It's not the Christmas of storybooks and the more northern climates.
Christmas in Hawaii is warm -- high 70's, and this year it is very rainy. I am reminded of the last major flood in northern California, right at this time of year in 1996, when warm rains at high elevations melted most of a significant snow pack in the space of just a few days. Pineapple Express, they called it. But that's a story for another day.
It's not the Christmas Eve of bean soup and bread fresh from the breadmaker, shared with good friends, then bundling into coat and hat and gloves (for warmth, not fashion!) and of heading off to church.
It's not the Christmas morning of celebratory breakfast, basking in the warmth of shared family. Neither my mother or my brother and sister-in-law celebrate a Christ-centered Christmas. It's just another one of those obligatory family days with gift exchange.
It's not the very Scottish Christmas dinner we shared with Mark and Andrea in the years they lived in Groveland. Nor is it the Christmas of leftovers and football on the TV, and leisurely visits with friends and family.
Instead, I shared a breakfast of out-of-season strawberries with my mother at a table stacked with the special china and silver waiting to be returned to cupboards and drawers after making an appearance for Christmas Eve dinner. Then slipped off to church. Even there, it was clear that the main service of Christmas had happened the evening before. Very small attendance. No music. But Christmas, never-the-less.
How, I wonder, did I drift so far from the rest of my family in our ways of celebrating this particular holiday? Why is it so important this year?
Give thanks for memories, for friends and family. Give thanks for Christmas. Don't forget to pray.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Spending on a Rainy Day
The Honolulu Academy of Arts is just wrapping up their annual buying spree -- just in time for Christmas. If I didn't go now, I'd miss it altogether. So off I trudged, alone, since it was cold and rainy out and Mother didn't feel like fighting the weather. My intention was Christmas shopping. For other people. Turned out to be self-gifting. Found what is becoming an annual treat -- a lovely Celtic cross in delicate silver. Quite different from the James Avery Celtic cross found so many years ago at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco. Found a fascinating bead necklace. It looks like wood, feels like pearls. It is neither. The beads are Indonesian, cut from tree resin, each about 8 mm.
Found at least one gift for someone else, but not at the Academy. Also found a second needlepoint shop in Honolulu while looking for a yarn shop. No wonder I can't find the yarn shop; it has closed.
Robert Who Listens still doesn't have enough magic in his bag of tricks. He was able to confirm that whatever this computer is doing, it's the computer -- not me. The fix-or-replace will have to wait until January. It's gone on this long; it can wait a bit longer.
It is cool and rainy and dark outside, with no hint of the dawn. Sunday is the Honolulu Marathon. Weather reports say it will rain tomorrow, too.
The Honolulu Board of Water Supply motto says When the heavens weep, the earth rejoices. Give thanks for the rain that nourishes the earth.
Found at least one gift for someone else, but not at the Academy. Also found a second needlepoint shop in Honolulu while looking for a yarn shop. No wonder I can't find the yarn shop; it has closed.
Robert Who Listens still doesn't have enough magic in his bag of tricks. He was able to confirm that whatever this computer is doing, it's the computer -- not me. The fix-or-replace will have to wait until January. It's gone on this long; it can wait a bit longer.
It is cool and rainy and dark outside, with no hint of the dawn. Sunday is the Honolulu Marathon. Weather reports say it will rain tomorrow, too.
The Honolulu Board of Water Supply motto says When the heavens weep, the earth rejoices. Give thanks for the rain that nourishes the earth.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Machine's at Fault
When something mechanical in my life doesn't function perfectly, I tend to assume it is my fault. Something I did is causing the problem.
Remember that new computer I waited half the summer to arrive? When it finally did, I was immediately frustrated. I've been complaining since that first week. Sluggish. Unresponsive. Slower than its predecessor with less guts and gusto.
I complained to the vendor, who happens to also be my tech support. Hey, Daniel, why did I pay a premium price for something that doesn't do what was promised? I thought you were going to add extra memory to this beast. It's not there. Hey, Daniel, I could go to Costco or Best Buy, get the same machine for less money, load it myself (and know where all the files get put), and have at least as good a product for less money. Just wouldn't have the on-call tech support. Hey, Daniel, we've got to fix this. I'm really, really not happy.
Daniel is a good civil servant. He takes all Federal and State holidays. He takes a spring break and a winter break. My computer disasters always seem to happen on the Friday of a long weekend. Or at 5:30 p.m. on Friday just after he has shut down for one of his 2-week vacations. His Christmas break starts at 5 p.m. tomorrow.
We started looking for a mutually convenient time to do a remote support session. First we had to scatter my dad's ashes. Then we had to get Kimo back on the road. Then there's my mom's nearly daily list of errands to run. Then there are my own pressing errands. Daniel has his own set of problems with an ailing, aged mother and an equally aging father with not-quite-sufficient financial resources. We finally settled on yesterday afternoon. At 2:00. No, changed that to 4:00. With Robert.
2:00 came and went without a call. 4:00 came and went. Still no call. At 4:30 I figured I'd been by-passed one more time and started the download of a library book. Robert called at 4:31. No, we couldn't ask the computer to multi-task. We would still be here 12 hours later, still trying to solve the same problem.
Robert called again today. Late again. He tried all the tricks in his magic bag. Couldn't solve the problem. Guess what? It's NOT ME! He will try again tomorrow. With a new set of tricks. It might be a graphics issue. It might be something else. Daniel is making "we'll replace it in January" noises. We'll see.
The important piece: I didn't do it! It's NOT ME! For once, the machine appears to be at fault.
Give thanks for all those machines in your life that work tirelessly, uncomplainingly, day after day, as they are intended to work. Pray for the tempers of those of us dealing with the recalcitrant, trouble-making machines in the world.
Remember that new computer I waited half the summer to arrive? When it finally did, I was immediately frustrated. I've been complaining since that first week. Sluggish. Unresponsive. Slower than its predecessor with less guts and gusto.
I complained to the vendor, who happens to also be my tech support. Hey, Daniel, why did I pay a premium price for something that doesn't do what was promised? I thought you were going to add extra memory to this beast. It's not there. Hey, Daniel, I could go to Costco or Best Buy, get the same machine for less money, load it myself (and know where all the files get put), and have at least as good a product for less money. Just wouldn't have the on-call tech support. Hey, Daniel, we've got to fix this. I'm really, really not happy.
Daniel is a good civil servant. He takes all Federal and State holidays. He takes a spring break and a winter break. My computer disasters always seem to happen on the Friday of a long weekend. Or at 5:30 p.m. on Friday just after he has shut down for one of his 2-week vacations. His Christmas break starts at 5 p.m. tomorrow.
We started looking for a mutually convenient time to do a remote support session. First we had to scatter my dad's ashes. Then we had to get Kimo back on the road. Then there's my mom's nearly daily list of errands to run. Then there are my own pressing errands. Daniel has his own set of problems with an ailing, aged mother and an equally aging father with not-quite-sufficient financial resources. We finally settled on yesterday afternoon. At 2:00. No, changed that to 4:00. With Robert.
2:00 came and went without a call. 4:00 came and went. Still no call. At 4:30 I figured I'd been by-passed one more time and started the download of a library book. Robert called at 4:31. No, we couldn't ask the computer to multi-task. We would still be here 12 hours later, still trying to solve the same problem.
Robert called again today. Late again. He tried all the tricks in his magic bag. Couldn't solve the problem. Guess what? It's NOT ME! He will try again tomorrow. With a new set of tricks. It might be a graphics issue. It might be something else. Daniel is making "we'll replace it in January" noises. We'll see.
The important piece: I didn't do it! It's NOT ME! For once, the machine appears to be at fault.
Give thanks for all those machines in your life that work tirelessly, uncomplainingly, day after day, as they are intended to work. Pray for the tempers of those of us dealing with the recalcitrant, trouble-making machines in the world.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Kickin' Cancer's Butt
I'm getting tired of these cancer stories.
Here's another one that, no matter how badly you feel life has treated you, will remind you that someone else has it worse. Or at least a different variation of really bad.
Max's mom was in treatment in Sonora at the same time Ray was receiving chemotherapy. Max's dad used to come into the infusion center (where outpatient chemotherapy is given) wearing a big, bright button declaring, "We're Kickin' Cancer's Butt". You knew they were fighting. One after another, the family continues to fight.
If you're anywhere near Sonora on December 11, the Party for Max is going to be something special. They have so many bands participating that they are holding two parties the fairgrounds. One is dubbed "old people's music", the acoustical stuff. The other is loud, raucous, and geared to the younger folk. For those who are not familiar with the Tuolumne Co. Fairgrounds, there are only 4 buildings -- not including the barns and the offices. Town will be hoppin' that night.
This is Tuolumne Co. at its best, the part of country living I miss most. The community is so small that if you don't know someone directly, if your kids haven't gone to school together, if you don't go to church together, or work together, if you don't cross paths at the hospital or the pharmacy or in Wal-Mart or walking down Main Street, someone you know does or has. "You know him." a friend will tell you, and then proceed to remind you of your links. When someone needs, really needs, the community is there. Cooking spaghetti or chili, donating to a raffle or auction, working a rummage sale, making music, spreading the word, lending support. Praying.
There have been lots of needs this year. Nicole, Megan, Sarah's grandpa, now Max. Those who have lost their homes, or their jobs, a family member or a friend.
Give thanks for those unsung heroes who fight cancer in laboratories and research hospitals all around the world.
Don't forget to pray .....
Here's another one that, no matter how badly you feel life has treated you, will remind you that someone else has it worse. Or at least a different variation of really bad.
Max's mom was in treatment in Sonora at the same time Ray was receiving chemotherapy. Max's dad used to come into the infusion center (where outpatient chemotherapy is given) wearing a big, bright button declaring, "We're Kickin' Cancer's Butt". You knew they were fighting. One after another, the family continues to fight.
If you're anywhere near Sonora on December 11, the Party for Max is going to be something special. They have so many bands participating that they are holding two parties the fairgrounds. One is dubbed "old people's music", the acoustical stuff. The other is loud, raucous, and geared to the younger folk. For those who are not familiar with the Tuolumne Co. Fairgrounds, there are only 4 buildings -- not including the barns and the offices. Town will be hoppin' that night.
This is Tuolumne Co. at its best, the part of country living I miss most. The community is so small that if you don't know someone directly, if your kids haven't gone to school together, if you don't go to church together, or work together, if you don't cross paths at the hospital or the pharmacy or in Wal-Mart or walking down Main Street, someone you know does or has. "You know him." a friend will tell you, and then proceed to remind you of your links. When someone needs, really needs, the community is there. Cooking spaghetti or chili, donating to a raffle or auction, working a rummage sale, making music, spreading the word, lending support. Praying.
There have been lots of needs this year. Nicole, Megan, Sarah's grandpa, now Max. Those who have lost their homes, or their jobs, a family member or a friend.
Give thanks for those unsung heroes who fight cancer in laboratories and research hospitals all around the world.
Don't forget to pray .....
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Pray for Al
Al waited for over a year for a new liver. Towards the end of the wait, his kidneys shut down. He went on dialysis and was added to the list for a new kidney.
An appropriate liver turned up early this week. So did an appropriate kidney. His family was told that his surgery was "textbook classic". That's good news.
Pray for Al's successful recovery. Pray for his caretaker wife, Pat. Pray for all recent transplant patients.
Give thanks for those who register as organ donors.
An appropriate liver turned up early this week. So did an appropriate kidney. His family was told that his surgery was "textbook classic". That's good news.
Pray for Al's successful recovery. Pray for his caretaker wife, Pat. Pray for all recent transplant patients.
Give thanks for those who register as organ donors.
A Rant on Garbage
I always assumed Hawaii was an environmentally friendly state. After all, it's a miniscule land mass surrounded by a very large ocean. Both land and water are to be respected, protected, honored. That's the Hawaiian way. It's apparently not the way of non-Hawaiian decision-makers who live in Hawaii.
I worked in a position where I got up close and personal with sewage treatment facilities. Even the little kit-built plants we operated on the Hetchy treated at least to the secondary level, some to the tertiary level. Statewide, the large plants all treat to the tertiary level -- discharging water that is not drinkable, but appropriate for golf course and other non-food irrigation. Some treated solid waste is used as fertilizer.
Officials in Honolulu are outraged that the EPA is demanding the City upgrades to secondary treatment. That means they can no longer discharge water back into the environment after skimming off the floaty stuff, then settling out 50% of the solids and 25-40% of something called biochemical oxygen demand.
My father left an assortment of prescription drugs, which he hated taking. My parents shared a primary care physician, who prescribed most of those drugs. He has told my mom that she can take one of them as needed. There are a bunch of other drugs we need to get rid of.
The Honolulu garbage disposal website, opala.org, says that liquid medications should be poured down the drain. Pills go into the regular garbage. Taped closed to discourage children from opening the containers.
I cringe. Anything that goes down the drain ends up in the sewer. Wreaks havoc in the treatment plants. But not in Honolulu. Those beasties sensitive to chemicals in the system are used in secondary treatment. They don't do secondary treatment here.
One medication in particular is a testosterone-based gel. It comes in little foil packets. A man can overdose by using too many packets in one day. The package label and the package insert warn in several places that this product should NOT be handled by females.
The box is now in the garbage can, securely taped and double bagged. Vicoden, methodone, and other pills popular in illegal drug circles go into the same garbage can. There is no option.
Someone in California suggested that pill containers should be opened and the contents poured into plastic bags filled with used kitty litter! Puppy poop would be equally effective.
Give thanks for those who think before disposing of potentially hazardous materials, from lei string and those plastic things that hold together cans and bottles in the market, to fluorescent light tubes and used batteries and disposable diapers.
Don't forget to pray ....
I worked in a position where I got up close and personal with sewage treatment facilities. Even the little kit-built plants we operated on the Hetchy treated at least to the secondary level, some to the tertiary level. Statewide, the large plants all treat to the tertiary level -- discharging water that is not drinkable, but appropriate for golf course and other non-food irrigation. Some treated solid waste is used as fertilizer.
Officials in Honolulu are outraged that the EPA is demanding the City upgrades to secondary treatment. That means they can no longer discharge water back into the environment after skimming off the floaty stuff, then settling out 50% of the solids and 25-40% of something called biochemical oxygen demand.
My father left an assortment of prescription drugs, which he hated taking. My parents shared a primary care physician, who prescribed most of those drugs. He has told my mom that she can take one of them as needed. There are a bunch of other drugs we need to get rid of.
The Honolulu garbage disposal website, opala.org, says that liquid medications should be poured down the drain. Pills go into the regular garbage. Taped closed to discourage children from opening the containers.
I cringe. Anything that goes down the drain ends up in the sewer. Wreaks havoc in the treatment plants. But not in Honolulu. Those beasties sensitive to chemicals in the system are used in secondary treatment. They don't do secondary treatment here.
One medication in particular is a testosterone-based gel. It comes in little foil packets. A man can overdose by using too many packets in one day. The package label and the package insert warn in several places that this product should NOT be handled by females.
The box is now in the garbage can, securely taped and double bagged. Vicoden, methodone, and other pills popular in illegal drug circles go into the same garbage can. There is no option.
Someone in California suggested that pill containers should be opened and the contents poured into plastic bags filled with used kitty litter! Puppy poop would be equally effective.
Give thanks for those who think before disposing of potentially hazardous materials, from lei string and those plastic things that hold together cans and bottles in the market, to fluorescent light tubes and used batteries and disposable diapers.
Don't forget to pray ....
Friday, November 12, 2010
A Tribute to a Waterman
I knew the Malia was coming. The Malia, 60+ year old koa canoe, the first Waikiki Surf Club canoe to make the annual 41-mile race across the Ka'iwi Channel between Moloka'i and Oahu, the club's pride, the beauty who seldom now is used because she so precious. Just having the Malia present was a special honor.
I didn't know that there would be four canoes, three with a full complement of club paddlers, three club paddlers on the Malia and seats for those who would carry and spread the ashes. They were magnificent, those canoes in the red and gold of the club my dad was instrumental in founding, setting off the distinctive koa hull of the Malia, trimmed in red, paddlers in their team shirts of gold and red.
I knew that the NaDu K2, the 27-foot fishing boat my dad owned for 40 years, would be one of the escorts, courtesy of the Waikiki Yacht Club. I knew that the Waikiki Surft Club would bring their own escort boat. I didn't know that Pat, who often fished with my dad, would be there with his own boat, the True Grit, and several other men who fished with them over the years.
The little fleet of a dozen or so tiny sailboats in the harbor the channel may or may not have been a planned part of the parade, but they waited as we passed, led by the Malia, then joined us out through the channel, beyond the surfing lanes, where the canoes formed a circle. The rest circled around the canoes.
Both my children, my parents' only grandchildren, were here to honor their grandfather. They were in the Malia, as was our half-sister, Jackie. Together they shared the task of spreading the ashes. Then came the flowers. So many flowers in so many colors, all loose to protect the ocean environment and to honor a man who loved this ocean. The canoes made one more pass, then headed back to shore. The power boats circled twice, then followed the canoes back to the harbor.
There must have been about 40 folk in addition to the paddlers who came to honor and bid farewell to this man who had touched their lives. There were neighbors, past and present. There were fishing buddies and business associates. Dennis flew in from Southern California for the day. Christie came from Seattle, also for the day. There were a handful of surfing legends present, folk who and worked with my dad in building the Waikiki Surf Club. Mark, the surfing historian and surf board collector, came. So did Sandy, the writer, who came to know my dad as she was writing a biography of Duke Kahanamoku. Cousins from my mother's side of the family were there. So were close friends of my brother and sister-in-law, and some of my own friends from Daughters of Hawaii. There was a generous buffet table and beverages courtesy of the Waikiki Yacht Club, and an open bar.
When my father went into nursing care, he transitioned over to an MD who routinely visits the nursing homes in Honolulu. As it happens, he lives next door to one of my co-volunteers at Daughters of Hawaii. I've occasionally laughed and said to Pili, "If I have trouble reaching the doc, I'll just ask you to go next door and leave a note on his front door!" I was touched when Pili offered a box of flowers from her own garden. "The orchids are courtesy of Dr. Johnson's garden." her note told us. I had to smile.
One more time. Good-bye, Daddy. Be at peace.
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