Mountains and Islands

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, it wa

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

I have neglected this blog for too long. Ron was on fire tonight with what we like to call Ronspeak , or sometimes Ronisms here at hale Todd- Neiderpruem . I think that's what's inspired me to get back to it. Between Ron and my mom, I am never at a loss for curiosities of language. Here's the scene. Ron is in the kitchen, cooking. "What are you making?" I ask. "Balsamic rice," he says. "What's that?" "You know," he says, "that Indian rice." Of course, he means basmati rice. I suggest this, and he gives me a look. Later, Stephen Colbert interviews the playwrite David Mamet. "That's the guy who wrote Glengarry Glen Close," Ron says. "Glen Close the actress?" I ask. Again, he gives me a look. "That's a good one," I say. My census job is, as they say here in the islands, pau . I am relieved. The funniest story to come out of it is one relayed by a co-worker on our l

I've said that the majority of people I encounter in my travels as an enumerator are friendly, kind and cooperative. It's still true. I've come to appreciate Home Depot in a whole new way. Go to Home Depot, buy a home (aka plastic storage shed), place it on a flat piece of ground and viola! Instant dwelling. Add a few poles and some plastic sheeting and you're stylin'. And the fact that someone lives in one is no reflection on the niceness or contentment of that person. In fact, some of the most rudimentary houses shelter some of the happiest people. That's the beauty of America. We are free to live as we choose. That said, we all know that not everyone is nice. Today, a woman asked me if she had to answer, grilled me on why the information was needed, asked if I counted illegal aliens. Then, she had the temerity to say, "It feels like Nazi Germany, having someone come to your house like that." Really? Nazi Germany? Now, I do look pretty

Enumerating is fun! OK, I'll admit I wouldn't want to do it long term, but mostly, it's cool. I drive to Hilo, attend my meeting, submit my time card and completed forms, stop at Good Earth for a muffin and coffee, then head into "the field" as they say to count people. Most people, I've finding, are nice, cooperative and not scary at all. A few are creepy and paranoid, but the majority are pleasant, polite and generally swell. The paycheck is also swell. Don't you just love economic stimulus?

It feels like ages since I last posted to the annals of my blog. Or is that anals ? I always get those mixed up. The big news is that I am now employed, if only temporarily, as a United States Census Worker. My official title is Enumerator. That's a fancy, government way of saying I count people. Of course, if someone is adamant about not being counted, so be it. Far be it for me to press the issue, especially if said person looks mean or is well armed. Most people want to be counted though, don't they? The training is complete, but our enumerator binders will not arrive until Wednesday, so that's when the real work begins. Meanwhile, I've been fighting the tenacious, tail-end of a cold. Just when I think it's gone, I realize it'snot , which totally blows. With just a few short weeks left in the school year, my tutoring position will end for the summer, to resume next fall. I look forward to that. I enjoy it more than I ever expected to, and find the d

More high drama this weekend! This time, I mean that literally. Upwards of 15 feet high. on Saturday, Lucy, our blind calico, wandered out to the far, skinny end of a branch, the same branch upon which our fickle, traitor of a chicken is pictured in the very annals of this blog, a slanted koa adjacent to the lanai. Despite her disability, she insists on climbing it, usually en-route to the roof, where she curls up under the eves and naps. This time, however, she decided to explore the tree. The thin, whipping branch could barely hold her. Mr. Sox saw her there, instinctively knew she was vulnerable and scrambled up the tree to get in her face. He can be evil that way. When he got there, he took a swipe at her. She held fast, but he lost his footing and fell, catching himself at the last second. The old guy clung by his toenails, all four of them, upside down, holding tight with all four feet. Abner, our skinny, fit Colorado tabby, watched all this from a safe distance. T

There was high drama at the Volcano Farmers' Market yesterday morning. I was half way along the sidewalk between the covered skate park and the main Cooper Center building, en-route to the gravel parking lot where I'd wedged my car. I plodded along, my green, re-use bag in one hand, celery stocks and carrot tops sticking up over the top, my coffee in the other, styro-cup lifted and in mid-sip, walking and drinking, drinking and walking. I might have been humming. It was a nice day, perfect for multi-tasking. Suddenly, I heard a great thump and turned to see the aftermath of a spectacular crash. A woman had stubbed her sandaled toe and fallen - splat - face first onto the pavement. Her nose was gushing blood and a quail's egg had swollen beneath her right eyebrow. I dropped my bag and ran to help, as did a young man who had also been nearby and heard impact. I helped her sit up, then instructed him to go find some tissues or towels. Others gathered. I sent one to find the

It's been a rough week. Last weekend, Hoppsy had a seizure. She's since recovered and is feeling well, cruising along as if nothing happened. The doggie V alium comes in handy for that, too. Two days later, we found that Abner broke his toe. Most likely, her brother/ homie /best buddy Doc, the 80 pound, clueless wonder pooch, stepped on him. Abners a ten-pound, slightly built tabby with tiny feet like his mother, so there you have it. He got a shot of anti-inflammatory at the vet and is doing much better now. The weather's been beautiful in Hawaii, everywhere but here. I drove to the university Monday to find bright orange cones blocking my entry into the parking lot. "What's up?" I asked the security person at the gate. "Spring break," she said. Duh! So I went to Seattle's Best at Borders (since Kope Kope is pau - sniff!). It was packed, probably because Kope Kope is pau . They have a killer orange spice latte. I hunkere

Hoppsy has developed a fear rain. Not drizzle, but the cats and dogs, torrential kind. This is not a good thing for a dog who lives in a rainforest . She's always hated thunderstorms. Thunderstorms are most often accompanied by downpours, so now, she hates downpours by association. It's not so irrational when you think about it, from her perspective, through her ears. It makes perfect sense. So this afternoon, having run out of herbal calming capsules, we have resorted to half a doggie Valium , just to take the edge off. Poor baby. I received another rejection note today. This one came via email. They're all so damn polite. We appreciate the opportunity to read your story. We have decided, however, that it does not suit our needs at this time. We wish you luck .... blah, blah blah. No you don't. You think I suck. If you really appreciated my story, you'd accept it. Well one day, someone will, someone huge, or at least someone reputable. They'

It is with a heavy heart that I announce the disappearance of our rooster, Chuck. Last week, I caught him hanging out at the end of our driveway, cavorting with a cute little hotty of a brown hen from across the street. They did look like a happy couple. She must be something special for him to give up premium scratch, fresh fruit, bread, and other chicken- delectables , not to mention the fun of tormenting the cats. I asked Ron if he'd had the talk with Charlie. He shrugged. So I suspect we'll soon see the little brown hen with a trail of tiny, fluffy chicks in tow. Kope Kope closed this week! It's my favorite coffee shop in town. Now, we're left with just two independent shops (that I know of), neither of which is great for hanging out to read or write or listen to live music. One is little more than a drive-through kiosk . The other is Bear's, downtown. It's funky but tiny, with tasty fruit-topped Belgian waffles. The coffee, last time I was t

Ron expressed concern today for our dog, Doc's sexual orientation. "You mean, you think he's gay?" I said. "I've known that forever. A mother knows these things." "It's just that he spends so much time with Charlie." "So, you're not concerned that he's gay, but that he's trans-species?" "Yeah! That's it," he said. "And why does that bother you?" I said. "It doesn't really. It's just a concern." I told him not to worry, the dogs of a feather will always flock together... And so went our conversation. Meanwhile, as I type this, Doc and Charlie are sharing some quality time together under the carport. Winter Olympics!!!! Love 'em. I've spent the past two days sending manuscripts to literary journals. I've been advised that the best way to approach the publishing challenge is to blanket the market. My blanket is a thin one, riddled with holes, more of a ne

Who says chickens can't fly? Here's Chuck, a good 10 feet up. He flaps with furious abandon to heist himself that high. It's feathered flurry at it's finest. Yesterday was an unplanned road trip. They had an opening at the dentist in Waimea, so I went to get the pearly whites scraped and polished. Afterward, I stopped for lunch at the Parker Ranch mall, a place called Las Casuelas. Their food is good, but the seating is in a collection of tables shared by all the vendors, like any food court. While the food was cooking, I went to stake out a table, sat and read my book while I waited. I looked up after a few minutes to see the woman who had taken my order waving to me that my meal was ready. Hmmm.... What to do? If I carry my book with me to keep it secure while retrieving my food, the table will be empty and someone might snag it. If I leave my book on the table, someone might snatch the book. Then it hit me. What was I thinking? This is America. Better