Only two bullet dings– no holes at all

If you look closely, you will see two – just two - bullet dings in this sign. Not so long ago, there was a much larger sign on the posts above it, completely riddled with bullet holes and dings. Small caliber ones, large caliber. It's on my blog somewhere. I wonder if the borough is attempting to completely redo and repair or I should say, replace, these signs? If they do, it won't be that long until they are completely shot up again. This is Wasilla, after all. I am at the bridge right now, having ridden my bicycle down here. Taking a long morning bike ride worked out so good for me yesterday, increased my productivity by so much, that I thought I would try it again – but not quite as long a ride today.

Instagram experiment ends – fish gets hooked

I post this from the bridge that crosses the Little Su, about five miles from my house. Behind me is the place I drove Lynx to on Saturday. Tonight, I pedaled my bike down. This ends my Instagram/blog experiment. It was mostly a success and where it failed I believe I now know why and can prevent it from happening in the future. I lose a lot of image quality shooting this way, but it is fun and immediate. I will continue. This gentleman says he lives about 50 feet from the river. The fish got away. I never saw what kind of fish it was.

Lynx goes for doors and throws rocks into the Little Su

Having started this little Instagram experiment with a photo of my grandson, Lynx, and considering

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Taking care of the boys: chocolate chip muffin and milk; rocks and mud; Skype

For two days in a row now, I have taken Kalib to Metro Cafe at coffee break and treated him to half a chocolate chip muffin and a cup of milk. Yesterday, he scarfed it all down. Today, he drank all the milk but mostly played with the muffin. It was only after we got home that Margie told me she had fed him cheese and crackers shortly before we left.

After yesterday's muffin and milk, I asked Kalib if he wanted to go down to the river to throw rocks into the water. He shook his head yes. So we climbed back into the Ford Escape and headed toward the river. After we crossed the bridge, I turned the car to drive off the road and down the steep embankment so we could park. "Grampa!" Kalib protested. "Stay on the road! Grandpa! Stay on the road! We're going to crash!" 

Yet, we descended down the embankment and parked safely. I let him out of the Escape and he scampered off to the edge of the river and then under the bridge.

It is only right that little boys sometimes turn into muddy messes.

Kalib loved the river and the opportunity it gave him to get dirty and wet.

"Let's go see gramma now," I said after we had played at the river for a good 45 minutes - mayb even an hour. Kalib showed no sign of tiring of it.

"Gramma's watching a show," Kalib answered. He did not want to go, but finally he reached out his hand for mine and I led him back to the Escape. 

I buckled him in and he looked worried all over again. "Grampa," he said. "Get back on the road!"

So I pointed the Escape up the bank, then drove up and onto pavement.

"Good job, Grampa!" he praised.

Sure enough, we came home to find Gramma watching a show. Jobe too. Jobe had been napping when we left.

This evening, Jobe and Kalib Skyped with Mom and Dad down in Seattle. No one ever had to explain a thing about Skype to these boys. The moment they first saw it, back when we Skyped with Suji, they understood it instantly.

I took all but two of these pictures with my iPhone - so this is just the kind of world these boys will one day look back on with nostalgia for its old-fashioned simplicity.

Well, tomorrow is going to be a different kind of day - can't say I'm thrilled about it, but hopefully it will be for the best. It will definitely give me something new to blog about. I hope I do a good job with this new series I am about to begin. I can see two potentials - rather interesting, or kind of boring.

How is that for self-promotion?

This is my territory and don't ever forget it!

Regular readers will recall Tim Mahoney and his cowboy cup. When you see Tim drink from that cup, it is almost like seeing him drink from a cup decorated with a portrait of himself. Knowing that I like that cup, Tim brought this one to Abby's and left it with her, so I could see it and take a picture. Abby even put it on my table, so I could drink out of it myself as I ate my ham, eggs-over-easy, hashbrowns and homemade multi-grain toast smothered in homemade rhurbard strawberry jam.

That was pretty special!

I recommend all readers take this warning unseriously. There is a heap of hospitality behind that threatening mug; folks that will do most anything for you, help you out however they can, even refuse to let you pay for breakfast when they know things are - temporarily - a little tough.

Allie was the one who kept the cup filled. As always, she had some "being a teenager in Wasilla" stories to tell me. I won't try to recount, except to note that she had some relatives coming up from Arkansas and was looking forward it, anticipating they would start their mornings with group hugs, expressions of "I love you," story telling and then they would go out and do the fun kind of things that there is to do in Alaska, but not in Arkansas.

Compared to Alaska, there isn't much to do in Arkansas, she said, but it doesn't matter because it is warm down there and you can go outside and just sit down in that wonderful, warm air and be as happy as you can be. Last time she was there, they watched Fourth of July fireworks at night and it was dark and they actually got to see them bursting against the night sky - as opposed to here, where they burst against the light sky.

A fellow from San Diego by the name of Gene came wandering in. He left San Diego a couple of months ago and is just wandering around. He is interested in finding a place he might settle down in now that he is retired. He likes the north country - Canada, Alaska and even Sand Point, Idaho, which I don't think actually qualifies as north country, but it does hint at it.

He really likes Talkeetna, but fears if he were to settle down there, he would get into trouble. Lots of characters in Talkeetna, he explained. Doubtless, if he settled there, he would become a Talkeetna character himself.

"Talkeetna Gene," we could call him.

The day before, Gene had got an oil change at Wasilla gas station and had seen a tall, graying, bearded guy there with an old truck and and old dog. They started to talk about the dog and pretty soon the guy told him that if he liked sourdough pancakes, he should go to Abby's. Nobody else made sourdough pancakes like Abby, the fellow told him.

That would be Bud, Abby said.

Allie also told Gene some teenager in Wasilla stories but, as Talkeetna had been brought up, expanded them to encompass Talkeetna and the bluegrass festival there. It was so much fun to walk around that festival as the bands played. Gene wandered when the next one would be. Allie informed him that Borough officials had decided last summer's Talkeetna Blue Grass Festival would be the last one of all time and had shut it down.

Abby added that the Blue Grass really did used to be great fun, a wonderful event, but it got taken over and ruined by the dopers, the heavy party drinkers and such and so the Borough put an end to it.

Allie asked Gene if he had seen any moose. Oh, yeah, he said. He had seen moose everywhere he had been, from Talkeetna to Homer.

So you got to see them in all kinds of different colors and such? Allie asked.

Well, no, Gene answered, they had all been the same color.

Allie then explained that sometimes they are dark brown, medium brown, light brown, tan and they shake and rumble when they snort and are cute to watch.

Remember - Allie is an award-winning poet of superior talent.

I wanted to interject that our moose also come in red, yellow, green, pink and lavendar, but I was pretty hungry so I ate a couple of fork loads of hash browns instead.

When I came up for air, Gene was telling Allie about some guy in Yellowstone Park who tried to feed a buffalo  and the buffalo hooked him with its horns, flung him through the air and now the footage is all over YouTube.

Abby gives a hug to her nephew, Michael, who came in with an uncle.

Coming home from Abby's, I saw this young fellow tearing up the Seldon cut bank on his dirt bike. After the Borough punched Seldon through this stretch of my old hike-through-the-woods-unhindered territory, they planted these cut banks with grass, both to make them look nice and to hinder erosion.

This was a fantasy on the Borough's part and one must wonder how long the folks who decided to care for the cut bank, to spend taxpayer money to make it look nice and preserve it, have lived here. I have nothing against machines of any kind and don't wish to stereotype anybody, because there are plenty of responsible and respectful folks who drive dirt bikes, fourwheelers and snowmachines around here, but there is also a significant portion of our population who, once they take a seat upon a machine, lose any respect for other people and property that they might want others to show to them and their property.

They just, simply, lose it. They feel entitled to do whatever they want no matter the cost to others and to society as a whole.

I do not point the finger specifically at this young kid, because he has seen the example set multiple times and thinks that to prove himself, he must follow it. If he didn't, his peers would and so would some of their parents. It is just what is going to happen in Wasilla. It is what my daughters refer to as, "So Wasilla!"

I took my bike ride late last night, about 10:30. As I pedalled toward the Little Susitna, I saw a cat ahead in the distance, looking at me. I hoped the cat would stay put until I drew close enough to take a good picture of it, but I knew it wouldn't. I raised my camera, pointed it at the cat, and pedalled toward it a steady speed, not too fast, hoping against hope that I would not spook it.

But I did. The instant the cat turned to flee, I shot this picture.