The seventh day...

Driving to Anchorage in sub-zero weather. Margie and I picked up Jobe and Kalib and brought them home with us. Now we need to rest.

Genesis 2:2-3

And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made; and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made.

And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made.

I know - technically, Sunday is the first, not the seventh, day, but pyschologically it has become the seventh day for a few billion of us. It is also true that I am not a person of religious faith, but today, on this particular seventh day, I feel a need to rest.

Therefore, I shall accept the admonition of these words from the Old Testament, and on this seventh day will follow the example of God and will make it somewhat of a day of rest.

Tavra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She invited me to stop by to have some.

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

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

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

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

He wielded that tool well.

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

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

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

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

So he is painting that dream.

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

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

His art is his therapy.

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

These are the things that get him through each day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some fruit vendors invited us to take shelter with them.

We did. The rain was furious, but brief.

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

Very soon, we came across this young boy.

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

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

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

The Valley of the Shadow...

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

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

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

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

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

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul:

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

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

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

thy rod and thy staff comfort me.

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

thou anointest my head with oil;

my cup runneth over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A snowball for Soundarya; Margie and I drive off to Anchorage and stop at Metro Cafe; a feeling of peace and serenity; raven stories

Margie started the car with the remote at about 1:00 PM. Maybe five minutes later, I went out to clean the snow off of it as she gathered up the things that we would need to take to the Thanksgiving feast. I scraped the snow off the windshield with my hand. Our snow here, at least in the past, is most often cold, dry and powdery, but this snow was warm and wet, so I packed it into a snowball.

I was trying to decide what to do with the snowball when suddenly I thought about an email that Sandy sent to me just over two weeks ago. She had dreamed that she had been sitting in the living room of our house here in Wasilla with Margie, Kalib and me drinking coffee and then she and I had decided to go on a bike ride.

It was snowing, and she was exhilarated, because snow was new to her. She was enthralled by the view of the mountains around her. We pedaled for awhile and then stopped, so she could play in the snow for the first time in her life. "I behaved like a five-year old," she wrote. She dreamed she made a snowball, smashed it on me and then we got into a snowball fight. 

The dream ended when the sound of Anil's snoring awakened her and she found herself not in Alaska, but back in India.

So, Soundarya, this snowball is for you.

Margie came out, carrying the dough that still needed to spend time in a warm place and to rise before she could bake it into rolls.

She looked so pretty to me, standing in the weak light of a dim winter afternoon, the headlights of the car striking her knees.

I thought about throwing Sandy's snowball at her, but I knew that she would not appreciate getting struck by something cold, wet and hard when she was carrying bread dough. I tossed the snowball into the yard, to join the other snowflakes that were piling up there.

Metro Cafe was closed, but Carmen was having a family and friends Thanksgiving get-together there and had asked me to swing by with Margie on our way to Anchorage.

We swung by. Scott was in the driveway, so we stopped and said "hi" to him first.

Then we pulled up to the window, where Carmen gave us each a coffee and a biscotti and wished us a happy Thanksgiving. Then she was joined by her sister, Teresa, Carmen's son Branson and Teresa's son Evan and together they posed for:

Through the Metro Window, study 242,996.88: Thanksgiving Day, 2010

After we shared our few minutes of smiles and laughter, they returned to their gathering and we drove away. As has been the case for every conscious moment since I learned the news, Soundarya's image was in my mind and grief in my heart.

I felt determined to move forward and to have a wonderful holiday with my family, yet I still felt absolutely, hopelessly, bitterly, crushed. There would be no snowball fight - never. Sandy would never sit in our living room and drink coffee with Margie and me while Kalib performed his antics. We would share no bike rides. She would not look upon Alaska's mountains.

The business of her heart and dreams that she had been laboring to launch in Bangalore would never blossom to fruition.

As we drove through the snow on towards Anchorage, I felt a completely unexpected feeling of peace come upon me. In many ways, I did not want to feel it, because it did not seem right, given that Sandy's many and passionate dreams had all been taken from her, but that feeling of peace was there and it just kept growing stronger.

It felt to me like Sandy was there, right there, in the car with us, here in Alaska, and that this feeling of serenity was coming directly to me from her.

As I have said many times, notwithstanding my religious upbringing, the preaching and testifying that I myself have done in the past and the fact that I constantly intermingle with people of faith, many faiths, so many of them firm and sincere believers striving to make their way through this hard life into the sweet beyond, I know nothing of God or of the hereafter. It is all a mystery to me and will be for as long as I reside on mortal earth.

Yet that's how it felt to me - that this feeling of peace and comfort was coming to me directly from her - that she was there, in a form that I could feel but not see.

She was giving me the feeling that somehow, in the eternal ethereal, it is all okay.

We drove on. Here and there, drivers had slipped on the ice and left the road, this one to tip over.

This one just got stuck.

They have ravens in India too, but they are different than ours - smaller, and while the black of our ravens tends to also reflect a slight, iridescent blue hue, in southern India that reflection seems to lean more toward a burgundy-brown. Sandy loved ravens. Before she got together with Anil, she once brought an injured one into her apartment to care for it. 

When her landlord discovered what she had done, he was outraged, as it is believed by many in India that a raven in the house will bring many years of bad luck and ordered her to get the raven out. She didn't care. She had compassion for the raven and was willing to be booted out of her apartment, if that's what it took to help it.

Later, she found another injured raven when she was out with Anil during their time of engagement. She cradled the raven in her arms and took a seat on the back of her motor bike, behind Anil. As he drove in search of a vet, she sang to the raven.

"What song did you sing to it?" I asked, via internet chat.

I expected her to name a Hindu song, or perhaps an Indian lullaby - something that I would not even know.

"Safe in the Arms of Jesus," she answered.

They found a vet, but the vet wanted nothing to do with the raven. He scolded her for bringing it to him. She scolded him right back with such intimidating force that he relented and treated the raven.

The raven healed, and when it came time to let it loose, a crowd gathered. The raven looked around, flapped its wings and rose above the packed streets of Bangalore. The crowd applauded.

Such was Soundarya!

Well.

I said that I would not let this blog dwell upon the memory of Soundarya, but would move on, just as life always moves on. 

I meant it, too.

But this blog will never forget her, either.

As we drew near to Jacob and Lavina's house in Anchorage, we passed this guy, blowing the snow out of his driveway.

Then we were there - and there was Lavina and Jobe, in the window above, waiting for us to come in and join them - to join the entire family in Alaska, Charlie and his parents included, for Thanksgiving dinner.

That dinner will be the subject of my next post.

Maybe I will get it up today. Maybe not until tomorrow. 

It will be history by then, but so what?

Each action that we take becomes history at the very moment we become aware of having taken it.

I kind of feel like I have blogged enough for today.

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they will appear larger and look better

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

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

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

More to do than I can do, in fact.

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

So I jumped into the car and rushed to town.

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, damn! It was good!

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

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

These guys really know how to cut fish.

Margie's chicken teriyaki was delicious, too.

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

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

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

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

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

I was taking her home to our grandkids. 

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

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

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

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

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

Jobe was hanging out with Muzzy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There were ravens there, waiting for me.

Wal-Mart raven.

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

It was a windy day. Ravens love windy days.

I love ravens.

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

Ravens make a stronger impression on you than crows do.

Sometimes a raven will say, "never more."

A crow would never say that.

Never.

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

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

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

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

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Big, white, limousine gets stuck just beyond Ethan Berkowitz sign

So there I was, yesterday afternoon, tooling down icy, twisty, hilly, Gail Drive at 99.105 miles per hour, listening to All Things Considered and sipping at the Metro Americano that I had just bought from Carmen when I glanced down a side road and saw this limousine, stuck in the snow just beyond the Ethan Berkowitz sign.

I instantly slowed down to 2 miles per hour and shot this image through the open window of the red Ford Escape as I zoomed by.

Three posts ago, I dedicated my entry to the signs being waved at motorists passing through "downtown" Wasilla on election eve and election morning. Most of those signs were for Joe Miller, some for Lisa Murkowski, a few for Sean Parnell, and a couple for Don Young - all Republicans. On the eve, I did see one sign for Young's opponent, democrat Harry Crawford, who went down to defeat. Crawford's sign was dark, was not held up by hands but by a platform, Joe Miller people were in front of it and it could hardly be seen at all.

The next morning, I did find one Scott McAdams sign, standing by itself at the roadside.

Other than that, I saw no Democratic signs in downtown Wasilla, and I saw not one individual holding a Democrat sign.

Subsequently, a few readers left comments to assure me that there were Democrat signs bravely planted in yards and alongside driveways here and there in Wasilla and that two individuals had been "downtown," waving their McAdams signs, apparently about half an hour before I passed by.

Now, here is proof that Democrat signs could be found in Wasilla.

It is too late, of course. The election is over, Sean Parnell remains governor. I have no idea what Berkowitz will do next, or what Diane Benson will do, or Scott McAdams. I believe they all want time to think about it.

Closer crop of the stuck limo.

As I drove on, I found myself facing a dilemma. When I see people get stuck, it has been my life-long practice to stop and try to help out. After I lost my right shoulder and got a new one, I could no longer help if it meant that I had to push, because my shoulder was just too fragile for that.

My shoulder is much stronger now, but still weak. Two nights ago, I filled a five gallon bucket with water that I had removed from one of my fish tanks so that I could replace it with fresh water. I absent-mindedly grabbed the bucket handle with my right hand, lifted it up and began to walk toward my office door.

I didn't get very far, because I suddenly felt the pain and stress in my shoulder and had to put the bucket down.

That was two nights ago.

I still feel the pain in my shoulder - not terribly, but it is there.

"Yes," I told myself, "but if I need to push, I can do it with my left."

And then I noticed the Americano that Carmen had prepared for me, sitting in the cup holder. I picked it up and took a sip. It was good, and hot. If I turned around, went back to the limo and got involved in something, it might be cold when I got back to it. It was nice, cozy and warm in the car, with All Things Considered playing on the radio.

Plus, that limo looked to be really stuck. It was going to take a lot more than me to get it unstuck. And it looked like all efforts to unstick it had come to halt for awhile, anyway. Maybe a big truck was coming to yank it out.

I decided something like that must be the case. I took another sip and drove on.

To see larger slides of the stuck limo, click here.