We do some early Christmas shopping - Kalib gets trapped in a tube

I think it cooled down a bit last night. It got quite cool in our bedroom and I did not have enough blankets on to keep me warm. I could have got up and got another, but I was too lazy. When I first got up this morning and stepped outside, there was still clear sky and the air felt quite crisp.

Yet, in what seemed like no more than 15 or 20 minutes, clouds hid the clear sky, the temperature quickly warmed and it began to snow - fairly heavy, too. Margie and I had decided that we would do our Christmas shopping early this year and this was the day to begin, so I strapped Kalib into the car seat and off we went.

The temperature was 10 degrees (-12 C) but would rise to 20 (-6 C) by the time we would return home.

As we headed into "downtown" big-box strip Wasilla, we passed this man as he walked through the storm.

He held his head up high.

I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure that he is not afraid of the night.

Walk on, man!

On the Parks Highway, we saw Coca Cola, coming down the road. Was this Wasilla Coca Cola, or was it headed to Fairbanks? Or places in between?

Wherever, off it went.

We were all hungry, so we went to McDonald's so Kalib could have some Chicken McNuggets, a tiny portion of french fries, apple slices and get a chipmunk toy. He showed little interest in the chipmunk. He is into Thomas.

Not so long ago, it was a spatula. He really got into that spatula.

Now it is Thomas the Train.

I have no idea what it will be next.

Whatever it is, Kalib always takes it very serious and delves deep.

He wanted to go into the McDonald's playground, climb into the tube and then come down the slide on the other end. Not long after he started, he stopped at a porthole to show off for his grandparents - grandma in particular. Boy, does he love his grandma!

I think its all that time she spends babysitting him.

Then things got tricky. He moved to the end of the tube, where it doubles back to the slide and there he paniced. Kalib froze. He would not move from this spot. "You've got to keep going, to the slide!" his grandma and I told him repeatedly.

"No!" he would shake his head and cry.

It was an exasperating feeling, both from inside the tube and out. Looking in, I even felt a little claustrophic, the way you do when you are not dead but people think you are so they bury and then you wake up in your coffin and no one can hear your shouts, because there is six feet of dirt on top of you.

We, of course, are too big to enter the tube. So I could not go in and coach him out. There were other kids in there, most a little bigger than he. They could see his plight. I kind of hoped one of them might lead him out, but none did.

This went on for many minutes - us trying to coax Kalib to either go forward to the slide or back to the entrance.

"No!" he would shake his head each time, crying all the while.

"Ok, Kalib," I finally told him. "Your grandma and I are going to go now. Goodbye."

Then we walked away - maybe 7 or eight feet, to a place where he could not see us.

Filled with new motivation, he soon popped his head into the entrance/exit, saw us there and smiled. "Hi Grandma," he said.

Boy, does he love his grandma!

As we prepared to leave, I saw two dogs waiting in the very long drive-through line. The lady told me their names, but I have forgotten.

So I will call the one on the left Frank and the one on the right, Henry.

Henry barked at me.

The lady told him to stop it.

Then we headed down to Target. We would have to make a left turn into the parking up there where you see another car waiting to turn left. I wondered if we would ever get a chance.The traffic coming from the direction of Anchorage seemed to be a nonstop river of lights.

But, when we got to the left turn lane, the drivers across both oncoming lanes of traffic stopped to create a gap that we could drive through. Margie waved thanks to them from the passenger seat as I quickly shot through the gap.

I briefly put my iPhone in the cart. "No!" Kalib said. Then he grabbed the phone and threw it onto the floor. Not so long ago, I swore to myself that no matter what he might do, I would never harshly scold Kalib. But I did. Then I put the phone back in the cart and refused to go any further until he picked it up and handed it to me.

He did.

A bit later, I discovered that the "on-off" button was missing.

So I can't turn off my phone now. That's not really a problem, except that sometimes an ap will lock up and the only way to get that ap working again is to restart the iPhone.

It still doesn't matter much, though. Before the end of the year, I plan to get an iPhone 4s - mostly for the camera. The camera in the 4s - really good.

Maybe we bought some gifts at Target, maybe we didn't. Shopping in these stores is almost impossible for me. We go down the aisles and my mind just blanks out. Besides Kalib throwing my phone on the floor, the only thing I clearly remember is the many Thomas the Train toys. 

We could not buy any of those. Kalib was with us.

If the highway is not too hazardous, we will drive to Anchorage tomorrow and try again.

On the way home, we stopped at Metro Cafe - right about the usual time of 4:00 PM. Branson and a new boy named Jacob were there, claiming to be helping out.

When we pulled into the driveway, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that Kalib had fallen asleep. 

When he felt the car stop, Kalib woke up. Sort of. Waking up wasn't an easy process.

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The eye of the New York Times focuses on Barrow; winter draws nigh to Wasilla

This is New York Times reporter William Yardley, as his byline reads in the paper, although he introduced himself to me as Bill Yardley. As I am Bill, too, and we were in Barrow, that would make him my "atik," which, in a way, kind of makes us like relatives of sorts.

I first met him, along with New York Times photographer Jim Wilson and videographer Erik Olsen, in the North Slope Borough office building, where they had just interviewed Mayor Edward Itta. 

Then, the next day, I saw them at the Barrow Whalers' football playoff game when our boys defeated Monroe Catholic and again immediately afterward at the site where the Aiken whale had been landed and butchered.

I took this picture in the rearview mirror as Yardley drove the car they had rented from the landing site back to Barrow, about five miles. We happened to leave at the same time and they were kind enough to give me a ride.

Judging from what they told me, they must have more coverage coming, in addition to what appeared today in two parts online.

The two parts can be found here:

http://tinyurl.com/3z6rurw

http://nyti.ms/nP8QSC

Yardley has also spent a lot of time in Wasilla, covering... well, you know who... the same person who pulled media from all over the world to Wasilla... while I, a media person who lives right here... just turned around and walked away from it all, just about. Yardley covered her for the New York Times.

I took a walk today. As you can see, winter has not quite reached Wasilla, the way it has reached Barrow and the Arctic Slope, but it is getting close.

This dog came running, barking, growling, snarling, charging in from behind, pretending that it was going to rip me to pieces. When I turned and pointed my camera at it, it stopped cold. It let its tail fall down.

Most "mean" dogs are like this - but in Barrow, I met a genuinely mean dog.

It was scary. Given the level of its gnashing teeth teeth to my body, I was thinking it was good that I had already fathered all the children I ever need to, but, at the same time, the idea of losing the capability to a mean dog did exactly please me.

Later in the afternoon, during my usual 4:00 PM coffee break, I drove down Shrock Road and discovered that it had snowed there - just a couple of miles from our house. It was late in the afternoon and it had been sunny all day, so the snow must have completely covered the ground in the morning.

Winter is drawing nigh to Wasilla - I hope. The leaves are long gone now. Once the leaves go, I am ready for the snow.

Plus, I got used to it in Barrow and Atqasuk.

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Standoff with skinny moose; buried truck, the train rumbles past Subway, etc. and so forth

I photographed this truck in early May in Point Hope. I include it in today's post just to assure interested readers that, although the rest of today's post will be devoted to Wasilla, I am continuing on with my series from my recent Arctic travels.

I spent two weeks on that trip and by the time I put yesterday's post up, I had made my way through just a little bit more than a day-and-half of that two weeks. I have been moving very slowly on that edit, because I have a different project that I must have proof ready by June 15, so I would do a little bit of editing on the Arctic trip, then put it aside and get back to work on my project.

But I want to get this blog series done, so I decided that today, Saturday, I will put my project aside and see if I can make my way through the entire take, then hopefully do a bit better job planning for the remainder of the Arctic Spring 2011 posts and get them ready so that they can appear through next week while I do nothing but concentrate on my project - and maybe drop in a picture or two from Wasilla here now and then, just to make it clear where I really am.

Despite appearances, it does not really snow that much in Arctic Alaska, where annual precipitation is about the same as Phoenix, Arizona. But once the snow falls, it does not melt for a long time and the wind blows it all about, so, whenever it finds anything to drift up and pile against, or even bury, it does.

And so it buried this truck. Looks like someone decided it was time to start digging it out.

Now, here I am, solidly back in Wasilla, driving home the long way after stopping at Metro Cafe. I see a kid on a bike out the window, so I quickly lift the camera and take a blind snap to my side through the dirty glass as I look straight ahead at the road. A moose could walk onto the road.

Yesterday morning, Margie and I decided to have breakfast at Subway, where it is pretty cheap but still good. As we were eating, I was thrilled to hear the whistle and rumble of the train, coming down the tracks. So I got my camera ready and.... sure enough, the train rolled into view! And, employing all my skill, talent, and experience as a hard working photojournalist, I caught the exact moment that the train rolled into view.

The exact moment! People will now marvel at this photo from now until the end of the world. Hmmm... according to some, folks won't get to marvel all that long, so look at it now and enjoy it while you can.

I love the train and yet, you know what? I have never ridden on the Alaska Railroad - not one time. I have never even been on a passenger car or in an engine, either. Nor has Margie.

Someday, this must change.

As it turned out, the Alaska Railroad engine was towing passenger cars, operated by Princess Tours. I could only wonder what these people were talking and thinking about as they rolled through my now famous/infamous home town.

I suspect some were basking in perceived glory and glowing in adoration. Others were probably discussing US history, Paul Revere in particular, and wondering if our schools could really be that bad.

They're not. It's an individual thing.

On my walk, I came upon this adolescent moose. As I approached, I was searching for its mom. One never wants to step between a mom moose and her calf. I saw no mom. Maybe the adolescent had been turned out on its own.

Maybe the mom had died.

Who knows?

Then the moose came walking toward me, looking at me. I looked at its bristles and they were up, but not dramatically so. I was not quite sure what to think. My first thought was that maybe somebody had fed this calf and now it was hungry and coming to me in the hope that I might give it an apple or something.

Or maybe it saw me as threat and was warning me to back away or it would stomp on me. Or maybe it was saying I am one mean moose and I am coming to get you and I will jump on you and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.

It can be very hard to know with a moose.

And, despite all our bear stories, in Alaska, moose afflict more damage upon human flesh than do bears.

"It is okay, moose," I calmly told it. "I mean you no harm. You have nothing to fear from me." I started to walk slowly to the side. I did not back up or retreat in the opposite direction, because I did not want it to think that I was afraid of it, either. I just moved away to the side.

Finally, the moose turned away. See how skinny it is? I felt badly for it. I did not feel optimistic for its future. I doubt that it will make it to hunting season, but I could be wrong. Maybe it will eat, thrive, and grow strong.

In the afternoon, Margie drove to town and brought Jobe and Kalib home with her. Once again, they are spending the weekend with us in order to allow their parents to work on their house.

Jobe wants to be friends with Jim.

Jim is still trying to decide if this is a good idea.

And for all my readers who have become fond of Charlie - who has not been in this blog since before I went traveling - his family dog, Rowdy, who was a genuine smiler, died this past week.

Condolences, Charlie, Jim and Cyndy.

Kalib bounced on the bed.

That plastic is up to give better insulation against the cold of winter.

I suppose we could take it down now.

Margie did open it up at the bottom, to let fresh air in.

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The week so far in catch up: girl sled boats in meltwater; school bus adventures; Oscar's bike ride; Jobe is ill; Studies of dogs eating biscuits

Thanks to my three part series covering Jobe's first steps stepping out party Sunday evening, I have neglected to post anything about the week since as it has unfolded so far. Truth is, while it has been a week of furious and relentless activity inside my head and flowing through my fingers into the keyboard and then my computer, visually it has not been a week that has given me many images to post.

I have basically spent it right here, at my computer, day and night, typing and mousing, picking cats up off my keyboard and putting them on the floor only to have to them ump right back up so we can do it all over again.

Still, I have a few images to post. I will start with today, a day that has begun very lazily for me for the simple fact that this morning at 3:00 AM I finally finished up the task that I had hoped to complete by last Saturday night, but which proved much more time-consuming than I had reckoned.

As all my tasks seem to do.

I then went to bed exhausted, yet wired up and so lay awake for about two hours, after which I slept sporadically and then got up about 9:00 AM, determined to take this day off and relax.

I found that it was snowing, and the wind was blowing.

Pretty normal for this time of year.

It is also not unusual this time of year to have the image of spring appear before you, to have people say, "this is really it, this is spring," even though everybody knows that this a very foolish thing to say because, even though for Alaska our climate is fairly temperate here, spring still means something different in Wasilla than it does in most of the more populated world.

So late Monday afternoon, when I pedaled my bike back home from Metro Cafe and saw this girl, using ski poles to propel herself through a huge puddle of melt water, it certainly looked like winter had given up altogether.

Yesterday afternoon, I pedaled by there again. The puddle had refrozen. The yard behind was again blanketed in snow. I thought about taking a picture to prove it, but I did not want to stop and so I just pedaled on.

When Margie stays in town to babysit, I tend to eat breakfast at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant. So that is what I did Tuesday morning. As I drove home, I saw these students, waiting for their school bus.

A bit further down the road, I witnessed what might have been their bus, turning onto Church Road. It was a damned exciting sight to see.

Then up ahead on Church, I saw another bus, stopped, stopping the pickup behind it, stopping me, so that these three students could board and head for class.

And in the afternoon, post-Metrol Cafe, I came upon this four-wheeler.

Wasilla forever teems with exciting activities.

In the evening, I went to Anchorage to pick Margie up and bring her home, but first I stopped at the Anchorage Museum of History and Art to take in an ASMP slide show titled Nomadic Photographer presented by Oscar Avellanda.

Oscar's roots are in Columbia, so in January of 2010, he got on his bike and with his sister and a friend pedaled his bike from Anchorage to Whittier. There, they boarded the ferry and traveled to Bellingham, Washington and then he and his sister continued on and pedaled all the way down through the West Coast, through Mexico, El Salvadore and into Columbia.

As you would expect, he took pictures all along the way, although not nearly as many as he had anticipated, as the work of pedaling a bike often took precedence over photography. The picture that stands out strongest in my mind is a black and white of his little tiny bike parked near the oceanside in southern Mexico, with a gigantic cruise ship looming large above it in the background.

This what the online ASMP announcement had to say about Oscar:

"Along the way, Oscar was attacked by a dog, underwent treatment for rabies, became engaged, discovered his roots, and redefined his conceptions of material necessities. Mr. Avellaneda’s artistic photographic images and stories have redefined his role as a photographer while challenging the social norms of his industry."

It is a much more complex story than that, of course, but I think for now, I will that suffice. In time, I suspect, Oscar will produce something that tells the story in depth.

I then went over to Jake and Lavina's to pick Margie up, but Jobe had taken a turn for the worse. He had vomited. He was running a fever. Margie decided to stay, probably until Sunday, when Jacob, Lavina and family depart for a workshop in New Mexico and then a vacation in Arizona. She will help them out until they go.

Yesterday, for my one break in a very long day, I again pedaled my bike to Metro Cafe at coffee time. There, I shot this series of three Metro studies:

Through the Metro Window from inside, Study #410: Carmen offers a dog biscuit to Loki. Loki sniffs the biscuit, but does not take it.

Through the Metro Window from inside, Study #63: Jim, the dog's pet human, takes the biscuit. Loki then takes the biscuit from his pet.

Through the Metro Window from inside, Study #7,895: Jim takes a second biscuit from Carmen and the dog, Coda, takes it from Jim.

And so goes the world.

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His heart broken, the two left-footed man sets out for New York City

Doubtless, you have heard about those wild, savvy, Alaskans who have such a deep knowledge of the land and environment that to them to look at a track in the snow is just like reading a book. If one knows how to read it, each track tells stories to the knowledgeable that will completely escape the average person.

I am pleased to announce that I am such an Alaskan. And yesterday, as I walked, I read novel upon novel in the tracks that other wanderers had left behind in the snow.

For example, you have heard about the famous person who has two left feet. Yesterday, I discovered that this is not just a figure of speech to describe a clumsy person who stumbles over himself when he tries to dance.

There really is a person with two left feet and he lives right here in Wasilla. Here are the actual prints left behind by his two left feet as he set out to walk to New York City.

Clearly, as indicated by the dipthong in the upper indentation of the right left foot, he is going to New York City. To understand why, just look at the asperance right smack in the middle of the left left foot.

Two days ago, his cat left him and moved in with a neighbor. He is heartbroken. He believes that once he gets to New York City, the cat will come to her senses and join him there.

But only if he walks. If he flies, the cat won't give a damn. Only by walking all the way through cold and misery does he believe that he can demonstrate to the cat the depth of the love that he feels for her.

It's all right there - in the tracks left behind by his two left feet.

When the dog who has been loyal to the man with two left feet for the past 30 years discovered that his human had left, he set out to find him.

Unfortunately, as you can see, the dog is going in the wrong direction. Instead of New York, the dog is headed towards Hong Kong. Not only does the dog have a long walk ahead of him, but a long swim, too. Perhaps if the dog had the legendary canine sense of smell, the dog would know. But this dog lost its ability to smell - even though, by hell, the dog does smell - during an unfortunate sniffing accident that it suffered as a pup.

It is sad, because the dog will search and search and search the streets of Hong Kong and will never find his man. He will find a friendly lady who will give him refuge every night and feed him hamburgers every morning - just before he goes out to search in vain again.

As for the double-left-footed man, he will find only disappointment in New York City. His cat will never follow him there. He will spend the rest of his days living in the subway, playing his accordian as passersby drop nickels, dimes, and quarters into his upside down baseball cap - the one emblazoned with a picture of a moose and the word, "Wasilla."

Sometimes, I wish that I did not know how to read tracks so well.

Sometimes, the stories are just too heart-breaking.

I saw a boy, walking down the road, leaving his own stories to trail behind him. I moved along, without bothering to read.

Margie and I went out for a drive, but this guy made us stop.

This from India:

I will explain nothing, except to identitfy the location as the temple cut into stone at Mamallapuram. I will leave the larger story to your imagination.

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