Here we go...a try.
I've always said I wanted to be a writer. It was just a matter of time, I surmised. Maybe if I commit to writing something every day, that will make me a writeR?
It's a cloudy day in Puna with waves of rain washing over the corrogated tin roof frequently. Raphael is in the garage building a sewing table for me and occassionally the shrieking hum of the circular saw blocks out the music and soup boiling on the stove. The only color against the dirty white sky is the deep green of the Ohia trees and Norfolk pines.
This is a new life for us. An experiment in living. Rural Hawaii. Struggling schools. CUTE kids. So well-meaning. An ocean of water (literally) and an ocean of emotion (figuratively) between our families and us.
A start. A small start.
