Drama, trauma and I'm the kitties mama

High drama at the winery. I ran into a coworker today who told me the other tasting room employee placed on temporary layoff (besides me) was given the permanent heave ho over the weekend. She wasn't taking the layoff well and despite numerous attempts to convince her it was temporary and in no way a reflection on her performance, she freaked. Initially, she seemed to understand the circumstances. As time went on, her discontent erupted into loud and inappropriate comments - sometimes in front of customers - taking her frustration out on a fellow employee, a manager, the world. Wow. She's young and I suspect she's never been through tough times before. Personally, my layoff was not the least bit unsettling since I volunteered. Others need the work. I don't. I've got writing and other stuff to do and will not starve or miss a mortgage payment if I don't work for a couple of months. Lucky me.

I had lunch Saturday with two good friends from California on Saturday. Andy and Flora were on island and on vacation, so I met them in Waimea for a lovely chat over some so-so barbecue. The coleslaw was good, but it was the company that made my day.

My beloved Crawford has taken a turn for the worse this past couple of weeks. She suffered two seizures last week. That's tough to watch. Fine since then, but she often looks sad to me, defeated. So we've started giving her extra treats. Tonight, scrambled eggs and grated cheese mixed in with her kibble. Hamburger, steak, chicken, fish. She loves fish. So Saturday night she gobbled several chunks of Alaskan cod. The next few weeks, she'll get lots of extras. We're watching her closely. Selfishly, I'd like to keep her around forever. She's my girl. But her quality of life is more important than my wish to snuggle with her every day. Yesterday, we enjoyed a couple of hours out in the grass, sniffing whatever blew our way via fresh trade winds. That perked her up a bit.

Meanwhile, the babies are ever entertaining and growing fast. I wish I could keep them small forever. I know every parent says that....

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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