Skip to main content

Nice guy at the falls

Mom and I kicked around Hilo Town Monday. We spent time at the Farmers' Market, bought matching Crocs, then cruised on up to Rainbow Falls, which is right in town. It's a beautiful spot. There, we met a man named Alvin. He described himself as "82 years young" and was more fit than most 4o year olds I know. Alvin told us he was third generation American, with ancestors from Japan. My mom told him she was third generation American too, with ancestors in Norway. We chatted with Alvin awhile. Then, we told him we were headed to boiling pots and asked if he knew where it was. He said, "Follow me," then jumped into his green, '57 Chevy to lead the way. When we arrived at the parking lot, my mom laughed at the name of the place. While it is commonly known as Boiling Pots (so names because when the water's raging it looks like it's boiling), it's real name is Pe'epe'e Falls. My mom pointed, then pronounced, "Pee Pee Falls! I love that!" I burst her bubble when I said, "I'm pretty sure it's pronounced Pay'ay pay'ay."
"I like Pee Pee better," she said.
Fair enough. I guess I do too.
When we arrived, Alvin presented us with a white pineapple he had grown in his home garden. "Very sweet," he said. Indeed. That describes both the pineapple and Alvin.
When we walked to view the falls and the pools, Alvin ventured away, only to return with a huge bag of avocados. He had picked them from a tree there in the park.
"It's OK. I asked. The park officials told me as long as I pick for my own consumption, it's legal. Hey, I pay my taxes!"
Again, fair enough. Alvin is a WWII vet. As far as I'm concerned, he can pick all the avocados in public parks he wants. He explained that he's known about that tree for a long time and always likes to pick the avocados as soon as possible, before anyone else discovers them.
We had a lovely chat with Alvin. He showed us pictures of his other two classic cars (another Chevy and a '63 Corvette) and a photo of a friend whose brother had been a pilot on the American Airlines plane that was flown into the World Trade Center. He showed his sorrow over the loss for his friend. He shared his secrets for clean living. It was a true pleasure to talk story with Alvin. He is a generous, kind man with a subtle grin that made me smile. There really still are nice people in the world.
Today, I was back at the wine factory. My first customers were Japanese and spoke little English. We taught each other a few words. I learned that hachi means honey and do itashi-mashi-te means you're welcome. I knew a few words, already, like konichiwa (hello), amai (sweet), durai (dry), oishi (delicious), arrigato (thank you) and sayonara (goodbye). They loved it. They had learned aloha and mahalo. We had a fun time together. This group liked me, so they made a point of making sure I saw them toss their change into the tip jar. They bowed and smiled. It was a great way to start my day. Arrigato!

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...

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...