Catching Up

 Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

Image and written content

The English monarchy has a very long history, some 1,400 years if you go back to the Kings of Wessex.  In that time there has been 65 monarchs who have sat on the throne.  This past week, Elizabeth passed from this life after 95 years, 70 of them as Queen.  Nobody over that nearly a millennia and a half ruled for anywhere near that long.  

She assumed the throne at 25, after the death of her father.  Winston Churchill doubted her abilities, thought she was far too young for such daunting responsibilities.  For such an eminent statesman, it was a rare misjudgment.  Not only did she prove equal to the challenge, she embraced her responsibility to serve the people, her subjects, and the country.  Her strength, intelligence and equanimity in the face of all that the country and her family have endured, earned the respect of the entire world.  On the day of her passing, I could here the soft footsteps which marked the passage of history.  

Charles is now King, but he has a past that has caused a lot of grief.  The death of Diana was a personal loss for millions, and the stories that emerged of his treatment of her painted a dark picture, indeed.  An air of uncertainty hangs over the Royal Family.  Elizabeth was the glue that held them together through scandal after scandal.  

And now, she is gone.

It remains to be seen if her successors can recapture the grace, strength, and respect that was her enduring legacy.

******

We have watched as the mainland has been baked and broiled this summer.  Triple-digit temperatures have been visited on nearly the entire 50 states, creating an unprecedented drain on electricity.  In addition, most of the western states are dealing with extensive and serious drought conditions.  Winter, the time when snowfall is supposed to replenish water sources, has not produced the snowfall required.  There is real concern that these states could run completely dry by the end of this decade.  The future of this region, and the tens of millions who live there, now hangs in the balance.  There is no man-made solution in the offing.  As the history of the Dust Bowl years recalls, sometimes for unknown reasons, nature just turns off the spigot.  All we can do is wait for the rains to return.

******

On a happier note, for nearly three scintillating weeks, we had grandchildren in the house, as our son's family flew in from Virginia for a visit.  Our niece got married, which sparked the reason for the visit.  It was a great reunion, full of fun, laughter, and love.  I managed to take some time off and went with them as they made almost daily visits to the beaches here in O'ahu.  It was a time for us as grandparents to embrace the unrelenting passage of time reflected in their growth.  I know most grandparents think their grandchildren are the loveliest, smartest, and most talented in the world.  With all respect to our peers, ours actually are.

Missing the Music and the Joy

 

"Music washes away from the soul

the dust of everyday life."

-- Berthold Auerbach

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

There were many things that ended up being casualties of the Pandemic, like normal life for instance.  But while most communities have started that long, slow journey back, there were some losses.  

There were a lot of things I used to do before this thing started, to which some I've returned.  Medical facilities are still requiring masks, but everywhere else, its become optional.  I still feel a sense of hesitation before entering WalMart, automatically reaching into my pockets for a mask.  The variants are still raging, and there are still people getting sick, even the completely vaccinated and boosted.  But for most of us, I think we're so exhausted by the whole thing that it's no longer the front-and-center attention grabber that it once was.

The task of putting our lives back together goes on.  Vacations are now being planned and taken.  People gather in large crowds without a second thought.  Businesses are getting snippy about getting people back from working in pajamas to being present in the workplace.  Zoom, once a novelty, is now mainstream, along with all the other video meeting tools.  So, there has been a kind of paradigm shift, one that might change the way we do business in the future.

One of the casualties for me was the Irish Music sessions.  Twice a month, I would gather with a lively group of very talented musicians for about 3 hours to play along with their encyclopedic knowledge of traditional music.  Those halted when the shutdowns began to happen.  This had become one of the highlights of my month, I labored long and hard on my Bodhran (a frame drum) hoping to at least not gum up the works.  I also sang occasionally, though I had to use lyric sheets as I suffer from CRS.  (Can't Remember Songs.)  Still, they were a patient lot as they educated me on the music and the session rules.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  Over time, it became a highlight in my life.  I always looked forward to going and I went when ever I could.  Losing that little joy kinda made the Pandemic a little darker.

The Best Kind of Trip

 

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

We've lived in Honolulu now for about three-and-a-half years, both of us working at jobs that at times test the stamina of that proverbial last nerve.  While we've taken time off now and then, we really haven't taken what one could term a vacation.  A fellow named Earl Wilson called it "what you take when you can no longer take what you've been taking."  Well, that was us.  We were both stressed, and also depressed and sad.  What sparked the idea for this trip was a video that popped up on a social media feed of our oldest granddaughter at age three singing "Away in a Manger" at church.  It was so cute, no shyness, just belting out the carol.  

That girl starts driving soon.

Time was getting away from us.  So, we booked the trip in late February, scoring an incredible deal on first class tickets, something we'd never done before. The date of departure was May 21st, and it seemed like the days crawled past waiting to leave.  But finally we found ourselves at Honolulu International waiting to get on the red-eye.

The trip east was broken into three legs, first one to Phoenix, the second one to Charlotte, the third into Dulles International in the Virginia 'burbs of DC.  We got down to baggage claim, and lo and behold, our bags were the first ones off.  Our grandchildren came running into the terminal and right into our arms., hugs for which we'd ached so much   It was a joyous reunion.

Of course, they had all grown since we saw them last summer.  That's the thing with children.  They're always changing.  and if you turn your back for a seeming instant, all of a sudden they're all grown up.  

The relationship between grandparents and grandkids is, in it's own way, transcendent. In the autumn of our years they become as radiant as the sun, and more precious than gold.  They are so completely full of life and love.  Since even a visit of 16 days flies by too fast, we had to crowd a whole lot of living into that time.  We still found time to spend with each one, coming face-to-face with how much they've grown.  

Diana, the erstwhile carol singer, is now 15.  She is quiet and soft spoken, but her thoughts emerge with so much wisdom for one so young.  Her award-winning violin playing is masterful, but as she told me, she wants to do everything.  This is stated quietly, but in her voice can be heard the steel of ambition.  She is courageous enough to try every dream she might have, and knows that dreams take work for which she seems to have an unending capacity.  She also plays a great piano, does artistic sketches so real they seem to leap off the paper.  She is involved in competitive swimming, and is good at it.  Oh, and she's also a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, bad news for any potential suitors.  If she would ever have time for them.  Yeah, she's busy.

Seasons, and the Passage of Time

This has nothing to do with the post.  It's just another pretty sunset.

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

For most of my life, the passage of time was marked by the passing of seasons.  Spring, Summer, Fall, and Autumn were distinctly different. I grew up in Kansas City where the range of temperatures over a year could, and did vary by as much as 120°.  There was a sense of anticipation as a new season approached, knowing things were going to be different.  Every three months, a new reality asserted itself.

I've lived in a lot of places in America, and have planted my foot in 32 different countries, and been cut by Siberian winds and baked under a Saharan sun.  And I treasured those experiences.

Having moved to Hawai'i...four years ago? (Where'd the time go???) I've had to get used to a new normal.  The climate here has been described as an eternal summer, and there's some truth to that.  The difference  between the average high temperatures from January to July is only six degrees.  The difference is the angle of the sun.  We're 1,600 miles closer to the equator so the sun's rays are far more direct.  Tourists regularly fail to recognize this, incurring agonizing cases of sunburn.  Also, the trade winds, blowing out of the northeast, can have a mediating effect on one's comfort.  But on those days in July and August when the winds die, the humidity soars, and the sun is at it's most ferocious, it's every bit as uncomfortable at 90° as a 105° day is in Missouri.  

Still, you find a way to adjust.  Our bodies respond over time by opening the skin pores to enhance cooling.  This does make the hot days marginally less oppressive.  But it also takes away any resistance to cold.  In the winter, temperatures here can sink down to the low 60's and if your body has shifted into tropical mode, that feels distinctly chilly.  It's hard for me because I remember that 65° was my climate wheelhouse.  Now, I'm reaching for a hoodie.

There are other seasonal differences.  It rains more in winter here, and that is the time of year when the giant storm systems raging in the Gulf of Alaska will generate dangerously high surf.  It's not unusual to see 50 foot waves pounding in along the north shores. It's an awesome thing to witness, as long as you do it from a safe distance.  I remember one evening in Waikiki hearing a young Dad and his son as they walked and talked along the sidewalk.  Suddenly the son stopped and listened.  He could hear the surf breaking on the beach, and he turned to his Dad and asked, "Don't they turn the ocean off after dark?"

Still, even living here, I miss the turn of the seasons.  Autumn was my favorite.  After enduring the heat and humidity of summer, when the third week of September came, the temperatures and humidity dropped.  The skies cleared of that milky summer haze.  Over time, as the leaves changed, the air was filled with that remarkable aroma as the leaves fell and covered the ground, and how the swish of my feet through the fallen leaves enhanced the sensation.  Over time, it became too cool for shorts and t-shirts.  The night's chill made a sweater feel good.  By the first week of November, the leaves were at peak, the landscape painted with those vivid reds and golds as only the artist of Autumn can do.

When Normal Feels Abnormal

 

Copyright © 2022

by Ralph F. Couey

After two very long years, the long claws of the Pandemic are finally loosening their grip.  Over the past few months, states and municipalities began to relax the stringent requirements, such as masking, public gatherings, even the number of shoppers that could be in a store at any given time.  Hawai'i was the last state to drop the mask mandate, which they did on March 25.  This was a major concession by the state which had, hands down, the strictest controls in place.  That was followed this month by the ending of the mask mandate on airliners, buses, and other public transportation.  This was met with a lot of dismay, and an attempt to extend the mandate was struck down by an appellate court.  It would seem that "normal", however one might define that, was finally making a comeback.

The transition was abrupt.  At least it seemed that way.  The first day, March 26, I had occasion to visit the local WalMart.  So ingrained was the need for a mask that as I approached the door, I began to feel like I was missing something.  Entering the store, I slowed, expecting to be accosted by one of the blue-vested workers, but no such entreaty was heard.  I went deeper into the store, maskless, feeling...well, weird.  Looking around, I saw about an even mix between the masked and unmasked.  But nobody complained, so I completed my shopping uneventfully, except for noting with excitement the return to the shelves of my favorite breakfast cereals, Special K and Rice Crispies.  A problem at the Kellogg's plant produced a shortage of those and a couple other cereals for several months.  

Since that day, I've been trying to get used to the new situation.  It was hard, going through the McDonald's drive through, to not reach for a mask.  Even filling gas had required a mask, even though it took place outside.  At work, in a meeting with our boss and other supervisors, at one point in the middle of a serious discussion about the approaching hurricane season (yes, we get them out here), I began to chuckle.  The boss looked at me and inquired what was so funny.  I replied, "Sorry, I just haven't seen your face for two years."  That brought a laugh from everyone.  At church, we can use hymnals and sing again.  Still, it all feels strange.  And why should normal not feel...normal?

Over the past two years, we have been living with a virus that proved to be serious, and deadly.  The fear was sold hard by the government and the media, and we all walked around scared that this unseen enemy could at any moment leap out and grab us, like a mountain lion lying in wait along a hiking trail.  We became accustomed to living with the fear, like learning to walk with a limp.  Now, with the Pandemic on the wane, the fear remains.  I still see a lot of people using masks, even to the point of wearing one while driving with the windows up and A/C on.  I don't have any problem with that.  It's up to us as individuals to choose the level of risk we live with.  I followed the rules, got all the shots, and survived without ever getting sick even though my job with Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency required me to be at work while everyone else was locked down.  The thing is, I don't want to live with fear.  Life requires us to challenge it, pushing back against adversity and conquering our fears.  I have enough baggage without adding fear to the load.

Time, Tides, and the Really Important Things

 

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

Sixteen years ago, I wrote the first piece of this blog, an essay about Ben Rothlesberger's motorcycle accident.  Ben was new to motorcycles and some misguided salesman sold him a Suzuki Hayabusa, a 1300 cc rocket ship, and at that time was the fastest production motorcycle in the world with a top speed of 194 mph.  Predictably, within a month of that purchase, Ben was speeding, lost control, wrecked the bike and very nearly ended his life.  

Since that initial effort, the blog has grown to 833 posts, many of them newspaper columns that were published in various newspapers across the country.  So much of what I wrote involved the recounting of everyday experiences with just a bit of a twist.  Even when committed to writing as many as three per week, I never lacked for subjects.  It seemed that in my daily slog through life, there was plenty of interesting things to write about.  Of course, that was when "normal" existed.

After reviewing my work over the past five years, I realized that my writing reflected the mood I was in, usually dim, dark, and depressing.  Recently, I made myself a promise that I would seek out subjects which were, at the least, neutral, if not uplifting.  I recognize that the Pandemic affected me in ways which were not necessarily healthy, along with several million other people who suffered various forms of depression while isolated behind walls and masks.

Now that the last of the mask mandates have been lifted, that of air travel, it would seem that "normal" is making a comeback.  And not a day too soon.  Next month, Cheryl and I are taking a real-life vacation, three glorious weeks with some of our grandchildren in Virginia who are suffering a tragic lack of spoiling.  The instigation of this journey began one day when Facebook, as they are wont to do, re-posted a video of our oldest granddaughter at age three or four singing a Christmas carol at church.  It's an inspiring thing to watch, as she belts out the song loudly and confidently with absolutely not a shred of self-consciousness.  When we realized that that darling little girl would be driving soon, we decided we had to go.  

Children are precious things.  The days of their youth seem long, but pass all to quickly.  The pictures and videos helpfully posted by their Mom made it all too clear that we were missing the best part of their lives, those pre- and early-teen years when their joy and innocence remains utterly free of cynicism.  While it was a sense of filial duty to Cheryl's aging mother that brought us here to Hawai'i, we are all too aware of the ocean and continent that separate us from all ten grandkids.  

Time passes quickly as one reaches their 60's.  For reasons which remain mysterious, a day, a week, a month, even a year represents an increasingly smaller fraction of life, and therefore seems to fly by.  Sometimes that's good, like when you're enduring something like a root canal.  But mainly, I have become a bit more frantic because the vehicle I'm in is flying down the road of life at increasing speed, and will not stop or even slow.  And yes, I know how that particular trip ends.

Riding the Pony, Living the Dream

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

18 months ago I began a relationship. No, not with a human, but a magnificent automobile, the fulfillment of a dream that began in the fall of 1963.  That was the time when the new car models were introduced to the public.  It was a big deal back then when creativity seemed to be more important than the cookie-cutter models today.  Ford introduced a new vehicle upon which they hung the name "Mustang."  Each year, it got bigger and faster, culminating in the testosterone-generating 1969 Mach 1, also referred to as the Boss 429, with an enormous 429 CID (7.0 Liter) engine.  This powerplant was rated at 375 horsepower, but a lot of experts will swear on any religious book you choose that the actual output was closer to 500 HP.  This was a car you didn't just hear coming, but felt it as well.

Being a normal teenage male at the time, I lusted for that car, probably as a way of concealing my inadequacies in other areas.  As my life progressed through the years, prudence put me into other less-appealing vehicles.  But still in my heart was that longing that had not diminished.

In October 2020, in a moment of weakness, my wife suggested I should go look for a Mustang, if that's what I really wanted.  It was like throwing gasoline on a fire.

I searched assiduously for a period of time until I pad a visit to Honolulu Ford.  The first thing I saw was a parking lot full of Mustangs.  After talking to the salesman, he tossed me the keys to a used Mustang I4, also known as the EcoBoost.  Pulling out of the parking lot, it drove like every 4-cylinder car.  Then, I pulled on the ramp to H-1 (Our Interstate Highway).  Glancing at the traffic, I punched the accelerator.  

Ohhh Myyyy...

War in the Neighborhood

 

The park near the Mariupol Drama Theater  

©Google Maps

Aftermath  

©Evening Standard

Copyright © 2022

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

I've been thinking, as many of you probably have, about what is happening in Ukraine.  When Russia invaded is small neighbor on February 24th, most analysts, myself included, assumed that Russian forces would sweep over Ukraine in a matter of days.  Instead, the Ukrainians have frustrated the invader's advance.  Russian casualties have soared, including 8 generals.  It's been an amazing and inspiring thing to watch, as ordinary citizens bravely stood alongside their army with weapons in hand to defend their homeland.  That report brought a sad smile to me.  We used to have a country like that.

While we watch and react to the news, it's hard for us to really understand the impact this has had on the Ukrainians.  Most countries in Europe and Asia have hundreds, in some cases, thousands of years of history where countries were invaded.  Towns, cities, the countryside was torn to pieces.  And everywhere, death both soldiers and the innocent.  It is an indelible part of their past, and it influences their leaders even today.

In contrast, the last time America was invaded was 1812, in the conflict with England that has been called "The Empire Strikes Back."  Yes, we had a destructive Civil War, but those who fought were all part of the same country before the war, and afterwards.  In our 246 years of existence, we've never had to fight off multiple invasions, never had to take up arms to defend our homes and communities.  Such an idea is simply alien to us.

The Universe as a Distraction

 

The first image from the Webb Space Telescope.  Credit:: NASA/STScI

Copyright © 2022

by Ralph F. Couey

Yes.  It's been awhile.  For a writer, creative blocks are bound to come, like rain.  But my extended absence isn't related to a loss of creativity.  

For a long time now, we've been on the receiving end of a battering ram of bad news.  From one vector the Pandemic, which has exhausted us physically, mentally, and emotionally.  It's true that mandates and restrictions are beginning to ease, but hanging above us, like the proverbial sword of Damocles is the threat that a new variant could appear, spread rapidly, and we'd be right back where we were.  Vector No. 2 is the discord between ever-widening political sides in our country has been ratcheted up alarmingly.  Both sides are lying constantly, comfortable that none of their followers will ever hold them accountable for the truth.  

From yet another direction, war is raging, as Russia tries to swallow whole the country of Ukraine.  We have all been inspired by the courage displayed as ordinary Ukrainians willingly pick up weapons to defend their homeland.  The unexpected level of resistance has cost the Russian military time, money, and soldiers.  Almost five weeks into this, Ukraine is standing strong, led by their irrepressible President Zelensky.  When this started, most analysts thought it would be over in a matter of days.  No one knows as yet how this is going to end, but their's no doubt for which side the rest of the world is rooting.

At home, prices are skyrocketing.  Food, fuel, clothing and other necessities are straining budgets everywhere.  People are starting to make those hard choices between wants and needs.  For the first time in living memory, Americans are seeing empty shelves in grocery stores.  Supply chain issues make the acquisition of almost anything difficult.  And expensive.

Homo Sapiens 3.0?

 

(Image credit: T.H. Jarrett (IPAC/SSC))

The observable universe, out to about 380,000 light years.

The entire universe is estimated at 94 billion light years across.

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

except where otherwise credited.

I came across a fascinating book by Dr. Michio Kaku, he of the wizened smile topped by a cloud of wavy white hair, and who is a frequent sight on science programs.  This book, entitled "The Future of Humanity," an arresting title to be sure, is a science-based glimpse into what our species could become in the coming millennia.  I appreciate that he doesn't make any value-based judgments or use thundering oratory to condemn us to our eventual self-destruction.  Books about the future without that are difficult to find.

In the book, Dr. Kaku discusses what evolution and technological enhancements might occur as we voyage into the far future.  His focus is on our ability to voyage ever further into space to explore the sun's family of planets, even reaching out to the Kuiper Belt and the Oort cloud, repositories of comets reaching nearly half the distance to the closest star.  Trying to plan and execute such voyages runs up against two brick walls, the incredible distances involved, and the fragility of humans.

During the heyday of the Space Race, we all just assumed that once we reached the moon, going to Mars would be the next step, just a few years off.  What we've learned since is how dangerous a place space is, and the multitude of hazards that exist.  

The obvious one is collision.  There are a lot of objects whizzing around out there, most of which are pretty small.  But even a grain of sand slamming into the side of a spacecraft at 10,000 mph would likely end such a mission in disaster.  Secondly, space is full of dangerous radiation, most coming from our very own sun.  The normal radiative flux is dangerous enough to humans. Occasionally the sun enters a more rambunctious "mood" and flings enormous flares off of its surface, sending planet-sized clouds of charge particles flying through the Solar System.  The Apollo astronauts were extremely fortunate to have not been on the moon during one of these events.  The effects would have been deadly.  For a crew sailing enroute to the planets, the danger is very real.  The current solution is to encase the spacecraft in a girdle of water, which has the ability to stop such intrusions.  

Making Plans. Yeah. Right.

Another glorious sunset...

It's been a busy few weeks, as my lack of attention to this site has demonstrated.  Not that I have millions of people out there hanging on my every word, but as I have learned over the years, writing is good for the soul.

We went to Denver and cleared out the storage unit, donating a pickup truck load of mostly clothes I'm way too small to wear now.  The moving company boxed up what was left, and the load has started the long journey to what has become our new(est) home.  

This has created a break point for us.  In the three years since we came to Hawai'i, it was always the plan to return to the Mainland (which is our term for the continental U.S.) at some point.  Having that storage unit there was a kind of promise that we would be back.  Now, that promise has been broken.  Having swallowed what feels like the world's second-largest mortgage, we are committed to staying here for the foreseeable future.  That's not a bad thing, necessarily.  We're both making enough to meet our expenses and continue to put money away for our retirement, whenever that day comes.  As long as we both work, we're good.  But if the day comes when one of us "has had enough," then we could be in a wee bit of a pickle.  

It's difficult to plan the unplannable.  If our recent history has proven to us, whatever we try to plan long-term, circumstance...or perhaps fate...has had a way of rendering plans irrelevant.  In defense, we've learned to be flexible; nimble on our feet to meet these new circumstances as they occur.  I suppose that could be called a strength.  What it is, is stressful.

We were able to spend time with our daughters in Denver, along with those two precious grandkids, who are growing up entirely too fast.  They are the kids of the COVID generation, growing up in the middle of one of the most serious public health crises in our history.  What stories they will tell their grandchildren!  

I think it's important to step back from the pressures of life and take a moment to appreciate the power of this historical moment.  It is a time to record our stories so that future generations looking back can uncover not just the large-scale facts, but the very human stories that we can leave to them.  I remember the impact of a book I read about the Dust Bowl, "The Worst Hard Time."  I can recount in general the facts of that meteorological and ecological disaster, but its important to know how those years affected the people caught in the middle.  So, I would encourage you to record your stories in a journal, or a blog, or somewhere where your great-great-grandchildren can access them and know in a very personal way what it was like to live during a pandemic.

Dreams That Come in Grandkids

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Something wonderful happens to folks when they get grandchildren. The arrival of these chubby little bundles instantly become the most important things in life.  And the most beautiful and precious.

I suppose there's something anthropological going on here.  At its absolute base, the reason for life is to ensure the future by perpetuating the species.  But as we know, it goes way beyond that.  We are all linked to those people we call family, either by blood or marriage, and further connected by the generations that preceded us.  We, in turn, pass what we are to those who will carry those pieces of us into the future.

A couple of years ago, we took Mom out for her birthday to a restaurant in Aiea.  As the evening wore down, I gathered all the women present into a group photo, representing four generations.  It was and still is a powerful image.  One of the great sorrows that accompanied the corruption of my phone's memory card was the loss of that picture.  But it remains in my memory clear and sharp, a monument to the beauty of generations. 

I can trace my lineage back to 11th century France.  Cheryl's Okinawan and Japanese roots go back even further.  It's hard at times to wrap my head around the sheer length of those histories.  It also challenges me to make sure the future stays linked to those familial lines.

To a grandparent, a grandchild links sons and daughters and their parents in an even more personal way.  Now, we have both been parents.   Also, that child is the manifestation of that family's history and the hope for its future.  On a personal level, a grandchild is a vessel ready to accept the avalanche of love (and spoiling) that only a grandparent can give.

Old Roots, New Roots

Prairie Sunset east of Denver

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

"The best way to institute change

is to let go of those things that just don't fit anymore."

--Ralph F. Couey

It was a warm, lazy late afternoon. Looking across the neat, green grass, I could see our daughter Jamie's sweet dog Neil snoozing in the shade.  Being in Denver, the humidity was very low and there was a breeze, bringing to me a sense of contentment and even peace.  The writer in me loves these moments because its in this environment when the creative gears in my brain become unstuck.  As I look back, I remember how serene it felt to be there in that space in that moment, a moment when I needed some serenity.

It was a whirlwind visit this time, the main purpose of which was to gather up the remainder of our worldly possessions which have been in storage for the past three years and get them shipped to Hawai'i.  There's nothing big left, just a log of boxes and storage bins, more than I remembered, and my reverie is only slightly marred by the wonder of where in our home we're going to put all this stuff.

Home.  I guess its time to start using that word.  

For much of the last almost four years, we've haven't had one of those, only a long succession of extended stay hotels and other people's houses.  Even on our initial relocation here, we stayed in what was then, the home of Cheryl's mother.  Our stay here was never intended to be permanent.  At some undetermined future point in time, we were planning to return to the mainland, the exact location still a matter of discussion and debate.  The key driver in that decision would be the point when Mom would need to move to full-time respite care.  Her dementia is getting steadily worse, although from the neck down, she's as healthy as the proverbial horse.  

However, fate has a way of scuttling even the most contingent best-laid plans.  The first indication that there was debris in the gears was discovering that Mom's long-term care plan, sold to her by a living, breathing shyster, is completely inadequate for her situation.  The disability requiring the institutionalizing must be physical, and complete.  There is absolutely no provision for a mental or memory disability.  We had been casually talking about buying a place, taking advantage of the warp speed increases of home values here.  Once that possibility had been breached, it brought us to the conclusion that the only way to provide for Mom's long-term care was to buy her house and put the proceeds into an account for her future needs.  After getting the go-ahead from the family, we began the process, which completed  back in April.

It was expensive. Scary expensive.  Sleepless nights expensive.  One thing goes wrong and we're toast expensive.  I tell my friends that we have "the world's second-largest mortgage."  Because it feels like that.  

Beach Wedding and the Faith of Hope

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

I've been on a bit of a writing sabbatical, partially because life has gotten very busy, but also because like all writers, I hit a dry spell.

While I was away, many things have happened, not the least of which was the honor of performing a wedding.

We had met the couple at church when we were still in Virginia.  We hit it off, and enjoyed several happy years before circumstance pushed us back out onto the road again.  I had been for awhile their co-Pastor, and while I can't attest to the value of any ministry I may have brought to them, in their warm and joyful spirits, they gave a lot of ministry to me.  The Bride's parents were and are incredibly precious folks, possessed of the kind of sage wisdom which is far too rare in this world.   

They contacted me a few months ago and asked me to preside.  At first, I was not sure I could pull it off because at the time, the state of Hawai'i wasn't allowing its employees (of which I are one) to travel outside the state.  But they had decided to come here to have their wedding.  I was honored and humbled to accept.

Through the weeks, I worked on the ceremony, wanting it to be as perfect as I could possibly make it.  They were coming a long way, and they deserved nothing less.  The choice of venue seemed to be the least complicated thing about it.  They wanted an outdoor wedding, preferably at or on a beach.  After some discussion, we picked Kualoah Beach Park, just north of Kaneohe on the northeast shore of O'ahu.  I was able to navigate the administrative stuff, getting a permit to do the wedding and a $2 million event insurance policy (actually cost all of $18).  We got together at a restaurant near Pearl City on Friday, and had a terrific time.  Like all good friendships, it was like we had never been apart.  

The day of, I woke up, feeling nervous, but very happy.  We left in time to make the 45-minute trek to the park.  Then the fun began.  I neglected to pick a specific spot, and the park is a pretty big place.  The only guidance I gave them was "Where you can see Chinamen's Hat island."  Well, when we pulled in, the place was covered with tents.  I had forgotten that local people like to camp out at the state beaches on the weekend.  We rendezvoused with the family and hurriedly looked for a spot where we could have a modicum of privacy.  The tide was in, so there wasn't nearly enough beach for all of us to gather.  But there was an unoccupied campsite with a picnic table and a large and shady tree.  We decided that was as good a place as any, as looking one way you had the majesty of the mountains, and the other way, the open sea.  I just hoped nobody would show up and move us out.

You Can't Keep a Good Pub Down...Forever

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

"There is nothing so silent as a room 

where the walls once echoed with the sound of laughter."

--Ralph F. Couey

I went to a wake today.  Well, sort of.  A popular pub has closed for good, a victim of the ruthless rules of the COVID economy.

For decades, (the exact date remains fuzzy), O'Toole's Irish Pub occupied an ancient brick building on the south edge of Honolulu's China Town.  The building was originally erected in 1891, and retains every bit of it's character and personality.  So obvious was it's pedigree that it has been the site of scenes from both movies and television.  The pub itself was a gathering place for many, where conversations echoed from the walls and washed over those who were there like a crazy kind of wave.  No food was served here, just alcohol.  But it was so much more than a bar.

The owner, Bill Comerford, was also the proprietor of nearly all of Honolulu's Irish Pubs.  Along with O'Toole's, there was Anna O'Brien's, Kelly O'Neil's, and the Irish Rose Saloon, all popular, always comfortably populated with those who appreciated the ambiance of the traditional public houses of the Emerald Isle.

I don't drink, so my appearances there were more for the live music.  Several evenings a week, someone, or several someones would be standing on the small stage performing not only traditional Irish music, but a little bit of almost every popular genre.  In the back, was another room where I was able to gather with a group of skilled and joyful musicians who allowed me to join them in celebrating some of the world's best and most popular music.  

I was just learning the music, painfully working on my bodhran (Irish frame drum).  They were encouraging and supportive, and also direct when they needed to be.  O'Toole's was one of three places where we'd gather to play.  One, Kurt Jones' Violin shop, also fell victim to COVID.  We haven't gathered in awhile because the rules didn't allow groups that large to meet.  It's been over a year since the last time we met, and I have to tell you I really miss those sessions.  My father once told me, "Surround yourself with people who are better than you, and try hard to catch up."  These were skilled, professional musicians who possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of Irish music, able to pull up from memory any one of the hundreds of tunes out there. Yes, there were standards, but what kept me coming back was the sheer joy with which the music was performed.  Irish music is happy music, even the sad tunes, and to play it with the elan it deserves takes a special kind of musician.  I considered myself so fortunate to be able to sit in.

Finally Getting "Normal" Back Again

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

"I didn't want normal

until I didn't have it anymore."

--Mary Stiefvater

For the past 16 or so months we've lived in a different world.  COVID-19 rewrote the paradigm for life in so many ways, from the macro to the micro, discovering life under restrictions that at one time might have set a revolution in motion.  We got used to most of it, the masks, the isolation, the masks, the distancing, the masks, and a daily visit to the websites where the grim tally of pandemic statistics were paraded before us.  It didn't take long before we began to mourn that thing we used to call "normal life."

In the past couple of months, however, many mainland states began to drop their restrictions, and people began to embrace the "normal" they had missed so much.  Here in Hawai'i, the bar has been set at 70% of the population fully vaccinated at which point all restrictions will be dropped.  But there was an article in the Star-Advertiser, the Honolulu daily paper, about how much convention business Hawai'i was losing because those events were relocating to states where the restrictions were far less draconian.  Predictably, Governor Ige, in a press conference, said that he might not wait until 70% to end the state of emergency.

The thing is, for all intents and purposes, its pretty much over anyway.  There are around a half-million tourists in the islands from all over the place, few if any wearing masks or distancing, and the numbers of new cases are still very low.  I think if Hawai'i was going to have another breakout, it certainly would have happened by now.

So anyway, what I've seen in the past month especially is the way local people have kind of forced the issue.  On Tuesday late afternoon, I had a doctor's appointment downtown, and rather than inflict rush hour traffic on my emotional state, I decided to go to Kapio'lani Park and do my walking.  It's a great place to to that because it's entirely flat and one lap around the outside is exactly two miles.

The park started out as a horse racing venue for King David Kalakaua and named for his Queen Consort.  In 1952, after years of abuse and neglect, the 300-acre space was renovated into the magnificent greenspace it is today, bridging Diamond Head and Waikiki.  I have gone there on afternoons when I'm running early to work.  I park in the big lot off Paki Street, put a beach towel over the hot hood of my Mustang, and spend a few minutes drinking in the beauty.  Usually during the weekday, the park is pretty empty.  But as schools let out and people get off work, the park begins to populate.  That day, I parked the car and began my walk.  

The Teeny Titan of Tech

 

from bulkmemorycards.com

Copyright ©2021

by Ralph F. Couey

It's such a tiny little thing.  A piece of gray plastic about the size of my little fingernail, so small that if it were accidentally dropped into a bowl of Saimin, it would likely end up in one's stomach without any realization on the part of the consumer.  But it's small size is really a testament to how technology has blown past expectations.

This thing is called a micro SD card, descended from the mini SD card, which descended from the SD card (which looks enormous now), and traces its ancestry all the way back to the old floppy disks when they were really floppy.  It's capacity, helpfully printed on it's face, is 256 gb.  How much is that, you ask?  Well, Grasshopper, according to a Google search just done, it would hold 4.8 million printed pages.

A fair-sized book, to be sure.

When I bought my Galaxy Note 9 two years ago, I ordered this card as extra storage.  The phone itself has a capacity for a terabyte.  And that's 75 million printed pages.  But at the time, a 1tb card was just a bit too expensive, as was the 512gb version.  But despite my fixation with "way bigger is way better" with regards to data storage, this one has proved to be plenty big enough for it's assigned tasks.

I had transferred my entire iTunes library, some 1,700 songs, onto the card and then painstakingly organized them into several play lists.  When I'm walking, or in the car, I can tailor my listening experience depending on my mood, whether traditional Irish, Smooth Jazz, Praise, and one I call "Sing Alongs,"  from which I can entertain myself as long as nobody else is within earshot.  I also record my sermons, not out of ego, but rather to perform a stiff analysis of content, pacing, voice level and tone, all those things that have made me a better public speaker.  

Also stored there were a host of pictures and videos, ranging from nature shots and videos, to more mundane things, like an image of my vaccination card, and the number code that identifies the keys for both the Santa Fe and the Mustang.

I have subscriptions to both VUDU and Movies Anywhere.  Through those apps, I have about 160 full-length features, some of which were downloaded to the card for viewing while flying.  All in all, it has been a great little piece of tech.

Until three days ago.

Age, and the Immortal Mortals

"Heroes are often treated as gods,

seemingly immortal to the young eyes

which behold them.

But there is no more devastating moment

when those same gods have aged;

and those no-longer young eyes can see 

that they who were once thought immortal 

were mortal all along."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Growing up, I had heroes, like everyone else.  And like most other boys, they were athletes, mainly because they were on TV all the time, and that was the window through which I viewed the world.  I related before about my brief face-to-face with Mickey Mantle, and how much power that moment had, and still has for me.  I still remember Saturdays on NBC, watching Koufax, Drysdale, Mantle, Mays, McCovey, Colavito, Yastrzemski, and all the others who were living my dreams.  In their prime, they were tremendous athletes, seemingly capable of all kinds of heroics at the drop of a hat.

But time exacts a price.  People get old, muscles get weak, minds become weak, injuries refuse to heal.  We still see them on occasion, showing up at old-timers games, or ceremonial occasions.  It is always a shock to see what age has done to them.

A number of years ago, an old-timers game was played before one of the All Star games.  All the old heroes were there, gimpy, wrinkly, some showing a gut where once was a flat belly.  J. R. Richard had been a fireballing pitcher for the old Houston Astros, a man with blazing speed and pinpoint control.  During this contest, he came out to the mound for his half-inning -- and couldn't get the ball to the plate.  Pitch after pitch looped in and dropped on the grass in front of the hitter.  It was so sad to watch.  On another occasion in Houston, former running back Earl Campbell was to be honored.  Now, Earl had been a player of recent vintage, at least to my perspective.  He was a powerful man, an intimidating runner with absolutely the largest and strongest legs I've ever seen on a human being.  His name was announced and the crowd came to their feet.  Here came Earl Campbell.

In a wheelchair.

We want to think that our heroes will never age, will always be the same as we remembered them.  But this is not realistic, particularly for those of us whose best years lay behind us.

I read a lot of history, and am intrigued by the accounts of great people who accomplished incredible things.  The older accounts of people who lived before the camera was invented, are decorated with oil paintings, which after all are an expression of the artist's impressions.  The portraits of George Washington, for example, don't differ a lot from early on through the Revolution.  It is in the presidential portraits where we see the impact of the years.  

My Birthday; My Life

 

"Past a certain point, a person begins to realize 

that every year which passes deposits things

of great value into the account of life.

The arrival of wisdom is when we realize

that because of age and experience,

and what they've taught us, life hasn't made us old. 

But rather wealthier than our wildest dreams."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

May 23rd is my birthday, and by the time you read this, that day will have arrived, so it is appropriate for me to post my annual reflections of this day.

Some people yearn for the return of their youth.  That is literally the last thing I want.  I remember me when I was young, insecure, dumb, impulsive, and absolutely no clue of who or what I was supposed to be.  While I may have had energy and ambition, I had no direction, so those years became a kind of nightmare of wandering through a forest, having lost track of the trail.  I suppose what is wanted is to have that youth back coupled with the knowledge and wisdom acquired into old age.  It doesn't work like that.  If we could step into a time machine and go back to our 20's, we'd still find a brain stuffed full of bad decisions.  

Today, I've reached the age of 66, as someone once opined, "two-thirds of the way to Hell."  But as I considered the state of me, I realized that I really didn't have much to complain about.  Of course, I have health issues, but overall because of my commitment to diet and exercise, in many ways I'm in the best shape of my life.  My crises were all in my 40's and 50's, and now in the past.  Instead of gloom, all I see are possibilities.

I've been thinking about how I'm different now.  I remember being young, and feeling that softball was so much a part of my life, that I feared getting to the point I couldn't do it anymore.  In the middle of my motorcycle years, I feared the moment when that joyous activity had to be set aside.  But those moments came and went, oddly without the anticipated trauma.  The last game of softball I played, I was thrown out at first base by the left fielder because I just couldn't get down the baseline fast enough.  I faced that moment with a great deal more pragmatism than I expected.  I walked away from the game that day and really haven't missed it at all.  I remember that last motorcycle ride I had, a delightful spin through the Shenandoah, a day of fall colors and dappled sunlight.  I sold the bike a month or so later, because I realized that my reaction time had slowed to the point where riding in traffic had become dangerous.  Again, I walked away.  I still miss those rides, but those memories will be with me forever.

I now have a Mustang, fulfilling the dream of that 9-year-old boy who still exists deep inside.  I feel young again driving that car, and even eight months into this relationship, each time I get behind the wheel is still as exciting as the first time was.  I'm so very grateful to have experienced this.

Moving On!

"V" for Vaccinated!

"If you are pained by external things, 

it is not that they disturb you,

but your own judgement of them. 

 And it is in your power

to wipe out that judgement."

--Marcus Aurelius

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Life has hurdles, or sometimes just speedbumps, those moments when, in anticipation there is anxiety, and when past, a sense of relief.  For many of us during this Pandemic, its been that moment when a point has been reached that at least a large part of the danger has passed.  When the vaccines began their rollout, we were told that when a certain percentage of the population had received the shot(s) something called "herd immunity" would have been reached.  For an increasing number of cities across the Mainland, that point has been reached.  Mask mandates have been rescinded and that illusive thing called "normal life" is once again in reach.

For me, that moment was Wednesday when I received my second Moderna shot.  I was worried about the after-effects after hearing all the horror stories.  Our youngest, when she got her second shot, became very ill, with a 103-degree fever.  Our son had a milder effect, body aches, dizziness, and fatigue.  In between were all the other stories.  

But I had a plan.

I did my homework.  After reading everything I could reach for, and talking to those whose experience was mild, I realized that there were some things I had to do.  The first was to drink as much water as I could hold.  I buy Propel brand water by the case, because it has electrolytes.  This is very good for people like me who perspire a lot during exercise. Also, it's flavored, and much more interesting than plain old water.  The water comes in 16.9-ounce bottles (why they can't squeeze one more tenth of an ounce in there is beyond me), and I normally drink several bottles a day.  For this event, I started that morning, drinking two bottles before getting the shot. Throughout the rest of the day, I downed twelve more bottles.  I made sure that I was thoroughly hydrated.

Secondly, I exercised.  When I got back from the vaccine site, I went straight for my dumbbells.  Normally, my routine takes about 25 to 30 minutes.  That day, I worked for 90 minutes, focusing on the biceps and triceps. This was to make sure that the drugs did not sit there in the muscle, but were forced to circulate.  Once my weight work was done, I went out and walked 4.5 miles.  I stayed active the rest of the day, doing yardwork and other things, resisting the urge to collapse on the couch.  Oddly, for the rest of that day, I had a rush of energy like I haven't experienced in a while.  I finally ran out of gas about 9:30 and went to bed.  

The next morning, I rolled out about 6:30 and took my mother-in-law to her daycare.  I felt a significant body ache, but honestly couldn't separate that from what I expected after my hard workout the day before.  I came back home and worked with the weights for awhile.  I still felt pretty good, and was hoping that the horror stories of "the day after" would not apply to me.  But, about noon, somewhere inside me, a switch was thrown, and I was hit by a crippling wave of exhaustion.  I still had chores to attend to, but it was hard.  When I wheeled the trash bin out to the street, I had to sit and rest, once on the way down, and once on the way back. Knowing that I couldn't work in this condition, I called off sick. after which I collapsed on the couch and began clearing the backlog of Law & Order episodes on the DVR.  It got warm inside the house, so I set up my zero gravity chair in a shady spot in the back yard, and that's where I spent the balance of the day.  It was like that up until about 8:30 pm before I began to rebound.  

Random Thoughts

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

It's been a busy couple of weeks.  Yes, we finally closed on the house and the documents were properly recorded, so we are homeowners once again.  Nothing has changed for Cheryl's mom, though.  As far as she is concerned, it's still her house and will remain so for the foreseeable future.  She needs that consistency, and there's no real reason to say anything, as it would only confuse her.  She's still a loving, gentle soul, a joy to be around when she's oriented.  I'm glad I'm around to have this time with her.  The house is in need of several things, not the least of which is an additional bathroom.  But any improvements will have to wait for awhile.  

My dumbbell regimen is going well.  I've increased weight twice, and now that those muscles are toned, I'm adding reps as well.  I'm beginning to see some results, not a beach bod by any stretch, but changes are happening.  I'm still having some trouble finding enough time to do my walking, but as my schedule begins to even out, I think that time will make itself available.  It's not just the exercise, but just getting outside makes a huge difference to my general mood.  I've come to realize that what goes on inside my brain is just as important as building muscles and wind.  

For me, life is a rhythm, a daily beat of activities and responsibilities.  I lost that rhythm in the past few weeks, and I could tell that the uproar was affecting me.  Now that all that hoorah is behind us, I'm beginning to regain that rhythm, not the least of which is frequent visits to this site.

I received round one of the Moderna vaccine, and round two will be administered May 11th, which is the first day of my "weekend."  I planned to be sick the next day, so I've cleared my calendar.  In talking to others, I get a mixed bag of experience.  Some got deathly ill, others had no effect at all.  One of my colleagues said all that happened was that he slept for 18 hours.  I know that overwhelming fatigue was a clear result of shot #1 for me, so maybe that'll be the worst of it.  Anyway, it'll be good to have that behind us.  Having been fully vaccinated, we will be able to travel with a clear conscience.  And a worry-free mind.  We are fervently looking forward to seeing our grandkids again.  Seeing them on Zoom et. al. drives home the point of how rapidly they are growing and changing.  We're missing the best years of their lives, and that just can't go on. Fortunately, Robbie and his fam will be out sometime in August for a visit, and that day can't arrive soon enough.  Our Colorado grandkids we hopefully will get to visit before then, provided my employer the Hawai'i Emergency Management Agency allows me to leave the state.  There's a lot of good pandemic news from the Mainland, but around here the fear has taken hold, and people seem to be far more comfortable with the fear, despite what the numbers are showing.  

Vaccinations are down, starting with the news about the Johnson & Johnson side effects.  While the occurrence of the problems were very small -- 6 cases out of about 7 million shots -- it was enough to give people pause.  I can understand that, but folks have to know that in order for normal to be restored, those shots need to happen.  It's the only way to get to herd immunity.  Its the only way to get our lives back.

This Very Bumpy Road

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

As anyone who had done it can attest, the process of buying a house is anything but soothing.  There always seems to be that last-minute demon that leaps astride what minutes before seemed to be a clear path.

Tuesday afternoon, I undertook the challenging task of cleaning out the refrigerator, that periodic journey of discovering which leftovers are edible, and which should be relegated to someone's science experiment.  It was going well, but as I piled the newly-emptied Tupperware in the sink, I noticed that the water wasn't draining.  I got out the Drano, but that had no effect.  I retrieved a newly-purchased but as yet unused plunger and went to work on the sink drains.  It was an interesting effect.  When centered squarely over the drain, there was a perfect vacuum, which meant that the drain was completely clogged.  So I did the traditional Couey male rescue.  I called a plumber.

The guy came within 90 minutes, and without delay went to work.  Oddly, he didn't snake the kitchen drain.  Instead, he went outside where the drain pipe passed through the wall and opened up an access port.  There, as you see in the picture, he discovered that the pipe was completely filled with...gunk, I guess, the accumulation of some 66 years of whatever had passed through those pipes.  He then wormed his way into the crawlspace, where the access to all the plumbing was.  There, he found that the pipe that ran from the kitchen drain to the central drain under the center of the house was similarly plugged.  At the other end, the pipe, corroded beyond resurrection, simply broke.

The crawlspace is common to all Hawai'i houses, and provides an easy way to access the house's infrastructure.  You couldn't do this in the mainland.  The pipes would never survive the winter.

Cheryl told me some stories about how she and her siblings would undertake adventures in that place.  But there are risks.  If you have rats, that's where they're going to live.  Also, roaches, spiders, centipedes and all the other critters endemic to a tropical environment like to live there.  But we had the house tented last year, and whatever was in that application is still doing its job.  The plumber reported, with great relief, that he encountered no living things while under the house. Not even kids.

A Moment; A Memory

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Throughout our lives, we acquire memories, things that have happened or that we've witnessed, events that have been indelibly stamped in our minds.  They are an eclectic mix of magnificence and mortification, that have in so many ways defined the path we've traveled.

Some memories we call up, an moment of purposeful recollection.  Others lie dormant, until one day they spontaneously jump out at us, like a crazy housecat, demanding our immediate attention.

This evening, I was at work reading a paper on the USGS website about volcanoes.  It was written in heavy scientific jargon, and it was slow going.  I took a break and while I was resting my brain, one of those snippets from the past jumped up.

It was the summer of 2002.  I had been struggling with multiple issues of job and self-worth.  I had completed my second bachelor's degree and had applied for a job with the intelligence community.  One of those agencies had responded and I had ridden that particular horse with growing excitement until I received a devastating call that I hadn't made the final cut.

To say I was disappointed utterly fails to define what I felt.  Much of that was anger, I now realize, and I stomped around the house for a week or so, making everyone else miserable.  Cheryl then stepped in, and with that marvelous insight of being able to read me like a book, said in no uncertain terms that enough was enough.  "You get on the motorcycle, go west, and don't come back until you've found your smile."

It took about a week and a half to get everything ready, but on a surprisingly cool July morning, I rolled out of the driveway and departed on a 9-day adventure that was one of the most healing experiences of my life.

Riding the Roller Coaster of Events

 

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Looking back over the past six weeks or so, has been like racing through the dark aboard a very fast train.  We have been extraordinarily busy, consumed by multiple obligations, not the least of which has been the purchase of Cheryl's mother's house, and coincidentally, the Yanamura ancestral family home.  Every once in a while, I look up, catching glimpses here and there of the rest of life as it whizzes past the windows.  The good news, is that I think we're in the home stretch.  All the required paperwork has been filed, or will be in the next 24 hours.  Closing is set for <gulp> this Friday or Saturday.  

In a perfect world, I would have taken some time off to prepare.  But a deteriorating staffing crisis at work has put me (and my colleagues) in the position of not being able to be away.  So, I'm galloping along  with about 5 hours of sleep per night, trying to balance some very large plates on some very small sticks.  Looking at my weekly walking mileage and how it has dwindled of late enforces how little time I've had for any other pursuits.  My usual place of decompression, Hale'iwa Beach Park, has only seen me once during this period.  The memory of that couple of hours looms large in my mind.  

It was a warmer day, as winter in Hawai'i goes, and the breeze was calm.  For the first day in weeks, there was no large swell coming in from the broad reaches of the North Pacific, so the surface of the water was almost flat, and the surf coming ashore arrived with barely a whisper.  I set up in my usual spot, surprised that there was almost nobody there.  The surf schools, of course, weren't teaching.  I saw only two small families, both speaking in languages I would hesitatingly describe as Nordic.  The day was bright and clear, and as I gazed out from the shore, I could see a countless number of diamond-like points of light as the water caught and reflected the sunlight.  Sea turtles were active among the rocks close to shore, and it was a treat to watch them gracefully glide around, occasionally sticking their heads up for a quick look-see.  A palm log, a piece of debris from the cascade of flooding rains that ran rampant throughout the state a couple of weeks prior.  It bobbed and weaved close ashore, never quite reaching the beach.  Towards the end of my stay, the tide began to recede, and the log headed out to sea.  It was a perfect, quiet day, and for a short time, my cares and worries fell away.

I left in time to come home to make dinner, although I admitted to Cheryl that it was a difficult parting.  I would have loved to stay until sunset.

I would have made a great beach bum.

There are living in Diamond Head Crater a sizeable herd of feral cats.  Most were trapped and removed last fall, after some cat-hater who hated that we were feeding them sub rosa, called animal control.  But one managed to elude the dragnet.  It's a female orange tabby who seems way too friendly to be feral.  It could be that the cat was brought into the crater and abandoned.  Anyway, she hides out during the day, but once the sun goes down, she appears on the front steps of our building.  Of course, we are feeding her.  I named her "Pumpkin," because she is orange.  Over time, our relationship has improved.  At first, my attempts to pet her resulted in some serious claw action.  But now, when she sees me, she purrs and comes up for a scratch.  Pumpkin is a tough cat because there are a lot of other, much less friendly critters (animal and human) that roam around this ancient volcano.  But its nice to have a friendly, furry animal around.