And the thunder rolls......

Here we were, feeling so smug about having made it through the earthquake yesterday, no worse for the wear, when bang! Boom! Down came the bottles from the top shelf of the closet. I was reminded of the flight attendants' intercom message on every commercial airplane ride I've ever taken. "Please take care when opening the overhead bins as contents may have shifted during the flight." Indeed. Replace the words "overhead bins" with closet, "contents" with wine bottles and "flight" with earthquake and you've got the picture. Three bottles narrowly missed Ron's noggin and came crashing to the floor. Actually, six bottles fell; only three broke.Ron yelled out a few expletives. I did too, as I ran to the house from the yard, hearing his cries intermixed with "The wine!" Upon seeing the purple mess of glass and grape, the #%*&@ was followed by a Tim the Toolman Taylor-esque "Oh no...." Needless to say, my closet now has a lovely nose. We will likely be painting the walls in the hallway sooner than planned. Maybe a nice Burgundy? The hallway rugs were soaked with syrah, the floors swimming is sangiovese.
Last night, we were hit with a tremendous thunder storm. Poor Hoppsy was beside herself. Actually, she was beside me, stuck like Gorrilla Glue, quaking in fear. It was so loud and continuous that even Doc and Crawford got a bit nervous. Before long, all three of them were in the bed with us. It was also very hot and humid, with lightning flashing bright enough to light up the room over and over for hours. Needless to say, we are all a bit sleep deprived today. I'm sure nighty night will come early this evening.
Yesterday, Ron got creative and we built a very small, very makeshift greenhouse. It's fashioned in the same vein as our tool shed. Of course, both "stuctures" have the same architectural designer. A real greenhouse is a planned purchase; we're just waiting for our finances to catch up with our plans after the big move. It won't be long...
A hui hou! Aloha!

Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

On Tennis and Writing and Being Too Nice

I've recently been recruited to play tennis for a local 4.0 ladies tennis league team, referred to as either "Team Debbie" for the nice woman who manages us, or "Have Fun," which is our pre-match chant. We're still looking for a proper name. But we do have fun, despite getting creamed most outings. Last Saturday, we played in the Edith Kanakaole Tennis Stadium in Hilo. Good thing, too, since outside it was pouring, complete with thunder and lightning. It's a substantial structure, covered, yet open all around, most famous for hosting the annual Merrie Monarch Hula Festival in April. It was about 85 degrees outside and 100 percent humidity, air so thick it took three sucks of my albuterol inhaler just to breath. Several of us arrived early to warm up, but after twenty minutes' steady rallying with my teammate, Keiko, the human backboard, I was drenched. I played doubles with a nice, extremely fit and excellent ground-stroker named Cynthia from Pahoa.

Fruity booty

It was a long drive from Glenwood to the northern tip of the island -- three hours -- so for sustenance, we stopped at Baker Tom's for malasadas on the way. My pal Kathy and I were headed to Kapa'au for a hike, one we'd read about in the local newspaper. The couple who run Baker Tom's (not sure if the husband is actually Tom or not) are delightful, with enduring stamina. They're as old as radio, yet they're always on duty, ready to serve behind the counter, as they have for many years, frying, baking, brewing and smiling, there in Papaikou , gateway to the Hamakua Coast. The malasadas are enormous, cheap and delicious, the coffee OK, the tourists all happy to have discovered this place, buzzing with sugar and caffeine. They make a killer pumpkin cheesecake at Baker Tom's, too. It's always a pleasant stop. Ahapua'a . It's a Hawaiian land division, usually a strip or wedge, stretching from mountain to sea. Hawaiians lived in villages wit

Mountains and Islands

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