A Phenomenal Three Hour Dash-and-Grab

My dash-and-grab trip to Anchorage Saturday was an emergency, albeit an emergency in my eyes only.  My latest project was stopped dead in mid-print, all for want of a cyan ink cartridge, and I was running dangerously close to being out of the special paper I needed, too.

The sun trying to break through clouds on the way to Anchorage.

During my sojourn in Halibut Cove I finally completed formatting The Africa Journals, a “book” I will print and have bound at Office Max.   It's better than a photo album because it contains all the stories from my blog about the trip as well as many photos.

Printing had to wait until I returned home as I needed my printer with its ability to print on both sides of the page automatically, as well as the above-mentioned special paper.   Sold under the HP label, the paper is two-sided, meaning it is specially coated to produce photographs and text with quality and without bleed-through. 

The Alaska Railroad annual Christmas train, full of partiers.

It is heavier than normal copy paper (20 to 24 lbs.) at 32 lbs. It’s also expensive, selling at just under $40 for 150 sheets.   I usually wait until it’s on sale at half price before I buy it.

My Africa Journals came in at a whopping four volumes, requiring more than 300 sheets of paper, printed on both sides, and requiring two three-packs of color ink to produce, plus at least one black ink cartridge.

With ink and paper, a four-volume set was going to cost me in the neighborhood of  $300 to produce.  That was a deal-breaker, but I needed at least two sets.

So, with expensive paper and expensive ink cartridges (just under $90 for a pack of the three colors), I headed into town.

A very blurry drive-by shot of the Rainbow sheep at Windy corner had photographers out.

My first stop, Office Max, dashed my hopes.   Not only wasn’t it on sale, it wasn’t in stock.  A couple years prior, I had checked prices at Office Depot and they had been higher, so it was with a heavy heart I went there, after stopping at Costco and buying three packs of color cartridges and one of black, and getting $10 off each pack.   Well, now, things were looking up.

On my way out of the store, I paused at the photo counter to see if they refilled a different type of ink cartridge for my “travel printer.”  A very nice man handed me a brochure with a list of cartridges they fill and lo and behold they now fill 950XLs and 951XLs, just the ones I need and had just purchased.   Now I can get cartridges filled for about $10 each, a big savings.

Costco had Seattle Seahawks tees for $16.99, my favorite team.

Costco now carries Stephen's hot chocolate mix, my favorite, $8.99 for 4 lbs., as opposed to one lb. at Wal-Mart for $5.69.

I also got a new pair of my favorite jeans, marked down $3 to $14.99.   I went to the gas pumps to fill up the truck and got another pleasant surprise.   The last time I’d been in Anchorage was Nov. 5.   Since then gas has fallen from $3.42 to $3.15 a gallon at Costco.  Things were definitely getting better.

A rear-view mirror shot of clouds and fog over Turnagain Arm.   Though it's nearing sunset it really isn't this dark.  My camera is aimed at the sun.

I went into Office Depot with a heavy heart and searched for my paper.   I found it and gawked at the price.   Not only was it on sale, it was on sale for $7.50 for a pack of 100 sheets!  I checked the description on the box five times to make sure I was getting the right paper, then bought every one they had, and beat it out of the store before they realized their mistake.   

Usually selling for almost $40 a pack of 150 sheets, I bought this 100 sheet pack, and all its brothers,  for $7.50!!!

 Then I made a dash to the other store location and bought the last five packs they had.

Just before I completed my transaction, the clerk said “We have reusable shopping bags on close-out for 14 cents each.”   I handed five to him and said, “Fill ‘em up,” which is a much safer method of carrying heavy packs of paper than plastic bags.

My 14 cent reusable shopping bags.

My next stop was Wal-Mart where I found two-packs of 2GB SD cards for my cameras for $12.47.   Two GB cards are hard to locate these days because purchasers are opting for the higher capacity cards.   I prefer the 2 GB cards for a couple reasons:

1           1.   If I lose my camera on a trip, I haven’t lost all my photos.

       2.  I use Picasa for my photo program.  To import photos, my tablet downloads and copies every single photo on the flash card, even if it’s in the thousands like on 8 GB and higher cards.   This was I only have to wait through a few hundred.  Because I do this every single day, it can become a time hog with a higher capacity card.

       Wal-Mart also had my favorite tea for $2 less than the grocery stores.   Bought every one they had because they are pretty slow about restocking their shelves.

My last stop was for something to eat before I fainted.  Subway was across the parking lot and WOW!   They had pastrami again after a year without.  Pastrami on flatbread with just a bit of mustard.   Nothing else.

(Sorry, no photo.  I ate the subject.)

Then I headed for home because (in case Patti is wondering why I didn’t drive across town for a visit) my energy level on three hours sleep was running dangerously low and I did not want to subject myself to driving almost a hundred miles through the mountains in the dark. 

What's this at Potter Marsh?   The rear engine of the Christmas train heading south again.

 

On the way out of town, there goes the ARR Christmas party train again, full of revelers.   I have fond feelings for the ARR.   It was the promise of a job for my dad that brought us to Alaska.   He retired from the railroad 30 years later.

I could not have scripted those three hours in Anchorage any better if I’d tried!

And my little Thanksgiving cactus is blooming.

Making Lemonade behind Bars, Part Two

I hurried through my appointed calls that day, thanking my lucky stars there were no trials to keep me in the vicinity.  I headed back to the newspaper office with my stomach in my high-heeled shoes, trying to calm my anxiety and formulate a plan.  I just knew “they” were coming for me soon.

I won’t tell, I promised myself.  I’ll go to jail first and won’t tell.   My reporter’s ethics about not revealing sources were strong, I kept reminding myself.  The whole prospect had me terrified.  I was only nineteen by then, and I was doomed to who knows how long a stretch in jail for contempt of court.  Maybe forever, I thought, because I was not going to tell.

I knew which attorney I’d ask to represent me, to try to keep me out of jail.  I figured the newspaper would have one for me, but I wanted my own, just in case they didn’t hire the best.

I didn’t return to the courthouse after lunch, as was my usual habit.  My editor looked at me questioningly.

“Nothing going on there,” I responded.  I was still trying to figure out how to stay out of jail and didn’t trust myself to not cry.  I was trying to be this seen-it-all, hard-bitten, cynical newspaper reporter and was darned if I’d let them see me cry.  Inside, I was scared to death.  I spent the afternoon in the office, worrying and working on mundane newspaper stuff.  My editor kept eying me, his eyebrows forming question marks.  I kept to myself.

It was a sleep-deprived young reporter who approached the courthouse the next morning, throat dry, stomach clenched, insides threatening to mutiny.

“They’re questioning everyone on the District Attorney’s staff today,” I was told.  “They’re even threatening lie detector tests on the ones they’re already questioned.”

Oh, boy.  I KNEW this was the day I was headed for jail.  I began trying to picture what it would be like, how I would handle it.  I’d heard awful rumors about how tough it was “inside.”   After all, I’d seen the movies, the television shows.

They wouldn't have far to take me because the jail was attached to the same building.

 

My very vivid and active imagination showed me repeatedly what was going to happen:  “They” would show up at the newspaper office, or worse, snatch me from the courthouse hallway.  If it were the latter, I wouldn’t even have the opportunity of going out in style, head held high, suffering the handcuffs in silence, while my fellow reporters in the newsroom stood respectfully, applauding, urging me to stand firm on my principles, and taking photographs for the special edition of the paper that they were planning.

I would be hauled before the bench of a Superior Court judge (I was hoping it would be Judge Fitzgerald, as he seemed the most likely to be kind), where I would stand respectfully, if mutely, while he asked me to reveal my source.  I would feel my fellow reporters in the gallery silently sending encouraging messages by mental telepathy.  I would then say to the judge, “Your Honor, I respectfully decline to answer.  I cannot reveal a source.”  The gavel would come crashing down, and he would, regretfully and with admiration for my courageous stand, sentence me to an indeterminate time in jail for contempt of court.  The bailiff would meet with no success when he tried to silence the uproar from the gallery…..

All that, of course, was during my stronger moments, which were very few.  Usually I saw myself quaking with fear, perspiring with nausea, leaving town under cover of darkness—except that it was mid-summer in Alaska and there was no darkness.

Preoccupied, staring at the floor, trying to keep a low profile, I rounded a corner in the hallway and ran smack into the attorney I’d decided upon the day before, the one I was hoping would save me from my looming jailhouse fate.  The hallway was deserted except for the two of us, so I told him my problem and said that I might need his help.  I was close to tears by the time I’d finished.

He laughed out loud!  He thought it was hilarious!  I was scared half to death, about to throw up, and here he was tickled silly!   He laughed so hard and for so long that eventually I started laughing, too.  It was somewhat forced, but it was laughter, so when the tears started leaking out, I could blame them on that.  And, somehow, through the laughter, I began to see another way through this, which might have been the intent of his laughter all along.

He gave me his assurances that he would indeed be available should it come to that and he walked away still chortling.   I almost got the feeling he was proud of me.  I returned to the newspaper office and told my editor what was going on, why I was “laying low.”  I saw a sparkle in his eyes—he was proud of me too!

I’d made my decision.  I wasn’t hiding anymore, nor was I taking the easy way out.  I was going to stand right up there and take whatever came my way, because I had realized while standing in that hallway with my attorney friend, who was laughing delightedly, what a great story it would make if I DID go to jail.  “They” wouldn’t dare let anything happen to me in there, not with me filing daily stories from the “inside.”

And, yes, I started to hope it WOULD happen.  I had the ingredients and was planning my batch of lemonade.

 And, no, it never did.  They never came for me.  I never got my big story from the inside of a jailhouse.

I also never told anyone how I found out that information.  More than fifty years later, I’m the only one who knows, and I’m still not telling. 

-30-

Federal courtroom. Haven't found a photo of any of the state courtrooms yet.   They weren't this elaborate.

The other end, the post office side, of the Old Federal Building in Anchorage.  The structure is on the National Register of Historic Places.

Time, Unchained

Remember these lyrics from Unchained Melody?

      And time goes by slowly...


The heck it does.  I blink and a month has gone by, as a friend said.

For instance, yesterday I went to Anchorage, a hundred mile drive across and through the mountains and along saltwater Turnagain Arm.  I was on a mission to see my optometrist.  I've noticed a distinct decline in the vision in my right eye and figured that subtle cataract wasn't so subtle any more.

My insurance kicks in to help pay for new glasses every two years, and I was wondering if two years had gone by since my last pair.   So, off I went.

Spectacular day.   Bright, sunny, warm.

That water way down below and in the left center is part of Turnagain Arm.  Just look at that blue sky.

This is the arm, looking towards Anchorage, which is about forty miles away from this spot.  Those are chunks of ice stranded by the out-going tide.

Five hours later,  mission accomplished in the city, I'm once again driving along Turnagain Arm.  The sun is heading for the horizon behind me, while ahead of me waits a dark gray line of weather.

And, an hour later, six hours after I'd driven through this very spot in bright sunshine, I have this:

.

Oh, my mission in Anchorage?  My annual eye exam?   It seems to have been four years ago....

As I said, time flies, but I still like Unchained Melody.

The Antarctic Journals, Afterword

The Argentine transportation strike hadn't finished messing with us yet.  Though it allowed us an extra day in Ushuaia, much to my pleasant surprise, the simple fact that we would not get back to Buenos Aires on Tuesday the 20^th seriously bollixed up the travel reservations of many who were anxious to get home for Thanksgiving.

With Patricio, one of the Three Gauchos.

 

We woke to snow in Ushuaia on the day we were to leave.

All the folks who provided educational lectures and the ship lined up to say goodbye.

Ushuaia airport terminal.

The ashes of the strikers' bonfire.

Rather than flying to Buenos Aires on Tuesday, now we were all leaving Ushuaia on Wednesday morning, due to no domestic flights on Tuesday, strike day.  So there we sat at the Ushuaia airport.  A flight was called and all the early-flight folks lined up.

Oops.  This was the late flight, but where was the early flight?  Turned out the early flight was the milk run, with many stops along the way.

In Buenos Aires, we were loaded onto coaches and given a nice tour of the city, including a beautiful park where a rose-growing contest was in full bloom.  Our flight wasn’t until 11 p.m., so we had a lot of time.  Sure enough, we managed to get stuck in the Ninth of July Avenue afternoon traffic jam.

At the airport, we went looking for something to eat.  Kathy picked up the tab for this meal, only to discover that the server had accidentally mixed up our bill with another table’s and charged her the wrong amount.  A half hour later, we think it was straightened out.  

Buenos Aires International terminal

Lost in translation:  I ordered what I thought would be a chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato, accompanied by fries. 

Saying goodbye to Kathy in Los Angeles.

Thanksgiving dinner for me was chicken nachos at the Twelfth Man pub in the Seattle airport. 

  

Flying over Yosemite Park.  Half Dome is almost in the exact center of this photo.

Space Needle in Seattle.

Thanksgiving dinner in the Seattle Airport.

Then came a flight--my fifth in two days-- to Anchorage, an overnight there, and the drive to Moose Pass on Friday.

A gorgeous sunrise over the Chugach Mountains in Anchorage.

Raven on a streetlamp.

Just one part of the drive home.

The temperature when I got home was 12 degrees below zero.  This was FORTY degrees COLDER than Antarctica.

This entire journey was extra-special.  To trace parts of Shackleton’s route, except for getting ice-bound in the Weddell Sea, and to have an understanding of what those men endured, was an unforgettable treat.  The storm off South Georgia?  How else to grasp what Shackleton suffered and accomplished in the voyage of the tiny James Caird?   Even experiencing that storm on a ship 350 feet long was adventurous.

I told my friend Kathy that Base Brown on the Antarctic mainland was my favorite landing.  She wrote, “I think about the places we were, and I keep coming back to Base Brown.”   

What it is about that place, I can’t describe.  Maybe it was the snow falling, the fog drifting in and out, revealing and disguising, that added a charismatic ambiance to a place few are fortunate enough to visit.

Whatever it was, it’s with me forever.  Would I return?  In a heartbeat.  Next time, I will choose a voyage that goes directly to Antarctica.  I would not have missed the Falklands and especially South Georgia for anything, but Antarctica has a special siren call for me.

Lately, I seem to see penguins everywhere—on the covers of magazines, the back page of a catalog, in the comic strips.  And there’s something about penguins, something that makes me smile every single time I think about them.

 

 

Reflections in glass.

 

 

Black-browed albatross.

 

   O>

 (   )

 = =

It followed me home.  Can I keep it?