A cold wind blows and life just rolls along

As they say, no matter what happens, life just keeps rolling along. It's true. If you don't believe it, all you need to do is to glance into your rearview mirror. There you will see that people continue to smile, to laugh, and to drive big pickup trucks under the low high-noon sun of a chill, windy, day.

As for Margie and me, we need to eat and there was not much food in the refrigerator, or the cupboards, either. So we set out for the store, to do some grocery shopping. Yet, we were hungry right now, so we by-passed the grocery store and continued on toward Taco Bell, where we ate lightly - a bean burrito for Margie, an original crunchy taco for me, plus a small Pepsi and a Diet Pepsi for her.

Of all the fast food joints, Taco Bell is the best for eating lightly. Several years ago, I decided that I needed to lose 15 or 20 pounds and so I went on a diet that included lunch at Taco Bell, just about every day. Even when one loses weight, one must enjoy life.

It worked, too. In about three months, I met my goal.

Some of that weight has come back, but not all of it.

Once we had eaten, it was time to go to the grocery store. Along the way, while stopped for a red light, we saw some kids rolling along in a school bus. They looked trapped to me, prisoners of a system that they did not create but that seems to get us all. They did not look very happy - yet I see that one seems to be smiling a bit.

The driver doesn't look very happy, either.

I really don't like to shop at all - unless its for cameras, computers, airplanes, canoes, guns and things like that, that I can never afford to buy anyway. So I dropped Margie off at Carr's and then headed over to the Post Office to check the mail.

I parked by this car and went inside.

We got a credit card bill and an Aperture magazine. A day has now passed and I have yet to remove Aperture from its protective cover and even to glance at the cover.

In the past, I would tear these magazines open right away and, at first opportunity, spend an hour or two - sometimes more - just devouring the contents.

Not necessarily devouring the words - because they always manage to write a lot of nonsensical hyperbole in these photographic magazines as they try to explain just what it is or was that put the photographers featured on a different plane, but the photos.

Just the photos - some more than others.

Aperture has never featured any of my photos. That's mighty foolish of them, if you ask me.

Then I went back to Carr's to help Margie finish the shopping. Even so, we forgot to buy frozen raspberries.

I wanted some frozen raspberries.

After we bought the groceries, we returned home. I sat down to my computer to work and accomplished nothing - nothing at all. At the usual time, I headed off to Metro Cafe, to get my 4:00 o'clock cup and listen to NPR.

I pulled up to the window and did not even have to order because Carmen knew. I started to pull out my wallet, but she would not let me. Then she showed me this $5.00 bill and note from Shoshauna. Due to her changed schedule, I now only see Shoshauna on Saturday's, assuming that I can get to Metro before she leaves at 2:45.

Shoshauna was buying my coffee this day - and the next. too.

She reads this blog, too, you know. It was an act of kindness and care on her part.

Thank you, Shauna.

And keep writing.

Just keep writing.

One day, I will buy you a coffee - from one Wasilla writer to another.

I did give Carmen a pumpkin cookie after Thanksgiving.

On the way home, this young bull moose ran into the road in front of me. I saw it well ahead and so it was not a close call. Just another, typical, everyday moment, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska - where I find moments to thrill to the sight of what surrounds me, to smile and to laugh, despite the great sadness that blankets the land and all that it holds.

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This blog's most visited posts: Wasilla's Lisa K beats Wasilla's Sarah P; the wedding of Soundarya and Anil leads the long haul

These past couple of weeks have been intense ones for this blog - starting at least from my post on Lisa Kelly, the Ice Road Trucker, pulling into Metro Cafe on horseback with some of her friends. Perhaps not coincidently my average number of daily visits have come pretty close to doubling in that time.

As I have stated before, I figured out a long time ago that if I were to do regular segments featuring or blasting my hometown's most famous resident, Sarah Palin, my readership would soar. I conducted a few experiments to test this theory, like dropping Palin's name into the headline when the post actually said nothing about her, or by dropping words like "pit bull" into the title of a post with such a dog in it. 

And always, those few words drove my numbers way up for those posts. Then, of course, just because I live in Wasilla and this blog is in part themed on Wasilla, I figured that I had to have at least one post that was not a trick but actually covered her and so last December, I attended Palin's Wasilla book signing and blogged it.

Boy! Did that post bring in the numbers! Like I had never seen before! No other post had drawn numbers even close. And people still drop by to visit it regularly. 

But guess what?

My post on Wasilla's other famous lady, Lisa Kelly, the Ice Road Trucker, has smoked Sarah Palin for drawing in the most readers to a single post. Not merely beaten her, but smoked her. It happened fast. It took just days against a post that has been up for nearly a year.

This is a small blog with a very modest number of readers and no real influence, but still, I thought you might want to know that.

Yet, there is another post that consistently brings in readers every day and has for a year-and-half now. Every day.

And that is the post of the wedding of my own beloved Soundarya and Anil. Every day, every single day, visitors come by to view their wedding. Usually, the daily numbers to the wedding post are modest. Ten, 15, 20 - but occassionally and inexplicably they will sometimes surge into the hundreds of visits on a single day.

Most of these visits come from India.

When all these daily visits are put together, then this post, the wedding of Soundarya and Anil, has drawn in more visitors than any other.

Very recently, shortly before I went to Barrow, I let Sandy know this and she was pleased.

Now I will tell you why I am here in Family Restaurant, having breakfast by myself.

I can't sleep in the mornings. I go to sleep very late when I am so tired that I can no longer stay away and then I wake up just hours later. I try to go back to sleep but I can't. So I get up and go to Family Restaurant, by myself, because Margie is asleep.

At least, this is what I have done for the past two days.

All these Family Restaurant pictures, by the way, are of reflections in the window. If it was light outside this wouldn't work, but since its dark, the window becomes a mirror of sorts.

Yesterday, I stated that I would write no more about Soundarya in this blog for awhile, but I have made an oversight. Another person died in the accident with Anil and he must also be acknowledged - Sandy's longtime best friend, Nick Hill.

At first, I did not realize that Nick had died, too, but I  had met him at the wedding and he became a Facebook friend, so after the accident I dropped into his Facebook page to say "hi" and to see if I could learn more but instead found that his friends were leaving RIP messages on his page.

Then Sandy died and everything else disappeared in front of me. I could see nothing but Sandy, and her immediate family and my family. Everything and everyone else just disappeared. I could no longer even see those loved ones who died just ahead of her.

Sandy was all I could see.

So I also want to say something about her devotion to Anil, as she most recently expressed it to me. She told me that Anil had recently found his passion - photography - and that however hard she had to work to do it, she was going to be the breadwinner for the house so that Anil could pursue this new passion.

Not everyone agreed with this decision, she told me, but that's how she felt about it and that's what she was going to do.

She was going to send some of Anil's pictures to me, but she never got the chance.

Now I'm done blogging about this.

This morning's breakfast at Family - a Jeep outside the window.

A customer pays his bill with a smile.

Shrock Road.

Whatever. I don't know. Just people at Family.

The Jeep is still there.

This is a place where a driver could take his Jeep to get it gassed up.

He could get himself tanked up, too, but it wouldn't be a good idea.

Family Restaurant.

Now I'm on the other side of the window, headed to my car, looking back in. I see the bus girl cleaning up the table that I just sat at.

Tavra. 

That's all I have to say today.

Maybe I will blog lightly for awhile.

This might cost me some of my new readers.

I feel pretty weary right now.

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Hello - and goodbye

Christian hymns have been playing in my head continuously for the past several days. I believe this is because I was unable to travel to Soundarya's funeral and so my subconscious mind had to create a funeral for me. The only way it knew how to do this was to pull up the hymns that it has heard at so many funerals - none of them Hindu. I just don't know any Hindu funeral hymns.

Within the past few hours, the hymns have gone away. They have been replaced by two Beatles songs, which come and go as they please: To Know Her is to Love Her and "I don't know why you say goodbye I say hello." So my personal funeral for Soundarya must be over. I did not see her body or the beautiful saree and flowers that would have adorned her. I did not witness her cremation. I did not observe or participate in the rituals. I did not get to embrace her mother and father, her brother and sister or any of her large family of relatives - my relatives now.

I did not get to weep with them.

Even so, my brain provided what it could by way of a personal funeral and now that funeral is over and I must move on.

Before I do, I thought that I would put up one last picture of Soundarya and I thought that it should be from when we first met - either from the wedding feast for Vivek and Khena or from the walk Sandy and I took afterward.

So I typed "Sandy" into my computer's internal search engine and then chose several candidates from the many thumbnails that appeared upon my screen. I narrowed these down to the three pictured here on my monitor and then finally chose the one to the left, desaturated of most of its color.

Then I realized that I could not just put a picture from the past up in the context of the past, but that my "hello-goodbye" picture had to be as I saw it today - looking out at me from my computer screen in my dimly lit office.

The two model airplanes on the wall to the right, as some of you know, were made by my deceased brother, Ron, before he broke his neck and became tetraplegic. 

Ganesh Facebooked a link to me of a song, Kabhi Kabhie Mere Dil Mein, performed by professionals. He and she once sang it together and ended it with a big laugh fest. I listened to the song several times, but each time I closed my eyes so that I would not see the actors in the video, but only her and I saw her strongly. She once told me online that she had visited a seer who had told her that we had been close in lives past and would be close in lives future.

This life is the only life that I know and am certain is real, but it is a nice thought and would explain many things.

Now I will let her go. I will not stop thinking of her, my tears for her will not altogether dry, but I will let her go and I will deal with the things that I must deal with everyday and I won't be blogging about her anymore.

At least not for now, not for awhile. Someday, when I find the money to return to India and capture the time to find a way to better tell her story, then I will blog about her again. How can a storyteller have a muse and not tell her story?

I will tell it, Muse. I will tell your story. The world will know about you - your sweet, gentle, caring soul that could bestow kindness not only upon a kitten but even upon a bug - or a cobra... the fierce defense that you would throw up to protect those you loved against those more powerful than you... the dreams, passions, ambitions and desires that filled you... the bitter disappointments that you pushed through again and again right up until this last one... the beautiful even if painful memory that you have now become.

I will tell this story - but not now. For now, I must pull back and do other things.

As for these two on their snowmachine, I saw them yesterday afternoon off Church Road as I was cruising and drinking a Metro coffee that I had bought from Shoshana.

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We feast - the spatula, the leap, the dinosaur, a rolling baby, a short, dreamy, nap...

When Margie and I entered Jacob and Lavina's house for Thanksgiving dinner, we found Kalib with a spatula. The word is that he keeps this spatula with him almost all the time now. It has become his favorite toy.

After he climbed onto the arm of the couch, Kalib wanted to be certain that I was watching him.

When he knew for certain that he had my attention, Kalib leaped. Afterwards, he came running to me so that he could look at this picture on my camera's LCD monitor. It was the first time that he had done that.

I don't think it will be the last.

Jobe was there, too. Still in his mother's arms. As you can see, he has great admiration for his grandpa.

Jobe and Muzzy.

As I had never seen Kalib in the dinosaur outfit that he wore on Halloween, he modeled it just for me: Kalibsaurus.

Kalibsaurus runs into the kitchen, ready to devour all that he sees.

Suji - this one's for you.

Jobe, looking for his Aunt Suji, who is 9000 miles away.

Jobe has turned into a rolling baby. Instead of learning to crawl, he is learning to roll. I had to put my foot on him, just to keep him from rolling out of the house and all the way off to India to look for his Aunt Suji.

Gramma and Jobe.

The Ckaleibs.

Jake let's Bryce sample the turkey.

There were two tables - a higher one with stools and a lower one with chairs. It was too hard for Margie to sit on the stools, so she sat at the shorter table. I joined her there.

This is what it looked like, when I stood up and peeked over the top of the crowd. The fellow to the left is Carl, a friend of Rex's and that's Charlie's parents, Jim and Cyndy, next to him.

At first, I was a little disappointed that dinner was going to be at Jacob and Lavina's instead of our house. They planned it this way because I had intended to stay on the Slope for Thanksgiving, but after the tragedy I wanted only to come home.

As it turned out it was, perhaps, the most excellent Thanksgiving dinner that I have ever eaten - much better than Margie and I would have done. This because Jacob and Lavina are on their way to becoming master chefs. They love to watch shows like Iron Chef and other cooking extravaganzas, none of which interest me much.

But my goodness, what they have learned!

Who would have ever thought that you could cook cherries into dressing and come up with something so wonderful?

And it is not just what they see others do on the shows, but the creative thought process that it has helped to create in them. Before they began to prepare this meal, Jacob read up on the original Thanksgiving, when the Pilgrims got together with the indigenous people who had saved their lives and they feasted as friends.

He read that they ate squash, cooked with nuts and berries. So he cooked squash with walnuts, almonds and berries... and... oh my... just ask Lisa... who is still raving over it...

Delicious beyond delicious!

Scrumptious. Exquisite. Tantalizing!

The turkeys were pretty darn good, too...

...as was the company.

We are very fortunate in this family in that we, including those who have joined in to become part of us, all enjoy being together.

I was thinking about various Thanksgiving and holiday TV dramas and sitcoms where people come in and engage in verbal combat and unpleasantness before coming to or failing to reach whatever resolutions are necessary, but it is not that way here.

We all live tumultuous lives in our own ways, but we like to be together.

We are not only family, we are all friends.

Even so, to be quite honest, I sometimes had problems staying with all the conversations throughout, because my mind and spirit was burdened with a huge hurt. After we ate, several of us went into the living room to converse, but my body felt so tired and weary and my eyelids grew so heavy that I could not keep them open.

So I closed them, and reclined on the reclining chair, picking up snippets of the conversation until it morphed into dream bits in my mind and then became a dream.

I have no idea how long I stayed this way, but at some point I dimly heard Charlie's dad speaking of an airplane, maybe a Super Cub, flying at 30 mph and landing on a dime. And then I was in my now broken airplane, the Running Dog, and I was sliding between the tops of spruce trees along the Yukon River toward a frozen slough, covered in untouched, pristine, snow... slipping ever so slowly downward, my power pulled back to the minimum, my prop spinning slowly, my skis soon to slide into the snow.

I could feel the air as my wings slipped through it at minimum speed.

And sitting in the back seat was Soundarya, seeing all this frozen, wintry, magic of Alaska for the first time.

This jolted me to full awake.

I opened my eyes and the above is what I saw.

Elsewhere, I found that the turkey had overcome Rex, who would be leaving for San Francisco to join Ama in just a few hours.

Now, he is with her and her family at Lake Tahoe, where I suspect the snow is probably 10 feet deep - maybe deeper.

Back in the dining room, I found people going at round two - desert. Pumpkin pie and cookies and a superb blueberry crunch that Cyndy had made. Little Jobe was pigging out on some fruit-flavored, dehydrated treats made just for babies.

They are quite tasty. So I had one. Maybe I had two. Perhaps three... it's possible that I even ate four, but I certainly didn't eat the whole thing and I never have.

This is a story that Jacob is spreading and it is simply not true.

If you hear Jacob say it. Don't believe it.

Perhaps I ate five, but certainly no more than that.

The evening ended with Kalib chasing Melanie around the little tent. Or maybe Melanie was chasing Kalib. I was never quite certain who was chasing who.

I was glad they were not tigers, though. If they had been tigers, they would have chased each other until they got hold of each other's tails and then they would both have turned into butter.

That's what tigers do.

About 9:00 PM, Margie and I set out for Wasilla.

The roads were icy and slick. Off to the sides, I could see many dark forms of vehicles that had slid off the road. This one, however, still had its lights on.

At one point, up ahead, across the divide in the oncoming lanes, I barely managed to pick out the outline of a trotting moose silhouetted in the brief flash of a headlight and I could see that we were on a collision course.

Even with the new anti-lock breaks, braking on slick ice is a very tricky thing, so I began to hit the breaks in firm but gentle pumps, always letting go just when it felt like the car was going to go into a spin. I stopped, just in time, as the moose passed through my headlights.

I think of that moose and how it looked in our headlights at the last instant, its eyes big and fearful and I wish that I had got a picture of it. There are times that one must keep both hands on the steering wheel and this was one of those times.

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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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