Mountains and Islands

I broke my own person treadmill record yesterday, jogging four miles in 45:30.  That's pretty slow by most standards, but it's Speedy Gonzales for me.  I ran to Michael Jackson as my version of a tribute, so maybe that's why the feet flew so fast.  I defy anyone to listen to Jam and not move.   What a day; Michael, Farrah and the incessant rain. Farrah Faucet lived life on her own terms.  She was beautiful and smart.  When faced with a terminal disease, she fought the good fight.   Cheers to you, Farrah. I remember where I was when Elvis died.  I had seen him in concert (with my parents, no less) just a month earlier.  I can also picture the exact moment when I heard the news about John Lennon.  My friend and soon-to-be-housemate Lori and I were moving a mattress on the top of my Volkswagon Beetle to our new digs.  We were holding onto the plastic handles through open windows in a futile attempt to keep the thing from catching air as we crept along.  The two of us gasped w...

Not much has happened worth writing about the past week.  It's been a mixture of rain and sun, enough rain to make it squishy and enough sun to encourage the grass to grow and the blossoms to pop on the coffee trees.  There a bunch of fat apple bananas hanging from the rafters of the front lanai, waiting to ripen.  It's pretty much poured all day today, making the kitties stir crazy, wrestling on the couch, toppling the recycling bin full of soda cans on the back lanai.  The dogs are bored silly, lying around with forlorn expressions, their chins resting on the floor between their front paws.  I could have taken them for walks today in the torrent, but opted to stay dry for once.  Dry- er anyway. This morning I ventured to Kea'au, where I shot this photo of the giant lychee tree in the parking lot.  You can just make out the ripe, red fruits.  The lychee on the bottom of the tree always gets picked, but the trees grow so tall that most of the ripe juicy beauties at the top ...

They love each other like typical siblings.  One minute they're all cuddly, like this.  The next, their initiating body slams and chomping on each others' jugulars.  I had a bit of a start the other day.  It happened in the laundry room.  I say this like it's some far-away wing of my vast mansion.  It's a small offshoot from the kitchen.  Stooped over the edge of my top loader, I gripped and tugged at wet sheets that were wrung tight and smashed against the sidewalls inside the washer's basin, listening to Jack Johnson in the background, wondering, "Where'd all the good people go?" just like Jack, relishing the mindlessness of my chore.  Once the wad was free, I hurled it into the open dryer, slammed the door, set the timer and pushed the button.  At first tumble, I heard a loud thud and wondered if the dryer, like all my other appliances, was about to expire.  A few more bumps had me worried.  You can see where this is going, right?  I opened the door...

There's a joke here on Hawaii Island that the the primary way locals dispose of their rubbish is to load it all into the back of a pickup truck, then drive around until it's all gone.  On strolls up my narrow, one-lane jungle road,  it seems it's not really a joke at all, but a statement of fact.  Lately, I've noticed an odd assortment of trash strewn along the edge of the roadway.  There's the usual stuff, like McDonald's bags and Kentucky Fried chicken boxes and soda cups and beer bottles.  I even see the occasional Starbucks Frappuchino with whipped cream plastic tumbler, which just goes to show you that a person willing to spend six buck on a cup of coffee isn't necessarily enlightened or evolved.  That said, it's the other stuff that's got me perplexed; yogurt containers, egg cartons, tampon applicators, vaccuum cleaner bags.  These are not items a person just has in their hand and flings out the window.  (I don't even want to think about th...

It was a beautiful day today.  Perfect.  One in a million.  Literally.  So I jumped into the convertible for a joyride.  OK the convertible is a tractor and the joyride is mowing the lawn, but still, it was a fantastic day.  There I was, cutting around the old tangerine tree,  hitting old, moldy fruits that had fallen to the ground, hearing the thud as the blades whacked the dense blobs hiding in the grass.  Fuzzy and nasty as they are, they smell great when you whir over them.  So great, it inspired me to sing, and of course, what else would I croon but that age old masterpiece from the 60s, Hey Mister Tangerine Man.   "Hey mister tangerine man, make some juice for me.  I'm not normal and, there ain't no place I'm going to (except the assylum).... Hey mister tangerine man, splat some fruit for me, in the jingle jangle morning I'll be co-mitted soon."  Yes, it's a classic.   So there I was, mowing away, cutting grass, grinding up sticks and anything in my ...

My abs are becoming rock solid, if I don't say so myself.  Of course, they are covered in a thick, great-if-you're-an-arctic-walrus-but-not-so-attractive-in-Hawaii layer of flab, so you really can't tell.  I would love to attribute this to all the sit-ups and crunches and planks I do in the gym, but that would be misleading.  My core strength can only be fairly credited to the kitties. Yes, it is they who have me clenching my rectus abdominis with great fervor each morning as they jump without warning up from the floor to land square in the middle of my gut.  No clench, and my internal organs are toast.  They do this when I am sound asleep, dead to the world, out like a light, snoozing soundly, so I am forced to wake up, realize what is happening and react, all in a nanosecond.  It's got to be good training for something, though I'm not exactly sure what.   I now rue the day when I learned to sleep on my back.  All I can say is, "Ugh!" But my core thank...

I must have one of those benign faces, an approachable demeanor, an aura that screams friendly.  It's as though the word  sucker is emblazoned on my forehead, or across my back, advertising my niceness.  Being nice is a curse, let me tell you.  I went to the Hilo library yesterday to write.  My plan was to sit there for three productive and uninterrupted hours of quiet, with no barking dogs or, "Can you help me with this" husbands.  I found a spot near the courtyard and got quickly to work, eyeballs trained intently upon my laptop screen, tick, tick ticking the keyboard.  A man arrived to sit in my area at an adjacent table.  I didn't notice him at first.  I was busy.   Engrossed.  But the neon of my niceness must have flashed, "Bug me.  Irritate me. I won't get mad.  I'm NICE!"   "Excuse me," he said.  "Excuse me."  I looked over to see him sitting there with papers strewn about on the table in front of him.  He was a small,...

A few of our trees were bursting with coffee cherry yesterday, so I impulsively began to pick them until the bottom of my t-shirt resembled a kangaroo pouch.  I pulped them by hand, a sticky, messy task, then soaked them over night to ferment them.  The soaking removed what's called the mucilage, the  slimy goo that remains around the seed, otherwise known as the coffee bean.  In a few hours I'll take them out of the water and dry them by spreading them out on a cookie sheet and putting them in Ron's office with the dehumidifier cranked.  I can finish the drying tomorrow morning in the oven, set on a low warm temp.  Eventually we'll get a dehydrator.  We'll need one, since we live in a climate too damp for air or sun drying.  For now, however, it's low tech all the way.  Once dry, I'll rub the parchment off the beans, then roast 'em, also in the oven since I don't have roaster.  I predict I'll have enough for just a pot or two of coffee, but it...

I picked up a few items at the Hilo Farmers' Market this morning.  The place was bustling, but the merchants were complaining to one another about how slow it was.  There were lots of lookers and few buyers.  Everyone, however, was happy to see the sunshine, so despite the heat and mugginess, nobody was complaining.  "At least it's not raining," said one man, a merchant powering down an enormous cheeseburger like he hadn't eaten in a week.  "I hear that," I said. "One think about Hilo though," he said.  "When it rains, it's a warm rain, you know?  So it's really nice for just walking around.  Really comfortable." "True," I said.  "Especially if you have one of those giant, Hilo umbrellas."  He liked that, smiled and nodded. I wanted to add that 72 degrees, dry and sunny are also nice conditions for walking around too and don't require an umbrella, but I didn't want to burst the guy's bubb...

Ah Cinco de Mayo.  Viva la Mexico!  Thinking of that yesterday reminded me of the U2 song Vertigo, which was featured in the planetarium show I saw Friday night with my neighbor, Kathy.  I haven't heard that song in awhile.  There was Bono , shouting, " Uno , dos, tres , catorce !"   Hmmmm ... All I can say is, let that be a lesson to you kids out there.  Stay in school!  If you drop out, you two (U2?) could become a bajillionaire rock star who cannot count to four in Spanish.  One, two, three fourteen?  Hello, hello....  Really, could nobody tell the guy?  Is he that cool? Speaking of the planetarium show, I'm proud to say I didn't get dizzy or queasy 'til the third to last song.  Maybe it was Vertigo .  I don't remember.  I just know it took about an hour after I got home for the fuzziness in my head to clear.   Anyway, back to Cinco de Mayo.  It will be a memorable day for me.  I was laid off.  Got an official letter telling me how great I am and ...

On Wednesday, I schlepped a coffee can full of coins to the bank for deposit. I'm guessing it was worth between $200 and $300.  The first time I did this, I was surprised to learn that the deposit didn't go into my account the same day, but the next.  Rather than dump the coins straight into the counting machine, they transferred them from my can into a bag, put a slip of paper inside with my hand-written account number scratched in ball-point ink and sent me away empty handed.  I was less than comfortable with this procedure, but when the money showed up the next day in my account, I decided I'd trust them again.  It's a system.  A lousy system, but a system none-the-less.  So this week, I did the same thing and again walked away with nothing, forced to trust that money would eventually land in my account.  It's now been two days and I've received no deposit.  So I called, only to be told that it can take up to five business days for coin deposits, because, ...

Ron tried to tell me the other night that, because we live on this island, we should be safe from swine flu.  Right.  I passed this jewel of wisdom onto my mom, who added, "And it's not like you have any pigs there."  I laughed so hard I almost soiled myself.  That mom.  When she's on, she's on. Speaking of pigs, I saw a woman on the side of the road the other day, almost to Hilo .  She was leaning against the door of her car, photographing three young, black pigs as they browsed through the foliage that grows thick and lush along the meridian between the north and southbound directions of the highway.  I've seen these little guys several times.  They won't stay little for long.  Anyway, this gal had one bodacious lens.  It was wildlife photography, Hawaiian style. I ventured up into the vog to the gym today, unsure of how much energy I might have after my recent bout with whatever it's been.  Not bad.  Half and hour on the elliptical , half an hour o...

Last night, Ron was kind enough to make a quick run to the market to pick up some more ginger ale.  Ours was nearly gone and what we had left in the big bottle had lost its bubbles.  Flat ginger ale just doesn't cut it.  It was about eight minutes 'til six, so he busted on down to Hirano Store, near the end of our road,  plenty of time to make it before they close at 6:00 p.m.  He got there.  No ginger ale.  In fact, when he asked, they looked at him like he'd just sprouted a horn in the middle of his forehead.  Guess there's not much call for ginger ale here.  So, he headed on down the road, not to the next store at Mt. View (their prices are extortion) but the next, J. Hara .  Again, he couldn't find it, so he asked.   "Just a second," said the clerk, who disappeared behind the beverage storage door for a moment.  A different clerk appeared.  "I can help you," she said.  "Right over here." She proceeds to lead him to the freezer se...

The latest developments in Hoppsy's health are good and not so good.  The good is that she can now negotiate the back lanai stairs by herself to go potty.  She still slips easily on the hardwood and has trouble orienting the feet on her left side, but her mobility has improved.  The not so good is that Friday night she had a massive seizure.  Right.  Not so good at all.  She had two on Saturday night.  So a quick call to the vet on Sunday got us a prescription for Diazepam (aka Valium) which is used to both stop and prevent seizures.  You wouldn't believe the hoops you have to go through to pick up that prescription, it being a controlled substance and all.  Sign in blood, names of nearest kin, physical address... OK, I'm exaggerating a little.  But it's more than picking up a scrip for Advair , I can tell you that. Long term, there are probably better anti-seizure meds out there, but in a pinch, this works well. I'll just give it to her at night, since that...

OK, so you know how I was bragging about the beautiful day in my last blog entry?  Well I'm afraid I must retract that.  It was nice that morning until about 10:00, then it started pouring.  It's been raining ever since.  In fact, it's been since January.  December maybe.  Who knows.  It's been raining forever. I took Hoppsy to an orthopedic dude over in Kona on Wednesday.  Coincidentally, he once worked at the clinic in Englewood, Colo. where Doc the Doctor Dog had his shoulder fixed.  Besides the trauma of a three-hour car ride, she did pretty well.  I was fully prepared for her to undergo what's called a myelogram , a procedure that requires general anesthesia, in which die is injected into the spinal chord, then X- rayed to see where there might be a blockage of neural transmission.  After examining her, however, the vet decided that the procedure would not likely show us anything definitive.  What we really need is a CT scan.  He's trying to get one of t...

Great news!  The sun is out, shining like the burning ball of radiation that it is.  Harley, for one, is loving it! Terrible news.  A home highlighting project attempted Friday morning has gone horribly wrong.  I've got this Bozo the Clown meets Bride of Frankenstein thing going on there.  Not good. Hats.  Now that's an invention I can get behind.  Where do I send my money?  My poor little Hoppsy is struggling these days.  She's had shaky back legs for months.  Years even.  They've never bothered her.  Vet couldn't find anything wrong.  Now, her back legs are stiff when she walks.  Worse is what's happened in the past few days to her front legs.  About a month ago, she developed a stutter step.  We thought she was doing this to adjust to the weird gait of her back legs.  Now, however, her front left paw is dragging slightly on the ground and occasionally knuckling over, tripping her.  This just started.  We were at the vet last Wednesday hoping for a definitive...

King Kameha was looking particularly regal today, don't you think? I saw a great bumper sticker out and about this morning.  It said, "Don't believe everything you think." Something to ponder, eh? Hoppsy and I returned to the vet for some X-rays and hope for some definitive answers to why she is walking so oddly.  Her gait is all out 'o wack .  It's as though her back legs have only one slow, stiff speed and her front legs must stutter to maintain the pace.  It also seems that her hips or lower back are sore, since she now hates when I try to feel anything back there or massage her.  X-rays were, unfortunately, inconclusive.  She has an arthritic spur on one of her vertebrae which could be the cause, but only slight signs of any arthritis anywhere else.  So, we're trying some prednisone (yuck!) for a few days to see if she responds.  It's a powerful drug, not to be taken lightly with nasty side effects if taken long term.  I took it for four days to...

Yesterday at the winery, I made the mistake of telling a woman how cute her granddaughter was, how adorably precocious, what a great kid.  The youngster was a delight.  She and I enjoyed talking about Hanna Montana and singing B-I-N-G-O.  The grandmother was understandably proud, but once the topic of the youngster was exhausted, she launched into her own diatribe.  Now I'll admit she was a very nice lady.  But the moment I opened the door to conversation, she burst through it like a levy break, her life story gushing forth, a torrent unleashed.  She relived a tragic injury of years ago, elaborated on the gory details of a long and painful recovery, told me how her children coped, enunciated specifics about each and every family member, how often she visits them and for exactly how long, the divorce, she's a writer(isn't everybody?), loves where she lives, doesn't need much money but has all she needs to visit her children and grandchildren whenever she wants, yada yada...

Sometimes, after doing so many tastings and answering so many good, bad and stupid questions from tourists, I blurt.  Stuff just comes out, like a burst of hot steam from Old Faithful.  Yesterday, a man was looking at our cigars.  We sell Kauai Cigars.  It was a wet, gloomy day, as has been the case most of the last three months, with emphasis on the wet.  So he asked, "How do you keep them humid?" I couldn't help myself.  I replied, "You're kidding, right? It's like 80-100 percent humidity here all the time." It sounded glib and maybe even a little condescending. I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it.  His wife laughed.  He did not. Instead, he looked at me like I'd just stepped on his toe.  He cleared his throat. "How do you keep them the proper 70 percent humidity?" he rephrased.  Now he was the one condescending.  I mumbled something about selling them so fast we don't have to worry about that, they're fresh and probab...

They're worried in Fargo that the river will top out over the dikes.  Forty one feet.  Now those are some tall lesbians!  What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs who lives in Fargo? Bob.  Oh come on.  You're laughing.  Seriously though, doesn't that water look cold?  My heart goes out to those folks.   Ron and I hit our favorite sushi place last night to celebrate me hitting the half century mark. It's been over a year since we've been there.  Same surly sushi chef, same ono food.  They carry a beer from Okinawa called Orion.  Good suds. I've just turned 50 while living in the 50th state in it's 50th aniversary year.  I will travel to Alaska this summer which is the 49th state, but which became a state the same year as Hawaii, so is also celebrating it's 50 anniversary as a member of the union.  Is that some kind of karmic convergence or what? At work Thursday, my co-worker brought in a batch of her soon-to-be-famous butter mochi.  It's made ...