First: for any one that is wondering, we are fine.
Second: for anyone that is wondering, it did scare the crap out of me, never having been in an earthquake before. When I was completing my blog last night, I was thinking, what the hell am I am going to write about tomorrow. Well I got the answer early this morning. I had been up for over an hour, getting all of our paper-work in order and opening mail. Piles of papers were all over the table and I was running back and forth looking for ones I needed. The glass door to my right made a funny sound, like someone had thrown something against it. I looked up expecting to see a bird laying on the ground and as I did, the floor under me began to shake more and more. It didn't take long - a few seconds - for it to dawn on me that this was an earthquake. Raph was still in bed and I ran to him, screaming the whole way. I was scared. He was getting out of bed when I ran in, and I screamed that he had to get into the doorway - that's what you need to do in an earthquake. (Where the hell did I learn this?) He laughed at my fear. And then it ended. And I took a giant breath.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Saturday, October 14, 2006
sleeping in cars (without boys)
I had training in Kona for the last three days. I have officially missed a quarter of the schools days for the first quarter! I heard it through the grape vine that I get a daily stipend of 80 bucs whether I spend it or not. So I think to myself immediately, "I'm sleeping in my car." It's amazing how freaked out people get about sleeping in your car. The truth is I love it. I don't know what it is about sleeping in my car I like so much - maybe it is the river guide in me. I love curling up in my car on a deadend street. Towels stuck in the windshield to block out strong lights. Listening for the first minutes to every sound wondering if someone is coming to tell me to move. Waking up at first light, before all the residents are up. I really do like it.
But noone else I work with or attended training with seemed to think this was wise. Another teacher at training offered me the extra bed in her hotel room and made such a stink about it, I finally accepted. It was a terrible hotel, which I might have excused, if it hadn't have been for the teachers ripping roaring snoring. An hour of laying in the bed waiting, wishing to fall asleep was enough, before I retreated to my comfy rental car. And slept wonderfully, sweetly. Un underrated activity I say.
But noone else I work with or attended training with seemed to think this was wise. Another teacher at training offered me the extra bed in her hotel room and made such a stink about it, I finally accepted. It was a terrible hotel, which I might have excused, if it hadn't have been for the teachers ripping roaring snoring. An hour of laying in the bed waiting, wishing to fall asleep was enough, before I retreated to my comfy rental car. And slept wonderfully, sweetly. Un underrated activity I say.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
more front yard
If you look closely at the second picture, you can see a fisherman on the point. Gives you perspective I think.
on our new front lawn
Our new favorite pasttime is sitting in these white chairs we bought at a garage sale and watching the ocean. Raph saw dolphins the other day while I was on a walk. Damn him. But every time we see turtles and crabs, and sometimes schools of fish in the shallow water. It's pretty much awesome. Even if a tsunami knocks my house down, I'll have been able to sit by the water, and watch sunrises most days!
Saturday, October 07, 2006
the crash
Raph will tell you if you ask. I cry a lot. I don't think it is that much, but compared to him I do cry a lot (not a difficult feat considering I haven't ever seen him cry.) My departure from Pittsburgh was like removing one of those really sticky bandaids and I cried a lot, for leaving my home with permanence, knowing that this time I wouldn't be coming back.
But after the 18 hours of travel, my tears had dried and I was excited about a new adventure. I did pretty well. No bouts of crazy emotions. No tearful episodes about how I miss my mother. I did miss my mother. But I didn't cry about it. Not for months. And then they came. My parents. Unobtrusively, without imposing, which is their way.
Boy was I glad to see them. They took US on vacation even though they were visiting us. We spend days at the Puako beaches on the other side of the island, sunning ourselves, watching turtles and fish, playing bridge. And when we'd had our sun limit, we returned to rainy magical Puna, and shared the stars above Mauna Kea, the tide pools at Kapoho, the red road, quaint Hilo, and of course our new house. Then we shopped for furniture and played more bridge. Raph even was dealt 32 points in one hand. We ate well, and laughed a lot. And then they left.
And that little cut under the sticky bandaid resurfaced and I haven't stopped crying since.
But after the 18 hours of travel, my tears had dried and I was excited about a new adventure. I did pretty well. No bouts of crazy emotions. No tearful episodes about how I miss my mother. I did miss my mother. But I didn't cry about it. Not for months. And then they came. My parents. Unobtrusively, without imposing, which is their way.
Boy was I glad to see them. They took US on vacation even though they were visiting us. We spend days at the Puako beaches on the other side of the island, sunning ourselves, watching turtles and fish, playing bridge. And when we'd had our sun limit, we returned to rainy magical Puna, and shared the stars above Mauna Kea, the tide pools at Kapoho, the red road, quaint Hilo, and of course our new house. Then we shopped for furniture and played more bridge. Raph even was dealt 32 points in one hand. We ate well, and laughed a lot. And then they left.
And that little cut under the sticky bandaid resurfaced and I haven't stopped crying since.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
number crunching
On Friday, we signed accepted the seller's counter offer for the house of Raph's dream. Jason, Raph's cousin, came along and jovially snapped pictures of us signing the forms and it was a jolly time, exciting.
Yesterday was a different story. We sat the with the loan officer for two hours and watched her fill out our loan application. Perhaps she didn't think we could do it on our own. I am more prone to believe that she just liked her own handwriting and wanted the application to be nice and neat. In any case it was excrutiating. We've talked to several loan officers. They all seem off, either shady or disgruntled, or something. This lady, bordered on rude. When we bought vacant land a year ago, she wrote the loan. When we considered a second lot, she'd say things like, "we don't want to be greedy now!" Yesterday she said things like, "Oh, that seems like a lot of money for a house out there." (I feel even now like I have to defend myself and tell you that actually it is a very good price for a house right near the water like this one.) Yesterday was not nearly so fun and jovial. In fact, I hope never to have pictures of myself with any loan officer.
Yesterday was a different story. We sat the with the loan officer for two hours and watched her fill out our loan application. Perhaps she didn't think we could do it on our own. I am more prone to believe that she just liked her own handwriting and wanted the application to be nice and neat. In any case it was excrutiating. We've talked to several loan officers. They all seem off, either shady or disgruntled, or something. This lady, bordered on rude. When we bought vacant land a year ago, she wrote the loan. When we considered a second lot, she'd say things like, "we don't want to be greedy now!" Yesterday she said things like, "Oh, that seems like a lot of money for a house out there." (I feel even now like I have to defend myself and tell you that actually it is a very good price for a house right near the water like this one.) Yesterday was not nearly so fun and jovial. In fact, I hope never to have pictures of myself with any loan officer.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Our course is set.
For better or worse, our course is set. We have an accepted offer on a house near the ocean in Hawaii. Come what may - lava, tsunami, hurricane, blue skies, friendly gales, friends and family - our course for the moment is set.
We went and biked around the neighborhood at dusk the other night, listened to the croaking of the coqui frogs all around, listened to the waves crashing, sat on the porch and let the wind play with my hair, tickle my eyes. My favorite thing about this house is by far the wind. It is constant and light, coming across 2500 miles of open ocean to kiss me. I can imagine the wind out of some Greek myth, arms outstetched reaching for me in Hawaii, hurling itself along, impatient.
We went and biked around the neighborhood at dusk the other night, listened to the croaking of the coqui frogs all around, listened to the waves crashing, sat on the porch and let the wind play with my hair, tickle my eyes. My favorite thing about this house is by far the wind. It is constant and light, coming across 2500 miles of open ocean to kiss me. I can imagine the wind out of some Greek myth, arms outstetched reaching for me in Hawaii, hurling itself along, impatient.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
The Dry Cleaners (also from the writing workshop)
The Dry Cleaners
“You’re going to be working for the rest of your life. Why don’t you spend your free time with your friends or at the pool or something,” my mom offered. She didn’t get it. I desperately wanted a job, and for no particular reason. I wasn’t trying to make money. I just wanted a job. I considered having a job to be a great adventure, a sign of something. I wasn’t sure of what.
My friend Christina Kefalos, who brought me to Greek Conventions even though I wasn’t Greek, and who had the attention of every boy in the school, told me I could work with her at the dry cleaners. Thrifty Dry Cleaners paid $4.25 per hour and workers signed up for shifts. The deal was sealed. I was their newest employee.
The following month I headed to work, through the hole in the fence and across the tracks, stopping to feel the track for train vibrations and leaving a penny to get smooshed after I’d left. Sometimes I worried that I’d derail a train that way, but treasured the flattened metal too much to stop. I maneuvered through the fat gravel on the side of the road and hopped over the cement barrier into the middle of Edgewood Avenue.
Thrifty Dry Cleaners didn’t do the actual washing or pressing or whatever it was that they did to clothes in our store. A white van would come and take the carefully tagged clothes away and bring them back “cleaned” the following day. I was always doubtful that they did any actual cleaning of those clothes, instead suspecting that they put them on hangers, pressed them, covered them with bags and sent them back, since no stains ever seems to come out and clothes never really looked cleaner.
I learned a lot about stains at Thrifty’s. We were never allowed to tell a customer that a stain wouldn’t come out, but rather we were told to encourage them to “give it a try – you never know.” Well I knew. Those stains never came out. There were stains the workers learned to avoid. The biggest hazard to a worker at Thrifty’s were the pants of the “freeballers,” the fat men (most of the time) who without exception had stains on the insides of their pants. We went to extreme lengths to avoid contact with those pants, and tried our best to pin the little red and yellow tags to the waistband without touching the actual fabric.
The freeballers weren’t the only people who left the workers unsolicited surprises. The local drug dealers were a constant source of conversation between workers, due to the baggies of marijuana and wads of money left in pockets. We would all try to outdo others’ stories of treasures found by embellishing on the amounts of our finds or speculating about the owner. We commonly debated whether or not to keep money found in pockets. It was generally agreed upon that money less than ten or twenty dollars could be pocketed. Some of us returned such amounts anyway, to make customers happy. The issue was far more complicated when the sums grew over $100 or $200. We sometimes argued for keeping half, but reasoned the customer would then know the remainder had been taken. Christina convinced me that if we returned it, that would be an act of kindness, but we were not obligated to do so. So, mostly we returned the money, save a few dollars here and there, but grappled with the choice over an over again. Sometimes we’d take turns getting slush puppies from the convenience store next door with our found money, trying to outdo eachother with awful combinations of flavors – raspberry banana, blueberry grape, or the rainbow, which included every flavor all mixed together. In the end, they all pretty much tasted the same, even though they turned you lips and tongue different colors.
A major perk of working at Thrifty’s was that you were given a key to the store. Christina and I would occasionally sneak into the store after dark, because we knew it was wrong, that the cops were sure to catch us our after Edgewood’s community curfew of 10:00pm, which was broadcast by an exceedingly loud mounting whistle, that also alerted the volunteer fire department of a fire. We would enter and turn the light in the back room on, try on forgotten and neglected clothes. The store’s policy stated that Thrifty’s was not responsible for clothes left at the cleaners for more than three months. They never threw them away either, so we’d wait for the three month mark and then make them ours for our own personal fashion shows. Ridiculous prom dresses with puffy sleeves, too much toole, and terribly ugly cuts, were favorites. We also liked the gaudy wedding dresses, polyester shirts in browns and blues from the 70’s, and bell-bottom pants. Occassionally, we’d try on newer clothes and try to figure out which of our customers were closest in size. Sometimes we’d give them away to friends for Halloween, hoping that noone would ever come and pick them up.
They never did I suppose. Our clientele wasn’t the swiftest. We’d watch “the purse” from the big store front window on most days. She was a gaunt black lady, whose clothes never seemed to fit her right, clinging awkwardly to the wrong parts of her body, like a wet piece of clothing. She wore white pumps every day and puffy colored socks at the same time. She’d stand on the edge of the parking lot swinging her purse the way a lifeguard swings a whistle, eyeing each car that passed her. We were never sure what it was that she was doing there. Some speculated that she was trying to be a hooker. I doubted. She seemed lonely and crazy to me, and yet sure of her self at the same time. I speculated that she had lost a lover in our parking lot and would come every day to visit that memory, which was interrupted by every passing car.
Another favorite customer was Mr. Mom, who pushed a baby carriage through the parking lot, into the convenience store for a Kit Kat a couple times a week, and almost always on Saturdays, my usual work day. Very occasionally, he’d push the carriage into Thrifty’s to drop off baby clothes for cleaning. It was at these times, we’d choke back our laughter and try with all seriousness to comment on the cuteness of his “baby,” the plastic doll in his carriage. He never seemed to pay much attention to us, or catch our teasing. Sometimes I’d feel bad for Mr. Mom, wanting to understand him better, understand why he carried that doll around and chose not to hear our snickering, but I never told the worker that.
Working at Thrifty’s involved signing up for shifts, and after a year I signed up less and less. I’m not sure what had lit the fire inside of me to start working, but my mom was right, I have been working ever since. I do know that I learned a lot about stains, ethics, and strangers from Thrifty’s, lessons which I am still drawing upon now. I pause for ketchup down my white t-shirt and sometimes I pause to swing my purse in the parking lot, eyeing every car that passes.
“You’re going to be working for the rest of your life. Why don’t you spend your free time with your friends or at the pool or something,” my mom offered. She didn’t get it. I desperately wanted a job, and for no particular reason. I wasn’t trying to make money. I just wanted a job. I considered having a job to be a great adventure, a sign of something. I wasn’t sure of what.
My friend Christina Kefalos, who brought me to Greek Conventions even though I wasn’t Greek, and who had the attention of every boy in the school, told me I could work with her at the dry cleaners. Thrifty Dry Cleaners paid $4.25 per hour and workers signed up for shifts. The deal was sealed. I was their newest employee.
The following month I headed to work, through the hole in the fence and across the tracks, stopping to feel the track for train vibrations and leaving a penny to get smooshed after I’d left. Sometimes I worried that I’d derail a train that way, but treasured the flattened metal too much to stop. I maneuvered through the fat gravel on the side of the road and hopped over the cement barrier into the middle of Edgewood Avenue.
Thrifty Dry Cleaners didn’t do the actual washing or pressing or whatever it was that they did to clothes in our store. A white van would come and take the carefully tagged clothes away and bring them back “cleaned” the following day. I was always doubtful that they did any actual cleaning of those clothes, instead suspecting that they put them on hangers, pressed them, covered them with bags and sent them back, since no stains ever seems to come out and clothes never really looked cleaner.
I learned a lot about stains at Thrifty’s. We were never allowed to tell a customer that a stain wouldn’t come out, but rather we were told to encourage them to “give it a try – you never know.” Well I knew. Those stains never came out. There were stains the workers learned to avoid. The biggest hazard to a worker at Thrifty’s were the pants of the “freeballers,” the fat men (most of the time) who without exception had stains on the insides of their pants. We went to extreme lengths to avoid contact with those pants, and tried our best to pin the little red and yellow tags to the waistband without touching the actual fabric.
The freeballers weren’t the only people who left the workers unsolicited surprises. The local drug dealers were a constant source of conversation between workers, due to the baggies of marijuana and wads of money left in pockets. We would all try to outdo others’ stories of treasures found by embellishing on the amounts of our finds or speculating about the owner. We commonly debated whether or not to keep money found in pockets. It was generally agreed upon that money less than ten or twenty dollars could be pocketed. Some of us returned such amounts anyway, to make customers happy. The issue was far more complicated when the sums grew over $100 or $200. We sometimes argued for keeping half, but reasoned the customer would then know the remainder had been taken. Christina convinced me that if we returned it, that would be an act of kindness, but we were not obligated to do so. So, mostly we returned the money, save a few dollars here and there, but grappled with the choice over an over again. Sometimes we’d take turns getting slush puppies from the convenience store next door with our found money, trying to outdo eachother with awful combinations of flavors – raspberry banana, blueberry grape, or the rainbow, which included every flavor all mixed together. In the end, they all pretty much tasted the same, even though they turned you lips and tongue different colors.
A major perk of working at Thrifty’s was that you were given a key to the store. Christina and I would occasionally sneak into the store after dark, because we knew it was wrong, that the cops were sure to catch us our after Edgewood’s community curfew of 10:00pm, which was broadcast by an exceedingly loud mounting whistle, that also alerted the volunteer fire department of a fire. We would enter and turn the light in the back room on, try on forgotten and neglected clothes. The store’s policy stated that Thrifty’s was not responsible for clothes left at the cleaners for more than three months. They never threw them away either, so we’d wait for the three month mark and then make them ours for our own personal fashion shows. Ridiculous prom dresses with puffy sleeves, too much toole, and terribly ugly cuts, were favorites. We also liked the gaudy wedding dresses, polyester shirts in browns and blues from the 70’s, and bell-bottom pants. Occassionally, we’d try on newer clothes and try to figure out which of our customers were closest in size. Sometimes we’d give them away to friends for Halloween, hoping that noone would ever come and pick them up.
They never did I suppose. Our clientele wasn’t the swiftest. We’d watch “the purse” from the big store front window on most days. She was a gaunt black lady, whose clothes never seemed to fit her right, clinging awkwardly to the wrong parts of her body, like a wet piece of clothing. She wore white pumps every day and puffy colored socks at the same time. She’d stand on the edge of the parking lot swinging her purse the way a lifeguard swings a whistle, eyeing each car that passed her. We were never sure what it was that she was doing there. Some speculated that she was trying to be a hooker. I doubted. She seemed lonely and crazy to me, and yet sure of her self at the same time. I speculated that she had lost a lover in our parking lot and would come every day to visit that memory, which was interrupted by every passing car.
Another favorite customer was Mr. Mom, who pushed a baby carriage through the parking lot, into the convenience store for a Kit Kat a couple times a week, and almost always on Saturdays, my usual work day. Very occasionally, he’d push the carriage into Thrifty’s to drop off baby clothes for cleaning. It was at these times, we’d choke back our laughter and try with all seriousness to comment on the cuteness of his “baby,” the plastic doll in his carriage. He never seemed to pay much attention to us, or catch our teasing. Sometimes I’d feel bad for Mr. Mom, wanting to understand him better, understand why he carried that doll around and chose not to hear our snickering, but I never told the worker that.
Working at Thrifty’s involved signing up for shifts, and after a year I signed up less and less. I’m not sure what had lit the fire inside of me to start working, but my mom was right, I have been working ever since. I do know that I learned a lot about stains, ethics, and strangers from Thrifty’s, lessons which I am still drawing upon now. I pause for ketchup down my white t-shirt and sometimes I pause to swing my purse in the parking lot, eyeing every car that passes.
Friday, September 15, 2006
The Suicide Run
We had to write a poem at our training today and I sort of liked mine. It was based on the structure of a poem by Mary Oliver called The Summer Day.
The Suicide Run
Who brought the snow?
Who laid it gently - an invitation?
Who made the hills?
This hill - I mean
The one who beckons my father,
The one who calls to us to test our luck, sleds in hand,
Who is waiting with trees like hair,
Who is gaping, mouth open under walls.
Now she smiles, sunlight illuminating the pores and rocks of her complexion.
Now she calls again and my dad slides away - down.
I don't know what other families are like.
I do know how to follow him, how to wait for his magic,
How to be awed and surprised, how to expect wonder and fear and wonder again,
Which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything change and too soon?
Tell me what is it that you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
The Suicide Run
Who brought the snow?
Who laid it gently - an invitation?
Who made the hills?
This hill - I mean
The one who beckons my father,
The one who calls to us to test our luck, sleds in hand,
Who is waiting with trees like hair,
Who is gaping, mouth open under walls.
Now she smiles, sunlight illuminating the pores and rocks of her complexion.
Now she calls again and my dad slides away - down.
I don't know what other families are like.
I do know how to follow him, how to wait for his magic,
How to be awed and surprised, how to expect wonder and fear and wonder again,
Which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything change and too soon?
Tell me what is it that you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
about running
So I hate running. I hate running enough that I've created theories about why I'm a bad runner. Want to hear my favorite theory? My theory is that as a child dominant muscles form, based on the kinds of activities you participate in. For example, I spent most of my childhood swimming and feel I could swim for miles, presumably because my muscles had swimming as their major formative force. Other people who spend a lot of time running around and participating in sports have a whole different set of muscles formed. So this of course explains why running is so difficult for me and I hate it so much.
Having said that Raph and I are getting fat, mostly because his cousin Deanna has been cooking for us since we arrived in Hawaii. Quite seriously, I've never had so many different kinds of great food - Vietnemese (which she happens also to be), Mexican, Italian, Thai, Indian. Just thinking about it makes me fatter. So Raph convinced me to start running with him. At 5:00 AM. Ouch, you might be thinking, but in fact that is my favorite part of the running game, getting up for first light, when it is cool and sensitive outside.
Today was our third day. I'm only running half a mile, but my God it feels like an eternity. Then I walk that same distance or more back. And I have to say it feels good. I am energized for the whole morning, in a way that my cherished cup of coffee doesn't even afford. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I kind of liked it today. Hopefully it will last at least as long as this blog.
Having said that Raph and I are getting fat, mostly because his cousin Deanna has been cooking for us since we arrived in Hawaii. Quite seriously, I've never had so many different kinds of great food - Vietnemese (which she happens also to be), Mexican, Italian, Thai, Indian. Just thinking about it makes me fatter. So Raph convinced me to start running with him. At 5:00 AM. Ouch, you might be thinking, but in fact that is my favorite part of the running game, getting up for first light, when it is cool and sensitive outside.
Today was our third day. I'm only running half a mile, but my God it feels like an eternity. Then I walk that same distance or more back. And I have to say it feels good. I am energized for the whole morning, in a way that my cherished cup of coffee doesn't even afford. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I kind of liked it today. Hopefully it will last at least as long as this blog.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Saturday, September 09, 2006
moonlight on a lava field
It's Raph's birthday weekend and so I get no say in what we do. That's our deal. No compromising on your birthday weekend. So Raph made me stay up late. At about 10:00, we drove to Kalapana, which borders the most recent lava flows, the ones that tourists regularly photograph with the speed limit signs sticking out of the lava. Raph needed to know if you could see the lava on the hillside from this side of the lava flow. Sure enough it lit up the hillside and turned the clouds orange. More impressive than that was the silver sheen of the lava, reflection of a plump moon, so bright, we had moon shadows. We scuttled along as Raph set up the tripod and took painfully long to snap a picture. (I am not known for patience.) But soon my tendencies to fall asleep and my impatience with his pace faded, and the three of us (Raph's cousin Jason was also there) were having a grand old time taking ghost pictures in the lava. We did the old flashlight tricks, though I only posted the "LOVE" shot, not Jason's "FUCKER" shots. And the whole thing reminded me of days gone by, times in college or at the beach in Rhode Island, when boredom was the mother of invention and entertainment and beautiful landscapes the medium of our art.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Thursday, September 07, 2006
The Big Knot
I spent a wonderful week at home. I got short visits with lots of good friends and spent some wonderful time with my family. My friends Evan and Ben tied the knot and it was beautiful and lots of fun. Here are some pics from the event.
I am now fascinated by weddings. I love photographing them, but the whole ritual is pretty amazing. I justified some pretty silly things "because it was my wedding." Then at the wedding we said our vows, and I felt, "wow, that was it!" And then there was complete exhaustion trying to spend time with all people who made their way into the middle of Yosemtie to be present. (We have friends in Hawaii who have threatened to get married on top of a glacier in the middle of Alaska that will require us to take a helicopter, a dog sled, hike three miles and swim through icy water just as retaliation.) I go back and forth between thinking that weddings are over the top and thinking that they are great chances to celebrate eachother and see friends and family. I loved Evan's wedding. At the moment I'm leaning towards the latter.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
The Way to Start a Day
The other day I was picking out children's books for my sister-in-law who is due in January. These books were used and ragged, but there were many classics - Goodnight Moon, On the Day you Were Born, Eric Carle bookes, etc. I happened across one which is now my new favorite children's book: The Way to Start A Day. The book is a basically about greeting the sun each morning - actually singing a song to celebrate the sun. It talks about how several ancient societies welcomed the sun each morning, always turning their faces towards the sun and singing a little song (that might be some poetic license taken by the author, but still cool).
So, I got Raph out of bed this morning at 5:30 and we went to the shoreline to greet the sun. In near dark, we drove past the house we're considering buying and headed on to the shore. Everytime I've gone to watch a sunrise, I get anxiety that I am going to miss it. The sky starts lighting up, and I think, "I'm missing it. I'm missing it." But we get there and sure enough we haven't missed it and we can greet the sun! Today wasn't a spectacular sunrise, but it didn't matter. To watch the light crawl up the coastline and lie down is pretty great. And Raph laughed at me, but I made him sing a little song.
Friday, August 25, 2006
ready for renewal
At the moment, my roomates are gushing about the details of Snakes on a Plane. They claim it's worth the hype. My mind is more taken with the undulations of sound coming from my mini. I so rarely get to listen to music anymore. Though I deserve it today. My mind is overtaxed, my body uncomfortable from a lack of movement. I yearn to run and swim, but it's dark and I'm lazy. The only realistic option is a walk, and it is so dark out here I wouldn't be able to tell if there were any of those super-creepy centipedes about to crawl onto my leg and send me into a state of agony. Here come the centipede nightmares again.
Tomorrow I go home - all 5,000 miles away. Travel is so much about renewal. Remembering what you return to. Putting things into perspective. This travel involves a wedding, a union, but also a reunion with friends I haven't seen in years. There are quabbles about dress colors, and responsibilities, but I know these things will melt away when we share the same space (as opposed to cyber space where the gripes grow like the Hawaiian ferns that climb the fence outside). These people know a slice of me unknown to others. We shared a time, an era, forever gone, except in our memories.
I have often described the bride, my friend evan, as the most nostalgic person I know. She is a sucker for the emotional moments, seeing the beauty in the mundane and simple. She was the friend who would skip any class to have a margarita at 2:00 in the afternoon. we would sit around for hours on end listening to music, drawing, making mini-books (her favorite past time). Her achilles heel, wanting everyone to be happy, never letting anyone down. The conflicts, sparse like Ohia trees on the backside of Kilauea volcano, were misunderstandings, Evan's goodwill spread too thin, too many promises to keep, and someone let down. Could always have been worse, but the infrequence made them seem important.
Evan and I don't correspond often, one of those friends with whom this isn't necessary. When we see eachother, we sit and make art, and no time has passed, and no time can pass. We stand at the gate with mini-books and drawings in hand, holding back Kal, time, whose devilish force threatens us. I miss her.
Tomorrow I go home - all 5,000 miles away. Travel is so much about renewal. Remembering what you return to. Putting things into perspective. This travel involves a wedding, a union, but also a reunion with friends I haven't seen in years. There are quabbles about dress colors, and responsibilities, but I know these things will melt away when we share the same space (as opposed to cyber space where the gripes grow like the Hawaiian ferns that climb the fence outside). These people know a slice of me unknown to others. We shared a time, an era, forever gone, except in our memories.
I have often described the bride, my friend evan, as the most nostalgic person I know. She is a sucker for the emotional moments, seeing the beauty in the mundane and simple. She was the friend who would skip any class to have a margarita at 2:00 in the afternoon. we would sit around for hours on end listening to music, drawing, making mini-books (her favorite past time). Her achilles heel, wanting everyone to be happy, never letting anyone down. The conflicts, sparse like Ohia trees on the backside of Kilauea volcano, were misunderstandings, Evan's goodwill spread too thin, too many promises to keep, and someone let down. Could always have been worse, but the infrequence made them seem important.
Evan and I don't correspond often, one of those friends with whom this isn't necessary. When we see eachother, we sit and make art, and no time has passed, and no time can pass. We stand at the gate with mini-books and drawings in hand, holding back Kal, time, whose devilish force threatens us. I miss her.
My new favorite beach: Ice Pond
Not called Ice Pond for nothing - this small little bay is chilly from groundwater which is flowing into the ocean. But the water is a gorgeous turquoise color, the bottom is sandy, the waves are present but not knocking you over. The perfect swimming hole. And to top it off, I dove in and looked around underwater and there was a good sized turtle two feet away from me. Actually scared me for a second, before I realized what it was and was able to appreciate fully the awe of a moment like that. Today was a good day. I'll have to get a picture of this place.
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