Sunday, Sunday, Can Rest that Day

Barbara finds shelter from storm during heavy wind and rain shower

It's Sunday and the island is resting after heavy rains and flooding mostly on Friday into Saturday. During a 12-hour period Princeville received nearly 8 inches of rain, according to latest reports. About 10-inches fell in Hanalei during that time.

A couple of families in Wailua had to be evacuated from their homes due to flooding. Finding temporary shelter for them was made more difficult because of necessary social distancing.

The washout through rivers and streams has turned our blue ocean near shore into muddy brown.

Would you accept kale from these people?

Last night Barbara prepared a simple, delicious meal of pasta with bits of left-over sausage, grated parmesan, butter and olive oil, with a fresh kale salad with garlic and lemon juice. The kale was a gift from our neighbors Marcie and Rick, locally grown and distributed. Mahalo.

Chef Barbara's philosophy: "First in, first out."

In other words we eat leftovers and food from already opened containers before diving into new stuff. With few trips to market, items in our refrigerator disappear at a rapid pace and little waste. She's so practical.

We watched the award-winning movie "Mudbound" last night on Netflix. It reminded me of movies of the 60s that addressed social injustice. Great character acting. Lots of foreshadowing, a horrifying climax and a bitter-sweet ending. I found it a worthwhile reminder of where we come from.

Barbara fell asleep and missed most of the film. Following a mostly sleepless night, she crashed pretty hard. I was thankful to see her dreaming away, I hope, playing fun games with our grandchildren, perhaps even singing and dancing.

I unleashed a wild dance on our cleared-away spacious floor-space yesterday upon hearing an oldie on the radio. Couldn't tell you the song, but it had me hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean with habanero salsa. Afterward I felt as though I had just run a 200-meter dash.

As my tai chi teacher would say, that's good for your "secondary immune system." Short, intense exercise that takes the wind out of you. It builds strength to fight disease within your body.

I say: ok.

Now I can rest.

Singing after the Rain

View from Opakapaka 3/27/2020

"Long as I remember the rain been comin' down
Clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground
Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun
And I wonder still I wonder who'll stop the rain."
                                                            -- John Fogerty

Dead silence this morning just before dawn. Not a car, truck, bird or plane.

The sky fell last night, opened wide and let it pour. A relentless reminder that we are in one of the wettest spots on the planet. Atop an ancient volcano. Tangled up in green. Surrounded by blue that has turned angry grey

Lightning flashed like super-powered search lights, scanning the landscape thick with trees and tropical flora that must have woke up to see what was the matter.

Thunder cracked with sharp, jagged edges that showed no mercy. Straight into the skull nearly piercing the heart that skipped a beat.

Mama told me there would be days like this. But she didn't say where or when.

Our little cabin in the jungle held fast. Pounding, dripping water threatened to wash us away like a twig in the river. Rudderless in the time of pandemic.

Respite this morning gives us a welcome breather before the next onslaught. I turn on the radio to hear classical music on the local community channel. Make coffee. Check for leaks. See new ponds outside. Stay away from news.

We already know about 10 C-19 cases on the island, which is closed for most business and gatherings.

Yesterday we FaceTimed with our beloved daughter and grandkids. Such a joy to see their precious faces, hear their voices. If we could only touch their skin, feel their hair, give them hugs. Still, technology, in this instance, worked for us. Life in front of screens, however, is kind of a drag.

Understanding that a whopper storm was coming, Barbara and I tucked ourselves into Little Red and drove down the hillside, over the Hanalei Bridge (closed this morning) and into Magic Land. Few cars on the road made it easier and slightly eerie. We passed through Hanalei, Waipa', up and above Lumahai (where South Pacific was filmed) onward to Wainiha.

We crossed small, one-way bridges over rivers that were already fast-flowing into the roiling sea.

"I'm taking my jacket in case we can't get back over the rivers and have to spend the night," said my dear wife.

"Jacket?" I answered, and to myself said, I don't need no stinking jacket. I have no jacket.

We were in a slow race in real-time, meandering through little villages where people hunker down year-round, sometimes become stranded. It's a way of life on an island where weather changes by the second.

We arrived at Opakapaka Bar & Grill at water's edge. Nothing but ocean for thousands of miles. We peered at the approaching storm in the sky, moving toward us like a dark ghost over troubled water.

The grill is not open except for take-out. We took out two orders of fish & chips and headed home while  droplets began to spot our windshield. The scenery: drop-dead gorgeous.

At Big Save Market in Hanalei I picked up a small bottle of Bombay Saphire to complement our Friday night seafood dinner especial, and to celebrate another week of good fortune of being well and to count our blessings.

Books to Read

Did you know that during the California Gold Rush through the late 1800s the nearest major city to California was Honolulu?

I learned this piece of arcane information from an exceptional book about early California, "Men to Match My Mountains" by Irving Stone.

So what? 

I have a storehouse of so-what facts lodged in the back of my brain ever since the fateful day that my mother introduced me to the public library in my hometown of Pomona, California. I was probably 8-years-old. 

Soon I was collecting dimes to ride the city bus to the library from our house in Kellogg Park, a new tract of post-war homes at the far western edge of town. The bus stopped right around the corner. The bus diver's name was Earl.

Everybody knew Earl. He had a thin dark mustache and wore a cap with a shiny black bill. "Hi Earl," we would say when we hopped onto the bus, dropped the coin into the metal-framed box and heard it tumble down with a low-pitched clang. 

I did not realize how wonderful it was to be living in a predominantly safe, small town in the mid-1950s where I could ride the bus by myself.

The Pomona Public Library was located in the middle of downtown in an older building with stairs in front. The kids' books were found in a section to the right. The floor was made of wood. The papery smell of books beckoned with new stories and adventures.

Today, holed up in our condo in Princeville, I cannot go find a book at the local library, which is within easy walking distance. It has been a mainstay during every trip to the island. I also never fail to visit Talk Story Bookstore on the other side of the island in Hanapepe.

Both places are closed indefinitely.

My neighbor-pal Rick has a Kindle. He orders books in a flash. Maybe I should upgrade. I say that, yet stick to old-fashioned paper books. We have collected enough that I should survive for a couple of more weeks before I become desperate.

There are some great books about Hawaii. Here's a short list if you're looking for something good to read and want to learn more about island life and history.

The Descendants by Kaui Hart Hemmings. Movie by same name is based on this heartwrenching novel.

House of Many Gods by Kiana Davenport (or any book by this terrific writer). Amazing stories told by a bonafide local.

Hawaii's Best Spooky Tales: The Original by Rick Carroll. Strange encounters that will give you chicken skin based on ancient myths and reported happenings.

The Last Aloha by Gaellen Quinn. Excellent novel about the last days and overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy.

I will gladly accept any book recommendations from you.

Last Aloha

Ghostly sunset at Westin Resort

"If you are blessed and in a position to help someone, you should. Be kind and show aloha."

These words, spoken by one Kauai resident who is confined to her home with eight children, express the spirit of many on the island.

The Garden Island newspaper ran a story today about how residents are handling the stay-at-home order.

Yesterday just before dusk I walked down to the bluff above Anini Cove to snap a photo. It has been super windy with a few intermittent showers and lots of skudding clouds of amorphous shapes and white-grey colors.

Early morning and late day these clouds suddenly glow from the acute angle of the sun rising or setting. The cove always looks the same yet never the same, due to ever-changing conditions.

Not another person in sight except for a couple. I estimate they are in their 60s. I estimate they are from New York once they see me and begin talking.

The man smiles, approaches me. A close talker. I step back.

"Hi, do you live here?" he says.

"We'll get out of your way if you want to take a picture," she says.

They are standing in the small area with the best view of the cove. I backpedal around them, keeping social distance as directed. They do not seem to be aware of directive. They are likely starved for human contact.

"Thank you," I say.

Anini Cove late day 3/25/2020

They are as mesmerized as I am with the scene. Slightly cool breezes coming up the bluff. Our eyes and noses bombarded by a whirl of warm colors and tropical fragrances.

Three people. Alone on a cliff.

I learn that they are the last of a few stragglers at the Westin Resort.

"They sent us a letter that they are closing," she says. "They want us to leave."

"Everything's closing," I say, attempting to impart earnestness.

"Enjoy your evening," I say, turning to leave.

Under normal circumstances I would have engaged with them, talked story, learned more about them.

All I could think was, "Aloha."

So Tsunami

White-rumped Shama

The rooster crowed below our window this morning. It was probably the same rooster, same time and feels like the same day as yesterday. Yesterday's new scare was a tsunami headed toward the islands caused by a "massive" earthquake near Japan.

Mild panic. News reports of tsunami continued every five minutes on the local evening news. Reports called it a "tsunami watch."

More panic.

We are on high ground but our daughter and grandkids are on low ground, in tsunami zone.

Within an hour tsunami watch "canceled." How to cancel tsunami?

Everything back to normal "pandemic panic." Can be canceled, too?

Our daughter tells us we watch too much news. We watch Netflix instead.

So wake up to rooster crowing was "normal."

The mostly dark-feathered rooster's punctuality is impressive. So much that a Shama tried to imitate the rooster's crow this morning. The long-tailed Shama is a song bird with a wide repertoire, including imitating other birds.

Shama's song was close enough to bring a smile and light-hearted reminder of nature's funny ways. She rules.

The Shama was introduced to Kauai from Malaysia in 1931 to supplement local habitat. In 1940 the songbird was brought to the island of Oahu. The male Shama has a glossy back and chestnut belly with long tail feathers.

They are reclusive and not easily seen, although we did spot one a couple of days ago on a low-hanging branch next to the trail to Anini Beach.

I tried to take picture of the melodious little songster with long tail feather but it flew away in its own sort of panic.

Mele from Heaven

Today's sunrise

The line stretched from the entrance to half-way around the large building, yet doors wouldn't be open for 30-minutes. Infectious laughter punctuated the scene under fast-closing dark clouds. It was a good-looking crowd: predominantly trim and healthy-appearing. Their tan skin contrasted nicely with their silver- and white-colored hair. Baby boomers all.

If you didn't know better, you could mistake the event for a Neil Young or Bonnie Raitt concert. Execpt no one seemed stoned.

No, it was kupuna hour at CostCo. The big box emporium was holding its first such event at its outlet in Lihue, opening its doors to elders-only at 8am.

Barbara and I were right there in the middle of it, listening to locals chat and laugh. Yet we weren't quite feeling that way. Surely people understand the gravity of the threat. A few were wearing gloves and masks.

I think it was a sign of the aloha spirit of the island. Islanders seem grounded in talking story, laughing and embracing community.

The lady in front of us pointed out a rainbow on the other side of the parking lot.

"A sign of good luck," she and Barbara told each other. They both laughed. A floral scent lingered.

Somewhere over the CostCo parking lot

As we walked into the store, a sign at the entrance listed products that were out of stock. These included sanitizing tissues, bleach and of course, toilet paper. The most essential product in America.

Being experienced kupuna, we had a strategy for our storewide attack.

We would counter-flow. Go left rather right.

I wore gloves and pushed the shopping cart. Barbara picked up items and placed them in the cart. It worked for a while. Maybe it's us, but we've never been able to remain tethered in CostCo, or any place that has more than two aisles. She was gone before I knew it.

It was all good. Back in the car with our supplies stashed in back, Barbara looked at me.

"At least we didn't need toilet paper."

On the way home we listened to the community radio station that played Hawaiian music. Traffic was light on two-lane Kuhio Highway. The triangular-shaped hills were shadow green silhouettes. It was too dark for sunglasses. Rain fell lightly on our windshield. Our wipers rubbed against the glass, a stressed sound that harshly counter-balanced stringed instruments playing beautiful mele.

In places the rain came in greater quantities, then stopped when we passed through Anahola beneath the Sleeping Giant.

Onward north we noted the road where Isabel, Viva and Mystiko live. Rain misted on the windshield like tears from heaven as we silently listened to a woman on the radio in traditional Hawaiian prayer chant.

Stranded in Paradise

Local casts net at Hanalei

Each day the world becomes a much smaller place, and the islands of Hawaii are included in this shrinking story. Nearly 60 cases of COVID-19 reported in the state as of this morning.

One-by-one the islands are issuing strict rules to maintain social distance, allowing only "essential" trips outside. Talk of "permits" to go to the beach.

Amidst the clamping down, birds sing. Gardens are planted. Construction supplies arrive for new roofing for our condos, one section at a time. Good for these workers.

Nearby, the Westin Resort is said to be shutting down. Not good for those employees.

Our rambles on our favorite beaches may be curtailed. I wonder if the many locals who cast fishing lines and throw nets will continue their lifestyle. Surely this is "essential" for feeding families.

The wind has picked up and our chain of islands will be strafed today by gusty trades, according to Guy Hagi, the weather guru who islanders look to every morning.

A stronger morning breeze already rustles leaves and bends the long trunks of palm trees making a whistling sound in the air. I sense the isolation of being on a small island in the middle of world's largest ocean. With nowhere safe to go.

Seeing Mr. Hagi issue his report is reassuring. No hurricanes on the horizon.

Viva at Japanese Gardens

Yesterday, we FaceTimed with Viva and her mom and brother. She always takes the lead with questions, reports on her cat and random observations. Her visage on the little screen is in constant motion: sideways, tilted left and right. It's as though we're staring into a kaleidoscope.

Barbara shows her a new garden of seedlings with small green leaves.

"That's papaya," Viva informs us, identifying the young leaves in the time it takes my eyes to focus. She misses very little of what goes on around her, if anything. A true island wahine.

We flew all the way to Hawaii to see our daughter and grandkids, only to see them on FaceTime. Social distancing sucks.

This morning before turning on the news I rolled out my yoga mat. Inhaled deeply expanding my lungs. Practiced some bends and twists. Readied myself properly for the day ahead.