It's Fall, Family Time Visits

It's Fall, and I'm glad the hot summer months have passed,  This is probably my most favorite time of the year.  The leaves are starting to turn color from green to yellows, orange, red and brown.  The crisp mountain air is beginning to show itself and the tops of the mountains have been dusted with a light coating of snow, signs of things to come.

Some of the things we love to do is take rides up Alpine Loop and come down on the other side of the mountain, near Sundance, and journey back through Provo Canyon and the Provo river.  I remember doing this a couple of times on General Conference weekend Saturday, listening to the conference on the radio, taking in the breathtaking views, and seeing numerous people picnicking along side the road and enjoying nature.  That's what its all about.  The quality of life lived here in these parts.

Sure, there are other things to do, like taking in local high school football games, or elevate that to BYU football, its all good.  There's also visiting family, or having them visiting you.

We got to take care of our local four grandchildren while their parents travelled out of state.  This was more like an extended weekend visit.  We were busy with their lives and activities but it was fun.  Then, we had a visit from Nikki, Dan, and their family.  We don't get to see them as often, because they live out of state and have very busy lives also.  We got together to celebrate one of our grandson's birthday and Rachel, Jase, and children also attended.  They live on the other side of the mountain.  So, with three daughters here, their spouses, and children, plus their two dogs, you know which ones, we had a house full for the evening.  I especially noticed 18 grand children in attendance, all enjoying their cousins and having pretty much a great time.

As for Jo and I, we took it in, all in stride and loved having family over, any time at all.   We got to spend a little more time with Nikki and Dan and their family.  When it was time for them to leave, I finally got some good pictures of their kids, like "Rue-Rue" and Biscuit, plus some of the others.

 

Is hiatus another word for "taking a break" or "like unemployed" or what?

A little over 2 months ago, I received an email from one of my children, encouraging me to start blogging again.  It was a good way to share news, pictures, thoughts, etc.  Well, I felt guilty for not keeping up with my blogging.  Yeah, it's faster to share news via such media as Facebook, Twitter, etc.  Well, even though I am on FB, sometimes I feel self conscious with sharing anything there, even though I most of the time enjoy reading the posts to keep up with the news of family and friends.  Of course, if you live by the posts on FB, you can also either share too much info, or set yourself up for disaster with such things as identity theft.  Maybe I'm being too paranoid about this matter, thats just me.

Yeah, I've taken a break from blogging for some time but I realize those family and friends probably miss what's on my mind.  Also in the period of inactivity, I've gone through some period of challenge, mostly health.  I'm happy and glad to say that I am back on the road to full recovery and am wanting to make the most of my time and efforts.  Time wasted is time lost, never to be regained again.

I also experienced great love, prayers, fasting, and support from those family and friends dear to me.  I owe a great deal to my loving wife, who has walked me through this experience and has always been there for me since the day we were married.  I've experienced great personal sacrifice especially from my "number three daughter" who is determined to make a difference in my life.  What greater blessings than to know the love of the Savior and what he as done for me personally.  I am completely humbled for the blessings of life.  

So my dear family and friends, keep up with me as we blog our way through the future.  Let me share another neat thing about blogging.  All those posts, comments, pictures, etc., can be recaptured and printed  in a  book to be a written record of your life, just ask my "number four daughter" whose husband surprised her on her birthday with years of their blog in hard bound book.  Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  So folks, blogs can enhance your personal journals.  Try it.

I enjoy reading my children's blogs.  Since we can't be there with them except for visits far and few in between, keeping up with their blogs really fills the gaps.  My "number two daughter" has this cute section called "kiddie quips" capturing the sweet, innocent interaction and dialogue of her children as they grow up.  Then there's the news and pictures from my "number one and number three daughters" in their blogs.  Wow, we too are proud of them and their families.  I can't believe how fast all of our grandchildren are growing up.

Look forward to the next issue of "The Daily Musubi" that can be found at http://Ourdailymusubi.blogspot.com on the internet.  Mahalo for reading this post.

Tutu

For anyone whose had the privilege of meeting Tutu Ah Ching, they'd  glean the sweet thoughts of a little old lady that was always pleasantly cheerful and carried the air of aloha.  They would recall "oh how sweet she was and oooh! so loving."  Yes, this is all true, count it as gospel, and be blessed with such pleasant memories of a wonderful person.  Though her life was an immense blessing to everyone, let me touch on a snippet out of the ordinary. 

Before I came into being, Tutu was a widow and lived with Uncle James, the oldest son who took care of her, or she of him.  Uncle James was pretty much a confirmed bachelor.  At least that's how I remember him, and there wasn't anyone around to call Aunty.  Nope, he worked for the sugar plantation and that is how life proceeded there on the slope of the mountain where Tutu lived.  I should mention that the housing area probably had a name, most likely such as "Pake Camp."  After all, Grandpa was Chinese, but Tutu was Hawaiian.  In the home next door live two Filipino men, Tealso and Andres.  There were families living in the area also but these are the ones that I remember the most. 

The next oldest son was Uncle Melvin, who was married to Aunty Laverne.  They lived in Honokaa.  Uncle Melvin was a hard worker and led by example in such areas as education, military service, family responsibility, and community/civic service.  He also rose to the position of Fire Chief for the Honokaa Fire Department.  He was great to talk to and very encouraging to make the most of ourselves and pursue our education and obtain good honorable occupations.

Tutu had other sons that lived abroad or off island.  Uncle Herbet was a Korean War Veteran who worked on Johnston and Kwajalien Island while Uncle Robert worked on Wake Island.  They worked for government contractors and would come home every so often.  They were single young men.  Uncle Herbet had a Korean girl friend once but I don't recall what happened to that relationship.  Uncle Robert was the youngest son, tall and handsome, and fun to be with.  Later he would die at a relative young age.  All of the daughters were married living elsewhere.  There was Matilda and Uncle Bill on Oahu, Mom and Dad on the Hamakua coast, Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Joe in Keaukaha, Aunt Geraldine in California, Aunt Harriet and Uncle Kalfred in Kaimuki, and Patricia, a cousin on Oahu. 

Tutu lived in Ookala on the side of a hilly slope.  Her home was at the end of a cluster of three or four homes and bordered a cliff that dropped into a ravine or gulch. Surrounded by several large trees that provided a wind break from the often cool breezes, it made for a constant race of the imagination of a primary age youngster.  In the broad daylight, it was a paradise of a large mango tree overshadowing a vegetable garden that was lined with papaya trees, banana bushes, and a variety of plants and trees.  On the side of her home was a water catchment tank that caught the rain water from the roof and stored it for later use.  That catchment tank was a necessity because in the dry months, it wouldn't rain for long periods of time.  It also supplemented the local water system, which was often taxed beyond capacity. 

The most vivid recollection of the area was the steep road to get to Tutu's home, where her home was at the top end.  Could you imagine riding a wagon or today's skateboard down that hill?  The road itself was paved and steep.  When our car would start climing the hill, we'd all pray that dad wouldn't have problems shifting gears with our manual transmission car, because the thought of stalling or even rolling back downhill was simply terrifying. 

Once you got to her home, it was a fun and exciting place.  With my brother and sister, we would play with the neighbor kids such things and cowboys and indians.  It was there that I really started to learn and appreciate playing baseball.  We used an old broom that was cut to make a bat and a tennis ball that someone had found.  No gloves, just bare hands.  We marked the bases or stomped our heal in the ground to gouge out a dirt marking as the bases.  Yeah, when you're a kid, you can do anything.

While mom and dad visited Tutu in the home or sitting on her verranda, we played and played until it was time to wash up and eat dinner.  Meals at Tutu's was often filled with vegetables mixed in with some meat or pork or fish.  We were always thought to eat what we took.  So, by the time I realized the protocal, I had already experienced the embarrassment and discipline of wasting food.  At the time, I could conclude that no mercy was spared for such action.

There was an outhouse or lua or privy or whatever about 25 - 30 yards away from her home.  If you had to go, you took a lantern or flashlight with you.  When you got there, you did your business and left.  As a kid, I made the discovery that "oh, I don't have to flush!"  My imagination would run wild at night with fears of an old Boris Karloff movie.  During mango season, when the wind would blow, mangos would fall off the tree hitting the roof of the outhouse or Tutu's home with a loud bang!  That was enough to frighten anyone. 

Tutu's home was always well kept.  The beds were nicely made, neat and clean smelling.  They were the type with metal frames as bed post with single rack springs holding the mattress.  The floors were single plank 1 by 12 boards covered with nenolium.  Being bare footed in doors, the floors were cold, especially during the colder months.  The windows had screens to keep the bugs out so you could open the windows and enjoy the breeze.  Because of the shade from the large trees, when the wind would blow, you get the rustle of leaves.  That home was filled with good memories.

Today, the road leading up to where the old home was located is closed off.  Gone is the sugar industry that once was the life blood of the community.  If you could travel from the beginning of the road to the end, which was located at the top, you have to see the big trees that covered the road with shade.  They were big trees and it was always a pleasant drive, of course, Dad would drop the gear shift into second and ride it up the hill to the top.  On the way down, he would drop it into second gear to help slow down the car while pumping the breaks.  We'd hang our heads out the window to ketch the cool breeze.  Along the way, we'd wave to the neighbors and friends, it was a great community.

My Mom would recall her visits to the family by taking the train that travelled the Hamakua Coast.  It was an exciting time.  Today, gone are the trains and tracks.  Over time, they've been converted to highways, yet, it was a great 24 - 26 mile ride for her.

I feel blessed that we had the privilege of knowing Tutu Ah Ching and being a part of her life.  My wife and children have very fond memories of her.  In her loving, patient way, she was a great example for all her posterity.  Mahalo, Tutu Ah Ching.

You From The Islands? So You Surf?

Living in the intermountain west, it's hard to find a descent beach without driving out of state some 10 - 12 hours to the west coast.  Just like the commercial "Got milk?"  So goes the yearning for the sun, sand, and warm ocean waves, "Got beach?'  Maybe this is just a reaction to the recent Corona (sp) beer commercial where people are sitting on the beach chairs staring out into the ocean waves while sucking down their beer, or it could be a non-alchoholic beverage or whatever.  But it's the soft rumble of the ocean waves breaking in the distance that is enchanting.

Back to surfing.  Back in the day, surfing was not an a common sport, especially since where I lived, we didn't have sandy beaches with waves breaking between 4 - 6 feet in height.  Heck, the only logical place nearby where there were any waves of any consequence was Honoli River, where the river emptied in the ocean.  On the shore, there was only rocks, rounded ones, little pebble ones and bigger shotput size and larger.  If you wiped out, and your board was being carried to shore, definite bust, dings, etc.

The reason I describe the scene is to let you know, I never surfed as a youngster.  We didn't have surfboards or skateboards, or skimming boards, or even boogie boards.  That stuff didn't arrive till I was well on my way out of the islands.  Besides that, it was expensive to buy a surfboard, and those that had boards, walked around with knobby knees or kneecaps.  Yeah, checkem out!  I guess it's from the perpetual kneeling on the board.  I knew people who had boards but that group was small in number. 

People outside of the islands had this impression that anyone or everyone must be a surfer or they were poor swimmers.  Hey bruddah, yes I'm from the islands and yes, I can swim.  I learned how to swim from hanging out with my friends at Kanaka pond or Pake pond or Buesta pond.  These were fresh water river swimming holes where we kids would wild away our summer days. There was no swimming pool in our community, so we went to the rivers.  We learned to swim, dive, and do cannon balls or jack knive jumps.  You just had to know where was it safe enough to dive or jump in that was deep so you wouldn't get a "puka" head (hole in the head.)  Came close, but never got one.  That would ruin your day, and your parents would ground you from swimming there again.

The most popular times were in the summer, lots of sunshine, warm weather, and you could pick wild fruit near the swimming ponds, like banana, guava (both sweet and sour varieties) wyvee, mountain apple, rosie apple, lilikoi, poha, and avocados.  Yeah, we could have a blast swimming and enjoying all the fruits available there. 

The ocean beaches for the east side of the island were really rocky.  Contrast that with the sandy beaches on the west side.  So, growing up, our forms of entertainment or sport at the beach was swimming, diving, or throwing rotten guavas at each other.  If we were at the beach, we would fish, using a fishing pole and bait.  We would also scour the large rocks along the coast line to pick opihi and other shell delicasies.  In the rivers, we would catch river shrimp and river shell delicasies. 

Of course we would go diving with eye masks and a barbed spear to look for fish.  My parents would always lecture us about how dangerous spear fishing was.  So alot of the time, we relagated to just taking a fishing pole and bait.  If we caught anything, my parents would clean and prepare it for dinner. 

I lived in an area that provided excellent environment for learning skills of living off the land and taking care of the land.  It was bountiful in its offerings. 

So, going back to the question do I surf?  The answer is no, but I enjoy boogie boarding, snorkling, and making castles in the sand.  And yes, I am from the islands. 

On a side note, I have a son-inlaw who surfs and skateboards.  So do many other family relatives and so on.

Small Kid Time

When you are a youngster, the world seems to vast and larger than anything you could imagine.  Looking back, if you can remeber that far, reality is not what you thought it would be.  Many things that have come to past are bright and wonderful, while there are some that didn't meet your expectation.  So, these ramblings are not to be categorized as absolute or otherwise definitive.  Just blowing in the wind!

A little over a month ago, I drove past the elementary and Junior High School that I attended in my youth.  It looked so familiar from a distance but with a closer look, I found the hallways and classrooms much smaller than I remembered.  The stairs, railings, and walkways looked conveniently built for small people.  Peering through the windows, desks, chairs, and shelves were modernized for little people.  Wow, big difference from the old desks with names carved in the woodwork.  Yeah! No hole slot for our ink bottle or paste jar.  Things were sure different.

Where todays youngsters hang their backpacks on hooks along the wall, we had homemade school bags sewn out of denim for our books and lunch.  The cafeteria had modern tables built for little people and where we took our assigned turn working in the lunchroom with the cooks and staff, you only find hired staff doing all the work.  Understandable when you stop and think of safety, insurance cost, sanitary environment, and other requirements.  My friend's mom was the cafeteria manager back in the day. 
There's a designated school bus pickup zone for those who ride the school buses while those of us who lived close enough would walk to school and back home.  That even meant sunny, windy, rainey and even cold days.  Oh, it never snowed on us.  We could only wish. 

While in the fourth grade, my classroom was on the second floor and we could look out and see the white caps on days that were windy.  On occassion, you could spot a whale cruising offshore.  It made for a challenge paying attention to our teacher. 

For most of the time attending school, I never wore shoes.  All my toes were liberated and allowed to  breathe.  The soles of my feet were customized to walk on dirt, grass, sand, pebbles, and plain hardtop.  The walk or run never bothered our feet.  All the fancy and expensive shoes didn't exist back in the day.  Converse or Keds were the only just being noticed, if you could afford them.  Being barefoot meant that you were "tougher than dirt!" 

We wore jeans, the denim kind.  Being cool was being able to role up the length of your jeans and form a nice even fold, doubled.  The lighter blue color of the inside of the denim was like having racing stripes.  Of course, maybe wearing shoes with them would make things a notch higher in the dress standard. 
I should admit here that if you didn't wear shoes or went barefooted, you wore slippers or flip flops.  Yeah, the flopping sould was cool also.  It allowed your toes to feel the freedom while enjoying the comfort of some cushion on the soles of your feet. 

On those occassional rainy days, we carried bamboo umbrellas, made of bamboo, and covered with a wax type paper that was covered with a varnish to make it somewhat waterproof.  It's the kind you see in movies with geisha girls twirling.  With it raining often, these umbrellas would last a year at the most. 

We weren't without transportation.  My parents had a car, the family car.  An older model Plymouth with classic running boards, it was built solid.  It wasn't as fast as todays cars but coasting downhill, we could hit 60, maybe 65 with a good tail wind.  You could push start it to get it going, and you tried not to grind the gears when shifting.  Remember to let off the clutch gently while shifting into gear. 

How the world has changed?  I guess I should be grateful to technology, but I miss the old days when life was really living in the slow lane.

Eh! Who Wen Steal My Musubi?

Before I ever saw a Micky Dees or a Burger King there was only a DQ in town but lots of little lunch shops.  These shops offered stuff that would go well in a boxed lunch.  Among my favorite staple was the musubi.  It could have been a spam musubi, or a traditional musubi of a rice ball with an ume in it's center and wrapped in a nori sheet.  That musubi along with a piece or two of fried chicken, or spam and garnished with a little daikon really made the meal great.

We'd take it to the beach or just sit in the shade of a large tree and eat.  The musubi was our strength.  It was not until the publishing of "Pidgin to da Max" with it's cartoon of a musubi fight scene did it change the prominance of the musubi in society. 

Musubi yesterday, today, and tomorrow!  Long live the musubi!