Bats - Problems with bats had to be eliminated before I could (or would) come to Alaska.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go back and read my last blog.  I’m not sure what happened.  There are no pest control kinds of people working near King Salmon.  I don’t know how the problem was solved.  However, they are gone from inside the Batcave, my affectionate name for my sister’s house.  Batboy is also missing.  He flew home to be with grandparents and start the preventative treatment for rabies.  Ouch!

Upon closer inspection, it was easy to see how the bats got into their cave.  The home has a huge balcony. Everyone enjoys the side facing the lake.  The side of the balcony wrapping around to the right side of the home is narrow and rarely ever used.  But, with bats came a closer inspection of the eaves.  How did those bats get in the cave?  Well, blame it on the previous owners.  They must have loved birds.  Under the eaves, they drilled holes that were large enough for birds to come in and nest.  I don’t know if any birds ever took advantage of the situation.  But, the local bat population found and infested the Batcave.

Bats still hang out around the Batcave, just not in it, thankfully.  Some of the kitchen staff at the lodge resides with me in the Batcave.  I heard one girl say that she really didn’t like to leave the house in the mornings.  Bats tended to dive at the lights and at the humans under the lights.  I wouldn’t like it either.  But, when I get up, hours after the kitchen crew has long gone, there are no bats in sight.

These workers leave before six in the morning.  They are working when humans really should be sleeping. However, one morning, I was curious enough to get up just as the crew left the Batcave.  Lights were on around the balcony and I watched those little vampires dive left and right.  I counted the seconds between dives.  The highest count was five seconds apart.  Usually, they were two seconds apart or less.  I have no plans to ever leave the Batcave that early.  But, if I do, I will have a netting or towel wrapped around my head.  I have no desire to meet Count Dracula at any time – morning, noon, night and especially before dawn.

Gnats – I am a bug magnet.  I’ve been one ever since I knew it was a possibility.  I heard someplace while I was in Africa that certain blood types attracted malaria mosquitoes more than others.  My blood type is the universal donor, and those bloodsuckers universally enjoyed it.  I had malaria five times.  I think I can rest my case about being a bug magnet.  Do you know anyone else who has had malaria five times?

My magnetic personality has followed me to Alaska.  This place is infested with bugs the likes of which I’ve never seen anywhere.  I don’t know how fishermen enjoy the experience.  I don’t know how fishing guides do their jobs. It could be because all the bugs seem to be attracted to me and leave the rest of the population alone.  The bugs swarm all over me.  I’m the lucky one.  I’m special.  I’m bug bait.

I want to walk most days while in Alaska.  But, it isn’t all that enjoyable with a cloud of insects swarming about my face.  If I want to walk for an hour in the tundra, I have to do something that I absolutely refused to do the last time in Alaska.  I got a netting to go over my head and hat.  I guess it was a little bit of pride that kept me from doing that in the past.  I didn’t want to look so much like a tourist.  But, sometimes, you just have to throw away your pride in order to survive.  I did just that.  And, now I can walk freely.  Yes, the bugs still swarm about me.  Yes, there are mosquitoes, but they don’t get through the netting or long sleeves.  There are also bugs called no-see-ums.  They see me and I see them.  But, none of them get through the net.  There are probably other bugs as well like gnats, flies, fleas and other flying scoundrels that I hate.  But, they aren’t getting through the netting.  So, life is relatively bug-free.

Bears – My sister said that if I’m going to walk in the tundra, even on the main road (the only road), I need to take bear spray with me.  After all, I walk next to a tundra landscape where I saw a mama bear and two cubs barrel across one morning.  Bear spray is probably a wise move.  And, I’m told that it is safer than a gun.  A wounded bear could still knock the snot out of any annoying human to cross his path.  Bear spray is more effective. Temporarily blinded bears don’t knock the snot out of nothing.

My sister said that they once had an old can of bear spray.  It remained in one of their cabins over the winter and froze.  How cold does it have to be outside for things in your home to freeze?  No, the cabin has no heating during the winter.  But, it still sounds ridiculously cold during a tundra winter.

I have a fear about bear spray.  Yes, I have a bigger fear of the bears, but I also fear the spray.  I’m sure if I used it, I would spray that mist into the wind and have it all blow back on me.  That’s exactly what happened to my brother-in-law and his son when they tested that formerly frozen can of bear spray.  It worked.  But, the wind worked even better.  There was a stampede into the kitchen sink to find running water.  They were in agony, but I still kind of wish my sister had pulled out her phone to make a video.  The nephew gets married this fall and that video would have been priceless entertainment.  Even if he never got married, I’d still like to see that video.

Of course, I want to see bears while here in Alaska.  Lots of bears.  But there is the simple truth that nobody needs to see a bear up close and personal.  However, if you stay in Alaska long enough, it seems that many people have bear stories to tell.  I thoroughly enjoy my time in Alaska, but I don’t want to stay here long enough to have a personal bear encounter.

There has already been a really good bear story for this season at my sister’s camp.  They have a new building.  It’s actually an old, recycled, free building donated from one of the parks.  It needs renovation inside and out.  There is an attached porch/mudroom that does not yet have a door.  It’s more like an open porch.  In the one room that is sort of finished, my sister’s brother-in-law is staying. 

Electricity is limited to an extension cord running from the kitchen and into the building.  The mudroom doesn’t have any lights.  At one point in time, a huge blue barrel was in the porch, used for trash.  I’m thinking alcohol was involved in what happened next, but that part of the story was never confirmed.  One night the brother-in-law was on his way home.  When he entered the mudroom, there was a bear sorting through the trash.  The brother-in-law was between the bear and the exit, not a good place to ever find yourself.  Some bears might stand their ground and the results could be ghastly.  This bear just swatted the pesky human into the wall and made a quick exit out of the room.  The brother-in-law was bruised and banged up for a couple of days.  He also wins the award for best bear story of the season.  If there is a bear story to top this one, I don’t want to be involved.  And, in case you are wondering, the blue barrel is no longer in that porch area.
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Hmmm . . . I don’t want to be near bats or gnats or bears.  Am I being too picky?

Last month, I had one of those unexpected emails that can change your life or, at least, alter your immediate future.  My sister sent me a message and asked, "Do you want to come to Alaska?"  I don't have to be asked questions like that twice.  Of course, I wanted to go.  My sister and her husband cater to the world's richest fishermen.  They have two fishing lodges in Alaska.  If you've ever seen photos in Alaska where bears hunt for salmon in the river, that's right by where they live.  It's kind of amazing.

I couldn't just drop everything to leave the next day.  There are always things that need to be done if you leave your home for a while.  But, that invitation was two weeks ago.  I have accomplished what I needed to get done.  I'm ready for the tundra and some bear sightings.  Lots of bear sightings!  I wrote to my sister and said it was time to pick a convenient date.

My sister has not had a convenient week.

Normally, when my sister needs to go to the dentist, she heads for Cancun.  Yep, her trip to the dentist involves a Caribbean experience.  She stays in an incredibly wonderful hotel on the main tourist strip of Cancun, right on the beach, where her dentist is located.  (I went to the same dentist once.  It's clean, modern, cheaper than in America, and I got to paint a mural.  It was my kind of travel.) 

However, my sister had an emergency and she was in Alaska.  If you check your map, that's not so close to Cancun, and it was a dental crisis.  There was no time for a Caribbean vacation.  No tooth fairy showed up to whisk her off to Cancun.  There was no time for that anyway.  She was in a teeth grinding, grit your teeth, gnashing of teeth situation with intense pain.  Delay her treatment and she might kick you in the teeth. 

Normally, she would have to fly to Anchorage for any specialist.  Dentists in King Salmon, the closest town to where she lives, are as rare as hen's teeth.  Usually, searching for them with a fine toothed comb does no good.  But, miraculously, there was a dentist in town when she needed it most.  And, he saw her on a Sunday!

These days, dentists have signs that say things like "painless dentistry" and you might hear someone say, "This isn't going to hurt a bit."  That would be lying through your teeth on this particular day.  The dentist wanted my sister to open her mouth, bare her teeth, and say "ahhhh".  He knew right away that her sweet tooth needed a root canal.  He was armed to the teeth with all the tools he needed to fix the problem.

Well, that was how it was supposed to work.

He sunk his teeth into the project, but perhaps he bit off more than he could chew.  There was drilling, filling, grinding and a whole lot more work involved in this task.  None of it is fun.  The dentist managed to accomplish the root canal part, but there was still some drilling work that needed to be done.  That was when the drill bit broke off in the tooth.  The guy fought tooth and nail (or in this case drill bit) to get that metal out of her mouth.  It was like pulling teeth to do it.  And, in fact, that's kind of what happened.  The tooth collapsed and had to be removed. 

I'm not sure, she might have considered an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth after all of this.  But, I've not heard any news reports about Alaskan dentists with missing teeth.  For the moment, my sister has no thoughts about false teeth, but she does have a gaping hole in the back of her mouth and a prescription for a lot of extra strength Advil. 

You would think this is enough reason to delay my trip, but you would be wrong.

My sister and her husband don't live at either of their lodges.  They have a house that is located in between their lodges.  It's set on an idyllic lake.  But, things happen when a house is left empty for half of a year.  In this case, bat things happened.  That was not a typo.  Their home has turned into a bat cave, and not the cool kind with Robin and a very amazing car.  It seems that a whole houseful of bats has taken up residence in the attic, attached garage, back porch and sometimes in the living quarters!  No bat guano! 

A simple trip to the garage could drive you crazy, or at least put a few bats in your belfry.  My sister opened the back door and saw a dozen pairs of bat wings flying in her face.  Were they tube-nosed bats, fruit-eating bats, Mexican free-tail bats or western big-eared bats?  Who cares?  They were bats!  Faster than you can bat your eyelids, she went to the other side of the garage and opened the larger door for cars.  The bats flew away and she entered into this section of the bat cave for whatever reason brought her there. 

These bats apparently are a protected species in Alaska.  As far as I'm concerned, all bets are off when the bats are in your home, belfry or bat cave.  Bat life expectancy drops significantly under such circumstances.  I don't care if they are long-eared bats, hog-nosed bats, or mouse-eared bats.  If they are in my house, they are all vampire bats.  I will not go to bat for them.  No, I'll go for a baseball bat at them.  And, it would be a good time to bat one thousand, not that I want one thousand bats anywhere close to me.

My sister has a full house now - with people as well as bats.  Her son said he found a bat in his bedroom.  Did it drive him batty?  I'm not sure.  Maybe he didn't bat an eye?  I would have.  And, the only way that dastardly bat could have entered his room was by crawling under the space at the bottom of his door.  Who knew bats did that?

At least one guest currently sleeps in the main room of the house, which was my bedroom last year.  Right off the bat, you know it is not the best place to stay.  But, it's worse when bats are involved.  Batboy was sound asleep in the middle of the night.  Something tickled his face, and he woke up with a bat on his face.  No bull bat!  Of course, he screamed like a bat out of hell.  Wouldn't you?

I learned one more thing about these critters.  It doesn't matter if you are blind as a bat or have 20/20 vision.  Bat teeth are so small that you can't see bat bites.  Those little suckers like to bite eyes, noses and mouths, so what do you think that jackass bat was doing on Batboy's face?  He's facing rabies shots now.  You can't take chances when a vampire bites you, and since he isn't sure about anything, it looks like he has to have the treatment.

So, to make a long story finally come to an end.  I'm not sure when I'm going to Alaska.  They have to get rid of their bats first.  If you know me, you know I love to travel off the beaten paths of this world, but I draw the line at vampires, bats on my face, and unwanted rabies shots.

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No Real Species of Bats were harmed in the writing of this blog.  I still can't say they would be safe if they were found in my house. 

Seriously, not a lot happens while trapped in Ohio with a nasty little virus on the loose.  Fortunately, there are hints that it might be letting up.  Who knows?  It could be the calm before the storm, but I don't want to think about that possibility.  Now with Ohio in full summer sunshine mode, with beautiful blue skies, I left the quarantine of my office computer and my twelfth children's book to have a picnic lunch with one of my friends.  It's always good to meet up with Tommy.  He's always interested in my books, since he inspired the first one I wrote.

We met outside at a local park.  Not so many people were there in the middle of the week, but we were surrounded by Canadian geese.  I don't really know how they got that name.  They always seem to be in Ohio.  In my neighborhood, it isn't unusual to have traffic blocked up temporarily as a small army of geese - instead of chickens - cross the road to get to the other side.

There usually aren't any big surprises when talking to long-time friends.  It's very comfortable with Tommy, every time I see him.  It's just a matter of "pickup up where we left off", just like it should be with long-time friends.  And, he's one of my longest-time friends.

But, on this picnic, Tommy shocked me.

He lives in Clintonville.  It's one of the older, leafy, established neighborhood of Columbus that dates back to the 1880s.  There are parks, unique cafes, gastropubs, trendy shops, and lots of families with a lot more children.  There are a couple of main streets, including High Street, but Clintonville has a lot of old houses, older trees, and deer that like to live along the Olentangy River and the ravine that runs through the city.  People who meticulously tend to their yards may not like the deer.  I've heard them described as "rats with antlers".  But, I'd rather have deer than geese, and I like geese.

Anyway, Tommy shocked me when he mentioned the random acts that were taking place in Clintonville.  I've heard of Random Acts of Violence.  Nobody wants them in Clintonville or anywhere else.   And, as far as I know, that isn't something that normally happens in this neighborhood.  I've also heard of Random Acts of Kindness.  That should happen in Clintonville, across Buckeye Nation, to the furthest reaches of our shores, and beyond our borders.  Everyone should practice this form of kindness.  And, that had me wondering, when was the last time I did something unexpectedly kind?  And, even more importantly, when is the next time I am going to be so thoughtfully random?  How soon?  Well, as soon as possible.

But, these are not the kinds of acts to shock me.  Nope, since 2016, Clintonville has had untold numbers of incidences with Random Acts of Knitting.  I kid you (k)not!  There is some serious guerilla needlework taking place on the streets of Clintonville, under the cover of night.  Who knew?  Seriously, how could this be going on for five years and this is the first I've heard about it?

Like I said, I spend too much time in my office at my computer monitor.  Way too much time.

What exactly is a Random Act of Knitting?  Under cover of darkness in the wee hours of the morning, a civilly disobedient citizen is splashing colorful yarn creations on unsuspecting light poles, fire hydrants, tree trunks, columns, statues and even a boulder.  It could be red and white hearts on Valentine's Day, or a Christmas nutcracker, Leprechaun hats or whatever strikes the whimsical fancy of the Yarn Bomber.  Locations along High Street were some of the original target spots.  But, as word on the street and on social media grew, so did the projects.

A Facebook page popped up where acts of yarn bombing can be commissioned (and you should check that link).  In an anonymous interview, the Yarn Bomber stated that originally it wasn't too hard to go to High Street at 5:00 in the morning with coffee in one hand and yarn in the other to decorate a light pole.  But, when commissioned bombings required creeping around someone's yard in the darkness of night, a miner's cap with lighting was required.  (I mean, honestly, you still need to have a hand free for morning coffee!)

The Yarn Bomber claims that she isn't nearly as exciting as people might think.  She's a woman in her fifties who lives in Clintonville.  Maybe she's just a little intimidated by her grandmother's legacy. Granny taught the bomber her yarning skills when she was just a kid of eight.  Her granny was nothing like mine.  Now, I know my grandmother could knit and crochet.  But, when your granny was a flapper in the 1920s, it might very well inspire the spirit of civil disobedience required for yarn bombing.  My dear old grandmother was no flapper and she would absolutely spin in her grave if I tried something like this.  I'm pretty sure that ex-flapper granny is beaming with pride.

Sad to say, there are grinches in Whoville, Clintonville, and a whole lot of other places on the planet.  We don't have to name names.  We all know who they are.  And, some of these grinches have actually complained to the city about the yarn bombings.  When complaints are received, the city sends in the bomb squad to dismantle the instillation.  I, personally, would love to see the homes of these grinches totally yarn bombed.  Imagine not being able to open your front door because the entire house was wrapped up in a yarn bomb.  I know, it would be too much work for one civilly disobedient yarn bomber.  But, it would be simply awesome!

It isn't clear if the yarn bombing has rubbed off on any other civilly disobedient knitters in Clintonville.  It would be wonderful if these random acts spread further across the neighborhood and beyond.  If you have any inclination to mischievous needlework and need some further inspiration, you may enjoy this WOSU video about Clintonville's Yarn Bomber.  So, if you are looking for something to do to brighten up your summer, think about some random acts.  If your fingers just won't cooperate with you and you simply can't do Random Acts of Knitting, you can always do Random Acts of Kindness.  Even grinches shouldn't be able to complain about that.

I just finished book number eleven, "Hark and Harold Angel Sing".  And, I think it has some of my best illustrations out of any of my books so far.  Since I don't have any murals lined up, after all, the world is only barely starting to open up, I decided that it might be time to write another folk tale book.  I wanted to do one from a corner of the world that I have not yet done.  I first thought of Paraguay.  I have a tale, The Legend of the Waterfall, that I absolutely love.  It's kind of a Romeo and Juliet tale with poisoned arrows, people hacked to death with axes, and pretty much everyone dies in the end.  Yes, it's a gruesome tale, but I had a kind of "Princess Bride" mojo in mind as I wrote the story.  It's laugh out loud funny and simply not acceptable for a children's book.   So, I opted for a tale from Burma.

I love Burma. 

I first went to Burma in the early 90's just after it opened up to the West.  The Burmese people were so very friendly and so hungry for anything from the outside world.  I traded every stitch of clothing not on my back for lacquerware and other treasures.  I've never had that kind of experience anywhere else.  One of my best treasures was a huge vase, about as wide as my outstretched arms.  The shopkeeper said it was made by his father, who had recently died.  I said that he couldn't sell it; he had to save this heirloom!  But, the man wanted to sell it to me.  If I remember correctly, I bought the vase for $5 and a backpack.  He knew I would treasure it.  And, he knew I would send him photographs of the vase when I arrived home.  (Of course, I did.) 

My favorite place in Burma is Bagan, a UNESCO Heritage Site just stuffed full of historic pagodas of enormous size.  And, it's where you get your lacquerware while in Burma.  There were not many tourists in the area when I visited.  So, while I climbed around the pagodas (taking limited photos in the days of film photography), I was easily discovered by a charming local kid, about eight years old, who wanted to hone his English skills.  Aung Aung was delightful.  I know he had to meet many, many people in Bagan.  I was just one among the crowds.  But, for my travel experience, he was one of my highlights in Bagan.

I returned to Bagan about five years later, and there were a lot more tourists and a lot less bartering.  Of course, I wanted to see if I could locate Aung Aung.  And, my search was successful.  A very polite teenager invited me into his home.  His parents welcomed me with a traditional Burmese meal and a wonderful experience was shared by all.  One of my sweetest memories was the day I left Bagan.  Aung Aung and his mother met me at the hotel to send me off.  And, they presented me with a golden lacqureware vase that I have treasured ever since.

I've never heard from him since.  I really had no way to contact him.  And, I've always wondered what happened to this kid.

So, these were all the thoughts going through my mind as I selected "The Frog Princess - A Cinderella Tale from Burma" as my next project.  I dug out my old travel journal to see if I had a mailing address for Aung Aung.  I didn't.  But, I did have an address for the Golden Cuckoo Lacquerware Shop in New Bagan.  Well, the world has changed since the early 90s.  The store now has a Facebook page and I decided to write to them.  New Bagan couldn't be that big.  There was a very good chance that they had to know Aung Aung.  I even threw in the name of his parents.  With the message sent, I went to bed.

Well, there was a pleasant surprise in the morning.  I had very positive communication with a guy from the lacquerware shop.  He was the son of the man I traded with for my vase so long ago.  I sent the merchant photos of his father with my vase.  He couldn't believe how young his father was.  Truth be told, this all happened before the son was born.  I assured him I knew all about time marching on.   

On top of that, the people at the store were well acquainted with my friend Aung Aung.  It appears that their store had expanded since my days there.  They also gave tours in and around Bagan.  And, Aung Aung sometimes worked for them as a tour guide.  It would be a perfect job for him.  He continued to hone his English in the years since I met him.

The lacquerware man passed my information on to Aung Aung, but as I expected, he didn't recognize my name.  How could he?  But, it didn't stop him from communicating with me on Facebook.  And, he explored all over my blog.  I sent him a few of my Burmese photos and told him about my two visits, meeting his family, a Burmese meal and his parting gift.  He remembered all that right away.  So, we exchanged telephone numbers for a face-to-face WhatsApp conversation after oh, so many years.  How many years?  I'm not sure, but he is now thirty-eight.

In catching up a bit, Aung Aung worked as a travel guide among other things.  I told him I am one of the most non-famous guests he ever met in Bagan.  But, after looking at his Facebook page, I saw that he had hosted one of the most famous tourists ever to come to the area, Anderson Cooper.  However, all of this was before Covid hit the planet.  People in Burma are suffering just like everywhere else.  None, zero, zip tourists come to Burma these days.  He has no job, no income, and not a lot of hope for the near future.  Currently he is residing in a monastery as a Buddhist monk.  His English is completely self-taught by his interactions with tourists.  And, while at the monastery, he has taught an English course to local children.  The kids worked at the family farm by day, and thirty-five of them came to his class from six to eight in the evening.  I had to ask.  When you teach classes at a monastery, there are no behavior problems.

I learned something new about Buddhist monks in my conversation.  They eat twice a day.  The first meal is breakfast and the second one is lunch at noon.  They eat nothing else the rest of the day.  I would lose some needed pounds if I were a monk.

Anyway, needless to say, my next book is going to be a tale from Burma.  I'm now going to have much more frequent communication with Aung Aung.  Once every thirty years or so is not satisfactory.  And, when I finish my folk tale book, he will be one of the first people to see it.