I return to Wasilla and then kick about around town

It's about time this blog just kicked around Wasilla for bit. I begin in the parking lot outside Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant, where this little American flag fluttered in the breeze from the back window of someone's car.

And this was one of many scenes inside, where the ham, eggs, hashbrowns, toast and coffee were all very tasty. Margie won't return from being snowed in down in Arizona for another full week yet. I will probably wind up here again a time or two between now and then.

In the afternoon, I took a walk with a half moon above.

I had not walked far before this dog came trotting down the street, eager to meet me. I was afraid that it would want to follow me, but it only wanted to say, "hello." Then it turned around and returned from whence it came.

This dog's name is Sampson. He was walking with a woman named Summer, and a black and white dog named Cher.

A little further along, I came upon a young man sitting on a four-wheeler going nowhere. "You're not broke down, are you?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I ran out of gas and then my battery died." Someone had gone to pick up what he needed to get going again.

"Bill is my name," I said.

"Good to meet you, I'm Eric," he said, as he extended his hand.

We shook hands.

"Good luck," I said.

Then I walked away, leaving him to sit on his machine to wait for gas and a battery.

An airplane flew overhead.

On my coffee break, I took the car to the gas station. As I was filling the tank, I heard the whistle and the clacking rumble of the train coming down the tracks.

"Damnit!" I said, because my camera was buried deep in my pocket and I did not know if I could get it out and turned on before the engines passed by.

It was a big challenge, but I did it and here is proof.

As always, when the train rumbled by, it gave me a thrill.

Then I was back in the car, and as I approached Kendall Ford, I began to pass a long truck, with a flatbed at the back. On the flatbed were two vans, both of which claimed to have fire extinguishers inside.

This is the trailer of the same truck. As you can see, it is an Alaska truck.

And this is the cab, now falling behind me.

And here I am in the parking lot outside of Pet Zoo, where I have stopped to buy Royce some good, healthy, soft, cat food. I did a self-portrait of myself, with this dog.

He must have been scraping ice. It's been so long since Wasilla has had anything but a token snowfall. Early December, maybe.

I passed these kids on their snowmachines.

I saw these people walking down Spruce Street.

Late at night, just before they closed, I drove to Dairy Queen, where a young woman named Ashleigh sold me a vanilla cone dipped in chocolate. The temperature was right about 0 degrees (-18 F); much warmer than when I made my first trip to the new Dairy Queen last January.

Then, the temperature was about -30 (-35 C). Last winter was much colder than this winter, all over Alaska. This has been a warm winter for us, even as it has been a cold winter for people down south.

Poor Margie. Snowbound and freezing in Arizona.

On a warm and snowy day, I eat at Family, get barked at, pass by Wasilla's Hall of Wisdom and receive a generous offer to help Royce

During my all too brief meagre hours in bed, I kept looking forward to getting up and heading to Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant for breakfast. I had made up my mind before going to bed that this was what I would do and I was excited about it.

That doesn't mean that I popped right out of bed. I don't think that I have been to bed before 3:00 AM since Margie left for Arizona and sometimes not until 4:00 or after. And then I always lay awake for at least an hour, after which I wake up frequently through the night. So I wasn't popping out of bed for anything - not even breakfast at Family Restaurant.

But, at about 9:30, I carefully extracted myself from the quilt of cats that weighed down the blankets that covered me, took care of a few tasks, including some in this computer, and then headed over about 10:40 or so.

I got a new waitress, a woman who I do not recall seeing before, but she was good. She made sure the hashbrowns were done just right, and she took her time pouring the coffee, because one thing about this new little Canon s90 pocket camera - it is very slow to turn on and prepare. That's why she took her time, so I could get this picture.

I truly appreciate it.

Now I back up a few minutes, as I drive over, just to show you that it was a warm and snowy day - the first snow since before Christmas. Here I am, stopped at a stoplight, as this guy in front of me runs a green light.

One more shot from Family.

On my walk, Tequila came running, barking, growling, through the new snow.

Of course I know that she is a nice dog and does not mean any of it, but she forgets that I know. Or maybe she thinks that she can fool me this time into thinking that she really is mean.

Uh, oh! She gets bogged down in the new snow.

Oh, dear...

It's a humiliating thing for a nice dog who is trying to convince you that she really is mean and nasty to get bogged down in the new snow.

An empty school bus passes by King's Chapel, across the street from Metro Cafe. Well, if its empty, Bill then who is driving it?

I had a haircut scheduled for 4:15. I did not want to get a haircut at 4:15, but that was the only time available, the scheduler told me.

Along the way, I passed this hitchhiker. See that place behind him? The Mug Shot Saloon? You are probably already familiar with it - at least from the inside. As everyone knows, the national media all descended upon Wasilla after John McCain chose Sarah Palin to be his VP running mate.

Invariably, it seemed, the media always wound up here, inside the Mug Shot Saloon, seeking local wisdom, asking intelligent, probing, incisive questions to highly knowledgeable, clear-headed, sharp-minded individuals. They then dispensed this wisdom and knowledge upon the rest of the nation. Yes, they saw the Mugshot Saloon as Wasilla's Grand Hall of Wisdom and so came by to see how much of that wisdom they could soak up themselves.

After the haircut, an experience that I will not bother to describe, I went to the bank to transfer money from our business account to the personal account. It was a most discouraging experience - but I remain optimistic.

Now, I hardly know what to write, even though I have been thinking about it on and off for hours. In the comments to yesterday's post there is a message from Funny Face - the same generous person who surprised me with two gift cards to Metro Cafe.

After she read about Royce's trip to the vet, she offered to start up a little fund-raising effort to pay Royce's vet bills.

I am deeply touched and moved not only that she thought of this and even called the vet clinic, but that she got positive response - even from Mocha, who just lost a cat. I never imagined anything like this happening.

I did not respond right away because I had to think about it and I had to consult both with Melanie in Anchorage and Margie in Arizona. 

Royce came to us in December of 1994 through a stray cat that followed Rex home and then camped out with us for a couple of years. By the time Royce was born, we had already had a house full of cats and so we determined that we would give away his entire litter of four. One, a black cat, went to friend of Jacob's named Angel and she named it "Little Guy." Angel lives in Phoenix now, Little Guy still with her, and she often leaves comments on this blog.

Melanie fell in love with Royce. When we told her that too many cats already lived in the house, along with the dog Willow, and that the orange kitten just had to go, she was crestfallen but tried to be brave.

One day, a woman who had seen one of the ads I put out called and told me that she wanted an orange kitten. "Is the orange one still available?" she asked.

I was just about to say "yes," but then I spotted Melanie and Royce, snuggled up together, loving each other.

"No," I said, "I'm sorry, but the orange kitten has been claimed."

Melanie grew up, went off to college, got two new cats and now the three of them live together in Anchorage with Charlie and his cat Epizzles, or "Poof" as regular visitors, but she still loves Royce as dearly as she did when she lived in this house with him.

So I had to get her input. "I want to pay for his care, Dad," she told me.

I also talked to Margie. She noted that, sooner or later, after every natural disaster of major proportions, stories come out about animals in need of rescue. Margie suggested that Haiti might be a good place for the contributions that would go to Royce to be sent.

I am greatly touched. Part of this is probably also a desire to help me with this blog, something that a number of posters have expressed a desire to do.

Sooner or later, hopefully in February, (although I had once planned to do it in October, then November, then December...) I plan to restructure this blog a bit. One of the things that I plan to do is to create a store where I can make prints available. Then, anyone who wants to help will be able to do so and get a print, too.

Funny Face, I thank you, greatly.

And be assured - Royce will be in at least one of those prints, along with Kalib.

I expect to see Kalib tomorrow. So he will be in this blog again.

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

Detoured by death on the highway as I take Margie to the airport; bright, red, fingernails; Kalib rides the escalators

The plan was for me to drop Margie off at the Alaska Native Medical Center so that she could pick up the medications she will need for the nearly four weeks that she will be in Arizona.

I would then drive to Camai Printing where I had a little business to take care of, come back, pick her up, we would get together with the kids for coffee or maybe even dinner, should time allow.

I would then take her to the airport.

But, just before we got to the South Birch Creek exit, traffic came to a halt. There had been an accident ahead.

I knew that if I could get to the exit, we could get off the Glenn Highway, switch to the Old Glenn and go around the accident.

Several other drivers had the same idea, so it was a slow process, but, after close to half an hour, I made it onto the ramp, where traffic was moving maybe one mile-an-hour - but it was moving.

See all those cars still on the highway? They are beyond the exit and they will be stuck there for hours.

Furthermore, if we had been perhaps as little as one mile further back, we would also have been stuck. We would not have been able to make it to the exit.

As we crept along, a bulletin came on the radio. A very serious accident had happened and the highway was closed at this exit.

It is a strange thing when you find yourself in this situation. You are annoyed at the slowdown. You think of the inconvenience and trouble that it is going to cause you - in this case, Margie could potentially miss her flight, or have to go without her medications, which we would then need to get and mail to her.

Yet you know that, up ahead, at the source of the slowdown, someone might be badly injured, in terrible pain, perhaps facing a different kind of life from here on out. Or someone might be dead, or dying, their entire life now behind them. Several people might be.

And yet, you still want to get moving.

As we crept further, a new bulletin said that a helicopter was coming. We knew then that someone had been hurt very badly.

And still I wanted to get Margie to the airport, on time, with her medications, and I wanted to get my business taken care of.

Finally, we got to where traffic was moving and then arrived in town right as the rush hour was beginning. I dropped Margie off at ANMC, then headed to Camai and arrived just before closing. I took care of my business and then returned to get her.

But she had got stuck in another long line - at the ANMC Family Medicine pharmacy. Kalib was there, waiting for her with his parents. Margie had entered an area in which only patients picking up medicine are allowed, so I sat down as Lavina helped Kalib learn how to operate an iPhone.

See how red Lavina's fingernails are?

A friend at work had chosen Saturday to be her wedding day and had asked all her lady co-workers who would be participating to paint their nails bright red. She also wanted them all to wear black dresses.

So Lavina painted her nails red, went out shopping on her one free day and bought a black dress.

Then her coworker changed the wedding date to June.

Kalib watches the movie, Cars.

Lavina had heard an update on the accident - it involved a pedestrian. That seemed pretty strange, since it happened on the freeway.

Later, on the radio, we heard that a man was trapped beneath a vehicle. I hoped he was unconscious. How miserable would that be, to be broken, injured, and have a ton or more of steel sitting atop you, jamming you into the cold pavement?

By the time Margie finally got her medications, there was no time to get together for coffee, let alone dinner. So all of the Anchorage part of the family came to the airport, to see her off.

Kalib and his dad led the entourage toward airport security.

Kalib soon dashed into the area where only ticketed passengers are allowed. Thankfully, he turned right around and dashed back out before he could get arrested and thrown into jail.

Traffic was very light in the security area. Kalib gave his grandma a goodbye hug.

As Rex gives his mom a goodbye hug, Kalib reaches out to hug one of his aunties. Kalib hugged everybody, whether they were traveling or not.

Then he got to ride an escalator going down.

He rode a series of escalators.

At the entrance to the parking garage, we discussed the matter of dinner. Melanie suggested Pho Lena, a Vietnamese - Thai restaurant that was more or less on the way out.

At Pho Lena, the waitress brought a toy over for Kalib's amusement.

But Kalib was more amused by the paper and coloring marker that she also brought him.

After I arrived home in the late evening, I sat down right here, at my computer and found a bulletin from the Anchorage Daily News in my inbox. Robert Marvin, 76, had apparently experienced some kind of car trouble on the Glenn and had pulled over to the side of the road - but not all the way out of traffic. He was standing in front of a Volkswagon van when it was rear-ended and pushed 50 - 60 feet down the road with him under it.

Rescuers managed to get him out without help from the helicopter, but he was pronounced dead shortly afterward. Traffic had been stopped for three hours.

Now, as I write these words, Margie is in Seattle, where she has a seven-and-a-half hour layover before catching her 7:25 AM flight to Phoenix.

How miserable she must be!

I am afraid to call her, though - she might be napping.

No Kalib today - boring entry - I wouldn't even bother to drop by - but please do: I need the hits

I spent the day alone with the cats and Muzzy. Margie went into town early to help out however she could with the painting and such going on at Jacob, Lavina and Kalib's new house. Caleb was going to go in, too, but he was struck down by something that caused horrible pains in his stomach and so spent the day in bed.

So I went to Family Restaurant just before noon to buy some breakfast.

On the way home, I saw this man riding a bicycle through the sub-zero air. I haven't ridden my bike in so long. Not because its cold, but because I know if I do, sooner or later it is going to slide out from underneath me on the ice and I am going to go down.

This was not a terribly big deal in the past, but now that I have a titanium shoulder, it is. Even if I come down on ice, I don't want to fall.

Not far from the biker, I saw this man walking. All this excitement happened on Spruce Street.

And here I am, driving down Church.

Now I am on Shrock.

I then spent several hours at my computer, but at 4:00 PM, when NPR's All Things Considered Weekend Edition came on the radio, I took a coffee break. Metro Cafe is closed on Sundays, so I went to Mocha Moose.

It was then back to my computer for a couple of hours, but soon it was time for dinner. I looked for something good and simple to cook, but could find nothing.

I wanted something nutritious, so I headed to KFC, where I bought chicken, mashed potatoes and corn on the cob.

I did see the train go by. That was exciting. It's always exciting when the train goes by.

Margie came home pretty late, but then was struck with such bad tummy pains that they made her cry. She looked awful. Now she is in bed. She says she is going back into town with Lavina early in the morning to help out some more, but I don't know.

So a couple of days ago, Kalib was vomiting. He still looks weak. Then earlier today, Caleb was smitten by horrid stomach pains. Now Margie has been. Both say they are quite unlike any regular kind of upset tummy pains that they have ever experienced before.

And Jimmy, my good black cat, has been passing foul gas.

Oh, dear.

None of this portends anything good.