Skip to main content

A new place to sweat

Mele kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright, Hawaiian Christmas day......

This santa fish is a humuhumunukunukuapua. That's right. It's the state fish of Hawaii. Cool, huh? I stole this image from the net, so it's the least I can do to give credit to it's painter, Debbie Houter. Actually, she gives permission on her site to download the picture, so I'm in the clear. No copywrite infringements on this blog. No siree!

We're loaded down at our house with oodles of Christmas pupus. Ono kine grinds to da max! W got all kine cheeses and salami and crackers and pate'. We also got all kine poke and edamame and mochi. Between our own self indulgences at the market and the stuff coming as gifts in the mail, it will take more will power than I've got - not to mention some serious time on the treadmill - to keep from piling on the pounds.
I'm now officially a Friend of KMC (Kilauea Military Camp). It's pretty easy to become a friend. Just have someone you know who is either in the military, has ever served in the military or who works for the National Parks Service sign a voucher on your behalf. Voila! You're in.
Speaking of treadmills, I joined their gym. It's tiny, especially compared to Spencer's in Hilo. Hey, it's all I need. Better still, it's just about a 12 minute drive from home. KMC is located inside the park at 4000 feet above sea level, so it's much cooler than Hilo. I've only been to the gym there once, but on that visit I had the place to myself. KMC is a quiet, low key lodge. It's nearly 100 years old. I think at one time, service men were actually stationed there. For years, however, it's been a place for current and former military to stay while visiting Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. It's a collection of small cabins situated on an area of meticulously groomed grounds, surrounded by the Ohia and Hapu'u rainforest. Some of the cabins are built of wood, plantation style. Others are made from black lava stone. All have fireplaces. they need them, too. It can get a little chilly at this elevation. There's also a rec center with arcade, the fitness center, a lounge where they often have live music, a cafeteria, general store, cheap gas, tennis courts, playground for kids, even Starbucks. They show movies. I hear their guided tours of the park and the island are great. Non-military folks can stay there too, I think. It just costs them more. They also have a theater there where they put on live concerts and plays, open to the public. I have not attended one yet, but plan to.
When the sun is shining on the forested areas surrounding Volcano Village and the national park, it really is one one of the most perfect places I've ever been. The high temperature is usually in the low 70s. When the fog shrouds it all in cool mist, it takes on a mystical quality.
I'm heading up there tomorrow. Weather permitting, I'll shoot a few photos.
A hui hou. Aloha!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mom

This is my beautiful mom. She died last Sunday. For those who knew her, my heart breaks with you. For those who did not, here's an introduction to the best confidante, role model and mother a girl could hope for in life. This is the obituary I'd planned to submit to the local paper, but have opted instead to publish here. Obituary: Beverly Todd Bev -- my mom -- was a longtime caregiver, advocate, and dear friend to countless elderly in South Salem. Hers was a kind and generous spirit. She devoted much of her life to the welfare of others, giving wholly of herself and doing so always with great affection and humor. She was born Beverly Marie Steinberger in Silverton, July 23, 1938, the first child and only daughter of Art and Marie Steinberger. Her brothers called her Bevvy Buns, a nickname she grew fond of and wore proudly within the family circle as an adult. Bev attended St. Paul’s Elementary School in Silverton, Silverton High School and Marylhurst Co...

Back at it

It's been some time since I've written. My mom died in February, and I haven't had the gumption to write much, other than a couple of feature stories for the paper and the occasional pithy email to a friend. Tonight, sitting in my favorite burger joint with a pile of fries in front of me, I dunk them into a deep pool of ketchup mixed with a hot sauce. That's how Mom liked 'em. My burger? The Spicy Hawaiian, a nod to my 808 connections. It's a brilliant combination of peppers and pineapple, a favorite on the Power Stop menu. I'm sure she'd have loved it, too. There's a bubbly beer with a lime in it. That's not a homage to anything. I just like beer. These past months, I've done little but work, search and apply for jobs. Two rejection letters have landed in my email this week. Search-and-apply has become a futile obsession. It's time for a break, at least until I hear back from all those applications still floating around out there. I am...

Small town observations

Every day at noon, a siren blares from atop the city government building in Gunnison. Each time I hear it, I want to shout, “Yabba dabba doo!” even though it’s nowhere near happy hour. I’ve blurted this once or twice, only to elicit blank stares in response. Am I that old? Doesn’t anyone remember the The Flintstones? I hear that horn and imagine Fred sliding down the long neck of his gravel-quarry dino-dozer (which, thanks to Jurassic Park and the miracle of Google we all recognize now as riojasaurus). Quitting time! Fred flees, his fleet feet slapping toward a rack o’ ribs and a night of good times with Wilma, Barney, Betty and Dino. That’s Dino the dino, pronounced Deeno the dyno. Think that’s delusional? Another day, walking downtown near the source of the noontime wale, it struck me, a revelation it was, that the ramp up to full blast sounds just like the introduction to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, only this is a mega-air-raid, civil-defense siren solo rather than a clarinet, whic...