Panic in the house- we're packing/moving/unpacking this week. Oh, is it Christmas or Hanukah? I don't know where the tree is. I have the candles but the menorah is in a box somewhere. Santa may not find our house this year. What a good time to move- it's the end of the semester and I've got grades to post. It's the beginning of another semester in a few weeks and I've got syllabi and lesson plans to prepare. What me panic? Yes, indeedy!
The cat is peeing in protest in unexpected locations. DH and I are at each others' throats. Sleep is disturbed at best, given over to worry at worst. The sky isn't quite falling; it just feels like it.
But hey, here are the upsides:
we have a place to move to
the cat has survived so far
I have a job to be worried about
we don't have heating bills
I have someone to go through this ordeal with
We are all still smiling (or purring, as the case may be), occasionally.
Happy Hanukah, a Blessed Solstice and Merry Christmas to all. It's all about increasing the Light. No blogging next week, I'll be in transit. When you see news clips about stranded travelers, pray that I am not one of them.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Kona Winds are blowing
And that seems to mean rain. Torrents of rain. Buckets of rain. Typically, the islands are blessed with lots of "trade winds" from the north and northeast, but every now and again the wind comes from the south, kona winds. This week, we experienced what that can mean. Who knew what a difference a directional change would make.
Hey, does that have a deeper philosophical meaning or what?
See, on these islands out here in the middle of the ocean, the weather is different depending on where you are on the island, and apparently, on which way the wind blows. To the leeward of the mountains, the weather is hot and dry. Windward of the mountains you'll find the area green and breezy. When the prevailing winds come from the opposite direction-- everything changes. Leeward becomes windward and up is pretty much down. As in flash floods, mud slides and downpours. Cosmic, huh? In fact, a few years ago the Kona winds brought 41 days and 41 nights of rain.
This time, it seems to be a little less biblical, but still, I've never seen a day like this past Thursday. Kona is the new nor'easter in my book, even though they're actually sou'wester.
Even so, we did venture out in the evening to make sure the insurance papers were faxed for the condo we just bought. It would be just my luck to wait to fax until the morning and discover that a hillside had slid into the living room the night before. There's no need to give an insurance company any excuse not to pay a claim and a day-late fax is a pretty good excuse.
As it turns out, the hillside is still where it's supposed to be, thank goodness. Digging out from a mudslide is pretty different from digging out from a blizzard. At least the snow usually has the decency to stay outside where it belongs. Mud and water are not nearly so considerate. It's kind of like the difference between dogs and cats; one can be trained, the other goes wherever it pleases.
Hey, does that have a deeper philosophical meaning or what?
See, on these islands out here in the middle of the ocean, the weather is different depending on where you are on the island, and apparently, on which way the wind blows. To the leeward of the mountains, the weather is hot and dry. Windward of the mountains you'll find the area green and breezy. When the prevailing winds come from the opposite direction-- everything changes. Leeward becomes windward and up is pretty much down. As in flash floods, mud slides and downpours. Cosmic, huh? In fact, a few years ago the Kona winds brought 41 days and 41 nights of rain.
This time, it seems to be a little less biblical, but still, I've never seen a day like this past Thursday. Kona is the new nor'easter in my book, even though they're actually sou'wester.
Even so, we did venture out in the evening to make sure the insurance papers were faxed for the condo we just bought. It would be just my luck to wait to fax until the morning and discover that a hillside had slid into the living room the night before. There's no need to give an insurance company any excuse not to pay a claim and a day-late fax is a pretty good excuse.
As it turns out, the hillside is still where it's supposed to be, thank goodness. Digging out from a mudslide is pretty different from digging out from a blizzard. At least the snow usually has the decency to stay outside where it belongs. Mud and water are not nearly so considerate. It's kind of like the difference between dogs and cats; one can be trained, the other goes wherever it pleases.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Not THIS off-ramp
While driving down highway H1 this morning, DH and I ran into a traffic snarl. Either construction or an accident had brought traffic to a dead halt on the off-ramp that we wanted to take.
"No problem," I said. "We'll just get off here, make a U-turn and work our way around to the right direction."
"Here" was the off-ramp to an air force base and naval base. I zipped off the H1, feeling pretty smart and headed on down the now-clear road. Four lanes opened out, two going to the air force base and two going to the naval base. Uh oh. The road went only to the military bases, no side streets or other exits in sight.
We eased onto the visitor's lane for the naval base hoping for an easy exit. It was not to be so. The road in did not seem to lead easily out. I turned the car around in amongst the barracks or some kind of housing and headed back to the gate. Not as easy as it looked. As I barreled the wrong way into what I thought was the exit, DH screeching and flapping her hands at me, I noticed that I had gotten the attention of the men directing base traffic. All six of them, in uniform, with pistols at their hips. Yikes. I thought about holding up my hands but figured that they'd prefer my hands stay on the wheel. Happily, the pistols stayed snugged into their holsters.
One of the men marched (and I mean marched!) over to the car and seemed to accept my babbling explanation of being lost and headed for Pearl City, not Pearl Harbor. He instructed me as to what to do to get on the right road and then turned to bellow to his colleague.
"U-Turn!"
The colleague, also with pistol in holster, waved me around the gate, and between the traffic cones while incoming traffic was held up to let us pass. Jeez. There's no such thing as an innocently made wrong turn around here. Who knew that the off-ramp led strictly to the military base? (As I'm typing this three helicopters are flying overhead in formation. Does that mean we went from a mention on the daily report at the naval base to a fly-over? Are we on a list?)
Believe me, I'll never do that again. If the sign says "to the base" I'll believe it and go another way. Problem is, there are so darn many bases on this island, it's hard to avoid them. But hey, there is a funny side to this. See the H1 is one of those freeways with a blue and red sort of shield-sign. If you look closely at those signs on your local highways, you'll see that the red part says Interstate. Now typically, that would mean that the road leads to another state, but in our case, the next state is across about 2500 miles of open water. In fact the next county is a boat ride away not a drive. So the three interstates on Oahu- H1, H2 and H3, really just go in circles, like the rest of the roads here. And like some of the drivers.
"No problem," I said. "We'll just get off here, make a U-turn and work our way around to the right direction."
"Here" was the off-ramp to an air force base and naval base. I zipped off the H1, feeling pretty smart and headed on down the now-clear road. Four lanes opened out, two going to the air force base and two going to the naval base. Uh oh. The road went only to the military bases, no side streets or other exits in sight.
We eased onto the visitor's lane for the naval base hoping for an easy exit. It was not to be so. The road in did not seem to lead easily out. I turned the car around in amongst the barracks or some kind of housing and headed back to the gate. Not as easy as it looked. As I barreled the wrong way into what I thought was the exit, DH screeching and flapping her hands at me, I noticed that I had gotten the attention of the men directing base traffic. All six of them, in uniform, with pistols at their hips. Yikes. I thought about holding up my hands but figured that they'd prefer my hands stay on the wheel. Happily, the pistols stayed snugged into their holsters.
One of the men marched (and I mean marched!) over to the car and seemed to accept my babbling explanation of being lost and headed for Pearl City, not Pearl Harbor. He instructed me as to what to do to get on the right road and then turned to bellow to his colleague.
"U-Turn!"
The colleague, also with pistol in holster, waved me around the gate, and between the traffic cones while incoming traffic was held up to let us pass. Jeez. There's no such thing as an innocently made wrong turn around here. Who knew that the off-ramp led strictly to the military base? (As I'm typing this three helicopters are flying overhead in formation. Does that mean we went from a mention on the daily report at the naval base to a fly-over? Are we on a list?)
Believe me, I'll never do that again. If the sign says "to the base" I'll believe it and go another way. Problem is, there are so darn many bases on this island, it's hard to avoid them. But hey, there is a funny side to this. See the H1 is one of those freeways with a blue and red sort of shield-sign. If you look closely at those signs on your local highways, you'll see that the red part says Interstate. Now typically, that would mean that the road leads to another state, but in our case, the next state is across about 2500 miles of open water. In fact the next county is a boat ride away not a drive. So the three interstates on Oahu- H1, H2 and H3, really just go in circles, like the rest of the roads here. And like some of the drivers.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thanksgiving Aloha
There was an awesome view of the sunset over Pearl Harbor as we gathered at a friend's house for our First Thanksgiving in Hawaii. Is there anything to compare with the red ball of the sun dipping down into a bay? The sky rolls out in color, the mountains loom at the edge of the water, and the ocean mirrors it all. When the sun disappeared, the first Christmas lights glowed red and green in little gatherings along winding streets. Our First Thanksgiving will quickly become our First Christmas. It is a fact that whatever it is, one does it for the First Time only once.
After that, it should come more easily, right?
So there we were, DH and I, at our First social gathering with Strangers. We met Aunty B, Uncle K, Mom, Grandma and the cousins and their little boy. Of course, I forgot everyone's name just as soon as it went in one ear. I was too nervous to remember anyone except Mom and Cousin K until Aunty J came with the turkey and Uncle M started to talk about cats. That kept us entertained until the cook called us all in for eats.
Just like on the mainland, there were lots of eats: turkey, Aunty B's stuffing, gravy, three kinds of veggies, two kinds of salad, cranberry sauce, ribs, rice, and two choices of bread. For dessert: jello mold from Grandma's recipe, pumpkin pie and adzuki bean shortbread squares. Okay, maybe that last wasn't quite like the mainland, but that's okay. Every family has its own traditions. At my house we had often had matzo ball soup with our turkey and at DH's there was sauerkraut and sweet potatoe pie.
While we were eating, we were kept entertained by a marathon showing of a young couple with twins and sextuplets. The family all follow the show, so the commentary was even more entertaining than what was going on on the tube.
"She's a neat freak. Look, look, she won't let them get dirty."
"Of course the twins are bratty. They've never gotten enough attention since the sextuplets came."
"They must be paying that very good friend. Why else would someone come over and fold laundry every week?"
The show, the food and the conversation kept us out much later than our usual time, but it was easy to stay and be social. And that's a First, in and of itself! Eventually, we packed up our share of leftovers and rolled on home to our little cottage without the sunset view, but all in all, it was a pretty darn good First. Sometimes, new is a good thing.
Here's hoping we all had Happy Thanksgivings and lots of leftovers!
After that, it should come more easily, right?
So there we were, DH and I, at our First social gathering with Strangers. We met Aunty B, Uncle K, Mom, Grandma and the cousins and their little boy. Of course, I forgot everyone's name just as soon as it went in one ear. I was too nervous to remember anyone except Mom and Cousin K until Aunty J came with the turkey and Uncle M started to talk about cats. That kept us entertained until the cook called us all in for eats.
Just like on the mainland, there were lots of eats: turkey, Aunty B's stuffing, gravy, three kinds of veggies, two kinds of salad, cranberry sauce, ribs, rice, and two choices of bread. For dessert: jello mold from Grandma's recipe, pumpkin pie and adzuki bean shortbread squares. Okay, maybe that last wasn't quite like the mainland, but that's okay. Every family has its own traditions. At my house we had often had matzo ball soup with our turkey and at DH's there was sauerkraut and sweet potatoe pie.
While we were eating, we were kept entertained by a marathon showing of a young couple with twins and sextuplets. The family all follow the show, so the commentary was even more entertaining than what was going on on the tube.
"She's a neat freak. Look, look, she won't let them get dirty."
"Of course the twins are bratty. They've never gotten enough attention since the sextuplets came."
"They must be paying that very good friend. Why else would someone come over and fold laundry every week?"
The show, the food and the conversation kept us out much later than our usual time, but it was easy to stay and be social. And that's a First, in and of itself! Eventually, we packed up our share of leftovers and rolled on home to our little cottage without the sunset view, but all in all, it was a pretty darn good First. Sometimes, new is a good thing.
Here's hoping we all had Happy Thanksgivings and lots of leftovers!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Christmas in July
I know, I shouldn't be complaining about the weather, but it just doesn't feel like Christmas is coming, even though one of the local radio stations is already playing all Christmas all the time. How can we sing about Frosty the snowman and frightful outside weather when the temperature is 75?
My mind is having trouble getting the message. I'm used to external clues, like changing leaves and crisp morning air. I'm thrilled that it's finally chilly enough to wear long sleeves and disappointed when I need to peel down for the 80 degree afternoon. We are starting to get a lot more rain, just like November in New England, but that just makes the afternoons muggier. I want ice and slippery sidewalks and scraping the windshield in the morning. You can't pacify me with rainbows and waterfalls during the morning commute. It's just not right for the weather to be so beautiful! I want gray skies, naked trees and bone-deep shivering that won't warm up without hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Okay, so I'll have to remember that Christmas is a state of mind and embrace the incongruities of fake pine boughs and plastic snowmen next to orchids in the supermarket. There is one thing that helps me to adjust. A few years ago I visited Maui and saw an incredible red hedge running along the boundary of a big estate of some sort. When I got closer I realized that it was poinsettia bushes, about six feet tall, brilliant crimson and stretching out almost as far as I could see. Now that's looking like Christmas and is something that you'll never see in New England or Maryland!
My mind is having trouble getting the message. I'm used to external clues, like changing leaves and crisp morning air. I'm thrilled that it's finally chilly enough to wear long sleeves and disappointed when I need to peel down for the 80 degree afternoon. We are starting to get a lot more rain, just like November in New England, but that just makes the afternoons muggier. I want ice and slippery sidewalks and scraping the windshield in the morning. You can't pacify me with rainbows and waterfalls during the morning commute. It's just not right for the weather to be so beautiful! I want gray skies, naked trees and bone-deep shivering that won't warm up without hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Okay, so I'll have to remember that Christmas is a state of mind and embrace the incongruities of fake pine boughs and plastic snowmen next to orchids in the supermarket. There is one thing that helps me to adjust. A few years ago I visited Maui and saw an incredible red hedge running along the boundary of a big estate of some sort. When I got closer I realized that it was poinsettia bushes, about six feet tall, brilliant crimson and stretching out almost as far as I could see. Now that's looking like Christmas and is something that you'll never see in New England or Maryland!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Not for the directionally challenged
Every region has its quirks that challenge the newcomer to find his or her way around. In New York City you have to learn the difference between uptown and downtown. In the Midwest, you have to know which way is north-south-east-west from where you are standing. In Hawaii, you have to know the difference between mauka and makai. These are actually the only two directions that you need- mauka means inland and makai means toward the sea. After all, once you go inland far enough, you are heading back toward the sea again. Those were the first words I looked up in my brand new Hawaiian language dictionary, but nothing will help with the street names.
If you spend any time in Waikiki, which is just another name for downtown Honolulu, you might find yourself winding through the streets looking for the turn on Kaiulani from Kalakaua,or was it Kanekapolei or Kaneloa or Kealohilani? You should have seen us trying to navigate during the first few weeks that we got here! We could never actually sound out the street names in time to make the turn.
"It's K-A-L-A yes, yes, yes, turn here!... Oh no. This is Kalaimoku not Kalakaua."
Try figuring that out in the 10 seconds before you've either missed the turn or made the wrong one, and of course in a city, everything is one way, the wrong way and the printing is extra small on the street signs to get all those letters in.
It gets even better in the residential areas where the streets in an area are often named alike - Uluhala, Uluhaku, Ulueo, Ulupii, Ulupuni, Uluhao, Ulualana, and Uluamahi. These are streets in one neighborhood that sits near the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility, off the Kalanianole Highway. Ulu means to grow, so maybe these street names are meant to encourage maturity. I'm not sure it's working. Me, I just get dizzy.
Not to give you the wrong impression, of course. There are also streets like Bishop, King, Queen and Duke, or Dole, Young and Ward. When I spot those street names in list of turns I get from an online driving direction site, I have to admit heaving a sigh of relief. At least I can hope to recognize the turn before traffic takes me past.
I've been told it takes three years before you can actually pronounce the street names while driving. I believe it.
If you spend any time in Waikiki, which is just another name for downtown Honolulu, you might find yourself winding through the streets looking for the turn on Kaiulani from Kalakaua,or was it Kanekapolei or Kaneloa or Kealohilani? You should have seen us trying to navigate during the first few weeks that we got here! We could never actually sound out the street names in time to make the turn.
"It's K-A-L-A yes, yes, yes, turn here!... Oh no. This is Kalaimoku not Kalakaua."
Try figuring that out in the 10 seconds before you've either missed the turn or made the wrong one, and of course in a city, everything is one way, the wrong way and the printing is extra small on the street signs to get all those letters in.
It gets even better in the residential areas where the streets in an area are often named alike - Uluhala, Uluhaku, Ulueo, Ulupii, Ulupuni, Uluhao, Ulualana, and Uluamahi. These are streets in one neighborhood that sits near the Hawaii Youth Correctional Facility, off the Kalanianole Highway. Ulu means to grow, so maybe these street names are meant to encourage maturity. I'm not sure it's working. Me, I just get dizzy.
Not to give you the wrong impression, of course. There are also streets like Bishop, King, Queen and Duke, or Dole, Young and Ward. When I spot those street names in list of turns I get from an online driving direction site, I have to admit heaving a sigh of relief. At least I can hope to recognize the turn before traffic takes me past.
I've been told it takes three years before you can actually pronounce the street names while driving. I believe it.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Changes so soon?
Hi all,
If you've been following my blog, you may have noticed the name change. I want to thank M, my sister-once-removed, for the suggestion. Even though I may sometimes digress, I promise to get back on target.
If you've been following my blog, you may have noticed the name change. I want to thank M, my sister-once-removed, for the suggestion. Even though I may sometimes digress, I promise to get back on target.
Hawaii's favorite son
For those of you who don't know it, Barak Obama spent many years in Hawaii, on the island of Oahu, as a matter of fact. I wouldn't exactly call him a man from a small town, since Honolulu houses the vast majority of people who live on the island, but he has certainly done his home town proud. To the folks here, he is a local, and they take their local heroes very very seriously. Since the vast majority of local heroes are college and professional athletes, President-elect Obama is a SUPER big fish in this pond! Of course, the people in Chicago probably think he comes from Illinois, but what do they know? That's the advantage of having grown up in a series of places. Everyone wants to claim you as theirs when you get famous.
On two separate occasions, DH and I had our brushes with history in the making. Back in August, we were standing in a parking lot on Kamehameha Highway in the early evening. A dozen or more motorcycle police roared by in a steady stream, followed by a white SUV and more motorcycles. Lights were flashing, patrol cars had blocked off the road and everyone had stopped to watch. The folks in the parking lot all agreed, that while it might not actually be Obama, it was certainly practice for his upcoming visit. Then last week, we were at home and heard a phalanx of military helicopters overhead. It was the day Obama was scheduled to arrive to see his grandmother. We realized that it was an airborne motorcade taking him from the nearby military base, downtown to his family.
Okay, so our brushes with fame may have been fleeting, and indeed probably imaginary, but what the heck. How close have you been lately to a presidential candidate? Since we've completely blown any opportunity to attend the inauguration by moving halfway around the planet instead of staying where we were- less than 60 miles from DC-we have to take our comfort somehow.
On two separate occasions, DH and I had our brushes with history in the making. Back in August, we were standing in a parking lot on Kamehameha Highway in the early evening. A dozen or more motorcycle police roared by in a steady stream, followed by a white SUV and more motorcycles. Lights were flashing, patrol cars had blocked off the road and everyone had stopped to watch. The folks in the parking lot all agreed, that while it might not actually be Obama, it was certainly practice for his upcoming visit. Then last week, we were at home and heard a phalanx of military helicopters overhead. It was the day Obama was scheduled to arrive to see his grandmother. We realized that it was an airborne motorcade taking him from the nearby military base, downtown to his family.
Okay, so our brushes with fame may have been fleeting, and indeed probably imaginary, but what the heck. How close have you been lately to a presidential candidate? Since we've completely blown any opportunity to attend the inauguration by moving halfway around the planet instead of staying where we were- less than 60 miles from DC-we have to take our comfort somehow.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Of course there are roaches!
Hah! You thought moving to Hawaii was all sand and surf? Not so, my friend. This, as people like to remind me, is the tropics. That means bugs... big bugs... nasty bugs. On the East Coast, roaches are the sign of bad hygiene and low moral fiber, but here, even the nicest places can have them. DH and I have spent a lot of time at open houses and looking at rental options and inevitably, if the place has been empty for any length of time, there will be a dead roach or two, belly up in the corner. And I don't mean the little critters that scurry away when the lights go on. I mean big, honking brownish red things as big as your thumb that fly when they're alive.
Aaagh!
We went out looking for rentals with a very high end realtor who was a friend of a friend. She took us to a very nice town home in a fancy complex, hoping that by being nice to us as renters we would go back to her when we were looking to buy. There we all were in a lovely three bedroom when I spotted one of the thumb-sized carcasses on the carpet. When I stopped shuddering and could speak without squealing, I mentioned it. The realtor just shrugged.
"Oh, they get inside now and again."
If the bleached blond, high-end, high maintenance house seller thought nothing of it...
Another time, we looked at a place that had little tiny carcasses in the cabinets and when DH asked the owner about any bug problems, the woman was also very calm.
"Oh, we spray regularly, but of course there are roaches."
To make matters worse, this particular house had neighbors that were a bit too interesting. On one side, the family had a flock of chickens roaming the yard. On the other side, the family had a tribe of cats. We found one of them in the backyard. Cute as a button and no doubt full of fleas. We passed on the opportunity, overwhelmed by the livestock and wild life.
As time has passed, I haven't gotten any more used to the idea of large roaches or the slugs we see after the rain, but I don't mind all the geckos that dart here and there outside and sometimes dart around our walls. I know they won't turn and start talking to me with a cute little accent, but that insurance gecko has convinced me that little lizards are cute, not nasty. And besides, a lizard is just too big to swat. The yuck factor is way too high. I'd rather live and let live, at least in the gecko's case. The roaches are another matter entirely.
Aaagh!
We went out looking for rentals with a very high end realtor who was a friend of a friend. She took us to a very nice town home in a fancy complex, hoping that by being nice to us as renters we would go back to her when we were looking to buy. There we all were in a lovely three bedroom when I spotted one of the thumb-sized carcasses on the carpet. When I stopped shuddering and could speak without squealing, I mentioned it. The realtor just shrugged.
"Oh, they get inside now and again."
If the bleached blond, high-end, high maintenance house seller thought nothing of it...
Another time, we looked at a place that had little tiny carcasses in the cabinets and when DH asked the owner about any bug problems, the woman was also very calm.
"Oh, we spray regularly, but of course there are roaches."
To make matters worse, this particular house had neighbors that were a bit too interesting. On one side, the family had a flock of chickens roaming the yard. On the other side, the family had a tribe of cats. We found one of them in the backyard. Cute as a button and no doubt full of fleas. We passed on the opportunity, overwhelmed by the livestock and wild life.
As time has passed, I haven't gotten any more used to the idea of large roaches or the slugs we see after the rain, but I don't mind all the geckos that dart here and there outside and sometimes dart around our walls. I know they won't turn and start talking to me with a cute little accent, but that insurance gecko has convinced me that little lizards are cute, not nasty. And besides, a lizard is just too big to swat. The yuck factor is way too high. I'd rather live and let live, at least in the gecko's case. The roaches are another matter entirely.
Friday, October 24, 2008
You want rice with that?
The local discount store, like many of them on "the mainland" (that's what we call the rest of you folks) contains a fast food restaurant. It has the usual menu, sausage and egg on muffin, biscuit, or whatever. A seating area full of elders who congregate there for their morning coffee and kibitzing. Kids toddling around getting into everything they can reach. The usual stuff.
They also have on the menu, the local platter. Eggs, spam and rice. For breakfast. Or you can have eggs, Portugese sausage and rice. Or you can even have eggs, spam, sausage and rice. Yum. And over in the area where the elders are sitting, chatting and chuckling over their rice and eggs is a man strumming a ukelele. How many times have you seen that in your local hangout?
On the lunch menu, along with the typical hot apple pie dessert, one can order hot taro pie. For those of you who may not be aware, taro is a local starchy plant. It might be in the potato-type family. It cooks up purple. So the picture on the menu is a nice, crispy, crusty pie thing with purple pasty stuff spilling out- and it's not blueberry. Different, to say the least. I agreed to try some local tapioca pudding for dessert at a local chain. The waiter told me it had sweet potato in it. Naturally, I expected it to be orange. Nope. It came out looking like blueberry tapioca. Purple. I'm afraid I was not able to conceal my horror and just added to the local disdain for tourists, which they all assume that I am. My apologies to future visitors, but it was just too much of a shock. Apparently, okinawan sweet potatoes cook up purple, not orange like mainland sweet potatoes. Who knew?
And rice goes with everything.
They also have on the menu, the local platter. Eggs, spam and rice. For breakfast. Or you can have eggs, Portugese sausage and rice. Or you can even have eggs, spam, sausage and rice. Yum. And over in the area where the elders are sitting, chatting and chuckling over their rice and eggs is a man strumming a ukelele. How many times have you seen that in your local hangout?
On the lunch menu, along with the typical hot apple pie dessert, one can order hot taro pie. For those of you who may not be aware, taro is a local starchy plant. It might be in the potato-type family. It cooks up purple. So the picture on the menu is a nice, crispy, crusty pie thing with purple pasty stuff spilling out- and it's not blueberry. Different, to say the least. I agreed to try some local tapioca pudding for dessert at a local chain. The waiter told me it had sweet potato in it. Naturally, I expected it to be orange. Nope. It came out looking like blueberry tapioca. Purple. I'm afraid I was not able to conceal my horror and just added to the local disdain for tourists, which they all assume that I am. My apologies to future visitors, but it was just too much of a shock. Apparently, okinawan sweet potatoes cook up purple, not orange like mainland sweet potatoes. Who knew?
And rice goes with everything.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Why fly when you can walk?
One of the first things we noticed, here in Kailua, on the seacoast, the birds are a bit more interesting and they have a peculiar behavior pattern.
It seems that no matter what type of bird they are, and I'll try to describe the ones that I can identify, they would rather walk than fly. It's true! Here's a typical siting. You're driving on Kaneohe Bay Drive, a relatively busy thoroughfare, and you spot a couple of brown and black birds( I think they are myna birds) in the road ahead of you. You slow down, they continue meadering across. You slow down some more, after all, you don't want to have myna feathers stuck in the front fender. The birds continue to stroll, heads moving in time to their little yellow feet, yellow beaks leading the way. Eventually, you get so close that they realize they have to do something different. Do they spread their wings? Heck no. They run.
So you may be thinking that perhaps myna birds can't fly. Wrong. They can and I have seen them. But apparently they only fly when it suits them. And they aren't the only walking birds. The egrets walk, too, and so do the pretty little cardinals and even the sparrows. They just walk about their business. Up tree trunks, along limbs, across the street, with traffic, against traffic and on the lawn in front of the Akahi Shopping Center or any other lawn or grassy area around.
Walk, walk , walk, and occasionally they run, if it's really important. Like to catch a feisty bug or, oh yeah, to escape from a car. Flying? Not so much.
Yesterday, DH and I were stopped at a stop sign when an egret came near. Picture a white, yellow-legged bird, about the size of a really skinny turkey and maybe 2 feet tall. We looked at the bird, it looked at us, it flapped its wings and leapt to the roof of the car. We heard the little clicking sound of its landing and then it jumped off the other side. The thing couldn't be bothered to fly all the way over! I was afraid that it might have scratched the roof with either feet or beak, but it seems to have made a perfect landing. For goodness' sake. It could have just waited until we pulled away and walked.
It seems that no matter what type of bird they are, and I'll try to describe the ones that I can identify, they would rather walk than fly. It's true! Here's a typical siting. You're driving on Kaneohe Bay Drive, a relatively busy thoroughfare, and you spot a couple of brown and black birds( I think they are myna birds) in the road ahead of you. You slow down, they continue meadering across. You slow down some more, after all, you don't want to have myna feathers stuck in the front fender. The birds continue to stroll, heads moving in time to their little yellow feet, yellow beaks leading the way. Eventually, you get so close that they realize they have to do something different. Do they spread their wings? Heck no. They run.
So you may be thinking that perhaps myna birds can't fly. Wrong. They can and I have seen them. But apparently they only fly when it suits them. And they aren't the only walking birds. The egrets walk, too, and so do the pretty little cardinals and even the sparrows. They just walk about their business. Up tree trunks, along limbs, across the street, with traffic, against traffic and on the lawn in front of the Akahi Shopping Center or any other lawn or grassy area around.
Walk, walk , walk, and occasionally they run, if it's really important. Like to catch a feisty bug or, oh yeah, to escape from a car. Flying? Not so much.
Yesterday, DH and I were stopped at a stop sign when an egret came near. Picture a white, yellow-legged bird, about the size of a really skinny turkey and maybe 2 feet tall. We looked at the bird, it looked at us, it flapped its wings and leapt to the roof of the car. We heard the little clicking sound of its landing and then it jumped off the other side. The thing couldn't be bothered to fly all the way over! I was afraid that it might have scratched the roof with either feet or beak, but it seems to have made a perfect landing. For goodness' sake. It could have just waited until we pulled away and walked.
The first posting
Greetings, and welcome to my blog. I don't claim to be any kind of expert, but given the fact that I've moved countless times in my adult life, I have a certain amount of experience in both moving and paradise. So when my Dear Heart(DH) and I committed to moving from the East Coast to Oahu, I thought I knew what we were getting into. Do you hear that big, loud buzzer drowning me out?
You might think, well, what could be wrong? And on one level, you'd be right. What could be wrong with living in a place where the temperature hovers between 70 and 85 degrees on most days? Where you can see rainbows and waterfalls on the commute to work? Where one of the most beautiful beaches in the world is just a 10 minute drive?
On the other hand, there are so many differences here. Not that these things are wrong, but they are definitely different and often quite unexpected. On the good side, the drivers here are immensely more polite than those on the East Coast. They will actually wait for you to merge onto the highway, rather than speeding up to cut you off. On the less-than-good side, there are bugs. This is the tropics, remember? Fleas, roaches, and centipedes have all made very successful adaptations to the Hawaiian climate. Lovely.
At any rate, my plan is to explore the changes and differences encountered by a woman of a certain age, her DH, and their elderly cat upon transplanting themselves to Oahu in the fall of 2008.
Enjoy!
You might think, well, what could be wrong? And on one level, you'd be right. What could be wrong with living in a place where the temperature hovers between 70 and 85 degrees on most days? Where you can see rainbows and waterfalls on the commute to work? Where one of the most beautiful beaches in the world is just a 10 minute drive?
On the other hand, there are so many differences here. Not that these things are wrong, but they are definitely different and often quite unexpected. On the good side, the drivers here are immensely more polite than those on the East Coast. They will actually wait for you to merge onto the highway, rather than speeding up to cut you off. On the less-than-good side, there are bugs. This is the tropics, remember? Fleas, roaches, and centipedes have all made very successful adaptations to the Hawaiian climate. Lovely.
At any rate, my plan is to explore the changes and differences encountered by a woman of a certain age, her DH, and their elderly cat upon transplanting themselves to Oahu in the fall of 2008.
Enjoy!
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