Settling In Gently by R.A.Davis

I read a book on decorating, of all things. This was years ago, when we had just moved to Koloa, and Rosie was just a toddler. We had been living in other people's homes for years in Waimea-- an attached garage at Auntie Queen's and Uncle Jamie's on Mana Road horse ranch, and an Ohana unit at the Lindsey's, looking out over Parker ranch, and just down the road from Church Row. Our Koloa house was our first stand alone house. We bought a truck, we bought a couch! Microfiber sectionals and a car payment--like real adults. And I checked out this book from the library about home decor. Years and years later, one idea stuck with me. Your space should reflect your values. The colors, the designs, the way the space connects to itself, the way bodies can move through it-- it needs to be a true reflection of who you are and what you love. If not, it doesn't matter how chic or trendy or clean or impressive it is, you'll be miserable in it. It sounds simple. Obviou...

Today I got to accompany my 7th-12th graders to a heiau restoration project. In the discussion amongst us teachers leading up to this excursion, we were warned that "he wahe kane." It's a man place, a makahiki games sight. I didn't know what to expect As I picked up my walkie-talkie from the front office, the Hawaiian language teacher pulled me to the side with something like: "I na aia ia oe ka wailehua, a'ale pono e komo i ka heiau." I didn't understand-- he had to rephrase. "Ka waihooluu no ka lehua? Ka wai ulaula?" Ah. I finally got it. "Ma'i?" I answered. Monosyllabic and agrammitical,  as usual. He was telling me that, if I or the other women were on our periods, we were supposed to wait and not enter the heiau grounds.  The colorful idiom is "the water of the lehua blossom." Much more poetic than "auntie flow." We piled all of the non-menstruating students (luckily all of them) into the vans and ...