On the 16th, we left for Oahu and the boat, Dorcas.
I love Dorcas. Were she not docked in Ala Wai, I would want to buy her and live on her. Forever. And I have never been on her in the open water. I love Dorcas.
Aside from that, we had a very nice family time. On the 17th, we went to the MALL. I always think of it that way, in capital letters, for capitalism. The Ala Moana MALL is freakin' enormous. And has actually gotten bigger. Yet, I digress. We took Connie with us to spend money. Aside from Ruth being rauchy when Abra was trying on pants, and announcing to the entire food court how hungry she was watching Owen eat his pizza, it went pretty well.
The next day the kids and I walked to Magic Island while Jeff worked off our trip welding on the boat. I had forgotten how rocky it was. Ruth proceeded to try and eat all the rocks off of it. So I took her swimming in the freezing cold ocean. We had a blast and by the time we got back to the boat, it was officially hot. And sweaty. We walked down Waikiki and had dinner at Yardhouse. Connie got the most gigantically large pot pie I have ever seen, through no fault of her own. Seriously, they should warn people when they order that thing. At least six people could have eaten it. And gotten stuffed. But the blue crab hoagie rocked. And the sweet potato fries kicked butt.
Finally, on Saturday, we went to the Kokua festival. Jeff and Connie left early and so we used them and cut in line. What slacker cheaters we are. Anyhoo, we found the Keiki Corner almost immediately and the kids proceeded to make recycled cardboard butterflies and fish for pencils. Some concert promoter person was up on stage yakking away about rubbish and then she said for all the parents to move back for a "special guest." Jack Johnson came and played Curious George songs for only the kids and Owen got to be on stage with all the other kids and Jack. It was schweet. But really, Dave and Tim were the best part. I love Dave and Tim.
All in all, it was a very kewl first concert experience for three very tired children riding the bus home from the Waikiki Shell. And really, what else could you ask for?
4.21.2008
3.22.2008
A Cultural Kind of Day
After a leisurely morning spent around the house, the family and I traveled to the Amy Greenwell Botanical Gardens. It always strikes me as quaint when I expect a large sign or parking lot and end up with a tiny dirt road to a grassy area. I enjoy the Big Island immensely when these things happen. It amplifies the sense of adventure I was looking for when I sent out for most of these places. We spent a lunchtime eating sandwiches on the seat of our van and studying the various trees that surrounded it. Ruth ate some grass along with her cracker and Owen decided to not finish. Abra was excited to show us around as she had already been there on a field trip. I tried not to picture a group of sixty fourth grade students milling about aimlessly and shattering the quiet. We began our small trek through the Gardens by seeing the Taro plant and finished with a plant that makes a small paintbrush-looking seed. As it is still very early in the spring, most of the flowers and smells were not doing more than poking through. The highlight of our journey was the Papala Kapau tree whose sticky seed pods were once used to catch birds by the Native Islanders. Jeff chose to see just how sticky that actually was. By the time we walked away, he had practically a whole bush attached to his foot. It was fantastic.
After the Gardens, we drove down to Pu'uhonua O Honaunau, or as it is more commonly known by its haole name, the City of Refuge. We spent a whopping $5 on entering the parking lot full of rental cars. The Ranger at the gate was so excited that Abra had brought us back to the park with her, I fear that this cultural landmark is not visited very often by locals. Which, to be sure, is a shame. I am not sure what I was expecting from my Kmart bought book of travels, but it certainly wasn't the sense of peace that permeated from the sand. I could actually hear time stop and it was music through palm leaves. At least until the quintessential American tourist walked by, complete with non-rubbed in suntan lotion and overlarge sunglasses, to jump in the ocean after crossing the Royal grounds. Ah well, I suppose we all look like that in other places. Might as well wear big signs on our backs.
As we were driving back up the hill, we decided to stop at the Painted Church. On a quiet hillside, with an abundance of flowering shrubs, sits a tiny white chapel. Inside it has been painted with biblical scenes both of Grandeur (capital G, of course) and Sadness (might as well be fair and capitalize that too). There is a small winding staircase to the loft where once one rang the bell to come to church. It made me ponder how people used to just be smaller. Like my mother and stepfather probably couldn't have made it up if they tried. Not that you can go up. We signed the guestbook as Barrett Ohana.
I marvel at how although we have lived many other places, until we lived on the Big Island we never really explored the heritage of the area we lived in. It's something that says to me that here we can have a home. I wonder sometimes about all of the things that make me want to move elsewhere: more money, more time, a house of our own, infringing on the Native Hawaiians. But here is the first place we have ever actually made a life and I cannot help but feel it is because in some way we belong here. I thought all these things while we stopped to get pizza on the way home.
After the Gardens, we drove down to Pu'uhonua O Honaunau, or as it is more commonly known by its haole name, the City of Refuge. We spent a whopping $5 on entering the parking lot full of rental cars. The Ranger at the gate was so excited that Abra had brought us back to the park with her, I fear that this cultural landmark is not visited very often by locals. Which, to be sure, is a shame. I am not sure what I was expecting from my Kmart bought book of travels, but it certainly wasn't the sense of peace that permeated from the sand. I could actually hear time stop and it was music through palm leaves. At least until the quintessential American tourist walked by, complete with non-rubbed in suntan lotion and overlarge sunglasses, to jump in the ocean after crossing the Royal grounds. Ah well, I suppose we all look like that in other places. Might as well wear big signs on our backs.
As we were driving back up the hill, we decided to stop at the Painted Church. On a quiet hillside, with an abundance of flowering shrubs, sits a tiny white chapel. Inside it has been painted with biblical scenes both of Grandeur (capital G, of course) and Sadness (might as well be fair and capitalize that too). There is a small winding staircase to the loft where once one rang the bell to come to church. It made me ponder how people used to just be smaller. Like my mother and stepfather probably couldn't have made it up if they tried. Not that you can go up. We signed the guestbook as Barrett Ohana.
I marvel at how although we have lived many other places, until we lived on the Big Island we never really explored the heritage of the area we lived in. It's something that says to me that here we can have a home. I wonder sometimes about all of the things that make me want to move elsewhere: more money, more time, a house of our own, infringing on the Native Hawaiians. But here is the first place we have ever actually made a life and I cannot help but feel it is because in some way we belong here. I thought all these things while we stopped to get pizza on the way home.
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