UTAH

When I saw the snow covered mountains as the plane was landing in Utah, I actually teared up. I missed this place. I always say that winter is my favorite season, but only in Utah. I love the way the snow transforms the world around me. I feel like the Sugar Plum Fairy from the Nutcracker. I also love the crisp cold air. The coldness is refreshing to me and I almost took a friend up on an invitation to go snowshoeing during my stay here. The most beautiful place I've visited while in Utah is St. George. It's been a while since I've made my way down to Southern Utah and I was shocked by the brilliant colors of the land and mountain plateaus. The red rock never ceased to enthrall me.

My mother lives in a nearby suburb of St. George that's so rustic I was surprised not to see Micheal Landon around every corner during the day and Jason's hockey mask chasing me down during the night. Besides snow, street lights rank pretty high up there as one of my favorite things. Mom kept myself, my brother and sister well fed, as usual, and I got to see both Seven Pounds and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The latter took place in a theater that could have had a Billy Bob, a Bobby Ray, and a Cletis in the audience. I'd wait for the video on both movies, though. Benjamin Button was so long, I started prematurely aging myself.

All in all, it's so nice to be around loved ones in a place I still call home even though I live miles away. There is nothing like being around family and feeling safe and warm on a cold winter day during the holidays. I think that's enough prepostitions for me. Happy Holidays, mine sure are.

Turning Point

I've just read a book about The Black Plague called Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks.  I've also recently seen the new Batman, The Dark Knight, on DVD.  On the surface, these two stories seem unlikely to contain similar themes, but they do.  In Year of Wonders one of the main characters is a young priest who decides to quarantine his little English village when the plague strikes to prevent exposure to others.  As he watches 2/3 of the population die he wonders if instead of sparing those outside of the village, he has become the cause of great fatality within it.  In like manner Batman struggles with his role as hero.  He feels that in his effort to defend all that is good in Gotham he has become a mere murderer, like those whom he fights.  The implicit question in both stories is "Where do you draw the line between what is good and what is bad?" and "Do good intentions negate the means by which those intentions are carried out or the tragic outcomes that result?"  

Another common theme between Year of Wonders and The Dark Knight is the turning point at which man can lose faith.  In Batman, Harvey Dent is out to destroy organized crime by acting as an aggressive district attorney, but he becomes badly wounded and his fiancee is killed.   He then turns to a life of crime himself as the villain Two Face.  In Year of Wonders, the young priest and his wife render incomparable service to plague victims by buoying their faith, ministering to them at their deathbeds, comforting living relatives and even providing burial ground.  (*Spoiler Alert*)  At the end of the book the priest loses his wife and he, in turn, loses his faith prompting the question, "Are there tragedies from which we cannot recover?" and "Can you understand someone losing faith in light of their life experience and is it then justified?"

I don't know about you but sometimes when I pick up a book or see a movie, I want my brain to be able to shut down for a second.  These stories I found more disturbing than entertaining because they addressed human issues and questions about humanity.  I think I'll move on to video games.  Pac Man can't be all that deep, could it?

Festivities

If I could, I'd be into garland on the staircases, lights outside and stockings on the fireplace mantel.  I cannot remember ever having a mantel.  Fireplace, yes.  Mantel, no.  Therefore, no stockings on mantels.  Just last year I instituted Christmas stockings, though.  At first, my family used coming from a non-Christian background as an excuse for a lack (and I mean dearth) of Christmas traditions, but having now celebrated sixteen years of Christmas, I think it's high time for some annual traditions.  I'd like some suggestions that can include festive holiday foods, inexpensive ways to give, homemade gifts, places to visit, or stories to share at the holidays.

I do, however, have a limit.  Many families have a tradition of decorating for the holidays to get them in a festive mood.  I want to make a public announcement that I'm not really the lawn ornament type.  That's where I draw the line.  Plastic Santa Clauses and such just don't do it for me.  By way of confession, I think it's sort of creepy when lawn ornaments move by themselves.  I"m sorry but it's like Night of the Living Dead or something.  Other than that, I'm open!

Thanksgiving

This was the best Thanksgiving ever! All six of my siblings, my mom and my grandma came to my sister's house and we had a blast. You know how you sometimes forget how much you like your siblings? Well this was a time to remember. Looking back, I don't even know how we had 10 adults, 2 kids and a baby in a three bedroom house. It was like the miracle of the bread and the fish, we somehow had enough room for everyone. It helped that the entrances and exits were staggered. People were coming and going even on Thanksgiving Day itself. Some of us made trips to the airport so often we could drive the route blindfolded.

I have never played more games in my life. It was games galore. We played UNO at the insistance of my two nephews, but I am willing to admit there were a couple of uno games played in their absence. We played my grandma's favorite, SCRABBLE. We played SPADES, SPEED and a game that I love but no one else seems to: APPLES to APPLES. Go get it if you don't have it. It's loads of fun. It was also the source of family feuds so my only advice to you is identical to that given to Indiana Jones in The Last Crusade, "Choose wisely."

The funniest game by far was ghetto SCATTEGORIES. There is a real game that you can buy but we decided to each grab a sheet of paper and create the categories ourselves. We played girls against boys and much to my chagrin, the boys won by the skin of their teeth! They were not gracious either, there was hooping, hollering, jumping up and down, backbends (I kid you not) and my personal favorite, donkey kicks. Donkey kicks are performed by getting on your hands and feet then jumping both back legs into the air simultaneously. These were executed by a six foot thirty-year old. Instead of being upset, us girls were so entertained by their various victory antics that we were laughing until we could not breathe.

All in all, good times. Definately a holiday I look forward to more and more.

'Tis the Season!

I'm a catalog addict.  I love looking through catalogs.  I approach them with the knowledge that I'm not really going to buy anything but it's fun to look at the pics.  By the way, I think I could definitely be a catalog model (barring Victoria's Secret or course).  My favorite catalogs are Nordstroms (glamorous), Title Nine (sporty), and J.Jill (granola).  This is a particularly wonderful time of year for catalogs.  L.L.Bean, Land's End and Eddie Bauer are some great winter catalogs.  I always want to buy all of the cozy, warm jackets except for the ones with faux fur lining the hood--I'm a little old for all that fanfare. 

Then there are the seasonal catalogs, even Honey Baked Ham has one!  Needless to say, I'm not a big fan of that one.  Nor am I a fan of encyclopedic catalogs like JCPenney.  Hey, if I'm going to slip a disk picking up the catalog, that's a bad sign.  No offense to Mr. Penney, who is also a previous employer of mine.  Let me tell you, telemarketing for JCPenney during the holiday season is a zoo!!  People really do order those monogrammed Christmas stockings f.y.i.  In fact, I've been thinking about ordering some this year.  I think I want to start a Najah Christmas tradition of giving everyone their own stocking filled with little gifts and treats, but I digress.

When I want to go catalog slumming it's either Coldwater Creek, Chico's or Pier 1 (shout out to another previous employer).  Sorry, but furniture just doesn't do it for me unless it's IKEA or Pottery Barn.  Looking through a catalog is both eye candy and a way to take a mental time-out.  I know some people that even have catalogs in their bathrooms.  Okay, "some people" is me.  There is also a medical journal in there if that makes you feel any better.  In short, during this season of pure gluttony I will be occasionally retreating into an endless stream of catalogs for some mental debauchery.  Wish me luck.  

Tears of Joy

I couldn't stop crying last night.  From the moment I heard about Pennsylvania through the moment when I saw Barack walk onto that stage in Chicago with his family I could not stop tearing up.  I thought to myself, "You are the freakin' president of the United States of America!!  You are one of the most powerful men in the world!  You did it!  You did it!""  I used about a million tissues and thought I was sure to wake my sleeping nephews in the next room with my nose-blowing antics.  Oprah was crying, Jesse Jackson was crying, I was crying, how in the world did those CNN reporters keep a dry eye?!  Yet another reason I am not in broadcast journalism.  I would be the reporter with the handkerchief.   

Oh the beautiful irony of having a Black man in the White House!  In a needless proprietary argument, we did build it.  All of those who fought for this right, who were beaten, and mobbed, and killed, and brutalized, and turned away from the voting booths--this moment is for them.  Jesse Jackson lived through it.  He was there when Martin Luther King was shot to death for being a champion of civil rights in this country.  That octogenarian that Obama talked about in his acceptance speech has seen black men rise from being 3/5 of a man to becoming president.  The audacity of hope, indeed.  

I have faith in the American people again.  I have faith in democracy.  I have faith in the American dream and in the beauty of this amazing country.  May God continue to bless us in the days to come.  I was watching CNN interview a black soldier in Afghanistan and I think he said it perfectly when he stated, "This election proves that all men really are created equal and I am proud to be a part of a nation whose people believes that is still true." 

Absentee

I'm really nervous.  I filled out the application for an absentee ballot since I am now in North Carolina but I haven't heard or received anything.  Maybe nervous is an understatement, I am seriously freaking out!!  This morning I read about a couple that is flying from India to vote because they did not receive their absentee ballots, either.  We're talking over 9,000 miles and $5,000 to vote in this election.  I do believe this election to be the most important and historical election of my life and I would be completely bereft if my absentee ballot never arrived.  

The whole idea of not voting is appalling to me.  Maybe I should drive back to Utah to vote.  I mean, people really did fly from India--not Indiana, INDIA!  Heaven knows with the gas prices it would probably cost the same to fly to Utah than to drive.  I am faced with a conundrum.  What do I do?!  I'm manic!  I am a freakin' Obama campaign volunteer.  I have to vote. I'll have to get on the horn tomorrow and find out what needs to be done.  I'm on a mission.  Where is James Bond when you need him, or Tom Cruise, or I'd even settle for Maxwell Smart at this point.

Men

How was I supposed to know that Batman's cape has a jagged edge but the bottom of superman's cape is straight? I drew the wrong cape on the right superhero. It was an entire disaster. I think I'll go back to drawing UFC fighters. In my immediate family there are four girls and three boys and I have never been outnumbered by men, until now. The subtle nuances of living in a male dominated household are as follows: accidentally sitting on the rim of the toilet instead of the actual toilet seat OR just as unexpectedly sitting in the vestiges of urine that happened to have fallen where you are sitting when you use the ladies' room.

Then there's the violence. They don't hit me, usually, but that does not mean I escape nearly being punched in the gut or nearly being round-house kicked anywhere they can reach or nearly being elbowed in any other accessible part of my body. Needless to say, my six and four-year-old nephews are enrolled in "Little Ninjas". A week ago I went to their gym to see them earn their yellow belts. I have to admit I was impressed. I actually got teary eyed (you may want to note that I was PMSing at the time) and I couldn't help but laugh at seeing about twenty kids, girls and boys and all still in the single digits age-wise, participate in a miniature obstacle course. Eat your heart out Rambo, they're coming for you. The funny part is I have more teeth in my mouth than all of them combined including Sylvester Stallone.

Lastly, a couple of days ago I was actually tossing a football around with the six-year-old, Moon-Pie. Of course he was throwing spirals and my footballs were lucky to make it to any destination, but I do what I can. I also have been known to play a game of soccer now and then. Given, I'm no Mia Hamm but I can kick a ball one time out of two. There was a time when I averted all speeding balls whether hit, kicked, or thrown out of respect to my face but it seems those days are coming to a close thanks to my testosterone-filled abode.

The truth is I don't mourn ballerinas or Barbies but instead have considered moving the toilet seat to its upright position after I'm done in the ladies' room. I hate to say it, but there is a real possibility here that I, as part of a potentially viable minority, will go silently into the night to cry no more in protest to household crimes against gender.

Honestly

Why is it that kids are brutally honest?  I really resent the fact that my six year old nephew feels the need to keep addressing the presence of my mustache.  Then, my four year old nephew has a nerve to point out my bra bulge!  How much can a girl take?  I realize that they are not intentionally mean (most of the time) but it really does make me want to get a machete and send some heads rolling.  

Instead of killing kids, I've decided to take their comments as indicators of areas where I can make improvements.  As a result of living with two toddlers, I have enrolled myself in a self-improvement project.  I started a new exercise program that will hopefully eradicate the unsightly bra bulge.  Hey, my only other option was back lipo and as that is in its experimental stages I decided to go the more lengthy route.  In addition, I've invested in cream for my ZZ Top beard.  All in all, I think I should be grateful for the intervention.

On the bright side of living with toddlers, I sometimes get my hair brushed for free and when I put on make-up I'm treated like a super model although sometimes they scream and say that I must be a new aunt that killed the old one and took her place.  Needless to say, I don't wear make-up very often.  

I am looking forward to whatever delightful comments I'll hear after the bra bulge and beard are gone.  If I don't kill anyone, that is. 

YeeHaw!

It is done. By "it" I mean last Wednesday I signed up to be a volunteer for Barack Obama's campaign. A little about me, the last time I campaigned it was in 1993 to be a Student Body Officer of my high school. I did win, though. So I think Barack and me have this thing in the bag. Don't you worry your pretty little head about national affairs, it's all going to be okay.

I have never volunteered to assist with a presidential campaign before in my life even though I have felt passionately about certain candidates in the past. I think I felt that this year was no time to sit on my duff and watch politics unfold as usual. I also wanted to veer away from negative campaigning and maligning the opposition (but oh so easy to do!). I needed an outlet for all my pent up frustrations about government and politics. I feel good about focusing positive energy in support of Barack Obama and I feel great about letting myself actually hope that people can really make a difference. People like Barack. People like me.

One of the fringe benefits to being a volunteer for Barack is that I get e-mails telling me when he will be nearby campaiging. It just so happens that Obama and Biden were going to be in town on Saturday hosting a rally. Do you know what I did? I went!! I have never attended a political rally in my life! But what were the chances I would see the (future) president of the United States of America ever again? Let's be honest, I've never seen any of the others--but I have seen John Travolta in real life, for your information. Believe it or not, I enjoyed going. I was shocked at the turnout. At least six city blocks of people were in line in front of me waiting for the doors to open and I don't know how many city blocks came after I did. I guess people were waiting since before sunrise. Yeah, I got there 15 minutes after the doors were supposed to open. Don't hate, being on Mormon Standard Time and Colored People Time puts me at a great disadvantage.

The couple before me in line, who were nice enough to keep me company for two hours, were the most unlikely Obama supporters. Randy and Tammy were quite "Southern". Randy had just bought a Dodge truck he was excited about (I know, I thought people didn't buy those anymore either) and Tammy kept losing her phone, which she once found in her hand. Randy's mom called and Tammy kept shouting "Did Momma see you on TV?!" And don't ask me why Tammy had a black eye. Hey, I'm no Katie Couric. They were really nice to me and turned out to be some of the loudest people in the crowd with comments like "You tell 'em, Joe!" when Biden was speaking and "Thas awright!" when Obama was speaking. Frankly, I struggled to keep up with them.

All in all, I really enjoyed my very first political rally. There were Obama T-Shirts everywhere, bumper stickers, pins, hats--it was heaven. I just enjoy feeling like I am not so alone, like we are really going to win this election and that there is hope for America. Both Biden and Obama did a wonderful job as expected. I do still have nagging questions as to whether this ticket will deliver once elected. At one point when Obama was saying all the things he wanted to do in office I wanted to add, "And wonderful husbands for all single American women who want one!" to which the crowd would hopefully respond "Thas awright!"

Ewwwww!

My sister has these beautiful wine goblets. No, she doesn't drink alcohol nor does anyone in her household but these glasses were insisted upon and purchased by my mother who, by the way, also is not an imbiber. I agree with my mom--it's nice to pour some Ocean Spray Cran Apple Juice in a wine goblet now and then and feel a little fancy pants. I don't often have the opportunity because Cran Apple juice is also the beverage of choice for my 4 year old nephew. If my mom is visiting, and sometimes when she is not, a whole bottle of "the red juice" will disappear without my grabbing a bourgeouis moment with the faux merlot and my wine goblet.

Tonight after my dinner I felt particularly privileged when I emptied the bottle of Cran Apple juice into my glass. It was just the perfect amount, my glass was almost full to the brim. I was by the sink so I took the opportunity to rinse out the plastic bottle and put it in the recycling box in the garage before enjoying my nice, cool, sweet-like-candy drink. Upon returning to my waiting wine glass I find a huge ugly fly swimming in my juice! Ewwwww! The nerve of some insects! Now comes the dilemma. Do I a) leave it and let the fly drown, b) fish out the fly with a spoon and drink it anyway, or c) dump the entire drink and miss out on my decadent treat.

While I let you ponder on my course of action, let me tell you that I have been watching quite a bit of Man vs Wild lately and in the last 24 hours I've seen this man eat two different types of snakes, an alligator, an actual honeycomb with bees still in it, and his own urine. Which brings me to my next point: white people are crazy! Nevertheless, having seen this man (whose name is Bear) eat the extremes of the human diet, I deliberated much longer than I usually would have about the fly in my juice. I fished it out with a spoon and dumped the drink. I just couldn't drink it, guys! Have you seen the movie The Fly with Jeff Goldbloom? Let me just say that I have been grossed out by the digestive process of flies ever since.

If you find this blog disappointing, I'm sorry. I'm even more sorry about my lost merlot moment. Cue 80's Debbie Gibson song here ("It could have been so beautiful, could have been so right . . .). Well, until the next bottle of Ocean Spray let me leave you with a drinkless toast. May you never have to kill a rattlesnake with your bare hands and may all your drinks be flyless.

Religion & Politics

I realized I did not have my finger on the pulse of this nation when Bush got re-elected.  Upon his re-election I went into political depression.  Symptoms:  hopelessness about the state of the nation and the world in general, overall bafflement at the worst possible outcome of the election, and disappointment in my fellow Americans for making a decision that so clearly meant the destruction of values America has stood for in the two some odd centuries it has been in existence.

As the current election nears, I am becoming more and more agitated at the political choices of people I would normally call dear friends, making me re-evaluate those friendships.  I cannot articulate how utterly disgusted I am with people's political decisions.  I guess this is the reason we should never talk religion or politics.  This begs the question, "Is politics an accurate relationship maker or breaker?"  In most situations I value diversity of thought and opinion, but I cannot bring myself to tolerate the ignorance and irresponsibility of McCain voters.

In the last election I repeatedly reminded myself that no one goes to the voting booth to intentionally destroy and undermine the values of this nation, but this year I refuse to make excuses for people.  I am not willing to be tolerant when American lives hang in the balance.  Are there really Americans out there who want more of a war based on a lie?  Are there really Americans out there who think that keeping Mexicans out of the country is the answer to economical, educational, welfare and other problems?  Are there really Americans out there who think a man known to be volatile and just plain mean will make a good president?

I am appalled to think that logical everyday Americans sincerely believe that McCain could possibly be good for this country--I don't care who his running mate is.  I'm not that educated on foreign policy but what I do know is that the current administration has made the entire world hate us so it's important to me to pick a president that is, at least, nice.  That might sound silly to you but it makes my decision really easy.  Just the fact that there is even a race between the Democratic and Republican parties makes me doubt the common sense of Americans in general.  I'm ready to line up all Republicans and give them all a good hard slap across the face in the hopes that they will suddenly wake up (and I'm not usually a violent person).  

I almost want to withdraw from politics completely because I don't know if I can take a defeat this year.  It's not just the defeat, but what that defeat may signify in the direction this country is taking.  A neighbor remarked to my sister that if McCain wins she will seriously consider changing her citizenship.  I'm not far behind.  I don't think I can handle living with a nation of selfish idiots.  What is our problem?!  Too much MTV?  Too many reality shows?  Britney Spears?  Has our collective IQ dropped so low that we can no longer see what is in our own best interest?  I find this extremely disturbing.

I know I shouldn't provide fuel for the negative energy fire, but I need to vent.  After this blog is published I will not say another bad word about McCain and associates, but right now I can't understand why anyone would choose more of the last eight years.  Are you stupid?  Did half of this country ride the short bus to school?  Help me understand here because I really and truly don't.  

Okay, okay, I'm done.  I now intend to focus all my energies on what a wonderful presidential candidate Barack Obama is and dedicate myself to being an educated voter on all the issues that I feel passionately about.

Everyday Adventures

I was attacked. By a scooter. A razor to be specific. I have always thought those things looked mighty dangerous to someone as clumsy as me but watching my nephews maneuver them with ease put delusions of grandeur in my head. So today I sucked it up and gave it a go. I must say I was surprised at how fun it was. It does require some balancing skills and you kinda have to hit the ground running when you stop, but it was awesome cruising down the block. Downhill is unforgettable, and by downhill I mean a 1 percent decline. Anything steeper than that I find totally intimidating.

I was scared to speed down this driveway that my six year old nephew was taking without thinking twice. Bless his heart, he tried to coach me through it telling me to take the deep rain gutter at a slant so it wouldn't be hard to pass over. Well, after chickening out the first few times and stopping right before I got to the rain gutter, I could no longer tolerate the social stigma of being a "scaredy-cat". I started at the top of the driveway and didn't stop, even when the razor did. Although I ended up in a tangle of feet and swiveling chrome, I am proud to say I remained upright. Of course my shins, achilles and ankles will probably need major reconstructive surgery but the point is I did not land on my butt even once! That is no small feat for me. Today, the driveway. Tomorrow, Kilaminjaro.

My little excursion today made me miss Cheryl, my Maui cruiser. I know two months is not long enough to get attached to something like a bicycle, but that ol' Cheryl and I saw some good times. It's going to be hard to replace her, but I plan on it because time has shown that me plus anything with wheels is a recipe for disaster, I mean, adventure.

Vanity

My hair is falling out.  Who do I call to raise the national alarm to orange or something because this is serious.  I am a Leo for heaven's sake, I am supposed to have a mane!  I am almost ready join the women's hair club or do an infomercial for Rogaine.  What are my options here? Implants?  I was planning on eventually getting some further south but this situation dictates immediate action.  I even thought about five finger discounting my sister's pre-natal pills since my nails could use a touch up, too.  Don't worry, the baby has arrived.  I  would never think of heisting the pills if she were still preggers (for very long anyway).  

I know you don't believe me but I am way too young for this to be happening to me.  Every time I shower and wash my hair I lose a yeti down the drain.  Maybe I should pre-empt the hair loss by shaving my head.  It's just that after my time in Hawaii seeing all that gorgeous, flowing, long and beautiful hair gave me aspirations.  Something to believe in, something I was capable of.  It would be a travesty indeed if I decided to go really short again but is it not a greater tragedy to idly watch my hair dissipate until I have three strands left?  I thank Donald Trump, but the combover is not a viable option for women.  

I am a girlie girl.  Prior to the airport fiasco coming from Maui I owned a vast array of hair products, and was proud of it!  Maybe I should just get Beyonce extensions but I'm worried about the actual quality of my real hair if I take that path.  I guess either way you cut it . . .

I'm vain.

Things that make me happy

health

the green trees

fun music

dancing

my family

yummy food

my nephews

rose

big words

stephanie meyer

mr. darcy

babies

pizza

the beach

mom

fun socks

rivers

adam's canyon

hot showers

perfume

rainbows

massages

new york accents

beauty

caramel

v chocolate

ballet

sephora

six packs

flowers

autumn

learning

scrabble

can I take a peek at your list?

Occupational Hazing

I really dragged my feet in deciding to apply to medical school again. I consider the entire process the equivalent of an Iron Maiden. They do it on purpose: the MCAT (the godzilla of all standardized tests), the grueling undergraduate pre-requisites, the entire AMCAS (the American College Application Service) application, application fees, secondary application fees, IT'S ALL A RACKET! In fact, I can't believe I'm doing this. Am I crazy, a glutton for punishment? Let's be honest, they've already rejected me once. If they have the nerve to reject me again, I'm intent on becoming a hobo on Maui. I'd be in good company, too. Oprah has a house there you know, not that she's a hobo or anything but I'm just saying, maybe she'd spot a sista a twenty here and there.

What I am saying is that despite the fact that it's occupational hazing and everyone's been through it, is there not a better way? How about me just sending in an honest self assessment which would go something like this: alright, alright, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed but I've seen medicine up close and personal and I'm absolutely sure that I would make a wonderful physician because it's all I've ever wanted to do with my life, besides be a ballerina. See there, in one sentence I've covered all the bases. That's how we do things New York style:  curt, direct, to the point.

So here I am again fueled by the hope that this year will be mine (cue Whitney Houston's One Moment in Time here). I guess I am kind of holding on to an experience that touched me a few years back. I took a leadership training in 2005 and I had a "stretch" or challenge to go and interview several medical students at the University of Utah, which I did. I happened to meet with some second years in the lunch room and I asked them about their experience. I was surprised to find out that about half of the students I spoke with were second year applicants meaning they had applied once and got rejected then applied again and were accepted. That has both enlightened and inspired me.  It has also fueled me through yet another round  at the AMCAS application, another personal statement, letters of recommendation, and all the other BS everyone applying for the 2009-2010 school year has to muddle through. If those faces had given up at "no" they wouldn't be the doctors I am sure they are today, right?

Enter stage left yours truly.  As mentioned before, this application process is long and time consuming. It's kind of a challenge to stay consistently motivated.  Sometimes I wish there were more hours in a day, just enough to take a three hour nap and write my personal statement. I realize I get to suck it up at this point (have no doubt, readers, that I certainly will) but a little venting is just what the doctor ordered. And at least there's Oprah.

Captain's Log

Stardate 08.07.2008  

I survived a 12 hour journey from Maui to North Carolina and am comfortably settled in my sister's home.  The trip is not without its casualties, though.  Of course I had baggage issues-I always do.  I flew US Airways and they charge $15 for your first bag under 50 lbs and $25 for your second.  Needless to say, my first bag weighed 69 lbs (this is after sending two boxes ahead of time), so here I am removing items at the ticket counter to throw away while the line of people waiting to be checked in are watching in agitated impatience and the counter agent is checking her watch every five seconds.  Luckily, she let me get away with 54 lbs but I had to throw away a pair of Merrills that my Mom gave me and all my toiletries which were in a ten pound bag all by themselves.  

Those of you who know me know what a tragedy this is.  By toiletries I mean my hair product, of which there were several, my perfumes, my Bath & Body Works Japanese Cherry Blossom Body Lotion and Body Spray, my Victoria Secret Vanilla Lace Lotion and Body Cream, my nail polish, make-up remover, shampoo and conditioner, massage oil, and who knows what else. Bye Bye birdie!  Come to think of it, the total cost of these items is more than the $100 they wanted to charge me.  My yoga mat had a near miss, too.  I ended up snatching it back out of the garbage can unable to bear the thought of parting with it.  Don't laugh!  That yoga mat has seen more than you have!

I even thought for a minute about parting with my lucky blanket.  My lucky blanket was bestowed upon me over a year ago by my best friend SheRoos as a favor for being her bridesmaid at her wedding.  It's sage green, super soft on both sides AND has my name embroidered in one corner.  Thank goodness it didn't come to that!  I truly count my blessings for every single item that has made it through the fiery furnace of baggage check-in and is now safely arrived in North Carolina with me.

This fiasco has been a catalyst to some introspection on me and my stuff.  First of all, there is a lot of it.  Second of all, what is my personal attachment to it, and most importantly, do I really need it?  Let's try an argument in defense of having lots of stuff.  I guess I would be prepared in the event of a job interview or the joining of an intramural athletic team (think Boy Scouts).  In addition, should Imelda Marcos need an empathetic ear, I'm here. Lastly, if I should need reminders that people love me, i.e. the really expensive perfume my sister got me for my birthday one year or my lucky blanket, there are physical objects around me that hold sentiment and have personal meaning beyond their practical use.

Now, an argument for becoming a minimalist.  After first having to pay over $100 on the way to Hawaii and chucking over $100 worth of goods leaving Hawaii, I realize there is something to be said for not having much.  That experience has seriously made me contemplate owning just two or three outfits: one for working out, one for daily wear, and one for church.  My goodness, that would make life so much simpler!  I would never have to worry about traveling or what to wear!  I could fit everything into a carry-on.  Just imagine.  To be honest, it's really appealing.  I am almost tempted to try it for thirty days just to see if it suits me.  Three outfits and my lucky blanket, that is.

I think I might have to join an ashram for that kind of austerity, though.  Sometimes I am sure I am an in-the-closet Buddhist.  Except that I don't think that all life is pain.  Especially when my nephew is trying to improve my horrible hair situation with a misplaced and too big green hair clip.

Tuberose

I finally got layed--pardon me, I mean lei-ed. It was the sweetest thing. There is this too cute lady I work with and on my last day with her at Pier 1 she bought me a lei. Two, in fact! One is created from this really sweet smelling white flower called tuberose and one is made of tea leaf and is supposed to last forever because they dry really well. I was so honored to wear them. I had to stop myself from tearing up for the first half hour after she placed them around my neck. To show you how naive I am, I thought that when I got off the plane in Maui there was a good chance that there might be Hawaiian hula dancers waiting to place multitudes of leis over my head, but no such luck. Despite the absence of the Fantasy Island welcome, I wasn't worried. I was still happy to be here.

In my two months of being here, the ever so lovely and fragrant leis have eluded me. I would see them sometimes at the grocery store and want to buy one just to wear it and smell it, but what's the fun in that? I can't lei myself (hey, this is a family blog so keep it clean folks). I would also see flower shop advertisements selling gorgeously extravagant leis I could almost smell off the page and I wanted one so very badly. I never indulged because it seemed inauthentic somehow to purchase one for myself.

Anyhow, the store manager is a Jehovah's Witness and half of the employees of the store are Jehovah's Witnesses. To be truthful, if the kindness of these people is any indication of their religious teachings, I am halfway on my way to becoming a Jehovah's Witness myself. No, seriously though, they have been unbelievably warm, friendly and fun. Norma Jean in particular is the sweetest, kindest, most patient and generous person I have known in a long time. Customers I want to behead I just send to Norma Jean and they always end up happy in addition to having compliments on her customer service. So when she presented me with the leis I was so very touched both because it was something I had wanted ever since I landed in Hawaii, and because it is a symbol of the affection she has for me. What more can a girl ask for? I've got my beautiful leis and a spot in the heart of extremely wonderful people.

Conked Out

I got on the bus on my way to work and sat next to the cutest little keiki (child). He was about 4 years old and very rambunctious, but he seemed a little more harmless than all of my other bus fellows so I sat next to him. Mind you, I had been napping on the previous bus and was planning to nap on this one, so maybe that wasn't the best decision. While this brown eyed imp was entertaining himself in any one of a million ways, I shut my eyes leaned my head back and fell into a lull. Not five minutes later I feel a little head fall on my arm. He had fallen asleep! On me, no less. I swear a second ago he couldn't decide if he wanted to ride the bus standing up or sitting down and here he was conked out! He was so adorable, though. It just warmed my little heart to have him fall asleep on me.

After a period of warm fuzzies, I conked out too. So here we were, a pair of narcoleptic bus passengers asleep beside each other. I didn't want to wake him so I moved very little, but even if I did move this kid wasn't waking up for World War III. I would rouse temporarily to see where I was so I didn't miss my stop and I would wake up to the stares and smiles of the other bus passengers. I was sad when my bus stop came. I didn't want to leave my napping buddy. I thought about Elizabeth Smart-ing the kid but there were too many witnesses.

MY Maui

As I have only thirteen days left on Maui I have taken to reflecting on my time here. I wouldn't say I have had the average tourist experience but one just as good, if not better. I haven't stayed at the Four Seasons in Wailea but I have stayed at the Happy Valley Hale Hostel. I haven't taken a bike ride down the side of a volcano, but I have ridden Cheryl down the hill, past The Queen, and onto Dairy Road on the way to work. I may not have been to Little Beach or Big Beach, but I have been to no name beaches that calmed my spirit as I stared into their salty horizons. I have seen the beach calm, moody, clear, and cloudy and been both scared and soothed by waves that sometimes literally took my breath away.

I have seen windsurfers tackle waves with an abandon I'm not sure I could ever muster. I have been astonished at the beautiful machinations of the human body as I observe water lovers in their various sports. I once saw a conoe competition when I was waiting for the bus in Kihei. The enthusiasm for the vast unconquerable ocean, that on occasion will allow itself to be tamed, was contagious.

I have passed fragrant trees with flowers in bloom on my morning jog into the lush 'Iao Valley and I have hiked up to and gaped at Needle Point. There is a part on the path of the Wailuku Loop at which the bus comes around a curve and up over a hill and all of a sudden you are overlooking all of the various blues of the ocean that go on forever. I always become reverent at the sight. I wouldn't have thought to find a transcendent moment on a bus, but I take them where I can get them these days. And that is my Maui.

I'm not the greatest poet, but here is my Ode to Maui, a compilation of all my favorite things Maui has given me in the past two months:

Butter cream skinned people
shades of warm brown
Long hang down hair
dashed with the sun

Giving trees
fruit and fragrance
Shade, sounds and life
lushly vibrant beckonings

Ocean softly assaulting
your senses
Feel it sing and move
around you

Wet air laying heavy
slowly bringing ukelele strummings
to your half listening ear
being teased by sound and breeze

Flip-flops for hot feet
and
Skin

Mahalo

Animal Magnetism

Retail is not for misanthropes or the faint of heart. If there were an alien invasion an the newcomers wanted to find out about the human race, a retail store isn't necessarily the face I would choose to submit in presenting the best attributes of our kind. People can be demanding, entitled, disrespectful and generally unbearable. However, there are gems to be found in dealing with the public, like the gay guy that bought a chair from me and just had to kiss my cheek in farewell after giving him a deal. In addition, there is always comfort to be found in commiserating with co-workers about that customer that you're sure needs to be on some medication or already is because no normal person in their right mind would act like that in public.

The real miracle is seeing a co-worker be extremely patient with a customer you really would have back-handed five times already. There is a girl I work with who surely deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for the people that she has dealt with. I sincerely cannot fathom having that level of tolerance. I get to a point where you're gonna get a New York attitude if 5.2 seconds if I don't hear a please or thank you in the immediate future, but this girl she handles these situations so well that I watch her in open-mouthed awe quite frequently. I've had to realize that some people are born for retail and I'm just not one of them. The funny thing is, this girl is like a magnet for the high maintenance client. They just find her in a store of like five employees. It's some type of animal magnetism.

I, on the other hand, vaccilate between feeling that Dante should have covered retail in his Inferno (he obviously wasn't selling Payless Italian Shoes during the holidays or it for sure would have been included) and feeling delighted that I get to meet some really wonderful people. I had a caterer from Cancun, Mexico (hubba hubba) who was so trusting in my opinion of the perfect placemat for his event that I had to giggle, given my "expertise" at placemat-ing. In short, I couldn't be more ambivalent in my regard of retail. I guess I'll take the good, the bad, and the just plain outrageous (i.e. New Yorkers who have to have their media stand right now when it's in the warehouse on the mainland).

Scarry Larry

I have a scary drugee stalker. Does anyone have connections in Maui for me to get him "roughed up"? Given, the last situation was partly my fault. I was naked. Here's the deal. To get to and from the shower you kind of have to walk around the building to the back of the Healing Center. Now, I have an aversion to getting dressed in the same room I take a shower in. Even on the mainland I always wondered how people did this. I guess it's because I take such hot showers the bathroom is muggy and when I put clothes on they stick to me and I start to sweat making me feel like it was useless taking a shower.

Well, last night post-shower when the Healing Center was closed for business and all the lights were off, I walked from the bathroom in just my towel because it was dark and I figured no one would be able to see me. Before I entered the front door of the Healing Center and proceeded onwards to my room, I saw a person in a football jersey afar off. I thought nothing of it, went inside and left the front door unlocked because you need two hands to lock it and mine were full. I closed my bedroom door and started my nightly ritual. I hear the front door open and close. Then I hear a knock on my door. I yell "Don't come in! I'm naked!" because I wouldn't want to scar whoever was on the other side of the door for life. I'm thinking The Yogi (my housemate) needs something.

Regardless, I hear my doorknob rattle and I thank God that I had the sense to lock it. At this point I'm thinking to myself, "The Yogi must have an emergency on her hands." In my towel, because The Yogi is a girl and has all the same equipment I do, I crack the door and what do I see? My drugee stalker wearing a football jersey staring at me from the hallway. By the way, he does have this nickname for a reason.

I was so shocked I said, "I think you'd better leave" and I closed the door to my bedroom and made sure it was locked. Luckily (and by luckily I mean by the grace of God), I heard the front door open and close again. I hurried and got dressed and went to make sure the front door was locked this time. He was outside and pointed to his wrist indicating he wanted me to tell him the time, but I just turned away like I didn't see him and went back to my room. Scary Larry! I know I should not be galavanting around in a towel late at night, but I got so scared I was angry!!

I wish I had my brothers Big J, Middle J, and Little J here to go kick some drugee stalker butt! Or at least my brother-in-law, The Bodybuilder. Or some mace. I was thinking about starting a "Special" Bodyguard Task Force. Our motto would be "We try to leave them alive . . . " But I think there's no way to tell if you're beating someone up for legitimate reasons. You're just going on one person's word. For all you know my drugee stalker could be Mr. Rogers' bosom buddy. Maybe that's a bad example. He was creepy, too.

Odd Hours

I'm bonfide. I have an official Hawaii State Public Library Card--read it and weep folks. Not that the Wailuku Library is anything to write home about. I'll admit it, I'm a library snob. I volunteered for two years giving tours of the Salt Lake City Public Library because the architecture alone was phenomenal, not to mention the art gallery on the third floor and the media center on the second. Alright, alright, I'm a spoiled brat.

Anywho, I went in looking for Dean Koontz' latest, Odd Hours. I'm already on chapter thirteen due to there being a Borders bookstore by my work. Because of the reliablility of the public transportation system, I am always ridiculously early just to be safe. I use this time to covertly read this particular book (having already read the first 3 books in the series and loved them) that I have yet to purchase. It's my way of sticking it to the man! Truth be known, I'm really just broke.

Besides, I'm really tired of reading smart and spiritual and good-for-you books. The last four books I have read have been really powerful works of non-fiction: The Power of Now (currently), Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, Eat Love Pray, and Skinny Bitch (promotes vegan lifestyle). I mean really, I'm overdosed on good advice and political awareness. Give me a Stephanie Meyer or Phillipa Gregory on the double before I become catatonic. I am desperate enough to take a Danielle Steele! Well, maybe not that desperate . . . yet.

All the more reason to rejoice in a library card. They didn't have Odd Hours of course, so I will have to continue my secret and systematic reading of "the contraband". I did, however, walk away with Robin Cook's latest. Looks like that little Wailuku Branch has a few treasures up its antequated sleeves after all. I'm ready for some honest-to-goodness entertainment. To Robin Cook and Diana Gabaldon I say, "Bring it!"

Bus Drivers

I love the bus system in Maui. The two buses I ride are free, and the others are $1. That's pretty awesome. I have a favorite bus driver that is Hawaiian and very loud. He's also quite charismatic and I always enjoy riding his bus because every time you get on or off the bus he says "Watch your step!" like we've never ridden the bus before and he gives a speech about no food or drink being allowed on his bus that always ends with "Much Mahalos" or "many thanks". He has been known to spontaneously start a conversation with anyone. He's the jovial type and has long hair down his back which is against the dress code but I guess they made a special exception for him. It suits him.

My other favorite bus driver might be a transvestite. All appearances suggest this particular bus driver is a female: long hair, flower behind the ear, long manicured nails, and attitude enough for RuPaul. The falsetto voice is too false, though, and the long lean muscularity is a type I rarely see in females. I have also overheard other passengers ask her about her "partner". The jig is up. I have launched a full scale undercover operation whose first item of business is to find out if she has an adam's apple. Either way she's still one of my favorites. The other day the smelliest transient got on the bus and we were all discreetly trying in our different ways to cope with the odor. When he got off she yelled "Does anyone have any perfume?! Please use it now because I'm tired of breathing through my mouth!" That's why she's a fave.

The last bus driver I like is a big Hawaiian lady with two toned very short hair, blond on top and brown on the bottom. She's kinda surly, actually, and is a Nazi with anyone under the age of 17. She likes to give youngsters a hard time by pointing out that there are cameras on the bus and warning them that if they put grafitti on the bus anywhere they WILL be caught. In addition, she likes to repeatedly tell them to keep their feet off the seats, and give them long eagle-eye stares that keep them in line. It actually works, the teens don't really cross her. Neither do I.

Of course there are the regular bored out of their mind bus drivers, but this is a list of the cream of the crop. At the very least, it's entertainment when I'm not in the mood to read Eckhart. I appreciate the diversion and hope you do too.

Feng Shui

I have a confession to make. The most intimidating thing about accepting a job at Pier 1 Imports is the design part. I am quite possibly the least creative person on the earth, highly inept at painting, poetry, interior decorating and basically anything that causes one to use the right hemisphere of the brain. Let's be honest here, the last time I got my very own place it remained unfurnished for six months! The Home Teachers asked if I was gainfully employed because any normal person with a job would at least have somewhere for them to sit! No sir, not yours truly. When I did eventually get furniture, I missed not having any.

I like to camoflauge my personal failings in creating aesthetic appeal by calling my style Feng Shui. I sincerely apologize to all those who practice this art for the dishonor I bring to the Feng Shui family (I'm too American to commit hari kari--I'll live with the shame). It's just that I usually fulfill the two major requirements of Feng Shui by being simple and clean. Still, that's no excuse to drag the name of this established practice through the mud.

So, today at work I had a "project". This "project" was to make a display of the sale soaps and lotions, of which there are probably 800, by the cash register so that customers would see them and buy them. I almost had a seizure. What do I know about arranging soaps?! It seriously took me all day. I mean, shouldn't I have had a class on this or something, kinda like flower arrangement? You would think that closing five registers in the 4th highest volume store in the company at night would make me more nervous than arranging soaps, but no. I swear, the next time they ask me to make something pretty I'm putting in my two weeks notice. I can't handle the pressure! Needless to say, the display was worse off after I got my creatively challenged hands on it. I did, however, get one bar of soap sold.

Good thing I had the foresight to mention my lack of skill in the interview. She probably thought I was joking. What a horrible way to find out the truth . . .

Maui is Magic

I went on a hike up the 'Iao Valley Mountains today, and maybe it's because I was born in a big city but I couldn't help feel a great deal of reverence for the mysterious majesty surrounding the mountains. It was breathtaking. It was also very different from the mountains I grew to love in Utah. Every inch of the landscape is full, lush, and green. High peaks and low valleys are covered in foliage of every kind. We passed wild mango trees, avocado trees, huge philodendron, fragrant plumeria they use to make leis and tons of plants I had never seen before. I was in awe.

There is a palpable energy that seems to emanate from the land itself, the mountains (really volcanoes) especially but also the ocean. The only way I can describe it is to say that when I get off the plane in NYC and take that first step out of JFK the pulse and energy of that city make me feel like I've just had two Red Bulls. It is just the opposite here. I saw a bumper sticker today that said "Why you in a hurry, you think this is the mainland or something?" Somehow this place forces you to slow down and take it easy. The humid air laying heavy on you, the pace of life, the tranquilizing ocean sounds all are so grounding.

More than that, this is a spiritual place. While I feel like the energy of New York City is generated mainly by the people, here I feel like that energy is generated by the geography. It is really interesting. I take a look and that unbelievably green mountainside, the hovering clouds shrouding both the seen and unseen and I think to myself, "Maui is magic." And it is somehow.

First Days

Betcha wish you had my wheels. She's a beauty with a combo of sky and baby blue shiny paint, new rims, and Shwinn in silver letters on her frame. She set me back only $75 this morning and in the twelve hours I've had her, she's been good to me. Today was my first day at work (Pier 1 Imports thank you very much) and I was closing. I knew I wouldn't get out of work until after the last bus home had left the area. I could have walked the 3.91 miles from work but a friend of a friend fixes up bikes and sells them for cheap. That's how I acquired Cheryl, my new wheels.

Now, I have to explain that I literally cannot remember the last time I was on an actual bicycle. I'm thinking Greenville, Texas when I was attending Travis Elementary and my bike had a banana seat and tassles (I was stylish even back then). Oh wait, I do occasionally ride the stationary bike at the gym. Nevertheless, we have the saying "It's like riding a bike" for a reason, right? Wrong! Whoever came up with that statement should be drawn and quartered.

First of all, it feels like someone dropped a H-bomb on my nether regions. Second of all, the only reason I escaped a gazillion catastrophic and potentially maiming events was my consistent mantra of "God is helping me. God is guiding me. God is protecting me, even though my crack is hanging out right now." Any innocent bystander would have thought I needed mental help. I had steering issues (i.e. off curbs and into traffic), braking issues (remember to put a foot down when you do that), gear issues (I couldn't seem to get the bike into certain gears), and overall form issues (the heel of my gimp foot kept knocking into the chains of the bike). In short, there were few things I actually did right, but by some miracle that includes mapquest I made it to work on time and in one piece.

On the way back, in addition to being dark it was raining. Coming home was a whole different adventure. It's all downhill on the way to work which means . . . You guessed it, all uphill coming back. While I did not happen to notice that I passed a prison on the way to work since I was entirely focused on staying alive, I did notice it on the way back. I noticed it because I was walking my bike up the sparsely lit hill. You might ask "Who walks a bike?" I'll be happy to tell you who. Someone whose legs have revolted in agony after standing for 8 hours, whose crotch feels like it just went nine rounds with Mike Tyson, and whose brain is too busy thinking about the ex-con that's going to jump out of the next bush! Needless to say, it was a two shower day. I was soaked to the bone when I got home and it wasn't the rain. FYI, drisilque and copious amounts of sweat are not the greatest combo.

I'm being ungrateful, though. It's an honest to God miracle I'm alive. No, truly. If you would have seen me today riding that bike, you would have no doubt that there is a God. Plus, I have Cheryl, a timely and wonderful gift that solved my transportation problem, and a job where I work with really nice people. More importantly, let's not forget the adventures along the way that make life more valuable. God definately finds ways to keep me religious and for that I am also grateful.

I also learned about myself. You really have to treasure those moments when you realize you can do it. I feel like I have to save them up for the days when my internal dialogue tells me I should move to loserville. So I'm glad today was one of those days when I get to say "I did what it took even though it was a risk and it was scary, and I'm proud of myself."

I'm with Helen Keller, "Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."

WANTED

There is definately something to be said of creative questioning. I've been keeping track of the times I've been asked, "So where are you from?" since I moved here and I think the total is now 52,567,034. That one's easy to answer. The second most asked question, and not as easy to answer by far is "What made you decide to move to Hawaii?" That total is only around 51,036,287. Given, people are being friendly and kind by asking about me and expressing an interest in me which is awesome, but it makes me feel like I only have two lines in the play of my life and I keep forgetting the second one!

To remedy this situation I have developed a two pronged solution: Creative responses and creative questioning. Success at the first tactic employs both wit and wildness. For example, creative responses to "What made you decide to move to Hawaii?" could be "Oh, I'm wanted in the the other 49 states, but try not to tell anyone," or "I'm here to end apartheid." My personal favorite creative response that has particular pertinence on the islands is "PETA sent me to defend the rights of the fish used in sushi."

Since I do not wish to be part of the repetitive questioning problem I employ the second tactic, creative questioning. I suggest beginners start by taking a familiar question and using it in a different context. For example, "Nice to meet you Steve, paper or plastic?" Veterans, however, should feel free to draw from any line of questioning that seems relevant and applicable. One my brother finds very informative is "If you could choose from West Nile Virus, the Avian Flu, or Mad Cow's Disease, which would it be?" There really is no limit to the possibilities here. With that, I welcome you to the revolution of small talk.

Oh, and if you have any questions, make it a good one.

Mango Madness

Mangoes are turning me into a thief! The other day some guy gave my roommate a bagfull of ripe mangoes and she said I could help myself, they would be in the fridge. The next morning I went upstairs to the shared full kitchen and had the best mango I have ever tasted in my life for breakfast. I am talking juicy, sweet, dripping, ripe mango. I am talking Lehi's dream delicious here. I had to exercise some serious restraint with regards to the remaining mangoes but I talked myself out of the kitchen and walked away.

I mentioned my heavenly experience with my morning mango to my roommate. She pointed out that the mangoes given to her were in a different refrigerator and I must have eaten someone else's mango! I was astonished, shocked and chagrined but not one bit remorseful. I replaced the now-missing mango from my roommate's stash and helped myself to two more from the right refrigerator that were tasty but a little too ripe.

You would think my thieving ways were over, but no. I was on a walk around the neighborhood in the early evening yesterday and what do I behold? A beautiful big mango tree with ripening mangoes on it. I looked up and saw the perfect mango. I swear it was the reincarnation of my morning mango haunting my tastebuds. The only problem was the location of the mango tree. It was inside a fenced yard, and a short fence at that. Some of the tree was hanging over the fence in public air and space mind you, but not my beautiful perfectly ripened mango. It was well over my head on the inside of the fence. I could probably reach it with a stick. Needless to say I was standing in the street for 10 minutes debating strategery (using a "word" from President Bush) in the acquisition of the coveted mango. In the end, I decided to walk away but to this very day that hanging mango looms over my head and my mouth waters as I slump in defeat and regret.

I've got Mango Madness. It's turning me into someone I don't know anymore. I'm scared. I've already got one and a half incidents of theft on my hands. What if I hurt someone? I just don't want to turn on the people that really love me. If you know where I can get help . . .

Auntie

Hawaiians use a lot of terms that you would never find on the mainland. You would never hear Mahalo instead of 'thank you' or Aloha for goodbye, hello, or love. Part of the linguistic culture maintains that if you are speaking to a native of your generation they are your cousin, or cuz. On the other hand, if you are speaking to someone of an older generation they are your auntie or uncle. Native speakers also use the terms auntie and uncle to convey respect kinda like how you would use usted conjugation in Spanish. For example, all the bus drivers are referred to as auntie or uncle irrespective of age.

I was really flattered the other day when a fellow lady bus rider I was on the bus with asked me "How 'bout you auntie, you getting off here?" I think she used the formality because I was dressed for a job interview, but I came home that night thinking "Someone called me auntie!" I was so touched that I told my roommate, who is as white as the day is long, to which she replied "I've been here since January and no one has ever called me auntie." I took the opportunity to NOT point out the obvious, that to native Hawaiians she was a haole (someone of the White or Caucasian race). I was a little sad for her because I was so warmed by the verbal inclusion. The very next day a little kid called me auntie when he asked me for a dollar to ride the bus, but I think he was just buttering me up. Unfortunately, it hasn't happened to me since. My goal in life is to be referred to as cuz. I'll keep you posted.

Jeepers Creepers

This whole story happened because I am seriously blind without my glasses. I was in the shower this morning and my current accommodations here on Maui are a little "rustic" at best. I cannot turn the light on in the shower/laundry room without scampering of some sort by flying cockroaches, geckos, spiders, and others whom I've disturbed during their daily activities. Now, I am admittedly paraniod about all creatures that scamper and so my hygeine experiences are a little hurried and anxious.

Today the pits needed a little tending to, so I popped off the top of my shaving cream and as I do this, something big and black drops to the floor of the shower. My arsenal against creep crawly things consists of one weapon: screaming my brains out. In this instance I was so terrified I could only manage a healthy yelp which was promptly followed by me jumping out of the shower and dancing around the laundry room dripping wet "acting like a crazy person" (as my Mom would say). When I got the courage to peek in the shower stall at the floor, it turns out that my big black creepy crawly friend was indeed the head of my Mac3 razor that flew off when I removed the cap of the shaving cream. I was both grateful and pissed! I got back in the shower
even more paranoid than I was originally, put my razor together with shaking hands and finished my daily ablutions.

If I wasn't blind as a bat, I could have prevented a total nervous breakdown in the shower this morning. Frankly, I am still in recovery. I think there is a lesson about fear here, or expanding my arsenal. Maybe I should create the bug haters toolbelt and make it waterproof for others who have shower companions they don't necessarily want. It would at least have to include RAID, ant killer, spider killer, and a multi-purpose killer for ambiguous bugs. Ahhhhh finally, my first million . . .

OCEAN BREEZES

It's amazing how the smell of the ocean here can bring me back to Far Rockaway, Queens. I'm remembering my grandmother and how much she loves being by the ocean, her fine gray hairs dancing in the breeze. That tangible smell conjures something within that I cannot articulate except to say that it is part longing, part nostalgia, part something very peaceful. I feel comforted when that smell surrounds me. It's like being home.

I live at the mouth of the 'Iao Valley and as no place in Maui is far from the ocean, neither am I. Due to my proximity to the West Maui mountains it is always cooler here in the evenings, the winds a little more obvious but still delicious on your skin after a relentlessly sunny day. I am blessed by the beauty that surrounds me here.