mayor is or ever was. That raven knows Wasilla like no mayor ever will.

That raven is very intelligent.

Moon over Pioneer Peak.

And this one from India:

This is the man who was driving the auto rickshaw at the time I took the picture that appeared in yesterday's post about the cold, empty, streets of Bangalore.

He was driving the rick when I took this picture, too.

He tried to charge us more than he should have, but Sandy would not let him get away with it.

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Zero degree baby; Kalib and his spatula, part 2; Larry Aiken paints a dream of belugas; a walk through the valley of the shadow

As I walked yesterday in the zero degree* cold, I happened upon a one-year old baby, who had also gone out for a walk - only she had traveled by stroller, not foot.

This is she - baby Lily. Her mother, Christie, told me that she and baby Lily go out regularly, whatever the weather, and baby Lily enjoys it all. It does not distress her to be out in the cold - unless a fierce wind is blowing and strikes her right in the face. Her mother protects her, so that she does not feel that wind for more than seconds.

Sometimes, they walk for hours, Mom says. Baby Lily loves it.

How pleasing to know that this is a little girl being brought up not to fear the elements, not to shrink away and retreat only to the comfort of the indoors but to get out and enjoy.

Baby Lily may be well on her way to be coming a true Alaska girl.

As usual, at 4:00 PM I headed to Metro Cafe to get my coffee. After Shoshauna prepared it for me, I did not go home or take my usual drive, but continued on, with Anchorage as my destination. My friend, Larry Aiken, had experienced a couple of very hard days in his cancer treatment and I knew it was time to visit him again.

When I reached the Junction of the Parks and Palmer-Wasilla Highways, I was pleased to be stopped by a red light, so that I could pause, compose, and shoot.

As I crossed the Hay Flats, I heard a text message come in on my phone. I pulled off the highway at the next exit - the Native Village of Eklutna - to read it. It was from Lavina. She was out with Kalib and Jobe and they were going to pick up a pizza.

She invited me to stop by to have some.

Only Jacob was home when I arrived, but soon we heard Lavina, Kalib and Jobe pull into the driveway.

Remember how, at Thanksgiving, I told you that Kalib had become attached to a spatula, that he kept it with him almost at all times and that it had become his favorite toy?

He entered the living room carrying that spatula. Even as his mother removed his sweater, he kept hold of that spatula. 

When it was time to eat the pizzas, Kalib proved that the spatula was more than a toy to him, but a tool as well.

He wielded that tool well.

Jobe's not really into pizza yet, but he does love his dehydrated fruity yogurt treats - as do I. Knowing full well the danger, his dad handed me the bag so that I could feed him.

I gave him one. I would have given him more, but he ate too damn slow. What is one to do when he is holding the yogurt treats and the baby is eating too slow but to eat yogurt treats himself?

Then I went to see Larry and we had a good visit. It is one of those terrible ironies of life, but to kill cancer, one must undergo treatment that will make him very sick and so the past few days had been hard for Larry.

To help get him through, Larry has continued on his art work. He showed me this little beluga painting that is nearing completion. It is of the belugas as they appear under water. Larry has never been under the water with the belugas, but they came to him in a dream and showed him how they look under there.

So he is painting that dream.

Readers who were with me then will recall how shortly after Larry arrived in Anchorage to begin his treatment, he began a self-portrait of himself harpooning a bowhead whale. His whaling captain, George Adams, was right behind, ready to follow up with the shoulder gun. Last night, Larry told me the story of that whale.

He is not quite done with the self-portrait, yet, but as you can see, it is moving along. Once the portrait is done, I will take another photo and will pass on the story as Larry told it to me.

His art is his therapy.

He also finds therapy in the support, prayers and love of friends and family.

These are the things that get him through each day. 

And I found therapy in Larry's company - and in the hug that he gave me just before we parted company. There was fear in that hug, but hope and strength even more so.

Now I will take you back to India, for just a flash:

Regarding my ongoing process of grief for Soundarya - grief that seems not to ease but only to intensify - this is how I have decided to handle it in this blog. From now until however long it takes me to sort through, edit and create some sort of picture package from the images that I took of her, Anil and of India, I am going to keep that take at the forerfront of my Lightroom editor. I will work on it when I can.

Now and then, at times with more frequency than others, I will drop random pictures from India into this blog. Until I finish, these will not be pictures of Soundarya, but of other people and things in India, the place that made her.

When you see those pictures, even if I do not mention her name, you will be reminded of her, and you will know that I am thinking of her.

I start with this set of three only because they were the ones visible on the front page of my editor at the moment I decided to do this.

I took these during an interim moment. Sandy and Anil were off being newlyweds, Melanie and I had made a big trip with Vasanthi and Vijay and were about to take another with Vasanthi, Murthy and Buddy. In the meantime, Melanie and I took a walk from the Murthy home and soon got caught in a sudden downpour.

Some fruit vendors invited us to take shelter with them.

We did. The rain was furious, but brief.

When it ended, we said goodbye as best we could to these vendors, who spoke little English, and then moved on.

Very soon, we came across this young boy.

And then this one. I would have taken more pictures of people that we encountered after the rain, but after I shot this one, my Canon 5D Mark II, which I had protected from all but a few drops of rain, shut down on me and would not shoot again until I sent it into Canon for a $350 repair job.

As I do not like to carry it, I had almost left my Canon 1Ds Mark III at home, but at the last moment had decided to bring it. This proved to be a very good thing because otherwise, I would have been out of action from this moment forward.

Well... probably not... I would have acquired some kind of camera in India.

The Valley of the Shadow...

As readers know, despite my own, very intense, and at least from my mother very sincere, religious upbringing, despite the fact that I associate closely with many people of deep religious faith, I am not a person of faith myself. Yet, from the time I woke up this morning until right now, a certain scripture has kept repeating itself in my head.

It is a most important scripture to me personally and I also think the King James version of it to be among the most beautiful words ever put together in the English language.

It speaks of a valley, a valley that we all must walk through for each and every second that we live. At times, we are acutely aware that we walk in this valley, other times, our minds push all thoughts and fears of it to the side and we just laugh, enjoy, make merry and do what we feel like doing.

But sooner or later, that valley always manifests itself about us and makes certain we know we walk there.

Yet, somehow, this scripture makes that valley appear less frightening:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul:

he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil, for thou art with me;

thy rod and thy staff comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

thou anointest my head with oil;

my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

These words come from the Judeo-Christian Bible, but I have felt the feeling behind them in the contexts of many different faiths - yes, even in the Mormon faith that I grew up with but can no longer be shackled by. I feel it in the churches whenever I gather with my Iñupiat and other Native friends and they sing so beautifully, with such strong heart and deep spirit.

I have felt it in a tipi, with a fire burning hot in the center, surrounded by drums and singing on the rim of the circle. I have felt it in a sweat lodge where spiritual beliefs that predate the United States but not the original people of this land have made themselves manifest.

And yes, I have felt it in a Hindu temple when a holy man has spoken words that I do not understand and has reached out and touched me on the forehead and left a red mark there - and among Muslims, who have invited me to come in off the Bangalore street and into their butcher shop, with carcasses suspended from the ceiling, there to share their coffee and spirit with me.

I have felt it among those sincere in many faiths when they have reached out with that faith to soothe and support others.

I do not necessarily feel it from those - again in any and all faiths - who would use their religion as a club to smash down and subdue others.

But among the sincere, hurt and caring, I have felt such comfort across the gamut. I gratefully accept all of their prayers and blessings.

*That's zero degrees F; - 18 C.

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I sneak Margie out on a date, eat raw fish, drift with ravens and spot a cop and a driver-less car on the Wasilla highway

As you know, this past Sunday afternoon I was happily working away in my office when Jobe suddenly appeared at my door, snatched Margie away from me and took her back to Anchorage to stay with him and Kalib for the week. This was because Lavina and Jacob were each traveling during different times of the week and so they needed Margie there, to care for Kalib and Jobe.

I do good alone, don't mind it, much, because as long as I have a camera, a computer or something to write with, I am never bored. I always have something to do.

More to do than I can do, in fact.

Even so, come Wednesday afternoon, I found myself longing to see Margie - to see a movie with her. We used to go to movies every week, when I would be home, but we have fallen off.

So I jumped into the car and rushed to town.

Whoever was in this car was headed into Wasilla even as I was headed out, Anchorage bound.

I snuck her out of the house. We then went to the movie, "Hereafter" and after we went out to dinner at Samurai Sushi, where we had never eaten before.

Margie doesn't care for sushi, so she ordered Teriyaki chicken. I ordered this plate of sushi and sashimi. For a moment, I was hesitant, because our bank account is once again just about tapped out - and we have an auto-withdrawal payment coming Monday that is bigger than the combination of all the funds left in all three of our bank accounts combined.

On the other hand, I had submitted an invoice the day before, which hopefully will be paid in time to cover everything, I had not been on a date with my wife in a long time and that sushi looked really good.

Here is my sushi and sashimi, as seen through my iPhone.

Oh, damn! It was good!

How do these Japanese chefs make raw fish taste so good?

If I take a fish and cut it up and eat it raw it is not going to taste like this.

These guys really know how to cut fish.

Margie's chicken teriyaki was delicious, too.

I know, because she let me sample a chopstick full.

I then drove Margie back to drop her off Jacob and Lavina's house until Saturday night. Do you remember that feeling you sometimes had when you were young and you had taken a girl you liked out on a date or maybe you were that girl and you were with a guy you liked and then the date was over and you were pulling up to her parent's house to drop her off?

That feeling of how good it felt to be with this person, how much you had enjoyed the date and now you still had the good feeling, but a little ache, too, because this girl with her parents and then go?

That was the very feeling that I had as I pulled into Jacob and Lavina's driveway with Margie beside me, after our date.

Only I wasn't taking back home to her parents.

I was taking her home to our grandkids. 

Jacob had returned from his travels and Lavina would not leave on her's until the next day, so they were both home.

Kalib was watching Dragons - probably for the 10,000th time. I got between him and the screen to take a picture of him. He peered around me to the left so that he could continue to watch.

I shifted left, to try again. Kalib peered around me to the right.

I shifted to the right. He was getting a little disgusted with me.

It's okay, though. He has all the scenes memorized. And he's probably seen them ten times since then.

Jobe was hanging out with Muzzy.

Maybe Jobe will go to Arizona some day and be a bull rider.

I don't really want him to be, but it might just be in his blood, so you never know.

Then Jacob caught me and Jobe together. Jobe loves me. Jobe loves my beard. One day, I want to take him out in a canoe and catch fish with him.

Maybe by then I can learn how to cut them right and then we can sit on the bank and eat sushi and sashimi, as fresh as sushi and sashimi can be.

"Grandpa," he will say. "That was damn good raw fish. I sure hope that some day, I can grow a beard just like yours!"

So that was Wednesday. This was yesterday, back in Wasilla. I had to go to Wal-Mart to pick up some medications.

There were ravens there, waiting for me.

Wal-Mart raven.

Then, as I drove home, I saw ravens surfing the updraft, over the railroad tracks.

It was a windy day. Ravens love windy days.

I love ravens.

For those unclear about the difference between ravens and crows, they are related, but ravens are bigger. Much bigger. 

Ravens make a stronger impression on you than crows do.

Sometimes a raven will say, "never more."

A crow would never say that.

Never.

While I was stopped at the light on the corner of the Parks and Palmer-Wasilla highways, I noticed a cop car pull into the left turn to my right with lights flashing. Then the cop stopped, right there in the left turn lane and got out of the car.

This seemed to me to be a very curious place to make a traffic stop. Then, as my light turned green and I had to go, I noticed that the car the cop had stopped behind did not have a driver.

It was empty - just sitting there unmanned in the left turn lane. Nor I could I see anyone just standing around, who might have once been the driver.

Just another of the usual strange sights that one gets to see just about everyday, right here in Wasilla, Alaska.

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Finally, I get to see Shoshana again - the Chugach Mountains and the beauty that surrounds us here in Wasilla; kid on four-wheeler in the same place

There is a certain bond between Shoshana and me, and I had not seen her for a full week. I think the bond exists in part because she is a young writer with natural talent who stands right at the threshold of the possibilities before her and I am one with the larger part of my career behind me, but still going, still driving, with many things to do yet.

So, even though our entire contact in life takes place entirely through this window, or, occasionally, across the counter inside, on the average of three or four times a week, if I am not traveling, for total of maybe ten minutes a week, if that much, that is enough time for us to give each other encouragement and we do.

Plus, there are people whom you meet that you just connect with and for me, Shoshana is such a person.

BUT - Shoshana is on a new schedule. On the days that she does not go to school, she comes in early in the morning and she leaves somewhere around 1:30 or 2:00 PM - well before I come in to get my cup at 4:00 PM.

So I had not seen her all week, and I had missed her. "Shoshana misses seeing you!" Carmen* told me Friday. "Saturday she works until 2:45. Promise me that you will come before that, so she can see you."

It would throw my schedule off a bit, but schedules are one thing - friendships are another. And I wanted to see her. On Saturday, I pulled up to the Metro window at about 2:30. When she spotted me, Shoshana began to jump up and down, waving, shouting out in a glad voice and Carmen did, too. The customer in the background seemed very amused by it all.

We were happy to see each other. It felt good to be greeted like that.

See you next Saturday, Shoshana. Same time, same place.

And keep writing, talented young friend.

So I headed home, sipping the Americano that Shoshana had prepared for me, listening to Garrison Keillor, since it was too early for the news.

On the last leg of the drive, I came down Seldon, toward where the Chugach Mountains tumble off to the east.

My normal practice would just be to shoot a few frames through the window as I drove on, listening to the news. But the news was not on. So I stopped, got out of the car, put the 100-400 zoom on my camera and shot a few frames.

Over the past couple of years, I have often heard or read disparaging things about the little community in which I live. I have traveled Outside and have had many people cast judgment upon me, just because I live in Wasilla.

But... my friends... this is what living in Wasilla means to me.

Whatever absurdities may sometimes happen down in this valley, however mocking of the land much of the development might be, we are still surrounded by beauty here - 100 percent of the time. It is always there. Day and night. Beauty! It never goes away. We know it, we feel it.

And when you go beyond the beauty that your eye can see from here, guess what you find?

Alaska. More and more of Alaska, reaching out, stretching ever further beyond in all its wild magnificence. More often than not, it is very difficult to get to and get into, but every inch of it is beautiful to the most exquisite degree.

Even when we can't see it, we feel it.

So take that, Maureen Dowd!

I have been to your New York City and I love it, cherish it, find wonder and amazement in it and the pretzels there were once the best in the world, but you will never find anything like this in New York City.

No, no, no! Nothing at all!

It does not exist there.

But it exists here.

In Wasilla, Alaska.

I still needed to listen to the 4:00 o'clock news - All Things Considered, Weekend Edition, but I had already drunk my coffee.

"Well," Margie said, "we could go get some lunch and sit in the car and eat it and listen to the news."

So we did, I heard the news. For the most part, it was not good. I still enjoyed it.

On the way home, as we came down Seldon, right at the very place where I had taken the pictures of the Chugach, I saw this kid on this small-wheeled four-wheeler.

*As should be clear to all regular readers, I also share a bond with Carmen and when I do not find her at Metro, I miss seeing her, too.

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Too Bright - the glare of the sun on Lucille, and on other things, too

Margie and I were motoring down Lucille Street yesterday, directly towards the high-noon sun. Due to the way it reflected off the ice and moisture on the street, it was kind of like driving toward two suns. It was too bright - altogether too bright - far crueler to the eye than even this picture implies.

I could hardly see anything. It hurt my eyes. All I could do was to drive very slowly and direct my vision back and forth to either side of the road. I could not look straight ahead, because when I did, I would see only painful glare - I would be blind to the traffic ahead.

It was too bright.

It reminded me of a story that I was fortunate enough not to witness first-hand, but to hear second-hand from one who was present to witness it. It happened in a small community somewhere in the American West. I will not identify the community, because it is small enough that every single person who lives there knows every other person and some of them just might get a little embarrassed to have their community caught in the glare of such a light.

Anyway, a number of the young men of the community had gathered to socialize at a place alongside a river which flowed nearby. They were drinking beer, shooting the bull, and just enjoying the sunny afternoon.

"Hey, take a look at what I got," one of them suddenly said. Then he unbuckled his pants, pulled down the zipper, yanked out his pride and joy and let the sun shine down upon it.

There was a moment of silence.

"Too bright!" One of his companions finally said. He turned his gaze away - the glare must have hurt his eyes.

Margie and I continued on to the Parks Highway, where we would be able to turn left, so that the sun would no longer be glaring in duplicate right into my eyes.

It's just pure coincidence that the next image that I would take after "too bright" would be this one.

I do not know such things happen, but they do. I didn't even realize it had happened, until I placed the image in this blog post.

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