Kalib's birthday, part 1: Kalib breaks eggs; Kalib feeds the alligator

As I mentioned yesterday, Jobe had fallen ill on Christmas Day and so his parents had decided to spend the night. Nobody had gotten to sleep until after midnight and then, once calmed, Jobe had slept until 5:00 AM, when he woke up crying. Margie had gotten up then and had gone out to the living/front rooms where the family had camped out to see what she could do to help.

I tried to get a bit more sleep after that, but as has seemingly become the norm, I could not. My ability to sleep for more than a few, oft-interrupted, hours has been detroyed. So, after turning and tossing for about two hours, I got up and headed toward my office. As I passed from the hallway into the front/living room, what you see above is what I saw.

I continued on into the office to open up my computer so that I could see what was happening in various parts of the world and to begin to work on pictures. 

Normally, I would have set the coffee pot to brewing and steel-cut oats to boiling, but when Jacob and Lavina are here, I look forward to what Jacob, our master chef, will concoct for breakfast, so I didn't.

A good four hours would pass before the others started to get up and move around and in all that time, I did not eat or drink anything. I just waited in anticipation for Jacob to start cooking.

Finally, somewhere around noon, Jacob announced that Kalib would be cooking breakfast for everyone on this, the morning of his third birthday.

Kalib? Not just helping out a bit but cooking breakfast? Instead of having our breakfast prepared by our master chef, it was going to be cooked by a three-year old?

Well, okay - after all, he does own his own spatula.

Kalib began by going to the fridge, where he pulled out some eggs.

He broke an egg and put it in the mixing bowl. Then he broke another. It appeared that instead of putting it into the bowl, he was about to inadvertantly spread it across the counter. Jacob's hands shot in to give him a small assist and help him to hold the egg together until he could put it in the bowl.

It can be a frightening to watch Kalib break eggs. He, lifts them up, then thrusts them down hard and fast and it looks he is going splatter them all over the counter, but then suddenly, just before contact, he puts on the brakes and the eggs hit the counter with barely enough force to crack them - or maybe not even enough. Sometimes, he must strike two or even three times before he breaks the egg.

Kalib soon let it be known that he was going to break two eggs at a time.

He broke both the eggs, but just barely.

Into the mix goes an egg.

After Kalib breaks one egg, his dad holds it dripping above the bowl. Kalib reaches out to see what the draining white of the egg feels like. Kalib's mom had put a chef's hat upon his head. It didn't stay there long.

After all the eggs have been broken and dumped into the mixing bowl, Kailb breaks the yolks and mixes them up.

Then he adds some milk...

...followed by some pepper...

...then some chili powder...

...he just kept adding more and more items and spices...

...as he threw in gob upon gob of various herbs, I began to grow worried. I began to wonder if maybe I should have cooked my steel-cut oats after all. I did not know if I wanted to eat this concoction.

Now it is time to cook. His dad will man the flame, but Kalib sprays the pan with Pam. During my senior year in high school and my freshman in college, I fell in love with a red-headed girl named Pam. She lives in Hawaii now with children and grandchildren nearby. Her husband passed on, long ago.

Now, Kalib cooks with Pam.

Remember that spatula that Margie and I looked at when we did our Christmas shopping. We did, in fact, buy it for Kalib so that he would always have a spatula waiting for him at our house.

On his birthday, he put that spatula to use for the first time.

No one but Kalib is to use this spatula.

Understood?

Finally, breakfast is cooked. Kalib doles it out in generous servings.

He takes a seat by his dad, who then feeds him what he has cooked. Look at that alligator! It looks hungry.

Kalib is not the kind to let a hungry alligator starve. He feeds eggs to it.

I overcame my fear and ate a generous serving myself.

You know what?

It was pretty good.

In the evening, there would be party for Kalib at his house.

Yes, we went.

That will be the subject of part 2.

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I begin Christmas by taking a shower with a spider; we give gifts, eat, celebrate and the littlest among us falls ill

Late on Christmas morning, before the influx of family began to arrive, I took a shower. After I stepped out, I found this spider standing still on the shower curtain. I do not like to have spiders in the house, nor do I like to kill them. When I find a spider in the house between breakup and freezeup, I catch it and take it outside.

It seems cruel to do this in the winter, so in the winter, I apologize to whatever spider I find. "I am sorry, spider," I say. "I do not wish to harm you, but I just can't allow spiders to overwhelm my house." Then I will kill it.

When I looked at this spider, one word came into my mind: "Chooo'weet!" 

I could not kill it. It just simply was not in me to do. I dried myself with a towel, got dressed, left the spider in peace right where you see it and went out to greet family members as they arrived.

Jobe arrived with his mom brandishing a copy of the Anchorage Daily News. Whose picture do you think was in it...? Look close... heck, you don't even have to look that close... it's Jobe! Second from left on top, a crop from the Christmas card picture that I ran with yesterday's post.

Soon, Jobe took a seat on the floor. He looks good and happy as usual, but he had thrown up just a little bit earlier and he was not eating anything at the moment. None of us were too concerned. Babies throw up all the time.

You will note Kalib and Ama in the background. It is true that Rex is the one who discovered Ama and brought her into our lives, but I have to tell you, it was Kalib and Ama who were falling in love with each other on Christmas Day.

Jobe tried his hand at petting Jim. He was doing okay, but then he grabbed a big hank of fur and yanked. Jim turned around and meowed in protest.

Jobe was left with a clump of black fur in his paw.

When it came time for me to pass out the gifts, Jacob put a Santa hat on my head. Jobe came over and posed with Santa for this self-portrait.

Who would receive the first gift? I reached into the pile of gifts and grabbed one at random. It was addressed to Charlie, from Santa Paws. Which means it came from Muzzy and his family.

Charlie tore into the packaging to unwrap his gift.

It was a Betty Boop doll.

Well, actually, it was a grain mill. But if you squint until your eyes are almost closed and then look hazily at the box, those little pictures kind of look like Betty Boop.

Among the huge cache of gifts that cascaded down upon Kalib was this alligator, a triceratops, and a shark.

One gift was addressed to Diamond, Bear Meach and Poof, the cats who hang out with Melanie and Charlie. The cats had stayed home, so Melanie opened.

Somehow, I don't think those cats are going to wipe their paws.

As for me, I would rather wipe my muddy boots on the living room rug than to dirty this matt.

Margie held up a print of Jobe that I made for her.

"Joooooe - be!" Kalib said.

You will notice that Caleb is staying low key in the background, holding his throat. On Tuesday, he bought himself something to eat at Taco Bell and a crunchy taco shell scratched his throat on the way down. His throat grew sore and just kept getting worse and worse.

So he stayed low key, all day.

He didn't even play with Kalib.

Margie called me into the kitchen to tell me it was time to for me to carve the turkey, which she had just removed from the oven - with a little help from Lavina and Melanie.

Ama had been no help at all. As you can see, she had over-imbibed and had passed out on the dinning room table.

How could this have happened? This was an alcohol-free gathering.

It was Kalib that she had over-imbibed on. Kalib, and all his rambunctious energy.

So she passed out. Her head hit the table with a "thunk!"

I might exaggerate just a little bit.

As for me, I picked up the carving knife. The edge was dull. So I sharpened it, until it could have sliced right through a newspaper.

Instead, it sliced through the skin on the tip of my left pointer finger..

That knife was really sharp and went straight to bone, just like that.

Then Charlie brought some squash that Jacob had cooked with with berries and pine-nuts to the table. It was time to begin feasting.

Unrepentant and irreligious though I be, I have been walking a very ethereal edge these past five weeks and it did not seem right to start Christmas dinner without a prayer and a word of thanks. I did not feel up to the task myself and so I asked Lavina, whose strong sense of spirituality is rooted in her Dene beliefs. She agreed. I asked her to be certain to remember other members of the family who are grieving, those in South India.

She did, along with many others spread widely over vast distances.

Then it was time to eat. I put my camera aside and picked up my fork and knife.

Afterward, we were all stuffed. Turkey can put you to sleep. It put Rex to sleep.

But Rex would not be allowed to sleep long, for a shark came flying at him. It was Lisa who had hurled the shark.

Knowing how much Melanie hates the very image of a spider, I called her over and showed her the picture of the spider on my camera monitor. She shrieked, and almost dropped Jobe.

"Why would you do that, Dad?" she asked.

So I told about how the spider had showered with me and how I had left it in peace.

"Why would you want to shower with a spider, anyway, Dad?" Lisa chimed in. "Don't you know that a spider has eight eyes?"

Charlie had borrowed my guitar. The spider incident inspired him and he suddenly began to sing one of his improvised, on the spot, ballads.

I wish I could quote him, but I can't.

Anyway, the ballad was about a guy who took a shower with a spider. Everything started out fine, but then the spider got a little too perverse in taking in the sights with its eight staring eyes and wound up getting washed down the drain.

It didn't have to be that way, Charlie sang. Everything would have been fine, if only that spider had kept its eyes to itself.

As for Kalib and Ama, the two just kept at it. Melanie had given Charlie a top Canon Rebel. As the two frolicked, he read the manual so that he could begin using it.

Ama, by the way, is Jewish and also vegetarian. She grew up in New York and her family did not celebrate Christmas, but, as it was a holiday and they had the day off, they would usually go to a movie and a Chinese restaurant.

Readers who were with me then will recall that right after Thanksgiving, she and Rex flew to San Francisco and then joined Ama's family at Lake Tahoe. After that, they drove into Canada and then followed the Al-Can Highway to Alaska. On their way to Anchorage, they stopped here. It was the end of Hanukkah, and so they lit the last candle of the menorah, right here. I was in Barrow at the time.

Then they flew to New England but now they are back, Ama just found an apartment and will soon start her new job teaching massage therapy.

I lay down on the couch to rest a bit. I closed my eyes, and slipped into that place half way between sleep and awake. I am not quite sure how he got there, but when I opened them again, Jobe was on my shoulder.

Jobe truly adores me and I adore him.

So I did another self-portrait. A bit later, Jobe's mom put him down for a nap in his cradleboard. A bit after that, we heard a loud, awful sounding retching noise come from the master bedroom, where Jobe had been sleeping.

He had thrown up badly. He was feverish.

So Jacob and Lavina took him to the emergency room at Mat-Su Valley Regional Hospital.

Kalib stayed with us.

They came back about three hours later. Jobe had come down with some kind of mix of bacteria and virus and had been given medicine. He would be okay, the doctor had said. His spirits were good and his smile was there. His parents decided to spend the night here.

Kalib watched as his dad stoked up the fire.

By the way - today, Sunday, December 26, is Kalib's third birthday.

Happy birthday, Kalib!

How did it happen so fast?

And why do all events just keep shooting by, faster and faster?

About midnight, Jobe began to get fussy. He cried and cried and it was hard to see and hear - this little grandson of mine, who is always so happy and good natured.

Lavina picked him up and patted and soothed and rocked him. In time, he settled down. And he slept reasonably well until 5:00 AM, when he woke up and cried again.

He seems okay now, though.

While Jimmy had hung out with us through much of the day, we had caught only flashing glimpses of Pistol-Yero and we had not seen Chicago at all.

This was because Muzzy had come to visit. Jimmy doesn't care, he does not fear the big-hearted St. Bernard, but those other two stay away from Muzzy.

Now that Christmas, 2010, was coming to its end and it was bedtime, Chicago stepped half-way into the hall to see if she could determine what was going on.

Despite Jobe's temporary illness, it was a good Christmas Day, well-below zero outside but warm in the love of family inside.

I enjoyed it, and when Melanie brought up the memory of the exploding nitro-squirrels that we used to come upon when she was little and we would go walking, I laughed loud and hard.

Even so, were I to tell you that I went through the day without my eyes ever watering I would be lying.

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Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, from Wasilla and Anchorage, Alaska, with lyrics and verse from Cambridge, UK; a Christian Shrine in Tamil Nadu

On Christmas Eve, Margie discovered that she was short on the yeast that she would need to make the rolls. Carr's and Fred Meyer had already closed, but Wal-Mart was open until 8:00 PM, so she sent me on a 12 mile round trip to get some.

I had the radio on, tuned to 91.1 KSKA. A Christmas program titled, "A Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols," was being broadcast from The Chapel of King's College, in Cambridge, UK, founded by King Henry VI. It had been on for awhile. As I drove past Wasilla Lake, where this Nativity scene sits on the frozen shore, the narrator recited Lesson 9 and I shot the above picture.

Lesson Nine:

St. John Unfolds the Great Mystery of the Incarnation

JOHN 1

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the light, that all men through him might believe. He was not that light, but was sent to bear witness of that light.

That was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.

He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.

Thanks be to God.

I continued on to Wal-Mart, where I bought yeast, and oranges, too. As I drove out of the parking lot, I saw this couple headed toward their car and then hopefully home to a Merry Christmas.

Unfortunately, as I would learn when I got home, I bought the wrong yeast. Margie had sent me with a packet of the right yeast, but still I bought the wrong yeast. And I couldn't go back to get more, because it was after 8:00 and Wal-Mart was closed.

On the way home, I suddenly decided that I would park the car, walk to the Nativity and take a close-up picture. This is our 29th winter in Wasilla and I believe this scene has been up for every one of those winters, but I had never done this.

As I pulled into the parking lot at the end of the lake, a familiar Christmas carol was being sung. I do not know if it was still part of the Festival or not. I think it was, "Oh Come, All Ye Faithful," but I do not remember for certain. It might have been, "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," or maybe another one.

I had brought only a light jacket and it was fair walk from the car to the Nativity scene. It was cold. The wind was blowing. I could feel the sting on my ears, and my nose. I wasn't worried. I wouldn't be out there long.

My hands are very well cold-conditioned. I can work my camera bare-handed for hours in conditions that most people can only bear for a few minutes. Even many Iñupiat hunters have commented on my hands when they have seen me work for extended periods of time without gloves.

But they got cold in that wind. They stung, and headed in the direction of numbness.

My ears began to feel like they might drop off. So I headed back to the car.

A truck came roaring up the Parks Highway. American commerce, blasting away in frozen Alaska on Christmas Eve. Where was the truck headed? Fairbanks, maybe, or Deadhorse?

I wondered about the driver and where he or she would be on Christmas Day. With family? Camped out in the cab in the - 30, - 40, and -50 -> degree temperatures now resting over the Interior along the way.

As I pulled onto the Parks and turned toward home, the radio choir began to sing "Silent Night." They sang beautifully. And I will not tell you what happened to me. It was too hard and I don't want to go through it again.

I took this one for Jacob, Lavina, Kalib and Jobe right after Thanksgiving, so they could make a family Christmas card out of it. They made me promise not to post it until Christmas Day, so that the friends and family members they sent it to could see the card first.

As for me, to my friends and family, I apologize. I am not quite certain how it happened, but Christmas has arrived without me being ready for it. I did not make any cards. I did not send any out. Maybe Margie did, maybe she didn't. I don't know.

But, just the same...

"Merry Christmas!"

And if Christmas is not your holiday, then Happy Holidays.

And if you do not celebrate any kind of holiday at this time of year, enjoy the season.

And this one from India:

I shot this through the window of the cab that Vasanthi had hired to drive her, Soundarya, Anil, Buddy, Melanie and me to and from Ooty, Tamil Nadu, a mountainous place where tea is grown and the air grows cool at night. Somewhere in the vicinity, we came upon this shrine.

Somewhere in Bangalore there is another church. Hindu though she was, Sandy would sometimes visit that church and find peace there.

Thank you, Suji, for sharing with me.

I promise you that on this Christmas Day, I will find joy and happiness with my family. I promise. We will all hold you and your family fast in our hearts.

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We get our Christmas shopping done early; Todd - met at Carr's; Melanie gets the blessing of an elephant

We had no milk for oatmeal, so I didn't cook any. Instead, I sat down right here at my computer and started to work on pictures. Then Margie came in and wondered what we should do about Christmas shopping. "Well," I answered, "we're out of milk so we might as well go to breakfast and then see if we can get some shopping done."

She agreed. I remote started the car, let it warm up for about 15 minutes. It was still very chilly inside and the seats were like solid blocks of ice, but we climbed into the car and headed for Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant. As we neared, this raven passed over the car.

"This guy is really annoying," Margie told Connie, our waitress, as I took this picture. Connie did not agree, but she laughed politely so that Margie would think she did.

I believe that I may have ranted about this before, and I probably will again, but this is one of the great ironies of my life as a photographer. It is only in recent years - pretty much since grandkids began to enter our lives - that Margie has tolerated me taking photographs of her at all.

True, I did manage to get a few in here and there, mostly when the children were somehow involved, but fundamentally, I, who am possessed with genuine passion to photograph anything and everything, found myself with this exceptionally gorgeous and beautiful wife and everyday that we were together I would look upon her and I would want to photograph her and everyday she would refuse to be photographed.

Be assured, I still find her beautiful - sometimes so much so that it makes me ache just to look at her. She now has the beauty of an aging woman who has weathered much in life, suffered many hurts and disappointments but has created a family that loves and adores her.

Each one of us loves and adores her.

Back when we were first married, she possessed a different kind of beauty - exquisite physical beauty of the most desirous kind - her hair so deep black, long and wavy against her lovely brown skin, her eyes radiant, dancing with fun and mischief - and I, the artist, who looked upon her every day, was not allowed to document this beauty - except on rare occassions, almost always involving children.

The only exception that I can think of is this one, which I posted on Mother's Day last.

I cannot remember how I persuaded her to pose that day, but, even though she relented, if you click the link and look at the picture, you will see that she was not happy about it.

And now, as the years and decades push those days of youthful beauty ever farther back, I sometimes long to look at the photos of my beautiful, young, wife. I long to show the photos to her children, her grandchildren and say to them, "see how beautiful she was? She had a host of would be suitors and yet she chose, short, awkward, shy, socially inept, me and together we made you."

But those pictures do not exist. I cannot look at them; I cannot show them to anybody.

If all the people who I have photographed over the years would have reacted to my camera the way she did, I would have utterly failed as a photographer. I would probably be selling newspapers on the street somewhere, because there's nothing else I could have done.

Our first stop was at Meta Rose Square, home of All I Saw Cookware. Get it. "All I Saw?" "Wasilla" backwards? Was-i-lla?

We parked right next to this car. I am not quite certain why some guys feel compelled to emblazon their vehicles in this manner. To attract attention, I guess.

In my case, it didn't work. I didn't even notice. I didn't notice at all. I walked away without even giving it a sideways glance.

I am not quite sure why, but, as we walked through Meta Rose, I found myself wondering why I had to grow up Mormon; I was sort of a cowboy, once, briefly, but a Mormon sort of cowboy and it wasn't like this.

Inside the store, we came upon this piggy bank. As piggy banks always do, this one transported my mind back to Pendleton, Oregon, when I was five years old. My mom had taken me downtown to go shopping and when we came to JC Penney's, there was a red, plastic, piggy bank in the window. Or maybe it was the window of a bank. Or perhaps Woolworth's. Whatever window it was, the pig on the other side was wearing a little hat.

I wanted that piggy bank. I wanted it badly.

Mom had grown up very hard in the Depression and was against all spending that was in any way frivolous. And a piggy bank was frivolous. One could make a very fine bank from an empty Morton's salt box, or a band-aid can.

She did not understand that it was not that I wanted a bank - I wanted the little red pig with the hat on its head, but in the name of frugality I was denied this item that maybe cost 25 cents. I never did get a piggy bank. I kept my coins in Morton salt boxes and bandaid cans. And every time I would go into a store and see a piggy bank, I longed to have it.

Then, when I became a young man, a curious thing happened. I would go into a store, see a piggy bank and feel the same longing. So I would buy the piggy bank.

I bought all kinds of piggy banks. It became a waste of money. There was no place to put all these piggy banks. At the Alaska State Fair, I even found a little red plastic one, wearing a hat - made from the very same mold as the one that I had been denied in the first place.

Finally, I had to get rid of most of those piggy banks.

As for the ones I kept - I don't even know where they are now - not even the little red plastic one.

When I saw this one yesterday, I wanted to buy it - not as a gift but for me.

But I didn't. I resisted temptation and moved on.

I am not going to show you what Margie is holding in her hand, because it might be a gift for someone. It might not be, but if it is, I would not want to spoil the surprise.

Out in the hall, a little boy took a ride on giant duckling.

We left the store with two days to go. This is the earliest we have ever done our shopping. Especially me. I am usually in a store at closing time on Christmas Eve, buying ceramic roosters, things like that.

Next we went to Fred Meyer's, where a raven sat upon a pole. You can't tell it in this tiny window, but that raven has its head cocked to one side. It looks very "Chooo 'weet."

Margie checks out some socks as gifts for grandkids. When I was small, it was such a great disappointment to open up a gift only to find socks. I wanted toys!

Now, this looks like a gift that a little boy could like! At least if his name is Kalib Hess. But then Kalib already has a spatula. What would he do with another?

I suppose this must be adorable, but personally, I found it to be just a little bit eery and frightening, somewhat macabre.

Then we happened upon a very cute scene - the two month old puppy, Brisa, held in the warm embrace of her human, Sierra.

Although we had eaten breakfast out, we found ourselves feeling hungry again. So we drove past the little cove at the west end of Wasilla lake, looking for hotdogs.

We found two hotdogs - both at Dairy Queen.

Dairy Queen has good hot dogs - especially the foot-longs. To all those from out of town who wonder whether or not they should come and visit Wasilla - come. If nothing else, for the Dairy Queen hot dogs.

They will taste just the same as the Dairy Queen hot dogs in your town, if you are an American.

So you will feel right at home - even if our little city is a bit more odd than yours. Which, trust me, it will be.

The view from Dairy Queen as I eat my hot dog. How come these guys are still up here in the north?

Late in the evening, Margie and I headed to Carr's, to buy turkeys and other food for Christmas dinner. Just as we reached the turkeys, this fellow stopped me. "Are you the guy who does the Wasilla 300 blog?" he asked.

Indeed, I am.

He told me that we disagree politically, but that he loves the blog - especially some of the stories that I do in Rural Alaska. He said that he has been looking out for me as he moves around town.

"Wasilla is a small town," he said. "I knew we would cross paths some day."

And there she is, my Margie, checking out the turkeys. We bought two 16 pounders.

And this one from India:

Remember the scorpion from yesterday? Photographed at, as Cawitha refreshed my memory with the name that just always flees my brain, Hampi?

I took this picture approximately 100 yards away from the place where I took that one.

It is Melanie, about to be blessed by an elephant. A "chooo 'weet" elephant.

For those who did not read the comments left on yesterday's post, one was left by Cawitha, Soundarya's cousin.

Yesterday, I speculated how Sandy might have reacted if I could have showed her the photo of the scorpion, and that was with the word, "Chooo'weet! I added that there was one element in the photo that would likely have disturbed her - namely, that the string had been tied to the scorpion's stinger.

Cawitha agreed, and took it one step further. She imagined Sandy not looking at the picture but being there at Hampi with us:

"Am sure Soundarya (Sandy) would have said "Chooo 'weet" and if she were to see this she would have ensured the arthropod was set free. She was the most compassionate person."

Thank you, Cawitha. I am certain that is exactly what Sandy would have done. And no matter how tough a guy the individual walking the scorpion might have imagined himself to be, he would have had to back down to her, just as did the vet who at first refused to treat the raven that she saved with Anil's help.

Cawitha, btw, has been my friend since the day that Sandy wed Anil. Like Margie, Cawitha does not like to be photographed and so that day asked me to please not take her picture. I didn't, unless maybe as part of the crowd, so I cannot show you what she looks likes. 

However, we are committed to one day going "trekking" together, perhaps in the Himalayas, perhaps in Alaska, maybe both. I expect that then, I will get her picture.

I can't be postive, but I think so.

Now, contrast this picture to yesterday's. Everything is turned around. It is the animal who is huge and powerful, the person who is small and relatively weak - especially because this person does not have the protection of a poisonous stinger.

But the elephant is gentle. The elephant blesses my daughter with its strength. The elephant does not harm her. And when the elephant laid the end of its heavy and powerful trunk upon my daughter's head, so powerful that it could easily have wrapped it around her neck and broken it, it felt like a blessing to her. 

As it did to me, when the elephant blessed me.

This was the second elephant in India to bless me.

No, I do not worship elephants. But this does not mean that I cannot appreciate being blessed by one.

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The young writer, Shoshauna, Study #4; a shot of Tequila on a cold day; Mary in the Grotto - five studies; he walks his pet scorpion

The young writer, Shoshauna, Study #4: On this day, I had to buy my own coffee. That's okay - everybody should buy their own coffee now and then. I would have bought a cinnamon roll, too, but other customers had already eaten the entire day's supply.

I did not want any of the other available pastries, so Shoshauna retrieved a basket full of biscotti and then sorted through them, telling me what kinds they were. I settled on cranberry with a white chocolate frost.

I think that I enjoyed it as much as if it had been a cinnamon roll.

Sometimes, one's day gets out of order. I actually encountered this dog earlier, before I drove up to the Metro Window. It is Tequilla, and she is trying to frighten me, even though she knows I know her better than that.

As this was the first picture that I took of the day, I was going to put it at the top of the post, but then I decided that I would rather have the image of Shoshauna greet my readers than this one of Tequila.

After I left Shoshauna and Metro behind, I drove off sipping the coffee and crunching the biscotti and soon found myself passing by Grotto Iona. It had been a long time since I had actually stopped and gone into the grotto, but on this day I felt that I should stop and go inside. So I did.

There was very little daylight left. I pushed my ISO to 6400 and then underexposed by at least a full stop and then lightened it up a bit in Lightroom/Photoshop.

Thus we have:

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 1

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 2

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 3

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 4

Mary in the Grotto - Study # 5

And this one from India:

One day, while walking through an ancient site the name of which slips me at the moment, Melanie, Vasanthi, Murthy, Buddy and I came upon this fellow who was out on a morning walk with his pet scorpion.

As this is the first time that I have ever pulled it out of my India take, I never showed this picture to Sandy or told her of it, so I cannot say for certain how she would have reacted, but I think I know.

As far as I could tell, Sandy loved all creatures. She found cobras to be cute, she gently held praying mantises in her hand and would bring her blurry little camera close to even bugs of a sort that many might find horrid and repulsive and would take the sweetest, most heart-felt photo imaginable.

I believe that if I could show her this picture, she would adore the scorpion. "Chooo'weet!" she would say - "chooo'weet" being a word that she also used many times to decribe puppies and kittens and Kalib and Jobe, who she never met but loved through my photographs. If anything about this picture bothered her at all it would have been the way that the string had been tied to the scorpion's stinger.

Now, when I made it a project to drop in random shots from India on a somewhat regular basis, I stated that I would do so without direct reference to Sandy, but that the photos themselves would be silent evidence that I was thinking of her.

And now I find I keep dropping the pictures in and writing about her, anyway.

After this one, though, I am going to try to go back to my original plan. I will let future photos stand in silent memorial.

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