Sunday, June 15, 2008

Summer, Kent Falls



They say that these are not the best of times
But they're the only times I've ever known
And I believe there is a time for meditation
In cathedrals of our own

"Summer, Highland Falls" by Billy Joel

"How long has it been since you have been back?"- he asked. We were walking away from the falls.. And I thought- 15 years? Twenty? A lifetime ago. Before I was married or thought about it in any specific sense and before a job that paid the bills before it fed my soul or even my bank account for more than just a few minutes. "Long time" I said- moving through the grass towards the car and out of the rain. I veered a bit to the right of the path to photograph jonquils and irises growing ath the base of the falls- "Just two trout!" he yelled- there was a sign saying so on the bridge- "Two per CREEL" I thought and remembered that we didn't have a creel between us.




"I'm not up for the climbing today" he said- looking up the falls from the icy pool where we stood gazing at the winding path strung with twisted aluminum ropes and sturdy poles looking like silver strung Christmas tinsel in and among the trees and rocks. "Maybe just to there" I said pointing to the first platform "I want you to see that pool up there" We climbed- in city flip flops never meant for hardscrabble rock and dirt walking and uneven slate steps. We stood looking down the falls panting a little in the humid air. Walking onto the platform the rushing water below blew its clean green breath into our faces. I smiled- like I'd been kissed gently by a stranger- or a friend I had not seen, never imagined to see again- not with such auspicious introduction to be made. "Doesn't that smell amazing" I said- but received no answer- his face leaned forward into the mossy air, eyes closed- he was receiving the fall's kiss as well. I watched his mouth curl gently at the corner and had my answer.










"A little further- just to there" I asked- the plea was in my eyes and probably in my voice as well though I like to think I was being an adult about respecting the wishes of others. The no I waited for never came. The sand and gravel slid under my toes and I shook it off, clenching my toes so that the sandal didn't accompany the pebbles down the hill. He was standing at the next platform looking down on the falls "There" he said "can you imagine sitting there? It looks deep...". "It was" I murmured remembering climbing in Keds and cut offs into that cold little hollow- the water to my neck, thinking to myself that twenty years of rushing water had probably carved at least another inch or two into the smooth limestone.







"Just a bit more" now a statement- something stronger than consideration pulled me up and we walked past a ranger scolding a man who had climbed into the falls "...you can get a ticket for that you know" said the ranger gravely to the man dripping in front of him. " How can you look at this and not want to climb into it?" my companion asked me. "You need to come on Tuesdays" I replied " The park opens at 8 and before that it's open to anyone who wants to climb" and thought again about the bruises on my feet from walking barefoot on the rocks of the fall such a long time ago.

"These shoes aren't easy to walk with up here" he said shaking out a pebble from his flip flop. "If you think this is hard- try it with two canes" in front of us on the trail a woman stood poised leaning on her cane talking to a caregiver who held out a second should she need it. "I think she's on her way down" he said- his voice mirroring the wonder I felt at this sight before us. And thought to myself that whether going up or down- it was worth the climb, for the view.

And as we stand upon the ledges of our lives
With our respective similarities
It's either sadness or euphoria





For you. You know who you are.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Picking the Scab



Life moves pretty fast in the big city. Not QUITE as fast as my boss headed for the swanky men's sample sale at a local hotel with me in tow for one of our "walk and talk" bonding sessions. My boss is a really great guy- we have now gone on several business trips together and thanks to his endless devotion to family and Mrs. Boss I am comfortable in what might otherwise be one of those ticklish socializing while working situations. Interestingly enough- we are, these days, friends who partner well at work and it is a big part of why I like going there- the paycheck also doesn't suck.

Mr. Boss is a fast talker and a faster walker. So we walked rather quickly to the corner of Madison, a stone's throw from Tiffany's- a place where Holly Go Lightly said nothing bad could EVER happen. Well we were a block south of those hallowed halls and that fact- or perhaps the uneven laying of asphalt allowed for an epic loss of grace. I fell off my shoes.

Anyone who has ever walked in heels and a skirt in Manhattan has experienced this- at least this is how I reassure myself. I landed on one summer bare knee and watched as Mr. B... kept walking and talking to me as if I were still next to him. It was 5 or more steps before he realized he was addressing a rather confused but exceedingly polite fellow business man who wasn't me. He stepped back as I was quickly righting and collecting myself. I popped up from the lumpy tar surface and started limping across."Hang on a sec- Wait" he said " Recover a minute will you?" he exclaimed. But I had a mission- total denial. It never happened. I was going to walk it off and remove myself as quickly as possible from the view of any and all witnesses. Syd if you are reading this-yes- I should've put on flats- I didn't.

Well. I wasn't REALLY bleeding and the pain, deep in the throes of "it was nothing, really" was minimal- no more than a heated throbbing. I walked crosstown chatting about EBITA and other subjects near and dear to Mr. B's heart knowing that if I distracted him by being enthralled with a riveting explanation of Sales vs. Earnings he'd know I was OK and I would actually be OK.

The sale was a bust. Really- when a $3000 dollar jacket is 70% off it's still... well, too expensive for something you wear on casual Friday so you can show off how well you dress to be leisurely. How can you relax adequately in something you cannot spill barbecue sauce on? We walked back to the office and after cleaning debris off the injured knee found a rather wide...scrape. Not so much more. Surface. A flesh wound really. Even if it was a proverbial pound of flesh wound- it was fine.

Unless you had a four day trip to an International Business Meeting in Las Vegas to go to the next day. The thing about Las Vegas, specifically the Las Vegas Strip, is that the shortest distance between 2 points is a taxi cab. Even if your destination is across the street it will take a good 45 minutes to find the crosswalk, and the overpass, and the up and down escalator and a water show, 3 come-to-Jesus preachers and 2 rent-a-date panel trucks and reach your destination. And I love to walk but with this many shiny objects in evidence walking was just too distracting- I didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell of making it ten feet in less than a millenium- oh and did I mention I was limping? Even though I wasn't sinning in Sin City and had a date arranged as soon as I got home I still found myself gawking every time I stepped out of the fantasy world of the Paris Hotel Lobby.

A word about the Paris. I have stayed at 2 Vegas Hotels other than the Paris- Caesar's and the Venetian. Somehow the Italian fantasy worlds at these mega resorts didn't work for me. It was too... not Italian- where was the smell of garlic being cooked in oil? The plump-armed Nonna encouraging you to eat- or get married? The scent of Venice slowly moldering into the canals? It just wasn't working for me. But the Paris. It was cool. Trapped as we were for 12-14 hours in windowless ballrooms listening to presentations and Powerpoint displays I made sure that each morning in the wee small hours before 7 am that I grabbed a large and delicious coffee at Le Notre and sat out in front of the hotel on a wrought iron bench under the faux verdigris arches. That 30 minutes of caffeine and Piaf gazing at the flat crystal blue sky and the miniature Arch du Triomphe made those hours a bit easier to take. I've never been to Paris but with the right music and a good cup of coffee and most essential- and a very Parisian attitude- a combination of l'aissez faire and Joie du vivre- it felt a bit French.

And I never put a bandaid on the knee. Longer skirts covered it and I told myself the air would help it heal. On the final day of the conference I had a free afternoon and lounged under the Paris's replica of the Tour du Eiffel next to the pool. Mr. B had joined me for a bit by the pool but even he got the idea that I needed some space- and to be able to pull off my cover up and not die of utter mortification by being so scantily clad in a pseudo-business environment. I remember whn I first came to the new job being worried about showing toes- 9 months later toes are ok- tits are another matter entirely.

After 4 fact and fun filled days of business meetings stretching into the 14 hours a day realm all that was left of my higher mental functions was the ability to contemplate (please forgive me) my wounded knee. While I was absorbing all that good business information my knee was developing a rather elaborate and interesting scab. As a kid I was a scab connoisseur- both in generating them and appreciating them. At eight years of age my mom sent me to school with extra bandaids because I could not resist showing off my latest creation. I was forever horrifying my friends by peeling off a band-aid and saying "LOOK". It absolutely fascinated me. How many different KINDS of scabs there were- bruises- no bruises- leaky- or not and the stuff on the little white gauze pad- AMAZING. Back then I thought it was better than any biology lesson and a guarantee that as far as the human body was concerned if you broke it- it would fix itself! It would have been great if glasses and vases could do that too- would have saved me a fair bit of time sitting in the corner thinking about what I had done.

I couldn't resist looking. The places covered by a red crust protected the broken bits. The healed places had shed the covering, revealing new skin- bright and pink and a bit angry looking. Surreptitiously I looked up- was anyone watching? I peeled a bit away ... slowly, slowly- feeling the sting when I reached a place that still needed its crisp covering.

OK- it was wierd. But I was blissfully alone and was able to go back to the time when the things my body did still amazed me. As I head to the end of my fourth decade I spend a fair bit of money on products to keep skin smooth and supple. I creak and have to shake off a bit when I sit too long with my legs crossed Indian style. Yet here I was- regenerating. Even in this later part of my life- my body screams out- there are still miraculous things I can do! And no $300 pot of creme de mere from Sephora is needed, just a little Bacitracin.

So, back from Vegas I still take a moment from the busier and busier days and peek at my scab and marvel about how life, at every stage, renews itself. And I am not as young as I was, or as old as I plan to be, but there is still some really great stuff left I can do.

Monday, April 28, 2008

The post that goes like this...



My dog ate it.

A car ran it over and its still at the vet.

I've been busy.

I've been sick.

I died and it took a bit to get reincarnated 'cause there was a line and I hadn't been around all that long and there were three holy men and a skunk in front of me.

I was brushing my teeth.

I overslept.

The Primaries.

The Secondaries

And the Teriaries.

Oh. And I was happy.

Above are the reasons I haven't been posting on the blog lately.

Except I wasn't sick- I took a mental health day two weeks ago but really I just had a lot (a lot, a lot) of macaroons to make.

And I CAN'T oversleep. I asked VLH to wake me the other morning as my cel phone was wet (long story having nothing to do with not writing on my blog) and wound up waking him instead- I KNOW I can wake whenever I want- I just don't believe it and so spend the night tossing and worrying and not sleeping- I am more likely to over-wake.

As for the primaries... for me its not really a choice. Hilary gives me the shivers and John McCain...well- does this country REALLY need another old white guy in office? Let somebody else talk for a change. And even though he has ears like a pitcher- Obama seems honest- might be nice for a change- we'll see.

I didn't die- though I did go to my friend's memorial. I had the temerity to believe I could stand in front of the group and tell amusing stories of my friend now gone and instead wound up weeping onto the podium in front of a hundred near-strangers.
It was a funny time for my heart to show up, but as Frank Baum said hearts will never be practical until they are unbreakable. I felt it crack with the feeling of loss. And felt its healing with a rendition of "All You Need is Love" sung lightly off key by her stepson and the world's most earnest band. Which is exactly how she would have sung it.

And I don't have a dog- my cat would eat it.

I've travelled- to Atlanta to eat a hotdog with Cole Slaw on it- the staff at the Varsity marvelled when I said I'd never had one. Even asked "Where you from that you ain't had a slaw dog?" I said New York- "mmm-mmmm" they said- deep in their chests nodding and adding New York to other third world places- deprived of even the basest necessities. I didn't have the heart to tell them I'd never had an orange whip either (for the rest of you starved souls- it tastes JUST like a melted creamsicle slushy) they probably would've called a preacher and had a prayer meeting for this poor heathen.


I looked at the cherry blossoms in DC. A Japanese print done in 1935 of the same trees lining the tidal basin show very little change from then to now as they curve gracefully towards the Jefferson Memorial. What has changed are the people. Despite multiple signs CLEARLY reading "Please look out for LOW BRANCHES" I stood by one particularly sturdy branch that hung over the pathway and watched as one cel-phone yakking distracted so-and-so after another walked into it. Only one word for this- "Good". Nature has a way of making you pay attention- no matter WHAT happened on "Lost" or "American Idol" that week.

I've seen several plays- among them Les Liasons Dangeureuses and Young Frankensten- but though they were fine- I was most impressed by my friend Jen's fabulously frank one-woman show "The Laws of Attraction" about cosmology and being a lesbian. When we talked before the show she told me it was a play best appreciated by homosexual intellectual women. I figured- I have a brain- and a vagina- I'll just wing it. And unlike the two previously mentioned plays, Jen had a full staff serving dinner while she pulled off this massive task. In the last one-man show I saw, "A Bronx Tale"- Chazz Palmientieri would not allow the audience to leave their seats to go to the restroom during the performance. I cannot imagine him moving through something as demanding as a one-man show while a strident theater-goer insisted that her bronzino was overdone. I think that the...unifying moment (and there were many) came when Jen was discussing the universe after the big bang- stating that after that event there were 800 bazillion (ok I forget the exact number but stay with me you'll get the punch) pieces of anti-matter in the universe and 801 bazillion pieces of matter- and then compared it to dating. And before she explained I just KNEW what she was driving at- since she had just uttered the exact number of bad dates I had been on. But it's that one piece of matter that's left over, that matters. And I was as amazed at her sheer guts for putting her life up there on the stage, as I was at her talent- and how beautiful she looked up there being her- all her.

So- I HAVE been busy. Two seders- a gross of macaroons and a box of matzoh. A new hard drive and a broken button on my camera- a porch full of new plants and a looming trip to New Orleans, a birthday party to plan for which there are already RSVPS though I haven't actually invited anyone yet. My life seems to gallop along and yet there is time. And I wonder about the wild bits, my wild bits- and poke a bit in the fireplace of my life- checking on certain embers, seeing that in their own way they still glow. I move the firescreen a bit closer here, It would be just like me to let the sparks fly. But in truth I think if I've learned anything lately it's the difference between drama and excitement. And to savor the slower burn.

And I have learned one other thing. If you order from Frederick's of Hollywood- don't send the package to your office. Even if you BEG, they will keep sending catalogs to you at work.

I didn't say I'd removed the wild bits- lets just say I've channeled them.

:P X

Monday, April 21, 2008

I'm WORKIN' on it



You know you have been truly reticent when a FIFTEEN year old tells you you have not been "keeping up". Whippersnapper.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Let the Pillows LOOSE: World Pillowfight Day March 22nd



Last year I touted World Water Day. Hijacked a great piece of writing by George Saunders to illustrate the point... And the Museum of Natural History is doing a family-oriented presentation on World Water Day. Bring the Kids- I won't be there because I will be at Union Square at the International Pillowfight Day at Union Square.

I have been waiting for weeks- Sadly I have a foam pillow- my costume will be a really heavy winter coat (it has gotten REALLY chilly here all of a sudden- thanks for nothing vernal equinox) and a helmet if I can find one as it seems that shorter people tend to get bashed in the head a lot.In a downward motion. I may create a sideline in selling pairs of Advil... more on this later.

For more info go to: http://www.pillowfightday.com/

:P X


And now for the "more later"



Over the weekend I went to the big pillow fight at Union Square (


The rules promised if you didn’t have a pillow and/or were wearing glasses you wouldn’t get hit.



No one read the rules.



I was standing in the MIDDLE of Union Square when the melee (or fracas- you choose) began.



About 30 seconds before a little voice in my head said “oh shit”.



I got the tar kicked out of me and covered in feathers besides.























Saturday, March 22, 2008

Marshmallow Peeps- A shout-out



Easter is generally something I pretty much give a miss to- because it's right smack up against Passover and frankly, I can't type with macaroon goo fingers- it kills the keyboard and I dont get all the coconut out from between the keys til after the high holy days. Happily with the disparities in the US and lunar calendars this year Easter and Passover are a civilized month apart. And as I had a little PJ time between waking up and the big pillow fight in Union Square this afternoon I was looking around the web and found out -people who have way too much time on their hands tend to spend it finding ways to torture candy. Specifically, marshmallow peeps. There are peep fashion shows, peep film festivals (the Peep Jaws video is available on YouTube if you care to check)

A word about peeps from wikipedia:

Peeps (branded as PEEPS®) are small marshmallow candies, sold in the United States and Canada, that are shaped into baby chickens, rabbits, and other animals. There are also different shapes used for various holidays. Peeps are primarily used to fill Easter baskets, although the Just Born company is trying to change that by introducing new shapes and advertising "Peeps - Always in Season". They are made from marshmallow, sugar, gelatin, and carnauba wax.

Peeps are produced by Just Born, a candy manufacturer based in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Peeps were introduced in 1953 by Russian immigrant, Sam Born. When Just Born acquired Rodda Candy Company in 1953, they automated the process (originally the chicks were formed by hand) and mass-marketed them. Back in 1953, when the peeps were made by hand it took 27 hours to make one marshmallow peep. The yellow chicks were the original form of the candy — hence their name — but then the company introduced other colors and, eventually, the myriad shapes in which they are now produced.

There is peep jousting- (photos courtesy of http://www.phancy.com/peeps/joust/index.html)



The messy and largely self-entertaining game, "Peeps Jousting" is played with a microwave oven. One takes two Peeps, and licks the right-hand side of each until sticky. A toothpick is thereby adhered to each Peep, pointing forward like a jousting lance. The Peeps are then set in a microwave, squared off against one another, and heated up. As they expand, the toothpick lances thrust toward each opponent, and the winner is the one that does not pop and deflate (or fizzle and die). Both usually are eaten after the competition, however, regardless who the victor was. In any case, here- the peep never wins.




You can't toast them over a fire- the sugar coating burns. They will, however, float to the top of a cup of hot chocolate and are tasty that way. Scientists at Emory University have tried myriad experiments and comcluded- peeps are really hard to destroy.

One man has taken up the gauntlet on this- for GREAT photography and an absolutely grisly sense of the macabre there is http://www.hanttula.com/exhibits/bunnies/. An incredible website by Mike Hantula dedicated to chronicling in photos, the bunnyocalypse including

Episode 1: Bunny vs. Skewers
Episode 2: Bunny vs. The Elements
Episode 3: Bunny vs. Coffee Grinder
Episode 4: Bunny vs. Water Torture
Episode 5: Bunny vs. Blow Dryer
Episode 6: Bunny vs. Egg Slicer
Episode 7: Bunny vs. Microwave
Episode 8: Bunny vs. Hot Metal…
Episode 9: Bunny vs. Golf Club
Episode 10: Bunny vs. Doggy
Episode 11: Bunny vs. Coffee I
Episode 12: Bunny vs. Coffee II
Episode 13: Bunny vs. Sauce Pan
Episode 14: Bunny vs. Sauce Pan II
Episode 15: Bunny vs. Window
Episode 16: Bunny vs. Chocolate
Episode 17: Bunny vs. Cola
Episode 18: Bunny vs. Assassin
Episode 19: Bunny vs. House Fire
Episode 20: Bunny vs. Vacuum
Episode 21: Bunny vs. Pasta Maker

And my favorite: Bunny vs. the Egg Slicer.




Happy....whatever :) XO

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Seeking Sir Real- Passing Strange


"Stew"

I love going to the theater. It was once said of Sylvia Myles that she would go to the opening of an envelope if it was free. While my long history with paper might indicate I also like being home when the mail arrives- I let it wait for me, not the other way around. I have things to do... But I like envelopes.

I get mail from Broadway. It comes in the inbox at AOL but I have found at times e-mail is more than superior to paper mail, especially since the "delete" button replaces schlepping stuff I have no interest in out to the trash cans and risking stocking and heels on the crumbly sidewalk around the back of the house.

So in comes a little missive from my pals at Telecharge. "Passing Strange". Hmmm. Spike Lee endorses it and I give a half a moment to thinking about the time Spike visited the big giant paper store and pitched a fit because he wasn't given a receipt (it was in the bag). Despite my affection for "She's Gotta Have It" and "School Daze" and other joints- I can't shake the dweeb image from my mind.

But then there is the buzz on "Strange". Literally an undercurrent of murmurs. A guy with one name ("Stew") a new age/rock and roll score and a sexy media-genic cast. This can either be great or horrendous. I know- I'm IN marketing- we always put the best stuff up front- it's anyone's guess whether the reality lives up to the hype. But...tickets are $21.50 in the balcony. In my head I hear an envelope ripping and with a quick e-mail exchange to VLH we procure balcony seats to "the real". (Mind you, if you'd like this offer go to www.BroadwayOffers.com or call (212) 947-8844 and use code PSTCX33 or bring this to the Belasco Theatre, 111 West 44th St. Balcony seats are usually $26.50- you can give the 5 you save to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids)

The seats we had defined nosebleed. Literally the last row- however- it was the last row- dead center- and a row comprised of only 2 seats- ours. If you can request 112 and 113 E, they are the best the balcony has to offer as far as I am concerned- it was like viewing the play the way angels watch the earth- great view and close to the amenities including a ladie's room SO small the sink was OUTSIDE the bathroom. And if the play sucked- we could neck. You see, I wasn't really sure that $21.50 bought me a good time- so I was exploring other options- necking was my insurance policy. I had a ringer with me in H.

It began. I was almost sad to see the lights go down on the beautiful murals and stained glass and wood ceiling of the Belasco. The cast took the stage like they were spending an evening at the Hammerstein Ballroom- band-style, they just walked on. The audience was obviously seeded with the faithful as their applause was immediate- or perhaps it's just because there are not so many folks on Broadway who look like Stew-at least not since the demise of Thomas "Fats" Waller. Much has been written about Stew's unconventional look, but honestly- he just looked cool to me. I never much went in for the brilliantined Broadway idol type- unless it was in a Jewish Jerry Ohrbach kind of style.

There was not a lot of the Jewish stuff here- which was very ok. Watching the show unfold (and at first it did that just a bit slowly) I loved the musicians being right on stage. I heard H gasp. I later found out that H's audible intake of breath was his epiphany that the stage was not going up and down but that the musicians were on platforms that rose and fell as the scene required. There was a driving rock and roll score and Stew is formidable on his lovely hollow-bodied electric. I loved that he had no wires on his guitar- like some sort of free-form marionette- he moved around the stage unencumbered by wires, walking us through his life as an adolescent.

At first I became aware I was watching a new form- not opera quite but most assuredly not your traditional Broadway musical. Too much thinking going on for a lark and though the words rhymed and there was dancing- the rhymes were more rap than lyric- and the dancing more a way to display energy- hence the show has a movement coordinator instead of a choreographer- it's not choreographed- it's exhuberance expressed without falling into one of the musician's pits onstagein the process.

I was not sure I was seeing what the show spoke of as "the real" after all- I was in a theater watching someone else's life- I had come here SPECIFICALLY to be drawn out of the real of MY life. But I knew- in a very short time, that I was experiencing the NEW. On the time-worn stage of that lovely old theater these guys were trying something- albeit cobbled together from several older forms, something NEW. And after over thirty years of theater-going- to see that, truly for the first time, was breath taking. Unlike H I was not gasping- I was holding my breath.This was special.

The cast is phenomenally talented. The script has moments that at least for me- were definitely core. Speaking of the choices of slaves vs. the life of a coward with no choices still rings with me. And the dialog between an adult and an adolescent being spoken to as an adult for the first time brought back memories for me long untouched. And the music was great. At one point the score soared so high I was dizzy with it- feeling the music washing over and tthrough me in a way I have never experienced in a theater. I have heard from other theatergoers that Strange's second act was inferior to the first- it wasn't- you just nevergot as high as that moment in the first act again.

I read the reviews- certainly everyone pointed out that a bit of editing would not be out of place. But how do you edit your life? For that matter- as I sat watching Stew onstage- brave in his Chucks- I wondered how you get to a place where you can be so bold as to say- this is who I am, this is where I fucked up, and this is where it got me. I am not sure what you'd leave out- what I am certain of is that for some viewer- it would be key. I'd like it a lot if people would re-learn to sit still for more than 90 minutes. This is where the epiphanies are- just north of when your rump goes numb. The 2.5 hour running time would only be excessive if it wasn't so enjoyable.

I left the theater and we walked down 7th Ave towards the PATH. H was beyond excited and I enjoyed his virtual jumping up and down at what he had just witnessed. "This will be coming back to me for days" I said thoughtfully. And it has. It's a thinking thing for me. The impact takes time. At the end of a play, perhaps what is ACTUALLY the real- is in the resonance it creates in the viewer.

I wondered about the future of the play- Broadway invented the phrase- if you can make it there... NY ain't cheap and Broadway even less so. But I hope. I hope- it was, once upon a time, that NY was a place you went to try new things- now current Broadway roster would not be unfamiliar to my mom- or my grandmother- with revivals on every street corner and older theatrical chestnuts being hawked and rehawked- not that I have anything against Kander and Ebb or Tennessee Williams. I am just hoping that there is a space, and an audience that is up for the surprise. And the real.

www.PassingStrangeOnBroadway.com

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

An Orchid Grows in the Bronx



OK- so there wasn't ANYONE willing to go out in the rain to see the orchids at the Bronx Botanic Garden with me- no matter. Some traditions outweigh the slings and arrows of traitorous sleep-deprived, " I gotta do my laundry" LITERALLY fair-weather friends. It rolled off me like water off a duck's... ok, not exactly like that.


























Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Aloha Oy



Been gone a bit. I plan to make up for it. While I was gone I got watered in the lovely mists of too long neglected San Francisco, found the way to San Jose (thank you Garmin, Patron Saint of the Seriously Road Challenged) and then landed...in the red dirt and beautiful sunshine of O'ahu.

This is gonna be like "Memento"- I'm working my way backwards travel-wise.. In the words of the Dead- for whom I have developed a slightly worrisome affection (it's like a new freckle in an interesting place- it's ok that it's there you just don't want it to GROW) It was a long, strange trip- two weeks on the road with the end finding me on Halie'wa Beach and the closest I will come to heaven while still breathing air.

Syd wrote me a note today- "Are you back from your trip or are you still "working?". It did not take twenty years of friendship to hear the heavy sarcasm in that line. I did indeed go to Hawaii for work and the first time I set foot on Waikiki beach I was wearing a suit and suede pumps- for about a minute. No- I kept the suit on, but lost the shoes and scrunched my toes into the soft white sand. It was amazing. The first three days of my trip I worked from about 7 am to 7 pm but I was working in Hawaii- and for the girl from Brooklyn- that was heady.

O'ahu is ...well, take everything you have ever heard about Hawaii, multiply it by 8, then times it by about a thousand. It's just that gorgeous. The water stayed warm well into the evening when I finally cut loose from running to appointments and could walk along the edge of the Pacific at 10 o'clock at night watching the surf foam and lick at my toes. By the grace of Mark at the bell desk I got a room on the 4th floor of the Waikiki Sheraton facing the most glorious view of the ocean. I watched as the water changed color- blue gray at 5 am, sparkling turquoise in the noon sun, aquamarine at twilight and as the sun set- deep blue green and finally as night fell- midnight blue. I left the sliding doors open at night and slept with the sound of the surf whispering to me..."you're here...really here."


First Sunset

I reveled in the absolute funniness of it.. The Hawaiian alphabet consists of 15 letters, 5 of which are a,e,i,o,u. Add a few K's, L's and H's and that seemed more or less the name of every street, noun, verb, person, place or thing. The morning radio traffic reports left me in hysterics as the announcer (who I originally thought was a sort of lisping effeminate man and turned out to be a soccer mom turned traffic reporter) would say things like- "There's a 15 minute delay on the Havabanana Highway at the Idonwanna exit" And everywhere I went I acted as translator for my co-worker who asked repeatedly "Where's the next stop? KAMAKAZI? KALAWHATCHAMACALIT?" And I would reply with great self assurance from a night-long study of street maps- "No- it's just off Kuhio, which runs parallel to Kalakaua just before the Ala Wai canal- right near Seaside." Yeep. I even scared myself.


Statue of Duke at Waikiki

I had the gorgeous experience of standing in one office gazing down at the Iolani Palace- the only monarchal palace in the US and the home of the last King of Hawaii- Kalakaua and his sister- the last Queen, Lili'oukalani- imprisoned in the palace at the end of her reign with just one handmaiden as her only visitor. And seeing the Aloha Tower in the harbor- and knowing the tower had seen many ships come in and out long before Hawaii was part of the US.


The Iolani Palace


The Capitol Building Honolulu


The Aloha Tower

In one office someone pointed out the window at Punchbowl- my first volcano. But not my last. Before the trip was over I watched the sun rise seated at ALMOST the top of Diamondhead. I climbed it with my co-worker and VLH just before sunrise and sat breathless-first with the climb and then with the sheer amazement that my feet stood in a place right at the edge of the world and watched a day begin- with everything I needed- and then some, right beside me. And my co-worker TEXTING me from the summit that the view was worth the climb- and me texting him right back that I had EXACTLY the same view- just a different angle. My own.


Sunrise Diamondhead


Diamondhead tunnel



The Diamondhead hike

Business trips are usually one plate of fancy food or a quick sandwich on the run and in the first few days there was some of that. But along the way finding out the local tuna- Poke- was very yummy- and pronounced Poh-kee but unless I wanted to avoid the gentle smile of the locals I learned not to say "Poh-Kay"- unless I wanted my taco filled with feline. Teaching Queens-born VLH and the co-worker to say SHAVE ice- not SHAVED ice (you can take the boys out of Bayside but you cannot BEAT Bayside out of them with an outrigger canoe paddle- though at times I was sorely tempted to try)- and getting a rainbow colored mouthful of it at Matsumoto Shave Ice- reportedly the best in the world. I couldn't argue- like so much- it was a first. I had no basis for argument. I had to like Matsumoto's- they had over twenty Poh-Kay living in the backyard.


Matsumoto Shave Ice


The back yard at Matsumoto's


Coconut Shrimp


"Great Ball of Fire" at Rum Fire- Mango and Lichee sorbet covered in meringue and flamed with 151 proof rum


Margaret at Dave's


Poke Tacos

The local delicacies were the best of all possible treats- luscious sweet bread french toast and goopy egg sandwiches at Andy's in Manoa where Mrs. Andy recommended mayo on my eggs and called me sweetheart at least six times. Being waited on by her son-in-law John who encouraged us to try the buttery cinnamon-crusted apple turnovers and to "hang loose". We tried the crispy wonderfulness and thanked Andy- who was baking bread and turnovers just beyond the service counter. We tried the native Gummi Bears covered in LiHui powder- a powder made from mangoes and according to my co-workers when I returned- they are an acquired taste. Not one most CARED to acquire.


Andy's

The Foster Botanical Garden- I stood under the "Bo" tree. A direct descendant of the Boddhisatva tree that the Buddha sat under when he gained enlightenment. Of all the things I brought home- the leaf from that tree that was a gift from the botanist met on the plane to O'ahu is something I will treasure. And the Cannonball tree- we loved that- it grows round fruit that when ripe will fall on unsuspecting heads without warning. These brown fruit break open to reveal a white custardy filling that ferments in less than 6 hours and smells like...well, barf. Pretty cool, huh? And the seed from the Coco-de-Mer- the largest seed in the world- we had our picture taken together, the seed and me.


The Seed



The Cannonball Tree and an unsuspecting VLH

And the W&M BBQ Burger. Named for the owners Wilfred and Mary Kamemura. The LEAST hospitable restaurant in Oahu. No parking- a street sign the size of a license plate and a lunch counter barely 18" long and 4" wide. They don't mind if you eat but you can't do it here. They don't have to be hospitable- they make the best damned hamburger I ever ate. If you get the Hal's special you get hamburger, teriyaki steak, cheese and onions mayo, ketchup and a really messy shirt front. Come to think of it I probably should have saved the brown paper the burger came in as I am pretty sure, remembering the look on VLH's face- that under that paper is where HE found enlightenment.




"Hal's Special" at W & M

After days of running my co-worker took the plane back to the mainland and I began to feel my feet sink a bit into the Oahu red dirt. Saturday was for the North shore of Oahu- Halie'wa and beaches that stretched out inviting only surfers, small children and the occasional dog. Despite a perfect day- we shared the shore with only about fifteen other souls, and the dog.


Surf Dog at Halie'wa

Ths shadows lengthened and we made our way into Halie'wa and the little town yielded up a church barbecue with grilled chicken and shrimp glazed and charred to perfection coated with the local pineapple teriyaki sauce- Huli-Huli... I think that's Hawaiian for yummy. Topped off with Kona and Macadamia Nut ice cream from Aoki's and eaten on plastic tablecloth covered picnic tables. Even the rooster pecking just to the side of the tables seemed content- I know we were.

There was so much more. We drove the edges of the island past shrimp farms and tiny houses. The mountains rose like a curtain ahead of us and the water lapped the shore just outside the car window as we drove. The car windows were open and reggae music played on KINE FM. Folks fished off the beaches and set up tents and slept in the night air.


Baby Surfer




Halie'wa Beach

We headed for the airport and I thought about Hawaii. Hula girls and fire boys- ukeleles and the humuhumunukanuka apua'a and aloha shirts and shorts- the uniform of the island- like American Express, accepted everywhere. Before I came here it was novelty-kitsch- just this side of comic. Then I met the people. Was invited surfing, and to dinner by strangers. The aloha spirit is one of unbridled generosity and joy. The flowers on Oahu look just like they do on the shirts and are worn with pride. Flip flops are the only sensible shoe- it would be madness to shut your feet away from the sun, sand and gentle breezes. To live here is to live in joy. And wear it with pride.




Fiji Dancers

I must have made dozens of lei jokes. Then I got one, and another and another. Everyone who heard I was visiting for the first time ran to find me one. When a lei is presented you are given a kiss by the giver and asked to make a wish. I only had one.

To come back again.



Aloha.