Friday, October 31, 2008
An American Creed
For Halloween I intended to write about being scared, but this morning I found this on Dave Ramsey's site. Lots of junk floating around the Internet at the moment. How about spreading this around?
I Do Not Choose to Be a Common Man. It is my right to be uncommon—if I can. I seek opportunity—not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me. I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build, to fail and to succeed.I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia.I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat. It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and unafraid; to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations and to face the world boldly and say, “This I have done.”
By Dean Alfange
Originally published in This Week Magazine.Later printed in The Reader’s Digest, October 1952 and January 1954.The Honorable Dean Alfange was an American statesman born December 2, 1899, in Constantinople (now Istanbul). He was raised in upstate New York. He served in the U.S. Army during World War I and attended Hamilton College, graduating in the class of 1922.
I Do Not Choose to Be a Common Man. It is my right to be uncommon—if I can. I seek opportunity—not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me. I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build, to fail and to succeed.I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia.I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat. It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and unafraid; to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations and to face the world boldly and say, “This I have done.”
By Dean Alfange
Originally published in This Week Magazine.Later printed in The Reader’s Digest, October 1952 and January 1954.The Honorable Dean Alfange was an American statesman born December 2, 1899, in Constantinople (now Istanbul). He was raised in upstate New York. He served in the U.S. Army during World War I and attended Hamilton College, graduating in the class of 1922.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Dead Cat
It's difficult to dig a hole in Hawaii, even the simplest of holes. The earth composed of bits of lava, doesn’t yield easily to the bite of a shovel. The blade grinds into the rock, scarping metal against once molten earth. Digging is as slow and unrewarding as chewing a piece of gristle at a dinner party.
In my back yard, my piece of real estate is a tiny concrete slab encircled with a narrow strip of dirt where the areca palms and ti plants push their roots into the mixture of lava shards and course dirt. Roots are shallow. There is no place for a grave, even if I could manage to dig one. And surprisingly in these conditions, I own a shovel.
This morning I found a dead cat at the entrance of the condo complex. Someone hit it as it crossed the street. I assume that some else removed the calico from the asphalt and laid it near the complex's entrance sign. It looked like it was sleeping, stretched out in the sun like a cat would do.
I knew the cat, a mother of four surviving young cats. The feral colony lives across the street in a vacant lot, near the ocean. In the evening when I go to see the sunset, the cats are out on the rocks eating what someone has put out for them. I found all four perched on the rock in anticipation of their dinner. Mother, a bit more guarded, crouched under a papaya tree.
When I see these cats I think of Phoenix and Diablo and how much I miss them. My heart sank when I saw her this morning. I don’t know why she left the protection of the bushes in a place where no dogs run loose, no hawks cruise the sky and her only competitor for rats is a mongoose.
When I got back to my condo, the sprinkler system was watering my plants. I called the office to inform them of the dead cat.
In my back yard, my piece of real estate is a tiny concrete slab encircled with a narrow strip of dirt where the areca palms and ti plants push their roots into the mixture of lava shards and course dirt. Roots are shallow. There is no place for a grave, even if I could manage to dig one. And surprisingly in these conditions, I own a shovel.
This morning I found a dead cat at the entrance of the condo complex. Someone hit it as it crossed the street. I assume that some else removed the calico from the asphalt and laid it near the complex's entrance sign. It looked like it was sleeping, stretched out in the sun like a cat would do.
I knew the cat, a mother of four surviving young cats. The feral colony lives across the street in a vacant lot, near the ocean. In the evening when I go to see the sunset, the cats are out on the rocks eating what someone has put out for them. I found all four perched on the rock in anticipation of their dinner. Mother, a bit more guarded, crouched under a papaya tree.
When I see these cats I think of Phoenix and Diablo and how much I miss them. My heart sank when I saw her this morning. I don’t know why she left the protection of the bushes in a place where no dogs run loose, no hawks cruise the sky and her only competitor for rats is a mongoose.
When I got back to my condo, the sprinkler system was watering my plants. I called the office to inform them of the dead cat.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Thought Of The Week
Whenever I meet a panhandler, or see one standing at an intersection with that ubiquitous sign “homeless Vet - God Bless You” I rarely give any money. If I got it, I’ll give them food. Why is that? The handout will be used for a specific purpose. I control what I give so the donation is not unwisely used. Alcohol or drugs come to mind.
One would think if you had the gall to ask for $700 billion under the pretense of saving the economy from epic disaster that you would have a concrete plan, beside given tax breaks to wooden arrow makers. And if you had to have the $700 billion by "the end of the week" to divert such a disaster, one would think that three weeks later some money would have been “spent”.
Nope. To date, nothing spent. The original plan was to buy toxic mortgages, but then the plan changed to buy stock in banks. And now we find out that those banks may 1. sit on the money or 2. pay out bonuses or 3. buy other banks.
Brother, can you give me a plan or shoot me with a wooden arrow?
One would think if you had the gall to ask for $700 billion under the pretense of saving the economy from epic disaster that you would have a concrete plan, beside given tax breaks to wooden arrow makers. And if you had to have the $700 billion by "the end of the week" to divert such a disaster, one would think that three weeks later some money would have been “spent”.
Nope. To date, nothing spent. The original plan was to buy toxic mortgages, but then the plan changed to buy stock in banks. And now we find out that those banks may 1. sit on the money or 2. pay out bonuses or 3. buy other banks.
Brother, can you give me a plan or shoot me with a wooden arrow?
Manta Ray
Just after sundown I entered the waters of Keauhou Bay. It was not the first time I had been in the water after dark fell across the ocean. I remembered the nights under a full moon. I dove off the Cosmic Muffin into the blackness of the lagoon at Nukuoro, a tiny atoll in the middle of nowhere. For a person who doesn’t like to swim in the ocean, it was a big deal. Last night, like a fish in a school, I felt insecurely protected. More isn’t necessarily merrier, but if that bigger fish was going to get me, he’d have forty other tasty snacks to chose. Odds were in my favor, I insanely reasoned.Related to the shark, the manta ray is a fish that cruises the waters with the grace of angels descended from heaven. I had occasion to go belly to belly with one that made me look awfully small and feel very vulnerable. The giant rose from the depths, mouth gaped so I could look into the wide hatch, big enough to swallow me. I clutched the floating ring and bobbed in the choppy waves, spread eagle on the surface. Just before the manta reached me, in slow motion he rolled over exposing five pairs of gills on the white underside. His belly splattered with a pattern of black marks as distinctive to him as my figure prints are to me was less than three feet away from my belly. An experience almost too surreal.
Such a large fish, a harmless fish. I’ve seen them before. My first encounter with a ray was on Maui, back in the ‘70’s. The huge winged animal flew slowly below me. At the time, I didn’t know they ate plankton and saw me as nothing more than a sea turtle without a shell. I saw him as a prehistoric creature the Land Before Time left behind. Since then I’ve encountered hundreds of rays, mostly in Florida. Those pesky types with barbs lurk in the sand waiting for the unsuspecting tourist's misstep.
Four mantas came to the lights that attracted the food source, a cloud of plankton. The manta fed while people from all over the world floated on the surface. For close to an hour I watched a slow ballet, as the manta swam beneath me. Despite forty other people clutching the flotation ring, it was easy to be absorbed in the watery environment. The mask’s field of vision kept the arms and legs of the other humans out of my site. Except for the Sheraton’s night club music blasting Love Shak the world thirty feet on shore might have disappeared.But I am a warm blooded animal and my wet suit can only keep me warm for so long. I hoped to be one of the last ones back on the boat. It mercilessly tossed in the swells. The familiar queasiness came to my head. I sucked down two cups of hot vegetable broth and two plain rolls, choosing blandness as my source of warmth. Why on earth I have this desire to sail to the South Pacific is a mystery, one as mysterious as the naked beauty of the manta ray.
Manta photo by Stephen Wong-stephenwong.com
Saturday, October 25, 2008
America's Past
I had to get the pain over with and was surprised to see others doing the same, but couldn’t tell if they were experiencing the same emotions. Probably not. This is Obama Country where we ask what can the country do for you? Eliminate your "no taxes paid anyway"? Give you some of the other guy’s money? Spread with wealth around? Or how about assign you a doctor? Or just make sure your neighbor doesn’t get ahead? After all, his progress must come from the sacrifices you made, not his blood sweat and tears. That wouldn’t be right now, would it?
Sign me up Karl… Oh, I mean Barack.
Yes, I voted early. Maybe I can vote often. I heard Acorn is signing people up.
Now let’s focus on the real concerns. World Series! Except, we wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so let's just say both teams win. Yeah.
Sign me up Karl… Oh, I mean Barack.
Yes, I voted early. Maybe I can vote often. I heard Acorn is signing people up.
Now let’s focus on the real concerns. World Series! Except, we wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so let's just say both teams win. Yeah.
Bad Investment?
At 6 am, the rain woke me instead of the singing forest frogs on my cell phone’s alarm. It poured. I went to check on my bike. I wasn’t sure if the front tire was under the cover of the lanai. I was glad I had turned my cell phone off. My normal 5 am grogginess might not have alerted me to the heavy clouds before I set out for my run. I would have gotten drenched.
Instead, I noticed the pulled ham string. I can’t figure out how I did that. Too much running, biking and swimming. I can’t afford to abuse the body too much, as it is the only motor I got to get around town.
I left the water heater on this morning and took a long shower massaging the back of my leg.
Low on papayas, I rode off to the farmer’s market. After church tomorrow I’ll grind up the hill to Safeway to restock the refrigerator with dairy. The hill is getting easier.
It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve been on island and I have yet hit Lava Java. I figured the money I’m saving can be put to better use. Like buying ice cream from the deli across the street. One latte from the coffee shop is worth a pint of Häagen Dazs, which I could down in one sitting, but I’ve restrained my consumption. Pint can last two day. At least so far.
Now that I’m biking everywhere, gas prices on the island are sinking faster than a dead body tossed over board. The fall has actually shocked me. Poor OPEC dudes. When I arrived the price on the street in downtown Kona was $4.27. (It was $4.10 in May and I have no idea how high it got this summer.) Everyday the prices change. Reminds me of when Katrina struck, only in reverse. I thought the prices would hit $4.00 back then. Yesterday I actually saw the guy change the price. He was out in the middle of the afternoon with that long pole changing $3.87 to $3.77. And this morning the price was $3.65. Crap, that was what I paid in New York just before I came out here. Makes me wonder if I didn’t accidentally buy oil stock a few weeks ago.
Instead, I noticed the pulled ham string. I can’t figure out how I did that. Too much running, biking and swimming. I can’t afford to abuse the body too much, as it is the only motor I got to get around town.
I left the water heater on this morning and took a long shower massaging the back of my leg.
Low on papayas, I rode off to the farmer’s market. After church tomorrow I’ll grind up the hill to Safeway to restock the refrigerator with dairy. The hill is getting easier.
It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve been on island and I have yet hit Lava Java. I figured the money I’m saving can be put to better use. Like buying ice cream from the deli across the street. One latte from the coffee shop is worth a pint of Häagen Dazs, which I could down in one sitting, but I’ve restrained my consumption. Pint can last two day. At least so far.
Now that I’m biking everywhere, gas prices on the island are sinking faster than a dead body tossed over board. The fall has actually shocked me. Poor OPEC dudes. When I arrived the price on the street in downtown Kona was $4.27. (It was $4.10 in May and I have no idea how high it got this summer.) Everyday the prices change. Reminds me of when Katrina struck, only in reverse. I thought the prices would hit $4.00 back then. Yesterday I actually saw the guy change the price. He was out in the middle of the afternoon with that long pole changing $3.87 to $3.77. And this morning the price was $3.65. Crap, that was what I paid in New York just before I came out here. Makes me wonder if I didn’t accidentally buy oil stock a few weeks ago.
Friday, October 24, 2008
PuffBall
I don't know what happened to this monster spore maker. About a month ago it grew just down the road from Dad's house. We were on our way to church when I spotted it. I backed the car up to take a second look at what I first thought was a lost soccerball. "Dad, look at the size of that thing."I later came back to take a photo. From this picture you can't fully appreciate the size of this mushroom. Actually, larger than a soccerball.
I haven't seen one this large since I was a kid. They were all over Grey's backyard. When Mike mowed the yard he'd go around them until they died. Then he'd run over the mushrooms sending thick clouds of spores into the sky. No wonder the yard was full of them.
Makes me cough just thinking about it.
Flat Tire
I’m better than most when it comes to wasting a good day. I’ve avoided the computer even though I have an idea for another chapter in The Kayak. My timeline in the book needs work and last night at the sun down, I might have put an idea in place. This might make you think I’m writing. Not really, but at least I’m thinking.
Since I wasn’t pecking away, the void needed to be filled. The room screen got my attention. I began construction last week. Not having a square turned the project into a tedious exercise of measure, measure and measure again. And without a third hand, things slipped around just enough. After more success on the second of the three screens I decided to disassemble the first. It drifted off to one side, just a hair. I bought a square, but it remained lopsided. To eyeball it, without a reference, it didn’t look off, but aligned with the other two… well, if the accuracy involved getting a man on the moon, the poor guy would end up in deep space. This discouraged me enough to let the frames lie on the office floor until I needed a good distraction from writing.
There went the day, sanding and staining and yep, that first one now with a few extra holes is still not right.
I found a writers group and considered attending. It was in south Kona, but I wasn’t up to the nine mile mostly uphill ride to the book store. Sure the ride would have been good for me, leaving me sweaty, tired and fretting about the ride back down the mountain. I'd never enjoy the session. I even considered taking a taxi to the meeting and then riding back. They will be there next week. After all, I haven’t been pushed by a fellow writer since February. Why now when I’ll be back off island in a month. Just another way of wasting time.
But as I fooled around with the stain I noticed a huge thorn sticking out of my rear bike tire. When I yanked it out I heard the tiniest whoosh sound. The tire a little softer than the front got even softer as the afternoon wore on. Good thing I didn't go trudging off to the meeting.
This was good news. When I purchased the tools to change a tire on the road, I imagined the mishap would occur around high noon out on some lava field and I wouldn’t have a drop of water on me. Stinking hot with not a bit of shade, the vultures would soon gather to watch me I labor with the flat tire.
On several occasions I have had flats. Very memorable experiences. All left me stranded. Don Haney rescued me twice. But now I’m riding alone and have not cultivated a network of those who might come chasing after me.
Lucky me, I “practiced” changing and fixing a flat tire in the comforts of my own lanai. It went well. Today’s self-adhesive patches sure beat those thick, rubber, cut-to-size patches and that noxious glue of the old days. Okay, now you know how long it has been since I personally repaired a flat tire. Despite being easier than I expected, I don’t look forward to the day I have to fix one on the side of the road, hunched over the wheel, sweat rolling down my face, and the sun pounding on my back. It’s a good reason to get to know some people in Kona.
Since I wasn’t pecking away, the void needed to be filled. The room screen got my attention. I began construction last week. Not having a square turned the project into a tedious exercise of measure, measure and measure again. And without a third hand, things slipped around just enough. After more success on the second of the three screens I decided to disassemble the first. It drifted off to one side, just a hair. I bought a square, but it remained lopsided. To eyeball it, without a reference, it didn’t look off, but aligned with the other two… well, if the accuracy involved getting a man on the moon, the poor guy would end up in deep space. This discouraged me enough to let the frames lie on the office floor until I needed a good distraction from writing.
There went the day, sanding and staining and yep, that first one now with a few extra holes is still not right.
I found a writers group and considered attending. It was in south Kona, but I wasn’t up to the nine mile mostly uphill ride to the book store. Sure the ride would have been good for me, leaving me sweaty, tired and fretting about the ride back down the mountain. I'd never enjoy the session. I even considered taking a taxi to the meeting and then riding back. They will be there next week. After all, I haven’t been pushed by a fellow writer since February. Why now when I’ll be back off island in a month. Just another way of wasting time.
But as I fooled around with the stain I noticed a huge thorn sticking out of my rear bike tire. When I yanked it out I heard the tiniest whoosh sound. The tire a little softer than the front got even softer as the afternoon wore on. Good thing I didn't go trudging off to the meeting.
This was good news. When I purchased the tools to change a tire on the road, I imagined the mishap would occur around high noon out on some lava field and I wouldn’t have a drop of water on me. Stinking hot with not a bit of shade, the vultures would soon gather to watch me I labor with the flat tire.
On several occasions I have had flats. Very memorable experiences. All left me stranded. Don Haney rescued me twice. But now I’m riding alone and have not cultivated a network of those who might come chasing after me.
Lucky me, I “practiced” changing and fixing a flat tire in the comforts of my own lanai. It went well. Today’s self-adhesive patches sure beat those thick, rubber, cut-to-size patches and that noxious glue of the old days. Okay, now you know how long it has been since I personally repaired a flat tire. Despite being easier than I expected, I don’t look forward to the day I have to fix one on the side of the road, hunched over the wheel, sweat rolling down my face, and the sun pounding on my back. It’s a good reason to get to know some people in Kona.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Collapsing World
The other evening I was across the street waiting for the sun to go down. It isn’t quite the same thing as watching the sun set because more times than not the clouds on the horizon obscure the red ball’s plunge into the Pacific Ocean. It looked promising this particular night as the day had been unusually clear of clouds and the volcano’s vog.
I’ve been coming to this place which is on private property every night. I did the same thing back in April and May. I figured it’d be just a matter of time before someone would approach me, suspecting me of trespassing. This was the night.
Because of his clean pressed shorts and Hawaiian patterned shirt, I assumed he belonged with the lady who had two precocious children who stood on the sea wall yelling at the breakers as the surf roared over the rocks. I didn’t invest more than the two seconds to make that assumption when he sat down three lawn chairs away. He said nothing and since I didn’t want to get involved in any conversations with anyone who lived there, I didn’t acknowledge his presence. But he caught my eye when I looked down the rocky shore line at the three local fisherman casting their lines into the waves.
“Where are you visiting from?” He asked.
“I live here.” Oh, God, I’m going to get into a conversation. I looked around for the lady with the two kids. No where.
He looked surprised. “I thought I had seen you before, but not in awhile.”
I guessed it begged for an explanation. “I spent the summer in New York. Actually, I’m poaching. I live across the street.”
He laughed. “Well, if anyone ever tries to chase you out of here and they will, tell them you are with me. I’m Robert and I am the president of the property association.”
Busted. I apologized for any problems my presence had caused. “I use to go over there.” I pointed to the group of seedy characters gathered on the other side of the property wall, near the fishermen. It was a public access point to the ocean were local color hung out. When they weren’t busy tossing around a football, they were tossing each other into a sea pool. “But they are a little too sketchy for me.”
We engaged in some additional small talk. I figured I had to be polite now that I have permission to be there. Robert wanted to know where in NY I spent the summer.
“Saratoga.”
“Saratoga Springs," Robert corrected.
“That’s right. You know it?” I waited for him to tell me he had been to the race track.
“Nice place. I use to live on Loughberry Road. Remember when the Vichy bottling plant burned down?"
“You are kidding me. Small world.”
“Yeah. My father worked for the paper before taking a Gannett job in Newburg.
“Your father worked at the paper?” I asked. This was unbelievable.
“The Saratogian.”
“My Dad did too. A printer for 33 years.” I looked out across the ocean expecting to see the small world collapse. Maybe someone planted a Candid Camera in a palm tree.
It turned out Robert had also spent twenty years in Santa Cruz. I was tempted to ask if he knew the captain of the Cosmic Muffin. But that seemed too weird. Instead I asked, “Um. You’re not a sailor, are you?”
“No, Powerboats.” He said.
Thank God.
I’ve been coming to this place which is on private property every night. I did the same thing back in April and May. I figured it’d be just a matter of time before someone would approach me, suspecting me of trespassing. This was the night.
Because of his clean pressed shorts and Hawaiian patterned shirt, I assumed he belonged with the lady who had two precocious children who stood on the sea wall yelling at the breakers as the surf roared over the rocks. I didn’t invest more than the two seconds to make that assumption when he sat down three lawn chairs away. He said nothing and since I didn’t want to get involved in any conversations with anyone who lived there, I didn’t acknowledge his presence. But he caught my eye when I looked down the rocky shore line at the three local fisherman casting their lines into the waves.
“Where are you visiting from?” He asked.
“I live here.” Oh, God, I’m going to get into a conversation. I looked around for the lady with the two kids. No where.
He looked surprised. “I thought I had seen you before, but not in awhile.”
I guessed it begged for an explanation. “I spent the summer in New York. Actually, I’m poaching. I live across the street.”
He laughed. “Well, if anyone ever tries to chase you out of here and they will, tell them you are with me. I’m Robert and I am the president of the property association.”
Busted. I apologized for any problems my presence had caused. “I use to go over there.” I pointed to the group of seedy characters gathered on the other side of the property wall, near the fishermen. It was a public access point to the ocean were local color hung out. When they weren’t busy tossing around a football, they were tossing each other into a sea pool. “But they are a little too sketchy for me.”
We engaged in some additional small talk. I figured I had to be polite now that I have permission to be there. Robert wanted to know where in NY I spent the summer.
“Saratoga.”
“Saratoga Springs," Robert corrected.
“That’s right. You know it?” I waited for him to tell me he had been to the race track.
“Nice place. I use to live on Loughberry Road. Remember when the Vichy bottling plant burned down?"
“You are kidding me. Small world.”
“Yeah. My father worked for the paper before taking a Gannett job in Newburg.
“Your father worked at the paper?” I asked. This was unbelievable.
“The Saratogian.”
“My Dad did too. A printer for 33 years.” I looked out across the ocean expecting to see the small world collapse. Maybe someone planted a Candid Camera in a palm tree.
It turned out Robert had also spent twenty years in Santa Cruz. I was tempted to ask if he knew the captain of the Cosmic Muffin. But that seemed too weird. Instead I asked, “Um. You’re not a sailor, are you?”
“No, Powerboats.” He said.
Thank God.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Library Card
Yes, I got it, but the librarian wasn't there. Rats. Or maybe that was good, because the assistant at the front desk said she wasn't going to charge me for a replacement card. Saved ten dollars. But she told me not to lose this one.
At some point I'll change my cell phone's area code, but that means a lot of documentation has to change and I'm not ready to embark on that project. Besides, I have too many books for sale that have the Tennessee Vols 865 area code.
At some point I'll change my cell phone's area code, but that means a lot of documentation has to change and I'm not ready to embark on that project. Besides, I have too many books for sale that have the Tennessee Vols 865 area code.
Monday, October 20, 2008
I’m Kama'aina
I didn’t want a Hawaiian driver’s license. I hated to depart with the one from Tennessee. It was still good for another nine months. When I renewed that one, I was headed to the Peace Corps. But I want a Hawaiian library card and without proof of residency in the form of a license, state ID or local bank statement, I’m unable to get one. I’ve already been through this with the librarian. It doesn’t matter that I am registered to vote in Hawaii. Strange how I can vote here in the national election, but damned if I can’t check out a book.
I took a cursory look in the mirror before I left my condo. That photo is something I got to live with until 2015. I fussed with my hair just a little. I don’t have a hair drier. I need a cut. There’s no make up in the bathroom and the best I thing I can wear is a clean blue t-shirt. I arrived a little after 8 AM and already there were several people in line. Back in April when I tried to get a license but didn’t have my Social Security card, I procured an application so that was already completed. In the tiny office, manned with just two clerks, the line efficiently moved along.
“Are those the glasses you use for driving?”
“Oh yes.”
Pointing to the machine that looks like a microscope, she said, “Okay, look in there and identity any three of the twelve signs.”
I took the first three. “A speed limit sign 35MPH, a pedestrian crossing and a divided highway ahead.”
“What about number nine?”
“The familiar eight-sided stop sign.” I peered over the lenses of the machine and smirked at the teller. She smiled back. I should've said octagon.
I adequately read out loud the numbers on line six and passed my vision test. The clerk handed me a 30 question test, with an answer sheet and told me I could miss six out of the thirty questions. The first question was about the number of days I had to notify the department of an address change and whether I inform them by mail, in person or by phone. I tried not to panic. Maybe I should have studied, thinking of that time I spent with my best friend Barbara on the beach in North Carolina cramming for the test. When was that? 1987? Let’s use a little logic here. Once done, I refused to check my work and almost paid for it. I pass the test by the skin of my teeth.
She gave me my corrected test and asked me to review it. Good move Hawaii. I would have argued one question, the pedestrian crossing sign I identified in the eye exam. It really is a school crossing sign. Aren’t these little kids pedestrians? Oh well. If I go for the motorcycle license I definitely will study.
My photo came out very nicely. How can anyone not have a good photo when you are asked to look at Stitch, the stuffed alien of the Lilo and Stitch movie? Too make matters even better by the time it's transferred onto the license, the image is softened to a nice blur which erases all those wrinkles. I look twenty years younger. I recommend any time you are in Hawaii, get yourself a drivers license.
“If everything is correct, you can take it and go.” After putting my license into my wallet, Iwent outside, jumped on my bike and rode home.
Library is tomorrow. Place is closed on Mondays.
I took a cursory look in the mirror before I left my condo. That photo is something I got to live with until 2015. I fussed with my hair just a little. I don’t have a hair drier. I need a cut. There’s no make up in the bathroom and the best I thing I can wear is a clean blue t-shirt. I arrived a little after 8 AM and already there were several people in line. Back in April when I tried to get a license but didn’t have my Social Security card, I procured an application so that was already completed. In the tiny office, manned with just two clerks, the line efficiently moved along.
“Are those the glasses you use for driving?”
“Oh yes.”
Pointing to the machine that looks like a microscope, she said, “Okay, look in there and identity any three of the twelve signs.”
I took the first three. “A speed limit sign 35MPH, a pedestrian crossing and a divided highway ahead.”
“What about number nine?”
“The familiar eight-sided stop sign.” I peered over the lenses of the machine and smirked at the teller. She smiled back. I should've said octagon.
I adequately read out loud the numbers on line six and passed my vision test. The clerk handed me a 30 question test, with an answer sheet and told me I could miss six out of the thirty questions. The first question was about the number of days I had to notify the department of an address change and whether I inform them by mail, in person or by phone. I tried not to panic. Maybe I should have studied, thinking of that time I spent with my best friend Barbara on the beach in North Carolina cramming for the test. When was that? 1987? Let’s use a little logic here. Once done, I refused to check my work and almost paid for it. I pass the test by the skin of my teeth.
She gave me my corrected test and asked me to review it. Good move Hawaii. I would have argued one question, the pedestrian crossing sign I identified in the eye exam. It really is a school crossing sign. Aren’t these little kids pedestrians? Oh well. If I go for the motorcycle license I definitely will study.
My photo came out very nicely. How can anyone not have a good photo when you are asked to look at Stitch, the stuffed alien of the Lilo and Stitch movie? Too make matters even better by the time it's transferred onto the license, the image is softened to a nice blur which erases all those wrinkles. I look twenty years younger. I recommend any time you are in Hawaii, get yourself a drivers license.
“If everything is correct, you can take it and go.” After putting my license into my wallet, Iwent outside, jumped on my bike and rode home.
Library is tomorrow. Place is closed on Mondays.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Succineas
The sprinkler system, left unattended for the past six months, occasionally if not mysteriously falls asleep on the job. What it has been doing in my absence, I can’t say. Without any reasonable explanation, (yeah I have replaced the batteries), the LED face disappears and the whole system become dysfunctional. I’ve yet to hear the little jets squirt any water on my Areca Palms and Ti plants. Fortunately, it has rained a couple of days and I have taken the hose to the plants.I’ve reset the timer while the display had been visible, only to discover the display vanished some time later. A few wraps upside the box yielded no results. This morning, finding a visible readout, I reset the clock, which was never correct after the gismo had its nap, and programmed the watering to being ten minutes later at 9 AM, under my watchful eye. This was a more reasonable hour than 5 AM, when I am either sleeping, experiencing a hot flash or running down Alii Drive.
The system obediently responded to the programming. For ten minutes my little hedge row of palms and ti, and the unrelenting herd of snails showered in the tiny spray that encircles the slab of concrete outside of my lanai.
Yes, herd of snails. I’ve done a little research and I am pretty sure they are not the endangered singing tree snail of Hawaii. I found a half pound of the slugs nested together like snakes in a tomb of an Indiana Jones movie. Okay there was no hissing. When I find one or two I unceremoniously fling them over the fence into the road where the stubby little creatures meet their demise. But on this occasion, I was staring at the equivalent meal-size portion of a Burger King Whopper. Thinking the volume of snail goo would cause an accident, I put them in a bag and threw them in the rubbish, as we call it here in Hawaii.Are these things edible? I thought about the snails I was bullied into eating in Paris. I was glad no one else wanted to sample my appetizers, for they were so delicious that now whenever I’m in Paris I order them.
It is one thing to say you like a juicy Filet Mignon and quite another to stand in the pasture next to a cow and contemplate the chore of obtaining that piece of flesh to slap on the back yard barbeque. Snails on the plate that came from behind a double swinging door to some French kitchen, are not the same thing as an entangled mass of Snot with Hats plucked from the damp ground.
Photos: my arecas and ti, taken six months apart. Maybe next year I'll have the fence covered.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Who Cares About Joe?
Let's not get distracted from the issue. Joe the Plumber is not the issue. The issue is not what Joe does, what taxes he didn’t pay, what union he didn’t join, what license he doesn’t have. The scrutiny of politics has gotten so bad that any good and competent person must be crazy to run for office. Let's look at Sarah Palin. Now an ordinary citizen can't ask a simple question. Why, because the answer is scary.
The issue is that Joe makes more than $250,000. Left-wing liberalism (Obama) thinks you make too much money. Obama don’t want you to make that much money. (How much money is too much?)
Obama says he doesn't want to punish Joe, but he must. That's his religion to take your wealth away from you. So he is going to take that money you earned (higher taxes) and spread it around by inefficiently siphoning it through the government system. Thanks Joe.
If you don’t believe this, then vote Obama. And I’ll wait for the check in the mail, because as a writer, I have earned far, far less than $250,000. Or easier yet, just send me your money. Meanwhile, ask yourself why the media focuses on Joe the Plumber? Maybe because they don't want you to know what Obama said to Joe. Swish, swish, brush it away.
The beautiful thing is that we should all be poor. It's not about trickle down economics. It’s bubble up poverty. There isn’t a policy on the left that will aid the much distressed economy to turn around. Have you heard any of them say as much? Of course not. It's always about wealth rearrangement.
Send your big fat checks ASAP. I got a property tax bill due this month. If you believe what I said, you should tell me to get off my butt and get a job.
The issue is that Joe makes more than $250,000. Left-wing liberalism (Obama) thinks you make too much money. Obama don’t want you to make that much money. (How much money is too much?)
Obama says he doesn't want to punish Joe, but he must. That's his religion to take your wealth away from you. So he is going to take that money you earned (higher taxes) and spread it around by inefficiently siphoning it through the government system. Thanks Joe.
If you don’t believe this, then vote Obama. And I’ll wait for the check in the mail, because as a writer, I have earned far, far less than $250,000. Or easier yet, just send me your money. Meanwhile, ask yourself why the media focuses on Joe the Plumber? Maybe because they don't want you to know what Obama said to Joe. Swish, swish, brush it away.
The beautiful thing is that we should all be poor. It's not about trickle down economics. It’s bubble up poverty. There isn’t a policy on the left that will aid the much distressed economy to turn around. Have you heard any of them say as much? Of course not. It's always about wealth rearrangement.
Send your big fat checks ASAP. I got a property tax bill due this month. If you believe what I said, you should tell me to get off my butt and get a job.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Life On A Bike
Somewhere between here and there is a Bose Radio, two refinished boxes and the cushion covers I sewed for the wicker chair. Although the post mistress (Is there another name for that job?) said the packages were expected to arrive Oct 6, I knew better. I’ve lived on the Big Island before. Plan on as long as six weeks for parcel. Trouble with that plan is that instead of using Styrofoam peanuts to pack my stuff I used my clothes. My on island wardrobe consisted of a couple of t-shirts, a pair of shorts and some underwear, stuff I had left on the island back in May. Not being a slave to fashion and having access to a washer and dryer, I’m not hurting unless some good looking guy invites me out for dinner. However, I would like to have my sports bras and swim suit so I can turn my 5 am walks into trots to the Kailua Pier. And I’d like to do some laps in the community pool. If the packages don’t arrive soon I probably break down when the new Sports Authority opens Oct 17th. I hate to spend the money, but…
I’ve made an appointment to tune up my Cannondale mountain bike. At least UPS got it here when they said they would, albeit dinged and damaged. In the days gone by, I would have fiddled with it myself. As a teen I’d tweak the gears on my Schwinn Varsity, the first ten speed in the neighborhood. In those days I had aspirations of riding coast to coast. Instead I joined the Army (that deviation has an untold story) and took it to Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey where it was promptly stolen despite being under lock and key. Because it was responsibly secured, the Army gave my $73.50 for it. Once I got to Alaska I rolled the money into a Schwinn Paramount, a gem of a bike I still have. Classic.
At the Bike Works I armed myself with a spare inner tube, a set of tire changing tools, a patch kit and a CO2 cartridge. I purchased a little seat bag to carry my supplies, insurance I hope I never need. Now I can roam the back alleys of Kona and not worry too much about a flat tire. That is if I have the patience to change one.
I set out on my first shopping excursion once my gears were all aligned and falling smoothly into place. I wish the same could be said for me. My ass was sore from the previous day’s ride and the hill to Safeway and Walmart appeared pretty tall in the noon day sun. I made it up there without dismounting and pushing.
I learned that two quarts of yogurt and 32 ounces of cottage cheese, along with five papaya, three tomatoes, a hunking avocado and a bunch of bananas is a bit heavy when added to a back pack containing a locking cable.
I’ve made an appointment to tune up my Cannondale mountain bike. At least UPS got it here when they said they would, albeit dinged and damaged. In the days gone by, I would have fiddled with it myself. As a teen I’d tweak the gears on my Schwinn Varsity, the first ten speed in the neighborhood. In those days I had aspirations of riding coast to coast. Instead I joined the Army (that deviation has an untold story) and took it to Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey where it was promptly stolen despite being under lock and key. Because it was responsibly secured, the Army gave my $73.50 for it. Once I got to Alaska I rolled the money into a Schwinn Paramount, a gem of a bike I still have. Classic.
At the Bike Works I armed myself with a spare inner tube, a set of tire changing tools, a patch kit and a CO2 cartridge. I purchased a little seat bag to carry my supplies, insurance I hope I never need. Now I can roam the back alleys of Kona and not worry too much about a flat tire. That is if I have the patience to change one.
I set out on my first shopping excursion once my gears were all aligned and falling smoothly into place. I wish the same could be said for me. My ass was sore from the previous day’s ride and the hill to Safeway and Walmart appeared pretty tall in the noon day sun. I made it up there without dismounting and pushing.
I learned that two quarts of yogurt and 32 ounces of cottage cheese, along with five papaya, three tomatoes, a hunking avocado and a bunch of bananas is a bit heavy when added to a back pack containing a locking cable.
No Solicitation Rules
Condo living is all about rules, but ten year old AJ Albert was on a mission. He appeared at my wide open front door soliciting money for the Kahakai Elementary School. Despite the rule violation and a concern for creating a reputation in the complex, when it comes to kids and their personal causes, I'm a sucker.
I invited the little fifth grader to come in. Like a polite Hawaiian boy, he kicked off his slippers before he entered. I grilled him about his fundraising, while I reviewed his paper work. I feared I might have an emerging Obama on my hands and wanted to nip his reallocation of my resources to his pocket in the bud. However, his credentials seemed in order. I scribbled the name of his school and his teacher on a scrap piece of paper.
“Where do you live, AJ?” I asked.
“Building N,” he replied. In a large complex of buildings that runs twice through the alphabet twice by doubling the letters up, the residents understand that a letter is as good as a GPS coordinate. For example, I live in A103. That’s the first building, first floor, third unit from the right.
When I asked him where the school was located, AJ gave precise directions all without the use of street names, which was more than I expected from the boy who gave clipped answers to all my other questions. This was useful information as Kahakai Elementary is the location of my polling place, and I had no idea where it was. AJ added he took the bus to school.
AJ’s school is having a small race next weekend. A class triathlon. The money was for equipment. "You going to race?"
He thought for a couple of seconds. "Umm, I don't know."
I guess a ten year old doesn’t need to train. They just show up and do it.
I wrote my name down on his log sheet and stuffed two dollars into his manila envelop. That was all I had after dropping a few dollars in the bucket at church that morning. “Anyone ask you as many questions as I did?”
He shrugged as if to save me the embarrassment, “Not really.”
Well, maybe he’ll spread the word that the crazy lady in A103 asks too many questions and then doesn’t give that much. Not worth your time. Hey, some money is better than no money. That's going to be my reputation. Maybe I should have given him a cookie.
I invited the little fifth grader to come in. Like a polite Hawaiian boy, he kicked off his slippers before he entered. I grilled him about his fundraising, while I reviewed his paper work. I feared I might have an emerging Obama on my hands and wanted to nip his reallocation of my resources to his pocket in the bud. However, his credentials seemed in order. I scribbled the name of his school and his teacher on a scrap piece of paper.
“Where do you live, AJ?” I asked.
“Building N,” he replied. In a large complex of buildings that runs twice through the alphabet twice by doubling the letters up, the residents understand that a letter is as good as a GPS coordinate. For example, I live in A103. That’s the first building, first floor, third unit from the right.
When I asked him where the school was located, AJ gave precise directions all without the use of street names, which was more than I expected from the boy who gave clipped answers to all my other questions. This was useful information as Kahakai Elementary is the location of my polling place, and I had no idea where it was. AJ added he took the bus to school.
AJ’s school is having a small race next weekend. A class triathlon. The money was for equipment. "You going to race?"
He thought for a couple of seconds. "Umm, I don't know."
I guess a ten year old doesn’t need to train. They just show up and do it.
I wrote my name down on his log sheet and stuffed two dollars into his manila envelop. That was all I had after dropping a few dollars in the bucket at church that morning. “Anyone ask you as many questions as I did?”
He shrugged as if to save me the embarrassment, “Not really.”
Well, maybe he’ll spread the word that the crazy lady in A103 asks too many questions and then doesn’t give that much. Not worth your time. Hey, some money is better than no money. That's going to be my reputation. Maybe I should have given him a cookie.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Water Station
With another eighteen miles to go, an Iron Man participant grabs a soaking wet sponge and douses himself with water before gulping a two cups of GatorAde.By mid afternoon, 12 hours after the race started, the participants passing through the water station were moving slower and growing older. Most family members and supporters were waiting back at the transition area, finish line. Out here, in front of my condo, they needed “Rah-Rah, Go Team” cheering. David and I took up the call.
Perched on my fence for a good view, I used my camera’s telephoto lens to spot runners’ numbers as they came to the water station on Alii Drive.
I called the number out to David who looked up the participant’s name, age and hometown in the Iron Man program guide. 
When the runners passed my condo we’d yell out their name. Exhausted sweaty faces, cast downward suddenly looked up, surprised to hear their names called out. Each runner wondered, “who knows me?” Of course they didn't know us, but their tired faces turned all smiles as we gave them the thumbs up, yelled words of encouragement and told them we’d leave the light on.
We’d sang Oh, Canada for our friends from the land of the Maple Leaf. David yelled out in Spanish for those who came from South America. And we just did our best not to botch the names of the Japanese runners. With participants from 46 countries, we were a little limited on cheer, but a name is universally appreciated.
We recognized the home town runners from Kona and from the state of Hawaii. We tried to acknowledge the state when we remembered the motto or nickname. Unfortunately after a 2.6 mile swim and 112 mile bike ride, some of the runners, just two miles into the marathon, were already totally out of it. They never heard us shout out.
Cheese Cutter
My cousin David and his wife Kate, here for IronMan, brought their organics with them. Totally, organic. Mi casa es su casa and they made my place their little hacienda. In doing so, they discovered that my kitchen is a few utensils short of gourmet. Small in size and limited on gadgets.
While scouting the contents of my cupboards, David asked, “You got a can opener?”
"Sure", I replied rummaging around the kitchen drawer. Just where is that thing? I would have sworn I did. After all, Dad was sick in February and I gave him a bowl of chicken noodle soup. How’d I open that? No such luck.
“Do you have a strainer for the pasta?” Kate asked preparing noodles for dinner.
“Ahh, nope.”
“A cheese grater, maybe?”
“That I got.” I proudly produced one I had shipped over in April.
“I know better than to ask for a cheese cutter.”
“That’s right, Cuz.”
And Kate never asked for a potato peeler when she scrapped the horse carrots, as she calls them.
Before they left David asked me if I could use anything. Sort of like a house warming gift. I looked at the living room wall with the inherited portrait of a young Hawaiian women holding a bunch of anthuriums. Every hotel room on the island has a similar poster. “I could use a big screen TV.”
“How about the box that a big screen TV comes in?”
“That’ll do.”
I said good-bye to my Other Side Cousins Sunday afternoon. I turned my attention to laundry and was sitting on the lanai reading the paper when I heard the monster 2500 Ram diesel truck pull into my parking stall. They returned bearing gifts.
Yep, I now own a cheese cutter. I do have a honking piece of cheese in the refrigerator.
While scouting the contents of my cupboards, David asked, “You got a can opener?”
"Sure", I replied rummaging around the kitchen drawer. Just where is that thing? I would have sworn I did. After all, Dad was sick in February and I gave him a bowl of chicken noodle soup. How’d I open that? No such luck.
“Do you have a strainer for the pasta?” Kate asked preparing noodles for dinner.
“Ahh, nope.”
“A cheese grater, maybe?”
“That I got.” I proudly produced one I had shipped over in April.
“I know better than to ask for a cheese cutter.”
“That’s right, Cuz.”
And Kate never asked for a potato peeler when she scrapped the horse carrots, as she calls them.
Before they left David asked me if I could use anything. Sort of like a house warming gift. I looked at the living room wall with the inherited portrait of a young Hawaiian women holding a bunch of anthuriums. Every hotel room on the island has a similar poster. “I could use a big screen TV.”
“How about the box that a big screen TV comes in?”
“That’ll do.”
I said good-bye to my Other Side Cousins Sunday afternoon. I turned my attention to laundry and was sitting on the lanai reading the paper when I heard the monster 2500 Ram diesel truck pull into my parking stall. They returned bearing gifts.
Yep, I now own a cheese cutter. I do have a honking piece of cheese in the refrigerator.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Settle In
The first week in Kona, Hawaii has been crazy busy. I rented a car to make the pilgrimage to Costco where I stocked up on salmon, tamales and the ever-haunting king size container of mixed nuts. (I’ve been tossing the filberts to the mongoose lurking in the back yard, but the birds are beating him to the stash.) I registered for a Safeway a membership card and I picked up two quart-size yogurts – two for eight dollars. At Home Depot I culled through the fir one by twos for construction of a divider screen to hide the air conditioner. It would be easier to get rid of the unit, but there will be days that I might break down and use the thing. Meanwhile, the divider will block the view of the hefty appliance that sits in the living room. While cruising the store aisles I picked up some wood stain and finish, a paint brush and sandpaper. Project ready!
All these construction supplies and tools previously purchased has left little room in the small storage closet on the lanai for my bike, which UPS managed to ding up. Despite careful packing, reinforcement of the box and covering the sprocket, Big Brown delivered a damaged box with the bike’s gear teeth gnashing through a wide hole.
It looked like an angry shark tried to escape. The skewer was bent and half the quick release was missing. It cost $8.00 to fix but the scrapped paint on the frame will be a permanent reminder that UPS Shipping sucks.
I needed to rent the car after three days. I planned to throw my bike in the back seat and ride back into town, but my Hilo-side Cuz' came over to the Kona-side to volunteer for Ironman duties. 4000 people are needed to support 1800 athletes participating in a grueling triathlon – 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride and 26.2-mile run. (Makes my 60 pool laps, and 4 mile trots look embarrassing, except for the fact I can.) On Thursday, Cousin David and his wife Kate coordinated their arrival to meet me at the airport. Considering it was 108 on Saturday out at the Energy Lab, I avoided the 10 mile ride.
Now I am relying on my bike to motor around town. This sets my ass in the chair in from of my new desk. Time to write.
All these construction supplies and tools previously purchased has left little room in the small storage closet on the lanai for my bike, which UPS managed to ding up. Despite careful packing, reinforcement of the box and covering the sprocket, Big Brown delivered a damaged box with the bike’s gear teeth gnashing through a wide hole.
It looked like an angry shark tried to escape. The skewer was bent and half the quick release was missing. It cost $8.00 to fix but the scrapped paint on the frame will be a permanent reminder that UPS Shipping sucks.I needed to rent the car after three days. I planned to throw my bike in the back seat and ride back into town, but my Hilo-side Cuz' came over to the Kona-side to volunteer for Ironman duties. 4000 people are needed to support 1800 athletes participating in a grueling triathlon – 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride and 26.2-mile run. (Makes my 60 pool laps, and 4 mile trots look embarrassing, except for the fact I can.) On Thursday, Cousin David and his wife Kate coordinated their arrival to meet me at the airport. Considering it was 108 on Saturday out at the Energy Lab, I avoided the 10 mile ride.
Now I am relying on my bike to motor around town. This sets my ass in the chair in from of my new desk. Time to write.
Salt on the Rim
“I need to see some ID.”
Some ID? How much? My passport, NY State Non-driver ID, Tennessee license, Social Security card. How about my Saratoga Springs Library card? Birth Certificate? She’s just doing her job. I smirked and released a little laugh, but reached for my wallet.
“I’m sorry,” the waitress, an Asian women wearing a floral shirt, said.
“No problem. You’re not the first person who asked me for it.” It was mid-afternoon, but the airport lounge was packed with travelers corralled into the front section of the bar. The back tables had been barricaded off with a rope drooped from three chairs. Huge flat screen high definition TVs filled the dimly lit room with Vikings and Saints. Monday Night Football at three in the afternoon, Honolulu time.
The old rules for flying don’t apply to the surviving competitor airlines that shuttle passengers between the Hawaiian islands.
“It will be $50.00 to change to an earlier flight,” the service counter agent for Hawaiian Airlines said.
“I can buy a nice meal for that price.” I ordered a sliced tomato topped with thick mozzarella cheese drizzled with a vinegar and oil dressing. On the side, a ciabatti that soon would turn rock hard after being zapped in a microwave. I hunkered down for the five hours layover.
“And a margarita on the rocks with salt on the rim. Make that top shelf,” I added.
“I’ll see what I can do.” She gave me a slight bow and hurried off, but soon returned to verify I was of the drinking age. Either that or she wanted to confirm I was Valerie Perez, the author of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. NOT.
The margarita went down as easily as the penalty flags were falling in favor of the Vikings. I killed the two hours it took the New Orleans team to make the first two quarters look like a high school scrimmage. At the half, I wandered downstairs to the Japanese gardens and found the pagoda with a vacant bench. Surrounded by mottled Koi, I stretched out on the concrete bench. The sun had already disappeared behind the buildings. Fourteen hours of travel behind me, six time zones away from where I started and a touch of tequila made it easy to fall asleep.
The stiff neck woke me. I slowly nudged my head off the backpack, working the kinks loose from my neck. I’ll pay for that. My flight was scheduled to leave within the hour so slung my camera bag over my shoulder and set off to the far end of the airport. Estimated arrival time in Kona - 8:30 PM.
That was a week ago. What the heck have I been doing?
Some ID? How much? My passport, NY State Non-driver ID, Tennessee license, Social Security card. How about my Saratoga Springs Library card? Birth Certificate? She’s just doing her job. I smirked and released a little laugh, but reached for my wallet.
“I’m sorry,” the waitress, an Asian women wearing a floral shirt, said.
“No problem. You’re not the first person who asked me for it.” It was mid-afternoon, but the airport lounge was packed with travelers corralled into the front section of the bar. The back tables had been barricaded off with a rope drooped from three chairs. Huge flat screen high definition TVs filled the dimly lit room with Vikings and Saints. Monday Night Football at three in the afternoon, Honolulu time.
The old rules for flying don’t apply to the surviving competitor airlines that shuttle passengers between the Hawaiian islands.
“It will be $50.00 to change to an earlier flight,” the service counter agent for Hawaiian Airlines said.
“I can buy a nice meal for that price.” I ordered a sliced tomato topped with thick mozzarella cheese drizzled with a vinegar and oil dressing. On the side, a ciabatti that soon would turn rock hard after being zapped in a microwave. I hunkered down for the five hours layover.
“And a margarita on the rocks with salt on the rim. Make that top shelf,” I added.
“I’ll see what I can do.” She gave me a slight bow and hurried off, but soon returned to verify I was of the drinking age. Either that or she wanted to confirm I was Valerie Perez, the author of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. NOT.
The margarita went down as easily as the penalty flags were falling in favor of the Vikings. I killed the two hours it took the New Orleans team to make the first two quarters look like a high school scrimmage. At the half, I wandered downstairs to the Japanese gardens and found the pagoda with a vacant bench. Surrounded by mottled Koi, I stretched out on the concrete bench. The sun had already disappeared behind the buildings. Fourteen hours of travel behind me, six time zones away from where I started and a touch of tequila made it easy to fall asleep.
The stiff neck woke me. I slowly nudged my head off the backpack, working the kinks loose from my neck. I’ll pay for that. My flight was scheduled to leave within the hour so slung my camera bag over my shoulder and set off to the far end of the airport. Estimated arrival time in Kona - 8:30 PM.
That was a week ago. What the heck have I been doing?
Friday, October 10, 2008
Re-Do?
Considering how the “bailout” was suppose to be just that and how the stock market has “responded” since it was signed into LAW, don’t you think we should stop payment on the $700 billion for services not delivered?
I'm going to be pretty darn upset if I have to go out and get a real job at a time when nobody can find one. "Retirement" is going to suck for many Boomers.
I'm going to be pretty darn upset if I have to go out and get a real job at a time when nobody can find one. "Retirement" is going to suck for many Boomers.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Putting Away Summer
This weekend, Dad packed away with air conditioners that were harnessed during one hot week in June. And in the afternoon of one brisk, but sunny Saturday we covered the RV that made one quick trip around the block to test a new battery and a short drive to the garage to get the annual inspection. We spent more time blasting dead mouse stink out of the Rig this week than the entire summer. Before Dad threw the tarp over the carriage, I swabbed the roof of tree pitch and dead leaves. From my perch I listened to short tempered blue jays squabble over the sumac berries. Chipmunks, their tiny mouths packed so full of nuts and seeds look like they just returned from a painful trip to the dentist. From one dead tree branch to another woodpeckers harvested the last of the seasons insects.During a walk around the block before escaping from what is inevitable – winter – I pulled the hood of my sweat shirt over my head. A raid on the neighbor’s raspberry patch where the occasional bumble bee drifted searching for nectar yielded a few berries summer forgot. In the brush behind Grey’s barn, a tangle of wild grapes offered a flavorful spike on my tongue, and a memory of afternoons after school drinking in the long rays before the Hadadorn’s Mountain enhaled the last warm breath from the air. Only then would I come home with a blue tongue and stained fingers.
It’s the color that spins yesterday in my head. Apricot, pumpkin and carrot. Plum, eggplant and beet. Cinnamon, nutmeg and mustard. But this year, like the economy, the feast is leaner. Even the trees that traditionally display God’s brilliance – the maples at the far end of Parkhurst Road – have yielded to a wet and cool summer.
Boys In The Band
The smooth voice of Tim McGraw tinged through the cheap speakers of the salon at MasterCuts compliments of a country station out of Corinth, New York. Since half of this one horse town burned to the ground back in February, I thought it odd that they even had a radio station. But then the town had two Stewart’s convenient shops until the fire.My hairstylist asked if I listened to country. “Use to,” I replied. I watched her reflection in the mirror. She concentrated on the torture inflicted on my scalp as she pulled my hair through the tiny holes in the cap. I confessed that I didn’t listen to much music. These days I can’t tell you what group has the latest hit, what the current trends are, and when some celeb shows up on the front cover of a checkout counter tabloid, I don’t have a clue who it is unless it's the tired old face of OJ Simpson trudging off to jail.
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When I joined the Peace Corps, I listened to CDs of my “in the day” favorites. That, by the way, didn’t include medleys from Men at Work. I never made the transition to I-Pods or MP3 players. In my Jeep, all presets are on talk radio, Christian Rock or, I confess, NPR, but only so I can enjoy those crazy Magliozzi Brothers of Car Talk fame.Coincidentally on the same day I confessed my musical abstention I received a head’s up that the Gordon Stone Band was playing at the Parting Glass in Saratoga Springs, New York.
The first time I heard the Gordon Stone Band I had been in Bourne, Massachusetts. It was August 2006 and I had just started out on my book tour for The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin in Mom and Dad’s RV. Camped on the banks of the Cape Cod Canal, I was determined to meet as many people as possible on the East Coast. My attempt to promote the book.
That evening I sat on a park bench and absorbed a New England summer listening to the sweet bluegrass tunes. It wasn’t your ridge- running Tennessee pickin’ bluegrass. Combine a unique flavor of hip-cat Jazz, with a tangy taste of the islands, a dash of an Irish toe tapping jig and a sweet aroma of Vermont mountain air. No, I won’t even pretend to be a music reviewer, but these boys are good.
New to the group since I last saw them at the Albany Tulip Festival in 2007 is Sean Preece,
on drums and percussion. Sean brings an electric enthusiasm to the instrumentals of Gordon Stone and Jon McCartan. His pure, unadulterated freedom makes him just about as fun to watch as to listen to. Totally uninhibited Sean is as animated as a cartoon character with facial expressions as wide ranging as his talent. Next to the youthful veteran trance of 
Jon McCartan on bass, who is a mere year older, Sean is as different as a running brook is to an ocean wave. Gordon Stone attracts God-given talented youth with good heads on their shoulders. Sean is as a humble as any well-groomed-newly-called up pitcher to the big leagues for the October Classic.If you find yourself in the Vermont taking in the fall colors, or the ice-blue ski slopes on a crystal day be sure to check out their website to find a local venue. You won’t be disappointed. For me, I’m taking this music to Kona, Hawaii next week.
All the best to the Boys in the Band and to Deb, one proud Mom.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Debate
Here’s my theory. In order to have a rookie candidate blindside the opponent send her out on a couple of interviews to purposely look weak, confused and unprepared. Soften up the bias media and let the competition drop his guard. Take a very biased moderator and you got planned ambush. She’ll come out smelling like a rose, looking like a killer, and no one is going to second guess Sarah Palin’s being a heart beat away from the Presidency.
It's An Emergency!
If it was such a freaking emergency, why did all this garbage get into the Emergency Economic Stablization Act of 2008? If we had a credit problem, how do all these add-on provisions help? The answer - it doesn't. They tack these on to sweeten the pot for the vote in the House. Yep, you can put lipstick on a pig and pork in a bill, and it still isn't a luau. No wonder Muslims don't mess with swine.
Sorry for turning my blog into a political vent, but this stuff is impacting me. My head is about to explode and I haven't been able to get through to my representative. See the last line. I think I am a tax indifferent party.
TITLE I—ALTERNATIVE MINIMUM TAX RELIEF
Sec. 101. Extension of alternative minimum tax relief for nonrefundable personal credits.
Sec. 102. Extension of increased alternative minimum tax exemption amount.
Sec. 103. Increase of AMT refundable credit amount for individuals with longterm
unused credits for prior year minimum tax liability, etc.
TITLE II—EXTENSION OF INDIVIDUAL TAX PROVISIONS
Sec. 201. Deduction for State and local sales taxes.
Sec. 202. Deduction of qualified tuition and related expenses.
Sec. 203. Deduction for certain expenses of elementary and secondary school
teachers.
Sec. 204. Additional standard deduction for real property taxes for nonitemizers.
Sec. 205. Tax-free distributions from individual retirement plans for charitable
purposes.
Sec. 206. Treatment of certain dividends of regulated investment companies.
Sec. 207. Stock in RIC for purposes of determining estates of nonresidents not
citizens.
Sec. 208. Qualified investment entities.
TITLE III—EXTENSION OF BUSINESS TAX PROVISIONS
Sec. 301. Extension and modification of research credit.
Sec. 302. New markets tax credit.
Sec. 303. Subpart F exception for active financing income.
Sec. 304. Extension of look-thru rule for related controlled foreign corporations.
Sec. 305. Extension of 15-year straight-line cost recovery for qualified leasehold
improvements and qualified restaurant improvements; 15-year straight-line cost recovery for certain improvements to retail space.
Sec. 306. Modification of tax treatment of certain payments to controlling exempt organizations.
Sec. 307. Basis adjustment to stock of S corporations making charitable contributions of property.
Sec. 308. Increase in limit on cover over of rum excise tax to Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands.
Sec. 309. Extension of economic development credit for American Samoa.
Sec. 310. Extension of mine rescue team training credit.
Sec. 311. Extension of election to expense advanced mine safety equipment.
Sec. 312. Deduction allowable with respect to income attributable to domestic production activities in Puerto Rico. ???
Sec. 313. Qualified zone academy bonds.
Sec. 314. Indian employment credit.
Sec. 315. Accelerated depreciation for business property on Indian reservations.
Sec. 316. Railroad track maintenance.
Sec. 317. Seven-year cost recovery period for motorsports racing track facility. I can't believe there isn't a pitch for horse racing by NYRA
Sec. 318. Expensing of environmental remediation costs.
Sec. 319. Extension of work opportunity tax credit for Hurricane Katrina employees. Enough already!
Sec. 320. Extension of increased rehabilitation credit for structures in the Gulf Opportunity Zone.
Sec. 321. Enhanced deduction for qualified computer contributions.
Sec. 322. Tax incentives for investment in the District of Columbia. Taking care of the "home front"
Sec. 323. Enhanced charitable deductions for contributions of food inventory.
Sec. 324. Extension of enhanced charitable deduction for contributions of book inventory. I've got 600 copies of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. Does that count?
Sec. 325. Extension and modification of duty suspension on wool products; wool research fund; wool duty refunds.
TITLE IV—EXTENSION OF TAX ADMINISTRATION PROVISIONS
Sec. 401. Permanent authority for undercover operations.
Sec. 402. Permanent authority for disclosure of information relating to terrorist activities.
TITLE V—ADDITIONAL TAX RELIEF AND OTHER TAX PROVISIONS
Subtitle A—General Provisions
Sec. 501. $8,500 income threshold used to calculate refundable portion of child tax credit.
Sec. 502. Provisions related to film and television productions.
Sec. 503. Exemption from excise tax for certain wooden arrows designed for use by children.
Sec. 504. Income averaging for amounts received in connection with the Exxon Valdez litigation.
Sec. 505. Certain farming business machinery and equipment treated as 5-year property.
Sec. 506. Modification of penalty on understatement of taxpayer’s liability by tax return preparer.
Subtitle B—Paul Wellstone and Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act of 2008 I'm going to need this one.
Sec. 511. Short title.
Sec. 512. Mental health parity.
TITLE VI—OTHER PROVISIONS
Sec. 601. Secure rural schools and community self-determination program.
Sec. 602. Transfer to abandoned mine reclamation fund.
TITLE VII—DISASTER RELIEF
Subtitle A—Heartland and Hurricane Ike Disaster Relief
Sec. 701. Short title.
Sec. 702. Temporary tax relief for areas damaged by 2008 Midwestern severe storms, tornados, and flooding.
Sec. 703. Reporting requirements relating to disaster relief contributions.
Sec. 704. Temporary tax-exempt bond financing and low-income housing tax relief for areas damaged by Hurricane Ike.
Subtitle B—National Disaster Relief
Sec. 706. Losses attributable to federally declared disasters.
Sec. 707. Expensing of Qualified Disaster Expenses.
Sec. 708. Net operating losses attributable to federally declared disasters.
Sec. 709. Waiver of certain mortgage revenue bond requirements following federally declared disasters.
Sec. 710. Special depreciation allowance for qualified disaster property.
Sec. 711. Increased expensing for qualified disaster assistance property.
Sec. 712. Coordination with Heartland disaster relief.
TITLE VIII—SPENDING REDUCTIONS AND APPROPRIATE REVENUE RAISERS FOR NEW TAX RELIEF POLICY
Sec. 801. Nonqualified deferred compensation from certain tax indifferent parties.
Sorry for turning my blog into a political vent, but this stuff is impacting me. My head is about to explode and I haven't been able to get through to my representative. See the last line. I think I am a tax indifferent party.
TITLE I—ALTERNATIVE MINIMUM TAX RELIEF
Sec. 101. Extension of alternative minimum tax relief for nonrefundable personal credits.
Sec. 102. Extension of increased alternative minimum tax exemption amount.
Sec. 103. Increase of AMT refundable credit amount for individuals with longterm
unused credits for prior year minimum tax liability, etc.
TITLE II—EXTENSION OF INDIVIDUAL TAX PROVISIONS
Sec. 201. Deduction for State and local sales taxes.
Sec. 202. Deduction of qualified tuition and related expenses.
Sec. 203. Deduction for certain expenses of elementary and secondary school
teachers.
Sec. 204. Additional standard deduction for real property taxes for nonitemizers.
Sec. 205. Tax-free distributions from individual retirement plans for charitable
purposes.
Sec. 206. Treatment of certain dividends of regulated investment companies.
Sec. 207. Stock in RIC for purposes of determining estates of nonresidents not
citizens.
Sec. 208. Qualified investment entities.
TITLE III—EXTENSION OF BUSINESS TAX PROVISIONS
Sec. 301. Extension and modification of research credit.
Sec. 302. New markets tax credit.
Sec. 303. Subpart F exception for active financing income.
Sec. 304. Extension of look-thru rule for related controlled foreign corporations.
Sec. 305. Extension of 15-year straight-line cost recovery for qualified leasehold
improvements and qualified restaurant improvements; 15-year straight-line cost recovery for certain improvements to retail space.
Sec. 306. Modification of tax treatment of certain payments to controlling exempt organizations.
Sec. 307. Basis adjustment to stock of S corporations making charitable contributions of property.
Sec. 308. Increase in limit on cover over of rum excise tax to Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands.
Sec. 309. Extension of economic development credit for American Samoa.
Sec. 310. Extension of mine rescue team training credit.
Sec. 311. Extension of election to expense advanced mine safety equipment.
Sec. 312. Deduction allowable with respect to income attributable to domestic production activities in Puerto Rico. ???
Sec. 313. Qualified zone academy bonds.
Sec. 314. Indian employment credit.
Sec. 315. Accelerated depreciation for business property on Indian reservations.
Sec. 316. Railroad track maintenance.
Sec. 317. Seven-year cost recovery period for motorsports racing track facility. I can't believe there isn't a pitch for horse racing by NYRA
Sec. 318. Expensing of environmental remediation costs.
Sec. 319. Extension of work opportunity tax credit for Hurricane Katrina employees. Enough already!
Sec. 320. Extension of increased rehabilitation credit for structures in the Gulf Opportunity Zone.
Sec. 321. Enhanced deduction for qualified computer contributions.
Sec. 322. Tax incentives for investment in the District of Columbia. Taking care of the "home front"
Sec. 323. Enhanced charitable deductions for contributions of food inventory.
Sec. 324. Extension of enhanced charitable deduction for contributions of book inventory. I've got 600 copies of The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. Does that count?
Sec. 325. Extension and modification of duty suspension on wool products; wool research fund; wool duty refunds.
TITLE IV—EXTENSION OF TAX ADMINISTRATION PROVISIONS
Sec. 401. Permanent authority for undercover operations.
Sec. 402. Permanent authority for disclosure of information relating to terrorist activities.
TITLE V—ADDITIONAL TAX RELIEF AND OTHER TAX PROVISIONS
Subtitle A—General Provisions
Sec. 501. $8,500 income threshold used to calculate refundable portion of child tax credit.
Sec. 502. Provisions related to film and television productions.
Sec. 503. Exemption from excise tax for certain wooden arrows designed for use by children.
Sec. 504. Income averaging for amounts received in connection with the Exxon Valdez litigation.
Sec. 505. Certain farming business machinery and equipment treated as 5-year property.
Sec. 506. Modification of penalty on understatement of taxpayer’s liability by tax return preparer.
Subtitle B—Paul Wellstone and Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act of 2008 I'm going to need this one.
Sec. 511. Short title.
Sec. 512. Mental health parity.
TITLE VI—OTHER PROVISIONS
Sec. 601. Secure rural schools and community self-determination program.
Sec. 602. Transfer to abandoned mine reclamation fund.
TITLE VII—DISASTER RELIEF
Subtitle A—Heartland and Hurricane Ike Disaster Relief
Sec. 701. Short title.
Sec. 702. Temporary tax relief for areas damaged by 2008 Midwestern severe storms, tornados, and flooding.
Sec. 703. Reporting requirements relating to disaster relief contributions.
Sec. 704. Temporary tax-exempt bond financing and low-income housing tax relief for areas damaged by Hurricane Ike.
Subtitle B—National Disaster Relief
Sec. 706. Losses attributable to federally declared disasters.
Sec. 707. Expensing of Qualified Disaster Expenses.
Sec. 708. Net operating losses attributable to federally declared disasters.
Sec. 709. Waiver of certain mortgage revenue bond requirements following federally declared disasters.
Sec. 710. Special depreciation allowance for qualified disaster property.
Sec. 711. Increased expensing for qualified disaster assistance property.
Sec. 712. Coordination with Heartland disaster relief.
TITLE VIII—SPENDING REDUCTIONS AND APPROPRIATE REVENUE RAISERS FOR NEW TAX RELIEF POLICY
Sec. 801. Nonqualified deferred compensation from certain tax indifferent parties.
Wooden Arrow
The experienced archer usually has a good idea of what an arrow should be whether it's a piece of artwork, a tip of the hat to primitive construction, a simple unadorned arrow with pure function in mind, or a combination of these factors. Prices can range from $80/dozen for stock arrows to $300+/dozen for primitive arrows.
A majority of arrow buyers are more concerned with function over art. It makes sense to consider the type of shooting you expect to do and very little sense to head out and loose and break a set of $300 arrows! To this end you should supply yourself with arrows of sufficient quality that will eliminate the aspect of "equipment error" in developing your proficiency. With archery tackle well matched to itself and your stature, inconsistency is reduced to "pilot error" - at which point your questions along the way will have more direct pertinence to your actual technique.
I’m in the market for a good wooden arrow. Yes, I need an arrow to poke the pork (including wooden arrows) in the BailOut Bill passed by the Senate last night. I think we should all arm ourselves with a few good wooden arrows and put a siege on Congress. Boy, did we have the wool (yeah, that’s in the bill too) pulled over our eyes.
See the crap in this 451 page bill at http://money.cnn.com/2008/10/01/news/pdf/index.htm. But you probably don’t have time. Just like you don’t have the money. That is unless you are in the wooden arrow business.
Fire those arrows at your representative in the House this morning. Its our last hope.
A majority of arrow buyers are more concerned with function over art. It makes sense to consider the type of shooting you expect to do and very little sense to head out and loose and break a set of $300 arrows! To this end you should supply yourself with arrows of sufficient quality that will eliminate the aspect of "equipment error" in developing your proficiency. With archery tackle well matched to itself and your stature, inconsistency is reduced to "pilot error" - at which point your questions along the way will have more direct pertinence to your actual technique.
I’m in the market for a good wooden arrow. Yes, I need an arrow to poke the pork (including wooden arrows) in the BailOut Bill passed by the Senate last night. I think we should all arm ourselves with a few good wooden arrows and put a siege on Congress. Boy, did we have the wool (yeah, that’s in the bill too) pulled over our eyes.
See the crap in this 451 page bill at http://money.cnn.com/2008/10/01/news/pdf/index.htm. But you probably don’t have time. Just like you don’t have the money. That is unless you are in the wooden arrow business.
Fire those arrows at your representative in the House this morning. Its our last hope.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Robin's Rose
This photo was taken this today. I also picked raspberries this morning after last night's fresh rain. When I went out to pick up the paper, the air had been rinsed clean, as clear as glass and oddly reminded me of Micronesia. Yes, it is the first day of October in Upstate New York.Someone suggested I raise bean sprouts in my bathtub. La Choy. I bring this up for I was wondering what some one might do to earn money during a great depression. People have to eat and bean sprouts might be easy to grow, cheap to buy.
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