Wasilla: A roadside expression of love for Senator Stevens - an individual who claimed to be among his sign-carrying supporters attacks my first amendment rights; New York City series on hold for tonight, will continue

While looking for the two men who hope to best each other in the competition to become the new mayor of the City of Wasilla, I instead found these supporters of Senator Stevens, "Uncle Ted," waving signs on the corner of the Parks and Palmer-Wasilla Highways. Another supporter, not seen in this picture, launched an individual attack upon the First Amendment rights that I enjoy as an American citizen protected by the US Constitution.

To explain this bizarre turn of events, I must back up to a point 20 minutes earlier in the afternoon.

As I drove Margie to work, we stopped at a coffee kiosk for the usual brew and then continued on toward Wal-Mart, where her shift was to begin at 5:30. Regular readers will recall how I had earlier photographed the signs of Wasilla mayoral candidates Verner Rupright and Marty Mativa, from the car as we passed by them. I posted that I had no idea why either man wanted the job, but promised that if I happened to come across either of them, I would ask that question and share the answer with readers.

Since then, I have steadfastly kept my eyes open for the candidates whenever I have traveled about Wasilla, but I have seen neither one. Time is getting short, the election is tomorrow. On past election eves, I have almost always spotted local candidates waving signs at various places along the Parks Highway as it makes its way through Wasilla. I have seen this even when the temperature was below zero F., whereas this afternoon it was a pleasant 20 degrees above zero. Yet this afternoon, I did not see either candidate.

As I sat waiting for a light to change, I did catch the above view of Pioneer Peak.

"Look!" I pointed, as Margie got out of the car at Wal-Mart. To the south, the sliver crescent of the new moon rose over the Chugach.

"Oh, beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Where are you going to photograph it from?"

"I don't know," I answered.

I tried the above place atop a hill not far from Wal-Mart, but encountered a few problems. For one, there is no manual focus in this pocket camera and no matter how hard I tried to fool it, I could not get it to focus on the moon. It insisted in focusing directly upon the branches. I had no tripod, because I never use a tripod with this pocket camera - the whole point being that it is easy to carry and I can keep it in my pocket and not strain my healing shoulder.

So I had to go to a high ISO, 800, and even then I had to shoot at 1/30 of a second - very slow, a certain recipe for camera motion blur.

And then the clouds moved over the moon. I moved on.

As I drove toward home, I saw a small group of people waving campaign signs on the corner of the Parks and Palmer Wasilla highways. My hopes rose. As I drew close, I saw that it was not the mayoral candidates, but instead a group of Senator Steven supporters, urging us who passed by to vote for him. I had not thought about photographing Stevens supporters, but still, it was election eve, and they did present me with the opportunity to take an election-related image and put it in this blog.

I could also get a comment or two from them to explain what motivated them to come out and stand on the corner in the cool air and wave signs around. As to the outcome of the election, it would make no difference whatsoever.

I parked near a dumpster in the lot of the nearby Tesoro gas station, and as I got out of the car, I saw... the new moon... freed now from the clouds... a short distance above the horizon, almost directly behind the Stevens supporters.

I now knew how I would photograph this new moon.

I found a decent angle, lifted the camera and prepared to shoot. By now, the light of dusk had faded even more. I had to drop my shutter speed down to 1/20th of a second - hand held - pointed at people and cars, all moving. I would need to take several frames and then see what came out of it, but even then it might not work. 

If I had my SLR's, it would work, but I must let my shoulder heal some more before I start trying to carry those cameras again.

"What are you doing?" I heard a voice ask as I shot one frame. A woman came walking through the dark from the general direction of the Stevens supporters, but I could not be certain that she was one of them. She drew closer, into the dim light that illuminated the parking lot and then smiled at me. She was young, tall, attractive and her smile was sweet, but it was the wrong kind of sweet, for the twinkle in her eyes did not speak of friendliness, but of threat.

(To see a larger version of this or any image, click on it.)

I wanted no trouble with this woman and so, to be friendly, I explained that I was trying to take a picture of the sign wavers with the moon behind them. I told her about this blog, and my failed desire to find a mayoral candidate.

She asked me several questions - was I a Stevens supporter? This question can be most complicated right now, in recognition both of his many good works and all that he has brought to Alaska, coupled with the recent jury verdict that found him guilty of corruption. But at any rate, anyone in America has the right to photograph a group of people waving signs in a public place alongside a busy highway, whether they support them or not.

"Are you a Stevens supporter?" I asked in return.

"Of course I am!" she snapped. "Do you think I would be carrying a sign for him if I wasn't?" She carried no sign now, hor had she when I first spotted her.

I shot a couple more frames.

"I see that the moon is not in those pictures," she accused, sarcastically, as she peeked at my LCD screen.

I was dumbfounded at this false observation. "Yes it is," I said, "it's right there." Even as I pointed out the moon in the upper right hand corner of my LCD screen, she did not seem to believe it was there. I raised the camera and again began to frame the scene for some more shots.

"That's enough pictures," she suddenly ordered. "You can stop now."

"No," I responded. "It's not enough."

"Yes it is," she stated adamantly. "You're done. Don't take anymore pictures."

By nature, I'm a non-confrontational person, but I have lines that I cannot tolerate being crossed, and she had just crossed two of them. She was trying to bully me, and she was trying to suppress my right to free speech, as guaranteed under the First Amendment to Constitution of the United States. To me, this right is sacred, inalienable, and in some settings I have defied even policemen who have tried to trample on it. I was not about to let this woman trample it.

"I'm not done," I answered, and then shot another frame.

"Stop," she demanded. "You can't take pictures without our permission."

I was dumbfounded. What kind of American, with any education and knowledge at all, would think that a group of people standing alongside one of the busiest stretches of highway in the state, waving signs for all who passed by to see, signs that stated their position on one of the biggest stories ever to strike Alaska would think anyone needed their permission to photograph such a display?

Also, I have photographed many people carrying signs and they have all been happy to have me do so - that's why they carry them, so people will take notice and see them. 

A photograph enlarges their audience.

She then threatened me with legal action, promising to sic an attorney on me.

"I will take your picture, then," I responded. 

"No you won't," she said.

"Yes I will," I answered. In truth, it was too dark where we stood for me to get much of a picture and I did not care whether or not I ever photographed this woman, but I wanted to make it clear to her that she could not bully me nor take away my constitutional right to free speech - photography being a recognized form of free speech.

I turned toward her and raised my camera. Just like a prisoner who is ashamed to have anyone see his face, she lifted her hands to hide hers and then, reaching for the camera, lunged toward it. 

I still have far less than full mobility in the right arm and shoulder that I shattered just over four months ago, but I drew the camera back from her as far as I could before pain stopped me. I then pointed it at her, even as I raised my left arm to block her advance. She turned away, and rushed to a nearby vehicle, just as I shot the tiny frame at left, catching nothing but darkness and blur.

As she opened the door to the car and clambered to get inside, she shouted out that I could not take her picture.

"You can't take away the right to a free press," I said as she dove in.

"You're not the press!" she yelled, then slammed the car door shut. That's her above, in red, huddled behind the car door, perhaps calling someone on her cell phone.

I shot a couple more frames from right where I stood, then walked over to where the group of Stevens supporters carried their signs. I let them know why I was photographing them, told them about about their compatriot who had accosted me and suggested that one of them tell her about the US Constitution, the first Amendment and the American right of free speech.

They all seemed to be rational people who understood that they had chosen to engage in a newsworthy activity, one that made them natural targets for photographers.

"So what motivated you to come out her tonight to hold up these signs?" I then asked.

"We love Ted," the red-headed young man above answered with a smile. 

"We love Ted." I thought about that for a second or two. I was prepared to ask a few more questions, but I'm not doing an investigative report here, I'm not conducting an expose. I just wanted to pick up a little bit of the flavor of my home town, Wasilla, Alaska, on election eve, 2008. "We love Ted."

"That's good enough for me," I said.

I had gotten what I wanted, with some unexpected drama thrown in as a bonus. I walked back to my car, parked one space away from the vehicle that woman had dove into. I could not see her. I climbed into my car and drove home.

And earlier in the day:

I had taken Muzzy for a walk. I had not wanted to. In fact, I had feared the prospect. Before I injured my shoulder, there had been times when I had walked him that he spotted another dog, wanted to play, and then hit the end of his leash with such force that he had yanked me off my feet and dragged me sprawling across the road.

Ever since I injured my shoulder, I have refused to hold his leash. But with Jacob and Lavina in Arizona, someone had to take Muzzy on a walk and Caleb was not around. 

So I took him, and experienced only two minor incidents with other dogs, neither of which were of the nature to yank me off my feet. When we got to where it was safe to do so, I removed the leash. Muzzy was free, and he loves his freedom.

New York City: Subway Series, Part 1 - Music and Love; Wasilla: waiting for breakfast at Family

Where did he come from? What did he do there? What did he plan to do here? What is his instrument? Where does his mind go when he plays it? How much does he earn? How many people does he feed? What thoughts go through the mind of the fellow on the bench beside him? So many questions, but the train door opens and I rush through before it can shut me out.

The door closes behind me and I sit down. I see these two, who look to be in love; she exhausted, he intent, curious; she finds comfort on his strong shoulder. Those on either side intently ignore them.

A click will make the image bigger.

One wonders why life passes by so quickly, why age and deterioration downgrade the body even as desire remains young.

What do they find so interesting in this booklet? I want to read it and find out for myself. I doubt that I ever will. Too many other things to read, too many books that I want to read but never will. Too many more books I want to write. Reasonable health and life provided, I will write some of them, but it is clear to me that I have already used up too much time to ever write them all. 

So why do I waste time blogging?

Blogging is fun. Damn, it is fun!

I could ask the same questions of this gentleman from Africa as I did the one from Asia. I did ask him one question, but he did not seem to have the English to answer. Or maybe he had the English, but did not wish to be bothered into making answers.

His music was good. I liked it. 

It seemed to me that he should be playing on a stage somewhere, in front of an auditorium, rather than in a subway station. The thought struck me that perhaps he does both - plays on a stage, and then in the subway, too. Maybe when he goes home, friends and family gather about and he plays and others sing, drum and play even more instruments - maybe a guitar.

Today in Wasilla, beginning at Family Restaurant:

Margie and I were fortunate and got a table within two minutes of walking in. But Family was crowded today. All who came after us had to wait to be seated.

More who must wait.

The boys sit as they wait to be seated.

This boy seems to grow impatient.

As she waits, she gets a gumball.

Those who wait will get seated. Family Restaurant is very popular and there are many more tables than the few seen here.

After breakfast, I drop Margie off at Wal-Mart - a popular raven hangout.

After Margie gets off work, I drive her and Lisa to the Espresso Cafe. Lisa orders an iced Americano, which strikes me as crazy, since the temperature is in the teens. The barista is glad to fill Lisa's "Alaska for Obama" mug, as she is a supporter, too.

It's amazing how many Barack Obama supporters I encounter, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska.

Wasilla: Halloween drive to Anchorage to send Kalib south; New York City: On the way to the Met I walk by a bus

I barely get home from New York City and all of a sudden I find we must send baby Kalib to Arizona. This means a drive to Anchorage, where we will pass him off to his mom and dad at a Halloween chili feast. Margie dresses him in his St. Bernard outfit, buckles him into his car seat and then gives him his little fish book, meant to be read upside down.

As we pass through downtown Wasilla, three blocks from the wisdom of Main Street, we pass by a fender bender. Perhaps it would not have happened had the drivers been cruising Main Street instead of Lucille. Unlike Main Street, even Governor Palin knows that a great deal of foolishness takes place on Lucille Street.

As we approach Wasilla Lake, we happen upon a hitchhiker. I do not pick him up. To see a larger copy of the image, just click on it. This is a good example of the modern day beautification of Wasilla.

Before we can reach "Mocha Me Crazy," we are passed by a white dog in a red 4x4. To better see the dog, click on the picture. 

Needing a bit of a caffeine kick to continue, we pull up behind the pick-up parked at the drive-through window of "Mocha Me Crazy." I witness money being exchanged for coffee.

Then we pull up to the window. As we wait, a truck appears on the highway in front of us.

Next a school bus comes by. I see no students in it, only the driver.

As we sip our coffee, we pass by Pioneer Peak. 

We approach Anchorage, where hot steam rises through the cold, still, air.

As we drive toward the Native hospital, Providence hospital looms in front of us. I think about my two stays there in June. It is a great hospital. I owe Providence so much - in more ways than one. Damned insurance company. Their rep lied when he sold me the coverage so long back - said that if anything happened to me in out in the roadless areas, the insurance would cover my air ambulance bill. That air-ambulance bill came to about $40,000. Insurance says they do not have to pay it. 

That's not all they're not paying. Damned insurance company.

When people speak of the deplorable state of health care in the US, they always talk about the huge, growing number of uninsured. They need to talk more about the problems of being insured.

But I love Providence hospital. Thank you, Providence, for what you did for me.

We stop at the day-clinic at the Native hospital, because Lisa works there and wants to see Kalib before he goes to Arizona. I wait in the car, by the words that honor our convicted Senator, Ted Stevens. The Native hospital has always cared for my family, myself excluded, and by and large it has done a good job. I believe it is the best Native hospital in the country - because of Senator Ted Stevens.

So much in this state that is good is there because of Senator Stevens.

Whether he was rightly convicted or wrongly convicted, this has been a sad, sad, sad week for Alaska. 

We arrive at the Halloween chili eating party at Duane Miller & Associates, an engineering firm. Melanie works there and invited us so that we could sample her pumpkin chili. "20,000 moose can't be wrong," her little sign, the one that promoted her chili over the many other vats made by other employees, beckoned. Here is the pumpkin chili cooker (and it was tasty - spicy - hot - the hottest of the four chilies that I tried - and the best) holding Kalib before he leaves for Arizona.

Melanie had been very worried that her brother, Jake, my oldest son, would not show. She wanted to show her engineer brother off to her engineering firm coworkers. But he did show, and then he and Lavina took Kalib from us and headed off for Arizona. 

Charlie, Melanie's boyfriend, got into the picture. It is a good thing he is standing behind everybody, because he came dressed as a 70's man, in big 7o's style, baby-blue bell bottoms and a shirt with ruffles - not to mention an absurd sports jacket. He looks ridiculous.

That's the same kind of clothes I wore to my wedding reception. At least Margie looked beautiful, her lovely dark skin and long, jet-black hair set off against her white dress.

And now I back up to Wednesday of last week, in New York City:

I had intended to make tonight's New York entry a series of subway pictures. But it is too late and I am too tired. So I put in this bus instead. I took it as I walked to the Met. It looks like this guy Dexter must be a killer or something. 

New York: A walk in the Met; Wasilla: Fine dining on the bank of Wasilla Lake

My intent was to spend maybe two hours wandering through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which I reckoned would be enough time for me to see it in its entirety and then I could move on to the MoMA, where, among other things, there is a display of Mikhael Subotsky's photographs.

But once I entered the Met, I was trapped. I could not leave, nor could I even advance at a decent speed. A turtle could have passed through that museum quicker than I moved. At the end of the day, they kicked me out, because the museum had closed and I could no longer stay.

I had only managed to walk through a small part of it.

In that walk, I spotted this girl passing by the mummy of Pekherkhonsu, Doorkeeper to the House of Amun, and the great art meant to accompany her into the afterlife.

The girl and her family spoke a language that I did not recognize, and in feature appeared as though they might have originated in the same part of the world as did the mummy.

I wondered about their thoughts, but I could not ask.

Anytime one enters a museum alone with a camera, one should do a self-portrait. So I chose to photograph myself inside this sarcophagus, which had once held someone else. In pursuit of their religion, the ancient Egyptians went to amazing lengths to ensure their bodies would be preserved to rise up in eternal salvation and glory in the afterlife.

What they actually accomplished was to make their bodies - those that were not destroyed by vandals - curiosities in museums, and to create amazing art that we, each of us who, despite our own believes, must follow them into the blindness of death, can gaze upon with wonder.

If you can't find me in the image, just click on it and make it bigger. These pictures are all clickable.

What I had not understood before I entered the Met, was that I was about to take a walk through ancient Egypt. I had not understood this at all.

I was moved by the hairpin pictured below. Nearly 5000 years ago, a young woman died and was buried at the Fort Cemetery in Hierakonpolis. Before they buried her, the people who tended to her fixed her hair to look nice, and placed this pin in her hair to hold it in place. That's how archeologists found herm her hair still in place, held by this pin. 

I cannot know the circumstance that caused someone to place this pin in her hair, but I think perhaps love had something to do with it. Also in the case were the bracelets that she wore on her wrists. It seemed that she was quite stylish, and liked to look nice.

Speaking of love... here's a guy trying to cop a feel for the past 5000 years or so. Memi is trying to look innocent, as though he is not up to anything unusual at all. Sabu looks like she thinks the situation to be very strange, but does not quite know what to do about it, so she goes along with it.

Ah, to be young, and to know what I know now but didn't know then! And these two were young so very long ago, when it seemed like right now.

The met is a place where ancient faces float in the air, where paddlers carved thousands of years ago continue to toil as they propel the wealthy up and down the Nile River.

As he peers into the past, does he contemplate the future?

Struck though I was by its ancient beauty, I had no idea at all what the one was trying to say; the other, I understood perfectly. I think.

Prior to 1963, the ancient Temple of Dendur stood in Egypt. Then the Egyptian government gave it to the Met, and now tourists wander through it and the kindly man who stands guard takes their cameras and photographs them. Now they can prove to all they know that they have actually stood inside the Temple of Dendur.

After several hours in the Egyptian sections of the Met, I finally worked my way into the American section. I saw many fascinating things there, but I realized the clock was working against me, so I just looked, quickly, and did not take pictures - until I came across Abe Lincoln. My President, perhaps my greatest president, here passing the endless, still, hours in the midst of questionable company.

I was also stopped by "The Tomb Effigy of Elizabeth Bott Duchevneck," sculpted by her husband, Frank Duchevneck. I wonder if anyone sculpted an effigy for him, when he died in 1919?

I wonder about those people looking out from the paintings in the background? At the time, maybe they were among the hip and cool, the people at the center of things, and that is why they wound up in these paintings. Now they are dead, probably rotted into dust, maybe some of them got incinerated. Perhaps one or two of them wound up in a grave so tightly sealed and impervious that now they lay as mummies, until that day when someone from a future society unearths them and then puts them in a museum.

I would like to see that display, but I guess I won't get the chance.

There was one more painting that I photographed, of four young girls and a cat. To understand why I would photograph it, please go to Grahamn Kracker's No Cat's Allowed cat blog.

Check out the October 28 entry.

When I stepped out of the Met, I found this elegantly dressed and coifed couple being all lovey-dovey on the steps. Why here? What were they up to? 

Oh. I see. They were taking part in a glamour shoot; high fashion stuff. Perhaps they are famous models, here or overseas, maybe both. Perhaps the photographer is known world-wide. Maybe they are college students, completing a class assignment.

How the hell would I know? I'm just an unsophisticated lout from Wasilla, Alaska. I could have hung around and asked them, but I was hungry for a pretzel and Pepsi, and a woman of Asian descent was selling both from a nearby cart, so I went to see her instead. 

Now, back home to Wasilla and the fine dining:

On my third day back home in Wasilla, I found myself hungry and lazy, so I went to Carl's Jr. The hamburgers here are really quite good.

Had I been in the mood for chicken or a hotdog, I could have gone right next door to the combo KFC - A&W. They have hamburgers there, too, but their hamburgers are not as good as Carl's. Unfortunately, Carl's serves Coke, so I also stopped at Papa Murphy's and bought myself a Pepsi.

These types of things did not exist in Wasilla when we first moved here. Now I am a regular patron, but I always wander why Sarah Palin and the Wasilla assembly ever approved construction of these, and the whole big Fred Meyer complex, right on the edge of once beautiful Wasilla Lake.

I know. Tax dollars. There are other places from which they could have collected my tax dollars, places where the parking lot would not have drained into the lake.

As for the promised pictures from the Wasilla sample that I took to New York, this entry is already far too long, so I will pass for now.

Wasilla: Birthday party, curious cat, curious baby; New York City: Sarcophagus and kids

Today was Lavina's birthday. No, despite the number of "candles," my daughter-in-law did not turn five, but 27 - I think. I could ask her, but she and Kalib have already gone to bed. As for the candles, we did not have any, so we used matches instead. Now you know why there are only five and not 27. Just imagine the difficulties we would have faced if we had tried to light 27 matches on Lavina's cake, all at once.

Earlier in the day, Kalib had found something mighty interesting in the box. Martigny was riveted by something outside. We never did figure out what. We looked through the windows and could not see it. Margie even went outside to check it out. Not a clue.

Two boys and an Egyptian sarcophagus - the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City. It is late and right now I am just too tired to carry out the plan that I laid out last night. In fact, I edited and prepared several pictures from my walk through the museum to put into this entry, but, with the exception of this one, I will save them for tomorrow.

Also, I took a number of pictures as I wandered about Wasilla today, but I am too tired to bother with any of them, save for the two above. As for my plan to include a few of the Wasilla images that I took to New York in each entry until I am finished with this trip to New York, yes, I am too tired to do that tonight as well.

But with Wasilla images in this entry, and one from New York, I am keeping to the spirit of my plan, if not the letter.

All the images in this entry were shot with the Canon Powershot G9 point and shoot pocket camera. I am trying to decide whether or not I should get the new G10.