Felecia en-route, she's a Hurricane to boot

I don't like hurricanes. I don't like the threat of hurricanes. I'm not keen on tropical storms, either. That's what they say Felicia will be when it finally comes a knockin.' Right now, however, she's classified as category four, which is no slight breeze. Felecia is approaching from the southeast, which means it will hit our island first. Now, if you look at a globe, you can see that the Hawaiian Islands, the most isolated archipelago on earth, is but a speck on the vast Pacific Ocean. You'd think the odds of us being hit by a hurricane are roughly the same as someone winning the Powerball lottery. The thing is, someone always eventually wins that lottery, even at a bajillion to one. So too do hurricanes, given enough shots at it, eventually hit these islands. The last big hit was Iniki, which nearly wiped Kauai off the planet We've had a few near misses since then. There are no hurricanes in Colorado. I'll take my chances with a nice blizzard or a crackling thunderstorm any day. Hurricanes suck.

Went to the gym today. Wrote a ditty about it: The Peri-Menopausal Gym Rat's Rap

Yo to the gym, joggin' 'long the treadmill,

Keepin' it flat, not ready for a hill,

Crankin' up the tunes, Green Day through the buds,

Givin' up sweets and layin' off the suds,

Crunchin' flabby abs 'til they burn like toast,

Metab'lism slow like an uphill coast,

Bones turn to powder as estrogen wanes,

Crows feet deepening, tiny spider veins,

There's weight to bear and some vitamin D

in a bottle-ain't no sun shinin' down on me,

Need a kinda mantra, to keep me strong,

Or a silly ditty, like this here song.

OK so Kanye West has nothing to fear. Yet!

I think I need a job.

A hui hou. Alo-o-o-o-o-ohahahahahahaha!

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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

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.

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

Mountains and Islands

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