The Best Job In The World

I, like virtually everyone else who has reached some semblance of adulthood, have always dreamed of having “the perfect job”. What separates me from more practical and sensible people, I guess, is that I am holding out for it, no matter how hard the Ego of Society tugs at my sleeve, begging to buy my dreams. I’ve tried to rid myself of this drive because frankly, life would be easier without it. I could settle in one place, define myself with a preordained title, and possess some perceived sense of security. But the vision of the Greater Plan won’t let me go. Though it often feels light years away and utterly out of reach, as if I may need multiple lifetimes to achieve what is expected of me, it remains the one divine possibility that keeps me breathing and moving, always closer to its guiding light. Grabbing onto something right here and now – something more clearly defined and laid out in ink on a desktop calendar – would simplify my day-to-day. But in accepting ease over challenge, I wouldn’t evolve. And in the long run, I would live sadly, shackled by the unforgiving weight of regret. Anyway, ease isn’t what I’m after. The purpose of life is to live it. And to experience every single thing as if it were the sole anecdote for dying.

For following Faith over surrendering to Fear, I have been blessed with many amazing opportunities. But still, at age 31, I struggle to formulate a “career path” that is capable of satiating both my professional and spiritual hunger - for financial, internal and physical freedom in carrying out my life’s work. When people ask me what I want to “do” for work, I cannot say, “I want to be a ________” (insert name of profession here). But I do know how I want to effect change in the world. I want to be my own brand of a cross between Jane Goodall, who single-handedly altered the way Humanity defines both animal and human animal beings; and Jacques Cousteau, the Father of Ocean Exploration, who communed with the fellow intelligence in cetaceans and studied the exquisite alien underworld of the Sea.

What I do for work will dictate how I spend my TIME, in essence what my life is made of. Thus, I must be outdoors, must be able to move my body, must be immersed in saltwater a majority of the time, and must be able to creatively share my experiences with others. I have pulled various pieces of this puzzle together, in my dog fitness and pet photography business, and in working for several whale-related organizations in various positions. But no job description has ever struck me as being so completely RIGHT as this, as I have been holding out for nothing less than the Best Job in the World.

*
My mom died four years ago, at 11:47PM on New Year’s Eve, 2004. And through the synchronistic progressions of the Bigger Plan, I ended up on The Big Island of Hawaii to begin my journey of healing. When people asked what I would do (here), I’d answer, “I am going to be barefooted at virtually all times, wear a bathing suit every day, swim in the ocean whenever my heart desires, and be near the whales that started me Sea bound, by entering my dreams and carrying my heart away on their giant, arcing backs. I will continue my evolution into an inhabitant of their undersea world.” Crippled with grief, and a soul critically injured, I needed (and could handle) nothing more than sun, saltwater, fun and adventure.

I landed in Kona late at night in early November of 2005. The following morning my new neighbor, Chris Rochon, stood on the doorstep. He was a skinny 21 year-old kid with funny hair, who invited me to go with him and his buddies on a hike that would take us more than a mile below the Earth, in a tunnel carved out by a raging river of lava thousands of years before we arrived.

We didn’t even leave Kona until 9PM, first stopping at Wal-Mart to stock up on batteries for Chris’s collection of neon-colored dive lights that would guide us through the lava tube. We then sped off into the night, northward for an hour or so, until eventually turning east on the one fiber of connective tissue between this side of the island and the other, known as Saddle Road. We drove for what felt like hours, finally pulling up to a huge gate, secured closed with multiple steel locks. We parked the car, hopped over the gate, and began what was to be a 2-hour hike across otherworldly territory that looked like I imagine the moon might. We trekked across miles and miles of jagged black lava rock under a full moon that rendered our lights unnecessary. We turned them on upon reaching the mouth of a huge underground cave, whose gaping mouth invited us in to explore its darker nature. We painstakingly tiptoed in our $4 Locals slippers (a.k.a. flip-flops), taking care not to rake the tops of our heads over hanging stalactites. At one point, we all sat to rest and simultaneously turned off our lights. There we were, breathing in darkness so deep it could hit the bottom of a black hole. Amazingly, it was a very serene place to be. By the time we hiked back out of the lava tube, back across the surface of this brave new world, and drove home, it was nearly 4:00 in the morning. This, remember, was ‘merely’ day one.

Since that day, Chris and I have adventured all over the Big Island of Hawaii, host to our fun-craving souls; our magical playground; emergent property of the marriage between the typically opposing forces of fire and water.

We have hiked countless miles across surreal terrain.
We’ve SCUBA dived with manta rays, feeling them brush against our stomachs as they swooshed like ballet dancers hunting their microscopic food.
We’ve kayaked along the Kona coastline watching the enormity of the majestic humpback whales as they migrate to warm Pacific waters to mate and birth their calves; and delighted in the antics of spinner dolphins showing off their acrobatic prowess. We’ve camped in Pololu Valley, carting tons of heavy gear on our backs down narrow switchbacks, where we took mud baths and exfoliated with sea salt while bathing in the purity of the ocean outside our tent.
We’ve jumped off the sixty-foot cliffs at South Point, and felt the surge of surf suck us into a cave and push us up to stand along its inside ridges, while the waves rushed in to taunt us.
We’ve jumped out of an airplane (on Oahu) 15,000 feet above the blue expanses of our planet, plummeting at 120 miles per hour before being lifted by chutes.
We’ve charged off the cliffs at Ke’e, where Chris then collected a handful of shipwrecked treasures, including a bottle cap, a barrette, and a beaded bracelet that had sunken to the sea floor.
We’ve half-swam half-crawled through taro marshes at the mouth of Waipio Valley, more watery mud than muddy water.
We’ve ditched our backpacks at the mouth of the river that leads to Hi’ilawe Falls, at nearly 3,000 feet one of the tallest waterfalls in Hawaii; and climbed up huge river boulders to pools beneath whitewater, until finally reaching the massive back wall of this sacred green place.
We’ve hiked barefooted to the flumes on White Road, swinging machetes through thick tangles of ginger, blazing our own trail where the 6.7 Earthquake of October 2005 had erased the original.
We’ve ventured on from there, along the rim of the Valley, and slid at mach speed down a water slide of Goonies quality, nestled deep in the lush belly of ferns leading to The Bamboo Forest.
We’ve played in some fantastic places, where the trail beneath my bare feet was a thick carpet of moss, the air was as sweet as candy, and the sensory intake was itself sensuous pleasure.
We’ve soaked in geothermal hot ponds among algae-coated sea turtles; and taken our SCUBA tanks into the freshwater caves at Kiholo Bay known as The Queen’s Bath, strapping rocks to our chests upon realizing we’d forgotten our weights.
We’ve been offroading down many an unnamed path, bumping along in wonder to see what we might find next!
We’ve gallivanted like children across white sand, naked under a penetrating full moon at midnight, where not another soul existed but ours and the Night’s.
We have loved and explored this island and made it our home. Now we are ready for our next assignment: a whole new world to discover.

*

About a year ago, Chris showed me that stored in his iPhone, he has pages upon pages of notes documenting every one of these amazing places, all of these awesome things to do! He has listed the driving distance and time from Kona to get there, the type of activity one can expect to engage in, what equipment one will need, whether 4-wheel drive is necessary, the difficulty level, and then some. In essence, he has already written the Table of Contents of a masterful reference for thrill-seeking visitors! Meanwhile, I have taken thousands of photographs of all our adventures to accompany the stories I’ve written, which I began posting to my blog, Dreaming In Real Time, shortly after I moved to the island. I told Chris – adamantly and excitedly - that we essentially had the well-endowed skeleton of a unique travel guide – (one that could easily be turned into a series of guides for places all over the world) - for the more adventurous travelers. What would make our books different than others is that it they would not only provide the technical and geographical details of the activities listed. But in addition to following in our proverbial tracks and creating their own stories, readers could share in our stories, too! The personal element would add something in the way of connection to readers, and potentially their own connections to the places & activities, and to one another.



Secondly, there is a common thread in each of our stories – in our adventures themselves – that I don’t believe is featured in any other guide book or on any travel channel series yet created: A beautiful, 6 year old golden retriever named Ginger! She is our third counterpart, and goes everywhere with us! She loves the thrill of feeling the world around her – smelling it, rolling down its hills, diving into its purity, racing over its wild plains, (rolling in its dead stuff). And our collective experiences, as three, make them far more special than if any one of us was missing. I’ve even considered gearing our guides toward people who want their DOGS to enjoy life in the great outdoors with them! The pet industry rakes in something upwards of $35 billion a year, and from what I understand, a blossoming part of that relates to dog-friendly accommodations all over the world, from posh hotels with doggy spas to Fido-fabulous rustic resorts!

*

While I am extremely independent, and have done the majority of my traveling and living alone to this point, I feel that I would only be half of the two-person team you need for your campaign to save tourism in Queensland. In this regard, Chris and I would come as a package! We are both used to living under extreme budgetary constraints; the salary and living conditions you’re offering would be enough for ten of him and ten of me. And if travel expenses were an issue, we would find a way to get the other one of us there and back. But if you’re open to being a bit flexible in what you had originally envisioned, let me tell you how great Chris and I could be together, as both the male and female perspective, each bringing something unique to the one collective of our shared voice. Just think: hiring us both (and “Us” together) could double the effect of the campaign!

Chris is the driver and navigator, the finder of adventure, the detailed mind, the map decoder, the strong and brave leader! He has traveled all over the world, from The Serengeti in Africa to the jungles of South America. He has even been to Australia and has dived the Great Barrier Reef. He is brilliant and extraordinary at everything he does, and has a physical grace unlike any I’ve ever seen. Best of all, his enthusiasm and genuinely youthful spirit of excitement and wonder is contagious! More than anything else, Chris loves to SHOW others the places he has been, and SHARE with those of us lucky enough, the beauty he has witnessed and felt in his own heart. He will be successful at whatever career he chooses. But, like me, he knows his destiny doesn’t call for a suit and tie, a cubicle housing one lonely plant, and a lunch hour for which one must clock out and back in. Drudgery and mundane will not do for either Chris or me. We need – and are perfectly suited to have – The Best Job in The World!

I am the open channel, the seer of unfolding energy and connection between us and the world in which we live, play, and let ourselves be wild! I am the artist, the photographer, writer, and communicator! Together, we are a dynamic, eternally childlike duo, with enough passion for life, nature, and especially the ocean to fuel a rocket ship to other worlds!

Both of us are extremely fit, not because we pencil time to work out into our otherwise busy days; but because activity is our very way of life! We are free and fast, moving in and out of Nature’s amorphous landscapes not as mere observers, but as breathing pieces and working parts of its form and function.

I swim across Kailua Bay most days at sunset with nothing but my body ‘on’. I don’t wear fins, a mask or snorkel, or even goggles. I do all of my hiking barefooted, having turned my feet tough enough to carry me over rough lava rock, scalding sand and even parking lots full of broken glass. I run ten laps around a standard soccer field many days a week, also barefooted. I keep my feet naked, vulnerable to the world beneath them, so that I can feel its energy directly, with no barrier. I spend the summers in Colorado, where I bike, walk, and run everywhere I go. I have tons of care-taking, pet- and house-sitting experience to boot!

There is nothing Chris cannot do. He can hold his breath for up to 4 minutes, and is a naturally graceful and calm free-diver. He plays virtually every sport to professional standards. He was a sponsored wake boarder in California where he grew up on the Colorado River. He is a level five tennis champion, a professional level pool player, a master at ping-pong, and will inevitably kick the pants off any opponent in just about any and every game. That I can keep up with Chris at all makes me proud; his strength makes me bolder.

We are both lovers of all things Nature and Science-related, and have insatiable appetites for learning-through-living. We are both known for bringing many people together who may otherwise never meet, and can captivate an audience individually, but not as well as when unified. Many who know me, (myself included), consider communicating my greatest talent and one of my strongest attributes. I can connect with both people and animals on many levels, some broad and abstract; and through numerous methods encompassing the relay of literal, visual and emotional information.

We are both burgeoning underwater photographers! My most ultimate dream in the whole world and for all my life is to swim with whales, photograph them, and write about the communion that ensues.

*

So. This is my application. This is how I communicate: with my whole heart, my whole self, my whole being. This is my plea: Help destiny come to fruition. I know beyond knowing that, not only is this meant to be. It is meant to be…Absolutely. Utterly. Beautiful.

Not a Sacrifice But an Offering

My heart wants to open. It can muster only a hairline fracture still, but is slowly waking up and beginning to trust. That inkling of a feeling makes me realize that I might almost be ready to come out from behind the ironclad shadows of grief’s paralysis.

***

I believe there is some unconscious, hidden part of the Self that protects us from the frightening wilderness of emotional vulnerability. An internal defense mechanism, it activates when we fear someone will see the naked truth in us. But the most awesome, grand, extreme and beautiful things happen there – in the zone of human wildness. This is the heart’s territory; the logical head doesn’t stand a chance. This is the mindless playing field. Just as exists on the vast expanses of the danger-ridden Serengeti, in the unpredictable fields of the intimate bond between lovers, there is predatory action, submission to uncontrollable fate, bloodshed, and absolute purity. Complete truth. Nothing cloaked in pretension. No real thing mocked by any fake thing.

I‘ve thrown my heart, a raw and bloody thing, out onto the wild plane – unclothed and idealistic – many times. And for my risk, I have felt not only the depths of violence and pain that pulse from within the heart there; but also have bathed fully in the immense beauty that transcends that gruesome stuff.

The whole scene – transcendent glory and all – is now light years away from the capacity of my heart, which has been obliterated in the wake of my mother’s illness and passing. I walk “alone” these days, trying to rebuild it. Trying to reassemble my entire understanding of life and death, which was already tenuous, to say the least.

But for as much indescribable pain, there are also gifts that bear strength just when I need it most. Since my Mom’s death, I have had the sense that, trembling and broken, I am curled up in a dark, sacred chamber filled with liquid, and surrounded by indestructible protective walls. This “room” won’t let me go until I am spiritually developed enough to handle the new world; this new life in which I will have to survive without the constant shelter of my Mom’s physical body and presence. This world is darker than the blackest of nights. But I believe my Mom still guides me with her brightness and lightness, just as she always has.

Within this “spiritual womb” that holds me, I feel strangely but completely safe. There are guardians far outside my own realm of recognition. They muffle unwanted noise from the outside. They turn away intruders. They let in only laughter, joy and warmth. Fun, childlike adventure, and simplicity. They are the band of angels assigned to my healing.

***

I believe that we have spirit bodies as well as physical ones. The spirit body is everything the physical body is not. As our physical forms consist of cells, flesh, blood and bone, our spirit bodies are the composition between physical elements. The offbeats. The negative space. The relationships and communication between all physical matter. The energy-relay at every synapse. If the physical body is the literal text, then the spirit body is the meaning embedded invisibly between the lines. The spirit body is what lives on the last breath of the physical body, eternally, far beyond the limitations of the lungs.

In this context, I feel like my spirit body is developing within my mother’s spirit womb, soon to emerge anew. I have been a fetus in the dark fathoms of mourning, but am beginning to see another world besides this dark one. I am being birthed into life again, as vulnerable as it gets. I will have to learn how to sit up again, stand, and walk on. But with me, I will bring the strength and wisdom that has shaped and reformed my mind and soul in this developmental chrysalis.

***

The next time I open my heart to intimate love with another, I will not do so all at once. I will not be naïve or overly idealistic. Nor will I be callously coated in cynicism, scarred over from a detrimental birth. With my Mom and the other angels holding me in their unbreakable ring of light, I will be open, and will reveal my heart. In so doing, I will be forever wrapped in the gentle silk blanket of my angels’ web. This will always cling lightly to my being, its threads thin and delicate, but stronger than any bars of steel or prison walls of fear. I will be openhearted, open-minded and open-eyed, with faith in higher guiding forces as my discriminatory faculty. In other words, I know that someday I will be healed enough from the wounds of loss to love again. But only because I know I carry my Mother’s protection always, and in all ways.

It all comes back to fear and faith. This is a fairly basic but fundamental meter: If you are making a decision or acting from a place of fear, you will put up defenses, keeping love out along with the inevitable pain born of living a true life - one of depth and meaning. Conversely, if you choose and act from a place of faith, you will move always toward the light of new worlds. You will evolve for having boldly and humbly accepted the challenge to be vulnerable, as my mom did when her cocoon crumbled and sent her flying. And for relinquishing the cast-iron armor of fear, you will be gently but thoroughly protected.

This goes for every single relationship, however brief or of whatever brand, in our lives. Whether referring to a lover, a family member, the grocery clerk, or a bird in flight - in faith, everything is given the glow of eternal life. Everything, in its purity, is made of a Love this Big.

BFFs

Good dirty fun is hard to find.

As are adventure partners who are willing to engage in rotten food battles, swim up streams not of muddy water but of watery mud, camp with someone who nearly ruins the tent zipper going pee four times in a night, and walk around in gnarly bare feet caked with every evil thing that can stick to a sole. But I'm lucky. I've found two friends who not only are willing to do these things, but love to do them as much as I do. In fact, Chris, Ginger & I did all of these things - and many others - in just a one week period.

In fact, let me count how many tons of fun we had...

It was awesome...
Camping in the forested belly of Waipio Valley, just hidden from the rushing whisper of the Sea...

...Watching you masterfully build a blazing fire, on which we cooked canned chili, gooey with melted cheese...

...Playing UNO, & other games with the deck of Hooters cards...drinking both wine and the next morning's coffee out of red plastic cups, rinsed - like the other dishes - only with muddy river water, scrubbed with the exfoliating power of grit, rocks and sand...

...Collecting arsenals of rotten guava from the beach for an all-out fruit war...rinsing those seeds from my body in the ocean waves...watching the dog body-surf them in, much to her adorable surprise...running barefooted across black sand...rolling down the slant of it into the water the same way I used to roll down the grassy hill in our backyard as a kid, becoming dizzy with laughter...racing back to the campsite – you on foot, me swimming upstream…

...4-wheeling like sidekicks to Indiana Jones down ambiguous rocky roads, looking for the secret pathway to the upper rim of Hi'ilawe Falls...seeing that man peeing to mark the potential spot...removing gates when they were in the way of our adventure...

...Walking through the skeleton of an abandoned house, finding a strange hole in its floor where bows and arrows mysteriously lay among the rubble…reaching the very top of that huge hill in the fog, whose flanks were dotted with sheep and cows for Ginger to chase down…letting her run her little doggy heart out – behind the car – while we watched her slowly empty of steam in the rearview mirror…

Being awakened by the sound of you, lifting the dog onto the bed and egging her on while she panted her hot morning breath in my face...Eating (at least decent) Mexican food, drinking Coronas with lime, and playing pool at Ocean's on “Taco Tuesday”...watching your Mom get hit on and called a "Sexy Bitch" by several men, young and old alike...watching all those little kids and teenagers on their boards, rocking Skate Night at The University of Nations…plotting our trip to the skate park in Volcano…making your coffee in the mornings, so sweet and milky it forgot it was coffee…

…Joining Aidan the Boy Wonder’s Kiholo Bay Thanksgiving Potluck Campout...…

Eating deep-fried turkey, stuffing cooked over a fire, and pumpkin pie with real cream whipped right on the spot…drinking Bartender John’s Hawaii-style lemon drops, as he sat on the bed of his truck, fishing hand-picked citrus of all kinds out of a box to mix with vodka and the natural sweetener agave nectar...

…Watching some dude in a speedo spin fire...

...Swimming with a group of naked hippies late at night in a freshwater cave with dive lights...Seeing Ginger dive in off the wooden ladder, along with everyone else…

...Sleeping – again – to the sound of water running endless laps to and from the breathtaking Kona shore…

…Playing a million games at the house, as usual… Rock Band in spite of the one broken guitar…Wii Games, fresh out of the wrapping…Wii ping pong, pool, fishing, racing, shooting, and then some…Tiger Woods PGA Tour on PS3…and the game where you smash all the zombies in the mall with whatever object is near you and you pick up and hurl at them until they are nothing but piles of really real-looking blood…playing Battleship and Backgammon…Talking about science, evolution, politics, people, animals and Life…Having heated debates about the nature of intelligence, challenging one another’s minds to grow bigger…

Hiking, picking avocados and climbing trees in the far reaches of the Breeze’s Farm in Captain Cook…eating lots of the chocolate cake that became Aidan’s secret dessert stash at the outdoor holiday festivities days before…hanging out at your house all day Saturday, leaving only to accompany your Mom to Home Depot for a Douglas Fir…stringing Christmas lights, arranging decorations as if your living room were a mall display in December…cringing and laughing as your Mom forced us to listen to both Josh Groban and Barbara Streisand’s Holiday Albums…nestling your childhood ornaments into the sweet smell of pine…remembering my own kid-Christmases, missing my own family – especially my Mom - painfully…but rejoicing in how nice it feels to have you and your Mom and all the pets as my family too…

God, am I forgetting anything? Probably. But just writing what I just did felt like having all that fun all over again…and that much fun might even be dangerous. I’d better stop for now.

Until next weekend…

Having Flown South

As Autumn falls like specks of gold upon the aspen-laden foothills of Colorado, I write, from thousands of miles across the Pacific Ocean. Here, on the Big Island of Hawaii, summer is perpetual. While I definitely appreciate the changing of seasons, I only enjoy the cold on theoretical and nostalgic levels. I like imagining the coziness evoked by a crackling fireplace contrasted with snow drifting lazily across the soft beams of streetlight outside the window. And the idea of sledding down the hill in our backyard, dressed from fluff-ball-topped snow hat to moon boots in winter gear, brings to mind precious childhood memories. But in reality, being cold makes me feel burdened and blue.

What makes me euphorically happy, though, is the sensual delights of tropical sunshine, sand, and the sweetness of salty seafoam. I love being barefooted, and having a wardrobe that consists of little more than a variety of bathing suits. I love the fruit trees outside my windows here, that bear starfruit, papayas, avocados, bananas, coconuts, and citrus of all kinds.

I love the surreal and spectacular opportunities that present themselves here: To swim in freshwater-filled lava tubes underground; to kayak across pure turquoise bays with spinner dolphins performing acrobatics in the nearby open sea; to hike up rivers surrounded in emerald foliage to the cold pools that catch rushing - or sometimes trickling - waterfalls; to see the stars with astronomical clarity and brilliance, as if in the real, living planetarium; to watch molten lava pour from the active volcano into the sea, creating more and more of this Big Island with every red hot drop.

I love the ocean with a passion difficult to describe. The simple act of swimming in the sea, to my mind, constitutes absolute euphoria. It holds me up, makes me weightless; it cools my hot skin. It provides my body - a vehicle for evolution's realization - with an environment right for practice. I am in training to become a more efficient and streamlined ocean cruising animal in lifetimes to come. The ocean is home to whales and dolphins; and, as such, is home to my spirit. The Ocean is a Heavenly cradle, and I feel small in and complete in its swells, under its deep and mysterious spell. So, here I am, having reentered my 'second life'. Not in the virtual world, but on the physical Earth. It has become a pattern, that I live in Denver for the Spring and Summer, and in Hawaii for the Fall and Winter. I know...I am most profoundly blessed.

Having flown south once again, I let thoughts of snow and cold drift away; and await the deluge of a stern tropical rain that will undoubtedly pour in from the Great Beyond, and saturate my thirsty soul from the Greatness Above.

Ten Days 'til we Jump!

I found this letter I wrote to Chris while virtually rummaging through a bunch of old writings this evening. It rings true still, so I thought it couldn't hurt to reiterate my feelings. But what really struck me was the very last line of the letter...

* * *

December, 2005

Dear Chris,

I have not the money - nor the energetic resources - to do gift-giving for this year's holidays. As you know, my mom's passing was soon-to-be one yearago New Year's Eve. This year, merely surviving the holidays will be difficult, much lesstrying to be truly involved in them.

Since I cannot give you a gift for x-mas, I want to tell you about the gift you have given me. It may seem like I am always happy, and have not a care in the world. You may not realize that when I am by myself, and a shadow moves a certain way across my floor, orsome particular memory of my childhood strikes my heart like lightning, I am overcomeby tidal waves of unforgiving grief, and nearly suffocated by the pain of missing mysweet mom. I realize the finality of her physical absence over and over again - still - and the "news" drowns me in deep sorrow every time it replays in my consciousness.

I came to Hawaii to move from this depth of grieving to the same heights of healing. It'slike I've told you, I came here to play, to be immersed in the overwhelming beauty of this environment, to swim in the ocean every day, to learn to ride waves...to find joy and fun(and whales and dolphins) as medicine to soothe a severely broken spirit.

You probably don't know this, but you have been helping me heal. You have been an integral part of my process of learning to enjoy life again. I love and appreciate the light-heartedness, the adventure, the exploration, and the exposure to new places and activities that I have found through my times with you.

Although you did not know my mom in the literal, physical sense, you are getting to know heras you get to know me. She was the most beautiful, alive, joyful, playful, strong, and amazing woman/person/mother there ever was or could be. She would have loved you;and believe me, from her post as an angel now, she THANKS you - for being my friend. She would say - as do I believe - that people come into our lives at certain times for specificreasons. You have come into my life at a very important time of growth and change.So we must be meant to have the good times we are having!

I know you like poetry..so I have included some of both my mom's poetry and my own. I hope you enjoy reading it. I wish you and your family - the animals included -a very joyous holiday season. Can't wait to see what new experiences the new year brings!...Skydiving anyone??

I Loved Our Day!

Vast plains of black sand meet
Perfectly-arching waves
that crash harmoniously
Forever into themselves

A loyal dog trots beside her favorite boy
Hamstring stretches ready us for the next leg.
The three of us take flight over a
long trail stretching back into the Valley

On a day saturated with warmth
We press on
Toward the majestic calling
of falls cascading into
Holes full of cold
that beckon: Refreshing

Stripped down to bathing suits
No use now for shoes
Mud and sand and leaf debris caked
onto our sweat-speckled skin
The sun dawns on our faces
Kissing them darkly cinammon

We dive and we climb
and attempt gripping onto
clusters of rock covered in slime
fit only for slipping

Swimming laps accross organic pools
Scaling valley walls thanks to climbing ropes
previously set in place
And the natural foot and hand-holds
of twisted jungly limbs

We ascend ever higher
Up the rungs of Waipio's
Glorious waterfall ladder

WE ARE ALIVE!

Next we hit Honoka'a town
and the greasy spoons
and forks of Blaine's Drive-In
for a hard-earned lunch
of fried this and fried that

Then to the park,
where the dog slides down
the curly-cue plastic winder,
Whining and delighting
like an elated toddler, with Chris or I
always right behind her.

She repeatedly surfaces atop playground structures,
barking, "Let's go again! Woof!"
I flash on the sacred rite that will come
In watching my own children discover the
thrill of new experiences...
growing to LOVE LIFE and
LOVE LIVING.

Chris and I split at the park,
He back to Hilo, and I across the street to
My friends' new coffee shop in Honoka'a,
Which they've named "Feel My Bean".

I enjoy fresh-brewed
Iced Kona coffee and conversation
With my beautiful friend, Olla,
who is working her tail off for this labor of love.

Apparently there has been "controversy"
Over the name of the cafe:
Conservative locals don't appreciate the perceived "implications"...
Olla is fighting these malignant voices
with the strongest element in the Universe: Something Soft but deeply True.
Her response to the outcry over her cafe's name:

What does it mean to feel the bean?
There is a different answer for every person. But I can tell you how i came up with the name. For me a good cup of coffee has more than a taste...more than a smell...more than a look...It has the essence of Love, which can only be experienced with the heart and soul. Through our name we are asking you to "Feel" the bean, not just drink the coffee. I hope that you can experience the essence of "Feel my Bean" and the love that it holds for you. With all my blessings, I look forward to selling you something that will brighten your day. Aloha...Olla.

Camping in the Cradle

Camping in the cradle of Pololu'u Valley was the restful reward for making the trek down into its soft belly. The whole journey was a practice in sensory indulgence of the feet; a visual feast; a lullaby emanating from both the ocean and the slowly-swaying forest trees. Hiking down from the top, where hoardes of tourists gathered at the "lookout point" to shoot postcard scenes for their memory albums, Chris and I each carried half our weight in gear. We had a cooler stocked with food and drinks and water to last two days; hot-dog skewers, newspaper for burning, three bottles of lighter fluid, sleeping bags, an enormous tent. I even remembered mustard this time. And Chris remembered Oreos.

We brought food and water and dishes for the dog. And Maybe a few items that wouldn't qualify as utter "essentials" to a mere survivalist, but were a must for us. For the essential fun we had planned, we carried a football, several big dive lights for nighttime escapades, and two extraordinarily long & strong ropes for making new rope swings. Finally, a large bottle of wine, and a pellet gun - complete with styrofoam bullets and a little plastic man sporting a target across his chest - which I had grabbed from the toy aisle at Foodland when we stopped for snacks.

Equipped with our huge backpacks, other awkward acoutrements, and a happy golden retriever at our heels, we began the descent into the Valley. I'm sure it was a beautiful walk, though I can't say I paid attention to much but my focus on GETTING THERE with back and neck muscles at least somewhat unscathed.

Twenty or so heavy and sweaty minutes later, I staggered onto the black sand beach that opened the Valley to the ocean, and swallowed whole the incoming tide. While Chris disappeared up ahead of me, Ginger backtracked to find me and show me where the trail continued on into the forest.

We found the perfect spot, and set up a fantastic camp, nestled in the midst of a thousand tall trees. The ocean roared just over the dirt-dunes, and a beach full of shiny black rocks and tangled driftwood. By the time we were all set up, we were jumping out of our skin to go and explore! So we set off, having decided to wander up the Valley's gullet: a dense brackish waterway that flooded a backdrop of mist-covered green hills.

With our bathing suits on, (and shoes off), we headed deeper into what appeared to be
the prehistoric past; a marshy, swamp-ish, brown river that got wider, drier, and muddier the farther back we traveled. There came a point when the water across the mud flats became at least waist deep. Not quite deep enough to swan dive into, but certainly not shallow enough to walk through without full immersion. So I ran for it, plunged into the stream made of murky muck, and swam until the water thinned out and its level fell. Without hesitation, Ginger plopped in beside me, and we half-doggy-paddled, half pulled ourselves through the bog like mud-gripping amphibians.

Looking behind us - far behind - we noticed that Chris was still standing on the bank, trying in vein to find a less grimy route to the other side. His quest was to no avail, nor could he resist my urging and egging him on to come in after us. So before long, the three of us were making our way across the water, and onto a gaping field of mudflats. We walked, ran, crawled and swam -three completely free animals - against a canvas richly smeared with earth tones and lush globs of green.

Soft mist hung above the back of the Valley. Looking the opposite direction, the sun shone crayon-yellow from a sky-blue sky dotted with little fluffy clouds. Ecstatic to be alive, we galloped, like tiny webbed-footed dinosaurs, falling over ourselves into slimy mud puddles the size of hot tubs.

We ambushed each other from behind clumps of tall grasses with sloppy mud balls, that made a delicious SPLAT when they hit the skin. I creamed Chris in the back of the neck, to which he grabbed blobs of mud and made streaks of brown across my cheeks like war paint. He mushed it all into my hair! After our child-like rampage, we relaxed for a bit.
We sat in the middle of the mud field and talked about how humans might evolve to be mud-crawlers if the environment broke down into this kind of glorious mess. As we clumsily emerged from the world's biggest mud bath, a couple looked on with a mixture of surprise and disgust on their faces. Looking like creatures of the Black Lagoon, we splashed in the monstrous ocean waves to rinse off. I even exfoliated with rough sand, and washed my hair with a sea full of divine minerals.

We talked about coming back later for midnight mud football, but that never did happen. Instead, we dried off and chilled at our campsite for a while. We ate hot dogs and drank Gatorade. Ginger lapped water from her little plastic bowl. And then we set off once more, with ropes in tow.

We surveyed the areas surrounding our camp for a good, strong branch. It had
to be one that arched out over a ravine, as from a tree situated on a steep slope. When we found one with promise, Chris tied one end of the rope around a heavy, arrowhead-shaped rock, and threw it high in the air toward the branch. He Came close several times; and several times, painstakingly tried newer & more efficient modes of tying and catapulting rocks. But to no avail. He even tried to climb the tree, but it turned out to be a fruitless endeavor. So we found a different tree. This time, Chris used a big stick instead of a rock. And he got got it over the right branch after only two javelin-tossing attempts.

Chris tied several knots in the rope, beginning with a noose knot- which would hold the swing in place forever. This was the newest in a series of swings Chris had made for himself and others to enjoy in Pololu'u Valley. He made seven or eight loop holds, so that the higher up one held the rope, the more tame the ride would be. And thusly, the lower along the rope one gripped, the bigger (and faster) the crescent they would make in swinging from one side of the slope to the other. Chris excitedly ran at full speed, over and over, shoving off and jumping out over the ravine, careening from place to place like Mogely from The Jungle Book. I was apprehensive, but finally took a leap of faith, and squealed as the floor dropped out from under me; and my stomach spun and rushed.

After swinging, we hung out on the beach and played the "Who can hit that object over there with a rock first" game. We sat under the eave of a small driftwood shelter someone who'd come before us had built.

We returned to our camp, lugged logs across the fire pit, and toasted the sunset with our chablis sloshing in red plastic cups. Chris got a fire crackling, and we ate two hot dogs a piece, straight from the skewer to the bun. I fiddled with the $2.50 toy gun, trying to load its soft yellow bullets, but immediately broke it in the process. We threw the whole thing in the fire and watched the little plastic man melt into the savage flames.

Later, we visited a neighboring camp where some of Chris's friends from school had set up. Upon returning to our own spot an hour or so later, I found the charred remains of my muddy white tank top, which had been burned to shreds when I had set it on a rock outside the fire pit to dry. We hung it on the tall branch that held our trash bag and called it the camp flag.

Sleep was restless and uncomfortable, as hauling in air mattresses wasn't practical, so we slept directly on the ground. We were up at the crack of dawn, feeling sore but happy in the glow of morning over the ocean • We ate hotdogs for breakfast, (saved the Lunchables for lunch). We had planned on taking a trecherous hike over one or two more valleys, but neither of us felt up to it. We decided we 'd go play around on some of the other swings set up like hammocks by the beach, and generally take it easy.

When we reached the end of the beach, and the continuation of the trailhead into the next valley, Chris decided he would venture around the point as far as he could go before the waves got too
big to be reckoned with. Meanwhile, I walked on in my bare feet, scaling a steep hill and then catching the trail again, with Ginger alongside. We kept expecting Chris to catch up to us, but he never did follow. Ginger and I made it as far as the second overlook,

then returned to a quiet camp, the fire gently simmering its neon-orange coals. An open bottle of sparkling apple cider sat on top of the cooler. And Chris lay sleeping peacefully on a pile of blankets in the tent.

After watching an episode or two of Adult Swim cartoons on The i-pod,
(and drifting in and out of consciousness), we decided it was time to pack it up, and begin the dreaded ascent back to the car. Although we had rid ourselves of some weight, we still carried back-breaking loads. Slowly and with grit and determination, we went up and up and up. At the car, we rested and drank water. And felt accomplished for conquering the brutal climb.

We drove for a bit, stopped at an outdoor shower (complete with soap) to clean up,and drove some more before discovering a whole area as yet unknown to either of us. We
came upon a grand lighthouse at the edge of a rugged cliff, whose walls were being infinitely worn down by the beatings of relentless, wild waves.
Tired and hungry, we ate greasy burgers and drank sweet iced espresso on the way home.
Upon our arrival at the house, we left the campfire-smell to sit in the car a while longer on all our stuff. We showered, played Rock Band, watched a movie, then finally- having stretched the day out as long as we could - closed our eyes on another wonderful adventure.
SIDE NOTE: The scribbled images below are THIS story, before it became print! My Dad got me this AWESOME Flyworld Pentop computer for my birthday...It's like a regular (though kind of big) pen; you write with it in a special notebook. Then you upload the data from the pen into your computer, and you can save the text as "images", (which I did with these). And you can also save the files as TEXT, and the program converts your handwriting into a Word document! It's so cool, and even good for a few laughs, because when it can't tell what you've written, it makes up hilarious things on its own. For example, it kept "calling" Ginger, the dog, "Finger". And instead of Pololu'u Valley, it came up with "Phobia Valley". And so on!