Settling In Gently

I'm a fairly timid person.  It may seem weird to say that since I spend lots of my time talking in front of people-- even TEENAGE people-- with no trepidation. But that is because I am solely talking about subjects that I know very very well-- reading and writing and learning new ideas-- all that is as easy and reflexive as breathing in an out. And in years past I've spent quite a lot of time up on stage, performing. Singing and playing instruments, performing in plays and musicals-- I had no fear of stepping out into the spotlight. It wasnt uncomfortable to be at the center of attention. But because some things-- some fairly big, loud, obvious things-- come easily to me-- people around me-- my audience of peers-- can read me as Brave. Secure. Confident. A comment I hear, when friends stand next to me and peer down at the top of my head, is, "you are shorter than you seem."  I'm never quite sure what to make of that comment. I think

I'm going to confess something horrifying now. I've lived in Hawaii since 2006. That's, what, seven years? And I don't swim. Not even a little. I thought, when I packed up my stuff from our dilapidated student apartment in Berkeley and smushed harp, heirloom china, guitars, pottery wheel and a lifetime of books  all into a ten by twenty foot container,  that I would move to Hawaii and become and ocean person. I imagined myself surfing like a Nordic-Hawaiian queen and frolicking with innocent fishy best friends (I blame a childhood misspent compulsively rewatching Little Mermaid for that one). Surely my suspicious attitude towards water deeper than my bathtub was due to a childhood in landlocked places. Once I had the chance to get to know water better, we'd surely be great friends! On the big Island, Matt and I went to the beaches every weekend. We'd throw ourselves into the waves, Matt executing graceful dives and swimming out to pet the sharks and

The other day we took a fieldtrip with my 7th through 12th graders, plus a class of cheerful second graders, out to Makaweli valley tucked into the crook of the Waimea and Waikea rivers. When we got on the bus, the second grade teacher stood up and asked the bigger kids to please make sure that the younger kids ONLY hear Hawaiian all day. The big kids, said, "ae.." and proceed to get out their phones and chatter away in English.  We got to the decrepid cable and 2x4 swinging bridge and parked our enormous school bus at a precarious angle on the ditch. I asked my students to wait until the little kids had exited the bus, and I stood up. I was crackling. I gave them my best Queen Victoria "We Are Not Amused" glare. I delivered a monologue: "What did Kumu Namomi ask you to do? And did you do it? I am so disappointed in you. Is Hawaiian dead?" They gasped at my blasphemy. "If it Hawaiian is a living language, shouldn't you be able to speak i

When we walked into Kilohana Clayworks, the potter in her apron froze, pointed at RJ and said, "Rosalina! Roslyn! I know you!"  I was impressed.  About four years ago, when I was expecting MP, Matt set me up with pottery classes as a birthday present. I spent a great eight weeks or so slinging mud, centering my soul in her spinning vortex that is existence, and trying not to ingest too much heavy metal in the form of glazes. But I hadn't been back since. I called this morning to see if they had kid crafts today, but the phone went to a fax machine. So we just crossed our fingers and went. To my utter astonishment, they had the kid crafts all beautifully set up and ready-- we spent a peaceful hour or so very carefully layering on glaze after glaze onto little greenware tiles. Aunty Lynn showed the girls how to make sure the colors never mixed, and how to squeeze every drop of water out of their brushes on a little sponge. The girls went into deep art focus m

When I challenged my students to write an essay convincing me that the Hawaiian language is in fact a living language, they said they would if I wrote one in Hawaiian. So here it is. Note: I've chosen to leave out most diacritical marks, except where their absence causes marked confusion, to avoid inconsistency, as recommended by the University of Hawaii Hawaiian Language Style Guide . Basically, if you can't include them all, don't include any of them. I ka hoomaka ia na halawai makua o Punana Leo, olelo pu makou na makua a me na keiki a me na kumu i ka nuukia o ke kula: E ola i ka Olelo Hawaii. O kela ka pahu hopu o na kula Olelo Hawaii a pau: a hooulu na olelo, a hooikaika na mea Hawaii. Aka, hiki makou e hooulu keia olelo? Hiki oia ke hoi i ka ola? Ai ole, ua hala ka olelo Hawaii i ka wa kahiko? E pana ana keia mau ninau me he mau ninau eiae. He kumu wau: oia ka'u ano. Ka'u mau ninau: he aha he olelo ke ola nei? Hiki he olelo make ke ho'i mai i ka ola?

I've got a big New Years resolution this year. I'm scared, but optimistic.  But a little background.  I've lived in the fiftieth state for almost eight years now. This is an unimaginably long for me to be living in one place. I'm used to a couple of years here, then a major life change, then a few years there... A new degree, a new country, a new kid....So this long stretch of one life in one place has been wearing on me.  The term is Island Fever. I got the fever. I got it bad. But I realize, looking out of my front door at seventeen waterfalls after a thunderstorm on Waialeale, or being overwhelmed with citrus and star fruit from our farm, that the grass is not greener. The grass is the greenest, right here. Literally.  But a big part of me doesn't care. I'm over it. I want out. Who even likes green grass, anyway? I'd like some fall colors and winter shadows.  But that is not going to happen, because, "I'm over it,&quo

Here's out first adventure of the new year. Like I rambled about in my last post, my resolution this year is to go to all the places in The Ultimate Kauai Guide Book.  We headed North--a big and allegedly interesting part of the island that I tend to ignore because the snarl of Kapaa stands between me and It. But, Resolutions. So, North. The ocean was blue and flat this morning-- through Kapaa, Anahola, Kilauea, and then to Princeville. When we turned at the giant crumbling Poseidon statue rising out of a chipped roundabout, MP, in her three-year-old astuteness, said, "ooh, this looks like Utah!"  It did. Enormous matching houses, wide swaths of manicured green, shiny SUVs. The only giveaway is the empty horizon that marks sea rather than mountain, and the occasional Nene standing sentinel.  We followed Kamehameha road to the end and found the Sealodge subdivision, and the path behind building A. The girls were in oversized slippers and swim suits, and