Settling In Gently by R.A.Davis

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 ...

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...

Number one: Riding my bike down one of the back roads in Hawaiian homes one afternoon, I smell an overwhelming stink. I keep riding and it gets worse and worse. Then I notice a skull-- then another skull-- then a ribcage scaffolding out of the dirt-- and I realize that all up and down the roadside are goat carcasses. Some of them have been pulled out of black trash bags, some are just pearly white bones. The jaws have pulled open, and the mouths gape in impossible yawns. And it really, really reeks. Number two: I stopped to fill up my gas in Hilo (for some reason 20 cents cheaper over there). I unscrewed the cap on the gas tank, and went to put the nozzle in when I noticed hundreds of tiny yellow spiders pouring out of the tank, all over the side of the car. They were so small and slow it was almost like watching dust move in your eye-- but, blink, blink-- they don't disappear. Creepy times in paradise!

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!"

Saturday morning of the "Pioneers of the Pacific" Campout we woke up early-- before the sun was up over the mountain. The ocean, just two sturdy paces from our tent, was so still it was completely silent.Matt went out to the end of the levy and I sat on a little pier with my sketchbook listening for baby's waking up noises and look for sharks in the water. All around from the 3 bedroom tent-suites, the semi-automatic folding inflatable couches, the climate controlled, card-table-included-two story tent-suites the aunties and uncles emerged and set out their breakfasts: hibachi grills came out, rice was boiled: sausage, pancakes, eggs, and all laid out to share in the main pavilion. I surrendered my chocolate chip rice crispy treats. I watched the kids play like wild water-things on the rocks, flirting with jumping off the pier, bragging and daring each other. "You gonna jump off the pylons?" "If I ask my grandma." "I can do a front flip." ...

Yesterday I ran into Auntie Bertha outside of the senior center. She was excited to tell me, as she cinched up her black oversized raincoat, that they give free food-- even milk!--to seniors every lunch, so she gets on the bus and comes over every day. Why not? She's hip. She's so hip, she doesn't care that she's hip. She's almost 80 years old. She wears knee-length batik printed skirts to church and heavy bright jewelry. She waves off compliments-- "Oh, my daughter in law gave it to me." She came to the Halloween party in soft yellow leather with fringes and squash blossom jewelry, and chunky turquoise and silver rings on her bony hands, with her long gray hair in braids. She was stunning-- small and compact and content sitting in the metal folding chairs while her great, and great-great children ran around her in costume. "I'm part Indian" she explained. A half-Indian sailor came to Hawaii and stayed, married into her Hawaiian family tree. ...

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!"

Last night I hosted my monthly book group-- ostensibly an excuse to get together and gossip and eat snacks (last night it was homemade bread with homemade cream cheese and homemade pickles!) Kehau picked "Prince Caspian" by C.S. Lewis to present. She began describing the story and the setting-- it's been thousands of years since the white witch, and a group from outside of Narnia has moved in and taken over. All of the true Narnians have been forced into hiding while the imposters rule. And the official schools don't teach about the true history of the place-- just a sanitized and superstitious version of things. The woods and the rivers are seen as dangerous places full of maleveolent forces. And young Prince Caspian is the rightful heir of... the Narnian conquerors. But he begins learning the true story of the place-- the magic, Aslan, the talking beasts-- from a half-Narnian tutor who evidently can "pass" as human. Eventually Caspian escapes from his crue...

Upside-down Hawaiian flags, imposing painted signs, flapping tents. A couple of weekends a month we drive by an intimidating encampment on the church row lawn: The Hawaiian Nation Reinstated. Up to this morning, my impression of the Hawaiian Sovereignty and National movements came from reading Haunani-Kay Trask's From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawaii . The book is a sometimes diamond-clear description of the disparity in Hawaiian colonialism, but is studded with off-putting gems like this: “without doubt, Euro-Americans and the Japanese see Islanders as racially and culturally inferior. To these predators, the Pacific is vast and far away from the centers of 'civilization,' rendering it most suitable for dangerous projects” like nuclear experimentation (Trask 55). I guessed that I would be unwelcome at best, and met with hostility at worst. Luckily I was wrong. It's a family event-- adult sisters and sister-in-law sit with their mom, near the kid...

It's Presidents Day and the place is packed-- a weary fan looks this way and that next to the door. There's a family of seven lined up sweatily by the counter, waiting to catch the waitress's eye. She's wearing belligerent thick black eyeliner, and a tight t-shirt with a picture of a bowl of soup, and the caption "Miso Hot." She shrugs us over to a sticky table, in a maze of mismatched chairs. There's a pair of Hawaiian aunties right next to us, and I eavesdrop and peer at their food before I order. And it's lovely-- thin little strips of yaki-something, and sweet little rolls like gems. They strike up a conversation with a family at the table kitty-corner from us. --Oh-- you folks from Honokaa! You never go work with my brother them? --Oh yeah, over there at the kine. My husband work with your brother Jon Gomes? --No the other Gomes. Milton Gomes. I get a brother Milton and Jack. Not the Ahualoa Gomes. Honokaa. I'm a honokaa girl. --Oh! Me too! -...

Yesterday I was sitting with a group of moms and aunties while the babies and little kids bumped into each other, stole each others' toys and pulverized gummy crackers into the rug. My friend Renee brought her 6 year old niece Nawea, who has recently become a big sister. I asked "how's your new baby, Nawea?" She said fine but her aunt started laughing Renee said when the new baby was born, brown-skinned Nawea took one look at her new lily-white sister and said in a panic, "Are we going to paint her?" Her mom told "oh, the doctors will do that!" Luckily for Nawea, the baby is now turning nicely browned. Phew-- no baby painting necessary.