Best Christmas Ever

It was Christmas 1995 or maybe 1996. It was 1996. Definitely.

I married my first husband January 4th, 1997. For Pacific Island girls in my era, marriage was the only way out of the house. So I was excited to make my way in the world with my first love. A month before the wedding, with the excitement of becoming a new bride and all the butterflies I felt surrounding the love adventure I was about to embark on, I was feeling the Christmas spirit.

My little sisters down the road came over and we started talking about "Ding Dong Ditch," although I think we called it something else. We would make all sorts of homemade baked goods and give it to families in the neighborhood that had large families to feed. We would place the goodies on their porch, knock on the door or ring their bell, then run. We were very much feeling the spirit of giving, the spirit of Christmas. We made our list of the baked goods we would make and decided on homemade cookies, rice crispie treats, and cupcakes. We sourced our ingredients and started baking.

The TV was playing a Christmas special with beautiful music and we were having a good time. Laughing. Baking. Eating. Singing. The lights from our Christmas tree cast a soft glow in the living room and the lights that my father hung on the eaves of the house streamed into the living room and kitchen. There was a slight frost in the air with the temperatures dipping into the upper 60's, which is cold for Hawai'i. While the goodies cooled off, we made homemade gift tags. I'm artsy fartsy like that and my little sisters from down the road are always DOWN for whatever. In the midst of our laughing and singing along to the Christmas special, we hear a knock at the door.

Nobody we know would knock on the door. Most people we know will walk right into the house, not needing or waiting for an invitation. So it was odd that there was someone knocking at our door. Because of the cold temperatures, we had the heavy door closed when normally the screen door would suffice. When I opened the door, there was a Caucasian gentleman standing there. Dark hair. Round glasses. Red Santa hat on. Cardigan and khakis. I had never seen this man before in my life. He smiled really big when I opened the door.

He asked me, "Is this the home of ((insert my moms name))?"

I replied, "Yes. Do you need something?"

He handed an envelope to me and asked me to give it to her.

I said, "Okay," and took the envelope.

"Hold on," I told him, as I ran to get a box of macadamia nut chocolates under the tree that my mom had wrapped for occasions like this.

He took the box and walked down the driveway. I closed the door and took the envelope to my mother, who was sitting with my father in their bedroom.

I went back to preparing the gift packages for the families we selected. The laughing, the singing, the preparing continued. My mother came out of the room with a stern look on her face.

"Where did this envelope come from?" my mother asked.

I explained what happened and described the guy. She walked to the door and looked up and down the street. I was worried. Why was she so concerned?

"Is something wrong, mom?" Mom had tears in her eyes.
"There is $250 cash in this envelope."

All of us started tearing up as she explained how she had to choose between paying the electric or buying groceries for Christmas and New Years. I had been so caught up with thinking all about me in the preceding months with my wedding and the fairytale I thought I was going to live out. It never even crossed my mind about the struggles of my parents, who both lost their jobs within months of each other. My tears were about feeling regret and shame for having only thought about me all these months. I hadn't contributed to my wedding or anything and I just thought how selfish I had been. With one act, a gift from a stranger, I was brought to my knees and reminded to think outside of myself. I was glad that we were baking and preparing small, little gifts for other people in the area. In some way, I was just like the santa-guy that had delivered that envelope.

That was the best Christmas ever. Since then, Christmas is about everyone else especially the children. It is a time to remind them of the abundance of God's universe. It's a time to foster imagination and the magic of believing. The only thing that brings me joy at Christmas is the ability I have to give whatever I can. I still love cards especially when they are handwritten but other than that, Christmas is a time to create memories. I love the lights, the sounds, the music, the feeling in the air, the decorations. But this season is about love. Merry Christmas!

NATURAL DISASTERS - What Are Your Memories?

VIDEO: Writer's Prompt

It was September 1992.
I was 17 years old. My senior year in high school had just commenced.
Hurricane Iniki was touted as the most powerful hurricane to hit Hawai'i in recorded history. It was a Category 4 hurricane when it hit the island of Kaua'i. The damage it left in its wake was heartbreaking. I have extended family in the Ha'ena, Wainiha, Hanalei region so it was sad to see the damage.

The island I lived on, O'ahu, had been spared any real major damage. We had dodged the fury of Iniki in my little town of Hau'ula. The day the hurricane arrived was a Friday. When O'ahu had received the all-clear sign, I instantly went back to teenage mode instead of worrying about my life and the unknown future. Being that it was Friday night, I wanted to hang out with my friends.

A few of us met up at the BYU Hawaii Campus. The Canon Activities Center on-campus was doubling as the Red Cross Shelter. We normally hung out there on the weekends. It was a safe place. Clean. It had a snackbar with inexpensive food and there were college boys.

The remnants of the hurricane left us with light passing showers and cloudy skies with a full moon hiding behind it. Naomi (high school bestie) and I were sitting near the box office of the Canon Activities Center. A couple of our guy friends came by also. We sat there laughing and talking. And then a peculiar thing happened. The full moon revealed itself from behind the rain clouds. One of my guy friends, let's call him Scott, went into this weird trance. We all started laughing while he was stoic and contemplative.

He proceeded to tell us a story. I cannot remember all of the details but I remember the important stuff. Scott said he had a dream one night. He was compelled to walk out of his home in the middle of the night and directed to go to the intersection of Moana Street and Kulanui Street. There, a man in black waited. (I swear this is not a reference to The Gunslinger stories by Stephen King.) The man in black asked Scott if he wanted to live forever and have supernatural strength. Scott agreed and did as the man in black directed. He lay down on the ground at the "crossroad" of Moana Street and Kulanui and sold his soul to the devil.

I couldn't figure out if he was telling the truth or if it was a scary story for a stormy night. I giggled at first (probably an attempt to calm my fears) but was completely weirded out by the visuals that I had in my mind of the man in black. I wondered what the man's face looked like. Was he like that creepy old man, Reverend Kane on Poltergeist II? Or was he a mirror of Scott's deepest fears?

Naomi and I stood up to move away from him. He stood up immediately also and began following us as we backed away from him.

"Scott. Stop! What are you doing?" I asked.

The full moon was so bright above him. He towered over us. He turned his head to the moon and began howling at the moon as if he were a werewolf. When he faced us after his howl, he raised his arms up, his hands mimicking the claws of an animal and began chasing us. Naomi and I screamed. We were both on the borderline between laughter and terror. Scott saw the terror on our face and fell down laughing. When we seen that he was laughing, Naomi and I calmed down and started laughing too.

At the end of the evening, Naomi and I talked about it and we couldn't figure out if Scott was joking or if he was telling the truth. Til this day I still wonder.

Sending Love in the Face of Goodbye

My ex-husband was my favorite subject for photographing. I loved taking his picture. In our travels, he always looked so international and I loved that about him and about us. I once thought that there was no one in this whole entire world that I would rather trot the globe with. He is thoroughly as unafraid of foreign destinations as I am. In our adventures together, I have photographed him in beautiful settings. Urban. Cultural. Scenic. I will miss that since we no longer have any association.

I will miss how mobile he and I were. His health and fitness and mine made us ideal companions. We used to take long hikes, vigorous hikes, all in the name of health and wellness. We traveled all over the world together and I thought, for sure, that this journey would last a lifetime. God knows I miss him but I will never let him see me cry again. One day he might regret walking away from US or he might not. Either way, I am okay with how things are turning out because all I have to worry about is ME and only ME now.

One day, when I'm not so sad from our break up, I will be able to look back at us with fondness. For the most part, I do appreciate the time we have shared. I appreciate the good times we've had together. I will always remember the fiery passion we had in the beginning. Flames were so hot that it had me marrying him just seven months after meeting him and we lasted thirteen years. We have done so many different things together. We've shared experiences together that I will probably never share with another. His strength, his concern for me (when we were happy), his handsome face and beautiful body is imprinted on my memory. 

I will miss his family. I felt so connected to them the minute I met them. When my ex was deployed to Iraq, I would visit my in-laws without him. I would drive down to Alabama and spend time there. My ex mother-in-law would call me and check on me all the time. I have met his extended family also and already miss them so much. From Oklahoma to Alabama, I know them all. I always looked forward to visiting my in-laws in Alabama. I always feel so spoiled when I'm out there. I could sleep all day if I wanted to. I could lock myself in the room and watch T.V. all day or write. I will miss my father-in-law's cooking. He knew what my favorite dishes were and would always fix it for me. Low Country Boil was ALWAYS on the menu. Of course I would have to bake while I was there. Sometimes I'd make my father's famous bean soup for them. They loved that. **heavy sigh**

Tomorrow, we take care of one of the last pieces of business between us. We sign closing documents on the sale of our house. When he called me to confirm the appointment, I started to tear up after we hung up the phone. And then the flow of tears came gushing as I remembered our life together. I miss him. I miss his presence in my life and when he was happy, it was so magical to see him laughing and joking. We will always have this special time in our lives to look back on. Though I look forward with excitement at the road ahead of me, a part of me will always think back on what could have been between us.

I don't have a relationship to run to. I don't want to run into a new relationship. What I want is to discover me again; to be the girl that I was before this marriage. I love the freedom I have experienced since me and the ex split. I feel so free and so mobile. I have traveled more in the last five months than I have throughout our marriage and I love that. I have always wanted to feel this free - free to do whatever my heart desires. I want to date and have fun and not be so concerned about any particular significant other. I have been in relationships since I was 18 years old. I met my ex-ex-husband when I was 18. From day one that we met, it quickly blossomed into love. It was very apparent that it was going that route. And I waited for him. Waited three years til he was ready to marry me. After six years of marriage, he called it quits and I jump into the marriage that just ended. So I think I'm done, for now, with serious relationships. I just want to be free.

As I get ready to work up the nerve to see my ex-husband tomorrow, I think of how much I have grown in the past couple of months. I hope that he has grown as well. I send him love and light and all the happiness that one can hold to sustain him through life's meandering roads.

Fare Thee Well Ms. Angelou

I grew up on a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. In the 80's, in my family and friends circle, Maya Angelou was not a familiar name. However in my house, after I saw this episode of A Different World, Maya transformed into my favorite author. These were the days before DVR where you actually had to watch an episode at its scheduled time. Well, I take that back. If you had a VCR or Betamax, you could certainly program it to record your favorite shows. Of course, video cassettes only lasted 2-4 hours and if you had the most recent model, you could probably even get up to 6 hours of video play.

This episode centers around a college classroom where they are practicing Public Speaking. Their assignment is to give their own eulogy. Right at about 11:45 into the episode, Josie gets up and she talks about her aunt giving her a book "that changed her life" and it was a volume of Maya Angelou poems. Josie mentions "Still I Rise" being the one poem that made her want to be a poet. Just the title, "Still I Rise," made this Pacific Island girl so curious about this poet, Maya Angelou.

I was probably in the tenth grade when this episode aired. The internet was a couple of years away. Google was at least a decade away, which meant the research to find Maya Angelou had to be done at a bookstore or the public library. I think the public library was just moving to a LINUX type database. The mouse and the operating system that required the mouse was probably in its infancy at this point. We had to use the regular card catalog where everything was arranged by the Dewey Decimal system. Libraries still use the Dewey Decimal system but it's so much easier to search a database by using keywords rather than trying to find it by topic. Now, I can search, order, and reserve stuff at the public library from my SmartPhone. I use it liberally. I can download audiobooks to my phone and kindle books. Technology is amazing but I relish my childhood experiences in the library. Times have surely changed.

Whenever I went to the mall with my parents, I headed straight to Waldenbooks. It was located where PacSun is currently located. If you looked out the bookstore and across the common areas, McDonalds was on the right and Tilt arcade was on the left. I had no desire to be at the arcade, I was much more comfortable browsing the aisles of Waldenbooks.

On the weekend after watching this episode, I had one mission alone and it was to find a Maya Angelou book. The only book they had from her was in the young adult section, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It was a paperback and I begged my parents to buy it for me. Having what I think was a perfect childhood, my world was shattered when I read that book. The heart break, the pain, the heaviness of what she wrote only made me more in love with her words. How she conveyed so much emotion with words is still so very magical to me. My freshmen year in college, all my ENGLISH 101 essays were inspired by her poetry. Caged Bird was definitely my favorite back then.

I honor you dear Maya. I pray that in another lifetime our paths will cross and we will exchange beautiful poetry. All it took was a short thirty second blurb on a TV show to turn me into a fanatic. Thank you for your magic. It has truly inspired me. While others are familiar with your popular works:
Alone
Still I Rise
Phenomenal Woman
On the Pulse of Morning

I, on the other hand, in my fiery young adulthood was always a fan of To A Husband. Farewell Ms. Angelou. I pray your new birth is as magnificent as this one has been. May your words transcend time. Fare thee well.


To A Husband

Your voice at times a fist
          Tight in your throat
Jabs ceaselessly at phantoms
          In the room,
Your hand a carved and
          Skimming boat
Goes down the Nile
          To point out Pharaoh's tomb

You're Africa to me
          At brightest dawn.
The Congo's green and
          Copper's brackish hue,
A continent to build
          With Black Man's brawn.
I sit at home and see it all
          Through you.

Our Paths Will Cross Again

The thing is we think we have time.

But we don't.

Everyday is, well, often wasted on trivial matters at work or at school or focused on stupid things that will never matter and possibly don't matter right now.

The things that really matter happen with people you love or people you used to love but don't anymore; or people that you used to love but have allowed years of anger to build up between you.

The things that really  matter happen when forgiveness prevails and anger and hurt dissipate into oblivion.

The things that really matter happen when unconditional love and unconditional acceptance are the common bond between me and thee;

**heavy sigh**


My hanai brother passed peacefully in the wee hours of Saturday, May 3rd, 2014. The details surrounding his passing is best preserved in my memory and private journal. It was sudden and unexpected.

I thank you "e-fee". That was my name for him. I am so grateful for all the ways you have been a shining light in my life. And though your light fades in this world, I know it is a bright, shining sun in the next. I love you. I miss you. I honor you!

The best thing about death is that it is an utter realization of my own mortality. I honor his transition into his next birth. I cherish the moment that I will meet him again, in whatever incarnation he appears. I trust that our paths will cross again in some unknown location, across the stars, and somewhere in the wide universes; I believe. No, I know we will meet again and we will love and know each other and pick up right where we left off.

Goodbye to the Dress

Tomorrow, I'm donating my blue satin dress to a plus-size prom goer at my high school Alma Mater.

Farewell dear, blue dress.

I was one of two matrons-of-honor in my cousin's wedding line. I was so honored to be a part of it. She was supposed to be in my wedding line when I got married the first time around but she couldn't make it out to Hawai'i. The second marriage -- the short story is that I was with her when I decided to elope. I cherish that decision to be there in St. Louis, Missouri trying to figure out my life. I was so lost at that time and I walked in a direction and cherish the decision I made. This is what the blue dress reminds me of.

 

So if you take a look at the picture above and the picture below, you will notice that there are two different hairstyles. Anyway,  prior to my arrival in Columbus, Georgia, where my cousin exchanged nuptials with the love of her life, the other matron of honor set up a hair appointment for me. I went to the salon with all kinda product in my hair, thinking I was gonna get a wash, blow-out, and style. That was not the case when I got there. The stylist said that whoever made the appointment only booked a 15 minute appointment. I let her curl my hair even though I thought it looked hideous but I was out of time. My make up was on so I couldn't wash my hair and re-do it the way I would normally fix it. Anyway, I probably had like 4 or 5 different hairstyles over the course of the day. Handsome in his pin-stripe suit, me in my blue gown -- we make quite a pair. This is what the blue dress reminds me of.

Her color is blue. She has always loved that color. I recall one of her prom dresses being a lovely, royal blue. It's only natural that she would select blue as the feature color for her wedding. I have to say that I am glad that I had the chiffon bolero because I had awful tan lines from my halter swim suit. You can kind of see it in the pic above. The wedding was in the middle of summer. Summer in Hawai'i means beach activities everyday, thus the tan lines. The pic below is probably my favorite of alll the millions of pictures we took that day. Husband quickly snapped this shot of us immediately after the cutting of the cake. This is what the blue dress reminds me of.  

The wedding party was made up of some fabulous, very successful women. I am grateful to have been a part of the festivities. My only wish is that we had more time together to bond and do stuff. I can't recall if we even had a bridal shower for the bride. That makes me sad right now, thinking that we skipped over that important part of western wedding ceremony. This is what the blue dress reminds me of.

I bid farewell to this dress and hope that the next girl who wears it will make memories in it that will last her a lifetime.

Farewell dear, blue dress.

Mommy Memory

What I learned from my mother, though she has passed, continues in daily, silent epiphanies. I think of her often. Sometimes it's regret for not being a better daughter to her, for not being a better friend to her, for being a miss-know-it-all and not really listening to everything that she wanted to teach  me. I remember as a teenager she wanted to teach me how to crochet and knit. Being the tomboy that I was, I was just NOT interested in knitting. Here I am knocking on 40 years of age and desperately cruising youtube crochet tutorials so that I can finish a beautiful quilt she started. She was such a talented lady. Why did I brush it off when she was here on this planet? I'm sorry mom.

The truth is that I try not to live in the regret of all the things I could have done to honor my mother while she was here in the flesh. I can't say that I feel guilty nor do I feel excessive regret for not cherishing  her more. And that sounds very arrogant and ungrateful but I really had to make peace with my weaknesses in my relationship with her. The day after she died, I went to Pounder's Beach. I witnessed the most glorious sunrise unlike anything I had ever experienced before or since. While there I put my feelings out into the universe. I forgave myself for not being everything I should have been. And I knew then as I know now that there was no need for apologies or forgiveness - only love and compassion.


Since that day I love differently. I look at people differently. I look at situations differently. I stand in the truth of unconditional love and the purity of my thoughts. I don't gauge situations based on rules or on doctrine published somewhere. I listen to my heart. I listen to my gut. I listen to that still, small voice that beckons me to love people on purpose…. to live ON PURPOSE.

'Awapuhi Memory

My mother would have been 65 this year. As the years move on past the day she departed, I long to hear her voices and I wish so hard that I had taken the time to talk to her more about her childhood. I wish I made it a point for us to travel to Samoa together when she was healthy. I know she would not want me to live with regrets so I don't. When I see her again we will speak as if we had never known any time or distance.

I went to her grave site to place some artificial flowers there. My father had already placed fresh flowers from Mother's Day and Memorial Day and we have artificial purple hydrangeas there. Purple was her favorite color. In the last years of her life, my mother made me promise that her funeral would have lots of flowers. I carried that request over. My only wish is that I had bought her flowers while she was alive.

The morning of the day she passed away, my mother woke up just before I left for work. Usually, when I would leave for work, I would look in on her to let her know my schedule for the day. She was usually still asleep and would not rise until after 9am. That morning, she was rushing to get outside and into the yard while I was getting ready for work. I was running late that morning and my ride was waiting on me in the driveway. As I was getting into her van, my mother came running to me from the side of the house. Running, as in wobbling. My mother had broken her leg several years ago and the screws in her knee made it difficult for her to get around. In her hands were stalks of white 'awapuhi ginger that she had cut from her flower patch. The smell of the 'awapuhi will always remind me of her.

She says, "Babe, here," as she attempts to hand me the stalks of ginger.

"Get a vase from the wash room and put this in your office."

In my rush to get to work and my impatience with the disruption of doing that, I tell her that I'm running late and I have to get to work. "Tomorrow," I say. "I'll take it tomorrow."

I will never forget that interaction. As I write this, I tear up thinking about moments like these.

My mother grew up in Samoa. She did not have indoor plumbing until she was well into her teen years and ready to leave home. They preferred cooking in the umu (google "umu samoa") or over an open fire. I think it is that upbringing that made her hold on to 'stuff' even if we had no immediate use for the 'stuff'. I always scolded her about hoarding things (sorry Mom for being so cheeky). Take these urns, for instance, in the pictures; these urns sat around the house for years. She had purchased them a long time ago to make floral arrangements for my great-grandmother's grave and my grand-aunt and my great-grandfather's and another aunt's grave. I hassled her constantly about getting rid of them because they were taking up space under the bathroom counter. She fussed at me for being so wasteful. I fussed back! She never did get around to using them and I'm glad because now they adorn her grave.