After a long, uncomfortable flight with another delay, I am back in Wasilla, with my wife and cats

Twenty-four hours and about $350 after I had been originally scheduled to board the first leg of my Delta Airlines flight home, I followed these guys onto a plane bound for Salt Lake City from New York's JFK airport.

We filed between the rows of those seated among the elite in first class, where serious business was being conducted, and then entered the cabin.

My first choice is always a window seat, then an aisle and I hate the middle, just like most everyone else does. The worst of all is a middle seat in an emergency exit row, because the seats do not recline and instead of a regular armrest that can be lifted up and down, the armrests are solid from the seat up. This creates the effect of being forced to sit in a rigid box.

I had originally successfully booked non-emergency row window seats all the way from New York to Anchorage but now, I had been assigned to a middle seat in an emergency exit row.

Worse yet, when I sat down, I discovered that there was a big, irritating, bump right in the middle of the seat. I would have to sit on that bump for five-and-a-half hours.

The situation worsened even more when I discovered that I been sat between two people, who, whenever they were awake, from the beginning of the flight to the end, continually and intentionally did all they could to try to push my elbows off the armrests altogether. I did not totally begrudge them, because it is just a plane fact that those three seats are just too squished together. There simply is not room for three adults to sit comfortably side by side in them - although I am usually reasonably comfortable in a window seat, because I can lean against the wall and away from the shared armrest. Yet, it was still incredible. I had been stuck in middle seats plenty of times, but I had never before experienced anything like this.

When my adjacent passengers would nap, they would relax into their most comfortable positions, which meant they would lean away from me toward the window or the aisle and their arms would follow them off the rest, no longer to push against me.

Even so, I managed to read most of what was left of the book, Into the Heart of the Sea, before we reached Salt Lake City, but it was the most uncomfortable ride I have ever had in a jet airplane. I am still sore from it.

Yet, compared to the travels of those who were part of the final voyage of the Whaleship Essex, I rode in comfort and luxury and traveled to my destination with amazing speed. I have nothing to complain about.

In Salt Lake, the flight back to Anchorage had already begun to board. I was hungry, so I bought a not-very-good ham sandwich and a bottle of water at a diner right across from the gate, then got in line.

Just as I was about to board, it was announced that the flight had suddenly been put on a weather hold, due to high winds and snow. Out the window, I could see that the snow had turned to rain and it did not look that bad, but apparently it was.

So, as I took note of a bar and grill just a short distance away where I could have got a hot meal, I sat down and ate my sandwich.

Then Lydia Olympic, who had been in the bar and grill watching basketball, sat down beside me. 

I first met Lydia many years ago when I followed her and several other Alaska Native tribal leaders on to a forum in Washington, DC, where they also did some lobbying among House Representatives and Senators.

Lydia is from the Lake Iliamna village of Igiugig in the Bristol Bay Region. Right now, she is living in Anchorage where she relocated in order to fight against the Pebble Mine, because of the harm she fears it could bring to the salmon and other wildlife resources of her home.

"Do you get back to Igiugig much?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said. "Every summer I go back to cut fish."

Finally, they let us board the plane where, once again, I was seated in an emergency exit row. This time, at least, I had an aisle seat and the middle was empty. I did not have to contend with battling elbows. We seated in the emergency rows all paid strict and rapt attention as the stewardess told us about our duties should the need arise to evacuate the airplane.

After the lecture, we sat on the tarmac for about two more hours as we waited for the plane to get de-iced.

It was strange to let my mind wander outside the plane and into the surrounding community. I let it wander to my sister Mary Ann's house, downtown. I had tried to call her right after we landed, but she did not pick up. It was a bit after 9, but some people go to bed early.

I let it wander to the house up in the Salt Lake suburb of Sandy, where Margie and I used to so dearly love to drop into during our early days of marriage. We visit my parents, eat and watch TV with them and sometimes at night, being as quiet as we could possibly be, make love as the old folks slept. Sometimes, we would drop baby Jacob off so we could go out and do things like go to movies or climb a nearby mountain.

I pictured that house now, with only my older brother Rex in it, he living in a state of declining health.

I pictured the place upon a hill at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains, where lay my Mom and Dad and my brother Ron. Ron never wanted to be buried but cremated but in the end, his wish was overwhelmed by the force of the Mormon faith that he had journeyed away from long before and he got buried, anyway.

I thought of the later years when I would visit my Mom and Dad, and how hard those years became. I thought about Mom and Dad and Mary Ann and Rex had always hoped that, at some point, I would come to my senses, say my Alaska adventure had been good but was now over and that I might settle down nearby in that same valley to one day be buried on that hill with them.

I love Utah, but, damn, I couldn't live there. I just couldn't.

I lived in Utah for one year when I was a baby and for the five years total that I attended BYU.

That was enough. I can't live there anymore.

Sometimes, though, I awake from a dream. In it, I am in the basement of my parents' house where I am at last writing my books.

I am alone in that house. Nobody else lives there. Just me.

I really don't like that dream.

Then the flight was off - five more hours to sit in a box seat with a stiff, non-reclining back, having already sat in it for two on the ground - plus, of course, the New York to Salt Lake ordeal.

After about four of those hours had passed, I headed back to the restroom.

When I came out, I heard a female voice speak out of the near darkness of the cabin, in which all the main lights had been turned out: "Bill? Is that you?"

It was me, and Courtney was the young woman who asked. I first met Courtney when she showed up at the hospital emergency room after a Saturday Wasilla High football game, probably in 1992.

Caleb had been injured in that game and his memory temporarily knocked out of his head.

Courtney, a cheerleader, was right there at his side, hovering adoringly over him, smiling warmly upon him, caressing his hands in hers'.

They were an item for a long time after that, hanging out, going to the prom and such, but in time she went her own way. Now she was on the plane with her daughter, Abby, and a son who was sleeping in such a dark spot that I could not make him out. They had been living in Texas with her husband, who had just becoming qualified to fly a C-130.

Now she was going back to Wasilla. "I can't believe how much I have missed being home," she told me. "You don't realize how good it is until you go away."

"How old is Abby?" I asked Courtney. Abby answered for herself.

Margie picked me up at the airport and we arrived home in Wasilla about 4:15 AM - 25 hours after I had gotten up at the Comfort Inn that I had stayed in by JFK.

It was nearly five by the time we got to bed and I had hoped to sleep until 11:00 AM, ten at the earliest. But I began to wake up at 7:30, perhaps in part because Jim kept going back and forth from beneath the blankets to resting on top of me.

Everyone tells me that Jim has a hard time when I gone. He gets lonely and anxious and a bit desperate. When I come home, he will come to me with the most anxious expression. Then he will dash this way and that way out of sheer joy. Finally, he will settle down wherever I am at and will stick as close to me as possible.

As I have been working on this blog, he has alternated between resting upon my chest and shoulder to my lap.

Anyway, I gave up on sleep shortly after I took this picture at, as the clock says, 8:44 AM.

Pistol-Yero was sleeping there, too, but when I got up, it woke him up. I do not think he was ready to wake up.

Next I went out into the garage, where Royce and Chicago had already begun to dine on food put out the night before.

I then went outside to get the paper. 

According to our tradition, I next took Margie out to breakfast at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant, just as I always do when I return home from a trip, whether I can afford to or not.

I ordered my hash browns to be cooked "very light." They came back cooked dark, hard and crispy on the outside, mush on the inside.

Oh, well. The ham and eggs were very tasty, the coffee just right, the multi-grain toast and jam quite excellent.

Overall, breakfast was a good and pleasant experience - as long as I did not think to much about what we now face.

Although I am back in Wasilla, I will return to New York and then Nantucket very shortly - at least in this blog. I will begin by showing readers how my search for a New York City pretzel turned out, and most definitely I will bring you along on the tour of Cloisters and the very northern tip of Manhattan that Chie Sakakibara took me on. I will tell you a bit about the unlikely story of how she, a girl in Japan who originally believed Native Americans to be Caucasian because that's how she saw them in the movies and Aaron Fox became bonded to the Iñupiat of the Arctic Slope and brought a treasure that had been lost back to them.

As to Nantucket, I am now completely fascinated with the place and want to learn all I can about it.

Kalib bonks Mom and Grandma on the head; horses run to Ron; Margie and Jobe

As I leave for Boston, enroute to Nantucket, early Wednesday morning, I had told myself that I would put only one picture in this blog tonight, and write no more than two or three sentences.

But I did not know that Kalib and Jobe were going to drive out with their good mom so that they could see me before I left.

I was conducting a phone interview when Margie came in to tell me they were here and I had to shoo her off. I was talking through an almost invisible headset, so she did not know I was on the phone and kept talking to me even as the person I was interviewing was answering my questions and I was trying to type them down.

When I finished the interview, I came into the house and this is what I found: Kalib, about to bonk his grandma on the head as his mother fed his little brother.

Then he bonked his mom on the head. Thank goodness, he didn't try to bonk Royce.

Next, he bonked himself. He did not try to bonk me. I felt a little left out.

At 4:00 PM, I took Lavina and Kalib to Metro and then we sipped our drinks as we took the long way home and drove past the Mahoney Ranch horses. As you can see, the horses were on the run.

We drove down to the end of Sunrise, turned around and drove back and there we saw Ron Mancil, in the midst of the horses that he had just fed.

As I drove along this road, I thought how quickly I will be in a totally different kind of environment. I am always eager to travel and to see new places and meet new people, but at the same time I always hate to leave home, too.

Margie and Jobe.

At this time tomorrow, I hope to be sound asleep in Massachusetts. 

I'm such an insomniac that I can't guarantee it.

Or I might be working on this blog, posting pictures from my travels.

Now, I must finish packing and then go to bed.

Thanks to Furless Jim, Royce eats raw meat

This morning, I put Royce through the usual routine. I rubbed his thyroid medicine into his ear, then prepared a mix of Friskie's Salmon Senior Blend and Metamucil. Royce dug in.

Shortly afterward, I received an email from Jim Earnshaw, Charlie's dad - now better known to the world as Furless Jim.

He informed me that he had prepared some homemade, raw-meat cat food just for Royce and asked if we were going to be home.

I wrote back to tell him that we would be home, but suggested that rather than drive all the way out here, Margie could pick up the cat food Wednesday morning, after she drops me off at the airport.

About 45 minutes later, I was sitting here, in my office, working at this computer, when I heard Margie knock upon my wall. This is her signal for me to come into the house, so I did and this is what I found.

Royce was wolfing... cougaring... down the homemade raw meat cat food like a ravenous lion. I had never saw him go at food with such tremendous enthusiasm, yet he has always been an enthusiastic eater.

It will be interesting to see if he gains any weight while I am gone.

Even if he doesn't, Furless Jim said, he will enjoy himself and will experience improved quality of life.

Royce and his benefactors, Furless Jim and Charlie. Thank you both.

The cats and I watch health care pass; Charlie's parents stop by for a visit

I am too tired to write ANYTHING - but I will try to write a little bit, anyway. The thing is, I got to bed somewhere between 1:30 and 2:00 AM and then, as always, it took some time for me to go to sleep and no sooner had I then I was awakened... oh hell.

I am too tired to tell this story about why I am so tired.

But I am.

I had planned to work very hard today and to get a huge amount done, but I didn't. Mostly because I got distracted by the debate leading up to the House passage of the Health Care Bill. Once I took in one scene, I was so fascinated by the process that I could not pull myself away from the TV.

And as I watched, there was always between one and three cats blanketing me, so I was warm, cozy, comfy and drowzy as I watched the debate.

I did not try to photograph the scene until near the end, when Nancy Pelosi was speaking.

Many Republicans said they could not support this flawed bill and it is flawed, but, it's a start to hopefully fix a far more flawed system.

As many readers know, my health care insurance company took my premiums for 15 years and, despite their promise when I bought my insurance that they would cover an air ambulance out of rural Alaska if I ever needed one, refused to pay any of the $37,000 + when I shattered my shoulder and actually did need one, and then didn't pay tens upon tens of thousands of dollars of my hospital bill and then recently jacked up my "cadillac" priced premiums for clunker service by 20 percent overnight.

This followed a long process of regular increases and then, in December, I could not make my payment and they deactivated my policy immediately.

If I had been able to make two payments in January, they would have reactivated, but I couldn't make even one.

I am very glad that, however flawed it might be, the process has finally begun. 

As I am too tired to say anything intelligent about this myself, I will quote Paul Krugman from the New York Times:

"But it is also a victory for America’s soul. In the end, a vicious, unprincipled fear offensive failed to block reform. This time, fear struck out."

Senator Murkowski, this is why I am so disappointed in you. You have the intelligence and the natural compassion and you said some things a year or so ago that told me that you understood the damage that this current system is wreaking upon people.

I understand that you need to listen to your constituents, but when you hear them spouting nonsense and fear, you also have a responsibility to educate them. Instead, you joined in with the mob in this "vicious, unprincipled, fear offensive."

This is why I am disappointed.

You might find it unfair that I am not equally disappointed in Don Young. But Don Young is Don Young and we all knew from the beginning that on this matter nothing more could be expected of him.

But you, Senator Murkowski, are capable of so much more.

Of course, the day did not begin in front of the TV. It began at Mat-Su Valley Restaurant, where Margie and I got together with Lisa, Melanie and Charlie and Charlie bought breakfast for the lot of us. They were a little late, but soon Charlie's parents joined us as well.

It was the first time that we had all gotten together like this.

Yes, I took pictures of Charlie's parents at breakfast, but I want to get this blog done so that I can go to bed, so I will move straight to the house, where the important stuff happened.

It all involved cats.

Here is Jim, accepting a pet from Jim.

Yes, Charlie's dad is also Jim.

Charlie's dad is the furless Jim.

Here is Jim meeting Royce.

And here is Cyndy meeting Royce. Jim, the furless one, told us how their 16 year old Siamese cat Oscar suffered ill health about a year ago and lost weight just like Royce has. Furless Jim has a super-sensitive nose and it told him there was bad stuff in the store-bought dry cat food Oscar had been eating.

So Jim put Oscar on a raw-meat diet with a quarter can a day of Friskees and now Oscar has made a magnificent recovery.

We must try this with Royce - after I return from the East Coast.

Cyndy and Royce.

Furless Jim also told us how he and Charlie had once come upon some cougars in the mountains of Wyoming, where they had been hunting deer not far from the town of Atlantic City. Yes, Atlantic City, Wyoming.

He had been entranced by the quiet, graceful, beautiful, fluidity of their motions as the lions hustled silently past.

Charlie was pretty young then. His dad was carrying all the guns: a 30.06 rifle and .22 pistol.

Charlie asked if he could carry the .22 after that.

It's funny. I am always happy to be in Alaska, but after I heard that story, I wanted to go roam around somewhere where cougars hang out and see if I could find some.

Cougars don't really hang out in Alaska, although one was spotted on our side of the Canadian boundary not too many years ago.

Charlie and Jim - the furry one.

Furless Jim and Pistol, who warily came to check him out, but quickly warmed up to him and gave him maybe ten seconds of attention.

Look closely at Pistol and you will see that he is very much a little mountain lion himself.

It occurs to me that Furless Jim's face does not really show in the photos with the cats, so I will hop back to the restaurant take real fast, so that you can see his face.

If I am going to show the face of Furless Jim, then it is only fair that I also show the face of Furry Jim.

Kalib at the beginning and end, Wasilla's Coffee Party in between, plus sled and snowmachine riders

Last night, I wrote that it was my intent to devote today's entry to the images I took of Kalib yesterday but did not post because I did the 12 studies on Jobe. I noted that one never knows what might come up but was pretty sure I would follow through.

Well, something did come up - nothing more important or more interesting than Kalib, mind you, but something that does have a bit of a time element to it, so I feel that I should put it up right now and hold the pictures of Kalib for a bit.

But I won't leave him out altogether.

When Margie and I came home last night, we brought Kalib with us. He checked out the tail of his old buddy, Royce. I wonder what he saw?  I doubt that Kalib has any idea of how much Royce has declined in the past few months, but maybe he notices something different.

I then spent a few hours here in my office, both working and goofing off on my computer, but finally I was worn out and so went back into the house. This is what I found. Margie and I then had a discussion as to whether we should push the coffee table next to the couch to make certain that Kalib would not roll off and then just let him sleep right here, or if I should carry him back to his old room and put him on the mattress that lies on the floor.

It was a cold night, well below zero and we had run completely out of firewood and were now warming the house with expensive electric heaters - including one that we had placed in Kalib's old room. It warmed it up quite nicely, so I carried him back and put him to bed.

By then it was 2:30 AM. Margie and I went to bed shortly after that, but we didn't go to sleep, because we had to keep double checking things to make certain that Kalib could rest undisturbed. We did not really settle down until well after 3:00 AM.

I had received an invite to a gathering Saturday morning at Metro Cafe at 10:00 AM. Even after I settle down, it usually takes me a good hour to go to sleep and then I wake up frequently, so I did not feel inclined to go to anything that started at 10:00 AM.

Worse yet, I came wide awake a bit after 5:00 AM and could not get back to sleep until after 7:00. 

There was no way that I was going to go a 10:00 o'clock gathering - not even at Metro Cafe.

About 9:00 AM, Jimmy reached out and lightly placed the claws of his right paw in my beard. This meant that he wanted to get under the blankets, so I made space and under he came. I then went back to sleep. Next, I woke up at 9:45, but refused to get up before 10:00, just in case I might find a way to sleep for another hour or two.

Come ten, I knew I wasn't going to sleep anymore, but I did not feel at all ambitious. I got up, but didn't hurry to do anything. I staggered lazily to my office, got onto my computer, checked to see that this blog had posted properly, read the comments, checked the number of hits, then went back in, mixed oatmeal with walnuts, blueberries and water, set it to cooking and then came back to my computer.

I checked a few other sites and blogs, including The Mudflats. 

There, I saw an announcement of "Coffee Parties" that were being held all across the USA, including one at Metro Cafe in Wasilla, with this explanation:

"MISSION: The Coffee Party Movement gives voice to Americans who want to see cooperation in government. We recognize that the federal government is not the enemy of the people, but the expression of our collective will, and that we must participate in the democratic process in order to address the challenges that we face as Americans. As voters and grassroots volunteers, we will support leaders who work toward positive solutions, and hold accountable those who obstruct them."

Oh, for hell's sake! Something like this was going on in Wasilla and I had stayed away just because I wanted a little more sleep? When do I ever get enough sleep? NEVER. Well, almost never. Maybe half-a-dozen times a year, after I've worked 30 or 40 hours straight.

I went back into the house and started to eat my oatmeal.

"Oh, hell," I said again (sorry, Riana), "I had better run up there. There's probably going to be a few people still hanging out." So I left my oatmeal to Margie and Kalib and off I went. 

I got there a few minutes after 11:00 AM. It was all over, but there were a few people still hanging around, chatting. Here are two of them: Bob, whose last name I do not know, at the left and Jay Cross at right. 

Among other things, Cross is a pilot and aircraft owner. If I recall correctly, he flies a Super Cub, but he might fly other planes as well.

I can't report on what they talked about at the meeting, because I missed it.

Do you know that I dream about airplanes almost every single night? 

The fellow on the left taking my picture is Philip Munger, musician and classical composer whose most recent work is Hindu Kush, an orchestral work dedicated to the mountain range of the same name between Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Munger is a Progressive activist blogger, and you can read what he wrote about the Coffee Party here. Munger writes that he made a joke at Sarah Palin's expense but was upbraided by another participant for doing so - and adds that she was right to upbraid him.

Apparently, it was more of a get-acquainted and plan for future get-togethers than a strategy session. 

At left is Sarah Welton, current Vice-President and former President of the Board of the Mat-Su Borough School District, Anne Kilkenny who wrote a very famous letter about Sarah Palin and Dianne Woodruff, who sits on the Wasilla City Council.

It was Kilkenny who Munger says took exception to his Sarah Palin joke.

This is Rosemary, who introduced herself to me almost as soon as I stepped into Metro. She told me she reads this blog every day. And right now, that is all I know about her - but that's enough to make me appreciate her.

Carmen was kept very busy. As I have noted before, Carmen runs not only a bipartisan but multipartisan business. Republicans, Democrats, Independents, Apathetics - all are welcome at Metro Cafe.

Bob, with a cup of Carmen's coffee.

This is Michael Janecek. He told me about his Maine Coon cat. This is a cat that I must photograph one day soon.

I lingered for awhile afterwards and visited with Woodruff. You might suspect that all those who participated would have been Democrats, but not Dianne. She has been a Republican, but lately has been put off by what has happened in that party, as exemplified by the likes of Rush Limbaugh. 

She says she would like to see people quit demonizing each other and instead to talk intelligently together, to discuss vigorously but thoughtfully, to seek to find solutions rather than to obstruct.

She said a lot more, too, but it is 1:30 AM and in half an hour it will be 3:00 AM, due to the leap to daylight time, so I will leave it at that and move on.

This is Carmen with her friend and former co-worker at Northern Air Cargo, Elaine Nisson. 

Right after Carmen introduced her, Nisson patted her flat chest and told me, "I'm tit-less Elaine." She lost both of her breasts to cancer.

She did not lose her sense of humor, or her will to live and persevere. 

I need to make it very clear that Elaine did not come to participate in the Coffee Party. She is a Republican and feels strongly about it. She came to be of assistance to her good friend, Carmen, who had a need for assistance this day.

The pink ribbon has become the symbol of support for women who must fight breast cancer. Elaine carries this one around with her. Carmen holds the ribbon in her hand, and Elaine holds the hand of Carmen.

Just before 4:00 PM, I returned to Metro Cafe so that I could buy a cup and have it in the car with me while I listened to the news. Elaine was still there, and I took one of my reknowned "Through the Metro Window" studies of her together with Carmen, but I will save it for another post.

Not long after I drove away, sipping, listening to the news, I saw some kids walking up a sledding hill, with mountains behind and blue sky above. I decided to stop and take a picture.

These three stopped, too, got out of their car and headed toward the hill. Before they reached it, Kelley and Kiara jumped on their sled and zipped down a smaller hill that leads to the base of the bigger hill.

This is the bigger hill. That's Kelley and Kiara, at the upper right, sledding down the hill.

This is a kid on a snowmachine that I passed on my way home. I passed him easy enough, going about 40-45, but he didn't seem to like being passed, because he really gunned it after that. In my review mirror, I could see him, and two boys on a second machine a short distance behind him tearing up the snow, bouncing over the many bumps, going airborne, seemingly determined to match my speed or maybe catch me and pass me up.

Then a couple of other snowmachiners came down the trail in the opposite direction, directly towards them and they had to slow down or crash.

Kalib and Royce, late Saturday evening.

Well, it's 1:55. In five minutes, it will be 3:00. 

That's it for this day.