Getting to the core of life's silliness

The other day, I walked into Ron's office and he noticed some blood on my arm.

"What happened there?" he asked.

"Oh, I guess I just scratched myself. You know, they say your thin gets skinner as you get older." That's exactly how I said it. I noticed the slip as it came out. "So I guess my thin is getting skinner, too."

He laughed. "I heard the way you meant it, not how you said it. I guess my brain switched the words back around."

I bought a watermelon the other day. It had been a long time since I'd had any and it made me think of my dad. When I was a kid, I remember coming home from wherever I'd been and looking in the fridge to find a big, fat watermelon. I'd remove the tin foil covering, anticipating a thick, juicy slice. Instead, I would find the center of the carved out, as though some confused antarctic scientists had taken a core sample. My dad had gutted the thing. He'd taken the sweet heart, leaving the dregs and the rind behind.

"Da-a-a-ad!" I would shout, then hear him laughing from the other room. "You took the best part!"

"Well of course I did," he'd say. He did it more than once. He did it every time. If you wanted a decent slice of watermelon in our house, you had to be first. So when I bit into that sweet juiciness yesterday, and then again today, I thought of him and smiled.

We ran out of gas today. Now we know that two propane tanks last us exactly 8 months. Usually we call when one runs out. Guess we spaced. No cooking (except on the grill or in the toaster oven or microwave or rice cooker or electric egg poacher) and no mechanical clothes drying 'til Tuesday. Oh my goodness, will we survive? I say lets eat out! Let's go to Ken's. Sumo!

A hui hou. Aloha!

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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

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

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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