Family Zoom 3.0

Art by Summer Davis

Governor David Ige has directed the state of Hawaii to extend sheltering through May, but allow immediate reopening of a few facilities including golf courses.

Mayor of Kauai Derek Kawakami said he will fall in line despite no new cases of Covid-19 on the Garden Isle.

Traffic on Kuhio Hwy, the main road on Kauai, increased slightly this week.

The aloha spirit appears strong. People wave to others while walking. The pace remains relaxed. The Trade Winds have picked up, peaking today with gusts of more than 20 mph.

We Zoomed with our family for the third time on Sunday. It's Thursday and we're still moving in the afterglow of seeing and talking with our three daughters and their families.

All three daughters are working; a business person, a teacher and an artist.

Molly said she participated in seven Zoom meetings in one day. Her work load and responsibilities have increased while sheltering at home. Husband Jason scrambles among many pursuits including shopping, cooking, maintaining a home-grown business and surfing at Ocean Beach in San Francisco, the "only surf break open."

Vanessa teaches fifth graders from home, continually learning, herself, new ways to keep students engaged during a difficult, home-bound period. Husband Mike continues to administer responsibility with the LA School District, and pursue woodworking in his garage workshop.

We were impressed by a gorgeous wooden stool he fashioned from the trunk of an Oak tree.

"I want this in my house," said Vanessa, emphasizing the utility and beauty of this piece of handcrafted furniture that features an artful "bowtie" embellishment.

Art by Isabel Bryna

Isabel Bryna has her hands busy producing and selling astonishing art work, adapting to a new domicile in Anahola, keeping an eye on her little island-boy, Mystiko, who turns two in June, raising her nine-year-old daughter, Viva, and maintaining a healthy lifestyle.

We saw a quick flash of Viva who is always on the go. Mystiko seems to be growing as fast as a sprouting papaya tree.

Grandson Finn, 8, took to the family dance floor displaying acrobatic moves, hand motions and foot work that defy description, executed with poise and precision. His dancing evoked loud hoots and big smiles from his Zoom family audience.

Older brother Samson, 11, told us that he was tired of sheltering. He pulls no punches. It's getting old.

Granddaughter Piper,15, explained, "I miss seeing the kids at school. Even though they're not all close friends."

Summer, 18, wondered about her educational future. She has been looking forward to going away to college in the fall. A tentative date in August has been set for her graduation ceremony from Novato High School.

We plan to meet again next week. The beauty and honesty of children is so refreshing.

101 Reasons Not to Surf

When surf is not perfect, some stand on their heads

I hear that the beaches and surf breaks in California have been mobbed. The throngs are not locals who live and surf there, but people who have been cooped up and are now looking for exercise and fresh air. So, they figure, let's go to the beach!

On the news and social media, scenes of beach parties and boards bumping and flying in the water send shivers up and down my spine. Not to be indelicate, but these pictures appear to be cesspools for infection.

For most dedicated wave riders, this is one more reason not to go surfing: Too many kooks.

Pine Trees at Hanalei today

Enough of crowds and kooks. There are hundreds of reasons not to surf. Ask any surfer.

This morning I ran into Maureen, a dedicated surfer,  down at Pavilions, a surf break at Hanalei Bay.

"It's not as good as it was yesterday," she begins our conversation.

I nod. I jot down in my mind another reason not to surf today: It's not as good as yesterday.

We chat and survey the choppy water and close-out sets that confirm her assessment. Another wahine surfer who was out yesterday arrives and adds more testimony. She will not be surfing today.

There are a few others checking out the waves, who one-by-one eventually determine their reasons for not surfing today, and walk away.

Maureen, who runs on more energy than the Ever-Ready Bunny, decides she'll attend an outdoor exercise class at Anini.

I think of being back in Santa Cruz, doing a surf check with Tony, my surfer-neighbor.

After a period of insightful conversation, I say, "My shoulder has been bothering me."

He answers; "My foot is not completely healed."

There it is: another reason not to surf: I am nursing an injury.

Having decided that we're not going into the water, Tony and I will jokingly list to each other reasons not to surf today:

I have an appointment.

It's too windy.

The direction of the swell is wrong.

I should walk my dog.

I'm hungry.

I promised Barbara I would vacuum the rug.

There's a swell arriving tomorrow.

I need to repair a ding on my board.

Looks like a red ride.

I need more wax.

My good board is in the shop.

The excuses begin to pile into a mountain of woe, all carefully defined and thought through as a scientist might describe the results of a critical experiment.

The results do not prove the hypothesis: There are waves. You have a wetsuit and a board. Go surf.

There are those who would not miss a surf session for their life. We know who they are. We watch them with wonder and admiration. Through storms, injuries and crowds, if they can walk they can surf.

They are not the same as arrivals who don't know any better and will only add carnage and spread disease.

Very few are in the water today at Pavilions. Taking a cue from one gal who's playing in the shore surf, I dive into a wave. Frolic for a while. Shower off before before leaving.

Blowin' in the Wind

The inside story of the Hawaiian with the voice of an angel

The Trades are blowing this morning rustling leaves and bending palm fronds toward the southwest. The wind creates a bumpy surface over reef shallows at Anini. The air is alive with a rush of the island's natural music. The beat is uptempo.

The sounds and sway of the islands with their chirping creatures, tumbling waterfalls and buoyant aromatic flowers are inherently related to local culture, especially its music and dance. The ebb and flow.

During these crazy times, we want to feel safe and protected amidst this natural abundance but messages from the outside tell us otherwise: a reminder that we dwell on a small planet in a great universe and we're all connected. Music is a positive, universal connector.

Last night the local PBS station featured Cyril Pahinui and Peter Moon, Jr., sons of Hawaiian music icons, performing with guitar and ukulele the mele of their ancestors. The Hawaiian sovereignty movement began in the late Sixties and Cyril's father, Gabby, was its voice.

Anyone who has listened to Israel Kamakawiwo 'ole's heart-stopping rendition of "Over the Rainbow" solo with his ukulele, has doubtless felt the musical connection. In that recording, before Iz sings his first note, he says, "This one's for Gabby."

Iz was of the new generation. He interpreted popular music yet always honored the music of his people first. He was the new voice.

Iz, Gabby and his son Cyril, are no longer with us but their music lives on. You can hear it blowin' in the wind, played at festivals and funerals, on the radio, bursting from Pandora and Spotify.

Groucho Marx, the legendary comedian and put-down artist, once proclaimed that "all Hawaiian music was written in one day."

The first time I heard that I was miffed. I had been studying Hawaiian music under Kalae "Bobo" Miles in Santa Cruz. I was learning about a new language and culture, trying my best to understand. I had no clue.

Groucho's quote seemed to be just another put-down.

Today I don't think so. At least I interpret his statement differently.

Traditional Hawaiian music, always sung in the native language, may seem incredibly simple, yet the artists are forever interpreting it to the occasion. It was written yesterday and it is being written today. The same mele will be written tomorrow.

Changing modulation within a single song -- playing one verse in one key and repeating that same verse in another -- testifies to this. The next time the song may be played at a different tempo. Or sung in falsetto.

I remember students ask Kalae, "What chord is that?"

In so many words he told us that that chord doesn't have a name. It's a "passing" or "color" chord. Those chords are handed down by elders and learned by listening and paying attention. New generations learn from their kupuna at kanakapilas -- beach and backyard jams where the whole family (ohana) join in to play.

Originally, the Polynesians chanted. Europeans introduced verse, as well as the guitar and ukulele.

Traditional Hawaiian music is as organic as the passing wind and as universal as the stars in the sky.

Tropical Rain, Topical Mayor

Waves at Hideaways

The patter of raindrops on the roof aroused my attention this morning. I had awakened earlier with the omnipresent wild chickens who begin their serenade before dawn.

The scents of tropical precipitation crept through the open screen door into our bedroom. A dull grey curtain of moisture obscured the view of the verdant mountain tops, my daily first signal for weather.

Rare are the days when the pointed mountains stand clear of clouds, when they form a two-dimensional backdrop of dark and light whose edges are so exact you might separate the mountains from the sky with the blade of a knife.

Yin-yang. Land-sky. One defines the other.

This morning, however, the mist is dense. It hides the pyramid shapes of burst ancient volcanoes. Yet conditions change rapidly.

Guy Hagi, the TV weather guru who wears a coat and tie, every day, regardless of the dynamic Pacific Ocean fronts, announces that today we will experience, once again, "the best weather on the planet."

He calls this morning's rain a "pocket shower." The satellite picture shows small, amoeba-like yellow blobs floating over the island chain as if they were disappearing fish swimming in the sky. Here and gone.

Weather wise, living on an island is a game of hide and seek.

A story in today's The Garden Island -- Kauai's very own town crier -- informs readers that Mayor Derek Kawakami is making national news. He is featured in an Associated Press story that no doubt will reach most English language news sources.

The elected leader of our tiny island has been at the forefront among the Hawaiian chain for initiating quarantine and curfew standards. In addition to his civic duties, the mayor is the subject of a series of homemade videos entitled "Stay Home Kauai" popular, locally, on social media.

The five-minute videos, shot by the mayor's wife, Monica Kawakami, are designed for "breaking up the boredom."

The videos show him baking in the kitchen, attempting to make a mask, performing dining-room table tricks, exercising and dancing. He's very lively and entertaining. A whole lot of aloha.

The original idea came from Monica, a school teacher, who was exploring ways to keep school children engaged. The mayor's sometimes zany antics on video has caught on with islanders, with a message of "be yourself," we're all in this together.

Despite his and many others' efforts to raise spirits and maintain self-governance of practicing social distance and wearing masks in public, an incident recently in Hanalei is worrisome.

A friend reported that he was standing in line at a take-out restaurant next to a couple of young women in swimwear. They were not wearing masks. They were talking about their recent arrival on the island.

"Aren't you supposed to be in quarantine?" they were asked.

"We're not into that," they said.

If they should turn out to be carriers of Covid-19, the island community will likely be, of necessity, "into that" for an extended time. It begs the question: Are some so self-centered to think that their personal wishes are more important than the rest of us.

On a small island that has for the most part acted responsibly, it feels like a slap in the face.

I would hate to see the mayor's diligent efforts and good humor be thwarted by a couple of airheads who aren't into it.

See link below for Kauai Mayor story.

https://www.thegardenisland.com/2020/04/27/hawaii-news/mayor-a-national-celebrity/

Horn of Plenty

Papaya tree

Last night we ate take-out food from a restaurant for the second time since sheltering began.

Two runs to CostCo have provided us with most of our food. It's been almost three weeks since we trod the aisles at the Big Box in Lihue, about an hour away on the other side of the island. We're running low and will need to make another journey soon.

We also fill up the gas tank of our rental car at CostCo.

We purchase staples including coffee, milk, eggs, yogurt, cheese, bread, bagels, butter, peanut butter, frozen items such as vegetables, shrimp, berries and ice cream. I have become addicted to their chocolate-coated vanilla ice cream bars, inspired, I'm sure, by the Haagen Dazs ice cream on a stick.

I enjoy the Kirkland-brand bar in the evening for dessert. Barbara is not so enamored of these but asks to bite off the tips of mine. It's a small sacrifice for me, since there are 18 bars to a package and that's more than two weeks of sucking delicious chocolate off of cold vanilla ice cream. The nuts on the chocolate are very tasty as well.

We also purchase olive oil, balsamic vinegar, corn or multi-grain chips, popcorn, Anahola granola, and multi-grain crackers. We are shocked by how much olive oil we consume, both in salads and for sautéing vegetables. Our bodies seem to run on olive oil.

Here we also procure packages of noodles and pastas, as well as cans of chicken broth and diced tomatoes for soups and sauces.

We have brought home two large bags of onions, as well as bunches of bananas, but most of our produce is found at small farms and local markets. Small farms have drive-up stations where we can buy vegetables or fruits by the bag. It's always a surprise to see what you get. Some greens we have not seen before. We aren't sure what to do with them.

I'm not big on fruit but have discovered a taste for fresh papaya with a drizzle of lime juice. Papaya trees are everywhere, but you just can't walk up and start picking away. Besides, you need a ladder. We do pick limes from neighborhood trees that are hidden among the many strange and wonderful flowering trees.

Some of the hanging fruits and flowers are poisonous, as we have been warned by our island-girl granddaughter, Viva, whom we have not seen enough of due to the Virus.

We also receive fresh produce from our neighbors Marcie and Rick Carroll and our friend Maureen:  island-style bartering. We have discovered Moringa leaves that add flavor and slight spiciness to green salads. These grow on nearby plants.

On our last visit to CostCo we purchased a package of ground turkey that Barbara portioned out for a turkey-ball dish with pieces of pineapple and vegetables over rice. We also bought a rotisserie chicken that was quite good, with leftovers used for tacos and stir fry.

Our pantry is further stocked with cans of tuna from CostCo that goes into sandwiches for lunch when we're not enjoying leftover soups, pasta dishes or fixings for tacos.

Toilet paper was not in stock during both visits to the emporium.  Nor was bleach, sanitizing wipes or hand sanitizers. Our condo has a goodly supply, so far. We are both fairly frugal and careful not to waste. We have been called "minimalists" by friends. We find that hard to accept. Maybe that's a minimalist's trait.

Still, we frequently run to the local market for incidentals, like beer and wine and non-food essentials. The nearby hardware store receives a steady flow of our business.

Barbara often creates a masterful dish from thin air, or a sparse selection of items hidden in small sealed containers in the refrigerator that only she knows about. This is good and leads to pleasant, and oftentimes delicious, surprises.

So last night she took a well-deserved break. I ordered Fish and Chips for both of us at PV Eats, a close-by specialty market that includes deli foods and a kitchen. It is housed in a grand building that was originally the pro shop for the renowned Prince Golf Course.

I am by no means a gourmand or foodie, but I have given decent effort to the study of Fish and Chips and where the best ones are served along the California coast. I am not a fan of Fish and Chips in Hawaii because Mahi Mahi, the preferred seafood for the Hawaiian variety, is not a substitute for flaky, succulent, traditional Cod, fried in a thin, crisp batter, sometimes flavored with beer.

I am pleased to declare that the Fish and Chips from PV Eats are far and away the best I've tasted throughout the islands. The Mahi Mahi was cooked to perfection, tender and moist. The batter was as thin as paper yet held enough crispness and flavor to complement the fresh fish: a winner!

We each savored every bite, lingering over our meal as if we were seated at the finest bistro on the island. The fried potatoes were thin, shoestring style. We squeezed fresh lemon over the fish, occasionally dipping pieces into a red cocktail sauce spiced with peppery horseradish.

CostCo was the furthest thing from our minds.

When the Earth Stood Still

Wyllie's Beach, 4/24/20

I sit in dim morning light listening to the chickens and a full orchestra of birdsong compete for dawn's attention. Their music, coupled with the greenery beyond every window, stuns me. I don't want to move, rather simply allow another day to escort me somewhere, or just remain immobile, absorb the pleasant minutes between night and day, as if things could stay this way forever.

You can't fool Mother Nature. She will not stop for me. The rotation continues, in cycles.

The roar of surf rushing over the Anini reef has quieted since yesterday when it rose above background hum and we had to take notice. We were reminded that we are surrounded by water.

As the local community radio station's signature slogan says, "This is KKCR broadcasting from the middle of the Pacific Ocean." This morning's playlist includes two hours of classical music, a Saturday favorite.

Yesterday the Trade Winds cooled the afternoon, ordinarily a period when you wouldn't want to be anywhere but under shade, preferably provided by a leafy tree near the ocean.

We decide to hike down the steep trail to the cove at Wyllie's Beach. Since the heavy rains of about three weeks ago, we haven't seen any serious precipitation. It's amazing how fast the red dirt dries up, the lavatic ground is so porous. Even the grass has begun to yellow.

The gusty Trades make everything drier, especially the steep path that begins nearly 200-feet above sea level. We don't attempt this path after heavy rain when the trail becomes a true slippery slope.

The tangled foliage along the path has been cut back by work crews during our "down" period. It's an opportunity to clear the bushy ground-cover where you're likely to find anything from errant golf balls to abandoned, broken bicycles.

Wearing five-dollar "reef walkers" purchased at the ABC Store years ago, we tread lightly with small steps down the dry path that is fully engulfed in shade from a jungle of plants and trees. It is never a walk, more an adventure challenge.

We hear a fast-running creek that parallels the path, hidden by thick foliage. We see only glimpses of it. Don't go too near the edge, or crane your neck to look for it. Balance is critical.

View from above Anini Cove, Saturday 4/24/20

The trail flattens out toward the bottom. Normally it's wet and muddy here, easy to slip. The standing water also attracts tiny, low-flying mosquitoes. We don't see or hear the skeeters. Their presence is confirmed when our ankles begin to itch.

Today's breeze has blown out the annoying skeets.

You want quick passage yet every step is precarious. Dangling tree limbs serve as grab handles.

One more curve and the path opens to the beach, today strewn with driftwood and pieces of coral, even tree stumps that have washed down during earlier run-offs. There must be hundreds of similar spill-outs around the small island.

We find a shady spot on the beach and watch distant waves rise on the horizon like sea monsters throwing tons of water toward shore. The reef keeps those breakers at bay.

Soon we are lying on our backs on the soft carpet of sand. Listening to the steady roar, I drift into sleep inhaling the waft of sea mixture, lose track of time and place and ten-thousand other things.

I wake up and wonder how long I was gone. Barbara lies quietly next to me.

I look forward to the challenge of climbing up the steep trail. Balance is not a problem. But it will take my breath away.

To Mask or Not To Mask

Barbara returns with supplies

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts."  -- William Shakespeare, born in April 1564


William Shakespeare was born and died in April, the cruelest month, according to poet T.S. Eliot.

Happy birthday, Will!

Will's birthday not withstanding, April 2020 has thus far been rather cruel for the world, given the infamous Covid-19 pandemic.

In one sense we have moved closer to removing the masks we don for our daily stage lives. Our stage is empty. Our roles have changed or in some cases have been eliminated altogether.

On the other hand -- or side of the face -- we have been asked to wear masks. These masks are designed to protect us, not so much the "I" but the "we": our community.

The irony, I think, is that our internal selves have become more visible when we wear our pandemic masks.

Go to the market and you see fear in the eyes of some, but not all. We are wearing masks for each other. We stand at 6-foot distance for the safety of all. Store clerks are more accommodating, handling products and punching numbers so that we don't need to touch them.  A helpful vibe pervades.

Our typical conversations with the island community, however, are not the same. We miss learning about islanders from talking story at the beach, at yoga classes in the community center, chats at the library, people-watching at happy hours, coffee houses and bakeries. We miss getting together with our friends and neighbors.

Most of all we miss seeing and touching our daughter and grandchildren, the most difficult sacrifice.

Two tradesmen have visited our condo for necessary repairs. Both wore masks and asked that we wear masks while they were inside working.

They each came with a spirit of aloha, no doubt happy to be working. They offered us more than their professional services, attending to their roles with modest and cordial expertise.

One came to replace old window blinds with new updated screens. He said that he was stopped at a checkpoint on his way here. Only essential business travelers are allowed on the roads.

"I told them I would turnaround if necessary," he said.

They waved him through, island style.

Speaking through the most sophisticated mask we have seen, he mentioned that he had grown up on Kauai, attended Kamehameha Schools. We learned that he has royal lineage, that he and his wife have traveled extensively through Southeast Asia, where they learned to wear masks.

"We got sick on every visit until we wore masks," he said. "Then we didn't become sick."

He went about his work quietly and diligently. We are very pleased with our new blinds.

Barbara had coordinated the installation with his wife over the phone. Theirs is a small family business.

Listening to their conversation on speaker phone, I wanted very badly to see the person with perhaps the most pleasant voice I have ever heard on the other end of the conversation.

When she completed the phone transaction, Barbara remarked:

"She is so sweet."

"We are such stuff that dreams are made on, And our little lives are rounded on a sleep." -- William Shakespeare -- The Tempest

It is believed that William Shakespeare wrote his best works during the Plague of 1593 when theaters were closed.