A fruitful, sunny say

You see some interesting people at the Hilo Farmers' Market. This morning I spotted a flaming gay black man strolling toward me with an adorably cute and perfectly quaffed Jack Russell Terrier. How do I know he was gay? Well, I'm pretty sure the Jack Russell was straight. But the 30-something human was definitely light in the loafers. Not that there's anything wrong with that. He was wearing one of those wide necked, horizontally striped sailor's shirts, yellow and blue. His pants were white pedal pusher, tight at the knees. On his feet, canvas boat shoes with no socks. His outfit looked a little like the one Kirk Douglas wore is Disney's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Only instead of dancing with a seal, this guy was prancing with his dog. To top it off (the outfit, that is), the man wore a boat captain's cap, the kind that sits not quite flat on your head with a small brim. It was tilted just so. The flaming sailor tip-toe-trotted across the road, elbows in, hands out, rushing toward the bustling market. His dog seemed a little embarrassed, yet was clearly accustomed to the spectacle. The man and his pooch met up with two older, bolo-head haole queens with slight paunches. The pair was obviously a couple. I overheard them squabbling over how to redistribute their produce so their respective bags' weights would be more evenly distributed. I was relieved for them when they finally got all their fruits in order.

I also saw a petite, Japanese lady walking a chihuahua wearing red shoes. The lady was not wearing the red shoes. Those were sported by the chihuahua, on his front feet. They gave the little fella a bit of a goose step. He looked up at me as they passed and pleaded, "Yo quiero Dr. Scholls!"

The sun was shining today. I can just feel the Vitamin D soaking through my flesh and hardening my bones like so much Plaster of Paris on a pinata. (Picture a ~ over the n here.) Give me a whack tonight and I'll spill chili dog, chips and a handful of Jujubees all over the floor. I don't know. It just sounded good when Ron recommended it for dinner. He's not a great source when it comes to nutritional counseling.
A hui hou! Aloha!

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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

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.

Mountains and Islands

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