Burgers and Bastards

Today I went to Cook’s Corner to grab something to eat on my way to relax at O’Neill Park.  It’s a nice getaway from the office hustle and bustle and all of it can be done on an hour’s lunch.

 

While I waited for my food, some guy next to me (with, presumably, his “old lady” and their kid) made truck-reverse-beeping noises and stifled giggles while staring at me (mind you, we were the only 4 people in the place).

 

I’m no rocket surgeon, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out I was the butt of a fat joke (pun unintended but graciously appreciated).

 

So here’s the thing.  I am fat, and I know I’m fat.  What I can’t fathom is that people would think I have a problem with being fat.  I simply don’t.  And why would this git think that my girth is directly related to my intelligence?  Did he honestly think that the fatter I am, the less I’m able to realize I’m fuel for his entertainment?

 

I was peeved for awhile, but a burger from a biker-bar eaten on a breezy hilltop with only birds to keep one company took quick care of that.  It’s hard to be peeved in the presence of Mother Nature.

 

And as for the git?  All I had to do was look at him and say, “What is this?  Highschool?” to shut him up.

 

Birds and Breakfast

This morning, I'm breakfasting with the birds. I don't know how they feel about the scrambled egg I'm having, but if they're angry or disgusted, their outward appearance is politely indifferent. Since there are no furious feathered activists shout-tweeting at me about an egg's right to life, I'm feeling pretty secure my modest meal will go uninterrupted.

Although the hum of the nearby highway is constant, it's only dull white noise compared to the layered chirping and chattering of my flighty friends.

Between bites of egg and toast, I peek through the balcony window panes, and I try to find the source of the singing that my ears can't shake, but it's like a kickass surround sound--disorienting and near-impossible to pinpoint because it comes from everywhere.

Bite of toast, bite of egg. Stare, chew, swallow. Coffee. Scan treetops. Repeat.

I don't realize where my mind has gone until I join the process in mid-thought. I'm thinking about mynah birds. In particular, I'm thinking about Mr. Spock, an old friend's pet who could mimic a starting car and a running washer/dryer.

I lose myself in coffee and passersby who are enjoying a stroll on a nearby trail, then foggy mind wanderings become clear, and I'm remembering a flock of pigeons circling above. My cousin Kevin claps his hands twice, stops for a couple of seconds, and claps twice again. The pigeons spiral slowly downward until they're all tucked into the coop at the opposite end of Kevin's dusty Ewa Beach backyard.

My eggs and toast are gone now, and I finish my last sip of coffee before it completely cools, and as I bring my dishes into the house, I wonder what would these birds blog if they had little BlackBerries and some free time...
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Sent from my monkey's typewriter.

When the world is quiet

The song of a crow isn't very soothing, but thankfully, the one awake with me this morning is content to caw only a few times so far.

Day is creeping across the top of the pine forest on the steep slope below me, and I've been watching its golden light brighten hues of greens and browns which just 90 minutes ago were blanketed in deep black.

It's Saturday morning, and normally I'd be watching crap on TV, but this morning, I'm tucked away in the mountains of Arrow bear.

For now, I am alone. It seems the whole campground is still asleep. The quiet is absolutely amazing, and to my surprise, my crow friend passes overhead to check me out. He's making a strange sound...one I don't recognize. It's only as I watch him fly directly over me that I realize I'm listening to the beating of his wings.

Then...a raspy flutter...a crispy crinkling. An oak leaf flutters to the ground, and suddenly I'm obsessed with the minutiae of morning.
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Sent from my monkey's typewriter.

Living California, Buying Hawaii

I love Diamond soda crackers. 

 

No shame…admit it.  You like ‘em, too, even if you’re on one of those low/no carb diet things.

 

My upbringing was a a simple, humble,  and “country” one in Waipahu.  All 4 of my grandparents were Filipino immigrants who worked hard and tilled the soil to nudge its riches out to help feed the family, and I didn’t realize how much I would miss the simple things in life until I plopped myself in the middle of the epitome of urbania, a.k.a. Southern Orange County, CA.

 

When I first moved to Southern California 13 years ago, it didn’t take long before I began searching for the comforts of home.  My search led me to Marukai Market in Costa Mesa, where I found Redondo hot dogs, Keoki’s lau lau (which isn’t as good as Aunty Marianne used to make when we would spend time at her house in Makaha, but, ah, he go!), Hawaiian Sun drinks, and even dried aku!  But the bestest of them all was finding Diamond soda crackers.

 

I even had a bonus find that day when I found Hawaiian Sun lilikoi jelly 1 aisle over!  I ate crackers with butter and lilikoi jelly every day until they were gone.

 

13 years ago, it was important for me to seek out and find all those things so I could have bits of Hawaii with me all the time.  Now, it’s important for me to give bits of myself to local businesses so when I finally come back home for good (someday!), they’re still around to enjoy.

 

I still regularly buy foods made by businesses in Hawaii (and now can get Zippy’s chili, too!  Da bugga is expensive, but lemme tell you, sometimes you just gotta).  When I got married, I had the wedding party buy their sundresses and aloha shirts from a tailor in Honolulu.  We bought my mother-in-law gold plumeria earrings from a small jewelry store in Waipahu.  On several occasions, I’ve bought gifts from Hawaii merchants (Hawaiian jewelry, ABC Stores) to give as gifts, and the Swap meet/Farmer’s Market are my top places to recommend to ppl who are visiting the islands.

 

I even buy chili and huli huli chicken fundraising tickets from my nieces/nephews and just tell them “eat ‘em for me!”

 

Although I may be 2500 miles away, it’s a good feeling to be able to support Hawaiian businesses, and I’ll never stop., so if you have any suggestions for a mis/displaced kama’aina like me to support Hawaii businesses, I’d love to hear it!

 

Sidenote:  Congratulations to Diamond Bakery for now being distributed in some Eastern states!   It’s awesome to hear, in this economy, that growth in new markets is still possible for a company with such humble beginnings.

 

 

 

 

 

Upper San Juan Aug 15 through 17--Prep

Several months ago, we camped at Blue Jay—a wonderful “oaky” campsite off the Ortega Highway with potable water, vault toilets, and TONS of wild sage.  The sites themselves were super sweet—large and spacious, level, packed dirt and leaves.  We thought we’d found the perfect site for a quick getaway (with it being about only 60 to 90 mins from our house), but we quickly learned it’s quite the party scene on Friday and Saturday nights (thanks to the jackasses who were running around drunk at 2am chopping limbs from live trees for firewood).

 

Upper San Juan is not too far from Blue Jay, but the camping bug has gotten the better of us, and we’re willing to risk another visit to the area.  We’re hoping that the remoteness of Blue Jay is what’s attracting the partiers.  Upper San Juan is just off the highway, so perhaps it’ll be patrolled more (or at least a bit less appealing to those who want to drink ‘til they puke in the wilderness).

 

Here’s what we’re trying this time to improve our camping process:

 

1)    Pack sleeping bags behind driver/passenger seats to maximize use of space on those well areas

2)    Thin out our misc. bin (perhaps bring a smaller one)

3)    Use roll-vacuum storage bags for pillows (we like our luxury!)

 

Here’s our incomplete-and-subject-to-change menu:

 

Fri       Dinner: Shoyu chicken, ginger rice, canned corn

Sat      Breakfast: hm…not sure, but oatmeal and toast sounds lurvelee

            Lunch: prolly sandwiches

            Dinner: open to suggestions

 

Sun    Breakfast: DENNYs!

 

On the agenda of things to do is NOTHING!  We’ve not looked at trails yet, but I’d be perfectly content to spend the days just relaxing and poking around the campground, checking out the other 17 sites, trailheads, facilities, etc.  It doesn’t hurt that Edie’s co-workers gave her a bunch of little games for her birthday.  We’ve been dying to crack them open and have a go at them.

 

Whatever the case, our last camping trip seems like forever ago, so we’re really excited!

 

           

 

 

 

 

Shifting Gears

I am an island girl. In growing up, my family and I spent endless days at the beach—the adults would fish, and the kids would swim. Often, we’d camp several weekends in a row over the summer, and eventually, my parents got together with other families and developed a sort of camping group. Parents would take a week vacation at the same time, and no less than 10 families would gather at Kahe Point Beach Park (aka Electric Beach) on Oahu’s west side and camp for the whole week!

The men would drink and the women would play cribbage all night long. The kids would ride skate boards and roller skates in the evenings—after spending ALL day in the ocean. Bedtime meant crawling in a sleeping bag (tent? What tent?) and waiting for the sun to rise so we could put on our cold and still-wet bathing suits and jump into the ocean and do it all over again.

I’ve seen marine life galore, swum through underwater tunnels, fished for my dinner. From the ocean, I’ve recovered bullets from WWII, a class ring from Farrington High School, and floating $5 bill.

I remember those times amongst the best in my life and consider it a treat when I’m able to return to Hawaii and spend some time camping with my family.

Nowadays, though, camping has taken a twist for me. Living in California, camping mostly means I’m in the mountains—hiking and exploring take up most of my days, and if swimming is somehow involved (I life in SoCal so am surrounded by desert), I’m usually in a freshwater hole.

It’s not the same—the salt water in my veins seems to only weakly respond to freshwater swimming—but it’s better than nothing!

I’ve camped from the Sequoias to the Palomar Mountain and several places between. I’ve not only learned a lot, but had to re-learn a lot. My hope is that writing about camping will open doors to sharing experiences as well as crack open a dusty door to get inside my own head.

Bernadette Peters Spit on Me

...though I'm sure she didn't mean to.

I went to a performance of Men Alive with special guest Bernadette Peters on Saturday (5/31), and though I really enjoyed the first half of the show, Peters slam-dunked the 2nd half.

Bernadette Peters performs like the seasoned entertainer she is, and all the playfully flirty characteristics which made her so cheerfully endearing in shows like The Jerk and Pennies from Heaven make her alluring and sexy onstage.

Sorry? Did someone say she ws 60? Trust me...you won't give a shit.

A pleasant surprise was her version of Fever and a beautiful little ballad called Kramer's Song (from her currently #5 bestseller, "Broadway Barks"--I suggest you pick up both). My second row, aisle seat proved to be quite the treasure as this is where Ms. Peters chose to stand while seranading the audience with Kramer's Song--a lullabye she wrote to compliment her book. A little spit on my cheek was worth the up-close-and-personal performance.

Did I mention she's 60? Even at 10-inches away, I couldn't tell...

Aside from plugs for silent auctions, season tickets, etc, I found myself super entertained and will probably spend the next week seeing if there's a Bernadette Peters concert coming up somewhere nearby.

As for Men Alive? Yeah...I'd go to another one of their shows, too!