Hysteria: Not just Def Leppard

Let’s put things into perceptive. Swine flu hysteria sweeps into our living rooms via the evening news or 24 hour news, which ever you can stomach. Now the crazy VP says he wouldn’t let his family fly or ride a subway! Give me a break. The Hysteria!

Hawaii has yet to have a one case. However, we have been warned for the past several months about contracting angiostrongylus, or rat lung worm.

Swine Flu? Please. Got nothing on Rat Lung Worm. I know pigs can be vicious animals – remember the concern when little Judy Garland fell into the pig sty in the Wizard of Oz? You thought the farm hands were alarmed over her soiled dress? Nah, pigs will eat anything.

Here on the Big Island, we are warned to wash produce thoroughly to help prevent exposure to rat lung worm. The state Department of Health identified six probable cases of illness caused by angiostrongylus last year. Two resulted in comas. All individuals were Big Island residents and regularly ate fresh raw vegetables from backyard gardens. A good reason to close down the Obama garden behind the Whitehouse? After all, country’s are now banning pork products from the US and now Joe Biden says “Whoa” to public transport. Hey what about being green?

A little information about rat lung worm. The parasite angiostrongylus cantonensis causes a form of meningitis called eosinophilic meningitis, or angiostrongylus. The condition is also referred to as rat lung worm because rats are part of the parasite's life cycle. The parasite is found in snails, slugs, freshwater prawns, crabs, fish and possibly the flatworm in Hawaii.

Signs of rat lung worm can include severe headaches, nausea, vomiting, neck stiffness and other problems related to the brain and spinal cord. Most patients recover from the infection without treatment. Except the two in comas.

Protective action: Eating uncooked snails, slugs, freshwater prawns and fish can cause the rare infection, leading to serious illness. The Department of Health warns freshwater prawns, crabs or fish and mollusks such as snails should be cooked thoroughly before eating. Sufficient heat, boiling 3 to 5 minutes, kills parasites.Thoroughly wash fresh vegetables and fruit before consuming and visually inspect to be sure the produce is free of slugs and snails. Controlling rodents, snails and slugs around homes will also decrease the risk of exposure.

Most Hawaiians have snails in their backyards. Rats too. These pests more common than pigs, although there are many who host swine in their yards. Daily, I pluck slime balls out of the earth and discarded them in the trash. I don’t touch them, and wash my hands afterwards. I don’t seriously consider eating them. I remember Paris, ah Paris.

What warrants hysteria? Look at these numbers: Do the math.

US population: 300,000,000. Contracted Swine Flu: 100. Deaths: 1 (not from US).
Hawaii Big Island population: 150,000. Contracted Rat Lung Worm: 6. Deaths 0, but two in comas. (2006)

I’m just saying…

Oh, I get hysterical, hysteria

Oh can you feel it, do you believe it?

It's such a magical mysteria

When you get that feelin', better start believin'

'Cos it's a miracle, oh say you will

Def Leppard

The Bear

Golden brown. Short curly hair and a sweater embroidered with a pink ribbon. The ribbon, the symbol in the fight against cancer, specifically breast cancer. This was the bear I pulled from the box my father sent me. A bear on a mission.

On April 19th the Trinity United Methodist Church in Gansevoort, passed the little bear around the congregation. From my mother’s collection atop her bookshelf, my father had taken the bear and asked the members to pray for Gail Barley, the wife of Bill, pastor of Living Stones Church in Kona. They filled the bear with prayers. Gail battles cancer and is being treated in Honolulu. This is the second bout.

Since the inception of the monthly Prayer and Healing services, Living Stones has experienced the power of faith in the Lord. People with aches and pains have been healed. Those who were deaf can now hear. Those who were lame can now walk.

On Sunday Tammy testified that she prayed with a woman she met in the parking lot near her workplace. The woman’s young niece had a tumor and was scheduled for evaluation and surgery the next day. It looked grim and the woman struggled to check her emotion. The Lord told Tammy that she needed to pray for the woman’s niece, not later than evening when she gathered the day in reflection, but now. Awkwardly, she asked the woman if she minded that they prayed. Honestly, what do you say, unless you are a total bonehead?

With the woman’s permission Tammy laid her hands on her and began to pray. Right in the parking lot, in the broad sunshine of Hawaii! Long story short, the woman looked for Tammy the next day. During the evaluation the tumor could not be found, surgery was cancelled and the girl went home. When did all this take place? The moment they prayed.

Richard a member in my community group has also experienced the healing powers of our Lord in many ways. Not long ago his hair hung down to his shoulder blades. Addicted to pain killers, he lived an injured life as an alcoholic and a smoker. Screws like Frankenstein's protruded from his neck. It was fused together after a piece of furniture fell on his head. In March, he asked the Lord for healing and through His Power the miracles happened. Now, this man sits next to me at our meetings. He turns his head to me when he speaks. No pain. I see a buzz cut and a clean shaven believer, who basks in the glow of the Lord instead of the glint of a empty bottle. No one can explain where the screws went. They just are not there any more.

Be transformed!

I have experienced miracles in my life. Shamefully, I rarely acknowledge my father as one. It is easier to chalk it up to modern day medicine than the intervention of God. But then I recall the evening I got the news that the cancer had not spread to his bones. I put that in the miracle column. But could He not have easily erased the cancer there, like hitting the backspace key on a keyboard and wiping out a whole sentence? Then there is the miracle of my brother’s eyes and the miracle of my broken heart. So I have no reason to believe otherwise.

I gave the bear to Bill last Saturday and like all other members of Living Stones continue to pray for Gail.

We don’t know the Lord’s will. We wait upon the Lord.

These testimonies are shared on the Living Stones website. Click on the names in the text.

Earth Day Contribution

Big article in the paper about the rising sea levels. I can’t wait. By most calculations my condo will sit ocean side in 100 years. Talk about an investment! I can heard the roar of the waves right now.

Another article offered suggestions on being more environmentally friendly. One should reuse before recycle.

The other day my pen went through the wash. After I emptied the washer and noticed the pen, I gasped. I looked at the wet clothes. There weren’t any blue stains. How I dodged that bullet I don’t know, but all the ink that leaked out of the cartridge stayed in the barrel.

I loved that pen, a Pilot EasyTouch, medium point. Smooth flow of ink. A tip that didn't catch on page and for me, a lefty, the ink dispensed with minimum excess so I didn't end up with the side of my hand smeared in blue. Well, not so such anyway.

I was happy not to be facing a laundry disaster but bummed about my pen. I dropped it into the bathroom trash can.

I cruised into town on my bike (my contribution to fighting the made-man global warming myth) to buy a new pen. Once in the store, I decided to buy refills, figuring I’d retrieve the pen from the trash, clean up the blue deposits on the inside and I’d have my favorite pen back. I won’t lie, this had nothing to do with icebergs melting, penguins dying, the planet exploding, or running out of lumber to make elementary school chair. (Honest to God, I use to worry about that when I was a little kid.) Instead, it was economics. A new pen cost $1.49. Two refills, the same.

Can’t recall ever buying refills. I wouldn’t recommend it unless the original cartridge was actually emptied from usage, not by some mysterious force that occurred in the bottom of the washing machine. The cartridge was empty, but the barrel was full of ink ready to stain my fingers, the sink, and anything within ten yard that wasn’t blue or should be blue. Since I had a meeting to attend that evening I was sure I had blue all over my face. Once ready to assemble and insert the new cartridge, I couldn't find the spring. I carefully picked my way through piles of now stained trash. Found it at the bottom of the mess.

Used half a roll of paper towels(trees that could have gone toward the school chairs)that are on the way to the land fill. Soap, water? Yeah, lots of that too. Go Green!

Another Friday

I swear I don’t know where the days are going, especially now. I am under thirty days left on island. How many more swims, predawn run and church services do I have left? Maybe only one more sunset. It has been pretty hazy for the past couple of months.

Went out to the mailbox to see if the IRS had sent their form for my extension to pay. I needed the extra days to liquidate my assets. Penalties and interest will cost an extra $800, but heck when you owe $51,000, this is chump change. Even though they want their moola ASAP, they seem to have failed to timely send me the forms. (Come to think of it, $800 could buy 37 inches of High Def TV. Oh well)

But the surprisingly nice thing I found in my stark metal box was a card from my sister. The scene captured an afternoon sun spilling long shadows across a snow covered country lane. The beauty of the moment, without the cold, without the dreaded thought of months to go before winter relents to spring.

And winter seems reluctant to move out of the North Country. One teasingly warm day followed by one of spitting snow as if winter angered by pregnant buds, longer days and the sound the peepers in the lowlands, runs through the mountain forest and howls.

Here in Kona we have been sitting in a pattern of high seventies, clear mornings, hazy afternoons. Reminds me of San Diego, expect I don’t have to jump over sleeping bums on the street when I go out for my run.

Tax Tea Party in Kailua Kona

Right Wing Extremist

I went to the Tax Day TEA Party revolt gathering on Kailua-Kona. Cool, I thought. People protesting tax increases, out of control spending, wasteful government use of my tax dollars.I jumped on my bike and trucked up the hill. At least it will be across the street from Borders. I can scoot in there and cool down and get an iced-mocha raspberry something or other. Like a cup of tea!

I even took my video camera so I could upload it to the TEA Party website. Yeah, finally people in this are seeing the light. Everyone must have been sitting at home waiting for their fat income tax return checks, ‘cause there wasn’t a soul on the corner except the construction guys were tearing up the street again.

However, back in Massachusetts, site of the first American tea party, a few looses oolongs from the family protested away. Notice the one in red. And she thinks I embarrass her! Brew away sis.

A Need For Tea

Here's a great system. It is called legal extortion. It works like this. 72% of taxes paid are paid by 10% of the people.Ain’t that great?It gets better. In this country everyone over 18 votes.What do they vote on? What 10% of the people will pay. Don't worry.

The O man is now going to undertake the oppressive tax system.

World by Design

I found out that my church has been passing around my book. A couple of years ago I gave the book to the realtor/agent who rented to me the condo where I wrote The Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin. In turn, she gave the book to Sue. Sue goes to Livingstones Church, which gets a rather large mention in the book. She liked what she read and shared it with other people at the church. And here I’ve assumed I had been attending incognito-like.

Tonight, I joined a community group hosted by Sue and her husband. She put two and two together. “You're the one. I read your book. I cried at the end.”

She had been praying that one day she would have the opportunity to meet me. Wow, drawn here because someone had been praying for me to be here. That was weird. Well, at least she didn’t quit her job and decide to travel around the world like one of my sister’s friends did after she read it.

The Search

The drone of the helicopter's rotors thumped against the pigeon-wing-gray sky. It traced the place where blue water snarled at black rock. In short paces, it headed north, then turned south like a caged tiger, bored, it endlessly pads its confines looking for something lost.

He came from California and on Saturday morning he entered the water, spear gun in hand. There had been talk of an evening barbeque in the pits of the Kona Makai Condominiums. A few cold beers, fresh fish grilled to a flakey white perfection and a Hawaiian sunset. We’ll call the guys back home.

It rained off and on all morning. But the waters on the Kona Coast were warmer than what he left back home. And clearer too. In the choppy surf he bobbed along the surface looking for fish. The yellowtails were there, but they were not for dinner. A few parrotfish eyed him as he towed the buoyed gear – a netted bag on a twenty foot leash. He thought he was flying. The element so familiar – water, air and lava rock.

There below him in a deceiving depth fish swam. Spear gun ready. Ten feet? Or maybe it was more. It was farther than he thought. Deeper than he wanted to go. The fish cautiously watched his descent, and slowly kept the distance.

Making no progress toward his prey, the hunter stopped. Through his mask he watched the fish disappear. Confusion leaked into his consciousness and hit him as hard as the surf breaks on the black rocks above. Suddenly his lungs burned for the familiar element. His brained rebelled against better judgment as it instinctively reached out to survive. It demanded that he breathe. He looked to what he thought was up, but could find nothing familiar. The mask must be leaking. Starved for oxygen, he reasoned he needed to remove it.

It was the gear they found floating a mile from where the chopper circled two days ago. The chopper’s sweeps continue but now further to the horizon. The thumping fades, less intrusive as it searches for the body of a man from California. He was forty-nine.

Kona Makai on Dwellable

Shot of the Day

Grey Francolin (Francolinus pondicerianus)

I was in the kitchen when I heard what sounded like a puppy yipping in the parking lot. No dogs allowed in the complex so the curious noise got me to turn the fire down under the black beans (yeah, I do miss this cuisine of Tampa and Tarpon Springs, Florida) and check out the yips.

This fat bird was what I found. Looked like a quail and thought I better look for Dick Cheney.

I snuck back inside to get the camera. I changed to the zoom lens. The male had it in for his reflection hiding out in the hubcap.

I had no idea what kind of bird I had here. More internet searching, but I knew where to look after researching the juvenile cardinal the other day.

I thought the photo is much better than the one posted on the site.

Twitter

Do you get it? Or do you really have a life?

Willingness

The other day I was sitting on the lanai trying to figure out an eleven-lettered word for the clue “Volunteer State?” Those question marks always throw me a curve. As I pondered the puzzle I watched a little bird come bouncing across the patio. Each bounce emitted a peep. Peep. Bounce. Peep. Bounce.

Once she (I concluded such because of the dull plumage, but I later learned this was an immature yellow billed cardinal confined to the Kona Coast) reached the lanai she kept right on track without any hesitation. She hopped right past me and jumped into the condo.

I waited.

Once inside I couldn’t see her. Moving would scare her. I didn’t want a frightened bird flying about, smashing into windows, pictures and mirrors. So I sat quietly.

There were fresh biscuits on the counter in the kitchen. After a little while I imagined two things. She perched on the rim of the plate to enjoy the batch or she continued to jump across the floor or worse my Tibetan rug. I doubted my little bird was housebroken.

I waited.

After a few minutes she floated out to the lanai and landed on my bike. No tell tale signs of biscuit crumbs stuck to her beak. She peeped a few more times. And flew to the neighbor’s tree. Then she took off across the street and into a tall tree down the way.

Gone.

I thought about the disconnect. Sitting in a tree singing a wild song was a bird that moments ago brazenly waltzed into a condo. Who would know this? Just me.

Photolog

Hee-hee. They really are logs.

Pay up, Chump!

Between early morning runs, mid-afternoon swims under a hazy Kona sun and sitting surfside with a sweatshirt on to watch the sunset fizzle out, I’ve been working a plan. I’ve developed this plan of attack after receiving the wonderful news about my 2008 tax liability.

Yeah, it was expected. Yeah, I knew I owed it. No surprises there. What hit me the hardest was that for the greater part of six months I’ve kept my head buried under my goose down pillow. Each month I ignored those monthly statements concerning my investment portfolio. I had been too chicken to look. Knowing the value crashed is one thing. Seeing it on the bottom line is another matter.

With April 15 lurking around the corner, I could no longer avoid looking, because I had to figure out where I was going to get $51000. No typo there my friends. Couple the loss with the amount I owe I wallowed in self -mposed poverty (in theory) during the last week. Add the recent stories of Tom Daschle and Tim Geithner and I cried to the IRS gods, “Why, why, why, does this have to come out of my pockets?”

“‘Cause, ‘cause, ‘cause. You putz.”

Thus the formulation of a plan. Got to have a plan to move forward. Referring back to my March 26th blog on my budget I have been working a plan. Let's review:

1. Write that damn book and sell it. The writing I can do. The selling, not so much.
2. Get a real job. A dreadful thought.
3. Get serious about doing some financial counseling. Under consideration.
4. Not pay my taxes. Now that could be stimulating!

1. Frustration has spilled out words. One will later determine if they have been worthy of print. I’ve sculptured a solid section to my guidebook. For the first time since I got the crazy idea to write a book about how to go back to church I can a finished product. Part of this new found inspiration came from a journal entry I made over a year ago. I asked, if I don’t believe I could write a book, than who will? So I started thinking, "I can write a book" instead of "I think I can write a book." The shift became positive. Marketable remains a question. Shit. But if I don’t put the words down, there is noting to sell.

2. Get a real job. Still a very dreadful thought, but I considered why it might not be such a bad idea. Health care, cat food and a new car sit in the positive column. On the negative side there are the need for new clothes, living some place else and two weeks of vacation. Sickening.

Forget looking at the nest egg! The nest has been ripped from the branches leaving me clutching a thin twig and staring down at a hard landing. Hard landing unless I do something proactive before I lose my grip. So I have brushed up the resume and found a couple jobs of interest on line. And for kicks I filled out an application with the IRS. Kind of a "can’t beat’em, join’em" mentality.

Meanwhile, my uncle hooked me up with the Census Bureau to be a census taker at $17.00 per hour. I did this in 2000. Not a real job mind you. I was a little late in getting in line, but yesterday I got a call asking if I was still interested. A training class is scheduled on April 15th. (God I hate that day.)

The rep told me the training would take place in Salt Lake.

"You mean, Utah? It's a nice job, but not that nice."

"Oh, no. There is a Salt Lake on Oahu," he explained.

"Interesting. That’s closer, but I’m on the Big Island."

Ah, the draw backs to living in Hawaii. All that water! It’s not like you jump in your car (which I don’t have anyway) and drive someplace. With the Super Ferry now defunct because of a crazy State Supreme Court ruling which put several hundred people out of work last month, the only option of travel between islands is to fly. Cha-ching. (About a week ago some nut tried to swim from the Big Island to Maui. About eleven hours into a projected 30 hour swim, a cookie-cutter shark decided the guy looked worthy of a closer investigation. Took a chomp out of him.) Anyway...I digress. The logistics makes attending the class out of the question.

3. I have yet to get serious about making a go of financial counseling, but I continue to get phone calls or emails asking me how to get out of debt. I patiently dole out advice, get no money and eat up my Verizon minutes. Such a living.

4. Now I'm back to taxes. After making a couple calls to the IRS disguising my voice and telling them my name was Jennifer, and discussing the situation with my CPA, financial counselor, Dad and a company that helps those with tax issues I have concluded I have no tax issues. And still too many assets.

Pay up, chump!

It's Foolish

March sure was a long month.

I love challenges. I took up one, to see how many days I could go without spending any money. That is outside of my purchase of the local newspaper. Forget the news, it is all too depressing. I got to have the daily crossword puzzle and in the paper I get two. A deal like that along with the comics can't be passed up.

I stretched out two periods, one of five days and the other eight. It was during the eight day drought that obviously included a Sunday when I didn’t make an offering. That left me feeling kind of sucky. The next week I rounded up my cash on hand of nine dollars, took out a dollar for the Sunday paper and tossed the remainder in the basket. Didn’t feel quite so bad that Sunday.

On Monday I fished spare change out of the recesses of my backpack. Easy puzzles at the beginning of the week. Can't pass'em up. Friday, I can live without, but the solutions for Thursday are in Friday's paper. The dilemmas life throws in my face are unbelievable.

Putting together the financial damages for last month I concluded I broke even after paying HI property tax. I just pray that nothing breaks. The unexpected expenses. You know. When your back’s against the wall, that is when Murphy decides to move in, bringing his law of "when things can go wrong, things will go wrong." I dodged him last month, but that reminds me. The electrician who did some repairs on the apartments in Knoxville has yet to send a bill.

Anyway, I should be able to catch up on my two bills for the month: medical deductible and stupid property insurance for the Knoxville apartments. I don’t understand why it is so much. I’m not in a flood zone or a bad neighborhood. I got a fire hydrant down the street. There is no recent history of tornadic activities in Knoxville (it is the valley verses plateau thing). Must be those tenants.

The next two weeks will be hell as I scramble to liquidate HUGE funds for the IRS by April 15. Seems I can’t make the deadline, so I’ll have issues. What else is new?

I’m writing! That’s good news.

Cool Too

You never know what you are going to get when you read this blog. Moved on from spiders to volcanoes. Well, I do live on one.

I thought photo was awesome too. Another current event beyond politics.

An a undersea volcano erupts off the coast of Tonga, tossing clouds of smoke, steam and ash thousands of feet (meters) into the sky above the South Pacific ocean, Wednesday, March 18, 2009. The eruption was at sea about 6 miles (10 kilometers) from the southwest coast off the main island of Tongatapu, an area where up to 36 undersea volcanoes are clustered. (AP Photo/Lothar Slabon via the New Zealand Herald)

65,000ft Tall

Look at this photo. (Blow it up) After seeing it I couldn't stop thinking how small I am. How great God is. Amazing.

On March 26, Mt. Redoubt's, eruption plume as seen from space. The plume was estimated at 65,000 ft.

Budget

After planting my flag in Hawaii this year, I contacted Dave Ramsey to have my name and contact info placed on his website as a certified counselor. I went through his course four years ago but have coached only a handful of people because I can’t seem to stay in one place for any length of time.

I told the Ramsey Gang that when I mention Dave’s name in Hawaii they ask if he is some surfer dude, or they just give me that blank look when I say life is best when it is debt-free. Uncle Sam’s bent on tripling the debt to “stimulate” economic activity isn't helping the cause, but what can you do? My sister suggested I start my own tea party on April 15 here in Kona. There is a “revolt” in Honolulu that day.

I'd rather work one on one with people to help them dig out from their burden. It's micro-level, but that what is most important. It is what we can control. What are we going to do with out of control government spending? Cough up more taxes? You can also join in the pity line. I refuse and I digress.

I’ve been hacking away at the book. Slow going, but actually making progress. However, I won’t be making any money any time soon. Since money or lack thereof is in my cross hairs, I decided to put a budget together. I know my ship is leaking, it is just a question of how big is the hole.

As a counselor, I have access to Total Money Makeover, the online budget program makes the math disappear, kind of like all my money. It was back to the basics. I took everything I am responsible for and divided by 12. Just as I suspected, a monthly deficit of $443. Over fifty-three percent of my expenses goes toward taxes and insurance. Outrageous!

Anyway, I didn’t expect the phone to ring off the hook, but the listing at Dave Ramsey has resulted in two people contacting me about counseling.

With a monthly budget deficit I have got to consider options:

1. Write that damn book and sell it. The writing I can do. The selling, not so much.
2. Get a real job. A dreadful thought.
3. Get serious about doing some financial counseling. Under consideration.
4. Not pay my taxes. Now that could be stimulating!

Battle Grounds

I still can’t get over its size. Or its fragileness. Because when I smacked the hell out of it, two of its legs went flying in the opposite direction and crumpled like the gum wrapper foil. A spider the likes I haven’t seen since that one night in the shower in Micronesia when I was surrounded by a rat, a cockroach and a spider the size of the rat. I don’t know what freaked me out the most. But after all these years protected by the safe comforts of distance and time, I’m surprised I stayed and took a shower. I must have been pretty sweaty.

This spider, a bit smaller than a hardball, was scooting around the bedroom wall, heading for the curtains. Leaping about in an unpredictable fashion I expected it might jump into my bed. I lay, wondering how the hell it got into the condo. Based on the size it had to come through the front door, the only portal big enough for it to fit through. Believe me if I saw that hairy brown thing coming in the door I would have slammed the door in its fuzzy fangs.

Twenty four hours later, I still get creeped out that it was in the house. What make matters worse is that a six inch long multi-legged “worm” – some sort of pede – invaded the bedroom the night before the spider. I almost stepped on the damn thing coming back from the bathroom ala lights off. Thank God for my light colored bamboo floors. The creepy-crawly was hard to miss.

It was on the fast track determined to be some where when I diverted its track. Thinking it would just curl up in a ball and I would then scoop it up in a magazine to toss it outside I gave it a nudge. Ha. It rocketed off toward the bathroom in overdrive. Afraid it would make its way under the washer/dryer I diverted it to the toilet. The thing was wiggling like a worm on a hook but had as much fight as a marlin. Armed with a dust pan and the bright lights of the bathroom, I ditched it into the toilet and flushed half expecting it to crawl back out of the plumbing. I dropped the seat, wiped the sweat off my brow and went back to bed.

And to think I worried about a stupid cockroach.

Battled Black Witch

The other day, after the moth returned a gecko tried to sneak up on it. I flicked a newspaper at the gecko. Usually any motion sends them for cover. This guy in pursuit of dinner stayed put, forcing me to get up and swat at it with a bit more authority. The gecko headed for the shadows. The moth took flight. I figured that was that. How many more time would it return to my lanai?

Late afternoon today it returned, carrying the scars of nature’s harshness. Its wings, once delicately dusted with fine powders that glistened in the daylight, were torn in battles with mates and predators. The bright blue “eyes” had vanished. What a tough two days it has been. Yet, it survived and returned to my lanai. How much longer can it hold off the powers greater than its very being? I'll be surprised if morning finds life.

I assume this once marvelous creature did what it was designed to do. No, not eat wool, but procreate. Thus it survived.

Random Acts

I am probably all wrong about this, but I believed insects conducted their lives in total randomness. A fly accidentally discovers a pile of dog poop not because of it patrolled its neighborhood in a methodical manner. "Something smells good over there. Let's go see what it is."

So when my moth flittered away after the gecko stumbled on his lair, I expected that was the end of our paths crossing. However, when I returned this afternoon from the pool the giant moth had returned to the same place on my lanai wall. Same place!

Made me think that I might catch that cockroach lurking around my seat cushions.

I think that geckos have territories which they patrol in grid-like patterns. Look it up!

Moths

Blow this guy up. Found him on my lanai this morning. About three inches in wing span. He stayed until a gecko decided to try his luck at nabbing a huge meal. The gecko went home without filling his belly.

My other morning visitor was a cockroach. The large land lobster hid his ugly body on my seat cushion. Nearly spilled my morning mocha when he jumped out into the open. I cussed up a storm, reminding me of my Micronesia experiences with these vermin. Except my mother didn't come running to save me. Shit, I don't even have any Raid. I'm sure the neighbors heard my commotions.

By the time I found a magazine to clobber the roach, it has scurried to safety.


Black Witch Ascalapha odorata (Linnaeus, 1758): http://www.butterfliesandmoths.org/species?l=4820

Have I The Guts?

Dear IRS:

I'm sorry to inform you that I'm not going to be able to pay the taxes owed on April 15th, but all is not lost.

I paid these taxes, accounts receivable tax, building permit tax, CDL tax, corporate income tax, dog license tax, federal income tax, unemployment tax, gas tax, hunting license tax, fishing license tax, waterfowl stamp tax, inheritance tax, inventory tax, liquor tax, luxury tax, Medicare tax, city tax, school and county property tax. Real estate tax, Social Security tax, road use tax, toll road tax, state and city sales tax, recreational vehicle tax, sales franchise tax, state unemployment tax, federal excise tax, telephone tax, telephone federal state and local surcharge tax, telephone minimum usage surcharge tax, telephone state and local tax, utility tax, vehicle tax, registration tax, capital gains tax, lease severance tax, oil and gas assessment tax, Hawaii and Tennessee property tax, Hawaii, Tennessee, New York and other state sales tax and many more I can't recall and I've run out of space and money.

When you do not receive my check April 15th, just know that it was an honest mistake. Please treat me the same as the way you've treated Congressman Charlie Rangel, Chris Dodd, Barney Frank, ex-congressman Tom Daschle and, of course, your boss, Timothy Geithner. No penalties, no interest.

PS, I'll make at least a partial payment as soon as I get my stimulus check.

Ed Barnett, Wichita Falls.

Making Deals

I envisioned a coffee table of Asian decent. Handmade, in which I inlaid five lava rocks smoothed by the ocean waves. I got the design in my head and I got the rocks a few weeks ago when Dad and I hiked down into Poloū. But while floating around the New Industrial Park (verses the Old Industrial Park), I stumbled across a place having a 50% sale. The sale seemed a perpetual state of commerce for a store only opened on weekends. The table was unmarked, so I expected it was an arbitrary price when the owner told me the teak table from Indonesia was $175.00.

After some thought and a week later I came back to purchase the table. Except now he wanted $210, half price tagged now sported on the piece. I assumed the economy was now on full recovery. I explained that last week it was $175.

“Well, I can take $195,” he said, brushing the thick dust off the table.

“You told me that you would take $175.” I wasn’t budging. He had seven such tables last week and seven tables this week. Demand seemed stagnated at none.

“Are you going to pay me with an in-town check or cash?”

Okay, we started the negotiation. I offered cash and we had a deal. I figured by the time I bought the lumber, a few more tools and the finish my investment in the construction of a coffee table would exceed $200 and a lot of swearing. Sweat, I meant sweat.

Take note of the cushion and pillow covers. I made them last winter and they fit perfectly. The added pillows makes the couch more comfortable. Now I can put my feet up on the table for real comfort. Home.

For Sale

I offer up to my fellow Americans my piece of AIG. I’ll take $46,000 for it. In return, I'll give you a nice little piece of paper, sort of a stock certificate, which claims you have my share. Actually, you don't have to be an American. A rich Saudi is fine. Honest, I own this. I have been told I, along with all my fellow Americans, own 80% of this company. Since I didn’t get my bonus from AIG, but got the shaft instead, I’m willing to relinquish my share of the company.

How did I came up with the figure $46,000? It was actually a meticulous calculation. I’d explain it, but it would be as equally confusing and astonishing to grasp as AIG paying out $165 million in bonuses.

I promise when I sell my share, I will pay taxes on this amount, so that I can continue to fund the government's debacles. It is the least I can do.

I was going to post this on Ebay, but they kind of frowned on it.

A Whole Country

Blogspot is constantly evolving, adding features to make their users’ blogs more appealing to readers of the Facebook Generation. Gadgets and widgets do all sort of things like help you add your You Tube videos, post Ads, track the weather, conduct a poll, play games, track sport scores and a whole bunch of other nonsense stuff.

The only widget I use allows readers to sign up for the feed. I don’t feed them too often. And consequently I have only a few readers who subscribe to my blog. But a lot of people have checked out my profile. I can’t explain.

Today I went to the dashboard, the place where I manage the four blogs I have. Yeah, you didn’t know that did you? A new feature allows people to declare themselves as followers. And I discovered I have one. One.

I was curious. Who was it? My Dad? No. Maybe my sister? Nope. How about a friend? Not even. It was India. Okay. Cool, a whole freaking country. No…just someone named India.

Thanks India.

Spare Tires

Bike Works offered a bicycle maintenance work shop on how to change and repair a flat tire. Riding roads heavily traveled by pedestrians carrying beverages in glass bottles, and vehicles that seem to ooze glass from windshields explains part of the reasons why tires are inflicted with punctures and slashes. Bougainvillea thorns, cactus prickers and dinner forks explain the other causes and then sometimes shit just happens to tires in a volcanic setting. (I’ve never actually punctured a tire with a tinge.)

I’ve changed bike tires ever since I took my first ride down the driveway on a two wheeler at age… I don’t remember. Dad or Mike might have helped the first few times, but I definitely remember wrestling with the nut on the hub and getting a few scrapped knuckles. In those days “quick release” was something you did with a fish.

Nevertheless, I went to the evening class. I rode my bike and knew I’d ride home in the dark, something I haven’t done since coming to Hawaii. I got lights, good ones, but considering I have trouble seeing at night when I drive my jeep….well, I told myself not to ride any faster than my headlight could shine.

I figured I’d learn something and I did. If you slash your tire and make repairs to the tube along the side of the road, there is still the problem of fixing the tire. Once inflated the tube will pop through the tire’s hole and BANG, you’re sitting on the side of the road again. A dollar bill placed between the tire and the tube will solve this problem. I also learned that tires are not randomly mounted on the rim. By placing the tire’s logo near the stem of the inner tube you’ll have a handy reference for locating the spot where that piece of glass or thorn might still be lodged in the tire. I always marked the tube and tire before I removed the tube so I could match the two later.

But what surprised me most was how many women had no clue of how to change a tire. It was painful to listen to some of the questions. “How do you take the rear wheel off?” “How do you to get the air out of tire.” “Oops,” she corrected herself, “it is flat.” I turned around to take a quick peeked at the lady who asked that question. Confirmation, blonde. Not a real one. Thank God the dumb brunettes want to dye their hair blonde. Keeps us brunettes looking better than ever. Especially the silver foxes. Okay, I’m not serious, except about the foxes.

Now of these women didn’t look like they had deprived childhoods. What would they have looked like if they had? Didn’t they ride bikes as kids? Where did these women come from that they had not have the opportunity to ride a bike through a muddy puddle, or listen to the revving of a baseball card in the spokes, or ride no hands down the center of a country road weaving in and out of the dashed center line? Didn’t they make a sling shot out of an old inner tube so shredded it couldn’t be repaired?

Deprived childhoods or was mine so enriched? Yeah, mine was.

PhotoLog

After several days of rain and rather cool weather I solved the problem by purchasing a long sleeved t-shirt. The sun came out this morning and I was able to dry my towels on clothes rack set up in the sun. By noon, typical mountain clouds and haze moved in to keep temperatures to a comfortable low 80's. If this keeps up for a week, I might start venturing to the pool and to the Keauhou Canoe Club.

I rode my bike past the pool this morning and watched a class of ladies exercising in the deep end. A few lanes were open at 10 AM. I had been to Office Max to get my cable. No sign of Jack. The cable was almost as expensive as my printer. Yikes.

When I got home, I fired up the blender and made a mocha-banana smoothie. After downing that I was freezing. I know, what a wuss.

These photos were taken near the top of Hualalai, one of five above the waterline volcanos that make up the Big Island. Two others are submerged: one active and one extinct. Hualalai's an active one, but hasn't erupted since 1800-01. We all feel lucky as this one is heavily populated with Kona.

Cables

So last evening I unpack the printer and notice it doesn't come with a cable to hook it up to my computer. Rats!

Painted Pony

Office Max Jack

Prompted by a sales ad and not my bank account, I went into Office Max this afternoon to get a printer. Of course, that also meant I had to get paper and an extra cartridge of black ink. I need to print out some of the stuff I’ve been writing. That way I can see how much crap I really got verse how much I really don’t have. It’s torture for my writing soul.

After paying my state property tax I feel pretty poor. My choice is to write or get a job. In this economy, writing seems easier, but still not very lucrative.

Jack, a handsome young man, personally greeted me at the door. I guess the economy hasn’t effected the staffing at Office Max, although just three minutes past noon I could have shot a cannon through the front door and only killed poor Jack. Criminal.

So much enthusiasm swam around Jack I grabbed my wallet thinking I was getting ready to get fleeced. Jack stacked the latest sale brochures and offered one to me.

“No thanks. I have my own,” waving the one that had been stuffed in yesterday’s newspaper.

“Then, can I help you find something,” he asked?

I pointed to the HP printer in my flyer. Jack was familiar with the brand and model. He escorted me to the aisle where it was located. “It’s your lucky day, there are two left.”

“No, it is your lucky day. I’m only need one. That leaves you with an opportunity to sell one more.” I think that confused him a little. He smiled and asked if he could carry it to the front. It wasn’t much bigger than my toaster oven, but since I had him, why not use him?

“Okay, but I need an extra ink cartridge and some paper. He guided me through the empty aisles to the display of HP ink boxes hanging on the wall in nice orderly rows. He told me which cartridge model fit into my new printer and rattled off the prices. After explaining different capacity options for the HP and competing Office Max brand, he took out his cell phone. My first thought was this wasn’t the best time to make or take a call. Jack you are with the only customer in the whole store. But using his phone as a calculator he entered the number of pages each cartridge would print and divided it by the price to get a cost per page. Yeah, I got that feature on my phone too, except since I’m well over twenty-three by the time I figured it out, the store would be out of business.

“Jack, you are my kind of shopper” I told him. I was going to tell him that was how my mother shopped, but I figured I was so old he couldn’t imagine a time when my mother shopped – like in the Last Great Depression!! He calculated the difference at thirteen and nine cents a page. Impressed. I was ready to buy a big screen TV or a Toyota Land Cruiser from this kid. Instead, I did ask if the ink was going to disappear in 24 hours. He smiled.

“The paper is over here. The cheapest is in the corner.” Complete trust. I selected one ream without even looking and we were off to the register.

At the checkout, I made a point of telling Jack that this shopping experience had been a complete pleasure. Very enjoyable. The cashier laughed as Jack thanked me and turned to disappear into the tombs of the empty store.

The Comic Strips

I thought the comics where unusually insightful this morning. Bits of life seemed to fit into the black and white strips of humor.

Garfield enjoyed one long quiet day alone. Jon, the master of the house, disturbed the peace by knocking on the door and demanding to be let in. Garfield on his way to the door thought, “Darn, it's back.” The same thought floats around my day and my visiting house guest. Maybe this afternoon, or tonight or even tomorrow he shall return from the Other Side. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the peace, the lack of edge, as my cousin described the three minute encounter he witnessed.

Which brought me to Dilbert. Dibert admitted he had nothing useful to say in his presentation, but cleverly prepared a pie chart which revealed nothing. My pie chart: There won’t be any more about this guest. Unexpected results for Dilbert’s. His audience was wowed and pledged their lives to the pie chart. That brought me to Doonesbury.

One cast member (I never know who is who, but the guy who looks like he is about to go on a fly fishing expedition) lamented the responsibilities of tweetering. If you don’t know what that is, then good for you. Tweetering is a nightmarish obsession to slobber bits and pieces of your life on the internet in real time fashion to all your friends and cultish “followers.” It is a week into March and I have not posted a blog. My thoughts about Tweet: Get a Life.

Economic woes were found in Bizarro. It always proves to be its name. A pirate gave his captain grief about burying the treasure. “What are we? Squirrels?” he asks. No we are not, but maybe we should have been more like the captain and squirreled something away for tomorrow. Of course, there are those of us who did and now have very little left. Maybe we should have lived “eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we shall die.”

Our inabilities deal with reality was reflected in Born Loser, a strip I always hated because of the oafish characters. Same reason why I dislike Marmaduke, Scoobie-Doo and Goofy. (Why are man’s best friends portrayed in such an uncomplimentary manner? Since I’m not a dog person, I got my theories.) Anyway, back to reality. Sorry.

Most of us don’t have lives like our nighttime dreams, or what comes on TV. As stated in Born Loser, we can't take the clicker and change the channel. But we can pretend. Last fall, my older brother and I twisted the phrase “just like in the movies.” When something in our lives happened or when we were telling a story, we compared it to something that happened in the movies. Thank goodness it was just a weekend. Our lives never had a chance to make it to the big screen. We were released straight to a DVD. Now I’m waiting for the thriller movie about the economy. The hero? The villain?

Next came Shoe, that crusty old bird reporter, writing a helpful hints column addressing ways to eliminate clutter. Ironically, the Oscar Madison-like character was surrounded by a cluttered-filled office, complete with an old spare tire. All perched on a tree limb, mind you.

No, my office is not rat’s nest of disorganization, despite the unknown whereabouts of my house guest. I thought this comic reflected the recent onslaught of governmental legislation without stopping to think. I had always thought the advice about stopping to smoke a cigarette before responding to a crisis was a good one. If your neighbor knocked on your door and asked for 100 bucks wouldn’t you ask, “What for?” And when they said, "stuff" wouldn't you laugh?

$787 Billon later... By the way, Obama thinks the market is a good deal. Hey, I got some Florida swampland you should look at.

A good comic page isn’t complete without Family Circus. Perfect reflection. Little Billy stared at the clock and wanted to know if he was going to be an hour younger or older when the clocks get changed tonight.

Tonight? Really? Are we to change the clocks? Now that's reality. Of course, we don’t do such things in Hawaii.

Coincidence?

The restaurant was suppose to be in Naalehu. Dad and I arrived in the two-horse town just ahead of a tour bus. The bus burped its passengers at the curb and they scurried into the shade faster than cockroaches caught in a midnight raid of the refrigerator. The swarm clogged the restrooms and nearby bakery.

The bakery, America’s most southerly located, fronted as an information booth and turtle center. While inquiring about the location of the Lunch Box, I had to lean over the éclairs, chocolate-choked cream puffs and monstrous muffins. All at very reasonable prices. Good marketing.

“Hey, Val, you want to split one of those?” Dad pointed to a fat éclair. I hadn't seen one so scrumptous since I left Bastonge.

“Later, Dad.”

The young Hawaiian girl had never heard of my Uncle Pep’s son in law’s little restaurant, the Lunch Box. She thought it might be in Hilo. But there was no way I would confuse Naalehu with the Hilo. But maybe Pep did. However, I might have misunderstood the last name of a cousin I had never met. “Are you sure the name is Paul Nahoe? I know a Paul Hahoe. He owns the Lunch Shop, across the street in the park.”

I considered this a possibility. Sounded close. I was sure I had the right name, but you know that Hawaiian stuff. With names like Kamakawiwo'ole and Kahakahakea I could make a mistake. You say Paul Hanoe, I say Paul Nahoe.

Lunch Box? Lunch Shop? Maybe my unlce had the name confused. I was in the right tiny town. Maybe.

We went across the street. I awkwardly introduce myself at the window of the bright yellow shanty. I explained, "I’m looking for Paul who married my Oregon cousin. Last name Perez." Strangely, the local claimed she indeed had a brother named Paul who married a girl from Oregon, but not the last name Perez.

She asked me if I wanted to buy any fish. I went back across the street and got a cream puff.

Project

I had the wood, left overs from other projects. I knew where to get the paper. A little poking around in Home Depot and wahlah! A lamp. Now that I know it is possible, I'm going to think about sconces.

Pretty cool, huh?

Leaving

The airline agent asked Dad if he needed assistance.

“Sure,” he replied, more like it was a game, not a true need. I already instructed him not to ask for a wheel chair.

“Why not? You get the royal treatment.” He reminded me that he and Mom had flown to Portland since 911. Mom had a wheel chair.

“All you need is keep your Battle of the Bulge hat on and you’ll get the celebrity treatment.”

I escorted him through security. Dad had prepared to remove his shoes by tying them loosely. They slipped off. “They should provide chairs so you can put your shoes back on,” he complained. There are never any conveniently located. Outside of the shoes, Dad is beginning to be a pro at going through security. Remove the belt, empty pockets, kick off shoes. Take your sweet time.

I watched him tie his laces. He does this like no one else. Two bows, one loop. So unique it is obvious Mom taught us kids how to tie our shoes.

We waited in the courtyard of the Kona Airport. Nearby three bronze hula dancers, froze in a movement that flung their layered skirts out from their bare feet. Bird shit covered their outstretched arms.

For the past three months I had been with my Dad. I was going to miss him. The condo would be a bit emptier, a bit quieter and bit lonelier, if only for the first evening while I adjusted to being solo again.

“What are you going to have for dinner?” he asked.

Yes, my first adjustment. I didn’t have to make dinner. Costco wasn’t carrying batch tamales anymore, my island staple food, besides papaya. I’d have to switch to spaghetti. Not white rice, heaven forbid.

“Maybe I’ll finish off the cabbage salad. I’ll have to see what else is in the frig.” I laughed, as if he knew my answer. I needed to think. Probably ice cream.

It was oddly empty at the condo when I returned. I listened to Joy FM, a Christian radio station out of Tampa. I ate the cabbage salad. I plugged away at the crosswords puzzles. Tuesday’s are not suppose to be this hard. And I watched the clock, envisioning Dad on his trip back to New York, reading The Forgotten Man.

He won’t be.

Up Hill

Its ten miles. Up hill all the way, a very different commute from a flat mile to the Tarpon Springs Public Library where I use to meet with other writers. And easy walk. Not a trying climb on bike.

At Kona Stories, an independent bookstore in Kealakekua, there is a writers group that meets on Thursdays. I attended last week. The group had a guest writer, Ellisa Elliott, promoting her book Eve, a novel of the first woman.

Of Scandinavian stock her presence dominated the tiny lanai where we, the aspiring writers, sat in a circle of chairs to seek advice on the acquisition of an agent, and publisher. Her own story filled the breezy altitude with enough electrons to power a small city. With her can do attitude she admitted that not until she left her writers group was she able to seize the task of researching and hunting down an agent that might be interested in taking her on as a client. The process is not that mysterious, but it is a lot of hard, tenacious work.

Elissa will do well in any pursuit. Highly energized and sincere in presentation she's knowledgeable, confident and is not intimidated by any task before her. She advised us, "Don't worry about it. Not everybody is going to like you."

I am just beginning to read her book. It opens with a grabbing sentence. I came upon my son’s body by the river. She does well to explain in the afterword her research and some of the decisions she made in order to write the details of a story most of us think we know.

Since the writers meeting was not the norm, I could not asset the strength of the group, but I made notes of those who spoke, what they said and what they thought was important. I’ll soon have to asset the value of trucking ten miles uphill.

Missed Opportunity

How many times have I heard American is experiencing an economical crisis, if in appearance but psychologically rooted? We suffer from a lack of trust in our institutions – government, Wall Street, banking, auto manufacturing, housing, etc… We have nowhere to turn and put our trust. The economic crisis and responding actions taken haven’t been fair to those of us who didn’t go into debt, or didn’t borrow beyond our means, or didn’t spend our future on those things we wanted today.

These days Americans ask what can we trust in? What is there to believe in? Bennie Madoff, Tim Geithner, Barney Franks, Santa Claus?

And the answer is quite simple. Look at your dollar. Sorry. Flip over that last penny in your pocket. Read what our Founding Fathers declared.

Let’s not forget the basics. In God we Trust. If that is too simple for you, or you just scoffed, I ask, “What are you trusting these days?”

Pau Hana

My aunt and uncle arranged for a presentation at their West Maui Book Club. I wasn’t sure what I should talk about. (Yeah I know, the book, stupid.) There was interest in the joys of self-publishing. My aunt and uncle set about marketing the presentation by contacting several local papers and weekly flyers on the west side of Maui. I think we all expected a front page article with color photo. Big Island author that I am, and everything!

I donated several books to the Hawaii Library system to circulate among the club members so they could quiz me about my sanity, which always seems to be the subject of curious readers of the Last Voyage of the Cosmic Muffin.

A couple of days before leaving for Hawaii I dug out past presentations and glued a few bits and pieces together and added some original thoughts. During the week I glanced at the pages to be sure I could remember most of what I wanted to say without reading text. I hate sitting through presentations where the speakers read. My uncle thought I was going to deliver a sermon. Maybe one day.

There were probably fifteen people at the event. More than I expected. I sold six books, far more than I expected as the usual course of economics works out to be 1 sale/hr. That’s about $10.00 an hour, or so I tell myself. So it was by far a record breaking event.

I keep eyeballing the cruise ships in the harbor. Maybe I can put on a muumuu and a funny weave hat, sport a tattoo and hawk my book down at the wharf.

“Hey Lady. You got a permit for that?”

Getting Here

I hadn’t been through that much de-icing since Al Gore declared his inconvenient truth about global warming. The slushy substance oozed down the window, first a trickle and then a good sloshing like a glacier flow in spring, or during a cycle of thermal proliferation.

The first plane had been cancelled, an accidental discovery at 3 am when I went on the web to check airport and weather status. A click to the Delta website and there in bold letters – CANCEL, the flight from Albany to JFK. I figured such a thing would happen. Oh well, I’m flexible. It wasn’t like I had a hotel reservation and a six night window to cram an annual vacation into before I got back to a crunch job.

Before leaving the house for the airport I re-scheduled the trip to Maui through Cincinnati and Salt Lake City. And if all went well, we would arrive in the Aloha State four hours ahead of the original schedule. Looking out the window of the plane in the predawn and listening to the muffled splashes on the fuselage I held no hope of making a 30 minute connection. I resigned to spending one long day in some airport lounge, at best in a hotel room in the Blue Grass State. (Yes, the Cincinnati is in Kentucky.)

Cincinnati was covered in a combination of winter weather: sleet, snow and freezing rain under a white fog. Despite thinking we would never get out of there because we were late and bad weather, Dad and I made a quick trip from concourse to concourse. At the closed gate with a plane still on the jet way, the agent opened the door for us, the last of seven to make the flight from the Albany connection. Our seats had been given away and I expected our luggage would sit on the tarmac for a day and a half before catching up with us in Maui.

They wanted to check Dad's carry-on, but because it had all his medication, the attendants found space somewhere for it. I crammed into a middle seat next to a real white-knuckled flier who throughout the flight clutched the back of the seat and literally gasped when we hit the least amount of turbulance. It was a smooth flight and I felt sorry for the guy.

Salt Lake also experienced snow. Again, an OJ Simpson-like dash through the airport, concourse to concourse. We again found the plane waiting for us. If miracles of miracles got our luggage on the plane from Cincinnati, there couldn’t possibly be another miracle to get our luggage on this plane.

We sat near the bulkhead door and froze our asses off for six hours. The only consolation was that when the door opened, the blast of air on the other side would be 45 degrees above the freezing mark. Yeah, it was pouring rain but I wasn’t on vacation. I was in my home state, Hawaii. With my luggage!!

Delta is one of the few remaining airlines that doesn't charge for luggage, at least not the first bag going to Hawaii. (I checked their website to read the policy and because of the merge with Northwest it was too confusing to decipher. Well, not really, I was just too impatient to read it all.)

Good job Delta.

Garbage Disposal

Yep, this blog entry is about a garbage disposal.

Before leaving Hawaii in November I noticed a small leak under the sink. Added this to my To Do List that included calling a plumber. I even looked up the phone number, but secretly hoped that in the three intervening months the rust corroding the flange between the disposal and sink will somehow seal itself shut and dry. Of course things like that never happen.

Shortly after my arrival back in Hawaii I inspect the situation in the kitchen. Leaking a little bit more. Never having the experience of installing a disposal I took a shot at it. Installation? Not too difficult. Extracting an old rusty coupling, and snap ring? Ah, that was a different story.

With the help of a guy named Jim, a Lowes employee who had been a rocket scientist in a previous life, I located a new flange and sink drain housing. “Looks more complicated than I thought”, I told him. Not really he assured me. And explained the process in detail. The reason he did this was because he has sent his wife on some wild chases after things and wanted to be as helpful to me as he expects others to be toward his wife. A good Christian sort of thing.


Armed with bolt buster and plumber’s putty I left the store on a mission. After saturating the rusty coupling rings I began to whack away at the rust. I hadn’t seen that much oxidized metal since I left the harbor in Micronesia. The stuff fell off in chunks like stalactites from a cave’s ceiling. I never thought I would have enough muscle to get the two frozen pieces of metal apart. After a series of sprayings and whackings the disposal began to work its way off the coupling. But there was still a welded snap ring under the rust on the flange and sink drain. I would not have known it was there except I had the replacement part to compare and examine.

More spray and finally the rusted “Jesus ring” appeared. A whack or two later and it fell off. With a little bit more muscle the top coupling dropped off and the old sink drain was free. Rust and caked plumber putty everywhere. Neither tasted very good.

Since I tore everything apart I took little note of how the bottom coupling piece attached to the disposal housing. I concluded that the rusted bottom coupling came with the disposal and that needed to be cleaned as I didn't have a replacement part. While I didn’t get down to bear metal, a good bit of the corrosion was removed with a hammer and chisel. My finger nails were stained like I had a very bad nicotine habit.

During another trip to the hardware store to get a wire brush I discovered that I need the gasket in order to reattach the old bottom coupling to the disposal. This was just a lucky accident. Still it took some mock installations before I figured out how everything would go together. I still can't believe that the gasket holds this thirty pound piece of equipment to the coupling. But it does. Or at least it does in this installation.

Jim offered a last bit of advice. “After you put the putty in place and press down on the sink’s top flange, go have a beer. Let it set a bit before you tighten it all the way. It’s a hydraulic thing. In five minutes it will be ready to tighten up.”

“Takes me more than five minutes to drink a beer.” I haven’t ever drunk a beer.

“Good, you’ll be all set then.”

That was the easy part. To install the disposal I wedged myself completely under the sink and got my legs in place so I could lift and wedge it into position while Dad aligned the unit so I wouldn’t have to replumb anything. Some more hammering required, although directions said, “Simply turn into place.” Nothing like using a hammer on something other than a nail. It took some contortion to get out from behind the disposal and p-trap.

Now I got papaya seeds being ground to smithereens. No drips, no runs and no errors. Add another skill to the resume.

Looking Up

I listened to the rain pound on the concrete decking of my yard. A lunar eclipse seemed out of the question when I went to bed. I rose at 2:38 am needing to pee. I almost didn’t bother to peek outside. I expected a thick layer of clouds, but I found the moon dancing behind a breaking layer. A few minutes later the skies cleared and I stayed up for a show.

I’m no astronomer so to me an eclipse is an eclipse. Okay, I get solar and lunar, but not so much the concept of umbra and penumbra. The difference is way cool and not so cool to the point of “should have stayed in bed”.

Back in New York it is 9:06 am, time to call the electrician, or maybe the heat and air guys or the fire department. Apartment number 3 smells smoke and hears cracking noises from the fuse box. JMJ. Here in Hawaii, the moon is just beginning to dull, as if some weak shadow is falling over it. Hey, that is what an eclipse is all about. It’s 4:09 am. The early morning hours have made me hungry. Dad is sleeping. I wish I knew how to shoot the moon with my camera. Just one big ball of blinding white light.

While I wait for something spectacular to occur, I wait on the tenant to call me back. Lost phone last month so I lost the electrician's phone number. Haven’t paid him yet for last visit in January because I left town for Hawaii and the bill is most likely sitting in Dad’s mail box. I’m darn close to becoming a deadbeat.

The peak of the event is at 4:39 am. I’m ready to crawl back onto my mattress laid out on the floor in my office. Dad’s got my bed. It’s okay. I sleep about as good as I normally sleep which isn’t good.

I feel like I need to write one of those “catch everybody up on everything that has happened” Christmas newsletters. No blogs since mid-January.

If four seasons of Lost can be covered in 4 minutes (see abc.com) I should be able to wrap up 30 days in a sentence. After subzero temperatures and enough snow to pile it over seven feet high at the end of Dad’s driveway I escaped to Hawaii. Ta-Da.

Well, the northern half of the moon is a bit darker than the lower half. I think that is the show. No stark contrasting disk falling over the light. Just a grayish foggy look. Penumbra. Remember that. If I had not known, I’d miss it. Geez, I even hear a rooster crowing. God, I hope my place isn’t burning down.

Colder Yet

Oh those deer are tearing the hell out of the greens. The holly looked like a hurricane ripped through the yard last night. Dad was pissed. So was I. I swear if I had a gun, a few deer would be hanging by their hooves from the cherry tree out back.

I'm tired of shoveling my jeep out of a bank of snow, brushing mounds of snow off the roof, windshield and hood and wondering every time I go outside to start it, "Is it going to crank?"

At least I figured out where to keep all my gear so it isn't a matter of "where's my hat, where are my gloves, where are my boots, where are my socks..." Now it's just a matter of "how many gloves, how many jackets, how many layers of long johns..."

Here come the minus numbers. Just when 23 was becoming manageable.

Of The Past

I stomped through the white, breaking the icy crust hidden a few inches below the powdery bed. In the sparse underbrush of winter I could not find the trail. I navigated by memory – the stream tunneling below the surface like a winter vole, breaking hibernation just long enough to satisfy a sleeping hunger, runs parallel with the now invisible trail, the mid-afternoon sun stays to my left. In the hemlock grove I ignored the broken tracks deer pressed into the snow as they wandered off the mountain to tear at manicured shrubs.

I listened. It could have been the echo of my own existence, mocking the thump and crack of each step. But it was lazy deer, disturbed by my lone presence. Nearby the cold waters trickled over black rocks and gurgled as if trying to gasp a last breath of life before it succumbed to the hardness of short days and colder nights.

An old No Trespassing sign, half frosted in snow and faded by years of light that managed to filter through the needles of coniferous, clung to a pine. If I had never been here I would have wondered why the sign marked a place where ownership seemed as foreign as summer.

Progress through the woods was slow. Although it was mid-afternoon, daylight would soon rest. My navigation light would be the rising moon, if I soon didn’t find the trail. I stood still again, to listen. Four deer thundered into the depths of the hemlocks, tails flashing like lightening.

The heat from my exertion rose from layers of modern technology. I opened my outer jacket and removed my woolen cap. Steam fogged my glasses turning the woods into a dreamy blur. I paused to wipe the lenses with a dish towel taken from the kitchen before I left the house.

Across the stream a marker caught my eye. A metal can top painted yellow. Home made. I smiled. I knew the boy who left the trail, and imagined him with hammer, tacking tin to tree the fringe from his Daniel Boone vest dancing in a late autumn breeze. But the blaze did not follow the logging trail I searched for.

Tiring, I trudged on, crossed more deer paths and found their beds pawed to earth, and places where droppings and urine indiscriminately told of living beasts. More thunder crashed through the trees and melted into the distance where all things come together.

I found the old trail, a place where time had yet to grow a tree. The walking wasn’t easier, but now I knew I’d be home before the full moon rose. A deer trail merged with the path. I fell into the broken crust to find the going less tiresome.

Toward the east the mountain’s ridge dropped sharply and yielded a panorama of low mountains rising beyond the Hudson Valley. The last bits of daylight splintered over the foothills leading into Vermont. Below the base of what was once the highest mountain in the world, Hagadorn’s Mountain, laid the roof tops of familiar buildings, the old one room school house, Grey’s Barn, my father’s house. Here I waited with the memories of Mohicans, French trappers and English settlers, of Indian raids and revolutions and a little girl who dreamt of bears and badgers.

The sun light caught the tips of the trees still wearing a coat of ice. The branches glistened and looked like a thousand gossamers spread across the sky. Time to come off the mountain and leave this place behind.

I'm Melting

Saw this comic in the paper this morning. Loved it. Enlarge it if you can't see it.
That's me. Looking at the snow falling from the sky. Good eats too.

Looks like I got hit by a truck and landed in a snow bank. Or I'm sinking in a pool of slush.

Christmas Tree

I have had some trouble uploading photos. A connection issue. So the snaps have been delayed.

This is how to get a perfect Christmas tree. Pick one snowy day, ideally Christmas eve. Go wander in snow up to your knees.





Occassionally, throw yourself on the ground, face up and watch the flakes sift down from heaven, some invisible space far overhead. Guess how far you can see.

Bring one sharp saw and a sharp eye for prefection. It is hard to see the detail when the whole moment is pure.

Sweep away the snow. Uncover the earth so the cut is low to the ground. Don't forget to count the rings. Smell the fresh pine.






Bring the tree home and let the snow melt in the basement. Meanwhile, cook a few hotdogs over the fire and cook some of Grandma Brown's baked beans.

Decorate lightly and wait for Santa Claus.

Fat Opportunities

If I had made some resolutions their annihilation would have occurred days ago. It wasn’t until the first Sunday in January that I found the intangible sense of renewal that comes with the turning of the calendar.

In Micronesia, on the street of Denpei, the silent ringing in your ears would float down the muggy street filtered by the call of pigs and cocks. The noise would have stopped. The constant drumming, the singing, dragging tethered and battered soda cans down the asphalt street in celebration of the New Year during the time stuck between the first wee hours and the first Sunday of the year. A call to worship halts the revelry for another year and the quiet reserved Mwoakillese people go back to slow living.

For me, a sense of faith replaced an uneasy sense of wishful hope. It took a few days of pondering my resolution to worry less to understand that my decision was an empowerment. Instead of wandering down a path of wishful hope and worry, I’ll stand in the realities of faith. So much better. So much more a powerful weapon.

Maybe it was those deer grazing on the bushes outside the basement windows. The animals triggered the motion sensor spilling a shattering light, across the night’s landscape. Unfazed, the fat deer browsed on the tender ends of the junipers. I watched them pick through the snow covered branches, to find the choice greens. Unaware of my presence, they continued to rip at the branches. Unaware that they intruded upon my sleep, they worked to destroy the growth of last season. Unaware that I thought of them as food. I wanted a gun. The deer hoped their grazing will always be good. I have faith they will find it so, and their hope provides me with a useful resource. Power over them.

It’s illegal to shoot the deer, but if I was starving, would I care? Not in the least. Would I successfully gut the animal? Know how to care for the meat? Not in the least. Much would fall in waste, staining the snow until spring comes to wash away my crime with a cold rain. But I would learn, survive and do it again. Better the second time.

It’s faith that empowers, reduces worries. I have faith to draw upon my God given resources. My resolution is not to rely on hope. There is no need to worry.

If it had been polar bear rummaging through the garbage, I’d be worried.

Rocks Estate: Bethlehem, New Hamsphire

This is where the Perez's get their Christmas tree every year. On Christmas Eve Robin and I venture to the farm to find the perfect tree. We have done this in wind so bitter as it ripped over the ridges it blinded you with tears that froze to your face. We have slogged through rain and mud on bare ground. We've come home drenched from wandering through slush laden boughs. But this year, fresh powder draped the landscape and a gentle snow whispered to earth.

Resolve

For the last four days I have been stretching my left hamstring. It was so tight and hurt so much that I went to the Chiropractor thinking I screwed up my back and sciatic nerve shoveling snow or doing other such stupid things that people do when they live where weather continually dumps on inconvenient places like driveways and sidewalks and the earth in general. I guess I could have gone to a nightclub with a pistol in my pocket, but I thought a visit to the Doc would be a better cure, with less time served and besides my medical plan wouldn't cover a bullet hole in the leg.

Apparently the back wasn’t too whacked out of place. "Moist heat and stretching. Should be okay in a few days."

I always been about as flexible as a frozen clothes line, barely able to touch my toes. This morning, there wasn’t much pain as I got my finger tips to the floor. And yesterday I shoveled another six inches out of the driveway.

Twenty eight days to Hawaii. Hee-hee-hee.

I’ve been pondering my New Year Resolutions. Since I’ve been on a diet for four days now, I didn’t need to resolve to lose weight. Nor did I resolve to exercise more. Or swear less. Or drink more milk. Nor did I make any financial resolutions such as save more or spend less or earn more by securing a job. I've made no commitment about taxes. I didn’t decide to write more, read more, pray more. Nor am I going to be kinder to animals, little old ladies, pan handlers and liberal democrats. I didn’t think it was worth any consideration to learn a new language, take up a new hobby or finish an old project. Making contact with old friends, making new ones or improving current relationships seemed unworthy of any super attempts warrented in most resolutions. And I resolved not to make any resolutions to save the planet, as global warming sounds good right to me. (It’s -9° this sunny morning and people will be jumping into Lake George this afternoon.)

This is not to say some improvements on my behalf are not needed. There are two endless lists – those improvements I am well aware of and those improvements I should be well aware of. As a goal oriented individual I work on all these things most of the time and will continue to do so regardless of the turn of a year.

Instead, I decided to worry less. Yes, to be less concerned about weight, health, finances, relationships and even my relationship with God. I figured this was one good resolution. A good motivator.

This is how it works. I hate being cold. It causes me to fret about being cold. And consequently I limit my exposure to it. That is unless I’m mountain climbing and then cold is just part of the package. I don’t worry about it. Realizing this, I decided to apply not worrying to other aspects of life. But first the cold.

Okay, it is butt ass cold outside this morning. I have the gear for it. Nevertheless I hate being in it. So I joined Dad outside as he removed another inch of needless snow from the driveway. I cranked up the Jeep and by golly it turned over. Frost inside and all.

I knew he wanted to go to the Lake George Polar Plunge. I didn’t because I didn’t want to be cold. Quit worrying about being cold and go. So we did. Lord Almighty there hasn’t been that much exposed white skin since Moby Dick encountered the whaling ship Pequod.

Not worrying isn’t meant as a license to act stupid – eat whatever, become a slug and disregard relationships. It still means I am responsible to maintain my physical and spiritual self. It’s just…well, I’m not going to worry about it. And any necessary corrective course of action will take place when needed, not January 1, 2009.

Oddly, this is the first year in five that I'm not worried about where I'm going to live. Feels good. Probably means I'll end up under a bridge.

Now I got to go stretch out that hamstring before it freezes up.