Election eve, election morning in Wasilla - my search for a single Scott McAdams sign among a plethora of Joe Millers; sadly, the day begins very badly for someone

As election eve electioneering in Wasilla is aimed primarily at motorists driving by in cars, I decided that I would shoot my pictures of Wasilla electioneering entirely from the car. I would do it at dusk, and in the early AM, before dawn, to match the times when commuters would be pouring back into and leaving the valley to get back and forth from jobs in Anchorage.

I actually intended to start a little bit earlier than I did, but just as I was getting ready to go, Jimmy, my good black cat, did something on my desk that caused my computer screen to suddenly go black, then light back up just long enough for me to see error messages flashing all over the place as hard-drive icons mysteriously disappeared. Then the screen went dark again.

I could not get the monitor to come back up, so I had to shut everything down and start over again. It took 15 or 20 minutes, but finally my screen came back up, all my hard drives signed back on and so I got in the car and drove towards downtown Wasilla - if there is any place in Wasilla that can accurately be described as, "downtown."

I don't think there is - but there is an often frenetically busy area, where the Parks Highway runs through the midst of malls, stores, kiosks, fast food joints and various other enterprises, so that is what I refer to when I speak of "downtown Wasilla."

Here I am, on Lucille Street, headed towards downtown Wasilla, at dusk.

Then I was on the highway and it was busy. I had to stop at a red light, alongside this truck. 

I had hoped to get a red light at this corner, because I knew that is where the heaviest action would be, but I didn't. It was green. Up ahead, I saw a preponderance of Joe Miller signs. That's pretty much how it is in Wasilla - lots of Joe Miller signs.

In fact, it looked to me like Joe Miller had this corner all to himself... but wait... there in the shadows... the dark sign that hardly anyone can see or read... Harry Crawford! The Democratic candidate up against Don Young for the House!

This has been both a noisy and a quiet election. There has been so much noise surrounding the Senatorial race that all the other contests have seemed quiet, almost like they weren't happening.

It is an unusual thing to describe any race that Don Young is in as quiet, but, the House race has been pretty quiet.

And so has the race for Governor. These other races have been so quiet that has been a challenge for House, Gubernatorial, and, for hell's sake - local - candidates to capture the people's attention with everyone focused on McAdams........... Murkowski and ........................................................................................................................................................................................ Miller.

(Listed in order of my personal preference)

It's a fact, though, that here in Wasilla, Joe Miller dominates. Don't ask me why. 

As far as I can recall, one person was denied liberty in this election: Tony Hopfinger. 

And yet somehow, we must all live together. As Jon Stewart said, we build and share the same roads, where we all yield to each other in our turn. We do this everyday.

These are my neighbors. I disagree with them profoundly and believe that if they prove to be successful today, we, they and I, will all pay the price together.

Despite all that, we've all got to get along and not shoot each other.

In Alaska, we pretty much all have guns, you know - conservatives and liberals alike.

And, despite all the scare whipped up by those who would cynically use the fears of others for their political advantage, nobody in the Obama administration has made the slightest effort to take our guns away.

And we all fly the same flag. 

This had nothing to do with the electioneering. The officer was pursuing a speeder. I was not speeding. I was sitting at a red light, waiting for it to change so that I could turn left.

Some say that she is a moderate and that we should vote for her to stop Joe Miller. Once, I did see her as a moderate and I liked her. And I still like her. I have met her a few times and talked to her and she is a very likable person.

But I'm voting for Scott McAdams.

For one thing, I invested a great deal of faith and money in a health insurance company that turned out to be opposed to my health care. A couple of years ago, my doctor found some conditions in me that, if not watched closely, could easily turn to cancer and kill me. To insure that this would not happen, I was told that I would need to have certain procedures done every year.

If I could do this, then I should be okay.

And what did my insurance company do? They jacked up my rates and jacked up my rates until I could no longer pay them. Now I have no insurance but I do have preexisting conditions. The only thing that I can do is hope that I soon make a big financial score and can pay for these procedures out of pocket - as I am a year behind right now - or I can just hang on and hope that I make it okay without these procedures for another four years, until the Health Care bill kicks fully in.

Yet, she opposed that bill, and despite the lies that she accurately accuses Joe Miller of telling about her, tried to repeal it. She has promised to try again, should she win. 

She has actively voted against my health care - potentially against my life. In her promise to try again, she has made it clear that she would take even my four-year hope away from me.

I have many friends whom I love and respect who are voting for her - some of them just to stop Joe Miller.

But I am voting for my life - and the lives of others who either can't get health insurance or find that their insurance companies oppose their health care. 

Only Scott McAdams has said he would work with the basic strengths of the bill, tweak out the weaknesses, and strive to improve, not to kill, weaken, or defund, it.

I will vote for Scott McAdams. I will vote for my life.

And for those who protest "higher taxes" - even though the health care bill is primarily a private industry plan, consider this:

Over the course of the time that I carried my insurance, I spent somewhere between $100,000 and $150,000 in premiums. I got very little back for that. I was prescribed medications for various things - but my insurance company never bought me a single pill. I spent hundreds of dollars a month, out of pocket. They never covered any routine care, and, besides what I paid them, I paid tens of thousands of dollars out of pocket for the medical care that my insurance always found a way to deny me.

What if, instead of into the pockets of an insurance company that saw my health care only as obstacle to their profits, I had paid that money, even as a tax, into a federal insurance plan that would actually cover my health care, help me, and when problems arise, be there for me, rather than to seek to find a way not to pay and even to force me out?

Right now, our health insurance practices are absurd. Up until you qualify for Medicare, insurance companies - perhaps not all, but certainly those such as mine - keep looking for ways to deny you help. If you hang on and survive in good health until you are 65, then they will likely pocket the money that you spent with them and then turn you over to Medicare, where a whole new set of tax dollars will now have to pay up your care.

Wouldn't it be better to have all the premiums that you spent over the decades, either out of your own pocket or your employer's, to be there for your care health care, once you turn 65, rather then to go to enrich CEO's and shareholders who never cared about you, anyway?

So I will vote for Scott McAdams.

But where are his signs?

I did not see a single one.

Just a flood of Joe Miller, and a spattering of Lisa Murkowski.

Well, enough of that. I did not mean to get carried away like that. I did not mean to politic. I was just going to matter-of-factly say: here are the signs, vote as you will. My anger got the best of me. Now, I will let readers enjoy looking at the signs.

I get a chuckle out of this one.

So that was last night. This is this morning. I decided that on election morning, I would have breakfast at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant, then shoot a few more election day pictures from the car.

Here I am, at Family, where, as seen in their reflection upon the window, Connie takes an order.

As I sat there eating and sipping, a big number of emergency vehicles came by, lights flashing, sirens whining but quickly going silent. I knew that the accident had to be close by, that someone's day had gotten off to a bad start.

A very bad start. It happened very close to where I had been eating. I am back in my car, now, but still in the parking lot in front of Family Restaurant.

A terrible start. I hope not as terrible as it looks.

I hope they found success in their mission.

Just down the road, sign wavers had returned - two, at least. Both for Joe Miller. It was about 8:30 AM. Maybe other sign wavers were just waiting for daylight.

Please note the "Luv" charge on the one sign. That's the thing. It is a lie. Lisa Murkowski stood as a thorn in Obama's side. She showed him no love at all.

But you know what? When it comes to so much of campaigning, and certainly with this campaign, truth means nothing. It is an alien concept.

Wait... what is that just beyond them... just beyond the Harry Crawford sign? Is it a Scott McAdams sign?

I turn around in the Target parking lot, so I can go back and have a better look.

Yes, it is! It is a Scott McAdams sign!

I still didn't see any for Democratic gubernatorial candidate Ethan Berkowitz or his running mate, my friend of three decades, Diane Benson.

I love this valley, I love Wasilla, but, sometimes, it can feel like a very lonely place.

Now I am driving down Lucille Street, headed back home. The 9:00 AM hour is drawing nigh.

I pass by Metro Cafe, where people, Republican, Democrat, Independent and indifferent, are getting their morning coffee.

I will stop by this afternoon.

I could have pulled in to vote, but I will wait until later in the day. Then I will come back here to Tanaina Elementary with Margie and we will cast our ballots.

I continue on, towards home, and see a boy waiting for a school bus.

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Geese pass by the sun; Mona, Jobe, Larry and Jim - Pioneer Peak at dusk, Joe Miller sign beneath

I headed for Anchorage about noon, picked Larry Aiken up at his hotel and then drove to the airport to meet his special friend, Mona, who had flown down from Barrow to stay with him during his cancer treatment.

As we waited at a stoplight, we saw some geese coming.

I still have not located my pocket camera (although I know it is here) and I had forgotten to bring a DSLR. That left only my iPhone and it was buried deep in my pocket. I did not think I could get it out and into camera mode in time and so decided just to let the geese pass by, unshot.

But no! To quit is not the natural way of Alaskans and it is not my way. I dug into my pocket, pulled out the iPhone, switched it to camera mode, raised it to the window and then could see nothing in it but the intense glare of the high-noon sun.

So I shot blind. I got my geese. 

Pretty soon, I expect to get a call from MOMA* in New York. As soon as they learn about this photo, they will want to hang it on their wall.

I don't know what I will do, if I will let them hang it or not. I will have to think about it.

Here is how you can know:

Go to New York, or stay there if you are already there. Visit MOMA. If you see this iPhone photo prominently displayed on the wall, then you know I said, "yes."

If you don't, then you know I said, "no."

I can be quite particular about just who I let show my photographs.

*Museum of Modern Art.

After we got to the house, Jobe charmed Mona.

Then Jim came out, to charm both Mona and Larry. 

I hardly took any pictures. I just visited and ate. I ate too much, and I still feel it today.

Jacob and Lavina came out and so did Melanie and Lisa. Caleb was already here. Only Rex and Ama were missing. They must have been out getting in some good times before she departed back to San Francisco Bay, for just a short stay.

At dusk, I drove Larry and Mona back to Anchorage.

Although it is not at all obvious in this blog-sized version, if you could see this image at full 5D II resolution, you would clearly see that the little white rectangle with the dark in the middle down at the lower right is a campaign sign pushing Joe Miller for Senate.

Given all that has come to light, it is kind of strange to see such a sign, yet, there you have it.

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On tax day, I take prints and visit Warren Matumeak and daughters; I return to Wasilla and find a Tea Party; my coverage is interupted

It had been very chilly in our bedroom when we went in to seek sleep the night before. After I tucked Margie into the single bed where, as a result her injuries, she still must sleep, I jumped into our bed and the cold sting of the sheets against my flesh almost shot me back out again.

But I held my spot, because I knew that the blankets would hold my body heat and soon I would be warm and toasty.

Sure enough, it happened just that way. Sooner or later, insomniac me went to sleep. And then, somewhere around 3:00 AM, I dreamed that I was out in the country somewhere but was inadequately dressed and so was getting cold. Then I woke up and discovered that I was inadequately blanketed and truly was getting cold.

I keep a special quilt on the bed just for such moments, but the quilt was gone, folded and put away somewhere. Oh well, I figured, I could just reposition myself a bit to create a better layer of air insulation between the blankets and me and I would warm up and be fine.

I did not want to get up and go search for a blanket.

And so the rest of the night went, me always thinking that I had found just the right spot, dozing temporarily off, then waking, chilled, again.

In the morning, when I finally got up, it was to a clear, blue, sky and a beautiful world. Barefooted, I stepped onto the back porch to shoot this image. The porch was frozen and I felt the cold, sting of ice against my feet, but it was only for a few a seconds and I did not mind at all.

A few months back, Darlene Matumeak-Kagak got in touch with me to request a print of a photo that I took at Kivgiq 2003 of she and her sister, Mae Ahgeak, dancing with their father Warren Matumeak. Warren is pictured in my April 14 post, drumming and singing.

Providing prints to people who want them is a very difficult thing for me because, literally, I have received requests for THOUSANDS of prints, dating back to my film days and it is just impossible. Furthermore, the big majority of people who want these prints are Alaska Native who have befriended and helped me and without whom none of this work that I have done would have been possible, so it has always been my policy not to sell prints to such folk, but to give them and, despite my huge backlog of undelivered orders, I have given THOUSANDS away.

So I always tell people that if they want a picture, don't be afraid to keep sending me little reminders. In time, a reminder may well hit me when I am in a circumstance that makes it possible for me to make a print. The digital age has made it easier for me to get pictures to people in .jpg form, but even then, there are so many that it remains a challenge -plus a .jpg is not a print.

Darlene and her husband Jake have been very good to me over the years. Warren, her father, is one of the great men of the Arctic, a man who I greatly respect, love and admire. So, when I learned that he was coming to Anchorage to get chemo for cancer, I decided that I needed to make those prints right now and deliver them personally.

So here I am, in my car, looking at the Talkeetna Mountains from the stop sign at the intersection of Seldon and Lucille as I drive to Anchorage. Sitting alongside me in the passenger seat is three, 13 x 19 Velvet Fine Art prints that I had made late the night before.

The road was slick, but the temperature was rising and would hit 40 come late afternoon. I don't know what the low had been. About 10, I would guess.

Pioneer Peak and the Chugach Mountains, as I cross the Knik River bridge.

Someone in the opposing, north-bound lanes of traffic had been pulled over. Police officers were positioned at both the passenger and driver doors and, if I recall correctly, three patrol vehicles had stopped.

I don't know what happened. For all I know, in the end, the driver got off with a warning. I could do some investigative reporting and find out, but I don't think I will bother.

After I got to town, the very first thing that I did was drive out to the Dimond area to pick Melanie up so we could have lunch together. Along the way, while stopped at a red light, I saw this scene. I thought about how thin is the line that separates me from being part of it and wondered if and when I might yet cross that line.

I did not recognize the man, but maybe I know some of his family, somewhere out in Rural Alaska. Maybe some of his relatives have brought me into their home, be it a house or a camp, and have fed me.

For some reason, I failed to take any pictures during my lunch with Melanie. We got to talking and I just forgot. I can tell you this, she is a big help to me and her mom right now and to her youngest brother, too. I need to be more of a help to her.

She has also helped many cats, and that is just one of the many trillion reasons why I love her so.

As I do all my children, and those with whom they have united to bring even more family into our lives.

After I dropped Melanie off back at her work, I drove straight to the airport to meet Warren and his three daughters, who were already headed back to Barrow. Given what I had heard about his cancer, he looked surprisingly strong and good, and his spirits seemed high. He told me, though, that how he looked on the outside hid what he felt inside.

His doctors here in Anchorage had started him on some intense chemo and he would stay on it back home in Barrow for about two more weeks and then he would return. If it was having the desired effect, he would stay on it. If it wasn't... well, he said, he had experienced 82 wonderful years in this life and was ready to go to his home on the other side.

Those of us who know him here, I answered, are not ready for that. We need and want him here. This, he said, was what he also wants and is hoping for, but, if not, he is ready. He has already experienced many miracles in his life that have kept him here when it seemed, perhaps, that his time was already over.

He told me about one, in the days before snowmachines, when he had been out on the ice with his dogs and had to cross a wide section of very thin ice, one inch thick at most. His dogs did not want to go on, but he had no choice and so urged them forward. He leaned into the sled, which was buoyant. The dogs pushed forward and as they did, their paws punched repeatedly through the ice, but sea ice is flexible in a way that freshwater ice is not and the dogs managed to keep moving forward without going all the way through. A couple of times, Warren gave a push with his foot and his boot also broke through.

Finally, they reached stronger ice about two inches thick and soon were on safe ice. Warren stopped his dogs, and offered a prayer of thanks.

All too soon, it was time for them to head for security and then on to the Alaska Airlines gate where they would board their flight back to Barrow.

One of his daughters offered to get a wheelchair to make the journey a little easier for him, but Warren said, no, he needed the exercise and he would walk.

This reminded me of another of his survival miracles, one that happened about 24 years ago and that I wrote up in an early issue of Uiñiq. In that instance, Warren suffered a heart attack out on the tundra while hunting caribou with his young grandson Tommy, who, if I remember right, was eight years old at the time. Warren knew that he was going to die and so had his young grandson bundle him onto the sled and then told him to drive the snowmachine toward the moon, because in that direction he would find his grandmother at camp and could return his body to her.

It was a tough and long ride, but young Tommy saved his aapa's life. 

Afterward, I would often see Warren in the evenings on the indoor track built above the Barrow High gymnasium - walking and walking and walking, building up the strength in his heart.

Behind him here are his daughters Darlene, Alice and Mae.

This is the photo that I had printed in triplicate for them, with Darlene dancing at the left and Mae at the right. Suurimmaanitchuat.

I should note that in his work days, Warren served as Planning Director for the North Slope Borough and later as director of the North Slope Borough Wildlife Management Department. He is a choir director at the Utqeaqvik Presbyterian Church and is well known for his oratory from behind the pulpit.

Do any of you regular readers ever pick up on the conflict that tears always within me, between the pull of my communal home on the Arctic Slope and my physical and blood-family home in Wasilla?

Now, at Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage, I had once again taken a mental trip back to the communal home, but it was time to return to Wasilla. As stated in the sidebar at right, one of the primary reasons that I started this blog was to better get to know Wasilla, where I have lived now for nearly 30 years. Yet, outside my house and family, Wasilla is a town in which I have mostly been a stranger, because my work, heart, and soul has always been out in the rural areas where I have done my work.

Yet, I love Wasilla and I want to know what this place, where I have for so long kept a physical presence, is all about. I want to find its soul, but, even since I started this blog, a lack of time and financial resource has severely limited my search. I am not even close to meeting this goal.

Perhaps I am little bit frightened by this goal, too. I don't know.

As I drove back to Wasilla, I passed this Volkswagen.

The first car that Margie and I ever owned was a lemon-yellow Super Beetle. We loved that car like we have loved no car since - but I do love the Ford Escape. Among the many cars that we have now ground down, I love the Escape second only to the Super Beetle.

Back in Wasilla, it was Tax Day, and the Liberty Tax mascot was out, seeking to draw in those who had procrastinated almost beyond hope.

It would prove to be a very hard tax day for us, as we came up owing, with no funds to pay the difference. It won't be fun, but we will get through this. It happened before, in 1997, about ten times worse than now. We got through it. I never wanted it to happen again, but it did, and we will get through it again.

Not far down the road, I saw a man riding his four-wheeler like he was part of the US Calvary, leading a caravan of three, charging to the rescue of his beleaguered nation on Tax Day, charging to Wasilla's Tea Party rally.

All of a sudden, my coverage of Tax Day and the Tea Party is interrupted. This is because, as I sat here, diligently working on my report, my office door flew open and Kalib came charging in.

His mother had brought him and Jobe out to visit us while she goes to Metro Cafe to go online and do some homework.

I thought he had come rushing in to hug me, so I extended my arms, but he was not interested in giving his grandpa a hug. He just wanted to feed his grandpa's fish, and he didn't want to waste any time getting at it.

After he fed the fish, he disappeared, but I soon followed him into the living room and this is what I found: Kalib, Caleb, and Jobe.

In time, I came back to the blog, but I had stated that I would have it up no later than noon and here it is, nearly 2:00 PM, and I cannot spend another minute of this day working on this blog.

So I will save the tea party part for tomorrow. Or, perhaps, by then, life will have moved on and so will I have and my tea party coverage will just languish, perhaps to one day be seen, perhaps never.

We will see.

PS: My niece, Shaela Ann Cook, has a new blog. I have given her a link and invite all to visit her site. You will see that her outlook towards food is very different than mine, but it doesn't matter. We love each other and she supports Iñupiat whaling. She wants to make a movie on my book, Gift of the Whale, if only she could find the means.

On the day that Lance Mackey wins his fourth straight Iditarod, I meet a husky, go to the Barrow Whaler girls game, visit baby Jobe; Pioneer Peak

In the morning, I took a walk and this airplane flew overhead. It felt like our poor excuse for a winter had ended. It was warm - in the 30's and would rise into the 40's come afternoon.

Shortly after the plane passed over, I saw this woman, walking this husky. Somewhere, I have both of their names written down from a much earlier meeting, but I don't know where.

Just before 3:00 PM in the afternoon, the nose of Lance Mackey's lead dog would cross the finish line under the burled arch in Nome, giving cancer survivor Mackey his history-setting fourth straight Iditarod win - and he has won that many Yukon Quests. No one else in the history of dog mushing has accomplished such a feat. If you haven't already, you can read about it here at the Anchorage Daily News or here at the Alaska Dispatch.

When Mackey crossed the finish line, I was at the Sullivan Arena in Anchorage, ready to photograph the semi-finals Class 3A basketball game between the Barrow Whaler girls and the Mount Edgecumbe Braves.

Five Barrow starters were suspended by their coach when they were caught drinking on a road trip earlier in the season. Most people figured that it was it for this team this year, but the younger, less-experienced players continued on and played hard and strong. They won the Western Conference Championship and a spot in the State Championship tournament. On Monday, they won their first game against Cordorva.

I was not there, but today I went to the semi-final. In the third quarter, the whalers were down by 12, but in the last two minutes came within three points of the Braves, but lost 34-29.

I took quite a few pictures and they are still downloading into my computer. I have no time to edit them for this blog post and so just pulled this shot from the pre-start huddle. I have not yet taken even my first glance at any of the action pictures.

Wasilla played at the Sullivan today, too - and won - and some may wonder why I did not photograph them as well - especially since three of my children graduated from Wasilla High.

I could only spare the time to go to one game, though and my community ties remain much closer to Barrow than to Wasilla. Plus, I have a little publication that I have put together that this will fit nicely into. The problem is, that publication is completely done and I am just waiting for my client to finish the review before it goes to press. 

I do not want to take anything more out of it than I already have, but I want to put the Barrow Whaler girls in, so I need to find a way.

After the game, I stopped and paid a visit to baby Jobe. I was amazed to see how alert he was. He studied everything, including me.

Kalib was home, too, but he was sick and asleep. I never got to see him.

I hate even to mention it, but this was also the day that a judge held a hearing and made the divorce of my beloved youngest son and the wife he so greatly loves final, save for a bit of paperwork.

So it was a sad day, but, as it always does, life went on and it will continue to.

As I drove back into Wasilla, I looked into my rearview mirror and there loomed Pioneer Peak.

A pushing boy, a walking man, a mountain in alpenglow; the lovely Sujitha of Bangalore, who so badly wants to come to Wasilla

This morning, as I walked, I saw this little kid pushing his pedal-powered four-wheeler up his driveway.

And in the early evening, I saw this man walking past Wasilla Lake. In just three months or so, there could be young women in bikinis lounging about on that beach just to his right.

I'll bet some of you looked at this picture and didn't even know there was a beach there, or a lake.

Here I am, stopped at a red light on the corner of the Parks and Palmer-Wasilla highways, looking back at Pioneer Peak through my driver's door rearview mirror.

My niece, Sujitha, has been in this blog before and I am certain that she will be here again. She is a regular reader and every now and then she leaves a comment. She did yesterday, and she badly wants to come to Wasilla. She wants to meet Kalib, she wants to meet Margie.

She wants to meet all of her Alaska family. So far, she has met Melanie and she has met me.

I took these pictures, along with one of her and her true love, Manu, the day after the wedding of her sister, my special friend Soundarya, to Anil. In my 2009 review of May, I posted the one of Sujitha and Manu, but I haven't posted these.

Until now.

Sujitha, we all want you to come to Wasilla. So hurry up. 

Sooner or later, we want your whole family to come.

Here she is, with her grandfather, Natarajan. I took these photos in the Bangalore living room of Murthy and Vasanthi, the parents of Vivek, who married Khena, the daughter of my little sister and made us all family.

Here's Sujitha in that same living room nearly two years earlier, taking part in a women's ceremony for the Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth and Beauty. That's Vasanthi holding the flame and my good niece Vidya, who loves animals, behind.

Sujitha.

I have photographed but the tiniest hint of the magnificent nation of India, yet, I have so many images that I have never even had a chance to take even one look at myself, and I know there is some good material in there.

I still hope that in the future I will somehow find the time to go through, do an edit, and put up a whole bunch of posts.

If I do, I will mix it all up with Wasilla, just like I did here.