Back in the Mountains

It has become the mantra:  One foot firmly in the California mountains,the other firmly in Hawaii.  Not yet ready to give up either one.

Hawaii is home.  My roots are there.  My identity -- or a large part of it.  That identity needs the support of a set of cultural values unique to our little islands in the middle of the Pacific.  We are , with good reason, proud of our history and traditions.

Yet I am forcefully reminded each time I return to California that I have roots here, too.  It is not the cities or the coast that call me.  It is the farmland, the ranching country and the forest of the Central Valley and the Sierras in central  California.  My adult memories are here.  I recognize the orchards, remember when they will bloom in the spring and fruit later in the year.    I commented to myself this year that  certain pastures had been turned to vineyards or planted with young fruit or nut trees.  I mourned the loss of the forests obliterated by the Rim Fire of two summers ago, but celebrate the return of meadows in their place.

Had dinner with friends last week at the Iron Door in our little town of what?  Two blocks plus the adjacent recreational community complete with golf course and airport?  Had known the mother of our waitress -- who herself was several years older than my children.  Faces change, but the memories are constant.  So is the spirit of this place.

Yes, it was 102 in Sonora yesterday.  But the heat is dry so not oppressive, and welcome after last week's cold and damp.  More rain will be welcome, so long as it comes without lightning and threat of wild land fires --  although with so much fire damage around town, there is not much left to burn.  On the down side, the California Buckeye, the first shrub/tree to brown out in preparation for fall, is already beginning to turn in some spots on the New Priest Grade.  That's mid-August weather, not late May.

Clarkia, the wildflower also known as Farewell to Spring, is in bloom along the roadsides and hillsides.  I noticed its lavender blanket on the Hetch Hetchy power line right of way up Moccasin  Peak.  This is its season.  The dogwoods are still blooming in Yosemite Valley, and the golden-orange wallflowers are adding their own bit of color.  It is far too late for the lupine, meadow foam, and that little yellow wildflower that my friend Verna called pee-the-bed (use your imagination on that one!) which blooms in the spots where the shallow puddles form in the pastures and meadows.  Too late for the daffodils, almost too late for the Pacific Coast Iris -- either in the wild or in my garden.

Later this week I will drive up into the burn area, just to be there once, watching the cycle of destruction and recovery.

Don't forget to pray....

Welcoming 2015

Last year, New Year’s Eve was disappointingly quiet in Waikiki, a result of the newly active restrictions on fireworks use.  Either the City/State has relaxed some of their deep restrictions, or the general population is going back to our beloved Hawaii way of bringing in the New Year. I am sure that the fireworks for New Year’s is a tradition brought with the Asian immigrants, especially the Chinese, who came beginning mid-19^th century to work in the sugar and later the pineapple fields.  Immigrant labor.  Hawaii’s variation on the theme of slave labor.    But that is another story. 

This year was a very different story. There were occasional pops and booms all evening, and the flashing blue lights of police cruisers were prominent on Ala Wai Blvd.  I was warned that The Hour was approaching quickly (much to my surprise; I’d become engrossed in a book) when the individual pops transitioned into the steady and unmistakable din of those tiny firecrackers that come in strings of 100 and boxes of 1000. To the west, the Ewa side (towards down town Honolulu and Pearl Harbor) the commercial display at the big, public party at Kaka’ako Park lit the sky.  It was readily visible, but a bit distant.  Much closer to home, but partially obscured by the overly tall hotels and construction cranes now dominating the Waikiki skyline, was the display in the vicinity of the Halekulani, the Outrigger Reef and the Sheraton-Waikiki. Nothing from the Hawaiian Village – they have a brief fireworks display every Friday evening.   There were a few much smaller aerials from the vicinity of the yacht harbor and the Diamond Head end of Ala Moana Park.  Someone in the building next door fired off a lone roman candle from about 15 floors up, aiming it outward so it cascaded over their swimming pool.  The air began to fill with the smell of gunpowder that I always associate (positively) with New Years and lots of fireworks. Much more satisfying than last year’s quiet or Kahala’s relatively new dependence on the show at the Kahala Resort hotel, audible but not visible from the middle of Kealaolu Avenue. Much more satisfying.

I remembered standing, wrapped in a blanket, on my grandparents’ house lot sized lawn in Waipahu, age about 6 or 7 or 8, listening to the noise and watching the sky fill with the offerings of what seemed like hundreds of private celebrations of fireworks around the plantation community. I remembered other years, with my dad shooting off sky rockets and roman candles in our back yard in Kahala, us kids relegated to the “child safe” sparklers – with oft-repeated admonitions to hold only the skinny end, not the hot end! I remembered the smoke, nearly as thick as the spray-fog from the mosquito abatement trucks and much nicer smelling, enveloping the neighborhood. I remembered the year my mother, convinced that my father would forget, went out and bought a dozen or so boxes of those strings of tiny firecrackers to hang in the mango trees.  Then my father came home – with another dozen or so boxes.  We hung all his strings, too, then my father put the old metal garbage cans under the trees.  I don’t know if he was deliberately creating an echo chamber to maximize the sound, or if he really was trying to minimize his work of cleaning up all the red paper.  The back yard was still covered in shredded red paper the next morning, but oh, what fun it was to listen to those firecrackers exploding inside the garbage can!  

I remembered Ray’s amazement in 2005 as, from 23 stories up, a little farther up the Ala Wai and facing the mountains instead of the ocean, we watched the private celebrations on St. Louis Heights, in Palolo Valley, through Kaimuki, Kapahulu and Moili’ili.  He thought it was pretty exciting by 10:00.  At midnight, watching someone setting of strings of firecrackers over the canal from the sidewalk below our lanai, he commented, “This is like being in a war zone!”

To you, dear readers, I wish a blessed 2015 filled with friendships and family, old memories remembered fondly and new ones created. 

Too long ....

I have been reminded several times in the last month that a post is long overdue here.  Mike and Nancy, you are two of the most persistent.  Thank you for the nudges.

This has been a traveling year.   Arizona and California in March.  Arizona was warm and friendly, very much the right weather for their annual Aloha Festival.  Winter was still trying to hang on in the California mountains.  Couldn't build a fire in the wood stove (chimney needed sweeping before that could happen) and couldn't light the furnace (it hadn't been serviced for several years) and I wasn't going to be around long enough to make either happen.   Ended up with one of the last space heaters still available at Lowe's.  So now I can at least keep a bedroom at reasonable temperature.

Then a weekend on Kaua'i with Daughters of Hawai'i.  I had not been on Kaua'i  since 1953.  Or maybe it was 1954.  In any case, it had been a very long time.  Wonderful island, with the same small town sense as Tuolumne County.  If one could get between islands without resorting to flying, I'd be moving off Oahu, too.   Wish the ferry folk had done their environmental assessments properly,  worked more closely with environmental groups in the planning process so that everyone could have benefitted.

I know.  Wishful thinking.

Again in California again, heading back to Groveland for another stint of unpacking,  setting up bookcases, and otherwise re-arranging stuff.  In preparation for ??????   Not ready to cut the Groveland ties altogether, but not ready to return full time, either. 

January in Honolulu

It's a cool January morning in Honolulu.   Sky is overcast and the tradewinds are light, keeping the VOG (nasty version of smog produced by volcanic gasses instead of smoke and automotive exhaust) somewhere else. 

The canoe paddlers have, for the most part, given up the park below my condo to the baseball set.  During the week the Old Men (humphhhhhh ... the retired guys!) play in the mornings while it is still cool.    Today, the PeeWee ball players -- the tiny ones who are learning to run bases by playing tag with dads and coaches around the baselines, and whose gloves are large enough that they seem to overpower the body -- are on the field 13 floors below be, cute as buttons even at this distance.     Ah, new running game -- run as fast as you can to the next base, and don't forget to TOUCH it! 

A miniature left-hander is at the batting tee.  Each fielder and runner has a personal coach at his or her side, "Get ready to catch the ball!"  "Run, run, run!"  All this assumes the batter is successful at hitting the ball and that it travels farther than about 2 feet from the tee!  They are so very little....  

 A Hawaiian Airlines flight from somewhare far away is making it's approach past Wiakiki into Honolulu airport  

There have been assorted tourist boats visible in the splotches of ocean visible this morning between the monster hotels and condos of Waikiki. 

The emergency sirents of fire trucks and ambulances are mercifully quiet. 

An unfamiliar pair of canoe paddle by.  These are gold hulls trimmed in blue, perhaps Punahou School teams.  More often I see the white hulls from McKinley High School, conveniently emblazoned TIGERS so it is clear to which school they belong.   I haven't yet decided who belong to the gold hulls trimmed in red, or the other set -- red hulls trimmed in gold.  My father's beach club, Waikiki Surf Club, sports red and gold, but so does Roosevelt High School. 

The resident pigeons, fervently discouraged by our condo management, have been trying to convince me to allow them to roost on the floor of my lanai.   Had to lower the shade screen to discourage them from hopping through the railing an onto the lanai floor.    Am not sure they are actually convinced, but didn't have this problem until I raised the shades to just above the level where the birds tend to perch.   

A part of our park is used as a dog park.  I see a dog and it's person running on the field well beyond the peewee ball players. Both dog and person move in happiness. 

So peaceful. 

Please pray today for Al.  Pray for Jean and her family.  Pray for water in the western US, and for warmer weather -- without massive flooding -- in the rest of the US.  Give thanks for Christie, who celebrates a birthday this week, and for newborn Kaya.  ...

Another December 7

For me, December 7 will always be bitter-sweet.   It is the day of a great American disaster, but that is not what I remember.  Of course, I only remember the event in the stories retold at family gatherings and in history books.    My memories are more personal.

December 7, 1913 was the day that the Raker Act was passed, a federal legislation allowing the City of San Francisco to build a drinking water reservoir within what was already patented land and not long after included within Yosemite National Park.  It has always been associated with Yosemite because of the proximity of Hetch Hetchy Valley to Yosemite Valley and because the headwaters of the Tuolumne River in Hetch Hetchy Valley are in the high country of the Sierras south of Tioga Pass.  The act was controversial in 1913 and is still an emotionally charged issue, especially in the City of San Francisco which operates the drinking water system fed primarily from the reservoir, and some within the environmental movement who want the dam removed and the reservoir drained.

Under ordinary circumstances I would not remember this kind of history in such detail, but part of my job was to understand the Raker Act and explain it to visitors to the Hetch Hetchy system.   It also shares a birthday with my father, making the date particularly unforgettable.

Today both the Raker Act and my father celebrate their 100th birthday.   Faithful friends know that my father did not live to see this day, although he came close.  96 years +46 weeks is pretty darn close.  My brother tells the story in his blog post of this morning, 7 Dec 2013.  You can read it over at ilind.net.  You will also find his transcription of my mother's unfinished letter to her sister written on the morning of December 7, 1941.

Happy Birthday, Daddy ...

Another Fire -- too close for comfort

Rim Fire Incident Status  click here
For the non-professional view of residents, look here.

Refresh these pages each time you go back to it to assure that you are getting current information.

This fire is w-a-y too close for comfort.  It is in the Tuolumne River Canyon at the Clavey, into and around Buck Meadows, in up Pilot Ridge.  The old Pilot Peak fire lookout is readily visible from the eastern intersection of Hwy 120 and Ferretti Road.  My house is on Ferretti Road (a loop) near the Pine Mountain Lake Airport.

Yesterday afternoon, the total acres burned had been upped from 800 to 2500.  This morning it is over 10,000 acres.

That said, I am near the edge of, but still in, a subdivision, complete with hydrants.  The Tuolumne River canyon is approximately 1 mile north of the house, but not far from us makes a little bend to the southeast towards its source in Yosemite National Park.  We are on a belt road.  There is a light plane airport between the house and the river.  From that north side, the lines of defense are the airport and then Ferretti road.  If they loose the line at Ferretti Road, the main part of the subdivision will almost certainly burn.  They will already have lost lots of homes.

From the south, the main line of defense is Hwy 120, then Pine Mountain Drive and Rock Canyon Way.   If they are defending to the south from Rock Canyon Way, a hugely significant number of homes has already burned.

On the east is the Stanislaus National Forest, a camp for physically challenged kids, a small community of manufactured homes,  and several ranches/ranchettes, etc. The forest butts up against state land on our side, against the National Park on another.  Net result?  We have lots of fire response -- the feds in the Park and in the Forest (Dept of Interior vs. Dept of Agriculture), CalFire on state land (even when it is not considered a state lands fire), and our local fire departments, many of which operate under CalFire management.  This does assume that our crews are at home, and not in Idaho or elsewhere fighting someone else's fires.

Other local government jurisdictions pitch in as well.  I am certain that the City of San Francisco has all willing employees in the fire camps and on the lines with heavy equipment, dealing with power lines, and driving.  Yes, driving.  Most of the fire management teams in large fires come from elsewhere and don't know the local roads.  Our Hetchy folk are intimately familiar with those back-country roads.  Even I, who spent far less time in the woods that most of the field crews, know the back country roads better than most fire managers, even those from Sonora ... which is how I found myself working a computer and mapping in the command center for the last fire before I retired.   I know the City paid thousands of dollars in overtime pay (probably hundreds of thousands) to their employees who were out there protecting City property and making the job easier for fire crews.  It's a small community.  Everyone pitches in.

Pray for the communities affected all across the US.  Pray for the firefighters -- we cannot afford to lose another Hotshot Crew, or anyone else.  Pray that some of the rain that is so unwelcome in the eastern US moves over and deposits itself west of the Rockies.  Pray that the rain does not bring lightning with it.

Just pray ...

Life's Awkward Moments

Car key refuses to leave ingition.  At least it could drive to the dealership, where it is now awaiting diagnosis and estimate.   This could be an expensive month.   Think green.  Green car, green cash...

It is now Monday, and my mother's Ford Fusion has been at the dealership since Friday afternoon.  The technician probably got to it about 8:30.  I am still waiting for a response from Honolulu Ford with that diagnosis and estimate. 

Yesterday I had to borrow a vehicle to get to my volunteer assignment at the Honolulu Book and Music Fair at Honolulu City Hall.  Wasn't willing to face the bus in Daughters of Hawai'i whites.  Long white dress, white dress hat, feather lei -- rain promised, all the umbrellas in the car.  Now where else does one keep a favorite brollie? No, Sunday wasn't a good bus day. 

For the rest of the week, as necessary, I will practice using my bus pass. 

Don't forget to pray!

Sacred Trees and Ties to the Land

I refer you to my brother Ian's post of May 19, ilind.net, regarding our mango trees.   Photo, right, is Saturday morning's harvest. 

The architect's precise question was, "First, is there anything sacred about this house?"   OK, that's manini (for you non-Hawaiian folk, that's nit-picking, or something like, "don't sweat the small stuff".)  But he didn't start out asking about trees.  He asked about sacred things, things we absolutely did not want to change.  Those trees are sacred!

The rest of Ian's post is accurate.

It's a hard pill to swallow, the thought of loosing those trees.  And this tie to our personal identities.  Loosing the house wouldn't be quite so bad if we knew that the buyer would commit to saving the trees.  Small chance of that in today's world.  ...

Please pray for Malcolm as he faces his own mortality and congestive heart failure. 
Pray for those who care for the sick, the aged, and the alone. 
Pray for someone who touches your life and brings you joy.  

Giving the Passion its Due

Most of you figured out long ago that genealogy and local history are my passion.  So it won't come as a huge surprise that all posts relating strictly to genealogy will now appear in a new blog, Family Hunter.  The webaddress is a slight modification:  famlyhunter.blogspot.com    Note the spelling, no 'i' in famly.  Right now, it doesn't come up in any Google searches, but if you click on the link you will go directly to that site. 

I've had some exciting things happen on several currently active lines.  The new blog is the opportunity to share those findings in a context that other genealogists will appreciate but the rest of the world could care less about! 

Come visit me there.  Continue visiting here.  Let me know what you think. 

Don't forget to pray! 

Makaha

My father was the Idea Man.  He'd have an idea, then recruit others who were better suited to implement it.  Often he got the credit.  He had a lot of ideas related to surfing and canoe racing.  He had been involved in at least one international surfing competition before he left Southern California.  It was 1953, 14 years after he arrived in Hawaii, before the first Makaha International Surfing Championship was held.  The annual competion was his baby for a good 20 years, still going strong after I left home to first attend a mainland college, then marry and spend most of my adult life in California.

The competition was always held on a holiday weekend.  I don't remember which winter holiday -- I just remember my father leaving immediately after  breakfast, not to be seen again for a couple of days.  He'd come home physically tired and sunburnt, but on an emotional high from the time spent on the beach, in the surfing community, serving as announcer for the tournament.  His absence on holidays was just a part of the growing up experience. 

So it was with bittersweet memories that I set out this morning to visit friends who are spending time at their timeshare condo on the beach at Makaha, just one bay away from the famous surfing beach. 

My first reaction was to the road -- freeway with an unheard-of-in-Hawaii 60 MPH speed limit extending past Kapolei, formerly known as Barber's Point, and Ko'Ilina and the Aulani resorts, built near the beach my mother camped on as a child and knew as Brown's Beach.  Beyond the freeway the road is 4-lane highway through the ahapua'a (that is the plural -- there is no "s" in the Hawaiian language) of Nanakuli, Lualualai, and Waianae.  Where the land between the highway and the water is narrow, it is parkland, no longer busy with tent cities of the homeless.  Where there is more space, there are homes and businesses on the maka'i (towards the ocean) side reflecting the ambiance of these heavily Native Hawaiian communities.  This is the dry side of the island, so looks very different from the lush and overgrown jungle-like growth of the windward side.   Not even sugar grew out here.  Geographically, the last plantations were at Waipahu and Ewa, both on the west shore of Pearl Harbor.  I remember this area as dust, kiawe trees, dramatic ocean, rocky coast alternating with  sandy beaches ... and lots of Hawaiians. 

Nancy and Bob told me to watch for the 15-story building on the beach.  "You can't miss it!" they said.  They were right.  I stopped at a stoplight, looked up, and -- you can't miss it!  It must be at least 6 stories taller than anything around it!   Check out Makaha on Google Maps and go to street view.  You'll soon find the Hawaiian Princess condo, even without really knowing what you are looking for,  and will understand why you "can't miss it". 

Here's the building from the beach, posted to Panorama by cbrolaw. 

 

The condo is lovely, the beach is spectacular, and it was really wonderful to see Nancy and Bob again. The sand visible in the surf is a lesson in how the ocean moves sand around from one part of the beach to another.  You quickly learn to recognize the shape of the honu (sea turtles) in the surf.  There were at least three playing in the water today.   They have a beach a little farther up the coast where they like to go and bask in the sun after time swimming and feeding in the ocean.

Bob says on weekends there are more people, but crowded is not a word one would use to describe this beach.

Here is the view looking north towards Kaena Point and the Makaha Beach Park where those surfing tournaments were held -- just on the far side of the nearest point of land. 

I went around the corner of the  lanai to take this photo looking south, towards Diamond Head.  This is rougher water than I would be comfortable swimming in, but that doesn't make it any less inviting a place to spend a day.  This is Hawai'i at its best. 

Give thanks for old friends and long friendships.  Give thanks for warm days and sparkling oceans. 
Don't forget to pray....

Dare to Be

I was looking for some quotes about smiling.  Found this.  
Take the challenge!

“Dare to Be

When a new day begins, dare to smile gratefully.

When there is darkness, dare to be the first to shine a light.

When there is injustice, dare to be the first to condemn it.

When something seems difficult, dare to do it anyway.

When life seems to beat you down, dare to fight back.

When there seems to be no hope, dare to find some.

When you’re feeling tired, dare to keep going.

When times are tough, dare to be tougher.

When love hurts you, dare to love again.

When someone is hurting, dare to help them heal.

When another is lost, dare to help them find the way.

When a friend falls, dare to be the first to extend a hand.

When you cross paths with another, dare to make them smile.

When you feel great, dare to help someone else feel great too.

When the day has ended, dare to feel as you’ve done your best.

Dare to be the best you can –

At all times, Dare to be!”

― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

 

Don't forget to pray! 

 

 

Today of all days ...

It was one of those 3:30 wake up mornings, so by noon had already put in a significant day. 

Put the cell phone to charge on the computer rather than on a stand-alone charger; wanted it nearby just in case.   Very seldom charge the phone this way. 

Computer wanted to update software on phone.  In the process, it wiped everything.  Good news:  everything on the phone was restored from backup.  Good lesson in why one backs up electronic devices regularly.  Other good news: screen images are crisper and brighter with the software upgrade, although I am not sure that was an expected outcome. 

Made a phone call.  "Oh, you can't do this without a credit card." the friendly voice reported.  Called a different number.  Same result.   Checked MyVerizonWireless page.  System looks just like it did earlier in the day.  Phone just wasn't connecting to the network. 

Fortunately, this is Kahala, not Groveland.  The nearest Verizon Rescue Center is only .5 miles up the road in the mall, not 40 miles, 60 minutes and a 3000' elevation drop away from home.   But there was a 40 minute wait for a salesperson.  Eventually Sean (who looked more like a Kainoa or a Kamaka'ele  than a Sean) finished with his customer.  It was my turn.  By now I was ready to find a hole and cry, certain that the  phone was terminal. 

Sean tried a call.  Then pushed some buttons.  Listened.  Pushed more buttons.  Listened again.  "Now call someone to make sure it works."  he told me.  Nobody home answering a telephone.  Sean called my phone.  It worked perfectly.  Seems that when the phone restored from backup, it saw itself as a new phone.  Since it had not asked if it should activate itself, there was no connection between the phone in my hand and my account online. Activation resolved that. 

While I was standing at the desk with a sales person really listening, asked about text messaging and those new measured data service plans.  Right now, I don't text enough to pay a flat monthly fee for texting service.  OK, will try texting for a while, and see if  the flat rate becomes appropriate.  Have a couple of contacts who prefer texting to email.  Will I text them that much?  Nor, it seems, do I use enough data to be concerned about unlimited data service vs. measured data service.  That may become an issue if I spend much time in Groveland, but having a wireless network at home keeps my internet usage on the cell phone way down.  On the other hand, Verizon smart phones don't work at my house.  Hmmmmm.  There's one point for city living. 

Give thanks for courteous and caring service staff who solve problems with a smile. 
Don't forget to pray....

The Call

It came just after 7:00 this morning.  RN Mike made the call.  My mother had slipped away  only moments earlier, shortly after a  bath and shampoo.  Both nurses were at her bedside holding her hands, assuring her that she was not alone.  When the time came,  it was quick and peaceful.   It was just a struggle getting there. 

Here are two of my favorite photos of my mother.  I believe the earlier photo was her University of Hawaii graduation portrait.  She graduated with a degree in Food Science in 1935, and went on to teach for several years in the Home Economics Department under the mentorship of Carey D Miller.  She earned a small pension which provided medical coverage for both my parents once she reached retirement age. 

The second photo was taken at the Honolulu Academy of Arts (now the Honolulu Museum of Art) where we celebrated her 96th birthday over lunch at the Pavilion Cafe.  At 96 she was still ageless and sparkling, with a quick smile and a keen memory.  She told us that day of her experience as a teen giving loom weaving demonstrations at the newly opened Art Academy.  The Academy opened in 1927; she couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 when giving those demonstrations.  At the time she was an honor student at Kamehameha School for Girls.  

Helen  Mililani  Yonge)  Lind
15 May 1914 - 29 Jan 2013

1935, age 21

 2010, age 96

 

My mother was the last of her generation.
She was the last of her siblings.  

She was the last of my father's siblings and their spouses.

In her own generation, she is survived by one first cousin and one high school classmate.

She counted as descendants a granddaughter, a grandson and 5 granddaughters. 
Ian and I are now the kupuna in our line -- the elders.
That's scary! 

If you are so moved, she asked that
memorial contributions be made to the
Helen Yonge Lind Scholarship Fund
University of Hawaii Foundation
2444 Dole Avenue
Honolulu  HI  96822

Our mother was a fighter,
a heavy contributor to what to her are important community causes.
Ian and Meda have a favorite card which expresses her philosophy.
It is attributed to labor and community organizer
Mary Harris "Mother" Jones  (1837-1930)

Mother Jones said, 

Pray for the dead.
Fight like hell for the living.

 

Hanging In

At some point the battle will end.  The body will fail.  Not the will.  This has been a real battle, not the peaceful crossing for which we hoped. 

My mother is hanging onto life by the finest of threads.  We felt sure that she would pass late on the 25th or in the wee hours of the 26th.    She didn't.  We visited, we watched, we waited. 

Yesterday I prayed.  "Please, Mama, don't go today, it is Christie's birthday."  

Christie is her first grandchild and only granddaughter.  We had a little chat about the birthday.  OK, it was a monolog.   "Do you remember when you came to Palo Alto?" I asked her.  "Do you remember the flowers you brought?  Two dozen anthuriums in the palest baby girl pink."  They were spectacular.  No single flower was less than about 6" across at the widest point, and there were so many!  She had purchased them earlier in the week and hand carried them from Honolulu to San Francisco.  "You got to the hospital and proudly carried those flowers down the hall to my room.  'It's a good thing this baby is a girl,' you told me.  'I would have looked pretty silly with all this pink for a little boy.'"  

The boy came 3 years later.  "You picked him up at Honolulu Airport, brought him home, and called all your friends and neighbors to come and see your grandson before his parents saw him.  You had bought him a beautfully soft blue crib blanket, and wrapped him in it before you returned him to the airport for the rest of his trip from Maui to Los Angeles."  

My mother had not been supportive of adoption.  I asked her what changed her mind.  Short answer.  "You didn't tell me you were going to adopt a Hawaiian baby!" 

The 28th arrived, gloomy and wet.  Still no phone call. 

I left her bedside at 4:00 this afternoon.  Ian had been there in the morning.  Today she is sleeping deeply.  Periodically, her chest heaves as she pulls in a deep breath all the way from her diaphram.  The breaths between are shallow.  There are occasional gasps following a few seconds of apnea -- no external breathing.  Her hands and feet are cooling.  The tips of her fingers are taking on a blue cast.  Like mine do when my hands get cold.  But these are all early signs, not the ones that say, "It's time." 

Although she is totally unresponsive, the nurses assure me that she can still hear and on some primal level is aware of what is going on in her room.  So we talk quietly and avoid conversations that could be heard as trying to hurry her on her way, shove her out the proverbial door. 

This afternoon I indulged in a bout of retail therapy at Kahala Mall.  I will return to Palolo Hospice House tomorrow afternoon.  If The Call does not come before then.  And each afternoon until she decides it is time to leave. 

Keep on giving thanks for all those dedicated health care professionals who specialize in palliative and hospice care.
Don't forget to pray.

Another Kind of Transitioning

Someone once told me that it is OK for a parent to brag on their children, because if we parents don't, who will?  So here goes -- I am soooooo proud of my son!

My son is a journeyman craftsman.  His current employer announced the week before Christmas that he wants to retire, so is going out of business at the end of March.  Most of the 40-odd journeymen  in the shop fled, taking new jobs as offered before the market was flooded with out-of-work journeymen all fighting for the same limited number of opportunities.

Kimo, too, has been talking to foremen in other shops.  His name is short and easy to remember.  His  work reputation goes with his name.  He is reasonably well know among his fellow craftsmen, and generally well liked.   He has his eye on a particular shop where for reasons of his own he would like to work.    The lead foreman in this shop offered him a job with a start date in the near future.  "Will you quit where you are and take this job?" the man asked.

With an offer like that, the foreman expects the journeyman to leave his present employer immediately to take the new job.  Kimo has different priorities.  "I told him no, I would not quit.  We still have job orders that have to be honored.  Someone has to do the work.  I will be available when the work in my present shop is done."  

He said the foreman was intially taken aback but quickly recovered.   "Man, I appreciate your stand." he told Kimo.  "When you are ready, come talk to me again.  You have a job."

So Kimo, too, is transitioning.  His transition is different from his grandmother's.  He's not changing trades or general geographical work areas.  He is no longer working with a company where he is part of the family (as with his first employer).  He will no longer be working with an employer who has come to trust his judgement, his work ethic, and his ability to get along with customers and journeymen from other crafts and trades (as has his current employer).    He will have to earn the trust and respect of his co-workers and supervisors in a new shop.  He is beginning by making clear his standard that you work until the job is finished. That goes a long way toward building trust.

Give thanks for peaceful transitions.  Pray for the others.  Pray for those left behind. 

Transitioning

My mother is getting ready to move on.  She is in a Hospice House in Palolo Valley, a neighborhood in Honolulu -- an 8-bed facility operated by the Hospice organization which has provided her care since mid-September.  It is a converted private home, and a perfectly lovely setting.  I refer you to today's earliest posting at iLind.net, where Ian explains how we got to where we are right now.

The RNs on duty this afternoon explained carefully that our mom is clearly on the transitioning path, recognizing  her own mortality.  Apparently she has accepted that this is inevitable and is finally at peace.

No one is making predictions  or attempting to second guess our mom's choice of timing.  They say it could be this hour, or next week.  The end-of-life behaviors are there, but not the imminent  warnings.  Her eyes are glassy, as Ray's were when he opened them just before taking his last breath.  But Ray kept his eyes shut for the last 5 days  of his life, so I don't know when they began to glass over.  "She may," RN Geri told me, "be one of those who just goes to sleep one evening and wakes up in the next world."  That is the ideal, after the last week of struggle.  "Or she may be one who doesn't want to do this very private thing with an audience," Geri added.  "I've seen patients hang on through a family visit, then pass within minutes of everyone's departure."    I can see my mother doing that.  In addition to being fiercely independent, she is also a very private person who does not wear her heart on her sleeve.  She  might have passed on the independent streak, but my emotions are right out there for the whole world to witness -- good, bad or indifferent. 

This morning I forwarded to Islands Hospice a link to Ian's morning posting about ambulance response time for our mother (nearly 75 minutes after the initial call) and our very positive response to Island Hospice services and facilities.  Then added my own thanks to staff for going, in my view at least, above and beyond the job requirements to make a difficult experience as unstresful as possible.  Within an hour the telephone call came -- from the Executive Director of Islands Hospice, thanking me for forwarding the link and for our kind words about his organization.  It seems that extra mile is one of their team priorities. 

The seeds of a new cause have been planted -- improving health care accessibility for all the people of Hawaii, beginning with ambulance response times for lower priority patients like my mom was on Sunday evening.  Even the paramedic who responded  told me that his unit was available and could have responded far earlier if they had been dispatched in a timely manner. 

Give thanks for those medical folk at any level who specialize in pallative care.  Recognize them when they come into your life.

Don't forget to pray....

Awareness

My mom, who has consistently stated to all who would listen, "I am not dying." announced yesterday, "I am dying.  I cannot do anything."  Pointing to her head she added, "There is nothing there."

No hearing?  No memories?  Nothing what?

"Call the doctor.  Tell him I cannot do anything.  Ask him what to do." 
Had already done that.  Doing all we can.  Now it is a matter of willingness.  Willingness to fight.  Willingness to die.

I love you, Mama.

I thank you for all the things you have given me in my lifetime.  I thank you for sharing your love of genealogy and local history that is now so central to my life.  I thank you for demanding that I think for myself rather than blindly accepting someone else's viewpoint.  I thank you for demanding that I take responsibility for my own actions.  I thank you for the love of reading and learning that I've never outgrown.   I thank you for teaching me to be proud to be Hawaiian. 

I remember those chemistry lessons in the kitchen, making up for those chemistry classes I never took in school.  I remember all the things you made Ian and me do as we were growing up.  There was the year that Long's Drugs came to Hawaii,  you bought us each a pair of binoculars, then took us birdwatching.  And had several copies of the George Monroe bird book bound, one for each of us.  There the book about the constellations you gave me for Christmas, and we learned about the stars.  There were the trips, especially camping on Maui  during a hurricane ....  where we composed the Kaupo Serenade, with all the sounds that we heard during that night.  Including the ghosts walking in the cemetery on the other side of the dry stone rock wall.   You dragged us to the Volcano House, and ordered a wake-up call if Kilauea Iki erupted.  Pele came to visit that night.  It was the last Kilauea Iki eruption, and we SAW it!    Thank you!

I forgive you for all the things you have said and done that I found hurtful. 

Please forgive me for the things I have said and done that were hurtful to you.  I guess those  words and feelings are a part of being mother and daughter -- and probably too much alike.

If you choose to move onward to a new phase of life, I honor your decision.  If you want to stick around longer, I am here with a whole Hospice team supporting us both.  

I love you, Mama. 

... and in the sickroom ...

We are struggling to balance my mom's pain medication.  Goal = pain free and somewhat functional vs. pain free and practically comatose.  Not acceptable = in pain perceived as greater than 2 out of 10, with 10 being extreme.   Then there are the issues of nutrition and fluid intake, and a tablet  you have to swallow vs. a liquid medication given with a dropper. 

She surprised me this morning and made the Hospice on-call nurse (who was previously our case manager RN) laugh when she heard the story.  Despite my Mom's apparent lack of awareness, she was very aware of the conversation I was having yesterday -- in her room -- with her Hospice RN regarding the then current medication change.  "Don't give both the pill and the liquid," says RN.  "If you do, you will be double dosing."  This morning, after consulting with Hospice, am trying to give her both drops and half a hydrocodone tablet some 2 hours after trying to give the new, extended release tablet, which I am not sure she actually swallowed.  First reasonably coherent words of the day, as if giving a direction to an inattentive teen:  "I am not supposed to take two pills." 

Deep breath.  Explain.  "The Hospice doctor ["doctor" seems to be a magic word] says if you are still in pain after the first pill, this is what we are supposed to do.  He doesn't want you to hurt."  She  allowed me to give her the half tablet.  Thanks be to God! 

Don't forget to pray ...!

Deja Vu

Some experiences are not meant to be repeated. Today was one of them. 

My mom fell very early yesterday morning.  She didn't hurt her head, and her back -- which hurts -- isn't black and blue.  Her forearms are a little worse for the wear with a bruise at the wrist on the left and some torn skin on the right, but those are not the problem.  On the surface, this is not a life-threatening situation. 

But her back hurts.  Not the whole back, not even the spine. It hurts in the place that should be a multicolored bruise.  She says she thinks she broke a rib.  She says when she moves something sharp pokes on something else, generating a stabbing pain. 

Today I have been giving her enough pain medication (at the direction of her Hospice provider) that she has either been in pain but groggy or pain-free and asleep all day.  That means a tiny bit of morphine every hour.  Around the clock.   It has now been more than 5 hours since she was last awake enough to take a hydrocodone tablet and her allotment of morphine.  I cannot let her go too long without pain medication for fear that she will wake up in the same intense pain as she did this morning.  That was NOT good.   So dropped a tiny dose of morphine into her gently snoring mouth.   If I can get her to swallow another hydrocodone in the next 3 hours, I can sleep a little myself.  Hospice is working on a time-release morphine that works for 12 hours, but we didn't get the prescription authorized today. 

She has not eaten today.  She is barely drinking fluids.  She is having trouble swallowing, and her RN is suggesting a thickening agent.  She might try it, but I don't know if she will like it.  If she doesn't like it, it will go to waste.  I might try  some applesauce if I can get her to wake up long enough to swallow two bites.    Getting out of bed, even to get to the bedside commode, is a struggle today. 

All because she slid off the end of her bed and onto the floor.  In the dark.  Trying to do everything for herself. 

 Been here before.  Didn't like it then.  Don't like it much now.  Hospice is Heaven-sent.  Hospice and friends keep me sane. 

Don't forget to pray ...  Pray especially for those who care for the ill and the helpless -- like Jim, Deb and Terri along the Washington/Oregon border whose fight for Carl is much bigger than the one I face.  Pray for every Hospice worker who has ever lived.  Your affirm my faith in humankind. 

Reflecting on January 1

1 January 2013

It was drizzly, windy and overcast, not the best day to play on the beach. 
On the other hand, there is seldom a really bad beach day in Hawai'i.

Barb's condo faces the ocean.  

"Wouldn't it be nice to look out
and see Happy New Year wishes in the sand?" she asked. 

Off we trudged to the perfect spot for creating a masterpiece.  

Barb prodded us reluctant adults.  

Are the letters big enough to see from the condos?
Shall we make the lines wider?  

Armed with hot dog roasting forks (or camera), everyone joined in.

Ethan directed. 

We were B, B, B, B, and E that day.  

 Barb finished out YEAR. 

 Ethan worked on his own name.  

Yes, you could read our message from the condo lanai!

 Despite the weather,
and despite my droopy mood for most of the following week,

it was a very good day. 

Does anyone else remember when
Pat's at Punalau'u was on the mauka side of the highway
at the Ka'a'awa end of town? 
Now it's on the makai side on the Hau'ula end of town. 

One of the B's says they moved it just to confuse me.