This morning, I encounter a little conflict between the Wasilla Tea Party and my grandson Jobe - who do you think will win?

Recent readers will recall that Kalib burst into my office yesterday as I was working on this blog - just when I had gotten to the point where I was about to arrive at the Wasilla Tea Party rally, staged April 15, Tax Day. This little surprise knocked me off my schedule and when I tried to get back on, too much of the day had passed. I could spend no more of that day working on this blog than I already had, so I stopped, and left it to speculation as to whether or not I would get my tea party rally coverage up today, or ever, or whether I might get distracted by the natural progression of life.

This morning, I sort of woke up thinking that I had better post those Tea Party pictures and I had better write something about what I observed as I wandered through the rally. If not, then what was the point of ever taking the pictures in the first place? What was the point of listening to participants speak those words - some articulate and thoughtful, some totally absurd?

I say, "sort of woke up" because I am not 100 percent certain that I ever really went to sleep and if I did not ever really go to sleep then how could I have woke up?

So I am rather tired. I am not certain that I possess the energy required to think through the words that I must write to go along with the Tea Party pictures.

I will start today's post with this picture of Jobe, Lavina and Margie and see what happens from here - if I make it back to the Tea Party or not.

Even when I am so sleepy that my brain hardly functions, I can find a few words to write about Jobe.

Lavina had brought the two little ones out in part because Kalib has been very clingy towards his mom lately - at least when he gets the chance. So often, when he wants her, she is busy with Jobe, taking care of his needs. Kalib's day care center had scheduled a very special, annual fun day for he and his classmates and all their parents today, one at which a surprise animal always shows up.

Last year, it was a kangaroo.

Lavina wanted to be able to devote a period of uninterrupted, special time to Kalib and his fun day and so we agreed to keep Jobe with us overnight and to return him to Anchorage Saturday afternoon. It would be the first time that Lavina had ever been separated from Jobe for more than a couple of hours.

In the meantime, as the three visited us, both Kalib and Jobe fell asleep. By now, it was 4:00 PM. Coffee and All Things Considered time. So, as Margie stayed behind with the babies, Lavina joined me in the car, we went to Metro, got our coffee and then took the long way home.

Along the way, we saw this student leaving his school bus. I felt a little bad that Kalib was not in the car with us. The sight of a school bus greatly excites him. He would have loved this moment.

Shortly after we got home, not without misgivings near to the point of tears, Lavina picked up her oldest son and left her baby boy behind with we, the grandparents.

She would have a very hard night. One that would bring her to tears - especially when she looked at Jobe's changing table and the place where he sleeps. Even at midnight, she would almost give in, drive out, and pick up her baby - but, for the sake of her oldest son, she persevered and left him with us.

A bit later, I had to check the mail and run a couple of errands. As I did so, I kept hearing sirens and those deep-pitched yet screechy, loud horn blasts that firetrucks make when they are in a hurry and need to get around people. It sounded like the end of the world.

Many screaming, blasting, vehicles passed outside my range of vision, but when I came in sight of the highway, I saw this one coming behind the others - and police cars, too.

Trucks from different stations were involved. It appeared that something major had happened.

Right after the above truck passed, this guy came by on a motorcycle.

Now I had to pull out onto the highway. No more emergency vehicles were in sight, nor could I hear anymore coming. So out onto the highway I went. Then I heard a police siren. I looked in my mirror and saw a police car coming, fast. The traffic was packed in our lanes near the stop light where I now was, so the driver veered into the oncoming lane of traffic, shot past and ran the red light.

This fire vehicle soon followed, and went round on the right.

The driver, as he passed me. I scanned the horizons ahead for smoke, but could see none. I turned off the Highway onto Lucille Street and headed back towards home.

I do not know what happened. This morning, I looked at the Mat-Su section of the Anchorage Daily News, but there was not a word about it. So, for all the drama, it must not have been as bad as it appeared, but, I suspect, for someone, it was very bad indeed.

I decided just to spend some time relaxing in front of the TV with Margie and Jobe - something I very rarely do. We watched The 3:10 to Yuma. To me, there will never be a better kind of escapist movie than a good western.

To his great joy, I gave Jobe some whiskerly love.

And then I fed him some twice-warmed Momma's Milk.

At bedtime, Margie tied Jobe into his cradle board and put him down in our room. Not long afterward, I came in. As regular readers will know, I am joined by at least one and usually two, sometimes three or four, cats every night.

We decided to keep the cats out on this night. What if one of them jumped up onto Jobe's cradleboard?

And that is why I am so sleepy, why I wonder if I ever slept.

Two of those cats, Pistol and Jim, positioned themselves outside the door and kept up a ruckus, all night long. I know I gave in and got up and groggily let one, then the other, in, but somehow, each found the opportunity to get out at some point and then start pleading, pawing, and tapping to get back in.

As you would expect, Jobe woke up crying a couple of times.

And when I heard his little cry, pulling me again into full awakeness from the edge of sleep, I smiled and chuckled.

Never in my life have I heard a more beautiful sound than that little cry.

And so ends this post. No Wasilla Tea Party today.

Jobe on the phone, a biker in the snow, along with other big vehicles; blogging with Jimmy

I can't believe it! It is now already two full weeks since Jobe was born. And I have not laid eyes upon him for 12 days. I have missed him every single one of those days - just as I have missed his big brother, Kalib. As I waited in the drivethrough at Metro today, I heard the text message tone go off in my iPhone.

It was this picture, sent by Lavina.

Jobe is growing so fast and I am missing it all. 

But, weather permitting, Margie and I plan to drive into town after we get up. We will see him again.

Finally, a little new snow. The temperatures are still warm - mid 20's today. Sadly, Laverne is going to take Gracie back to Arizona and the rez on Sunday and unless Nature gets her act together fast, when everybody asks if she froze in Alaska, Laverne will have to say it was warm the whole time she was here.

What fun will that be?

Of course, it's always warm when it snows. It can't snow when the temperature is cold. Maybe we will all get lucky and some cold weather will come just before Laverne and Gracie leaves.

My friends up on the Slope have been experiencing brutal weather lately.

That's what they tell me on Facebook. Nobody has said anything about temperatures. They have just said that it has been cold and windy. And when an Arctic Slope Iñupiat states on Facebook that it is cold and windy, you can pretty much believe its true.

Especially if they say, 

"Alapaah!"

A bit further along, I saw this school bus.

And then this snow plow.

Two nights ago, I mentioned how I was typing away with my good black cat buddy, Jimmy, sprawled across my chest. I also noted that I have had a great deal of time to practice this technique.

So tonight, I started working on my blog and, once again, there was Jimmy, sprawled across my chest, except that this time he was lying on his side.

I decided that I might as well try to photograph the scene, so that my readers will know that I do not lie or exagerate. So here I am, typing, working on this very blog post as Jimmy sprawls across my chest.

And I am taking a picture, too.

This is what is known as "multi-tasking."

Jimmy and I are good at it.

Jimmy sits up to think about things. Jimmy likes to think. He is a thinking cat. He is not quite as deep-a-thinker thinking cat as Thunder Paws was, but still, he is a thinking cat.

He thinks about many things.

He is very bright.

He is a bright cat.

A bright black cat.

He then executes a maneuver that would distract a lesser blogger, but, as you can see, I blog on, undettered. My powers of concentration amaze me.

Jimmy and I, blogging together.

Jimmy. My good black cat buddy.

What a character. What a friend.

How could I even do this blog without him?

Royce; Ham and Swiss at the Alaska Bagel; strange animal in the back of a car by a pawn shop; Carpenter makes progress, etc.

Royce has an appointment to see the vet tomorrow morning at 10:45. Today, as usual, his appetite has been voracious and what he is doing right here is ordering me to "give me some chow, right now! Brown cow! Brown cow chow! Right now!"

But I fed him salmon chow instead - senior blend. I have fed him a number of times and, as was suggested to me in comments, have raised his water bowl up about half-an-inch off the floor, just in case that might help.

I have not found any blatant vomit today, although at one point I stepped in something slippery and almost invisible - a thin film of something. Maybe it came out of Royce, maybe out of someone else; I don't even know what it was.

Royce sure has gotten thin and frail, though.

Some readers speculate that it is because he misses Kalib, but he certainly has not lost his appetite - just his weight.

Basically, with Margie gone and Kalib and family moved out, I spend my entire days alone with only the cats. I do catch glimpses of Caleb in the morning, if I get up before he goes to bed. Usually, he is wrapped up in his video war game, or watching golf.

I took a pledge that this week that I would eat no junk food from beginning to end - and drink no Pepsi or any other soda pop. Despite the wrong impression I have managed to convey, I do not really drink a huge amount of pop. Maybe four Pepsis and half-a-root-beer per week on average.

But this week - none, not one soda pop - no junk food. 

I will see if it makes any difference in how I feel when the week is over.

So far, it hasn't made any difference at all.

I enjoy the company of cats and I am a person who does very well alone, but when lunch time came, I had to get out where people were circulating and eating and I had eliminated junk food as a means to do so.

The first alternative that came to my mind was the new place, The Alaska Bagel. It is fast food, but not junk food.

So here I am, placing an order with Johanna while her colleague, Erik, peers out from behind the bagels.

I ordered a ham and Swiss sandwich on a seasame seed bagel and helped myself to a glass of cold water that I poured from a pitcher. To any who might be having a difficult time reading Erik's right arm, it says, "Behold, I send you as sheep among wolves." His left, "As for me and my house, we will serve the..." the last word kind of fades from sight, but I strongly suspect that it reads, "...Lord."

The sandwich was good, the water, excellent, prepared just right.

On my home, I found myself behind this car and I was puzzled by the critter in the back window. It looked pretty cute, but something about it just didn't seem quite right. I hoped that there would be plenty of cross traffic at the stop sign just ahead, so that I would have time to study the critter, but there wasn't. The car briefly stopped, quickly took off and turned away fast.

Still, I got this shot off and, having looked closely at it, I have now concluded that it is not a real critter at all, but a toy - a stuffed cat.

Concerning the pawn shop ahead, I told the following story back in April, when I photographed Charlie playing my Martin Classical guitar, but I have picked up a number of new readers since then, so I will tell it again.

I first saw my Martin guitar in the display window of a music store in Globe, Arizona, in 1976. I went inside, told the salesman I wanted to play it, he took it out of the window, gave it to me, I took a seat, and played a bit of Bach on it.

Never had a guitar sounded so good in my hands. I had to have it. It cost $1800 and my annual income as the editor, reporter, writer, photographer, ad salesman and delivery boy of the Fort Apache Scout tribal newspaper was $10,000. I didn't care. I put some money down on lay-away and kept paying until that day came, a year or so later, when I finally brought that Martin guitar home.

I did love that guitar and I even played it in a master class with Christopher Parkening. Many people used to think that I was a superb guitarist, but that was only because they did not know better. Many said I should become a professional musician. I knew better.

There is only one way to be superb on the classic guitar, and that is to play and play and play and play. Practice, practice, practice. I'm a photographer, I'm a writer. I hardly have time for both. How could I be a classical guitarist, too? I can create original works through my camera and keyboard; through my guitar I could only interpret the works of others - and not nearly as good as those with true musical talent were already doing.

So I put the guitar aside. 

Once, during one of those times when I was broke and in dire need of money, I took my Martin guitar to this pawn shop. The man behind the counter considered himself to be sharp, smart, and savvy, wise to the ways of hoodwinkers hoping to get bucks for junk. He asked me how much the guitar was worth. I told him.

He laughed loud, long and scornful. "What kind of fool do you take me for?" he ridiculed. "I know guitars. That one, it's worth $150 at most. I'll loan you $50 for it - only because I'm so generous."

So I walked out of his store with no money but my guitar still in its case, leaving behind a chuckling man who had no idea of the potential profit he had just forfeited had he given me an honest loan and then I defaulted.

I often imagine that the day will come when I am able to devote myself fully to my books and this blog. I imagine that I might then find myself with a little time to play my guitar again.

No, no... It will never happen. My guitar playing days are in the past.

You will recall Tim, the professional carpenter who appeared here just last month, having finally raised two walls on the workshop that he had begun working towards slowly for four years. Despite the high winds, which just this afternoon tapered down to maybe about 20, I found him working on it when I took my walk.

Tomorrow, Tim says, the trusses will begin to go up. As for me, our walls are still almost totally bare of photos. He is way ahead of me.

Further along on my walk, this kid and I noticed each other.

Could this be the same kid, getting off his school bus?

Almost no matter what, I must take my 4:00 PM coffee break when All Things Considered comes on the radio. As usual, I stopped the Metro Cafe drivethrough.

It looks like I won't be joining Margie in Arizona after all. It's a matter of survival. I must stay here and see if I can drum up some work. Even if I never play it again, I don't ever want to take my guitar back to another pawn shop.

I think of all the rifles that I took to pawn shops - and a pistol, too - thinking that I would pay back the loan and get them back but now those guns are owned by others and who knows how they have been used?

Now I won't see Margie until February 2, but that's how its got to be.

I don't want to lose my Martin guitar.

Update: Perhaps some of you have wondered as I have how you might help the people of Haiti. Here is a link with different aid providers that you can contribute to:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2010/01/haiti_earthquake_how_to_help_a.html?sc=fb&cc=fp

The man who owns a '56 Chevy; a school bus goes off the road; dusk horse raises its tail

This is Bill, who lives two houses down Sarah's Way in the opposite direction from the one I took yesterday. Bill owns, rebuilt and maintains a very sharp looking, smooth-running, classic 1956 Chevy that he bought for $100. He painted it black and red/orange and when you see it coming down the road, it catches your eye right away and you wish that you were riding in it, Buddy Holly on the radio, that you were young and had a pretty girl clinging to you, nibbling at your ear, giggling each time she almost makes you crash.

Perhaps next summer, I will build a blog post around that Chevy. I know there is a good story in it.

Almost nine years has now passed since my first black cat, Little Guy, the one who passed straight from his mother's womb into my waiting hands, stepped out the back door on a day with three times as much snow as this one and disappeared.

I was devastated to lose that cat and I went up and down the street, knocking on every door to see if anyone had seen Little Guy.

For weeks afterward, whenever he would see me walking past, Bill would ask me if I had found my cat. He always looked very concerned. I know he was keeping an eye out for that cat.

I still appreciate that.

Bill blows the snow off his driveway.

A cottonwood tree, bent down toward Tamar.

Muzzy and a snowplow.

As I walked one way, this school bus came driving the other. Shortly after it passed, I turned just in time to see its right wheels slip off the shoulder of the road and then slide right into the culvert. 

Anyone who lives up here long enough will do this kind of thing sooner or later, probably a few times.

It can be embarrassing, but it must be worse when you have a busload of students.

One of the students looks out at me.

As St. Bernards do when people get into trouble in the snow, Muzzy comes to help out. Unfortunately, he forgot to bring his little barrel of brandy.

It's a good thing, because the driver shouldn't be touching brandy and the kids were all too young.

If someone had brought a dog harness, we could have hitched him to that bus and he would have pulled it right out.

But nobody had a harness.

I walked on, leaving the bus and kids in it to be rescued by the school district.

Margie is in town with Lavina and Kalib and will be staying with them overnight in their new house. She left some bills on the counter for me to pay. Along the way, I saw this guy on a green snowmachine waiting for a green light so he could cross the road.

When the light changed, the left turn arrow turned green for me, which meant this guy's light was still red. As I began my turn, he gunned his throttle and shot straight across the road directly across my path. Maybe he was not waiting for a green light at all, but only for a gap in the traffic passing in front of him so that he could run a red one.

I believe this falls into the category that Melanie AND Lisa* calls, "soooooo Wasilla!"

This is what it looked like in front of Wasilla Lake. 

This person got stuck on the divider.

A school bus passed by without mishap.

I took my coffee break at the usual time. After I stopped at Metro Cafe, I took the long way home and passed by this horse as darkness drew down. The horse raised its tail and then dropped something.

*updated to include both coiners of the phrase: see Lisa's comment

Kalib golfs, vacuums, gets under the weather, goes to the doctor, reunites with Royce; Various and insundry Wasilla scenes

Ever since Kalib moved out, the house had been a quiet and empty place. After he returned, he resumed his golf game. This made life in the house much better.

And then he vacuumed the floor. It really needed it and we were grateful.

Kalib and his vacuum cleaner.

It was a foggy day. I took only a very short walk - not because of the fog, but because I left at 11:45 AM and I had a phone interview scheduled at noon.

I hated to take such a short walk. I guess I should have left earlier.

After I hung up the phone, I wanted out. Caleb was awake to watch Kalib, so I took Margie to lunch. Along the way, we passed by this guy walking the shore of Wasilla Lake.

Regularly readers will instantly recognize this as the intersection that provides an excellent view of Pioneer Peak above the maddening traffic of Wasilla's main thoroughfare. But you couldn't see the mountains today.

We ate our lunch in the car, as these ravens flirted with each other nearby.

As we ate, this was the view through the windshield. The tower rises out of the Wasilla Police Station. I was a little worried that someone might come running out of there, think we were someone else and try to arrest us, but no one did. 

The radio was on and a restaurant reviewer was talking from Cleveland. He had moved there from the East Coast, where he said he had been a food snob and had not expected to find any good food in the Midwest.

Boy, was he wrong, he said. The dining in Cleveland was the height of gourmet sophistication. Not even New York City could beat it.

I thought maybe I should start doing reviews on all the sophisticated, gourmet, dining to be had right here in Wasilla, Alaska. I could start here, in the parking lot alongside Taco Bell.

So... Taco Bell has a new item on the meno called a cheese roll, or something like that. It is a flour tortilla rolled around a glob of melted cheese. I bought one, tore it in half, gave half to Margie and ate the other myself.

"What do you think?" I asked Margie.

"It's okay," she said.

"I find it quite excellent myself," I told her. "Nice, sophisticated, piquant, gourmet taste."

She said nothing more at all.

I also had two original crunchy tacos. Indeed, they crunched very well and, after I squeezed a packet of mild and another of hot sauce into each one, had just the right touch of spice to add a decent kick to the meal.

I also had a bean burrito with green sauce.

These are superb when done right, but this one was too damn salty.

The Pepsi was just right - not too sweet but pleasantly carbonated, so that I could be assured of a little burp later, the flavor of which would remind me just how excellent the meal was - except for the bean burrito, which could have been better.

Back at the house, Margie sits with Kalib, who was once again feeling under the weather. While we had been out, Caleb had observed something that frightened him terribly, as Kalib seemed to be disoriented and frightened. Kalib had reached for Caleb where Caleb wasn't even standing. Margie called Lavina at work in Anchorage and she made a doctor appointment for Kalib here in Wasilla at 4:30, but we were advised to bring him in a bit early.

We left the house at 4:00, but stopped to go through the drive-through at Metro Cafe to get Americanos. No, I don't buy Latte's and Mochas everyday.

We continued on toward the doctor's office. As you can see, Pioneer Peak was now visible in the twilight sky.

Lavina had driven up from Anchorage and was already there to meet us.

The rest went inside, but, as I had much to do, I headed back here to my office, slightly worried but pretty confident that Kalib was okay. Lavina would bring them all home.

This is what the Talkeetna Mountains looked like as I drove home.

I passed by a fence decorated with large, candy canes wrapped in green and red lights.

Kalib was fine - but better to be safe. Here he is, reunited with his buddy, Royce.