Reflections of a Scattered Mind
Recently I have been thinking about what I am going to say to Saint Peter when I get to the Pearly Gates, assuming that I do get there. Frankly, I don’t know what I would say. What do you think a saint would want to hear from the likes of me? Not too … Read moreA Tee Time For the Pearly Gates Country Club
I survived another day of traveling. It was fourteen hours in total and, although I think each part of this was reasonable, somehow the whole seemed to be overwhelming, especially to all those who were trampled and left to disintegrate in the passages and aisle ways. I often wonder what happens to those … Read moreThe Trampled Forgotten
The white and gray clouds tumble over the mountains. They leave splashes of white as they crash over the neighborhoods and obscure the mountain dwellers in mist. Those who live there are used to the precipitous ministrations of the gods. Those who see it from a distance, see something else. Under a green canopy … Read moreThe Cauldron of Makapu’u
There is a roundabout between Haleiwa, Wailua and the road to Wahiawa. It is a large roundabout by normal standards . . perhaps 100 yards across. Roundabouts were used as early as Roman times and have been a staple to manage congestion. Recently, we have been using stop lights. The French discovered in the … Read moreRoundabouts in Hawaii
Wailua was a small town. Coming from Wahiawa the road meandered down the hill across cane fields and fallow fields of reddish earth, set off against the blue tapestry of the ocean. It was as James Michener described it . . unspoiled and beautiful. The local McDonalds hosted twelve seniors who talked in quiet … Read moreFootloose and Fancy Free in Wailua
Every now and then, when I visit Hawaii, I drive through the neighborhoods where I grew up. Usually, I see them through the rose-colored glasses of the past. I see the way it used to be. . . a new redwood structure, with a concrete patio and retaining walls built by Uncle Hans, a front … Read moreWhy Kemo-Sabe Why?
In 1959 my father gave me a brown Motorola radio which was about twelve inches high and fourteen inches long, with a radio sensor on the front indicating the strength of the radio signal. The sensor looked like an eye with the retina opening and closing as if it were watching me as I … Read moreCan You Hear the Drums Donald?