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.