she's home

She's home, sporting wild and woolly auburn dreadlocks atop her skinny brown bod; dragging an enormous ancient faded-red dufflebag with no wheels because her skateboard fits inside; getting a $92 ticket for wearing no seat belt only seconds after hopping in my car curbside at the crowded airport; unpacking her ancient green and white baby blanket smelling of dog pee and a hundred stale spills; telling tales of her horrific ear infection and flu at finals time; smoking the occasional cigarette, yet willing to talk why and how she's almost-quit..."but don't get your hopes up"; pouring out stories, unprompted, about The Boyfriend from Santa Cruz who is no longer a secret; honestly communicating about her multiple monetary mistakes, and even starting to strategize for next year with us-- as if we were in this together; ranting about college system's imperfections and her own less than stellar results, yet remarkably she has transformed into a college student; leaving her room a wreck, but actually sometimes remembering to clean up her dishes; calling with no lead time for rides home on a weeknight, yet offering to help with chores in exchange; assisting when asked without putting it off endlessly, as she says "I still procrastinate, but the quality of my procrastination has improved"; seeing nothing wrong with buying a youth bus at 18 to save money; forgetting a dental appointment and incurring a $50 fine (out of her first paycheck) but getting back on the horse and re-scheduling it for tomorrow (please god, help her remember this time); fixing my malfunctioning clock; skateboarding for transportation with no helmet; making it to her Art Academy teaching assistant summer job orientation; feeling guilty about all the money we're spending on her one moment and cheerfully talking me into buying her a new bathing suit the next. Still a kid, still hard head, yet we are clearly on the trans-siberian bi-polar maturation train. Oh, no! Oh yes! She's home!

The day after the last day

My last day of work was yesterday, Friday. Half way through the day, I panicked, ready to resign from resigning. I can’t do this! I’m not done… I’ll never get it all done in time! I was, as usual, both wrong and right. I didn’t get it all done, but I was able to leave. Jeanette and Naro stayed as long as they could, helping me carry out to the car my boxes of files, desk side treasures, and overflowing bags of farewell gifts and cards. At 7:00 pm, the last one to leave the building, I walked out the side door into the alleyway, listened to the door shut and click behind me and walked alone to my car as dusk settled on the winding back lanes of Kalihi.

The next morning, Peter and I hopped a plane to Hilo to work on our Waimea house, handle family finances, and spend time with his mom.

As I stood in my mother-in-law’s sunny kitchen, she picked up a white and green ceramic dish she’s had by her stove forever. “I’ve always liked this blessing”, she said, as I leaned over her shoulder to read it.

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
the rains fall soft upon your fields and,
until we meet again,
may God Hold you in the palm of His hand.

--An Irish blessing

My first thought was: I want to send this in my thank you notes to KPHC staff who showered me with gifts, cards and leis at my aloha potluck lunch, at a Lion Coffee health education department gathering, or when they stopped by my office in those final days as I tried futilely to file and finish the un-finishable. The opihi in me is built to cling and clumsy at letting go.

Today I am in mourning for a time in life that is suddenly behind me, 12 years kaleidoscoping the way a long journey does when one reaches the end of it, suddenly seeming short, intense, and, well…over. Perhaps that is the sensation of the brain’s synapses packaging the experience for shrink wrap storage in the full closets of memory. At any rate, I am cross-legged in the closet door, pulling out pieces of the past few weeks, parsing, replaying, and re-living moments recorded but at the time barely felt. I dreamt effusively last night, and while what I recall seems mostly anxiety dreaming, I awoke feeling it was all for the good.

Aloha KPHC -- the week I resigned from my job

The homeless man sits on his sidewalk blanket in front of the closed mom & pop store pouring over some papers and conversing loudly with the voices in his head as we walk by. Chuukese women cross King Street at the pedestrian activated crosswalk, their . colorful appliquéd skits swaying gracefully in the afternoon breeze; Generous Samoan women chuckle and chew their way through KPHC’s Project Zest healthy food demo at Palama Settlement; Walking to my car on Palama Street I pass kids at recess and in May Day rehearsal in the Princess Miriam Likelike Elementary schoolyard where for 11 years we taught health professions students to learn from the children and parents of this unique world gateway community. Down the road, at Princess Kaiulani School, under their signature spreading monkey pod tree, a colorful May Day Court stood in a half circle on the outdoor stage. The mini-King and Queen dressed in royal whites walked with slow dignity across the grass as throngs of relatives with cameras and umbrellas applauded under a hot sun and voggy sky. “Will the families of the King and Queen approach the stage with their Leis of Aloha?” requested the announcer. There was a pause, and then huge men, tiny siblings, and pretty mothers surged towards the stage. One mom, in tight white Capris and high heels, patted her son’s royal cheeks repeatedly with pride, while he looked straight ahead, face impassive, trying to maintain composure. Returning to the 952 parking lot, I received perhaps my last pungent puakinikini lei from the legendary Alice Ramos, and later made sure to consume a piece of her pineapple upside-down cake at the Providers Appreciation Potluck. The remainder of the morning was spent strategizing with Andrea around square formica tables at Lion Coffee warehouse in Waiakamilo. On Friday afternoon, my office is eerily still with no voicemails and few emails, so I settle into the lonely task of sorting through, throwing out or keeping 12 years of files. As if at a wake, I receive calls and visits from a procession of people. In public their voices say one thing, their eyes and hugs another; in my office they question, confide, commiserate, congratulate, and/or cry. I have come down with a cold, the kind that comes when one is letting go. Congestion spins its numbing protective cocoon while inside it feels as if my whole body is crying. All these moments I would normally take for granted are now rarified, precious portraits, fragile fading snapshots to be saved and savored. Wonder what wonders next week will bring?