Settling In Gently by R.A.Davis

Ten years in Hawaii-- that's it. That's only a decade. I've got a 5th grader's worth of life experience in Hawaii. I learned some things. I learned my favorite foods and favorite places. I learned the language. I made friends-- people grown there and flown there-- but always the seeking souls. The people curious about the world and open to conversations that dive and meander and plan and mourn. I threw a lot of parties. I lived most of a marriage there. It ended there, too, when he died. Hell of a way to end a marriage... But that's off topic. I'm thinking about carrying that forward, here, and now. In Utah. On the mainland. On the stolen lands of the Ute, the Shoshone. One reason I learned Hawaiian, and learned the stories and songs and chants and place names, was because I believe that is your responsibility when you live someplace, to understand the culture and history. It wasn't mine, by blood, but I did not want to contribute to its erasure wit...

When I made this blog about 8 years ago, I was living in a one-room ohana apartment attached to a farmhouse on Hawaiian Homelands in Waimea, Big Island. I was thinking hard-- learning hard-- trying to understand the things I saw-- the dusty thorny beaches studded with hidden black petroglyphs in the shadow of a walled resort where you could pet pink dolphins. I was trying to figure out my place in a culture that defined me differently than I had ever been defined. Later I learned the word for that-- as a white girl in American, my whiteness had never been a marker. I was marked by other things, but never race or culture. In Hawaii, I was able to perceive for the first time the existence of my whiteness, and my fluency in white American culture. This is an ungainly process-- and the reason so many white Americans kind of freak out when they move to Hawaii-- something they didn't even know about themselves is in fact a thing that defines them-- every thing they do, and how they perce...

I’ve never thought of myself as a racist—I believe in equality and diversity and I see the beauty of all ethnicities... I speak lots of languages, I’ve been to lots of countries, eat all kinds of cuisines, read storybooks from all cultures—sheesh, I’ve even got a fancy degree that says “anthropology” on it, someplace.   I don’t harbor a secret aversion to any group of people, I don’t tell racist jokes, and I call people out on it if they do. I’m an all-around PC gal. But living in Hawaii, I get to confront the truth about my past racist behavior. It’s uncomfortable. So I thought I’d share. Because discomfort loves disclosure. (Somebody should embroider that on something. Maybe a hospital gown with an open back.) The thing with my life in Hawaii is that, over here, for the first time in my life as an American in America, I’m not a member of the majority ethnicity (which here is mixed!) or the majority culture (Local!) and I don’t speak the standard dialect of English (Pidgi...

I read a lot of parenting books. Lacking a compound of extended family and helpful aunties, bossy how-to books fill in the gaps. They are great-- I especially like Playful Parenting , How to Talk so Kids will Listen , Parenting with Love and Logic , and Simplicity Parenting . But there are some things about Hawaii that make parenting here unique. My friend H. and I call it "Beach Parenting." It comes naturally on this island but would not be difficult to apply anyplace else, if you just "think beach." So, as an experiment in how-to parenting writing, here you go. Your own guide to parenting in paradise. 1. Sand. Get kids dirty. Sand is a miraculous substance-- take a little, it's light. Load a bucket-ful, it's heavy. It can be wet and cold to pour out into gloppy towers, or it can be crisp and hot enough to blister your feet. Put an irate bored child in the sand, and watch her relax. She will get into the zone, time will hold still as she grinds fistful...

I was at the beach yesterday, sitting out my kid's nap in the car, reading my novel. Two muscle-bound guys sat on the guard rail in front of me in the shade, smoking and drinking 6-packs and talking colorful story. "And then I had trow the barstool, it wen ricochet lie dat off his head!" or "He had hit me but I buss him up, I say to him 'ho, das the end of your boxing career!'" One guy was in a longsleeved neon orange shirt with a pencil line beard around his jawline and sleek sunglasses. The other guy was shirtless. And that guy-- there was something funny about him. For one, he was obviously the beta dog. He kissed up: "you see, das why we friends! Cuz we nice guys, but you nevah mess wid us! We the same!" And during one of his swashbuckling adventure stories ("Deze guys had come corner me in da batroom an den...!") the other guy lowered his glasses and ogled a passing 16 year old Filipina in a thong, without even a pretense of payi...

Recently Kauai announced its plans to get on the no-more-plastic-bags bandwagon. Starting next year, we'll all have to remember our reusable bags. Or what? Maybe pay a nickel for one of the biodegradable ones, or a couple dollars for a canvas one. Three cheers! Every time we go to the beach seems like we're chasing people's plastic bags as they blow across the water to go choke a honu or ensnare a seal. Most of the stores around have started selling little reusable polyester bags, to get us all into practice. I have a little collection: Sueoka's, Long's, Big Save, even a Costco and an imported Trader Joes, from grandma. A friend was telling me that Home Depot's are the best-- super double reinforced, ribbed, double buckled, made in the USA, and infused with man-pheremones. I mentioned that I loved how the stores give you a discount when you bring your own bag. My friend looked at me blankly. --Where. Yes! I insisted-- everywhere does. Sueokas, Big Save, five or...

"Haole to you, too" T-shirt S-----, one of the local ladies who runs the playgroups I take my kid to, jokingly grills newcomers on their level of haole-ness. One mom-- the one who missed last time because she was getting some furniture and some Royal palm trees delivered to her house-- she's the ultimate haole. S---- introduces her to everybody as "my haole friend!" And then S---- gives every white mom there an impromptu "haole" rating. And her first question is "do you cook rice in a rice cooker?" If yes, it's a mark in your favor-- you might be less haole than you think! Me she points to and says, "you-- you're not haole. You're too country to be haole." My friend -- no rice pot, cooks the stuff on the stove, will never eat canned meat-- gets a "uh oh! You're pretty haole." It's a funny display-- embarassing to some transplants who would rather ignore all the racial tensions that dent and ding their l...

Sometimes I feel like my relationships are racially nuetral. And then sometimes I'm reminded that there's probably no such thing. The other day a playgroup mom, Kahea, brought a whole mountain of hand-crafted goodie bags for the kids-- left over from her daughter's one-year luau. These were amazing-- filled with handmade chinese pretzels -- cripsy litle whisps of deep fried goodness, in intricate many-petaled flower shapes. She laughed and said it took her and her sister and mom hours standing over the hot oil with special pretzel irons to finish the hundreds for the party and the gift bags. I said, "Wow, I can't believe you guys did all that by hand!" Another mom, Bee, said, "Well, we don't have anything better to do!" I was confused. Is Bee related to Kahea? Did she help with the luau too? Then I realized. She was speaking as a Local person to a non-Local person. When I said, "you guys" I meant Kahea and her family. What Bee heard w...

I ran into an aqcuaintance in the Costco eatery the other day (finest 1$ dining on island!) and she invited me to come learn a hula with her church group for their upcoming luau. I really want to learn hula-- those slow-moving women of all sizes, eyes following their hands, the steady rocking rhythm, back and forth. But I've been too shy to just call a halau and sign up. So I was eager to give it a try last night. On the way there I had the weirdest sensation that I should just turn around and go home. But I felt obligated-- I had told this girl I was coming, she'd asked me several times. I didn't have anywhere else to be-- no legitimate excuse for turning around. So obligation and guilt won out over my intuition. Will I never learn? I got there and a large group of people were preparing food. I saw my aqcuaintance--Meghan-- she seemed to be in the middle of high-level negotiations about the state of the chopped onions for the lomi lomi salmon. I sauntered up to on...

So as a basically uninformed observer, Happy 50 years of Statehood, Hawaii! You were a chain of connected sisters in the family of Polynesia, and then you were discovered by the West, and everything changed almost instantly. Chiefs got gun-powder weapons, fought brutal battles. You became your own Kingdom-- you were a hub of the Pacific, with sudden wealth from whalers and traders and sudden death and misery from disease and consumer culture. Your people struggled and changed-- newcomers poured in to work, to live, to make gobs of money, to punish you for your sins, to learn your ways. Whalers got Hawaiian tattoos, Hawaiians wore missionary clothes and toppled their gods. Old taboos were discarded, new ones were stamped on your faces. Hawaiians poured away from the islands and scattered across the world-- marrying Indians in the Northwest, educating freed slaves in the East, and criss-crossing the continents on whalers. Most changed, learned new languages, never came home, and left tra...

This letter was published in The Garden Island Newspaper on April 8, 2009: Color blindness is wonderful When someone asks, “Are you haole?” I respond, “Why what I did?” When someone says, “What comes after two?” I respond, “Tree.” I now say “da” instead of “the” and always great people with a friendly “howzit.” I legally changed my name from James to “Kimo.” President Obama says there is not a White American or an Asian American or a Black America, there is only the United States of America. Color blindness sure is a wonderful thing, or should I say “ting?” James “Kimo” Rosen, Kapa’a Any guesses-- is this tongue in cheek? Is this a joke? It couldn't be-- could it-- for REAL? If it is... how is saying "ting" and "da" colorblindness? And what's the opposite of color blindness anyway-- colorseeingness? And since when is blindness of any sort a virtue? How about color-seeing-but-it-doesn't-adversely-effect-my-behavior-or-thoughts-ness?

We got to the Kauai Veteran's Hall at 11:00, and peeked in at the crowded dining hall. The round tables, decorated with giant pomelos and mini snickers bars, were already mostly filled up. The band was doing sound checks on a low stage, and a group of ladies were taking registration fees and doing the sign-in by the door. We hovered and hesitated outside the door. Matt looked for a familiar face, and hemmed and hawed-- should we go in? Should we pay $20 a piece for a buffet lunch? Or should we join the society? I handed him the checkbook and took Rosie to run around outside, and left Matt to decide whether he wanted to go to this Hawaii United Okinawa Association annual New Years Meeting. He's a quarter Okinawan, Rosie's an eighth. I'm none Okinawan. I figured I'd leave it up to him to define his ethnicity as he pleases. When an acquaintance of Matt's from work drove up, we were finally swept in. I had to laugh-- in a room with 200 people in it, all were Okinawa...

So local people who make an effort to enunciate carefully and speak "standard English" are accused by of being "haolefied." In other words, acting like a haole. In other words, acting stuck up. Their poetic pidgin-speaking friends roll their eyes and resent or pity them. And being a mainland haole I naturally have a standard dull TV announcer accent. The way that I talk, without thinking, all the time, even when I'm mad or half-asleep, or jabbering to an infant, sounds like I'm putting on airs. It's a quandary. I sound pompous if I just talk like myself. But I don't want to be condescending or ridiculous with an affected pidgin accent. Last week after playgroup I walked with one of the other moms over to the library. Our cute kids gamboled around each other, darted into the street in front of speeding rental convertibles, got hissed at by the irate vampire librarian. We chatted about local elementary schools, about potty training, about baby talk-- ...

I love-- and loathe a tiny bit-- the Local tradition of hugging and kissing. You hug and kiss people when you're introduced to them, people you see everyday, when you say hello and when you say goodbye... On one hand, it's comforting. At a wedding, I ran into Aunty Ulu who I had met once briefly at church. She wrapped me in her arms and kissed me soundly on the cheek. I felt so comforted-- suddenly grounded in the strange setting of a fancified wedding with 100s of people I don't know, clinking their champagne glasses and balancing on high heels. And I loved the time consuming tradition of kissing everybody at church before the service started-- it would be unspeakably rude to just walk past all the kupunas and go to your pew. You have to stop and stoop to brush every dry soft cheek with your lips. Kissing down the line of tutus in their bright flowered muumuus made me feel warm and included-- part of the congregation, part of the family. Kissing can also make me fee...

Last night Sister Terukina and Sister Drummondo came "hallooing" at the door. They are two very tidy gray and efficient Hawaiian ladies, the last two surviving of their ten siblings. Sister Drummondo handed me a print-out and tapped it: "This month's topic is We are Created in the Image of God, and Certainly Not in the Image of Monkeys!" "Oh, I donno." I said, folding the hand-out, "I'm pretty monkey-like myself." They laughed politely. An idea struck sister Drummondo: "Do you know about Tutu and Me? At the Imiola Church? The preschool? Oh, you would LOVE it!" She patted my arm conspiratorially. "It's all haole ladies!" I must have reacted in some unexpected way. She explained. "Well, you know, everybody else is too busy working!"

This weekend we went to Maui for the 38th annual Farm and Ag fair. We saw lots of handsome pigs and cows raised up by and auctioned off for the 4-H kids, and enjoyed such culinary marvels as cold greasy pork and peas, and watery cold curry with blackening baby corn in asthma-inducing cumin goop. But those were nicely balanced by delicious crunchy sweet Banana lumpia (think friend spring roll with a banana inside) and awe-(and diabetes)-inspiring friend ice cream, served in a wad as big as a softball. There were acts on the main stage on and off: Uncle Richard, a brilliant Falsetto singer with white mutton-chops, a girl with a guitar covering Sarah Mclaughlan and country hits, and the "Amazing Stupor-Man!", the absolute worst magic act I've ever had the misfortune to endure. The amazing rope-cutting trick ended with a hopeless tangle, the card the kid picked was never found again, the card-repair "hospital" frame fell apart and had to be reassembled, the false bo...

"Wow," said Auntie Val Hanohano, looking around as the Hula performance ended and all the parents and friends got up to push their way out of the theater, "the natives are getting restless! Ha ha ha!"

I was browsing through the webiverse yesterday and stumbled across some very lovely talk-story accounts of the history, culture, and spiritual importance of Kawaihae . As I read it one thing stuck in my throat a bit-- the people interviewed sadly mention the vast influx of extremely wealthy mainland people into the community. They say the populations of local people are shrinking and vanishing as the haole come in , buy everything up, and then lock themselves in their million-dollar gated communities. Here's one bit: “Back in the old times, we had a really strong sense of community,” Pua remarks. “Now it’s separated. Everybody has their own thing. Everybody wants this and everybody wants that and nobody wants to come together, and make it work. ‘I want this, I want a park,’ somebody else wants this and everybody want, want, want, but nobody wants to do what it takes to make it happen. So, I say, that during my time of growing up, we were as one community and one family. Not today....