Mountains and Islands

The best thing about rants, at least among the civilized, is that someone smart always makes a valid point to the contrary. My fellow University of Alaska Anchorage classmate, Wendy, directed me to this column, written recently for the New York Times by a writer I admire, Lorrie Moore . She's on both sides of editing Twain issue, and for good reason, posing the notion that maybe Mark Twain was never intended to be children's literature and that that is the problem. Give it a read, then tell me what you think, if you're so inclined. It was Flannery O'Connor who said, "The fact is that anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information to last him the rest of his days."  No matter how idyllic one's childhood, no matter how hard grown ups try to protect their young charges, trauma happens, sometimes the likes of which no child should endure. Stories that reflect this are often the fodder for great literature, stories not necessarily suitable for y...

A few bits of recent news have got me riled and not just a little heartsick. Some jackass (I will not glorify him by inserting his name into this blog), in the interest of political correctness and to protect the delicate sensibilities of American children, has taken it upon himself to change one of the greatest, most important works of American literature ever written. He's published his own version of Huckleberry Finn , deleting all reference to the N-word and replacing it with the word slave . How can this happen? How is it legal? It's not his novel to change. The word was widely spoken in Mark Twain's time and was arguably more derogatory then than it is now, which is why Twain used it and why it's the right word for the story. God forbid our kids would be encouraged to think and to question, and that parents might provide some guidance, and that teachers might actually teach. Regardless of the educational implications, it's reprehensible that someone would and...

There's a saying, issued forth by civil defense here on Hawaii Island whenever flash flood warnings are issued: Turn around, don't drown.  They've been warning of this for days. It's finally here. It's a funny thing about rain, especially for those who live in the Southwest, that is, there's never enough of it, except when there's too much of it. For what it's worth, it's raining here too, messing up vacations, overrunning sewer systems in Honolulu just like it does in L.A.  As the toads frolic, I send you this Christmas poem. Let it Rain (Sung to the tune of Let it Snow) Oh the weather outside is raining, and this glass of wine I’m draining, the tourists are mad, you bet, they’re all wet, they’re all wet, they’re all wet... Oh the sky looks like it’s melting, as the rain, the roof is pelting, the trickling stream's a-rush, think I’ll just sit inside on my tush... When I finally venture out, don’t you know, I’m gonna get soaked, ...

Yesterday morning, as the dirty oil from my car was being drained and replaced with fresh, I walked the mile or so from Goodyear on Kilauea Ave., to Island Naturals, where they have brown rice salmon musubis that aren't all that tasty but are filling and healthy for the price. Midway along my route, near Cafe 100, the tsunami warning sirens revved, then blared.  Had there been an earthquake somewhere around the Pacific Rim? I strained to recall, then remembered that they test the sirens on the first of every month. I'd thought they were limited to the big, yellow towers along the shoreline, but as I walked Kilauea, no towers in sight, the wale literally felt as though it was right over my head. I looked up to see, if that makes any sense, like you can see sound, and realized there were visually discrete speakers mounted on every other power pole along my route.  The blasting lasted for close to 10 minutes, which seemed excessive for a drill, and when it finally died down,...

Hope you've all gotten your flu and ammonia shots this season. That's how someone describe their vaccinations to me the other day.  My own, well educated husband used the word, "upsurp" just yesterday, as in, "The upstart could upsurp the reigning power." "Upsurp is not a word," I said. "What is it then?" he asked. "Usurp. The word is usurp." "Oh, well, whatever," he said. You say pneumonia and I'll say ammonia. You say upsurp and I'll say usurp. Pneumonia, ammonia, upsurp, usurp. Let's call the whole thing off!  It was nice just long enough this morning for us to borrow the neighbor's ultra-long ladder and send our  fearless neighbor up to clear out the grass and leaves clogging the gutters. Young Joe trod the roof like a pro, with the balance of an athlete and the belief in immortality and desperation to earn $20 only an 18 year-old possesses. What a nice kid.   When visiting our neighbor, Leona...

Here's the link to my flash fiction story, entitled, The Lemming Sisters.   Happy reading! http://www.hobopancakes.com/animalania4.html Oh, and if you like this and want to support this funny little humor ezine, check out their merchandise. The t-shirts are cute!

Today was pineapple pickin' day. Ron wanted a photo of me with the fruit, in front of some other fruit, to tout his pineapple growing prowess. Never mind that we've harvested maybe 4 pineapples in the five years we've been here. "You can't grow pineapples in Glenwood," says our neighbor Leonard. Whatever Leonard says we can't grow, Ron sets out to prove him wrong. This, I must admit, is our best pineapple yet, twice as big as any we've whacked before and twice as sweet. I attribute this to the unusual amount of sunshine we've had with this year's drought and to uncharacteristic patience, waiting, waiting, waiting, until the thing was actually ripe before picking it, something we've rushed with our previous harvests. For those who may not know, the pineapple belongs to the bromeliad family. Riveting, huh? That's a lemon tree behind me. Here's the big news.  A far-from-literary cyber-rag has written to say, "We love your stor...

My husband pads down the hallway in his slippers, thumps muffled by the soft soles of his L.L. Beans. He arrives at the lanai, where I sit with my coffee and laptop, working (checking emails and Facebook ). He's got the paper in his hands and a grin on his face. "Guess who just filed for bankruptcy?" he asks. Maybe it's Donald Trump again, or one of those famous TV investment advisor like Jim Cramer or Dave Ramsey or Suze Ormand . Maybe it's Sarah Palin or Christine O'Donnell. It could be one of those greedy bankers or mortgage brokers responsible for the real estate bubble and subsequent economic collapse, maybe an AIG , Countrywide or Haliburton executive, or maybe it's Dick Cheney, somebody who either knows better or deserves it, someone big, rich and in the spotlight. I'm intrigued. "I don't know. Who?" I ask. "Toni Braxton ," he says. A few seconds pass. I don't know what to say. "How would I ever guess th...

The weather's been pinch-me beautiful lately, so yesterday I made plans to take a swim, never mind the tidal surge my entrance into the waters of Hilo Bay might create around the Pacific Rim. After a productive shift tutoring at the Hawaii Community College Learning Center, a visit to Abundant Life Health Food on the bayfront for an organic cane sugar soda and a sprouting, sprouted with sprouts, multi-grain bagel -- which isn't a bagel at all despite what they call it on the label, but more of a donut-shaped doorstop -- felt well deserved after a morning's work. At the entryway to the store, a woman, 60s maybe, sat with a cardboard sign that said, "NEED FOOD." A young man came through the doorway just then and handed her a beverage and a sandwich. I watched as she settled onto the sidewalk with her gift, then went inside. My own frugal purchase in hand, I returned to my car to find an elderly man standing inches from my back bumper. He announced that he had ru...

The coffee trees, dolloped with white flower clusters that look like snow from a distance, are showing promise for a fruitful winter. We've learned this week that a voracious beetle called the coffee berry borer has invaded our islands, one that drills into the cherry to feed, then further into the seed, or bean as it's known, to lay its slimy little eggs. These are not the same beetles previously featured in this blog. Rather, they are tiny, the size of a sesame seed, and much more destructive. These bitty beasts are a scourge, accounting for crop losses of 20 percent worldwide, and should never have become a problem in isolated Hawaii but for the state's stupid policy of allowing imported, green coffee beans. They're almost impossible to eradicate, since the larvae develop inside the bean. Who knows how many of these we've all brewed up in our Mr. Coffees over the years. Hawaii allows other plant importation too, and with lax inspection, we've acquired ...

Our Hopps is slowing down these days. She's grown finicky about her regular food in recent months and won't even take a doggy biscuit, so we've resorted to indulging her by lacing her kibble with goodies, like chicken or salmon. She still tries to sneak the kitty food any chance she gets. Last night, we played catch for a few minutes in the living room, something we haven't done in weeks. She can still catch the ball out of the air if I toss it well. She loves that. We travel her speed wherever we go. It takes half an hour to walk four driveways down the road, stopping at every tree, fern, bush and rock, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing. Doc goes along too, and he is quite patient with our plodding strolls. I sneak him out for long, faster walks when she's napping. The past two days she's perked up, with more energy than she's had in a few weeks. I even found a dirty sock in the middle of the living room floor this afternoon. That was a heartening si...

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...

I returned home from an obligatory shopping trip yesterday afternoon to find Ron's tired fingers bruised and bleeding in his near futile attempt to put the coil spring back into the plastic circle thingy (that's the technical term for it) on our busted lawn mower. The day before, I had pulled the cord to start the motor and it ripped completely away. So yesterday we disassembled it, took a look and thought we could fix it. We always think we can fix stuff. Or at least Ron always thinks we can fix stuff. While it sat in pieces awaiting our attention, the coil spring, neatly tucked into the circle thingy, which is also the pully, leapt out, thwacked and clanged to the ground. The end that catches against a small, metal prong designed to keep it there had snapping off, freeing the spring from its confines. So when I arrived home, Ron had spent the better part of two hours trying to rewind it tight and cram it back in. Tough work with stubborn, thick, flat elastic metal that ...

My big boy (the four-legged, furry one, not the two-legged annoying one) had a recurrence of a bump on his face a day or two after I arrived home from Alaska. This weekend, it got huge, like a golf ball under his left eye, so I scurried him to the vet today. It's not a tumor, nor a tooth abscess, which is good news. Doctor thinks it's an infection, as white cell counts and t-cells are raging in the aspiration sample she took. Poor baby! This photo, taken just before we left home, shows him drunk on tranquilizers and ready to travel the 20 miles to Hilo . Now, as I type this, he's still pretty wasted and the lump has been shaved. Yikes! I hope the antibiotics work their magic soon. There's someone in my neighborhood who I can't figure. This person leaves bread crumbs out for the birds every day, ON THE ROAD. They were there again today. Here's my dilemma. I can't decide whether this person is a kind, bird-loving soul who just also happens to be a c...

He was scrawny, ragged and soaked, a tiny, pathetic black and white kitten, hunched in the grass at the side of the road. My neighbor had called me a week earlier about a baby she'd seen hanging around her house. She was sure he'd been abandoned. I've only known this neighbor for a few months, but she's already got me pegged for a sucker. She called to ask, "If I can catch it, will you take it?" The moment I mentioned the kitten to Ron, I got the, NO MORE CATS speech. I ignored it, of course, and went to see anyway. No kitty. The neighbor called to ask if I could assume feeding duty for a few days while she was away. The food I left was eaten after the first night, but not the second, by which time I had still not seen the little orphan. The neighbor returned. No kitten. We figured he was a goner. Then yesterday morning, on my way home from the farmers' market, I spotted the adorable little wretch, a quarter mile down from the neighbor's pl...

I don't know how high we flew last night, but two hours after landing, I have yet to come all the way down. En-route from Anchorage to Seattle, I woke from fitful airplane sleep to peer out through the small, oval window. The moon, its face bold and woeful, shone full above the wing. Below, low clouds, like crusty frosting, were broken by splotches of black, and through these breaks in the sugary strata, a great river flowed. Upon its water, up and down its length, the moonlight played, dancing in white sparkles, like tiny bursts of fireworks. The horizon curved along the edge of the earth. The word amazing is used with cavalier indifference these days, but this scene, this moment in time, was. Amazing. If a city's airport is at all accurate in its reflection of the place it represents, then Seattle is a fine and funky place indeed, worn around the edges, hip in its strangeness, strange in its hipness. There are dozens of Starbucks, sure, but there is also the Seattle Tapr...

After banging out some words on pages this morning, I took a lovely walk with my classmate/writer-pal Charlotte around a nearby lake here on the University of Alaska Anchorage campus. We talked about our projects, inhaled the fresh, clean Alaska air, exchanged exaltation's regarding the mentors we'd drawn, and enjoyed the many friendly dogs with their humans who shared our path. The walk was followed by a nap. I'm still recovering from the residency. This evening, I ventured to town for dinner. Hanging out in coffee shops alone is one thing, but eating solo in a fancy seafood joint can feel weird. So I took a book to read, though not just any book; I chose one to perpetuate an eccentric, adventurer-to-the-great-north-country image, to help me look the part. And since I don't have a Craig Childs adventurer-style beard, a book about fly fishing with pastel watercolor salmon swimming across the cover seemed like the next best thing. Opening Days , written by anoth...

It's our last night at the residency, and the final shindig was as fun as ever. Last year, I noted that these same writers were terrible dancers. After tonight, however, I've changed my mind. This reversal is based on fervent observation, and the fact that my friend, writer-extraordinaire Samantha Davis, has threatened to pound me to within an inch of my life if I don't retract it. She's no wimp, this Sam. She lives in the woods of Southeast Alaska, teaches eighth grade, kills her own food and fells trees with her teeth. Or something like that. Anyway, at Sam's urging, and upon my own visual inspection and participation in this maniacal frenzy, I shall officially confirm, here in the annals of this venerable blog, that these writers are not terrible dancers. They are enthusiastic, creative, goofy, whimsical and entertaining dancers. They are Barishnikov's with ball-points, journaling Jackson's, Pavlovas with pens, authorial Astaires. Furthermore, ...

Anchorage was beautiful today, the kind of day that if you flew in for a layover and this is what you experienced, you'd sell all your stuff, pack up your critters and move here. Until this morning it had been cloudy, and misty off and on, which ain't bad either, but today was spectacular. An hour-long session with the editor for Red Hen publishing this afternoon had me vacillating between hara-kiri and an overdose of barbiturates as the preferred method of suicide. How do you like these odds: They publish 20 manuscripts for every 5000 sent to them each year, and you've got to know someone connected to the editor, or one of their authors, or be referred by someone just to get them to read your work. It helps to drop names like parachutes over Normandy in your cover letter, lest interns dump your sweat and anguish onto the flaming slush pile. It made me re-think the merits of self-publishing; for a moment. Then I remembered universities and colleges won't hire you i...

I'm in Encinitas , Leucadia to be exact, with my best Gail-friend, uh, Gail. We jogged today, four long, grueling miles, and I'll have you know that I kept up. Never mind that she practically had to walk on her hands to match my pace. Just prior to our workout, I'd gone upstairs at her tiny townhouse -- which is like, 900 square feet bigger than my "real house" (and much cleaner) -- to change into my sporting attire. I bounded down the stairs to meet her on the patio, where I found her watering her tomatoes. "Ready?" She asked. "Yep. Two bras. Set to jet," I hopped up and down, trying to act like a jock. "Why two bras?" She asked. "I don't like to bounce when I run." She burst out laughing. I mean really, she was rolling. "Hey, I bounce," I said. She shook her head and walked into the house. "I've put on 20 pounds over the years," I said. "Seriously, I bounce!" She just s...