communiKana

Sipping the Essence: Diluted Teas

2012-02-08T16:46:00.000-08:00

I have been on the prowl for my favorite boxed tea, which seems to be quite rare this season. TAZO, which was created in Portland, and before becoming the world-wide success through Starbucks, had a couple blends which I loved. These days, only one flavor, really stays with me, and I long for it long beyond the holiday season, so much so that the bulk that I got in Maui is down to a final tea bag and I shirk at the thought of having to wait to the next holiday season to get my TAZO Joy.

C'est la vie. That just means I have to try another flavor, another one to get my attention. I used to love Red Rose decaf because it came with a little statue, but then they got cheap. It only comes in the bigger box of caf now. Like Cracker Jack of tea with a little prize. I have been playing with Typhoo tea and it has a lovely flavor, but trying to capture a flavor from a long time ago with my friend Susan Craigie in BC is hard. That one was Tetley Earl Grey Decaf, and it's so hard to find in that original concoction.

Is there anything more wondrous than a perfectly brewed cup of tea with just the right amount of sweet? Yes. It is more than a cup of tea. What is the environment? What kind of tea was chosen? In what capacity were you when you selected your tea? Did you do it out of habit, like High Tea in many of my Northern friends and those across the ocean into the Channel?

What and by what circumstance are you drinking your tea?

Still, the idea of finding a flavor, a blend, a memory of something so warming that changes from its originality into something else is what a cup of tea is to me these days.

Finding the original concoction is hard of late for packaged teas. They get some success, and then they, cut the blend, and try to mainstream it, diluting the original formula to appeal to more and more people. Ahh, sigh. I seem to recall a story in Sufi wisdom (citation -- hmm.... was it Nasruddin?) about this idea of dilution, what starts as a gift of a duck that becomes a soup that becomes water because so many people want it.

What happens when all is said and done and this dilution is simply Essence, like baQi, all that remain when the masks disappear.

When is a cup of tea more than cup of tea? It is when it warms the body, the memory, the story, the cup washed and put away, the box filed away, for the next time when one wants to sip of life.

Writing: That's All I Can Do, All I Can Be

2011-12-16T16:35:00.000-08:00

I have been published since my teens, have been a researcher, writer, editor, and writer for several years, positions that seem to meld into every job, volunteer opportunity, or personal enrichment with whom I have been involved.

What would I do if I lost the use of my fingers, the synapses that fire, the energy that connects the thoughts in my head to the energy impulses that creates these letters, these words on the screen? I would be a little lost, but like most things in my life, it would be an experience that creates strength, a passion that needs to be quenched, a drive that would find me a way to write.

That's how powerful my gift is.

I think about my dad, a career infantryman, one of the US Army's marching soldiers, the front line, the strategists, the thinking on their feet men. He lost a leg and it doesn't slow him down. Sure, there are days that are not as busy as others, but he gets up, he gets out, and he marches on, probably to some Deutsche volksmarch tune in his head. He gets up and goes, because while the loss is so prevalent, his gain of new life experience makes up for it.

I think about my mom, a military wife and renowned artisan turned mental health practitioner and now master gardener. She is about the details, the information, the life right in front of you, the vision. What if she lost the use of her eyes? I never remembered a time when she wasn't without her glasses. When I first came back from Maui she wasn't wearing them, new technology fixed them. Her eyes without glasses are something shiny, but then, I can say that because her eyes are just like mine. She chose not to live without sight, to trudge on like her marching soldier of 50+ years.

We go on.

That's what we do. That's all we can do.

As the chilly days of winter in the Northwest continue to hack away at what little Vitamin D I have absorbed into golden skin, I think about what brought me back here, the threat that my feet would be taken that the possibility of a life without independent movement might happen. Guess what?

We go on.

That's what we do. That's all we can do.

So, I write. I apply for jobs where my passion is predominant, where employers can use my skill sets. I volunteer my time to people who need writing help. I blog. I think about my status updates on Facebook and the consequences of those words and I post. Every day I write.

I go on.
That's what I do.
That's
all
I
can
do.

Be.

On Being a Writer of Fear and Faith

2011-10-13T08:13:00.000-07:00

I am a fortunate man. There is a path that I have always taken, a path I can do in my sleep. It is of writing. I hear stories from friends and colleagues who struggle with the "I don't know my life's path, so I keep trying different things." One distinct truth for me is that I can easily tap into my writer and posit something to the universe that the very word or words are so much power moreso than the message they are trying to convey. I am a writer, so I write.

That's not to say that I, too, don't struggle with things as far as "path" goes. It easy to say I have a writer's block of sorts when it comes to dealing with personal belief, faith, some relationships. The past year has been a testing period particularly I struggle with health and financial issues.

The fear of releasing these two burdens was palpable in this time, so much so that it outweighed my joy, and the ability to be present in that joy. I have recognized it, and oftentimes, have stood sitting on a rock on the path, and watched myself go through these motions and be enveloped by them. I felt separate from myself, uncomfortable in my own skin, with an inherent need to people please, since taking care of others and not so much myself is a learned talent and escape, that it was so easy.

I vocalized this week that I don't want the "easy fix." I don't want the easy way outs. I don't want to act as if, like each day rehearsal to the next. What that means is that when given a sign, or a nod to realize certain potentials, it is my choice to leap into them or stand back and analyze, but a choice does need to happen. I can't fall into myself anymore. When I stand back so much that I push potential away, that's where I get into trouble and I metaphorically think the path, especially where I am sitting needs to change. The rock upon which I am sitting needs to be weeded, moved. The rock next to needs to be moved. And so on, until the rock form an unintended path, or as we in the gardening world call it, a volunteer sapling meant to mess our pristine landscaping. Then I get lost.

My easy fix is falling into the two burdens and using them to escape from that which is a potential opposite. Worrying about my feet versus fighting for them at all costs. Feeling isolated because who would ever love such a large man, I chose a lifestyle that at its core is specialized from the norm instead letting love find me. Taking jobs that don't match my worth so that can pay a bill that keeps me further in debt. I guess the most important thing is pushing people away with my snottiness, my sometimes cruel wit, or my supposed intellect, when all they want to do is help, or love me, and I fight for a superimposed independence instead of accepting that love. And instead of staying, I run, run away.

Yes, when I run, I can justify it and use it as a learning opportunity and meet some of the checks on my list of to-dos in this life. I know though, instinctively, that when I see myself falling into old patterns of escape and acting as if, in a dress rehearsal of life, I know that a leaping off point is happening. Either I run, I hide, or find an escape, or I live in it and see what happens. Hmmm.

Is it so silly to believe that I love being happy versus right? Is it silly to cry in secret, deep tears, (sometimes in the shower so I can distinguish between water and emotion), and then feign a lack of vulnerability and the whole "I don't cry" because I'm a man ideal? Is it so silly that I don't believe in the idea of recession for me personally, because I know my talent is recession-proof? Is it silly to believe that there are reasons for everything, but not reason itself, simply, if I have faith that are reasons for things?

Is it silly to tap into love when love is presented?

Ya sure, I can write. I can write just about anything. I got it in my head that because I didn't put enough practice into a certain type of writing, that I failed at the whole of it. 25 page papers every three days on economies of scale, on political economy, and government and the law that required an opinion that didn't sound like an opinion. That writing. That feeling of intense failure at the PhD level was not up to par. I just didn't stick with it, I gave up, I ran from the potential of it.

I don't regret my choices at all in this life, I think that I have many teaching moments ahead and learning opportunities behind. Sometimes I wonder if I had survived the PhD program and found myself teaching at some college in some small town; would I be spiritually fulfilled? Would I see how spirit and faith are so integral to I am?

C'est la vie. Today I need to keep focused on potential. The fears will arise, and so will my faith.

Be a writer. Write.

New Generation Love-In: Flash Mobs

2011-10-07T09:55:00.000-07:00

Last night I spent the evening instead of watching a movie and then curling up into warm blankets to escape the Northwest cold, watching YouTube on the big screen with my sistahfriend, Paula. We watched some of our old favorites, like that commercial of the guy farting bed, the blind date fart, and the guy in the jeep being chased by a 747 on a Los Angeles freeway. Yep, classics. Then, we got to cat videos, because I really wanted to show her the one of a mutual friend of ours and her love of cats. Next came the Alexandra Wallace paradigm shifting conversation. We topped the evening off with a fudgsicle and some positive video uploads. I shared my favorite from the Sick Puppies group, called the Free Hugs campaign, and she showed me some old dance team shots of her daughter, GLEE Flash mob moments, and finally the food court flash mob near Ontario, Canada where a group of folks sing the Hallelujah chorus.

I sat humming Bad Romance from Lady Gaga this morning at the train station, reminiscing on the 103 little monsters GLEE flash mob where kids of all ages did it. My only experience with flash mobs was watching an episode of CSI Miami where some guy dies on a golf course. It was about a statement, about freezing moments in time, about making people realize that the doldrums does not have to be; that a change in step, in voice, in song, can happen at the most innocuous of moments.

I was reading an article in O Magazine about a young artist who helps create public participation events in areas of a city that needs such activity. She creates interactive art spaces that gets people to get out and about. It is quite amazing. Amazing, really, how public participation events are driving the way we live our lives. When I was at university being a research assistant in the PhD program, I did a lot of research on public participation planning and the impacts it has on culture. It was not my choice, but simply an assignment. As a result, alot of my research turned to the appreciative inquiry model, and I was glad when my friend Stephen Silha developed the Big Joy Project, when friends created salons, keiki readings, and other events meant to stimulate conversation while doing it from a positive influence, and not so much about making a statement.

When public participation happens in a positive force for good, the world progresses. In a world where we want to shut in, escape from the recession, ignore the struggle, and just crawl up under the covers, it is so amazing how simple things like a TV show inspired dance movement gets people up and out, or how a choral ensemble will pull off a dramatic performance in the middle of a food court, or even an artist creating a space for others to be part of the creative space.

One final thought as I sit on the train this morning. Wouldn't it be awesome in Business Class to have GLEE music blaring over the loudspeakers as travelers with their coffee mugs, laptops, Kindle readers, Iphones, Cell phones dropped them into the seats and started flash mobbing throughout the train? As the miles pass by all grey and rainy, the train could be the new generation love-in.

Trend Spotter: Mental Walkabout

2011-09-23T09:54:00.000-07:00

Despite a recession and my friends fears that if I move back to Washington I might not have a job, so why not just stay in Maui? It is warmer, Kana, they say.

Yet, after spending out my Evergreen retirement money on job search and living expenses in a year, and then, ending up in a transitional housing program and working hard in corporate retail with a failing body, it seemed to make sense to return to the area where I can have stability and the opportunity to get on my feet.

My job search here has had better results in qualified jobs for which I can apply. The thing about job search is that it helps to quantify my achievements and show what my greatest strengths are. I used to say writing was my big strength, but I have learned in my time away from my hometown, that it is something more. It makes so much sense as it explains why my writing is so successful.

My ability to anticipate needs of people before they can speak those needs, saving time, money, and energy. This anticipation is what one of my favorite professors at Portland State University helped me to identify while there. I am able to see trends before they happen; I am not psychic, I just have the ability to recognize patterns in things, people, behavior, relationships, and the like.

I sit in a Grant Writing Class for Community Based Organizations. I am in the class because I want to refresh my skills in grants and development to boost my resume. I got into grant writing early on because I felt I knew this recession would be coming, that community based organizations would be on the rise in support of more people using those organizations, and so having a full scope of writing abilities, including grant writing was essential, to keep skill-sets fresh. That is a trend-spot. I don't have a fancy job title or affiliation with an organization, just a writer.

But I am not a guy who can sit still in a class. I have my laptop on, and there is a hotspot here, so I am doing job search stuff, replying to some emails, posting my status, and finding the speaker talking about data research and sources that connect with one of the organizations I am affiliated with. A colleague at the table and I are talking about a potential job opportunity near where my brother lives in Bremerton; luckily I have resumes with me. My mind continually works, and I multi-task at a level most people desire in a job.

Think tanks hire 12 year old prodigies with this skill, and keep them sequestered away so they can use that information in the progress of life. Those 12 year olds are stunted because while they are on a useful path, what life is left for them? Sometimes I am a stunted 12 year old because I have never really been outside the walls of my own little think tank.

Then, I realize, hey. I have a graduate degree from the top liberal arts college in the West, where I had an excellent career as the go-to guy behinds the scenes. I am a published writer. I got to teach and motivate students in the most feared course at a university, public speaking. I helped to jump start the work that would become the United Nations Indigenous Treaty. I worked with literacy projects in Hawaii and found a passion in that area.

One of my favorite uses of this talent was when I got to work with an amazing writer and photographer who would go on to producing a film that is making the film festival circuits as a personal assistant/organizer. We shared a passion in social media, I got to edit one of her books, and then, she hired me to come with her on a trip to San Francisco and her home in Melbourne, Australia, to professionally organize her home. In traveling with her, I got to see her personality and deduce what was important to her, and use that to help get her home in order. I saw her patterns, her trends, and from that got to help her creatively.

These days my body is failing, but my mind is sharp and extremely active. I am sitting on my butt, elevating my legs, but doing a multitude of activities. I used to want to turn off my head and found ways, not so healthy of doing that. But I have learned to live with this brain and what comes from constant knowledge.

So, despite a medical disability relating to my feet and an inability to stay standing for long periods of time, I still want to live and work. I, at this point in my life, would love to be in a think tank where I sit for long periods of time absorbed in data, compiling research, analyzing and collating. If I learned anything from my brother, Kai, was that learning to walk again after a hospitalization, was that the mental walk was so much more important than the physical one.

I am not a 12 year old stunted to hide from the world in a think tank. I want to take that information and help organizations succeed in motivating people, and hopefully my grant writing and development abilities would help them to succeed in that goal. If I can do that and remain close to family with a good job and benefits that will help cure the failing body, then more so the better.

The way to do it, to live this life, is to take the mental walk of giving back what has been given.

*************************************
This web log is dedicated to my brother, David (Kai), who followed in the family tradition of giving back what he was given.For more information about Kai, go to these sites:

http://washingtonguard.org/fallenheroes/CW2_Shephard.shtml
http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2005/Sep/24/ln/FP509240336.html

Succulently Put: Success Stories

2011-09-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

My father asked to me edit some correspondence for him and inadvertently used the word succulently for the word succinctly. Succulently is not a word, but it could be, because it implies greater succulence, which can't be a bad thing.

This wordsmith ability comes from a long line of people in my family and my siblings and I possess this ability. Some of us use it more than others, but it is an ability both shared and learned. This ability will pass to the next generation, and that after that.

Why? We got it at home that education and the ability to defend a point was important. Some of us used it to win a debate, some of us used to get post graduate work, some of us run incredible stores, some of use it be of service to others. This one ability alone made all of us success stories.

Never a failure. My parents can take to heart this fact, that they did not raise idiots nor people who in idiotic meanderings might call their children failures.

Why this comes up today, on the memorial of my brother's death in service to his country, is that some idiot decided that today of all days was the one where he needed to spew his insecurities and lack of tact on my parents. He is not even a neighbor, he's the son of some neighbors who in neutral truce, meaning they live their lives and life is okay.

I want so badly engage this guy, tell him to lay off. But it's not my fight. But that urge to stand up protect one's family, to stand for the smaller people, to defend honor where it needs to be, is also some passed from one generation to the next in my family.

We are all fighters and defend honor. We are all educators and defend information. We are all in service to others and defend community. We are all lovers of life and defend that life.

I love remembering these traits in my brother, Dave, or Kai as my cousinbraddahsistah Minna calls him. For I feel connected to him. We may have opposing views and different lifestyles, but what is true is that we fight the good fight, live the good life, and be of service to other people.

Who could see failure in that? I organize peoples lives and help motivate them to success. Kai was a builder, helping create futures. Deane inspires the youth, the athletes of tomorrow. Mika is a writer, sharing story and spurring imagination. Gab has created a community center, getting kids off the streets. Douglas didn't survive birth, but he gave my parents the gift of not giving up, and two more would follow, my aforementioned sisters. Surely these are not failures.

We are rich in who we are, and brother Kai, is remembered as such. You know why?
My parents grew six children, four are surviving. The two that passed are remembered well. Success is surviving this life and when you don't, it is how you are remembered, whether it with fondness, wit, or lust, or the things created.

This land my mother has sculpted, the land my father has nurtured is like their children their legacy, a testament to preserve the future. None of us kids have spawned a grandbaby, so this is where these master gardeners spend their time. So, like the deer that nibble on the roses, the raccoons that titter across the deck, usurpers do come about, and they fend them off.

It might be my fight some day as caretaker for this land, a responsibility to be shared with not just one man, but with our partners, our kids, our dogs. That's a ways off, the foundation has been built, the rocks, literally, put into place. When things come up, like this idiot's comment, I get to stand back and continue to learn from my parents' defense of this land, and in effect, my siblings and I.

This is the richness they pass to us, it's not one of simple property ownership, it is care for the land. It's just a little bit beyond richness; it is quite succulent like one of the peaches ripened by sun on the trees by Kai's pond.

I am not a failure, neither are any of the other Shephard kids despite one man's words. We live success by making each experience rich, and then adding a bit more flavor, and keep on adding. In this family there is no such thing as too little.

Perhaps my dad's heart was right in his letter. It wasn't so much succinct as it was, succulently put, a bit more fervor, a bit more life.

Photo caption: My father presenting words of life as a Scouter at the memorial service of Duane Brown a dear friend; my mother, his stalwart of more than 50 years. Can we talk success?

2011-08-12T07:39:00.000-07:00

I did some research about monetizing blogs and blogs about people, like me, who have interesting lives in the hope that someone out there has written about experiences similar to my own in the hopes that I find another being like me.

Yes, there are similarities, but no one is really just like another. Something that I learned as a student of public administration at The Evergreen State College, is that nothing is new not research, not life, that everything repeats itself, and what we do with it changes the outcome, so it seems. Life is what we make of it, truly.

This morning I awoke fearing I might not get out of bed, for I did something yesterday that was so out of the norm for me, particularly in the past six months. I was going to go on the tennis court and play for about ten minutes and sit down. But then, endorphins kicked in and I found myself having fun with another gentleman I had just met, while his partner shot balls at us. 45 minutes and some sweat later, I turned over my racket, wondering if this was my last time doing this, because of the whole ten minutes on the feet thing. I felt the same way after surfing on a board last week, the 45 minutes of exercise, endorphins, and exhilaration.

I am somewhat tired and a little dehydrated and my legs appear to have muscles back that had lay dormant for the past six months of medical leave, but still, I am alive and kicking.

I am not losing my feet. That's all there is to it.

I may be a big old guy who is not part of the norm in our society, but losing my legs is tantamount to me giving up and not being willing to trust my instincts and being spontaneous besides a voice in my head that says I cannot do it because I might lose the legs. If you had that as a potential, wouldn't you do everything you could to live your life on those legs, and simply do it by taking care?

And what I mean about norm is this. I am 43 years old. I am 375 pounds, still much less from my top weight of 525. I have had situational depression in the past six months that I attribute to doctor-ordered medications, a fear of a life less shorter, an overwhelming sense of despair of not being a regular member of the workforce who uses talents and contributes to society, and this whole leg thing keeping me down.

It seems another cultural norm is the together thing; I have never been in an intimate, love relationship, that I so crave, because I think, has a lot to do with the way I look and am perceived. And this perception has clouded the judgment of would-be employers. Don't they know who I am, what I can do, and how I can be of solid, sustaining use for their organizations? The don't judge the book by the cover, I should say, for this Fabio I Can't Believe it's Not Butter pulp hunk can do a lot!

I saw my dad the other day, looking really good and working the garden at their place, one leg and all, and was so indelibly touched by how life has changed for him.

Life is what I make of it. If it is creating community in my hometowns of Olympia, Portland, and Lahaina. If it is creating family because I am authentic in my feelings for people. If it is taking jobs in an effort to not improve my c.v., but to do simply get out of my self, share my knowledge, and work with others. If it is taking spontanenous moments and learning from them, to show myself that yes, I am still alive and kicking. Then, yes, that's what I need to do.

I live in a place of uncertainty, of not wanting to fall back on old patterns, of wanting time with my family, of taking different steps, and I think that despite the fact that I can't find someone completely like me in blog land, it's is a common interest.

There is so much potential for fear, why can't we make room for stepping up and living life?

Defining Friendship

2011-07-31T23:47:00.000-07:00

It's a week or so away from when I leave Maui for an indefinite period of time in the beautiful Northwestern United States, and I met with some recalcitrance, mainly about access to friends and hanai family, and there is, of course, the weather that really, really feeds who I am.

But what of friends?

I have traveled a bit, not a lot. As a military brat, sure I made friendships come and go, and some have stuck, and some have renewed, but still, it sets up life as very transitional. Very. That's as a kid. As an adult, though, if a person is important to me, I have kept the friendship up, and kept in contact with that person, and made a real effort to remain a constant in people's lives.

Being there without even knowing it; that's a definition of friendship.

Tonight I had dinner with a lovely lady named Susan with whom I have connected powerfully, particularly around art and the appreciation of beauty in many methods. She is my pragmatist, meaning she keeps it really real and doesn't ask for anything in return. She keeps it real.

Authenticity and staying connected; that's a definition of friendship.

I play the games, I make comments, I try to get and meet new people in the wonderful world of Facebook. Most people on Facebook I know before the social media, and those that I met, and even bricks and mortared (real physical connection) with, I stay connected with. If it is as simple as a postcard sent around the world, or even a phone call or text, or email. Or something. There is a reason why the friendship attracted.

Like speaks to like; that's a definition of friendship.

When I am in my greatest fear, and I let it be known. When I share my doubts and hesitations. When I am acting differently than the norm. When I isolate and don't call. When I am so afraid of alone time that I do destructive things. When I get in panic or anxiety. It's up to me to step beyond that by picking up the phone, or interacting in life, or even posting somewhere. When I need to get outside myself and realize that life exists whether I do or not, and it takes the helping hand of someone else, then there's something to be learned.

Hearing my heart cry, despite no sounds from me; that's a definition of friendship.

Friendship to me is best defined by how I am a friend. Do I exhibit integrity, care, love, passion, interest, genuine reflections, a hug, a helping hand, a laugh, an interruption, a movie night, a poem, eating out, walking the dog, picking up the phone, sending a postcard, showing in times of emergent need, or even just checking in after long whiles?

Friendship is what I make of it.

And I forever grateful for what I have.

Defining Giant: Way of Life

2011-07-20T01:51:00.000-07:00

I sit outside on a lanai in a parking lot where the Wi Fi triangulates Starbucks, McDonald's and Island Froyo. I do a little play time and I get to watch the world go by. People are so amazed that someone can pick up Wi Fi on their laptop without being "plugged in," these people, often the younger generation who have IPhones and cell phones that do the same thing my laptop does, but still they are amazed.

Doesn't he have a life? Why isn't he at home? Is it safe to use a computer on a table near a grocery store at night in Lahaina, Maui?

Is it safe?

The teenagers are out of school and are also trying to get adults to buy them booze. People hang out and eat a meal. Homeless people sit with their dogs. Cockroaches the size of small rats frolic with mice and birds. It's not raining, it's balmy. Is it safe? Safe is as safe does, or some weird Bubba Gump saying.

Most days it is a curse to be a giant of a man. My ass doesn't fit comfortably in seats; I fear airline travel and movie theatres. People look past me once they get over the initial shock of size. It's hard to get hired, it's harder even to be taken seriously. Where it's a benefit to be a giant of a man is safety. No one really messes with you, especially you project your size. No one really wants to get close. And you know, it makes me as formidable as a tank.

But when people break past the barrier of the way I look, the conversations happen and the dialogue begins. As my days in Maui wind down, I think about the first time I was really fearful of meeting someone, expecting rejection and uncertainty, especially around my giant size.

It was ironically, at an airport in San Francisco, on what would be my whirlwind word tour. This tiny, voluptuous woman, smelling of green apple candy, with a tarty giggle, looked at me. Would she turn away or would she accept me? Accept me she did, and took me on my first grand, grand adventure of a life-time, an adventure which set the stage for the adventures I have had here, and the more that wait around each and every corner.

When I get into fear about safety and security, I think about this moment when a moment of trust happened and connected me with lady who showed me about life beyond my narrow view, who showed me the great side of San Francisco, the starkly similar to Maui features of Melbourne, and how deeply creative, passionate, and intellectual she is. Yes, my Meagan is giant, much like me, just in a smaller package.

So, giant is not about size. Giant is, for me, about my compassion for good and how I am of service to others. Giant for me is the capacity of heart overwhelming the head and beating back the image of body. Giant for me is living my life to the fullest and not worrying about hiccups like theatre and airplane seats, those are only momentary lapses, a breath of air, and it's gone.

It's like Maui has been for me, a way of life, and not simply the image of one.

Being One With the Glue: Patterns and Trends

2011-06-13T00:19:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I was able to see moves on a chessboard all the way to the end. I played and played until I got bored. I would try different games and ultimately beat the game to the point of boredom because to where it was heading. I would subscribe to magazines and devour them, realizing that the content remains the same, just the context changes. Again, bored.

Then, it was reading. I learned to speed read with comprehension, and then, after awhile, I got bored with it. When something new came out, I would read for the thesis of the piece, read the first chapter, scan quickly through the rest of the book and pause on page that had some excellent piece of writing and then, go to the end. I read and read, and sometimes I find a bit piece of writing that so blows me away that I have to read the whole book, but most times, no. I read to learn a little bit, and see where my analysis takes me.

In college, I saw patterns and trends in the way people interacted, in the way I compiled statistics, in the way I put information together, and in the way life happened. Some people call it visioning, or psychic abilities, or even the popular "trendspotting" which businesses use to explain away the latter psychic change-up. I have had it my whole life, this ability to strategize life, to see the whole picture, estimate the consequences, gather the information, and make an informed decision about what will come.

In grad school, this talent really helped me focus who I am intellectually; professors would call my writing inadequate or not up to par with graduate school because it lacked focus or was too flowery. Luckily I had professors who helped me draw the picture for people because my writing was neither unfocussed nor flowery, it was drawing connections that most people don't see, it was creating a social order out of seemingly disordered things. It was creating pattern. It was filling in the gaps, and making sure nothing is left behind.

It happens frequently these days. I would say something to someone that seems like a tangent, but it totally makes sense to me; a few days later they would realize that I had skipped all the steps it took them to realize that what I said made sense. I read things in magazines and on the web and realize that a trend will happen. Rubber bands will make a comeback in the form of fashion. Levi's will dominate the market forever. Starbucks will get better if Schultz returns, cleans house, and decides to focus on community. Weird things like that.

Remember that movie where Melanie Griffith plays "Tess," a secretary who makes connections reading a variety of newspapers and magazines with the businessworld, seeing something that most people don't. Making connections that would seem odd to most, but with a simple talk-thru makes sense, and better, makes good business sense. Folks would call me an innocuous trendspotter because I really don't live a life of trendy things. I don't have that IPAD, that new Hybrid, that fancy water bottle, the Breitling watch, the hot man clothes. But I know what looks good on people, I know what doesn't. I watch people to see what is comfortable and what helps them succeed in their lives.

People would call it a personal assistant, a professional organizer, a wife without benefits, a concierge, a butler, a chauffeur, a maid, an executive aide, teacher, marketing professional, desktop publisher, a personal representative, an image consultant. There are many boxes to put that person in, to put me in, yet what makes us special is that we think outside the box, juggle many hats, and in the end, be of good service to others. So, what do I think my title is?

Glue. I am the glue that holds people together. I am the glue that help mold young lives. I am the glue that keeps peoples lives into a semblance of organization. I am glue that salves wounds. I am the glue that people can do without, but prefer to do with.

I am the glue.

In this life, people want me to draw a picture. To hold their hands all the way to the process. Ultimately the process will resolve itself, and the consequences will bind, and the decision taken. That's how it works for most. For me, I see the future, and ultimately we, as a whole, get there.

And I get to go along for the ride. Luckily the ride is about enjoyment of the present, because, well, the future has taken care of itself already.

That's it. Glue.

Trying to Like Poi with Delight

2011-05-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about it. I try, and I try, and I try. And I just don't like poi. It comes in a tub at Costco, or a bag locally, or even on Aunty Kathy's table. It's there and people devour like the ocean deposits sand on the beach in Kahana. I did a keiki (kids) reading at the library recently and one of the books was about a girl who all she ate was poi, despite her parents and friends and family and then, the world, trying to get her to try other foods then poi.

Sure, it's shock full of nutrients, and people swear by its taste. Aunty Sherry in Kaneohe holds a great memory for me. When I visited the family home in Kailua during my big trip a few years back, cousin Jennifer cooked an entire meal composing local favorites, and brought to the family table, family whom I really never really known. Thereat night was lomi lomi salmon, lau lau, haupia, my favorite lilikoi pie (made fresh by my cousin with lilikoi from my grandmother's vines, and other island delights. And the poi, a big tub of the stuff.

Aunty Sherry giggled. She never giggles, well, then. This little powerhouse of a lady may appear to be like me steadfast and confident, but she possess this innate sense of laughter that is infectious and goofy. She giggles. I, to this day remember a conversation where I am sitting at a bus stop in Portland cold and chilly and I get on the phone with my Aunty. I am shivering and feeling really alone and beat down after some governance course in the PhD program. I dial her number, knowing the time difference, and we talk, and we talk of life and then, we laugh, something I didn't do a lot of during my study time at Portland state. Giggles and then guffaws, the power of laughter. Some might think that's a side-note, but no, it's just talk story.

So you can imagine. I wanted to try it, this poi that gave my Aunty such delight. She giggled on this night, and despite all the grandeur of presentation, all the family time around the table, she served up poi in a little white bowl, you know like the kind that's too small for creme brulee but too big for a pinch of Rachel Ray's salt. She dipped her finger in and giggled. Ate it. Ate some more. And then dove right in licking that little bowl clean, with such delight on her face.

I tried it. I would tell a colleague at Evergreen later that week about my first real taste of poi, and what I said to him about the flavor, the texture, he took such offense at, though it was my experience. I will not repeat it here, for I have said it once, and never again. But for me, the experience was not about the delight.

My friend, Kahu and his wife Kenda, and I talked of poi, and how I just don't get it. Kenda, a haole from Indiana, said you have try it fresh, where you can really feel it's meaning. Ironic, that my graduate presentation talked about the spiritual connection, the kinesthetic connection between the human hand, the soil, the plant. How tobacco is that connection and despite cigarette cultivation, there is a life to it before it becomes an addiction. Perhaps that it is how it is poi. I understand that taro is grown locally, that poi comes from that local plant. Perhaps, like Kenda has suggested I might try it fresh. Perhaps when I go for a visit I will ask if I can touch the leaf and sit with it, and see what happens.

I am willing to try. You know why? Because in my family traditions are not so much what is remembered on paper, they are constantly evolving. At my sister's wedding, we developed a new tradition, called "in this tradition as we know it," it was kinda silly really, but things happened as a result. Traditions are what we make them. I loved that my first Hawaiian wedding was my sister's down to cake, the kuikui nut necklaces they wore, even the flowers I created, and most especially my father standing proud on the lakefront as she wed Eric, it was family, a tradition as we know it.

Why I talk about it like this, is because to some people it is staple in the diet. To others, it is something they tried on vacation, and thought, wow, they like it, so despite the fact that they don't live on the aina, they get poi shipped over. It's not as fresh, and even if they grow the taro leaf in their garden, cultivate and grind it on the mainland somewhere, there is a distinct difference in its taste. It is a tradition to grow, to cultivate, to serve, to taste this food here.

Yes, there will always be that something we don't like. A flavor that just doesn't make it for us. I so want to like poi, I want that feeling of delight that comes to Aunty Sherry. I want when my little niece wahinePiilani put a dollop on a perfectly good piece of teri beef and says, try, unka Kana, try. I want to have intelligent conversation with my cousin in Oahu about the importance of food and family and how that table in the kitchen, the table in the dining room in the family home in Kailua has such significance.

For me, poi is not just a food, it's a cultural connection to land, to aina. And you know, what? I understand it. It might not be about the tasting of it; it might be simple as understanding it. In my family, we have a motto that is generations long. Non nobis solum. It is Latin meaning, "Not for ourselves alone." It's what I have done in my life; it's what I will be remembered for when I pass, the need to be of service to others, no matter what job I have, no matter what person I help, no matter what path takes me where.

It is in my family motto, it has been ingrained in me as an infant. My sisters, my brothers, them too. If you look at my nuclear family, that is what you see. Are we famous people? No. Are we in the spotlight? Some times. Do people know us? Yes. Do they develop relationships with us? Yes. Do we create community? Yes. No Nobis Solum. Not for ourselves alone.

I had seen my friend feeding their baby something out of a container, and ironically that I had never seen purple strained peas before. It was poi. An "ah hah" moment appeared.
I asked my cousin, my aunty, my hanai family if they have eating poi their entire lives. Yes. Most of them from birth, from after Mama's milk was gone, and need for sustenance in solid form was needed, poi was fed.

I never had that experience, to my knowledge. I believe the idea of muscle memory of something happening and you think, deja vu, I have tasted of this memory before. I have been here before. Like poi to my bloodline, my hanai family, it is a taste, a delight, a memory.

My "poi" it is about traditions created and mottoes lived. So, that means I will continue to try to taste and understand poi for it is such intricate connection to the land, to the sea, to the history of my family of blood, family of hanai.

I will try, like my Aunty Sherry Kahanu Shephard of Kailua has taught me, with delight. Giggles of delight.

Yum.

Emails of Hope: Change in Perception

2011-04-15T17:00:00.001-07:00

I get so many emails, and the ones from my dad and mom are pretty important to me. Usually, it's updates about what's going on in their part of the world, or it's some good information that's of use to what's going on with me at that current point in time -- federal job search, teaching college, or living in Hawaii. I really like when my dad writes to me about my genealogy whether it be the Hawaiian side dating back beyond Kamehameha the 1st or the young woman who came over on the Mayflower, and then, before that where they come from in Europe.

I am a product of many complexities, though when my mom and dad write to me, it becomes so simple. My mom writes of love and faith. My dad of pragmatic hope. I needed a change in perception, that's all. I needed to know that my life is okay, because others are not so okay. I mean, my brother, Dave, won't have any more bad days, 'cuz he is just gone, a complex man who died in service to this country. I think about him often and the consequence of his being gone. It's a change in perception.

What brought this thought up this morning was an email sent to my dad from a long-time friend of his, and I think my brother's god-father. He sends some pretty good emails. Because of a shared military background, it's not unusual to find messages of hope stemming from the experience in Iraq.

This email is about one such moment at a movie theater.

Ironically, some of my favorite moments with my parents in recent years are the simple trips to the military post to go get gummi bears and head over to the theater to watch a new film for about $1. We share a passion for all sorts of film. What a blessing, and what an honor to be able to go to this theater because my father, his father, my brothers, and others made me a part of a military family. So, when I go and they play the national anthem, I stand at attention with my hand over my heart, and sometimes, even sing in the darkened theater next to my dad.

But onto the email. I felt it apropos to share it here.

The forwarded message:

Written by Chaplain Jim Higgins, LSA Anaconda is at the Ballad Airport in Iraq , north of Baghdad .

When the Music Stopped...

(For those who are unaware: At all military base theaters, the National Anthem is played before the movie begins.)

I recently attended a showing of 'Superman 3' here at LSA Anaconda. We have a large auditorium that we use for movies as well as memorial services and other large gatherings. As is the custom at all military bases, we stood to attention when The National Anthem began before the main feature.

All was going well until three-quarters of the way through The National Anthem, the music stopped. Now, what would happen if this occurred with 1,000 18-to-22-
year-olds back in the States? I imagine that there would be hoots, catcalls, laughter, a few rude comments, and everyone would sit down and yell for the movie to begin. Of course, that is, only if they had stood for The National Anthem in the first place.

Here in Iraq 1,000 soldiers continued to stand at attention, eyes fixed forward. The music started again, and the soldiers continued to quietly stand at attention. Again, though, at the same point, the music stopped. What would you expect 1,000 soldiers standing at attention to do?? Frankly, I expected some laughter, and everyone would eventually sit down and wait for the movie to start.

No!!. . . You could have heard a pin drop while every soldier continued to stand at attention. Suddenly, there was a lone voice from the front of the auditorium,
then a dozen voices, and soon the room was filled with the voices of a thousand soldiers, finishing where the recording left off:

"And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say, does that Star Spangled Banner yet wave,
o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave."

It was the most inspiring moment I have had in Iraq , and I wanted you to know what kind of U.S. Soldiers are serving you! Remember them as they fight for us!

Pass this along as a reminder to others to be ever in prayer for all our soldiers serving us here at home and abroad. Many have already paid the ultimate price. Please share only if you are so inclined. God Bless America and all of our troops serving throughout he world.

Dynamics of Friendships

2011-03-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

In every place I live I have friends that I connect with in a powerful, powerful way. Growing up in Iran it was a young girl name Mimi, or Mirelle and in West Germany a young boy named Jens. We have both re-connected on Facebook in recent months, and I am amazed at how they have grown and what phenomenal people they have become. It is interesting to see people as kids and then, again as adults.

Adult friendships are different. Because we all go our own way, we still have connection when we meet again. Yesterday I got to be part of something like that, as my dear "brother" went on a rediscovery of his friends and I got to tag along and make great connections. They hadn't seen each other in a long time, but when they saw each other again, they just picked up again.

I was part of the connection, and because I, myself, have that capacity for great friendships that are like family, I could be part of the flow. I know that when I see my friends again, that's how it will be, because when we did last see each other, it was in this friend love, that just picks up again.

Here, I have a few people that I call family, dear, dear friends with whom I have connected. If ever a time comes when I have to go, when we re-connect, it will be just like before. When I do see the women of Olympia again, the men of Portland, and all the others in between, it will pick up again, because more often than not, I stay connected.

Tap the Microphone: The PA Speaks

2011-03-28T23:11:00.000-07:00

Someone asks me a question, and I can usually give them an answer, a suggestion, or path in which to find the answer they seek.

I am not a guru, I am not a god, nor a lower deity. This is just one man taking the time to listen to people, and sometimes it's just listening to what they need to say.

Ironic really, because I don't want to go into my mother's field. She, though retired, was a preeminent mental health specialist. My father was career military, and then public service. Both of these fields require listening. So I guess I was lucky to learn about listening from my parents.

I was thinking about how could I make a living listening to folks, giving them suggestions in what path to take, while taking care of myself, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Then I discovered I had been doing it all along, just not actively myself seeking out that path.

I am a PA. A personal assistant. An image consultant. A resume writer. A computer geek. A writer. A soundingboard. A clearinghouse. A caregiver, not caretaker.

It makes me really good, being the bad guy, the guy that help clean out the attics of homes and minds. I was thinking about the kind of people I attract to help them get on this path and what I learned from them. It was a mutual benefit. Just a few items include, just a few, because otherwise my resume might sit here!

*Volunteering at the Lahaina Public Library for special projects that use my skills. I do alot of this sitting down, but still being a part of something special.
*Countless resumes and job marketing packs for friends, family and acquaintances to help them get what they want in this life.
*Organize home files and storage to make it a more liveable space, and just bouncing ideas back and forth to do strategic planning in Lahaina
*Organizing a home for sale and helping to keep a doggy in check in Melbourne, Australia
*Organizing a packed garage into a workspace and organized storage for a house painter in Lahaina
*Taking a home office and an attic bedroom space and switching it up so the guest room would be on the first floor and the office upstairs in North Portland.
*Managing the closure of a counseling service in Washington state
*Providing marketing and strategic planning for a dance troupe in Washington state
*Serving as a personal assistant to the owner of a salon in Washington state

For the time being, I write. I blog. I help out people to the best of my abilities. Isn't that what this life is about? Helping others to the best of our abilities, taking care with self, listening, and doing the best job we can.

A Foot Soldier Shuffles Along Taking Care

2011-03-23T23:29:00.000-07:00

I updated my Facebook status one day with the phrase "I miss my feet." It's ironic, I am the son of an infantryman and a brother of an infantryman, who are the foot soldiers of the military. I am a foot soldier, protecting the small, educating, and making sure people have a great, great experiences no matter who they are or what they do. In our family, it is about how we use our feet, to walk, to run, to play rugby, to run a popular store, to master garden, to run before we could walk. Mine is a very active family.

It seemed as if I, though slowed by weight and responsibility, was always running to get things done, to fit things into a schedule. Work, school, family, life, it was always fast forward, fast lane, get it done, to fit so much into so little time.

When my journey slowed to a two-lane highway in Maui, I found importance in other things. I was still on fast track, but in a different way. I found a knack for working with kids, and helping to educate them about the importance of literacy and reading aloud. This was especially useful since I have always been as my father calls me a champion of the underdog, a guy who believes in protecting anyone smaller than me. Since I am a big guy, that's a whole lot of compassion and protection!

I used to be this guy with a bunch of education and experience from the mainland, and found that I like being a local with a sense of faith, of community, and of heart. I was going, going, going, even here in the land of "relax, it's Maui".

Then, my body finally said no. Stop. Get off your feet. If you don't, you are going to feel pain. It was the most intense pain that made me faint dead away. I thought I could manage it with advil, lots of bandages and socks to pad my feet while I worked. Nope. The doctors gave me pain meds so I could work through the pain. Then, it got too much. A few weeks later, and numerous doctors visits I was in my home, legs elevated, and living pretty much in a bubble.

The term is livedoid vasculopathy. In short, if I stay on my feet too long, the blood doesn't make it to my toes, and ulcerations and painful days happen. We tried a variety of medications to combat the pain, but because I am not one for narcotics or addictive quality drugs, the doctor and I found a combination that keeps me moderately pain free. I have long-standing limited mobility called lymphadema which is a condition that when the body weight rests on the lymph nodes, blood flow is constricted. Match this with livedoid vasculopathy and it spells a much quieter life.

People ask me when I am getting back to work, and I have to tell them that the doctors have to determine whether I can do the job without permanently damaging my self. I miss it so, the energy, the interpersonal relationships driving me to better myself, and to make customers have a great, great experience. So, what do I do? Computer time in the noise and clamor of Starbucks, a corporate retail entity. Spending time at the library off my feet. Going to church in Aunty Patty's Marine spaceship. Calling people. Sleeping for more than four hours. Staying off my feet, and taking care when I do have to use them.

When I do walk too much, my body tells me so. When I exert pressure on the space where my feet bend, my body tells me so. So, I walk slower, I drive most places, I drive in those carts in the store, I sit instead of stand.

What's good is that this foot soldier still has his feet; if I did go through amputation, I would like to think that the experience with my father might have made it easier. But it did scare me, because I am so attached to what I do with my feet. Now, I am struggling with this relax, take it easy, take care of yourself attitude. Just heal. It's hard to heal, especially when I live in a space of wanting to be accountable to my employer, my doctors, my family, and my friends.

It's hard to not want to keep going, going, going, which is why I miss my feet.

Stage Management By Crook AND Staff

2011-01-22T17:12:00.000-08:00

It's so ironic when clarity comes.

I am an organizational communicator. I love observing moments and analyzing those moments and how they fit into the grand scheme. I am a bureaucrat with a strength for policy, procedure, and consistency in the bricks and mortar of organizations, businesses, and groups. I didn't need another degree to tell me that.

Why I do the things I do. Why patterns in my life exist. Why despite different situations and stories, there is a common thread in my life. Where I live, where I work, how I volunteer, whom I have chosen as family, and who I retain as my support network both here and world-wide, has helped to further define those goals.

My goal when I moved to Hawaii was to work in cultural preservation, community enrichment, and literacy skills development. I wanted to use my MPA for the power of good, my career experience to the benefit of the Hawaiian people, and my guts, wit, and passion, to really explore how we progressively communicate, no matter what the population.

When I get frustrated, angry, or flustered, it's because, well, something doesn't make sense, and there is no consistent, rational explanation for it. And guess what? When that kicks in, I turn to the overly professional, strong worded, cover your ass using policy and procedure to support the argument kind of guy. That guy really gets on some people's nerves.

Finding the balance of feelings without being codependent, the balance of bottom line and productivity, the balance of people versus policy, is what drives me. Most times I succeed, and in those moments of frustration I get to learn, adapt, and improve interpersonal relationships.

That makes me a stage manager with with crook to either hook the bad performer from the stage or letting them play out, letting them fail (or succeed) on their own. A true shepherd (yes, pun for my father and brother whom like to read my blog) has both a crook to herd and a staff to support. One can't work with out the other.

And wouldn't you know it? All the world's a stage.

Being a Man Comes from Being a Brother

2010-11-21T17:44:00.000-08:00

Since taking this medicine to regulate a syndrome in my system, I find alot of time wondering what if. What if I had zits as a teenager? What if my voice were harsher, deeper? What if I were less studious? Less effeminate? What if, if, and if? Would I have been given greater or lesser advantages to get me to here? Would I have seen a completely different life? Perhaps in the image or the construct of the life, but not at the root, the heart and soul of that life. For I am me, developed by the experience of we.

That esoterically said, I am thinking about the men in my life that has really helped me grow since this new chapter in my life began a year or so ago. There's the guys in Portland, my brother in the Northwest, a few guys in the "country of Maui," and the two brothers, my Dad and Uncle Deane.

This morning found me watching my Uncle Deane interact with his friends and acquaintances, with patrons at an espresso bar, with little kids for an upcoming play, and yes, the tender moments with his lovely bride of 20+ years, Sherrilyn. Perhaps he has seen me watching him, awaiting the quirks that signal that yes, he and my dad were pretty close growing up, fidgets that only come from quality brother to brother time spent together.

I see in Uncle Deane my father, and their mother Moana's eyes stare back at me in moments, too. I could see it last night at the game where UH stomped San Jose, wanting my dad to be sitting there grunting along with the UH mascot Jimmy as he did pushups for points. Aunty was right there, cheering the the team on, and I just sat watching the people, the game, the sea of dark UH warrior green. It was a moment I wish my folks had text messaging for I sent a picture of the field via cell to friends and family. Yes, I had been to this place before, but only the parking lot for swap meet, never inside the thundering undome. I wanted to share this moment with them; and in retrospect, I was sharing it with my father thru his brother.

Friends and mentors back on the mainland know I've been missing my folks a bit, and this weekend gave me some holiday memories, for whether or not Uncle Deane knows it, he connects me to family despite the five hours airtime and thousands of miles of water that separate me from them. Blood tells, and in our family ... it "talks story" ALOT.

Best wishes on a happy holiday and for those near me "in-country," I will be doing the Black Friday closing shift so you know where to find me. If I am lucky and the girls can get me back in time, I might do the 2am run with them to Kahului for all that madness. We will see.

When Integrity Becomes Dignity

2010-11-20T15:01:00.000-08:00

Every time I go to visit Aunty Louise Peterson with my Uncle Deane and Aunty Sherri I am so amazed at the capacity for compassion that Aunty Sherri has for people. I know of this capacity for myself and perhaps it is one of the reasons that I love her so.

Aunty Louise just turned 90 years old. She lives in a house near Sherri and Deane that reminds me of my spiritual mentor Andy's home in Olympia before he passed on a year ago. Very simple with touches here and there of a life well lived, very open air, and welcoming. She sat very elegantly despite the aches and pains that come with the years of life and she looks at me with very intelligent and cunning eyes.

When I first met her as an adult some months ago it was a big frightening as I had never really met the elders in family by blood outside my nuclear family, not since the 1980s, so never as an adult. I know how to act respectfully and be very present with the elderly, I was a bit shy around Aunty Louise. When she spoke of family history, the Bishop Trust, and things related to me that I've only read in my grandmother Moana's papers, I regret a bit not being more available to be around this remarkable lady.

The conversation flowed wondrously as Aunty Sherri brought us all into the discussion over a meal, being patient, kind, and quite articulate. Luckily, Aunty Sherri who is just a few years older than I in age, but decades more in wisdom, I feel, (and years younger in Facebook -- cute, adorably furry younger in Facebook) displays this penchant for allowing a person to have dignity in all they do. For integrity is about the individual, and dignity is how we interact with that individual.

Living My Family Motto

2010-11-11T12:09:00.000-08:00

These days finds me working in corporate retail, after years of training in and then working in public service. I still keep my hand in the public sector through volunteerism because I try to live within my family motto non noblis solum (not for ourselves alone) and I got it at home that three things were important: family, education, and service.

Who could go wrong with that?

I knew my sister Gab was great at retail, owning the largest, and perhaps most popular, card and comic store on the West Coast, a business to which started as a paperback exchange and grew beyond bounds because she possessed this passion for youth and community development. My eldest brother, Deane, works for the government and in his spare time coaches rugby both adult and youth. My sister Mika and brother Kai (d. 2005) also did their part to be a part of helping people grow in community. We got it at home.

Maui finds me exploring my passions in education, literacy, and youth development. Yeah, I was a reader at a young age, and books and photojournalism fill me. So, it made sense that when I did seek out things to fill my time, that's what would draw me. These days find me volunteering at the Lahaina Public Library, putting to use my skillsets learned in my MPA -- research, investigation, culling data and donations, making recommendations, and stepping in and doing high level tasks -- that may go undone due to how busy folks are in the midst of budget cuts, a national recession, and the impacts from the furlough program. I also just finished my second stint with the Read Aloud America Program, the first with Princess Nahienaena Elementary and the second with King Kamehameha 3 Elementary; which gave me opportunity to network with people I have met both in my education and corporate retail communities.

My grandmother, Moana Audrey Peterson, wrote about community development in her articles in the 1940s and I carry on that mantle in the actions I take and how I live in education, family, and service. I put my Maui experience to paper in three recent job applications, one in higher education and two in government entities -- yes, I like my job, though I would love to really put my career experiences and education to work for the Hawaiian people -- and actually feel good about putting such a personal touch on an application process.

-- My hope when I moved to Maui was to work with native Hawaiians to put to practical application years of research and investigation. It is one thing to read about what it is to be Hawaiian it is quite another to be a part of the aina. I cashed out my retirement and for the first year invested in this search. I created community because that is what I do. I have a hanai family here that is deeply rooted in native Hawaiian culture and who have helped me become more integrated into island culture; one aunty adopted me as her favorite nephew because she sensed my connection. When the money was spent out on rent and job search, I downsized and became a community member of the Na Hale O Wainee Homeless Resource Center where I am active participant in building community and living within process. Here I get to live and work with a wide range of native Hawaiians at the community level.

A part of who I am and who I have become is this very "talk story" person. I put a face on who I am in everything I do. Non noblis solum indeed.

Portraits on Journey

2010-10-23T22:57:00.000-07:00

I love to shoot pictures of destinations, of photos of winding roads, of life in forward motion. It is so cool to see me creating a pattern of life, that the jumble of photos that I shoot can somehow make an interesting collage of destinations of places traveled if only in a moment in time. Today a man with whom I have shared a mentor with was in happenstance at the same coffee shop as I, here on a vacation with his wife. The connection was still there, and the words of wisdom I'd heard from my mentor came across this man's lips. Ahh, the journey we make, the destinations that wind us around, that create a picture, a portrait of the shape of life to come.

Big Gulp...er...Gulch at Hana

2010-10-07T00:51:00.001-07:00

Doing things once and taking away that experience is something that I love to do. Somehow repeating the experience like visiting a friend over and over seems to lose a part of its meaning. Doing something just because it is there is not an excuse, it's just a way to justify a part of the original experience that might be lacking.

Today I escaped to Hana and the Oheo Gulch with Ms. Vicky, my close friend from the mainland. Sure, I had been to the state park before, but of the three of us that trekked to this place, it was my mother who actually made it into the Gulch and the area that us locals are really trying to get away from calling the seven sacred...la la. She had some pretty amazing story to tell by photo and while I was not excited about the chance of playing in a swimming hole with a bunch of visitors, the idea of doing something different appealed.

A flash flood had swept thru the valley so the access to the Gulch was limited. No matter. I got to take amazing shots that wouldn't not have happened if the Gulch was open to public access. Incredible, incredible shots. Instead we hiked down the water, the area where people don't swim, don't surf, and most assuredly don't go by boat, a torrent of blue meets green meets foam, all thrown on the rocks. There we spent a good time watching the wonder of water in nature, and posing the idea of can you actually push a wave, is there things beyond our control?

The adventure continued into the day as we trekked the Hana Highway, listening to Mellencamp sing Small Town....so says the small townies.

Door of Faith Propped Open by the Ladies Who Church

2010-09-13T00:40:00.000-07:00

It's the longest church service for this church that has been around since the 1940s. As twilight turns dark, the ladies of the church still congregate on church grounds, setting to slumber another night to keep the family church open. Despite a quashed eviction attempt complete with cops, hordes of people on this small road near Napili, Maui, the ladies of the church, their kids, and husbands and sons, showed the force of faith to keep it open.

A Haircut, Barbasol and All: Sue's Barber Shop, Wailuku

2010-07-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

Growing up in the military means the haircuts that mom can give you with a razor and a bowl, with the clippers from your dad, or even times spent at the military barber as your dad got his weekly buzzcut to military standards.

There is a smell to a barber shop that can't be duplicated. Shave cream, oils for the blades, fresh air blowing through the windows, and the like. Even in these days of salon and puppy mill haircut places, finding a true barber is difficult as many have gone by the wayside, have retired, or have gone on.

Mind you, working with my sister Jamie at her salon in Olympia was great, but it wasn't until she put trimmer to my neck, fresh oiled and cleaned to trim up my scruff, did I feel like I was getting a haircut.

And that feeling happened again.

The smells, the cut, the experienced hand with a careful eye for detail, and the talkstory element that comes when strangers meet for the first time, all were had in an unexpected visit to Sue's Barber Shop on Vineyard Street in Wailuku. I walked in this storefront, where she has been for 37 years and she was cutting the hair of a man and his son as tutu looked on. As luck would have it, she was able to cut my hair without appointment, and from there, the adventured ensued.

On the walls are newspapers clippings of this phenomenal haircutter, who apprenticed at a young age here in Maui. A photo of her time working on a commission with a one-time governor. Stacks of magazines. Tools of her trade, not the shiny new ones people can buy, but the old, well-worn ones, cared for with age. It's a small town barber shop, yet instead of the movie stereotype of a bunch of old guys shooting the breeze, it is the phenomenal woman approaching retirement, who cuts with a skill that one doesn't see with cutters a fourth of her age.

What I liked best was the engagement of how people communicate. If you meet someone, don't you try to get to know them? That's my upbringing, and something I learned from my little sister, Gabi, when she was just a tot, going up to complete strangers and greeting them. How are we to meet again and have another conversation if we don't meet the first time? Why be scared of asking someone if you've met them before? Perhaps you haven't, but what if you have?

It's all in the talkstory, the way we talk to one another, whether it be at work, at play, or in a 1950s barber chair in the county seat of Maui.

Rest in Peace, Zipper. Live to life, Draco!

2010-07-21T16:03:00.000-07:00

Zipper was the patriarch, the alpha in this pack on Yamhill Street in Portland, Oregon, no matter how many dogs came into the fold.

When my dear, dear friend Draco informed me of Zipper's passing, it was done in such a beautiful way that I wanted to be right there in the living room, surrounded by Draco and Amie, Toby, and Holly.

But could I really be there?

Khia's death in July 2007 remains with me, with her brilliant white coat, pumping blood in the heart turned to a lump of ashen grey and her eyes clouded over, I was literally at a crossroads, where Interstate Five peels in a variety of directions. It was a metaphor for where my journey would take me. I had long been in a stagnant rut of sorts. I had a good job, a great community, I was close to my family, and my life had been extended because I took the healthful measure of gastric bypass surgery and went after my master's degree, in the midst of the family crisis of a car accident, my father's cancer, and my brother's death due to war. I was determined to live.

In my 40s, I am spiritually powerful with the wisdom that this is the path for me; from academia and the influx of faeries in Portland, to aina connectedness of Maui. For every mile I've walked, I've run into speed bumps, but it has only made me stronger. When I was a young scouting lad some told me that Indian Chief Sealth (for whom the city of Seattle is named) once said that line that has pockmarked many a greeting card; what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. I am not dead yet.

But Khia is, Zipper is. And you know, those dogs remain with their long-time companions. When I visit my folks in the Northwest, there is a tree she used to sleep under outside. I knew then, and much to my mother's delight, there will never be a time when I don't forsake my home there because I am connected to that land as much as here. Just like I am connected to Draco and his menagerie and that home in Portland.

Khia's death was kind of a message to leap into faith, to leap into life. So, is Zipper's. He leaves behind a legacy, and instead of being there to comfort my friend, I am here delivering the best kind of Kana hug. Words to soothe, words of action, words of community.

He's not alone, and neither am I.

Lying Fallow and Living with Purpose

2010-07-16T18:16:00.000-07:00

For the first time in my life I feel connected to something bigger than myself. It used to be about position, about the job, about what I could do for the community. Now, I get to recreate myself. Three people have talked story with me about lying fallow, letting the ground rest to rejuvenate and to grow nutrients for a new harvest. My mom, my Aunty Sherri in Oahu, and Father Bill, all spoke of things to me spiritual. As many of my friends know, when things happen in threes with me I tend to pay great attention.

So, I am not the teacher that I have trained to be, the policy analyst or cultural anthropologist for what I've come here to be. I live paycheck to paycheck, a day at a time. I keep myself above water. I ride the bus and walk 'cuz I can't afford the car. I am just a worker bee in a worker world, doing the job, going home, with a rinse and repeat.

And the result, I have a pretty powerful life that keeps changing and keeps happening. I get to see life in a different light. I never thought I'd ever work a $10 an hour job with minimal benefits again, but it is rewarding in that I get to learn how to be a worker and not the managerial type I was used to being. I get to learn and respect the corporate process and it is in doing that I grow from this experience.

I am lying fallow by learning how to live simply and with purpose, doing something different, knowing this is path to both trust and follow.

Kanamania Update: Life in Maui

2010-05-04T16:13:00.000-07:00

January 15th it all hit.

Health: I started taking testosterone and experiencing a renewed sense of puberty in my 40s. Yes, I got blemishes on my perfect skin, and use lemon zest soap every day to combat the oily skin. I have rage that is kept under control pretty well with a sound spiritual program and bouts of rigorous anger and outputs of expression while cleaning a donation room (gotta love old dishes thrown into an empty dumpster ONE AT A TIME!). Yes, folks, the body is changing, more hair, more body tone, and my skin and weight is taking different turns.

Work: I got hired to do what I love at a place I respect and have long been a customer of. Working on my feet in a primarily production value capacity heavy on the building of customer relationships instead of in a cush office has made me a better worker among workers. I could take this experience and translate will into a public administration capacity, and perhaps, I might look at my book from that perspective, how the private sector really works in tandem with the public sector, that the bottom line, especially in a recession, is not as much of a focus as cultivating working relationship from both sides of the counter, or something like that. In March I separated from my part-time gig working with kids in an afterschool care program, and upped my availability and hours at the retail gig.

Home Life: I made it through an emergency shelter program that transitioned into a studio apartment on the same property as the program. For affordable rent, I have to maintain a job, do job skills training, work on my personal enrichment and development, do some chores, and keep my home up to a hygienic standard. It is, as Aunty Sherri says, a blessing. I started playing basketball with some local families, actually shooting hoops, and learning about blocking and fingers breaking. I spend time with my local family, Jamie et al, at times when I get to the beach. I talk to my sistahs in Olympia fairly regularly and try to stay connected with mom and dad at least once a week; as for the guy, I think about him and the dogs and home in Portland, but the talks are few and far between.

Worldwide Connection: I chose not to put Internet in my home and it has definitely affected the way I use it, and how often. No longer do I make sure to get into FaceBook and update my status every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Checking email is a pain in the butt, so I've taken myself off of lists that I belonged to to stay hooked into whatever community I was involved in. I don't have newspapers and magazines in my home, nor a radio in my car (love my IPOD with FM transmitter) to know that, for example, a raging fire burns just south of my home. I have continued with my postcard project, still sending them worldwide to friends in Canada, France, London, the Phillipines, the mainland, etc., thus making more of a renaissance man than I once thought.

As I finish this update on my life, I will go over to my other blog and write about thoughts about some restaurants and such, for it's been that long since my synapses have fired, my fingers healed, and my kanatalkstory has been in hibernation. Like the bear that I am, well gummy bear at least, spring is here and my writing has been liberated.

Family and Style in West Maui

2010-01-13T13:19:00.000-08:00

I spend alot time on the phone with my folks in Washington State and it's hard to describe the family I am creating here in Maui. Family is what you make of it, and for me, it has been quite the joy in discovering new and different parts of people, by just being myself. There is no image to portray with family because they know who you are and what you are. That makes life good. For the folks back in the chilly Northwest, here's a few snapshots of folks that have come to mean something to me. From left, Helen, a cousin. My niece, Pi'ilani. Jamie writing a note to our cowboy and mutual dear, dear friend Thomas. Josh, a colleague and bruddah. Then, Jamie, my sistah all styled out on George's Cove beach, and then me in my Maui Jims from my other cousin, Mac. Family is what you make it and this where I am, in west Maui, Hawaii.

Hawaii's Sweet Embrace, a Home, a Hearth

2010-01-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

In thinking that everybody in the world just loves Facebook and other social networking sites, I kinda stopped doing my blogging for a bit. It was about halloween time when I had the snorkel fall and changed the course of my life a bit. Do I go back to the mainland where I could probably land a job more to my station? Do I go back to Olympia or Portland? Do I try something new just because I expended my resources?

I went for a visit to Olympia and Portland, took in my favorite spots, and visited with my mom and dad. I went for walks with all kinds of dogs, hung with the faeries, and did soul time with my sistahs. Olympia and Portland are my hometown and homecity, respectively, but for the first time in my life, I really feel connected to the aina (the land) here. When I got off the airplane, my mind quieted.

So, the new year brings me a release, a letting go. I am getting out of my own way and seeing what Maui has to offer. New place to live, an abundance of space, finding out who and what is most important to me, and digging into discovery and life. There is an adage that Maui will embrace you or simply let you go. I am feeling the embrace, and enjoying the family, the love of community here. With it comes its own challenges, but that's the knowingness of heart in the home, a Hearth of sorts.

Not Big Mike, but Michael in The Blind Side

2009-12-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

I stood at the ticket counter contemplating whether I wanted to cheer for big digital graphics in 2012 or cry -- for all overcoming the odds movies make me cry. As I write this, the tears are long dry but the memory of the film lingers. It is based on a true story about an awkward man with a past he'd rather forget and would rather not share.

We all have these stories, some darker than others, but stories of moments in time when we are lost and would rather seemingly forget that loss and uncertainty in favor of just surviving the day. We do, we all do. And for those people who did not cry, nor who did not emote in this film, they have some life left in them to find those tears, because they come.

The film, "The Blind Side" puts Sandra Bullock in the reach of Oscar as well country singer Tim McGraw shooting for that best actor in a supporting role nod. Quinton Aaron who plays Michael Oher, however, I believe delivers the best performance of all. The actor is known for his voice-overs, his singing, the way he talks. In this film, he speaks very little, but when he does, they are zingers, and the way he acts with his body speaks volumes. Yeah, he portrays awkward guy with untapped talent quite well. He portrays the little guy in a big frame quite well. He portrays heartache and joy in the same vein quite well.

My favorite part in the film is where Leigh Ann Touhy (Bullock) confronts people from Michael's past with whom Michael had a fight with the night before. Threats were made, and she said "You threaten my son, you threaten me." Now this is par for the course for films where a disenfranchised son of a protective mother stands for her child. What I liked best was the follow-up where she qualifies as a packing, gun-toting member of the NRA, who prays with the district attorney. When the protagonist tries to demean her gun antics with a barb about a Saturday Night Special, she gets in his face and says, yep, and it works on alll the other days of the week. That kind of exchange screams "based on a true story," and not just an excellent actor delivering lines.

Once we get the politics of NCAA sports, the stereotypes of southern blonde housewives with money, the story of a guy coming up from nothing, and what do we have? Take away all the window dressing of the story and the incredible coming of age antics, a less than stellar student who beats the odds to win a scholarship. and all that, and what you have superb performances by a stellar cast. Yes, this film is so worth watching and not since The Diving Bell and the Butterfly has one character through a singular lens been able to capture both my attention and praise.

Photo from http://www.theblindsidemovie.com/#/Downloads.

Moshe Moshe, Nephew Calling

2009-11-03T00:45:00.000-08:00

Auntie is such an interesting and iconic term, particularly if you have Hawaiian in you. In one of my former stages in my life, I found that I wanted to be like my Auntie Linda of Oahu, very strong and determined, and holding onto family with great passion and equal passion her self. But as a child I knew that Auntie Linda really connect best with my brother, Kai, and it was with her that he found his Hawaiian heart. For me, this strength was in part my reason for taking on an identity as auntie of sorts for a community close to me. But when that role changed to an unhealthy aspect to care and I found myself getting lost in that role, auntie wahinekapu was let go in favor of a more fiery aspect.

In Maui, I have an auntie Gail who is part of the Petersen line and we have made connection. For me, though, and we are to not know why, my Auntie Sherri (I've called her Tante when younger) is in all respects that Auntie that I've wanted. Here is family of blood in Kaneohe and I spent an incredible day really getting to know her beyond any pieces that I have in the past. She is an incredible woman with great strength much like Auntie Linda, with an infectious laugh despite a lifetime of challenge. Her heart is palpable and she and my Uncle are quite the inspiration for me, a couple of courage, change, spirituality, and long-time romantic love.

I had to let go of my preconception of what an auntie is and just be with it. And for that, my heart sings and opens at the same time. Moshe Moshe, Tante.

Being Hawaiian

2009-10-31T01:47:00.000-07:00

I am so blessed today. My heart is in Maui, though my physicality finds me in Honolulu. For some reason, I know there will be a time when I find myself here, probably for a job or for some grander purpose in the scheme of life. It is where my father grew to be a man, and where his mother and her mother, and mothers before helped to infuse in him the sense of purpose and sense of self that comes only from being of native Hawaiian blood.

People often look at me and wonder where is my Hawaiian, for I don't look the stereotype. What is ironic is that my Hawaiian has always been with me. My sense of giving of myself, my time, and my expertise to help others grow, is indicative of this fact. The elegant way I move when I dance that seems improbable to most because I am such a big guy. I have this innate sense of home, of talk story, of hearth, of kitchen, of family, though I have lived my life away from these things. Then, in my family, there is the writing, the kahunas who heal through living and documenting life.

I miss Maui. I miss tasting the ocean when I dive into the pool. I miss my quirky treadmill at my sportsclub instead of the high tech treadmill in the hotel. I miss seeing the ocean and the mountain in three minutes flat, and if I need it, get into the water. I miss the tallest buildings being palm trees on the shore. Life is experience, so I am living it. Whether in Maui or a slice of time in Honolulu, each day brings great tidings for a grand, grand blessing.

Reading Teaches Us to Live Our Lives

2009-10-15T11:23:00.001-07:00

When we moved my parents into their home by the lake, little did we know just how many books they had. There were boxes and boxes of books, some my dad loved many he hadn't read. To this day he collects books and devours them voraciously. My mom is the same way. She keeps treasured books and buys books very appropriate to her lifestyle these days, of gardening, travel, and study. It's good to see that my siblings are the same way. I love when we visit the folks, everyone knows to look in the car, my dad's office, or the bedroom to find some book to read and then, go off and spend some time in a book. I don't think there is a time where I found my sisters and brothers ever bored with the prospect of reading, except the reading that you HAVE to do.

I got it at home that reading was important. While I am a voracious reader and try as I might to read a book for pleasure, I find it difficult having been a researcher for so long. I scan the book until I passage that seems like the thesis or summary and continue. Some days I will grab a book and read, usually keeping one in the bathroom, several in my living room, and of course, one or two in the car.

Right now I am reading a book about reading with children, the different South Beach Diet offerings, and the Stephenie Meyer series. I also try to read a bit out of my spiritual practice every day to help guide my day a bit.

In my work at the library I groan at having to sort the children's books because there are so many and so many that have been perused and put back differently. But these days, because of my work, I find myself getting to know the books, and trying to find one that kids would enjoy. At first I asked my friends what books they are reading and tried to remember the ones I read as a child. I only have one that sticks out because the book still exists; I believe my book The Rolling Rice Ball is in my sister's library lovingly crayned and worn with age. Another book which is my sister's is in my ...ahem...mom&dad!... book collection in storage. It's the Nancy Drew cookbook and it still has dried milk and egg from the french toast recipe dried with age.

Reading is important because it helps to stir the imagination. With great imagination, anyone can go do anything in their lives, it is the power of belief. One sister took a bookshop and transformed into a space of community, bringing people together and enriching the place she lives; she met her hubby a computer whiz and comic book artist. Another sister chews through technical manuals making her one of the best writers of her kind; you'd never find her lacking a book, and whipping through it in less than an hour and tossing it aside for the next. My eldest brother loves the classics, down to the gold-tipped edges on leather books, but in his library you'd find Opus the penguin and humor books near military history paperbacks, a love he and my dad share. My other brother was an avid chess player and reader of everything, favoring those action thriller books that were more literary in nature and news magazines; whatever he read it had significant depth.

For me, I love books that really drive emotion. My aunt Patty during a summer vacation to her home in California as a young adult introduced me to Danielle Steel. At first I was embarassed about it, because it's not manly reading. But then, I was reading Nancy Drew novels (the 1940s originals and yellow back covers), magazines, and Choose Your Own Adventure novels, and humor and cartoons and just a wide range of things. I am grateful, as a writer, that I found lyricism and emotion in these books and expanded my reading repertoire to all kinds of things. Now and again I would pick up the book "Fine Things" to remember those days in the sun.

Yeah, Dad. He's great live like on that CD. Mahalo.

2009-10-05T13:04:00.000-07:00

In 1996, I performed a song in my lip-syncing "theater" days that included a vocalist chanting native Hawaiian language and then going into a song "In My Life." It was the first time I let my arms sway in hula, coupled with contemporary dance. That song, to this day, remains one of my all-time favorite pieces.

One day while perusing my father's Hawaiian music collection, I stumbled upon the CD with the song prominent in its lineup. I played it and was immediately taken back. Needless to say, it was a few years until my dad got his CD back. Over time my hula sway and bellydance techniques improved, and I have felt the power of free-flow dance and even performed a few, mystified by grace that I didn't think such a large guy could possess.

When I moved to Hawaii, I watched a few DVDs in the library Hawaiiana section, particularly ones that have to do with Maui. One of them was an incredible concert by this man. Then, last night, at the Maui County Fair I got to see him live, singing while hula dancers danced, just feet away. It was as incredible live as it was the first time I heard it.

As I sat with my sistah, niece and nephew, I longed to be dancing up there, to move my hips, to sway, to dance from my heart. For that is how I have heard the music of Keali'i Reichel, from da heart, from da heart. When you live a life where people see you as one thing, a big, big guy, who has innate sense of grace, one might wonder from where it comes.

It comes from da heart, da heart. I love to dance, I love to sing, I love to move. So, these days find me on a treadmill, working my body into muscle so that some day, my dance from da heart will find its way. And perhaps, I will learn the words of the music of this man and understand more than just my heart hearing.

Paradise on paradise terms

2009-09-18T01:04:00.000-07:00

One of the most exciting things to happen is my friend Stephen visiting from my classic hometown, Olympia. He's actually from Lacey, the place I grew into adolescent wonder in, but I tend to call Olympia my hometown of adult choice. It is so cool to see someone alight with wonder and discovery in typically mundane experiences, just life happening as it comes. Then, there are those moments which defy gravity, which sends one over to remind them that even on vacation, magic happens. It's been different not wanting to caretake his vacation to make sure he has a good time, and it allows me to experience my own pieces of magic.

I've gotten to do things I'd yet to do. Visiting parts of Front Street that escaped my notice, trying out places to eat that I'd wanted to visit, but just hadn't had the time yet, that kind of thing. To explore paradise on paradise terms instead of in a forced vacationy way is a unique way to go.

Hitting da Beach Maui Style

2009-09-13T11:54:00.000-07:00

I have been hitting road trips of late to explore this island.

I thought I hadn't been to Hana; I had just not been to Hana town, but got within a mile of the place when visiting Waianapapa beach and the black rock, black sands with a group of friends. I dove into the water with mask on and explored underneath the sea, then swam into underwater caves and almost got stuck because the water was rushing in.

Another trip brought me Hookiipa where there was an interesting dividing line of kite sailers, windsurfers, and regular surfers as if one could not swim in each others wakes. The waves were huge and the wind heavy, and what I liked most that locals cars outweighed the number of the cursed Sebrings.

Yesterday brought me to Flemings beach, where I got to do my bodysurfing that I've only been able to do at Little beach without the mountain climbing over lava rock to get to it. The swells were high and numeround and I got beat around the water, a couple times glad for my fins. One big wave took my mask and my fins and my pants (oops) and nearly my breath. Luckily my fins, pants and self made it from the water. My mask lay somewhere in the swells of the water. I also got to really explore with the camera and friend Kris on the rocks and in the tropical trees and saw a double rainbow. Things happen in paradise if you don't expect them.

Integrity and Fighting Limits at Lahaina Library

2009-09-03T23:45:00.001-07:00

With all the hooh-hah of the library purported closures and how one section of the island will be cut off from a very necessary public service. One of my great joys is working at the library; while I search for a job, it gives me a sense of integrity to be able to use my skills and talents to the benefit of others.

One of my interesting adventures has been working with a woman with limited eyesight who reads as ravenously as I. Her books of choice are books on CDs. She came in the library and my colleague Margo suggested I work with her if I liked. I liked. This woman, Virginia by name, reads the same kind of thriller fiction as I, so when she asked me to help her find some books and make some suggestions I jumped at it. I scanned the collection and introduced her to a few of my favorites and she and I talked about some of the other books.

I suppose it links to the days when I worked for the Paperback Exchance located on the corner of Sleater-Kinney Road and Pacific Avenue. Yes, Olympians, it's been awhile. That location now holds a flower shop built from the ground up after that old fabulous building was destroyed for a new location. That store was one of my jobs as a teen and my sister, Gab, had the same job, but she's an example of what happens when you stick with it. From the Paperback Exchange sprouted Olympic Cards and Comics, and the teen shop girl has blossomed into an incredible businesswoman at the center of a great community effort and the largest card and comic store on the West Coast. But I detract from the story. As a shopboy for that original store, during slow times I would devour genres, not just books, and my insatiable bibliphiliac nature was born.

So, for now I do what I can to help out, no matter what it is. If it's my seek-and-find Nancy Drew sleuthing, sorting donations, or helping out others with limitations who are dependent on this vital service, this what can I do but step forward. You can talk about the budget and potential closure or you can do what you can to help out; this how I do it.

A Mask to See

2009-09-03T23:36:00.000-07:00

The way a turtle moves through the water is something to behold. It's majestic as it goes, looking likes it's slow, but in all reality it is sluicing through water like a hot knife through butter. The turtle was no more than five feet in front of me near the shoreline and luckily my mask wasn't foggy. It was incredible to see.

One of the greatest gifts for my swimming in the ocean is that I breathe through my mouth and use a mask (haven't quite got the hang of that stick that spits water, but hey, the mask will do). There is something incredible about looking in the water of this ocean of seeing the fish, the eels, that turtle. There's no voice, no touch, just seeing, seeing that is believing. It's another world.

Start the Presses...Leg Presses

2009-08-21T17:25:00.001-07:00

As I sweat through 4 sets of 20 leg presses at 50 pounds today, my mind is brought fondly back to days in some town near Lacey off Military Road. There's a friend of mine who I haven't spoke to in years, Bill McHattie, who showed me the joys of the leg press. I remember many things of my hang out time with him, a fondness for fast cars, a lovely lady named Mary, and ironically a taste for Abba as he showed me how to sweat and how to build muscle.

What's important to note here is that I know how to do this stuff and I just want it all now, but it's a lesson to crunch through abs, press through legs, do 20 minutes on a treadmill looking out at the ocean, and then, when it's over...get busy in life...or frack it...go jump in the sea. I put it out there to do trade with this gym, my unique organization and coordination skills, and while that hasn't come to fruition yet, my goals are still the same. So, I have wangled funds to come work out, and made it a priority.

To fit comfortably in an airplane seat. How I test that is treating myself to a movie and sitting in that seat. I am big guy, but this ass has got to go. Short-term goals for another day of leg presses, touching the sea, and finally connecting heart and head with body.

My Inner Nancy Drew

2009-08-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my favorite books were Nancy Drew. I especially liked the old grey 1930s editions, and I had quite the substantial collection of them. Today, I have two of the books in my collection. "The Secret of the Golden Pavilion, #36" is early Hawaiiana and talks about a golden feathered cape, similar to a cape that is part of my family history and listed in some old family records in a collection at the Bishop Museum. It has long been one of my favorite titles in the series. The other is the Nancy Drew Cookbook which was a library discard in then West Germany that my sister Mika got and used frequently to cook up French Toast (so much so that some of the egg/milk mixture remains dried on the pages). Yes, it is my sister's book and for some reason I have it, but yes, it is hers, so technically on loan from her collection!

A gift I got from my time at Portland State University was identification of a quirk I have that recognizes patterns in seemingly innocuous things. I read numbers, letters, pictures, subjects, theories, colors, and other things different then most folks, seeing the underlying patterns or trends in the way things are done. I always thought it was just something weird that helped me be a better writer and reporter and state worker, but my pattern identification was extremely helpful in academe, and even here in Hawaii.

I do volunteer work at the library doing a variety of things and one of them allows me to express my "inner Nancy Drew." There is a list of books and materials that have to be located that are not always easy to find especially in such a popular and busy place as the Lahaina Library. (I have been to about six Hawaii libraries and Lahaina is a pretty popular place, particularly with the tourist set. I get to seek out and find these materials and if I get one of them, I am pretty excited. More than one is like woo-hoo!

I can just see me ala Nancy Drew, magnifying glass in hand, crawling through the stacks, scanning numbers and titles in tandem, hoping, longing to solve the mystery, one book, one CD, or one whatever at a time.

Things Hawaiian

2009-07-27T08:55:00.000-07:00

On the right side of this blog is a story written by my native Hawaiian grandmother, Moana Audrey Peterson (Shephard Murphy) in a magazine called "Hawaii" in 1946 by the Hawaii Publishing Company. The article is the only such one of these I have yet to find, but I am diligently looking.

She wrote stories a decade later, short stories which describe much of her history in the Oahu, stories which she dedicated to her father, David Louis Peterson, and to her mother, Harriet Hiilani Jones Peterson, and called "David." David is a strong name in my immediately family held by both my father, and one of my older brothers. My uncle, Deane, would research our family history in 1969, and that research coupled with her stories, and letters written by my father and others are bound together in a book.

Part of my journey in Hawaii is researching my family and trying to find other articles by my grandmother. My hope and intent is to create a collection of her work and contemporize it with my own writing. I used to be concerned that I didn't follow in the family business, the military, but in this research and living with my family, it's clear to see that I have. For Moana was a journalist and so am I. My father is a bibliophile and great writer and so am I. My family is about leadership and great heart, both things which I possess.

The best place to research things Hawaiian is in Hawaii, better access. So, as I go about my days with the intent of working in a field that uses my writing, leadership and great heart, this other journey keeps me on task.

Elegant Beauty in Jamie

2009-07-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

A picture tells many stories. This was my first week in Maui and I got to see one of the most elegant dancers in all of the world dance into my heart, make me weep, and find a sistah in this grand place called Paradise. Yes, I have two Jamies, one in Olympia, and one here. These two if ever met would surely be sistahs like they are to me.

Relay for Life: Hope Across the Sea

2009-07-19T09:36:00.000-07:00

When my father was away getting better I had the opportunity to organize his office. On his desk were a pile of medals, not the medals of a long-time military man, but ones with purple cords and brass plating. There were three or four of them. On the wall is a picture I took of my parents walking the walk, and to this day remains one of the inspirations I have for my own walk. I hung the medals and for every year since a medal adds to the collection.

I am not a cancer survivor, but my dad is, and he does the Relay for Life walk every year, usually with my mom. In the past I have been able to go with them and support him on his walk, and go and hang out in wonder at all these people and booths supporting him and other survivors of cancer.

Before the Relay for Life all I thought about the American Cancer Society was cigarette and anti-smoking campaigns that took on the big tobacco companies, like the great American Smoke Out. My friend Jamie Lee with her company and has people donate their hair to a project for kids who are survivors of cancer; what a positive affirmation of life across the U.S.

Last night I went out with friends to a place that what holding a benefit. At the end of our hang-time, the staff gave us t-shirts, a water bottle and cooler, and some other stuff. We looked at it, and it was ironic the stories we each felt around cancer survivors. I thought of my Dad and this article he sent showing he and my mom walking the walk in Shelton, Washington, and even making the newspaper. I missed it this year because I was across the sea in this grand little place.

I think I am going to show up with my new t-shirt and see if I can walk for my Dad. It's not in his memory; it's in the same spirit of connection, of Hawaiian history, of support and encouragement he and my mom have given me over the years. Next week will find me at the Lahaina Aquatic Park, Recreation Field II in West Maui, Hawaii at 6pm, wearings shoes (not slippahs!), with that picture in my pocket, holding my parents close, and walking the walk, relaying a message of hope across the sea.

Of Service and Intention: Speaking the Dream

2009-07-15T18:35:00.000-07:00

I have always been that guy that helps people out. I do it in trade, an exchange of energy. My friends and family often ask why I don't ask for pay for this work, and it's because I haven't been given life, it was given to me, and I need to share what I have been given. Sure, survival is good and it's stressful think about how to pay the rent, the utilities, groceries, gas, but if you live each day for survival instead of for joy, then are you happy? Someone told me today that this service I do is something very Hawaiian, which is interesting because I am; I wonder if it's just me fulfilling my life path?

So, I do the footwork, putting the energy out there to get the job that will fills me, and uses me to my greatest ability. My dream, my goal is to work for a college or an university, teaching students by motivating them and helping them learn about valuable academic skills, life skills, and general life experience, so they can matriculate and go help someone else. I have done the footwork, and I have to trust da process that I will be teaching, perhaps this fall.

That leaves me with activities to fill my time. I am of service and I do volunteer work, but the thing I want to do is to find a place that fills me as I fill them. Today I went to this place where my friends go to work out, a place that had me a little fearful because I had to just be myself and not hide behind a resume, a place where I thought I wouldn't fit in because I was too big. Most of all, I was nervous because I had to speak my truth, put the energy out there, and see what happens. I did.

And now we live the day and see what happens.

What We Teach Our Kids Matters

2009-07-15T00:38:00.000-07:00

I was at the beach with my Maui niece, her mom, her dad, her grandmother, and lots of cousins. I was out in the water with the little ones, all between 5-8 years old. My niece loves to climb on board and pretend I am a surfboard. Her giggle fills my heart with good joy. While we were out in the water a couple of the kids point me and ask my butt is so fat. I let my niece off my back, stilled their canoe and I floated alongside them and said that if you have to ask the question of why is someone is so fat, try saying it like why are you so big. You get that?

They ask again, uncle Kana why is your butt so big, why are you so big. I explain to them and get them to giggle that I am so big, because I have this big heart that needs protection, and my hold my chest. Big heart. They are like, oh, well why are other people so big? Is it the same? I say, I can only share what I know. Then they all jump and decide that Kana's heart is big enough to cart them all around in the water.

I am sitting with my niece on her boogie board, me drinking water, she Capri Sun, and we both eating tuna sandwiches on white bread. Just giggling and giggling together. She looks at me and asks in her very inquisitive way, so how did you get so big. I looked at her and wanted to hug her for seeing me, but I looked over at her mom, and looked back at her and said. People get this big because sometimes they don't listen to their moms and eat too much candy and junk food. There are other reasons, but that's why some kids get so ... tell me, I ask her.... big she squeals and giggles. Her mom smiles the dazzling smile that her daughter has too.

So, that was light-hearted talk and what we teach our kids really speaks to how our kids grow and interact with other people. Some kids aren't as fortunate to have an uncle Kana to share them with them the difference in inflection between fat and big and the reasons why they want to live healthy little lives. There are bullies out there, and bullying in high schools has become a dangerous epidemic. My friend, Joe Fuller, a phenomenal playwriter and singer, wrote a song about bullying in high schools and a young high school took the song and put it to rap. While not the innocent giggles of some little kids at the beach, the message is clear, what we teach our kids has a direct response on who they are, what they become, and how they may treat their lives.

You can look at it here, http://www.ireport.com/docs/DOC-268138, or on Facebook.

A Place of Blessed Being

2009-07-11T15:12:00.000-07:00

One of the most interesting signs is this one, located off Front Street between the Cannery Mall sloughway and the stretch into downtown. It lights up at night, and I never really thought much about it, until today.

In my walkabout, I stumbled upon the Lahaina Jodo Mission. I walked inside was amazed at that placement of rocks and gravel and the quiet soul raking leaves from the grass. It was as if the air stood still in this place, windy outside the gates right of the ocean, but the large Amitabha Buddha placed high, adorned with blooms holding court over these building in Asian design.

I was exactly one month old when this Buddha figure came to Lahaina, June 1968, in celebration of the centennial of Japanese immigration to thei place. It a beautiful place and one where, if the ocean wasn't right there, one might come to sit and do quiet and contemplative meditation.

If Jesus is Coming is the opening salvo into this neighborhood, and Buddha sits between the mountain and the sea and Kane sweeps his water onto the shore, then indeed, this place is blessed indeed.

Walking the Footsteps of What Was at Mala Wharf

2009-07-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

In Portland, Oregon there is a project going on that will decommission a parking lot and turn it into a memorial site for a mass grave that was discovered there. The people in the grave built the City, they are the laborers, the people who worked at the docks, who might've helped construct any of the icons to this the city of Bridges, planted the seeds to this the City of Roses, are cleared the land for this Stumptown. They are nameless people who probably couldn't afford a headstone for their remembrance, and so they were buried en masses, and over time the place might've grown over, and things built, stones scattered, and just forgotten. I read it about it in the Eastside newspaper and forgot about it until today.

I did a walkabout at the Mala Wharf, a place teeming with graves and burial sites amidst the sleeping rolls, surfboards, and cars worn with age. I walked into the Puupiha Cemetery fascinated by the stones written in Asian script amidst the sand dunes, looking towards the water. But what of the Mountains? This is Lahaina after all, from the mountain to the sea.

I look into the scrub brush and trees scorched with age, and I see the stones, three or four. Upon closer look you can see the plots grown over with brush, some with faded and dried leis, water vases long dry, and their headstones weathered with time, not pointing towards the water but towards that space between the mountains and the water. I wonder what was there before this crop up of neighborhood and municipality?

Just who was C. K. Oana born January 17, 1880 died October 14, 1918? Who was Malie A. Alexander, born 1853 and died in the 1900s? Who were the others on this gravestone, lovingly carved and placed? Who would think a century later still had people sprucing their sites and honoring who they were?

My good friend, a long-time resident of this land tells me that the Mala Wharf was an essential part of pineapple trade, when the Sugar Cane train would bring pineapple down off the mountain and to the cannery for the pineapple to be preserved and shipped an brought over to the wharf to go to places beyond this the ancient capital of the Hawaiian kingdom.

The Wharf didn't completely survive a hurricane and now pieces fall into water and it is closed off. But if this grand structure which juts out into water 1000 feet did not survive, what of the burial sites so close to the shoreline? Did they get washed into the sea, and are the headstones now part of the reef, the breakwater? Who visits them besides the scuba divers and snorkelers and the sea life? Is there significance to the placement of the site, that if one looks out beyond the reef, it is not a view of Lanai or Molokai, it is what is between: the sea?

As I walked the shoreline, I looked up towards the cemetery, and see in the dune closes to the water a rock that doesn't look like a rock. It's too square, too molded, too cemented, with that very Renaissance styling that was popular on gravestones in the mid 19th Century. It sits, a corner jutting out of the sand and can't see the writing, if there is any. I look to the right and there are more of these square blocks haphazard in the sand and in the brush. I look to the Wharf, thinking, maybe they are pieces of the structure floated to land and washed upon on shore.

I look closely at the Wharf and designs are not the same. It's probably a gravestone and it's probably okay, but who was that person, perhaps Asian one of the Japanese immigrants? The block is larger than most of the grave sites, so the bigger it is, the more the family or community cared about that person. Who visits the gravesites, who honors the dead?

I do. People ask me about my research, and are shocked that I examined NAGPRA and the impact of relationships, multijurisdictional relationships, on people long gone. One of my research projects had to do with the relocation of 1500 sets of Ancient Hawaiian remains at Mokapu, also known as the Marine base at Kaneohe Bay in Kailua, Oahu.

Why did I do this research? In Indian Country there is a concern that the youth of today are forgetting where they come from, that there is a disconnect between youth and elder. That's true for a lot of my generation, people with a lack of sense of identity. So, I wanted to honor those who came before. You might read through my stuff; you can see that I am often wondering what the building was before it was a restaurant or some such thing. What stories do the walls tell? Who were the people that walked this land long before the we and so many others trudged this paradise?

I can answer. C.K. Oana did and Malie A. Alexander and their family or community who thought to remember them to this day, put a lei of the site and brush the leaves away and say a prayer for what was and what is.

An Interesting Collection of History: The Shells at Bailey House

2009-07-09T09:08:00.000-07:00

As I sit in the sun at Honokawai on the beach, I look to the sand to see what shells lay there. There are little bits of shell and these little seed shells, an homage to what use to scatter throughout the beaches, and now, just here and there along the beach.

What made me think of the shells is the collections of shells archived at the Bailey House in Wailuku. Yes, for amidst the artistry and antiquity of this fabulous little museum and cultural site is the collection of shells that more than anything else there demonstrates a true cultural heritage. Most people might pass it by for a look at the traditional canoe, the gardens, the paintings, the interesting implements and tools of ancient Hawaiians, or even the gallery of kings upstairs.

But imagine that at one time there were thousands of species of shells, now 1263 species have gone extinct because they were taken from their native lands and used in ritual, or for the tourist industry. So, now they sit under glass, categorized and free from the elements, a tribute to what was.

So, now as I look at the tourist shops with all these shells emblazoned on a variety of bracelets and such, I wonder where the heritage is in that bracelet, beyond the story told and created around its making. I set down my book, put my sunglasses on and run my hands through the sand to cull out the tiny shell, finger it a moment, and smile. Here is a piece of history, a remembrance. I look towards Wailuku grateful that decided that shells as innocuous as they might be were worth saving and honoring.

Experiencing a Rip Curl: The Art of Images Gallery in Lahaina

2009-07-07T10:19:00.000-07:00

Let's talk art.

The other day I saw my friend Susan all dressed up and ready for the night life on Front Street. She was visiting with an artist who was mocking up a bronze in clay, inviting people to touch the clay, and get into the experience. Susan introduced us, but I was more fascinated how people just seemed to migrate towards her, which is really good, because she is seller of art at this little gallery called Images.

She had invited me to an evening of art and the gallery, and I felt a little awkward, for who goes into a gallery unless they intend to buy? Not me, for my intent is to dream a bit, and think about the days when had planned to use my undergraduate degree as an art journalist, writing and reviewing art worldwide for a big magazine like ArtNews or using that degree to travel the world as an antiquities archaeologist, trying to find rare and missing items for auction houses. Yes, I love art and it moves me, so when the invitation came, I knew I would be going.

I had been wanting to do Lahaina Art Gallery Night for some time, but I don't like crowds too much and thing with art in Lahaina is, is that there is an abundance with it. I wanted to go to one, and was thinking about it, when Susan suggested it. Images Fine Art Gallery is ideally situated, just off Front Street, behind the Hard Rock Cafe, and part of that shopping center where you can park easier than on the main drag through town. It's beautiful and organized and like walking through a rip curl, a clear destination with unknown and exciting elements leading your way to the end of the tunnel. It's cool, contemporary, and with a sense of tradition that speaks to day when the property where the gallery sits was probably a fish market or something like that. It's truly integrated into the Lahaina scene and you don't feel awkward coming to visit, moreover you feel that Maui welcome, and that's cool, too.

Local guitarist Scott Baird was playing and feeling the room with contemporary vibe. Several artists were on hand to talk about their work, and I even met with one of them, a local guy who paints pop art. Davo was his name and he grabbed me and some tourists who were sipping wine and showed the multi-dimensionality to his work. His effervescent personality was evident in his work, and when switiching off the lights, his work glowed, literally, making the popular figure of "Einstein" brighten the room.

A. Andrew Gonzales was a new addition to Images. His pieces called "The Oracles" and "The Pearl" were exquisite, reminding me of fresh hewn marble with a wispy ethereal touch to them. If you look close you can see the workings of ancient tradition like native American and Celtic almost tattooed on the white alabaster look. Moreover, you want to touch the work to feel the almost electric, almost sensual energy to it. His work could be placed in a museum, in a home, in a spa; there is something distinctly "I wanna do better at my life and do new things with my life" quality to it; a rare find indeed. The thing is, Gonzales' work is not sculpture, but simply well created paintings of the fantasy realism genre.

Robert Romeo Tomei piece "Watchful Mothers" really drew me in more than his other pieces which were, yes, quite vibrant with an interesting mix of color and depth of subject matter. This piece which depicts a geisha-like figure with red flowing hair, immediately made me think of Cynthia Gralla, an edgy academic in San Francisco and her book "The Floating World." I was, like my instant connection with Ms. Gralla, instantly drawn to it, making me think of my recent tour where I met this phenomenal woman. The brush strokes were incredible, the attention to detail were as passionate as the image seemed to be, a melding of Western brazen to Eastern proper, almost as if the woman in kimono stood in a storm, it cloth unwrapping and whipping in the wind.

Sylvia Papucci's very contemporary take on the multi-plate color etching technique that began in the Renaissance and was used by artists like Rembrandt, Goya, and even Mary Cassat, is striking. It pulls you in, like that rip curl metaphor for the whole gallery, like you are in the wave and you are the only one there. The intense blue is not one blue but a shimmer of water enveloping you and making you hum to the very American music of Jan and Dean playing in your head, and making you wonder how this little Italian dynamite can understand the surf culture so well. Ironically, the piece that struck me the most was called "The Wave."

This guy who I talked to a bit about the gallery, Donald Norris, is the same guy who took this most incredible picture called "Maui Firemen - Launiapoko Fire 2007." To some it's just three guys hanging as the smoke and fire takes its place in Maui, but there's just something about it, a photojournalist quality. One of my dreams is to take pictures and write story for a magazine like National Geographic, and this picture is of that quality, the kind that you might see in a Year in Pictures collage, the color, the stature, the blaze holding you captive for years to come.

Robert Lyn Nelson is not a guy I would expect to be from Lahaina. And yet, many of pieces make much more sense as the outline of hills or the lights of Front Street come into perspective. Nelson is one of the artists that inspired my dream of art journalism, for he is like me, extremely creative to the point of perfectionist, always wanting to improve and give more vibrance to his work. When I saw his work at a gallery in Bellingham, Washington, he wasn't the featured artist, but his work pulled me right in, this interesting take on life above and below the water. At the time, I was in my art history mode and doing research on ironically Mapplethorpe's impact on Madonna's Book "Sex" and how it fused with Frida Kahlo. Then I saw his work, and it transported me to the islands, to what my grandmother Moana saw, to what my father witnessed in his youth, the color and vibrance of Hawaii, and not just what people talk about, but the depth, the richness of paradise.

My heart sang and while my work in the art history genre was about testing taboo, Nelson's work just gave me joy. So when I saw his work again I was pleasantly surprised to see that he was Lahaina artist and I wanted to meet him and talk to him about how he inspired me. Then, I turned and saw his "Homage to Van Gogh," and was wowed. It was so different, so uniquely him, but different than his other work. Yeah, I want to meet him still, to see where he works, to whip up my kitchen magic for him, to talk to him of family history. Is that silly? No. For we creatives love to show our craft.

I want to tell my friend Robby that like him, I experienced not one rip curls, but two, and yet I have never been on a surfboard, even in Lahaina. It's a goal of mine yes, but, the power and intensity of a distinct pattern in water like a rip curl is possible. You just to change your perspective and find a piece of life that inspires you. The portrait inspires me, the painting of words and creating story of a life well-lived, that is my rip curl. A second rip curl is my experience through the eyes of others at this little and fantastic gallery in Lahaina called Images and a fantastic woman named Susan who brought me there.

Catch a wave and you will be sitting on top of the world. (Beach Boys attribution)

Links
Images Fine Art Gallery http://www.imagesinc.com
Scott Baird http://www.mauimusic.com
A. Andrew Gonzales http://www.sublimatrix.com/index.html

Sunday Morning Sits

2009-07-05T13:50:00.000-07:00

I miss my hanging with my teacher Jamshed and the get-togethers with my brothers up on the mountain at Breitenbush or in some home in Portland. Since coming here I have met a woman who is like my teacher, Jamshed, but our schedules really haven't meshed for me to trek up to Haiku to spend some time with her. That time will come.

This morning found me wanting to go to church. It didn't matter what church, what denomination. Just church to sit for a bit with my prayer beads. I brought the bible that my parents got for when I was younger, not knowing if I would use it or not, but it seemed a safe bet.

I knew of a church that is right near my house and found it on line and services were starting at 9AM, so perfect.

I am surrounded churchgoers in my life, and in my life, I too had been an avid churchgoer, but when church became about people and policy and marketing that church, I found disconnect. What I loved about the Pentecostal church I belonged to when I was younger was that I was able to sing the heart song that I possess, the innate part of my being that is filled with joy when I voice it.

This church has live music, and this morning an interest speaker who spoke of not the storms we face, but the process by which we survive them and how we are taken care of through the storm, and not simply the after effects. It was a pretty incredible message and just what I needed to here, a message of perseverance, of trusting the process, and of just living in joy and contentment despite whatever is going on.

Boy, that sounds alot like how I do spirituality in whatever community that is, a common bond, a pattern that exists in a variety of faiths, denominations, beliefs, politics, etc. When my mind gets wrapped around the church as a thing versus a tool to help me get centered, then it is no wonder why I don't go more.

I listened to my heart this morning, and went for a sit with my buddy God. Cool.

Eye of the Needle: A View to the Heart of Iao

2009-07-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

Today found me sitting in a mountain stream, very similar to the waters at Breitenbush Hot Springs, not quite warm, but not the glacial cold of a northwest stream. I sat for an hour in the sun as about tourists snapped their shutters and stared in awe and the greenscaped mountains about and above. I watched dripple and dropple and gurgle and whoosh and little fruits pelleted me from above the winds sending fruit about. I look up streams and kids are splashing about.

The sun streams down and I look up into the eye of the needle, amazed that this could exist here, that Kane, the water god, would let Kana, a minor deity, to send prayers on the wind to his grandmother Moana, Auntie Linda, Brother Kai, and doggy Khia, and to put into the stream of life that which stressed him, and that which he wants to let go of, as he did twice a year at the river that flowers under the Devil's Peak in Detroit, Oregon.

I think of my Dad, who though from Oahu, calls this place one of his favorites. I wonder if my grandmother walked the same river bed I did, the dried pools, the ancient heiaus, the rocks which looked like petroglyphs made their way to the water. In silent meditation I constructed four cairns, each balanced, silent status in this torrential stream.

My First Mango: Worth the Wait

2009-07-01T02:28:00.000-07:00

All over Lahaina, mango trees are abundant with ripening fruit. People are out gathering fruit from trees and selling them locally. In our backyard we have one such tree, and the fruit from it especially flavorful, perhaps because the roots are embedded in the red soil found in this part of Maui.

The first time I had mango, it was chutney, not quite a jam, nor a jelly, but a unique flavor introduced to me by my father. He was often giving us flavors of things that were different and unique, so we could expand our palates. Even so, I hadn't really taste a mango on its own.

The next time was my sister, Gab, when she asked me to pick up from the Olympia Food Coop some dried cherry and dried mango from the bulk food section when I was doing volunteer work there. She handed a piece and suggested I try it. I bit in and drying process really didn't do anything for it.

The next time was a mango yogurt drink at Indian restaurant in Eugene, and it was the flavor that I remember but, it was diluted with the other. I took a sip and because of the dairy had to give it to one of my spiritual brothers who gladly lapped it up.

Next was a sip of a mango margarita here in Lahaina, smothered in whip cream. Still, the flavor escaped me.

I wandered out to my backyard and saw one on the tree, a golden yellow. I shook the branch and down it came into my palm. I smelled the fruit, it's sweetness apparent even through the skin. I had watched once on some show how to serve mango. I cut it open, pulled out the pit and scored the meat, so juicy though, that the meat fell away. I took a bite. It was sweet, yes. It was pulpy, yes. It was different, not quite pineapple, not quite peach. I opened my eyes, smelled it, and tasted it again.

Fresh from the vine, yes, a mango is a pure delight. Now, how to dry the damn things to send to my sister and how to make a chutney for my father?

Pounding da Pavement

2009-06-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

It's been interesting applying for jobs again, especially after a 12 year career at one institution, and then, some work at another institution, and doing my passion since I graduated from high school in 1986, writing and motivating others.

I have a solid work history, an excellent work ethic, and believe every day the perfect activity to fill my day will come along. So, until then, I volunteer hours at the local library, I cook weekly for a nonprofit, I do special projects for organizations with no money and my skills are welcome relief, and try to be of service. My contracted writing projects are few and far between, and the last three clients failed to pay me, despite the fact that they directly benefited in the form of a job, from the work I did for them.

I have applications out with the County of Maui, am applying for jobs with the state of Hawaii, and waiting on Maui Community College status. I have applied at local businesses and the kamaainacareers.com and kammainajobs.com route. All told I have about 200 applications out, and still, no bites. It might be the first time I have to admit that the recession does impact someone with my skilset, though the skillset is recession-proof.

So, today found me applying at Office Max, Barnes&Noble, and Starbucks. I even did a cold call letter to my favorite restaurant, just to put it out there.

I can only do the footwork and trust the process.

Maui Gay Pride: The View That Filled My Heart

2009-06-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

It was the best gay pride event that I have attended in years, bringing me back to the days of planning and organizing and participating in small town pride events in Olympia.

Why? It was infused with a theme throughout, said to me by a guy walking a path as I stared down into a cove up above Little Beach in Kihei. He said, "It is a view that fills your heart." That's all he said. As I look back Maui Gay Pride, it is true, it was the view that filled my heart.

I spent the weekend with a new friend named Mike, which is the best way to do an event like this, hanging with a friend with similar qualities and getting to know one another in the midst of all energy of the event. We'd met the night before through mutual friends and through circumstances that worked out well, I found myself spending the weekend, and not just the requisite couple hours I planned to drop in and head home to Lahaina.

First came the pool party at Aston Maui Lu Resort. It was a true pool party, with feelings of 1950s days of old come to play. There were the requisite organizations, a barbecue, a bit of drag, luscious folks in swimwear, water play, and a premiere event, a hula troupe performing a few numbers poolside. There were about a 100 people throughout the day which made me think, yes, there are gay people on Maui. The spirit of welcoming aloha was strong and no matter what, there was just no possible way of feeling not a part of; a view that filled my heart.

Next came a sunset party at the Sunseeker's lanai deck. The Sunseeker is the first welcome sign of gay people in Maui with its rainbow flag flying high as you enter Kihei. When you go inside, it is a bit of paradise with water features, torches aglow, and jungle everywhere. The standing room only event itself featured drinks and pupus, a special performance by a guy with beautiful eyes named Joe, two hot and hunky hula dancers, and just alot of boisterous fun to match the spectular views.

An interesting moment for me was reaching out my hand and saying hi to someone I found very attractive. His name was Billy, and ironically, he was originally from Vashon, one of the last places I stayed with Gordon and Stephen on the mainland. There was something about his smile and beautiful fur on the tan sinew; when he laughed, I knew I made a good descison to act instead of just ponder from afar. That view made my heart pitter patter, but still, fill it did.

After the Sunseeker event, Mike and I drove into Wailuku and spent some time with mutual friends and then home to change for the dance.

The Pride Dance event was held at Gian Don's, a place I wanted to review for food when the opportunity arose. Not this time, for a Pride event or any other event that makes a restaurant crazy busy, and it's not the best time to do a review. On some other night or day, I will come, for what I did see did warrant a second look. We danced, we ate a little, and sipped water. Drag queens were out, the music pumped, and it was good to do the dance of our people.

The next day found us at the after party, an all day event at Little Beach in Kihei. What's usually a busy Sunday with drumming and dancing, body surfing, and hiking, was more so with Pride celebrants making their way over the steep volcanic crevice to the golden sands and huge waves on this day. People saw each other, made connections, and hung out for a big ol' family beach day. I learned about safety and body surfing and how to not break ones neck, and caught quite a few waves to shore. People flung inhibition to the wind and one among many men caught waves after waves. It was pretty powerful to see; a warming filled my heart.

Mike suggested a little adventure to a cove up the mountain. He warned me of the drop in oxygen as you climb up a mountain, crawling over lava rock, and up a continual climb. Me in my slippahs, board shorts, and lavalava, scaled the mountain with this man, his naturalist tendency to describe the surroundings quite lovely. When we got to the cove, he explained how people jumped in and the waves would carry one around onto a naturally formed water slide. I was beat, from all the surfing and rock climbing, that I was content to sit in the sun, high up on the rocks and watch this lovely man dive in and attempt the slide. It was at that moment when the lovely stranger, out of nowhere, delivered to me my theme for Maui Gay Pride; it's a view that fills your heart.

On our way down I got a little faint, and a lot embarrassed, but folks helped out, reaching out a hand when a hand was needed. Then it was back into the water to cool off and clean off the debris of day, catch a few more waves and finally, call it a day. We cleaned up a bit, met up with some mutual friends and then we headed to a great little Vietnamese restaurant where we got to eat Vietnamese burritos (basically it's play with your food and have fun making spring rolls!) and share a quiet ending to a fabulous weekend.

My heart is full of joy and wonder of Maui Gay Pride; the next step is finding connection as a radical faerie, and hopefully, like the time and effort that went into this event, we might find a monthly coffee klatch on the Westside.

Want more info on Maui Gay Pride? http://www.mauipride.com/index.php

Kana's Top Ten Hidden Treasures in Lahaina

2009-06-11T10:27:00.000-07:00

So, I went to get gas at my favorite place in Lahaina to get gas. It's closed because it's making its pumps more environmentally conscious. My first instinct was to figure out what fuel company feeds this place and go, alternatively, to the other gas stations that might get gas from that company. For we are an island, and not a gas-producing, well, fuel, one. The fuel has to come from somewhere. So I got gas at a Chevron, same gas, not the same service. But it's about fuel.

It also reminded me to get my writing in gear; my top ten list of sweet and hidden treasures in Lahaina town. So, this little gas station leads off.

AUTOMOTIVE: Ed's Union 76 Service ~ 243 Lahainaluna Rd
Mala and Doug make for interesting talk story about customer service in Lahaina. Mala is this sweet local girl and Doug runs the place. I was gonna go to Costco and get tires, but Doug matched their prices with better tires and it was local and got done pretty fast. It's a hidden treasure, because who thinks to go to a gas station to get tires, except anybody who grew up in the heyday of filling stations, one stop shops! It brings the heyday back with a smile.

WELLNESS: Dennis N. Ishimoto, DDS ~ 840 Wainee Street, Ste. E5
When one goes through big dental pain and need a dentist and don't have one locally, it can be a scary proposition. So, my crown was giving me problems and I called six dentists to be seen right away. All of them turned me down because I have no insurance here and they have no appointments; two of them didn't even bother to call back. But this office did, and saw me within a half hour. It was good service from the front desk, to the nurse in the back, to the quiet dentist. It's a hidden treasure, because they alleviated pain and suffering, and met my needs. When I do get reinsured here, they are the first place to call.

EDUCATION: Maui Community College, Lahaina Education Center ~ 60 Kenui Street
I drive by the sign everyday and wonder why I haven't got my butt in gear to get lecturer application in. I visited the campus and talked to its staff. This campus is small, yes, but perfect for my kind of education. If I were a visiting faculty or education staff who needed a homebase from which to work, this would be the place. It's not chock full of Hawaiiana; it's a state of the art education facility, with many many resources. Plus the staff, yeah, we speak the same language, making me long for the days of my Evergreen career.

SHOPPING: Discount Plus ~ 840 Wainae Street, Ste. H2
So, there's this girl named Ruthie; we have so much in common. One thing we have in common is our love for the unique and interesting in a rather warehouse store called Costco. When I found this place it was like SHOPPING!, and a great way to set up the home. For me, I am usually able to tell when what was bought when because I used to love walking Costco to get exercise, I looked and learned about their products. This place is well organized, has a myriad of products to choose from, and great, great service. It's a hidden treasure because who'd think West Maui had its own Costco?

SHOPPING: Salvation Army ~ 131 Shaw Street
My friend Jamie tells me a friend of hers used to live in the house where the Salvation Army currently makes its home. She hasn't visited but I have. What it lacks in the mainland stores of almost sterile stores, it make up in selection. Clothes, furniture, bedding, tchotckes, surf boards, it's all there. It is the place where tourists and islandgoers leave their stuff. I picked up a few pieces that I restored and helped make my home more homey. It's a hidden treasure because I find the unique and fun, like perfect threat count hotel sheets, white! Woo hoo.

RESEARCH, HAWAIIANA, DVD/CDS: Lahaina Public Library ~ 680 Wharf Street
I started volunteering here because shelving books and doing projects to the benefit of a library has always been a calming influence in my life. This place, still located in the 1950s structure might not look all that, but it is the hub for computing, CD/DVDs, new books,a dn periodicals. Tourists know that to know a place is to know is the library. This is a hidden treasure because I find gems every day without having to dive too deep.

SWEET TREAT BAKED: The Bakery ~ 991 Limahana Place #D
There is a tie for my favorite sweet treat in Lahaina. The macaroon is not hard to make, but it is often hard to find one made so well. The Bakery is a hidden treasure because you wouldn't know it was there in this little industrial park just down from the Taco Bell across from a Pawn Shop. If you go, find out the hours, for this industrial baking company is not some cute little patisserie, they are purist for what they produce.

SWEET TREAT SIPPED: Lahaina Grill ~ 127 Lahainaluna Road
Yes, it inspired a second blog, but the virgin colada that Mary whips up for me weekly is the sweet treat that I so look forward to. This restaurant is not about the drinks insomuch as it is about good service, good eats and excellent atmospher. It is a hidden treasure, because who ever thought a touristy drink would please my palate so well?

ENTERTAINMENT: Tihati Productions ~ locations on many islands, but www.tihati.com works too
It wasn't the first luau that I had ever been to, but the one held at the Sheraton in Lahaina was perhaps the best, and not because friend Jamie made me cry with her performance. It was the whole package, to the local vendors hawking their wares, to the food, the service, and the entertainment. For a first time visitor to Maui this production really made my first week special and I got to hang with Tommy a bit and get to know Jamie a little more! It's a hidden treasure right out in the open; if you are deciding on a luau, this is the one to see!

PLACE TO LIVE: Honokawai to Kahana, the West Side
So past Front Street and all the kind of touristy places of Lahaina are the outlying areas. Where the freeway splits into upper and lower this is the best region from which to live and work in the area. It's close enough to the town, but close to the airport and the beach and shopping. It's a hidden treasure because most folks who have time shares or are visitors tend to not realize how much beauty and is in this place and these neighborhoods make West Maui the best place to live.

There are more places, yes, but this is just a sample of the tastes you can find when visiting West Maui, Lahaina and all points in between.

Diver Down: From ancient Kalama to contempary Kahana

2009-06-08T16:20:00.000-07:00

There is a story about Kalama, Washington. Kalama is located just south of Olympia on the way to Portland. It is a river town. In Hawaii, there are many references to Kalama, but what I know from a magazine I read once and stories learned with tribal colleagues is that Kalama is the name of the place in Oahu renowned for pearl divers, near Kailua. The Hudson Bay Company would hire contractors to steal away these pearl divers to be used on river boat in the cold Puget Sound and other river routes. When turbulence hit, packages and boxes might go overboard or they need a guide, and these pearl divers would be forced to hit the water. Some of these pearl divers and their descendants settled in this little town now called Kalama.

Today I went for a swim and actually way out further than normal. Hanging with my friend Jamie she tells me local uses this high cliff stoop upon which to lob golf balls, good swing practice. I look down and see a golf ball. Soon it becomes a matter of me diving down and gathering golf balls which she throws to shore to one of her young friends to gather in a bucket. Diving, diving, down. Into clear water off Kahana, I would dive having to really work at a few feet of water, because I don't sink like most people. I am a buoy, I float right back. So my arms got a huge workout diving and gathering these golf balls, like eggs on the ocean floor. Then we paddled back in. I loved it. I loved diving down and gathering, wondering if this feeling, this euphoric endorphin rush is anything like those divers of old.

The Big L Ablaze

2009-06-07T10:40:00.000-07:00

Yes, Maui is one season, but not just one weather. Living right off the water it's interesting to have most days filled with hot, hot sunshine and temperate breezes through palm trees coupled with the odd weather of warm rain and huge gusts of wind. What's even more interesting is to have a day full of overcast cloudiness. Except for the obvious signs -- the beach, the palm trees, the I dunno, ocean -- it could be anywhere.

Across my lane, a house is festooned with an arch of balloons and people are running about. My first thought is that it is a garage sale, but in this economy why would spend so much money and energy on a balloon arch. There are many cars that are normally not here to include those folks that decide to park in the neighborhood because they have two cars and only get one space at their high-end condos, which is a constant grumple.

No, this is an event, the kind of event that Hawaiians do real well. It's the kind of event that finds the plumeria trees bare for a week and lei needles spinning. It must be graduation, for Hawaiians truly honor their students, their educated ones for in learning it is hope for the future.

So, sometime this week the mountain will be ablaze. The usually dormant L that is carved into the mountaintop representing a local high school will be afire in a tradition that has carried for many years the hope for the future, it's blaze a reminder of what was and what is.

Switching between blogs

2009-06-06T11:12:00.000-07:00

Boy this is fun, trying to write two concurrent blogs... well, we get to see what happens.

kana's foodie blog...

2009-06-06T00:55:00.000-07:00

Today I started a new blog called Ono Grindz: Talk Story from da Grill. I felt I didn't need to review Lahaina Grill every week. We know what happens when I go, it's pretty much a fait accompli. I never imagined that my work of preserving local knowledge would come inspirations in the form of the people, the energy, the atmosphere, and food of a fancy restaurant.

Pupus, Tapas, Finger Foods at Farmer's Market in Lahaina

2009-05-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

Snacks. Tapas. Pupus. Finger foods. It's all the same just depending on what's in the cupboard or what you are craving. I remember a couple years ago blogging about dips and blue cheese and sauces as I discover the foodier side of Portland. So, today, let's talk about some of ono grindz at Farmer's Market in Lahaina.

For this taste test I used Kettle Black Bean chips, two each; it's not a random chip, for if a dip or tapas is made really well, it can stand up against this veggie favorite. And it's just enough for this kind of treat.

There has to be an order to the way I tasted these six delights, five of which were picked randomly, and the sixth, a repeat favorite and needing a talkabout.

First is the bean dip. It's an interesting flavor, not anything like one can of refried beans cooked in a pan with one jar of salsa set to simmer. There are other interesting flavors and this dip is smooth, but with enough weight that it doesn't drip off the chip. Not my favorite of the dips, but were I to need a quick hit of protein with a bit of flavor, or as an accompaniment, this one is ideal.

Second is the guacamole. Again, it's hard to not over-smooth or over-chunk great guac. This one is flavorful and a repeat customer in my house. Good flavors, good mix. Were I to change it up, I'd might serve with a circle of lime on top to preserve the color and make it feel fresh when people get home. Lime is always a great fresh perspective on good guac.

Third is the pineapple salsa...which wow! When I think of a signature item for this funky and hip little store near Kahana, the flavor and the texture can speak to it. It's not so much a salsa as it as a pico de gallo, more chunk than sauce, but it's reminiscent of a good kim chee with a flavorful zing and sweet. What's more these people do pineapple well.

Fourth is something I've been wanting since Costco got rid of its awesome olive tapenade. It's hard to find good, fresh straight olive tapenade. No roasted red peppers or too much garlic to stray the taste, straight up olive. Add less salt and this place could give Costco a run for the bigger market dollar; many folks miss that tapenade. Definitely gonna get this stuff again.

Fifth is the garlic and chive cream cheese. It's so ironic, my body must've been on interesting palate auto pilot. The first time I tried a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with garlic and chive cream cheese, my mouth had one of it's first taste sensations. They thought I was odd, but still, little do they know what turns my crank. I say autopilot because for the first time in several years I bought a cinnamon raisin bagel to go with this specific cream cheese. It's a good contender for best of in cream cheese category were it not for the final dip.

Sixth is my favorite, the lilikoi cream cheese. I've used to it and blended into a frosting to go with my kickass brownies. I've served it with fruit, and now I'm eating it on a chip. Careful with this stuff folks. In this heat, it needs to be refrigerated or you will be service passionfruit butter, which in itself is not a bad thing, but when you want the cheese in cream cheese, refrigeration is essential.

So, hit the Farmer's Market in Lahaina (I hear there is one in Kihei, too) at 3636 Lower Honopiilani Road, it's the closest thing we've got to a food cooperative, with specialty items you normally wouldn't find elsewhere, like coconut milk yogurt, eco-conscious cleaning supplies, etc.? And on certain days of the week, they do a sale outside, and it's just community development and good food in action.

Passion for Food, Life, and Tradition

2009-05-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

I love cooking with other people; there's something about having a bit management in the kitchen yes, but cooking with other people, sharing story while chopping, grating, dicing, buttering, saucing, sauteeing, wiping, cleaning, giggling, and listening to music inspired by recovery efforts in Louisiana. People asked me if I was a professional cook or something. No.

I cook from tradition, tradition passed down from my father who got it from his inspirations. I cook from tradition, from my sister Gab, who as a young child spilled egg on the Nancy Drew Cookbook, and improvised a recipe for French Toast from my father, and I found I liked hers better. I cook from tradition, about how to talk to folks to groceries from my sister Mika from our trip to that Asian grocery store in Seattle. I cook from tradition, from my mother cooking that black tar chicken as I called as a kid, me poking my head in and out of the pantry of our house in Rodelheim, watching my mom cook. I cook from tradition, from the kitchen in the house on Kapaa Street in Kailua, where I discovered sea salt with seaweed, sharp knifes honed with time, and a lovely little dog that sat and watched while I whipped up meal. I cook from tradition from Minna, my lovely cousin introducing me five years ago to lomi lomi salmon, pork, lau lau, and lilikoi pie, and her lovely hubby Bobby who rescued me from a wayward wasabi. I cook from tradition from eggs served over rice with chopsticks as I watched ER and CSI with Elaine, Gunner, Mieko and Yo. I cook from tradition on family trips in the woods, where you improvise and do new things, such as whip together a homemade chicken soup with all the condiments you can find.

I cook from tradition of my friend Lisa getting sick and needing help, and me going into her kitchen, going groan, bachelorette kitchen, yogurt, coffee, popcorn, and raiding the fridge coming up with something unexpected and delightful. I cook from tradition improvising whatever I can find and going with it. I trust the process and if the process does not have my usual safety nets, then I find a way to create a new net, and look and discover something new.

I have a varied cooking life. I know food. I know taste. I know people like from smiles on faces. I know ingredients and love discovering new ones. I know the science of food that brown sugar cuts acidity in tomato sauce. I know that if you clean up after yourself, it gives you integrity. I know that it is a passion for me, and that I might have to explore it more, given recent experiences. This is the contemporary tradition, the one we named at my sister's wedding, a tradition as we know it, something we create so that we feel connected. I create and I do.

Kana's Head, Heart, and Voice (HHV) in Action

2009-05-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

I was asked for an example of my Head, Heart, Voice (HHV) model I had used to teach. I wish conversations were as clear as writing it out, but here it is.

Five years ago, I was in the midst of my graduate program, the first national tribal administration program in the United States, and me, a staff member in the program, a student, and native scholar who knew a bit of my native Hawaiian history. During that time I was the runner up for a multicultural fellowship in faculty development and diversity at Harvard University; that process led to my proposing a similar position at Evergreen. I developed curriculum and taught for a year in the Evergreen Reservation-Based Community Determined program, served as the Graduate student speaker for First Peoples Graduation, and even had time to take on an insurance company to grant me gastric bypass (I lost 200 pounds and have maintained 150 off), the first policy exception of its kind in the state of Washington, opening doors for others so they might have the same surgery. Then, I conceptualized and executed a grant in partnership with the Northwest Indian Applied Research Institute to coordinate a meeting and report on findings of the inaugural International Indigenous Academic and Leadership forum in Waianae, Hawaii; a part of this grant was to conduct field research on NAGPRA and ancient Hawaiian remains. I was busy, but I knew how to manage time and resources.

It was that visit to Hawaii, through the eyes of an adult, not my childhood adventures with my parents visiting my grandmother and aunties in Oahu, that made me put in my mind that within five years I would be in Hawaii. When my dad got sick my dreams of Hawaii got put on hold to become his caregiver. Service to others above all else (our family motto) applied. Instead of work focused on local knowledge preservation of a community hundreds of miles away, Hawaii, I used my skills to focus on family and keeping it together, while doing my job at Evergreen. I stayed connected by writing an essay for a contest on race and gender in higher education, talking about sitting on my grandmother’s stoop and eating lilikoi and lessons we learn in family and tradition; it won Grand Prize.

After my dad was on the mend (you know, Dad, if you are reading this I wrote back on feet nee foot -smile-), a few things happened that really impacted my heart and at one point I didn't think I could get it back. We had a car accident that put this gearhead (loved car restoration) into a fear of driving. Next my brother died a hero in the Middle East. Then, my beloved siberian husky, Khia, died in my arms. Then I had a thunderclap headache (the ice pick in the temple kind of headache that often leads to stroke) which causes me pause anytime I have a headache these days. My head was saying stay with family, stay close, don't venture, don't explore. My heart was closing. My voice shut down.

As I love to see people succeed, I have many colleagues and mentors encouraging me in the same vein; it is give and take. When I was accepted into a PhD program in public policy and administration, it was the next right move, for if I wanted to teach, this was professors said I had to have, even though I had a graduate degree already and published. I moved to Portland to do something different, wanting to teach and use my hands. I fulfilled many dreams in Portland and experienced a different way of life, but something was missing. I had very much the Head and the Voice, but my Heart was impacted. I did my material dreams. I lived in a high-rise and then a glorious old house. I got to live and connect with dogs again. I got to participate in a community of fabulous friends and mentors. I did open my heart a bit to a man I care about, trusting a bit, seeing in him what others fail to see, and I got hurt, but it did not break me.

Did I know that it would take getting into a PhD program, quitting the program, working as a kennel assistant, a personal assistant, a gardening assistant, a remodeling assistant to find focus? Or that the final push was attempting graduate school a second time in one year (though I already had an MPA), getting to teach public speaking to university undergrads, finding passion in appreciative inquiry and organizational communication, and using that passion as a professional organizer and writer to help me realize I had what I needed? I learned that life was not a theory and I needed to live it. When the opportunities for Hawaii and Australia presented themselves, I let my heart out to breathe, trusted the process and lept.

There are no mistakes and the journey is what it is. The five year plan was actually five years, four months, I am here, and I am happy. There are days, yes, where my head is saying that I need a job and my voice is saying you will find not just a job, but one that drives your passion to teach, to help others, to be of service. My heart is saying you are on an island, a land of your blood, get to know that land. Dig into family history and create a community. Swim, relax, and be present.

I had a schedule this morning. Coffee break at 9am with friends at Front Street, then find an educational facility and ask how they are recruiting teachers locally, then a couple hours at the library shelving books, and then, some more job search, and a swim. That was the plan. As I write this, this morning, my friend Jamie the Dancer calls and says the water is most beautiful; I tell her I have these things to do. I called her back and said I will be there, be present. Life is short, live it, finish this post, grab my Batman board shorts and go for a swim in the glorious waters of Kahana. Head, heart, and voice in action.

Bumps in da Road as First Impression

2009-05-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

You never know what a chance meeting will do to you in the future, what social connection will come of a simple little bump. But yet, when you do, you get to see just how connected we are. Lahaina is truly a place, a microcosm of a world where people know you, and you get to know them from the stories told and experiences shared.

When I went to get keys remade at Ace Hardware in Lahaina, the keys that went swimming without me, I bumped into someone, or they bumped into me. Her name is Kellen (I'm not sure of the spelling) and she was an employee carting a water heater for a customer with big hoses on the top. I felt the bump and didn't pay it much mind, and she was very apologetic. I said it was okay, things happen, you know? No big deal. In line to pay, I learned about water heaters, that you can't lay them down in the back of a truck because there are heating elements that might be impacted. It's a piece of information, that I never would've got without a bump.

Yesterday I went to a new swimming place with friends, and she was in the parking lot. I know her, how do I know her? She came right up to me and we shook hands and had a little conversation, a pleasant conversation and she learned a little bit more about me, and I her. Bump.

In the water, swimming with friends, one of them motions we to come down. I am quite happening sitting in the warm water. To get to her I have to traverse a deeper sea, a colder sea, but, that's what friends do. When I get down there I meet Lorraine, a woman who swims at this place and works just down the road. We talk story. We share who we are and where we come from. Her husband works at the Ace Hardware in Kihei, but used to work at the one in Lahaina, but got promoted.

We talked of the employee, the bump, as our opener, but then we talked of water, the land, the history, goings on of the aina and the people, what happened before, just engaging great talk. When I shared a little bit, she's like OMG they recruit people like me from around the world, why don't I teach here, Hawaii is always looking for teachers. Bump.

I've heard that before, and it reminds me of an experience I had with a woman with a garage sale up near the high school. We talked about setting home and really digging in, and she asked if I wanted a chest, because that day I had rescued a Lane dovetail table, for $5. Anyways in our conversation, I learned that she was a teacher for the past 30 years, and she talk story about Lahaina and the educational system. Bump.

So I am looking at teaching. I applied for a naturalist position at a great place up the coast, and I hope to get an interview, but we will see. I applied at other jobs, but I love teaching. Last night, I was picking up something at grocery, and this woman and smiled at me, waved and say, hey, how are you. I looked at her sweet smile and asked how I knew her. She pointed to her chest. Says 76. I say "Mala." How are you? Cold, she says, it's so cold after coming in from the heat. We chat and go our separate ways, reminding me that I need to do a blog about great tire service, no chance meetings. Bump.

If you want to get into a town there are three things you need to find and be a part of. The land (aina). The people. The place. However that makes it up to you. For me, it's finding the library, meetings with friends, and not being afraid to put my hand out and meet new people, and learn things new and old. Bump.

Kahlua in Kahana: No Coincidences

2009-05-24T17:18:00.000-07:00

There are no coincidences. One of the things I have been craving, but can't have is my father's Kahlua Pork. Not so much the fact that I don't do pork as much anymore, but that my Dad's is a recipe fraught with tradition and knowingness. When I try to make da poke, it just doesn't work, my Dad's is the ticket.

I went to watch friends surf this morning and knowing that in the near future I will get on a board and swim out with them. For today it was simply being there, watching, climbing rocks, and getting my feet wet in the sun. After a couple hours we headed out, the hunky one tosses me a ticket and asks if I am going north. I said sure. He said check it out.

There was a Kahlua Turkey fundraiser for the Kahana Canoe Club at a local park. The event went to noon; was I too late? The dishes were washed, the place hosed down. A man in board shorts, looked at me like why are you late, brah? I said I was interested in getting this turkey with this ticket. He, his name was Walter, said, sure, we have one more, let me go look in da wife's car. He reached into a car, sunburned car like my own, and picked out a bit of the turkey. I walked around a bit amazed at the canoes and the organization, like Harvard rowers, amazing, just amazing.

I sat in my car and thought I need water to drink, water to swim, and some protein. I opted for the turkey and took a few bites. OMG. It was like being right there while my dad rubbed that red sea salt into the meat and then sealed it in foil and cooked it. That taste, not too salty, and the meats yummy in juice. Yes, there are no coincidences in this man named Walter who gave me a bit of home. I put it in the trunk, grabbed my keys, and went for a swim, the canoe flags whipping in the near off wind.

The Bakery in Lahaina: Product Rues the Day

2009-05-24T10:22:00.000-07:00

Every time I drive to this place that my friend Tommy suggested, it was closed, having unusual hours, so I think if I make it to this place, this bakery he thinks is the absolute best in Lahaina town, I make it to it. I am glad I did.

If I want a piece of coconut heaven without all the heaviness of a pastry or a donut, I go for the macaroon. It is interesting that of late I am developing a fondness for coconut (except for the ones that fall off the tree and it the car) a flavor I just never really dug. But The Bakery in Lahaina, located in the oddest of places, near the Sugar Cane Train, across the street from a pawn shop and warehouses, and behind my favorite little photocopy place, and just down the street from the Taco Bell, had that macaroon.

It's innocuous, especially when you walk in, this full service bakery not gleaming white but that kind of oh-my-god is it hot in here from all the baking and cooking, kind of place, no seating, just come in and get your stuff and go. It's a local favorite, because it's about the product, not necessarily the atmosphere, though an atmosphere that lends itself to the purity of baking might be just the ticket.

I picked up one for me and some others for friends and housemates, and tried it with them. It was perfect. These people know how to make it delicate and divinely coconut without making it squishy and too sweet, a little piece of heaven in a couple bites. Smiles on faces and people oh yeahing, this macaroon, wanting more.

Karaoke at Lahaina Kobe: The Rose in Bloom

2009-05-24T09:58:00.000-07:00

Who knew that a song would impact so much? "The Rose" by Bette Midler has always been with me, ever since I discovered this artist, it has been the ultimate song.

Some friends decided to go karaoke and I was thinking, I am exhausted from cooking for a group and karaoke was so a part of my past, and we don't drink so how do we get up on stage so people don't see us, that kind of weird fear. Fear subsided in favor of hanging with some friends and just having a great time.

We are at KOBE, a sushi place smack dab in the middle of Lahaina town, and the karaoke lady is having a fun time singing in harmony with regulars who go up and sing as if they are in the finals of American Idol and Simon the Scowl has just walked in.

I had my virgin colada just to try it here, though it felt a little weird not getting my usual diet coke or tonic water and lime, and it was fine, nice, cool blending of drink mix, the flavor what you expect, and the texture nice. The service was great and our server and I had a little tete a tete about carnivores in a sushi place, so it was a good place to go. My friends ate sushi and I asked them about it, and they thought it was excellent, not expecting that in a kind of bar-like karaoke atmosphere usually reserved for dark corners and a handful of nuts. Pleasant surprise is what they said. If I get the urge to jump into sushi, this might be the place.

I scanned through the book and there it was; of course, it was. "The Rose" is probably one of the most popular songs in karaoke land, like "Mack the Knife." My friends, are like, we want to hear you sing, we want to see you get up there. I said it's been years since I have done this song, moments of performance anxiety. Then, a new friend, a cowboy from Bakersfield who loves my cooking, squats down besides me, we talk a bit, and off goes the slip to the karaoke lady.

At the first note, I knew. This wasn't just a song, it was a sweet, sweet memory of the life I left behind. I was nervous, but being a public speaking instructor, I knew people didn't hear that nervousness. What they heard was a high tenor singing a song with emotion, not just belting out words on screen, a sweet melancholy.

Tears were in my throat, stinging my lids, my throat hitiching as the onslaught threatened. With each word, each step closer to the end, back to the obscure table of friends. When I was done, my New Zealander (not zoolander!) beauty's eyes said it all, wet with tears, and a smile. The tears had come. These are the sweet, sweet moments, the ones that create new memories, the "rose" ii full blooming wonder.

Putting on the Ritz: A Sense of Aina

2009-05-22T18:56:00.001-07:00

While I edit the html on my second review of Lahaina Grill complete with fantastic photos of our excursion there, I wanted to share a little bit of the interesting. When I was doing my graduate work at Evergreen, part of my work centered around local knowledge preservation as it related Native American Graves Protection Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), particularly in burial sites in Hawaii. My research included three areas of focus, two of which in this lifetime I have actually visited, one recently. My primary research at to with multijurisdictional relationship between native Hawaiian families, organizations, tribal affiliations, and the US Government. So I focussed most of my research on the US Marine Base at Kaneohe Bay near Kailua, Oahu (the place where my father grew up), and a good friend of my auntie Linda, Sally Farrington, the daughter of the guy for whom a freeway, and I think High School, is named brought me to the marine base and I was able to see the heiau, the burial sites, just to see, to put presence to picture.

I really haven't thought much about that experience, but a few days ago I went to the Ritz-Carlton Kapalua for business purposes and it felt oddly familiar to me, not knowing why. I had never been there before nor had the occasion to drive or boat past, but as I stood on the hill, I knew a part of me had been there somehow. I looked down towards the water towards a patch and trees which seemed different somehow. I was walking with a friend to check out the Cousteau Ambassadors of the Land facility and asked about why the hotel didn't go all the way to the water; you'd think that people might not want to ride to the beach or walk.

And then I stopped and I knew, this was the hotel of my research and that it was familar because I had seen the pictures and the construction of the hotel, and the politics of preserving and honor the land at Honokahua and the anscestors. I had seen it. I asked my friend, and he said, yes, the burial sites are right by that patch of trees and green, as if intrinsically, someone related to my blood line held my hand and walk with me. The hotel, then, became more than a place of interest for a job, it became a place I longed to visit and honor and celebrate those gone before.

Orange You Glad for Mom and Dad?

2009-05-16T10:11:00.000-07:00

My parents, who will celebrate 50 years together next month, are responsible for teaching me how to shop. I suppose, how I shop and my tastes are mine alone, but the basic ingredients for shopping were infused in me long ago. My dad shoots more for the best deal and the practical need it now kind of thing. My mom is a haggler, too, but she really has a keen eye for luxury and beauty. So between the two, we as kids got to witness the best in action. I suppose that idea of good deal, good quality, and good heart, is something to behold.

It is interesting what you think about when you get good customer service. And where did this happen? It happened at the Safeway at the Lahaina Cannery. Since moving here I have discovered my favorite fruit is not the sugar loaf white pineapple; that, while excellent, just made for good talk story, especially given my Hawaiian connection. I love the plain old medium navel orange, thin skin, juicy, cut straight into quarters fresh from the fridge. I keep my eye out for them at the local groceries because it is kind of a luxury item, at about $1.39 a pound.

I wandered into the Safeway and asked this lovely gentleman with kind eyes if they had them. I saw the big oranges with the thick skins, but not the medium navel orange. He pointed to them. I looked at them and thought they were kind of ugly or maybe not as a good because they weren't the oranges of my dream. He asked if I would like a taste. He said to take the orange is kind of soft skin. I asked if that meant it was going bad, and he said no. He deftly sliced the orange and handed me a piece, with a great smile. Perfect, juicy, to the point where I started to talk to him not realizing the ring was still between my lips. He pointed to a box for trash. I thanked him and started to look for the other item which is hard to find, Tillamook Vintage White Cheddar (often have to settle for Cracker Barrell aged white). He approached me and said if I ever don't find those oranges, he recommends that I look at the local produce. It is often less expensive and usually what the local hotels use to make orange juice for their guests. We stood at them, seemingly nastier looking then the others. He picked one, held it to me and said feel the softness, that means it is juicy. I felt it. He cut into and offered me a piece. It was a different tangy and sweetness, but it felt like home, this home.

I meant to get his name, and I will next time, for I have found a place to talk produce, a combination of the mainland world I left behind and new place I call home.

Traveling the World to Find the Elusive Cup: Coffee as Content

2009-05-07T10:29:00.000-07:00

Outside of Seattle, San Francisco is reputed to have the next best coffee. I got a great cup there; it's red and white, and a lovely addition to my mug collection. I tried a variety of coffee shops with my coffee test (see blog post on context) and just couldn't find it, even at five different SB locations. I got from my traveling companion that downtown San Francisco financial types have a certain air to them, so a small-town bloke travel writer might not find what he needs.

In Melbourne, I learned that Australians do tea really, really well. It's a science, almost how they know to steep to the point where the tea is hearty yet not acidic. It's beautiful. Every other day I would the Stadium Cafe to have a cup of tea. I thought I might try my test here at this place. It was definitely a test to communication, each of trying to explain it, and each of us trying to come to common ground....yes, pun intended. My cup of coffee eluded me in Australia, a place where Starbucks does not reign.

I had to go home to find a cup of coffee. Yes, Lahaina has Starbucks, and in a pinch for that ordered cup, yep, I would head to the one over by Foodland, because there's a guy there I met at the DMV, Kevin, with my friend Tommy who knows how to make a really good cup just as I like it.

See? Context. I have found a few coffee places in Lahaina that come really close.

Coffee People in Napili has the local surfers who walk in and baristas know their orders, the tourists who come in to find a piece of home, and the staff who actually have a great time in the whole experience. Context. At Maui Coffee behind the Shell station under the shadow of the old Pioneer Mill smokestack , I ordered my drink blended, and this husband and wife team (yep, from Portland!) delivered. Heck, it was even was more tasty than my usual Starbucks blended. Nummers. Bad Ass Coffee is in my neighborhood and attached to a cute Mexican store and the local equivalent of a food cooperative. I got a good little blended drink, potent with a hearty use of coffee, and it's location is kind of fun. As far as first impressions go, this one might find me coming back.

Yeah, Lahaina holds the key to finding my elusive cup. Life is nothing if not interesting. Every day I have a cup of coffee with friends. I add creamer and Splenda to it. It takes about an hour to drink. The coffee is smooth; yeah, Hawaiians make a good coffee bean. My perfect cup finds me hanging with other friends that remind me of my sistahs in Olympia, Lysa, Liz, Tasha, and Paula. It's just a cup of coffee; my perfect cup is served worldwide and if I take a sip, I am home.

The Elusive Cup: Coffee as Context

2009-05-07T10:05:00.000-07:00

Let's talk about coffee. When I was a kid, my mom always made coffee in the morning. The smell was very distinct. The pop pop pop sound of the coffee machine sits in my mind. Over the years, coffee moved to espresso making in the house, when doing a deep clean of the house one year, we tossed so many coffee makers in favor of a small little French press. So, instead of instant satisfaction via machine, the tried and true press, the process, was the best for this house. It was the context, and not necessarily the content that appealed.

Coffee is content; the method of brewing, the quality of service, the taste of the final product, and the overall experience is the context. In searching for that cup of coffee, the consistent cup, I had the opportunity to travel to different places to see if I could find it. It's hard because that kinda cup is pretty much a Washington and Oregon thing, at least for me.

How to test my elusive cup? My friends would tell you that I have a particular way of getting to my first sip. It's always a test, my "princess" cup. Little do they understand that it is not the brown, caffeinated beverage, but the whole process in getting to the first sip. How I perfected this sip took many a road trip to Seattle for weekly visits with my father at the military hospital, road trips that often wore on my emotional balance. I would stop at Starbucks for that balance, and that's part of the context. When I am out of sorts, and just want a little order, that's where I will go, because 90% of the time the context is more important than the content.

Grande, sugar-free vanilla two pumps, non-fat, extra hot, zero foam latte. It's not hard to make, it's protein rich, it gives me a little buzz, and no foam because it irritates my tummy. And that first sip, ahhhh, order. The blended cold drink version will do in a hot climate, but still, that's what work for me. That's the test for the elusive cup. Can we find it besides in the Northwest US? Let's see.

Kana, Why Lahaina?

2009-04-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

When you fly into Kapalua and see the maze of red trails and greenery do you wonder what they are beyond farmland? What of the history of Lahaina? Surely, it has not always been a tourist destination, a place where you can do many things from your hotel along the water's edge.

When I come to live in a place, I hit up the local library for local information. I watched a real great video on Lahaina's past, particularly about the Pioneer Mill (formerly located up there at the large smokestack behind the Shell) and a local guy who worked the mill and then would go onto train hundreds of kids in tennis. It's that kind of stuff I really like to know about, putting context into this place I live.

I live in a great place, just down from the airport, views of the beach, a great landlady, and the sounds of barking dogs. Life is as simple and as good as that. Every day I get to explore. Some days it's parking is driving up the lower highway, parking and doing my structured walk. I smile as I pass people by. Every day, I do a little exercise for mind, body, and spirit, and every day I discover.

People ask me why this place. I tell them, circumstances happened this way, and now I have found a place and a community of people that are just like me, you know? Small town folks who still like the Big City, but just like to live their lives each day. It so reminds me of Olympia, Washington, without the cold, the rain, and recently, the dumping of snow.

Plus, I have an aunt and uncle and cousin that I know of on Oahu, so it's just a hop over, and if I really want to dig into my history of my family, that island is there. However, I have found that the more I talk about my bloodline with my friends, I find connections that no matter how good a researcher I am, I could not have found otherwise.

Jet lag is gone, and I am exploring and discovering this place I call home. And those fields of green and red? More on that, next time.

The Joy of AusKick

2009-04-17T17:56:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke to the sound of kids, lots and lots of kids. We're not talking playground amount of kids, we're talking all points bulletin recess in all the surrounding areas kind of kids.

I awoke to do my usual walk around the stadium (I wonder if there is a track I can use in Lahaina, because there is something about structured walks; I might just get swept away in the scenery of my hometown and forget that it's exercise of mind, body and spirit), looking out and thinking, gosh, what will they think of this big, hulking American walking my butt around the stadium. I shared this with my friend, Meagan a mom herself, about how I often get a little kid walk up to me in all the kid innocence that one musters and say to me, looking up and pointing, "why are you so fat?" I know it's a kid and kids asks questions because parents teach their kids, so I respond in kind. Why are you so small? But a gift Meagan gave me was to ask me about one of the reasons why I got so large, and I told her, it was about junk food, I loved junk food. So she said, be honest with the kid. If they ask, tell them, you got so big by eating junk food. The little kid may think differently in the days ahead about whether they want junk food themselves. Honesty and kids, powerful stuff.

So, this morning, I got out to the track, smiled at folks, said good morning, and they replied in kind, got to the starting line, set my timer and walked, the vocal soundtrack of Iron Man playing on the pod, and me just walking and concentrating on the walk, my breath, and the thoughts that often come to mind that I might write about in my travel journal. After my third lap, I stopped the timer and kept going, more leisurely, but still active, breaking sweat and endorphins kicking in. The kids laughter was pure joy, and I thought about when my dad made all us boys play football and how much fun it was to be one of the three boys playing with my dad. Think about that joy. These Aussies at AusKick (the reason why there were so many kids, an event that brings kids out to the Big Green to be trained in Aussie football), parents and kids alike, have captured that joy in droves.

A person might judge me, a kid or adult, but my butt is literally on the line, walking and doing something good for me, and doing it in a space of joy. So much so, that when I took the famous Aussie Anna Banana for her walk, I did another 500 m walkabout on top of the 3000 meters I did this morning. Joy, joy.

So Close, Yet So Far...Kana in Australia

2009-04-16T14:38:00.000-07:00

About six months ago, I met an interesting man from Sydney, Australia named Joseph. We wrote back and forth and played a bit in a game on Facebook. Here and there we'd nudge or poke, but the intense conversations that begun just sort of petered out.

There is an intensity to using an online social networking tool like Facebook to connect with folks and to learn a little bit of ourselves beyond the insular world we live in -- no matter where we live. I really want to meet him, to talk to him face to face, beyond this online connection, to talk to him of all that has happened since we first chatted. Like most intangible connections, either there is follow-thru or something happens in our external reality called life and the connections isn't lost, per se, but put on hold.

I am in the same country as he this morning, and it seems further intangible to our meeting. I am not sure how long I am in Sydney for on my return trip to Lahaina, but it would be quite the interesting thing to see his eyes and say hi and give him a hug, making tangible connection in this surreal world. For now, I am in Melbourne doing work and next week finds me jetting home; nothing is impossible... and Australia is not so far away now.

The Moon

2009-04-13T19:18:00.001-07:00

It would seem that at this crossroads in my life I've come to the ends of the earth, and here where my accent is so different, things are just a little different. Take the moon. What I find interesting today is just how far away the moon is. In Lahaina, the moon sets on the horizon, disappearing so close you can almost touch it. In the Northwest it appears just to be a drive away, big and full. Here, in Melbourne, it is a shuttle, the space shuttle, ride to see it. It's kind of disconcerting, but it's still there, so it's okay.

Finding Your Inner Coffee Bean in a Recession

2009-04-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

It's raining in San Francisco. That cold rain that you get used to when you live in climates like this or Portland or Olympia. I needed a warmup. So, because I don't really know the coffee to try in San Francisco, that hip coffee place that's not so hip because they don't act hip, they just serve up a great cup of java, maybe smile, and I settle into an old couch with a book...not a laptop...not a business suit. Just me, a book, java, atmosphere. Haven't found that yet.

What is ironic though, the backup plan which I call S*bucks has failed to deliver this trip. Every single S*bucks experience has been crap. I have always liked S*bucks, but the one in Honolulu, and the four I've tried in San Francisco the consistency and the customer service hasn't been there. It's there in Lahaina, Portland, Olympia, -- the backup plan.

I think about it this way. This is the U.S. We are in a recession which will turn around, but still, where do you want to spend your money? Do you want to spend your money in a place where you ask for nonfat and they give you whole (lactose, babies, lactose)? Do you wanna spend your money at a place where you as the customer say hi and the barista/partner callin' out the drinks just says move it along? Do you wanna spend your money at a place where you stand in line, endlessly, deciding no, no, no...just the coffee...and by the time you get to the front the cinnamon roll beckons AND then on your way back in the rain you look in your bag and it's a maple scone? Hello, do ya?

But what's cool is that java not rue the day anymore for me, it's how I can stretch my palate and try new things. I might use S*bucks in a pinch, but it's time to pop a coffee bean in my mouth and go for a swim in pineapple spritz (warm rain off the water in Lahaina that spritzes your face in the sunshine); time to find my inner caffeine. Woo hoo!

Blood Boiling, Heart Pumping for Home, Lahaina

2009-04-06T08:07:00.000-07:00

I woke this morning not to the bustle of trees and birds and the waters of Lahaina, but to the honk honk beep beep, doors slamming, and sounds of a city waking up. Last night when getting into San Francisco, my excitement was mixed. I had just gotten into Maui barely a week, and yet, here I find myself in another city.

I am not transient, no. I am not a visitor, no. There will be stories of San Francisco, Los Angeles and Melbourne, Australia and the days ahead for this historic trip (so named the M&K Lollipop Tour -- Meagan & Kana -- on Facebook), so let's talk of my new home.

My grandmother, Moana Audrey Peterson Shephard Murphy (of Kailua town on Oahu), wrote of community in an article in Hawaii Magazine in June 1946. That article is one of my precious keepsakes that comes travelin' with me whereever I go (a picture of the article can be found on the right side of this page). I often refer to it, but this is the mention it gets this morning.

While the zip code is Lahaina, I live in an area called Kahana. It is literally a couple of blocks where my feet can intermix sand, water, breeze, and horizon. Down the street are new friends Jamie and Miles and Stacey. I live in a great little place, with views of a great garden of tropical lush (the smell of plumeria jumpstarts my heart, pounding with smell, tears, and history) and the sea just minutes away. I am getting to know my immediate neighbors, and it's like my friendship with dogs ... a bit of sniff, stroke, and smile. Whereever I have lived the spirit of dogs has been present, so this is a blessing.

I am a pretty private person, so why share this? Because home is not location; it is where you -- where I -- find center. Yes, I am from Olympia, Washington and then, most recently, Portland, Oregon for the past year and a half, and now, here. It gets confusing sometimes when people ask. I wonder how confusing it was for my mom and dad when as a military family they moved us from station to station; what would they say when asked where are they from? Germany, Iran, Hawaii, Califonia, Pennsylvania. They would probably say whereever each other (yes, they are still quite the romance after almost 50 years together) and their family was, that was home.

My family are the friends that I cultivate time, space, and heart with; luckily those folks are reachable by cell or email. If I am present whereever I am, then, hey, I am home. For now, though, the tug of Lahaina still keeps me centered.

Five years ago when I went to Oahu to coordinate an academic leadership forum and do research on family, the Petersons, my blood thawed and flowed so freely. Ever since, it's as if frost has formed and I have never warmed up (no matter how much Tazo I drink!). I love the heat of Maui; it's the perfect climate for my blood to boil and my heart to pump. I don't really dig the touristy stuff, but I like the heart of the people behind it, the spirit of Aloha that infuses most things people do.

I love, for example, going into the Coffee Store, first time yesterday, in Napili and vacillating over a coffee drink, and watching local surfers mix with tourists. I loved stopping into Farmer's Market and asking for a smaller portion of the lilikoi cream cheese to go with peanut butter pretzels for my plane trip. I loved the airport experience, that a mile from my house, just up the hill, journey away into the sky. The security, here, really taken seriously, but the people behind the security, have voice, have smile. The staff, helpful, and the people who fly, a pure delight. No wonder a local marine biologist name a whale after the place! I loved talking to Keoni, the attendant, so full of wonder with links to the Northwest. This flow, all happens in a couple hours time.

So, as I get into my day, I will pack my cheapie camera, my cell, my notebook all into my boybag and see if I can find a meeting. The sun is flashing across the hotel and my first thought is not San Francisco, no, it is that the sun burns brighter and touches the horizon like setting stars, in my home in Lahaina. Home soon. More stories to come.

Lahaina: Hold Space with Paea (Love) @ the Hyatt Luau

2009-04-05T02:22:00.000-07:00

She sits in the back, weaving, folding, weaving, holding space, hoping that a tourist will pass her by to scan her wares and pick up a lovely handbag, a photo album, a bracelet or unique hair scrunchy that she and her mother make so painstakingly. Folding, weaving, folding. Her name is Paea, which means love. She is from Tonga, and while she sits, folds, and weaves, at this event in Lahaina, she comes over from the Big Island to sit, fold, and weave.

I met her when I went to the Tihati Productions Hawaiian Luau at the Hyatt. We had an interesting conversation, she and I, and I offered her a lollipop or two. Throughout the evening I checked in with her to see how she was doing, a delightful elder light in the background. The luau itself was pretty phenomenal with our friend Jamie corraling her dancers and she, too, dancing with the same effervescent energy she possesses in everyday talk.

When the dancers performed one number in my dad's fave international orange colored outfits, I cried, reminded when the luau at The Evergreen State College had two of its singers serenade my mom and dad with the Hawaiian wedding song. When Jamie performed a solo performance in a blue gown, the tears continued to flow as I was reminded of the times when I performed similar numbers both in untrained hula and as a bellydancer on the mainland.

The food, traditional, from the teriyaki beef and chicken, to mahi mahi, lomi lomi salmon and ahi, the usual fruits, taro rolls, and poi, and so on. We even had grand consistency in service, Jonah, who like the magical background of the hotel, was always available to take our drinks and surrepticiously clear the table.

So, yah, I can wonder about the tourist shows and such, but it takes the personal connection for me to really enjoy an experience. From Jamie to Jonah, to the weaving Paea in the back, this first full-on luau was a wondrous sight to behold.

Pictures will appear next week; a few may appear on Facebook. Check them out!

Ono Grindz Lahaina: Cheeseburger in Paradise

2009-04-04T15:58:00.000-07:00

How is it possible that I can spot a Northwestie mainlander without really trying?

Talk to Chris at Cheeseburger in Paradise (Cheeseburgerland) on Front Street. We went to same university in Bellingham and she's off to visit one of Oregon's premier spots -- Cannon Beach (bring raingear, girl, the hail is still coming down and izzzo cold; may even get snow!) in a short while.

After a brief conversation assuring her that I am not a secret shopper...though I know the schtick...we did talk story. I was craving protein and since we were in Lahaina town proper, my braddah suggested the restaurant. I, of course, rolled my eyes, thinking, oh gosh, a tourist trap, a chain, a location location location, kinda place. I was SO pleasantly surprised.

Chris -- kudos girl -- you did the hard sell great, but honey, I worked at Red Robin in Bellingham in my youth...they train you to deal with Canadians who pinch a pretty penny. I opted for Loco Moco over potatoes, since I had yet to try the local favorite. My brah had a eggs, rice, tomatoes, and Portuguese sausage.

After some photos and lollipops, we dug in. I got what I needed food, atmosphere, excellent service, and a breeze right from the ocean. Nice, nice. Then, this guy named Roberto came over and truly engaged us... true talk story. For the first time, I felt like home, as if the tables, chairs, and Hawaiiana kitsch were replaced by a kitchen table and we were three guys eating a bite or two but just shootin' the s***, talking story, about where we were from and what we were up to. Surprise, surprise, another Northwestie who is local! It's such a small world; we both lived in SE Portland and he like my brah, Tommy, knew about California. His story of his Cadillac Seville and a small motel in Lake Shasta...memorable. Go ask him.

He wove story with sell, which was okay, but I got an idea of the restaurant's history, about customer service, about Aloha Matters, and a myriad of other things you'd never expect and gave me on this, my sixth day in Lahaina, an intro to some great local culture. I especially liked supporting a local business that made good, and made it good to the mainland.

The food is food; it's the experience that matters. And when I crave a decent burger, I know where to go. I might not get that talk story feature again, but I might. This place feels like a local joint, 'cuz local matters, like a greasy spoon or diner where you know the customer name.

Not broke da mouth, but ono grindz. Let me translate. Portland: Kinda like Montage meets Hamburger night at Starkey's. Olympia: think Original Ribeye up by Ralph's Thriftway. da Folks: Mom's Eclairs to Dad's Corn Chowder; the best of both worlds, but still.. home.

Find out more about this restaurant by going to: http://www.cheeseburgerland.com/Cheeseburgerland/Landing_Page.html

Chinese Misses Kana's Boat

2009-04-04T00:38:00.000-07:00

Some people will eat conveniently while others will take the time to prepare. In Portland, the best Chinese restaurant is this little hole-in-the-wall on Powell Street near the 205 just before Goodwill. They make a kickass egg-drop soup. In Seattle, it is dim-sum at House of Hong in the International District. In Olympia, the China Clipper has great egg foo yung, and in my days of drink, some kickass cocktails from a Rod Stewart lookalike. Near military bases the best Chinese is the $1 Chinese Food.

So, it's not a good sign, when I start comparing restaurants. I prefer really good Thai or Vietnamese, but Chinese is doable. I took a gander at the website for the China Boat, a restaurant near the house. When we got there, I got a little scared. The artwork, atmosphere, and overall feel was a mixed bag. The service was lackluster, and given an almost empty restaurant, a shame. But it's a Chinese restaurant, which, no matter what city or town in the world, is supposed to be about good, cheap food.

It was food, and okay, but not stellar. The egg drop soup was a disappointment; if I have to add soy sauce to give it body, that's a bit scary. The crab ragoon is advertised as crab and cream cheese, but it was burnt pieces of meat in overcrispy fried wonton. The char sui spare ribs smell and initial taste reminded me of my father's char sui spareribs so juicy the meat fell off the bone and your fingers stayed red no matter how often you licked them clean, remiscent yes, but reality no. For the price you'd think there was at least three ribs. Let's not even take on the egg roll. Two pieces of shrimp, two small ribs, mini crab puffs, and one egg roll. Needless to say, for the cost, value and experience, Kana is poo-pooing the pupu.

I can't speak for my dining companion, but I can say he was not particularly impressed that with a main entree (it was like a light version, not a big amount of food for the price) you have to pay separate for a cup of rice, the cost at about what it costs to buy a pound or two of the stuff.

When people are wanting to go out and spend their money in this recession, it's not the surprising that they might want to go to a restaurant that combines excellent food, staffing, and atmosphere. This one just misses all three. So, dessert? Butterscotch dip cone at Dairy Queen. Good, cheap fun.

Lahaina Grill: Setting Kana's Bar

2009-04-03T10:14:00.000-07:00

When all things come together, it is a little piece of perfect. I have eaten at some of the most incredible spots, Portland is such a foodie town, but the Lahaina Grill sets the bar as my best experience, thumbs up, pencils down, hug your neighbor, feed each other a bite, giggle, laugh, and burp kind of restaurant.

I have experienced many great places to test my "foodie", my palate, that first incredible bite, from the Kona Coffee Rack of Lamb (smooth, rich texture with incredible blend of spice and sweet), to the gorgonzola mash (you know how you can overuse this type of cheese to cause the food to taste bitter and the innocent potato a side victim? Not here. It's not just a side, it's an accompaniment.) to the half roasted garlic clove, asparagus spears, and sun-dried tomatoes.

If I were to change anything, it would be to strip the rosemary stalk to the base and plunge it in a stopper of sorts (a piece of Oregon blue might work nicely with this), so that one gets the smell and the sight, but that it doesn't contradict the rest of the flavor on the plate. When one eats in a circle, tasting each bite, it is a surprising hint. Nice, but contradictory. But that's me. Overall, nice presentation, delightful taste, and a lingering thought of what could come next.

Or, before. For my appetizer I snacked on a lovely quesadilla of maui onions and kahlua duck with a spicy sauce that reminds me of thousand island but it is spicy like what goes on sushi... you know, that stuff? The presentation was beautiful, not just for mine, but for my friends at the table. Perhaps it was the server, an effervescent young miss (name perhaps, Julie?) to the lovely quiet man who consistently refilled our water glasses, to the owner, and his general manager, always swooping in to make sure it was going well. Quality care and service; wow!

I only eat little bits of food from the surgery of five years ago, so I believe in quality bites. That first bite has to be perfect. Did we want dessert? I was feeling a little full up, but I couldn't wait to see what came next. My friend and I got a sampler of some of the more popular desserts. I tasted them, and he's like eat more, eat more. But I couldn't. They were rich and palate-perfect. It's like wine sampling, though I didn't think it was polite to sip, savor, and spit in this moment! A creme brulee, a mountain of chocolate, a triple berry pie (folks trying to guess the berries...I thought perhaps raspberry, blueberry, and huckleberry because of the hint of upperlevel tartness....but I don't know). Again, pure delight.

Oh yeah, these people know how to serve tea. It's all about presentation. At first I thought, oh goodness, sashimi again! But no, little did I know that Tea Forte which is sold at my fave flavors shop, Origins, comes with resting squares for their fun tea. Who knew? This restaurant knows that a good hot tea requires a specific cup that appears warmed so the liquid stays hot. So, one places the tea pyramid on the water and it takes it time to sink to the bottom. When the leaf hits the water level, the tea blossoms in the water. If you are an avid tea drinker as I am, this is big.

When I go out I look for pure delight in an experience that involves people, food, and quality care, but I had not apparently reached a bar in which to measure all others. What's the pure test? The bathroom. Maybe that's gauche, but if before eating to wash hands or after to have a little bit of alone time from the energy of flavors, services, and people, one goes to the restroom and it is not a good experience, then it taints the rest. This restaurant doesn't disappoint. I love seeing a bit of the back operations of the restaurant with people bustling about, me taking care of business, coming out into bustle, and then, a marked separation back into the energy of my experience. Yes, it's a bathroom, but still, a part of the whole.

Usually, I write these things in comparison to another. But the Lahaina Grill is a spirit all its own. It sets the bar upon which future things will call for comparison. It's that special, it's that wonderful.

Some photos appear here, the rest on Facebook. Here's the link to the restaurant ... check it out for yourself. http://www.lahainagrill.com/

Touch the Sea

2009-03-31T11:06:00.000-07:00

One of my goals was to get my feet in the waters off of Hawaii. I was overwhelmed with sights, sounds, and just the magnificence of Maui. That's the way to describe it. Magnificent. I don't know what the days will be, but I knew I had to take this leap and get my feet wet. Maybe today I will dive into the water and swim a bit out and float. My brother, Brightheart, sent me a video of IZ. At first I thought, oh gosh, how many times have I subjected my friends and family to this very same song. But then, I watched the video. It depicted IZ unafraid and unashamed of his body, of his skin in the sun, of his massiveness out there for the world to see. Just being. I cried when they poured his ashes into the surf. I touched him yesterday for he is of the aina, of the land, and the sea, into land. Somewhere over the rainbow today is not about Kermit the Frog, Judy Garland, it of Hawaii and how we touch the sea.

Ohana in the City

2009-03-02T06:46:00.000-08:00

In an interesting part of Portland, where the city is more industrial and with flavors in the unique and international, between the city downtown and the farming communities east is a little piece of paradise. Most restaurants in this area are hole in the wall joints, good little restaurants, mostly Pan-Pacific in feel, who've probably been here since the 60s. A little piece of Portland history in the most innocuous of places.

At 6230 NE Sandy is a relatively new offering, but it too possesses that old-world feel. For me, that is, old world feel, distinctly Hawaiian. It kind of reminds me of a Starbucks in a land of Farmer's Coffee offerings at work. It is shiny, vibrant, and big so families can hang out, someone can whip out a ukulele and start singing, while other shout out in their native tongues, da pidgin most prevalent.

Ohana Hawaiian Cafe is more than a place to me; it really reminds me of really good food my father makes, the food that he learned at the hand of his mother, Moana. The teriyaki is of special significance. You really can't bottle the flavor, it comes from history, from family, from a way of knowingess that excites the palate. I have visited the place three times in the past two weeks with different firends whos tastes vary in food. The first time was happpy coincidence with friends who were ordering out and invited me to try this restaurant with them. We got it to go, but I got to visit and get all excited. When we ate the food, it was perfect. I didn't touch the lomi lomi salmon, rice, and kahlua pig, but everythng else was most satisfy, preferring the chicken and short ribs. My two other times were equally satisfying. What's good is the share portions, the friendly and cute staff, and the overall feel of the place. It is Ohana in the city; home.

Adventures in Portland, in da city at home

2009-03-02T06:32:00.000-08:00

I have so many things to blog about. In the days ahead you will read about my friend Chris' beading/jewelry making, restaurant reviews, different things to do in Portland and other things I am doing to life life to the fullest, one day at a time. It has been quite the adventure.

As I write this, one of the dogs have vomited in the kitchen; an attitude of gratitude that he didn't hit the wood floors or the carpeting! I've been watching him eat his food and he eats it like a vacuum, not chewing it, so it's no wonder it's been coming up. He's always so excited about food, jumping, jumping. I tried the rice thing with him, but he still vomited right up. The dogs are a joy, but it's the moments like this that I appreciate them some days more than others. Doggily fluids and droppings not my favorite thing in the world. But then, poopy days happen.

I've spent the past week trying to study and prep teaching in the midst of chaos in the home, finding it really difficult to concentrate. What's interesting is I think the poopyness of the dogs is related to my own inability to focus. I will examine that in the days ahead.

Random...Not. Ordered...Yes.

2009-02-05T09:24:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, we identified, my faculty and I, what kind of theorist I was. I see the big picture with emergent patterns and how things relate to one another. The organization chart to me is more than a visual representation; it embodies the idea of relationship and connection and how people work within an institutional model. Wow, the big words have started. They've been there, but I just had to learn how to understand their context for me.

There is this phenomenon that has popped up on Facebook, a spam mail of sorts. 25 Random Thoughts or One Word Comments. I was staying away from it and someone asked me to create a list. I created one tongue in cheek about a shopping trip, then another that was kind of creatives joke, and then this morning my third about childhood memories that popped, the context travel and trying new things. There is nothing random about them. The thoughts are different, sure, and contextually layered, but there is a pattern to them, an underlying message.

So, in an attempt to be random, I find myself ordered, coded, and while interesting, quite, quite like everybody else.

Mr. Benson, I Presume

2009-02-04T09:34:00.000-08:00

My friends will attest that when it comes to intimate touch or sexuality, I am a pretty reserved guy. I can write passionately and derive story that would shock the most salacious storyteller, because it has built over time. We all have the stories of what drives who we are as sexual beings. When I was a teenager I stole a magazine, Playgirl, and snuck away to read it for fear of discovery. Years past and I paid for the magazine. When I stumbled upon a book in the bookstore I worked in called Men in Love by Nancy Friday, I found something that really appealed. It's kind of vanilla erotica, very general, but in a few of the stories talk of bisexuality and homosexuality pervaded my consciousness.

Then, an innocuous little book, Mr. Benson by John Preston strolled across my path. I opened it and it opened me forever. To some people's standards it might be a little dark or too edgy for them. For me, it spoke my need to be service, a fait accompli because it was in my makeup at an early age. It talked of power, the balance and loss. It talked of love, desire, and lust. It talked of passion. It talked of loss, and then, finding. It talked of romantic notions, not romance, but romantic notions of what love could be. It became my secret; my desire to be in that knowingness, but never thinking I could.

On a search for another book by Townsend, a book, that might show me how to act in a certain culture, how to behave appropriately, I stumbled across the very book that gave me hope at a young age, a first edition Mr. Benson (c. 1980). Next to it was a modern version with glossier pages, but my hand was drawn to this one. A tear crept down my cheek as I realized it was the story that went missing in my life after coma. I looked through the pages and was relieved. I knew I had read the story before; I knew the content, and my desire still existed.

It's not like I haven't explored this balance of power in sexuality, but I am still kinda shy. It might be time to go pick up that book, read it again, and recharge who I am. I am a beautiful guy with beautiful friends and family who jumped in feet first a year ago, and this is just the next thing to not only look at, but to explore more fervently.

fave cup of coffee ever

2009-01-21T10:10:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, the smell of coffee brewing did not wake me up nor did I find it particularly appealing. It wasn't until I discovered the very adult-like qualities of a mild buzz and warming of my chest, did I really give it a second glance. I was a tea person. Then, Starbucks, and now, in search of the perfect cup of coffee, it came to me. Usually, I would go for a nonfat, xtra hot no foam, sugar free vanilla latte, because while I get consistency in a cup every time from SB, I just don't like the taste of the coffee, it often tastes burnt, and in the past few months, it tastes more and more like Texaco coffee.

So, when my friend Michael at his coffee stand in NW Portland, Sunny Day, made me something so beyond my usual, I was tentative. Who knew foam could taste like this, a separation from the coffee, but a delightful addition to. His homemade syrup, I could taste the orange in the back ground with a really deep, velvety coffee. A topper of cinnamon, tied it all in. Yes, I got my requisite buzz, but, I also got my fave cup of coffee ever.

portland foodies.... three reviews

2009-01-18T08:29:00.001-08:00

Three restaurants, three parts of town. Two great, one not so great. If you wanna go, look 'em up...no advertising here!

Let's go with the not-so-great. By all appearances, it is located in the foodie part of town, NE Alberta, and from the outside it looks like it could be fun. Our server was okay, and the food, well I spent more time in the restroom, then at the table. It was cold. Not the food, the restaurant. You come in from the chill and sit in, the chill. Brrr.... The sweet potato fries in white truffle oil were okay...very hot... but after that everything went downhill...at the Siam Society.

The name Wild Abandon sounds marvelous....the interior reminds me of my friend Clove's house...gilt, gold, and homage to 70's Liberace. But then, along came Miranda a delightful server who just loves working at this place where many a gay boy find himself. It's in the Belmont neighborhood, so it's close. The food, excellent. Nice presentation, excellent proportion, and stimulating flavor. Something cool with my breakfast was instead of simply toast choices, I got to have a chocolate chip and orange scone....yummers...with my hot water with lemon. It's a neighborhood place with well worth a visit.

Finally, on the way to watch Quantum of Solace with Terry and Jack, and hot dappled dachsund breeder Ron...(ohh...those puppies!) we had a bite to eat at one of Portland's newest offerings. The Observatory --- fine gonna give you location 81st and SE Stark, right up from the Academy Theater -- is a pleasant atmosphere in an old warehouse. Very warm, with pews and a lovely mix of woods and textures to tempt the designer palate. Because I am especial, I always have to ask if Portland's national fruit/veggie, the carrot, is in the food, and the cook -- OMG HOT HOT -- with a view right from my table -- was able to accomodate requests, special requests. The meatloaf with au gratin and kale with a lovely specially made gravy was great, the sauce on the meat ... sweet and tangy. The combination of vegetarian to meat dishes tempted even me to stray away from meat, but meat I had. Yum. The dessert we shared was a cinnamon brioche bread pudding (ahh...that's why I have a headache...the ice cream...well, worth the food and the fellowship) and a pear and rosemary crisp. I had a bite of prawn and discovered that it was not bad at all...this Hawaiian in the Northwest might have to discover a penchant for fish, especially with all three guys saying bite, bite, and don't swallow the tail...something about that.

In sum, perhaps the Siam Society was having an off nite, while Wild Abandon and The Observatory were right on. The lastest Bond offering, was okay.

Exterior Trappings Released

2009-01-14T23:10:00.000-08:00

So, my fave thing is to help others succeed, motivate them to do things that they often shy away from or have put on a shelf for whatever reason. I am good at going in and pointing the way. Someone called me a life coach today and in whatever incarnation it was, it was interesting to think about it.

I can help others but I struggle helping myself to succeed. Tonite I looked at clothes for the first time in a couple years, feeling the old tapes of not handsome, not pretty like the other boys, too fat, too this, too that. When it comes to shopping for me, my image, my exterior trappings, I tend use my clothing etc until it is worn and wear it out of necessity.

I have no problem with shoes and accessories. Tonite I eyed a pair of black jeans, thinking I can't wear that. Then, I tried them on and they fit and they were on sale. WOOF! Next came some dress shorts and a pair of really great casual grey chinos...all on sale with good fit. The clothes don't make the man, the man...he wears the clothes.

Dude. Take Care & Play Safe

2009-01-14T00:16:00.000-08:00

2005 was a busy year for me. Graduate school (the first grad degree). A horrific car accident. My brother's death. My father's diagnosis. Needless to say it was not a pivotal year for me to watch TV except for TV time on Thursday nights with Elaine and her family where we would could good food, talk, watch ER and CSI. That was my TV. After that I really watch not so much TV except for DVD sets of TV shows.

How I "relax" away from study and from teaching is to put in a DVD of a TV show and let it play in the background while I work on projects and such. It is a good way for me to focus instead of simply tuning out to the screen. I had gotten through a few episodes of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and was ready to call it quits because it was just so intense and heart-wrenching and powerful that I didn't want to go into sleep with these images in my head. One more. It was called "Strain" originally aired 10/18/2005, ironically just a week after National Coming Out Day of that year, and my year of extreme change.

It has great depth this episode. It is about fathers and sons. It is about the needs of many outweighing the needs of the one. It is free love, sex, and drugs and the consequences of that freedom. It is about young kids aging too fast due to drugs, meth, and dying very quickly because the "strain" is AIDS that kills in one year.

Most of my friends are living with HIV/AIDS and have made good lives for themselves, often my teachers and interesting moral compass for the way I choose to conduct myself. I have never really opened myself up to be in a situation where I could contract the virus. I protect my immuno health and the safety of others at all costs. Life is too short, you know?

So, when this episode played, I thought of these two guys I've gotten to know. In our conversations, I get that they are young, under 25, and I get to be like a big brother to them, yielding caution and telling them to have fun, but play safe, you know? It's interesting when you are 40 and you talk to two fire-brand hot guys living a dream, an ongoing party, and all you want to do is not be the party pooper, to make sure they take care of themselves. Any of my friends would tell you that I am social, the life of the party, and in this instance, particularly with these two guys ... it is so true.

Play, but take care to be safe, dudes.

Of Worth & Murphy's Soap

2009-01-13T08:42:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I was doing what I do best. Helping a family motivate to succeed. In this case was moving a busy office, full of history, paper, and books to a different level of the house and from that room disassembling and moving that to the other space. Aside from strong legs, a keen mind for organization, and the cleaning power of Murphy's oil soap in the great old home, it took perseverance and drive to get it done, particularly when a necessary deadline presented itself.

About 3000 books made their way to their new home; books that were in a certain order, a library in the making. Papers sorted into groups. Furniture disassembled and murphysoaped (I love murphy's...so I will create a word here). It was a nice project, with a loose step which meant each step with intention and safety.

When I took a break and paused in between some trips, I would grab a book and do a scan based on what interested me. I found some answers to long dormant questions. Who knew that this project would be educational, a endorphin-rushed (equivalent to my ink or a good flapping massage) workout, and a way to get to know the mind of the men to whom the library belonged?

I love hard work, organization, cleanup, and a job complete. I love the practical application of an idea. I love to be needed, a reciprocal need. It makes sense. I love it, one day at a time, when the day makes sense. Nothing is worth more than this day, may be some quote on a university wall, but it makes sense to me today.

The Beautiful Ugly

2009-01-08T07:46:00.000-08:00

There is a phrase that someone shared with me. Beau laid. He said it meant beautiful ugly, but it didn't really sit well with me. I like the concept of beautiful ugly, which I will talk about in a second, but the phrase didn't work, because as I child French was my second language, the language taught in school at Piruzi Elementary in Tehran (apparently the American children had the option of learning not the native tongues, but German or French; I chose French even as a child).

In high school, I found great aptitude in the writing and reading of French, but never speaking, nor the ear of French. When in my undergrad, I took a graduate level course (me a transfer student and junior) on Introduction to Quebec culture, because even then I was fascinated by the juxatposition of French to English and how it impacts culture, and though I was able to read and write French, I was not able to understand what was said in class, and so I was thought to be mediocre. Since then, the French language has fascinated me.

Of late I have been corresponding with an interesting guy from France, who speaks very direct English, meaning that French is his first language and that I bet that if I were fluent in speaking French our conversations might have more depth to them because he can speak to what comes naturally. In my American English vernacular, I know how to play with words, how to talk sexy and romantic, and how to speak my mind, often forgetting that other people, non-English as a first language people, are in the conversation, too. Lost in Translation, hated the movie, but the idea, very real.

So beau laid. Beautiful ugly. Lost in translation again. I believe the correct phrase is le laid peut être beau, le joli jamais, and it is in reference to something that Paul Gauguin once is attributed with saying. I don't have to give you an exactly definition, for my blog is that definition. If you want it, I did give you a couple blogs to read down below, both of which are to me, quite lovely. I asked my friend friend, Vincent, and it didn't make sense to him, which really sucks for conversation, that is already tested by translation.

The phrase beau laid means beautiful tall, but if using the longer phrase as bolded above, we can see beautiful ugly. To my friend beautiful ugly is me. The person is not most beautiful, hot, or what society standards says his beautiful, but there is something innately sexy or lovely or stirring about that person. It might come in a mannerism, or speaking, or the eyes, or the face, or the butt, there's just something about them.

To me, it was interesting because I have never beautiful to anyone beyond my parents or my dog. Yet there is something about me that is innately beautiful. Perhaps it is how I live my life, or something else. It doesn't matter, for it is not a phrase for me to determine, but for someone else. It's a very American ideal to not care what people think of me, and in some cases, it's true for me, if someone is negative with me their opinion is heard but it doesn't feed on my personality. It's about them. But when someone finds something positive about me and shares it with me (notice the difference between telling, giving opinion and sharing -- community buzzword..bing, bing, bing!) I do take it into my consciousness. Life is too short to do otherwise.

So beautiful ugly is that which we all seek, our dark and our light (our centaur self), both sides of the coin, yin and yang, knowing one can't be there without the other. In the Happy Go Lucky, the lead character, Poppy, is just such a person, always looking for the positive in a person, but not being shocked when the negative reacts with the positive. The film was stirring, there was something atractive in all its ugliness and drama and character development. Ahh, yes, the beautiful ugly.

Take a look at these two blogs about the beautiful ugly:
http://shuttersisters.com/home/2008/6/7/superhero-photo-challenge-ugly-beautiful.html
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2008/07/ugly-beautiful.html

Lessons in the Snow

2008-12-30T10:04:00.000-08:00

Snow is a great teacher of lessons. What did I learn?

I learned how to hang with my folks for over a week, thankful for electricity, heat, food, and companionship, mixed with awesome views my photofinder may never see again.

I learned a new term for snow that just works well, "sky hate", and am grateful that my brah Eric is okay, and my sis, Gabs, is hanging in, too.

I learned about packing the wrong way, aloha shirts, cotton pants, and pink crocs, probably not the best choice for weather, particularly when you slip and scream flailing down a long, icy hill.

I learned that if your friendships are important, that you do anything to maintain them. I stay connected, not just locally, but around the world. Bonus!

I learned that if you shovel snow for five and half hours, you will use muscles that you didn't know you had, build endorphins like the way you get a tattoo (aahh), and determine, yes, I don't need to shovel no mo sno.

It quieted my mind, helped me focus a bit, and reminded me, that beyond the cacophany of noise -- the noise that keeps me busy and not focussed -- I am in the fifth year of my five year plan, and part of that plan is calling Hawaii.

Part of the mind quiet from snow is the irony of paths we take. I also realized that if I am invested in a friendship when editing a manuscript, that it becomes a very powerful read beyond a book editor. This has happened three times. The first with a book on Arab women novelists, the second of transforming organizations, and the third, a journey of self discovery.

I learned that some people would love to have snow, but can't because of where they live. I learned weeks ago that others experienced their sky hate, and I tsked it; it's just snow. I will talk of snow to those who want it, and listen when others don't. Mea culpa.

I learned that snow melts and life returns to normal, or does it? This week, I am back in Portland, the snow is but dirty water and grime on otherwise beautiful streets. It is a memory, forever captured on the digital, and memories to last, because I really don't want to be in snow again, I just don't.

Merry merry to all and it to all a good new year.

Never a Last Dance

2008-12-25T23:54:00.000-08:00

The Last Dance is a film written and directed by Lisa Niemi who also stars in it with her real-life husband and partner Patrick Swayze (of Dirty Dancing and To Wong Fu fame). It is the story of three friends coming together in a reunion of sorts, a reunion after splitting up in a fervor of emotion and drama. It is a dance movie, with exquisite ballet of movement and form and soaring music. It is fraught with emotiveness, that causes you to feel anger, joy, frustration, and tears. When we write our profiles and one of the questions is what are favorite movies, I tend not to list them out, but if a movie makes me emote, then, that is what I say. This is one of those films. Why am I thinking about it; what emoted for me?

I wept for love lost, never had, and potential to be. I admitted to someone that love between two people has truly eluded me. Before I came out as a gay man, I was close friends with someone and we decided to give each other rings because it made sense. We'd never kissed, touched intimately, but we had a lot of connection, and we decided to wait til marriage. She went away to school and found herself. In that time, I found myself too. During a weekend down, we came out to one another, she a lesbian and me a gay man. No wonder, there was an attraction but no real heat!

What happened next included a vision quest at the hot springs, a spiritual moment with a native woman in turquoise, a car accident that should've killed me, and the beginning of the rest of my life. I was 20 years old. Not quite a boy, but not yet a man. My life changed.

The Last Dance for me was letting go of my child boy and learning how to grow into a man, and that journey still goes on two decades later. Yes, intimacy between two people, a lover/life partner has eluded me, but I haven't given up. Someone is there and we will find each other. Faith and hope; how's that for emote?

100 shots and counting

2008-12-24T11:56:00.000-08:00

When I return to the land of wireless, the photos of this holiday will post...there are glorious, glorious shots especially the twinkling of ice-crusted snowflakes that reflect like so many twinkling stars..............kisses......kana

Directions: A Compass in the Snow

2008-12-24T11:41:00.000-08:00

As I write this we got dumped with snow last night and it continues to fall, intermixed with melting wet as the sun breaks through. I talked to a friend in Maui, Tommy, last night who decided to turn on his air conditioning so he could feel a little winter chill, missing this weather. It is ironic the things we take for granted and when they are gone, miss. Because of the weather the nuclear family won't make it down, snowed in all over Washington.

A call for peace in the directions makes so much more sense than wishing on a Northern star. To the west. the coast, my sister Gabs and my brah, Eric and their menagerie of animals..be safe. To the west, inland, my braddah Deane and sistahdala Erin...and cute cat Lydia...be safe.
To the north, my sisters Cindy and Mika, partner Sean...be safe. To the center me with my Mom&Dad, my friends and family of Olympia...be safe. To the south, my family, my friends in Portland...be safe.

To everyone else around the world who I call my friends, new and old ... take care and be safe, and remember, the things you take for granted and when they are gone, miss. Cherish them today...I say grudgingly...as I head back out into the snow...to take more glorious shots.

Aloha!

Aloha Shirts & Pink Crocs in Da Snow

2008-12-22T09:21:00.000-08:00

The snow is about 16 inches deep, the deepest I have ever seen in this part of the world. It is visually striking and my night-time photos sparkle off the snowflakes like some star-strewn night sky. Right now, it's warming up to a brisk 28 degrees outside, but cold, cold, cold. It is days like this that make me look at the clothes I brought and make me wonder why I packed for a trip down under or for a fanciful trip to Honolulu. It is thick, crunchy, and quite, quite white. This morning, I woke to the silence of the house, the lake, the land, nary a dog barking or cat meow.

I miss Holly, the black girl puppy for she is like an alarm at 730AM, a bark that's a cross between an arf and woof, so it's like a high pitched warf. Or Worf, for our Star Trek fans out there. She wakes me, and then, I let her out to go greet Amie, the mommy dog, Toby, the blonde lab, and Zipper, who all greet me with a happiness and joy that reminds me why people have dogs. While I prep their food and say "let's go make hurry," the call to go meet nature's call, Holly leads the pack with Amie and Toby right behind. Zipper, an older dog, takes his time, ambling and allowing them to go bound about in the snow.

There will be a day when I live by myself and won't have the patter of doggy feet greeting my day and it will be sorely missed. Days like today, with the snow, remind me especially of Khia, the Siberian, who liked to bound about the snow even at 12 years old like a puppy, the snow a beckon to home. Perhaps she has a memory imprint of the place of her birth, the snow, the skies of Alaska that spurned her through the snow, it's dust kicking up after her like so much hooves in the dust, or perhaps she simply liked to play.

I know this, while I might just like the way it looks, I don't like to interact with it, beyond the lens of my camera. It is a reminder of just how far the sands of Kaialua by Kaneohe Bay are, missing each day that Ohana, that home. I am a man without a place, it's not Olympia, for now it's Portland, but someday, it will be Hawaii, where snow is relegated to high mountain peaks, and the clothes I bring, I can wear.

images and writing

2008-12-12T17:06:00.000-08:00

Damn. It worked. I quieted my mind. Drew up my paper in boxes, outlining it. Thought about a creative and unique way to approach it. Then, read the assignment, and wrote it. My best work at PSU yet. Something I can be proud of; I don't know if I get Infinite Jest, but the exercise of reading it, of analyzing the underpinning of social theory and relating it to real-life situations makes for an excellent adventure.

I Went All the Way to Paris to Forget Your Face... in Portland

2008-12-08T10:12:00.001-08:00

A message that popped several times yesterday was for me to get back to the place where my mind was quiet. Before my move to Portland, I went to work, hung with family and friends, and did a lot of meetings and meditation. I did other things, too, but for the most part I was a very quiet man with bursts of phenomenal energy and creativity. But I was alone. Not lonely, but alone.

I was never alone, I realize that now. Something, somehow, some...some...was always there watching out for me. Define it as spirit, akua, whatever. It doesn't matter. This past year my mind has opened up and hasn't shut down, completely. I am learning so much and my mind is expanding, but I haven't done my self-care. I haven't really meditated consistently and tapped into that some...thing.

Finding the balance was something of me...back there in Olympia. That is what I sought, the balance between spinning intelligent mind and quiet. Why have I forgot that? The tastes, the sounds, the sites, the new beginnings, the challenges, the living life full bore in this new home, this new town, has got in the way of me finding me. My heart is full. My head is full.

I have one week of school stuff to do, where my mind is at its peak usage. Then, I think, it's time for a vacation from students from school, books, papers. Time for walks, meetings, and finding breath. Like the Indigo Girls song...I went all the way to Paris to forget your face....I am not forgetting, I'm just going stealth for a bit.

Not Just a Pretty Face...a Man Unfolds

2008-12-07T23:34:00.000-08:00

Something interesting happened recently that I need to share and action I took as a result. I play this game for Friends for Sale on Facebook and I really love playing because I can cherish and adore people and get affection in return in a very consistent way. There is some tantalizing role play and some sexy talk that is pretty fun, but when reality strikes it's kind of interesting. I literally am a face, a pic, in this game. I don't show my body, I don't share with this world what I look like physically, bodily. My face is very distinct and I have wonderful profile shots, but no full body.

A man asked me about HWP...what I looked like. I told him. And I found myself telling others this real part of me. No, I am not this hot little twinkie that has a kissable face and youth about him. 40 years old not 25. That face is a gift from my grand native Hawaiian genes and the luck of the draw to have such beautiful parents. I found myself wanting to be more than a face on Facebook, but it is the pic look at, the profile to match. I don't hide it, and there are two pictures of me there, but you have to look for them.

There is a freedom to being honest about yourself with people who know you on the screen and your antics, but not really full-bodied honesty as it were. You know me, you know who I am. I am 40 years old. I was 525 pounds, lost a little, then 200 pounds following gastric bypass. I maintained the weight I sought to, gained a little during the PhD stress of my life, then dropped about 70 pounds this summer into now. I have interviewed for about 100 jobs in this past years, jobs for which I am really qualified, and believe that I have been passed over because of my size.

I am an incredible writer, teacher, and I am really learning how to be a student, a good student of life. So, the side affect is that I am not really big, fat-wise. I am a mass of skin, post surgery. I am thin on top and on the legs...it just kind of melted to the middle and its skin. Imagine being in this place, where you are not fat though you are perceived to be, yet you are not thin, though you know where you have been.

So, the actions I have taken is to tell a few people in the game about who I am and I may have lost them, but I feel good about it. I wrote to the CEO of the hospital where I had my surgery and asked for input on how to get this skin removed. The letter starts....

This is a plea for assistance, and it may sound silly, but I'd rather seek the assistance from the people that helped me originally...then sending to ... the unrealistic...Dear Oprah...kind of thing...tho' my friends think I make a great story.

The story begins.....

Of Aging Dogs and Khia...that Day.

2008-11-18T07:11:00.000-08:00

I sit here this morning, surrounded by five magnificent animals, one of them, Zipper is almost the same age Khia was when she passed. My friend, Paula, had to put down one of her greyhounds, and her other greyhouse was fading and needed to go live with another dog, 'cause she missed her companion so much. I'd read a piece in another blog written from the dog's eye and the sense of loss. Yesterday I played with my one of my friends in virtual space where we bid on a dog and wrote story about that dog; my friend played the game as a way honor a pet passed. I have been thinking of Khia of late; when my friends at the Chicken Ranch lost Irma in the past few weeks, it made me realize that when dogs get on in age, it's up to me to give them hope every day and that joy of days gone by. It's happened quite a few times since Khia's passing where I find myself in the lives of aging dogs. It made me think about pet hospice, but no, I am here to help them live.

The next part might be hard. So, stop here and go walk your dog if you feel the tears coming. I am gonna take the lead from a blog called a Second Life ... and dog named Caesar to talk about that day from what might be Khia's perspective.

Damn. I wanna go outside and snoop down the hill. I know he put me in here because I tend to freak out at the fireworks. At least he put that big comfy bed and pillow and bankie for me to sleep. I can barely see anymore. I know I am going. I was waiting for him. Sure I love hanging with Karen as she puts in another damn tree; she has digging down to a science. She sings to me Awooo Awooo as if know one knows. Shep always put on the gruff military man when it came to me, but he always took care of me, making sure I was brushed and hugged and felt safe. Then, he, my Daniel, came home so they could go on a trip. We had such fun just sitting and watching the lake, scratching my ears. He mades some steak for himself, and gave me half. He always did that, and his Dad would ask what happened to the steak. Even though, past gastric, there is no way, his tiny tummy could take all that meat, he simply say, I ate it. Protein you know. I know he sneezes and gets headaches and is a little allergic to me, but he doesn't care. I love him. He loves me. I am an old dog, an old woman, having seen many things, so my heart is in a good space. (I am watching him right now, as Amie, one of the chocolate labs, a mom herself, decides to crawl up his arm, and say hi ... he treats her so well.).

I sleep for a couple hours. Wake up and sniff around. It's dark in here. I am bit a disoriented. And then, BOOOM... it was so loud. I remember it vividly. Loud, loud. I skitter and get caught on a bucket full of big stick things. I tug and tug. The sticks fall, and a whole bunch of things fall including that chain that makes a big noise. I am wrapped and stuck and can't get loose. I tug and tug...and I am trapped and can't get loose. Another BOOM...I can't. Heavy breathing. Heart racing...Can't get out. Trapped. Help me. I close my eyes and just, close my eyes. Daniel's there, I can barely see him. He is throwing things... opening the door, daylight... I can barely see. He finds the chainsaw wrapped in my collar and gently removes it. He pulls me out into the driveway, my white fur already starting to go grey.

Khia, Khia, he shouts, wake up, come on girlie, wake up. He's crying and shouting, come on, come on. His hand is on my chest, feeling breath. Oh, my boy, it's okay. It's time. No, no. He grabs his cell phone and calls his vet and he says it's an emergency. He doesn't have money to pay the vet, can they still see him. They say no, money up front. So, he calls his sister she says bring Khia into town, she's on the road coming in from the water, his sister telling him it will be okay. He sits with me, I'm on my way. He is frustrated, sad, and angry. It's okay, my boy, my Daniel, it's okay. He gets down into my face, I lick him, his tears. I never lick his face, ever. He never lets me, till this day. My boy, my Daniel. He struggles with me, to put me in the car on the dog bed, the car so tiny. He's gone for a minute most, locking up. Gets in the car, driving one hand on the wheel, the other on my chest. No, no, no. He's crying and driving too fast. Slow down, my boy, my Daniel, I am.

Here the story most people know. It was a crossroads where I died. It was where I-5 meets other freeways. I died on the bridge above water, a view of the mountains, the old Brewery, and the Bridge of Capitol way connecting downtown to Tumwater. His hand was on my chest when I took my last breath. He got out of a car on a busy, busy freeway, trailer trucks rambling by. He is crying and shouting FUCK in the maelstrom of noise. He calls his sister and cries into the phone. She's gone. My girl gone. Gab asks if he is okay. Does she need to come right there? Or should we meet at the vet's? He feels me, I'm gone. My skin grey, my fur lifeless. Gone. But still in his heart, alive and memoried.

This is a human thing. He believes that I am up there somewhere...here.. looking out for kids and moms who died before their time, in the land, like my Inuit name, or "centered sun", where the sun dances on the snow.

welcome to gratitude

2008-11-01T21:31:00.000-07:00

Thursday night was a hard night. I walked in the Day of the Dead Procession holding a photo of Khia, of my Aunt, my Grandmother, and something of my brother's. It was a somber procession for me and I couldn't sleep going into a dental appointment (from a check in to dental work...ouch) and I thought family. Realizing it is November and it is gratitude month at least in my tradition and I have much to be grateful for. I have family back in Olympia, Bremerton, and Seattle, whom I don't talk to as much. I have family here, it seems, I talk to too much. I have friends and colleagues. I have community. So, yes, gratitude is flowing on this first day of November. Missin' my mama's voice and my dad's laugh...but they will come again.