We have met the enemy...

Cartoonist Walt Kelly's most famous quote.

Have you ever had a thought rattling around in the back of your mind, an idea that is hard to articulate, but it seems to be something you ought to grab a hold of?

That’s happening to me right now. I’ve been reading a book titled Choosing Easy World by Julia Rogers Hamrick. At first the book seemed so simplistic, I pushed it aside. Then it called me back. When Hamrick began talking about “Difficult World,” I perked up.

There appears to be a Difficult Dictator that yammers in our heads, that feeds on difficulty, that tells us we aren’t good enough, we will never make it, others do, of course, but not us, that we are too old, too stupid, too disconnected to be successful in our endeavors.  Why old Difficult Dictator does that I don’t know, he appears to feed on worry, stress, and making things hard. Most of us have had times when can we decide to choose the easy way and this old dictator grabs us by the throat. Some call him the Ego. Why though does the ego want difficulty for us?

It could be conditioning. It could be that working, striving, pushing against have been drummed into us for so long it has penetrated our beings.

Now, this is not to say that a challenge is not rewarding. Think of music, the arts, athletics, solving a mathematical proof, a law proof, when we arise triumphant it is a giant hit. What I am saying is that there is a pervasive difficulty regarding life that is not necessary, is not healthy, and does not support the magnificent beings that we are.

And this is where that rattling thought in the back of my mind comes in. We hear about how the media is conditioning us, about the “Shadow” government, the government behind the government that pulls the strings.  We hear that the “Grays” control us, the “aliens,” are out to get us, and the Illuminati have been lurking in the shadows controlling world affairs for millennia.  And I wondered, could be as Pogo said long ago. We have met the enemy, and it is us?’

Perhaps, it is not “out there.  It is in here.”

I am touching my chest.

A heartfelt thanks to you wonderful people who have followed me. Words cannot express my gratitude...a picture maybe?

Mount of Refuge

Our (used to be) "Green Trail of Bliss" that was our driveway. And there is good ole Bear lying in the middle of it.

On January 1, 2015 Railroad Road, also known as Puua Kapoho Road, where our house sat at the end of the road, was made into a through-a-fare. Well maybe I exaggerate about the through-a-fare, but giant bulldozers have opened that road as an escape route for the people of Pahoa, Hawaii. So our house (now someone else’s) is no longer at the end of the road.

Barry, the caretaker who lived on our property before us, called our place, "The most beautiful spot on earth," and the name given to it by its owner was Pu'u Honoa, meaning  "Mount of Refuge."

Perhaps it will be that for the people who travel Railroad Road.

And now I wonder if while widening Railroad Road the caterpillar crew found our cement cow.

Oh, you don’t know about the cement cow? Guess you will have to read the book. The Island.


P.S.  Hawaii Lava update.

For the past few months lava oozed its way through the jungle, burning a swath aiming for the town of Pahoa. The prediction was that it would go straight through the market place, thus the grocery store, Malala Market, closed, and other stores in that complex closed as well, the tire shop, the hardware store, the propane supply store, Island Crazy, the Urgent Care facility and FED X where we Faxed so many documents we became friends with the beautiful clerk. The Subway Sandwich shop is there, and the bakery where they made the best butter mocha’s in the world.

Scientists predict that if the lava will eventually cross the highway and cut off the route to the rest of the island, Hilo. Kona, Volcano, Black Sand’s Beach, all that and more. The front stalled 550 yards before reaching the market place and has widened out and changed directions threatening they say the Police and Fire Station. 

Hey, what about those other buildings sitting in the path?

The Great Chicken Mystery

This post also appears on my book site http://www.joycedavisbooks.blogspot.com

No sense going there, it is just a landing site for anyone who searches for my name and my book. Do you think I landed in the wrong place?

And now onto the mystery...It began on the Day after Thanksgiving. 

Both my wonderful pet hens mysteriously died. Same day. They were alive in the morning, dead in the evening. What are the chances of that unless it was something they ate? My tame hens, one would sit on my lap, the other was more stand-off-ish. Both laid the most delicious, beautiful eggs, egg yolks orange as a six-year-old's sun drawing. Gone. Rats.

I had given the chickens vegetable scraps the day before. Being Thanksgiving I thought I was giving them a treat. After finding them dead, I researched and found that potato skins can be toxic to chickens. Only the green-skinned potatoes they said.  My potato skins weren’t green, but the chickens were dead, and I suspected the potatoes were the culprits. How many people had fed potato peelings to chickens? Tons I bet. Still mine were dead.

Three months later:

This pertains really: On Jan 26 I decided to query an agent. I found Elizabeth Krach of Kimberly Cameron and Associates who said “I wish I had my own Jon Krakauer.”

Who in the heck is Jon Krakauer?

Oh, he was the author of Into the Wild, the story about Chris McCandless, who gave away his money, burned his wallet and went to the wilds of Alaska where he lived off the land and journaled his findings, including the food he ate. On July 30, 1992 he wrote, “Extremely weak. Fault of potato seed. Much trouble just to stand up. Starving. Great jeopardy.”

Before this entry, there's nothing to suggest he was in trouble. After that, there were other signs in his journal that he was in big trouble. And then a little over three weeks later, on August 18, he crawled in the back of the bus and died."

Krahauer, wanted to know if the ending of his book was accurate. Was it in fact the wild potato seeds that did in McCandless? He took wild potato seeds to a chemist.

"These are not poisonous," said the chemist.

Hum. What now? 

Enter a reader:

After reading Into the Wild, Rod Hamilton had an Ah Ha moment. He knew that Jews in concentration camps were fed the seed of the chick pea, eaten for centuries, but known to contain a substance called ODAP which under certain conditions, is toxic. 

Wild potato seeds also contain ODAP.  In a mal-nourished body the seeds containing ODAP cause paralysis and death. My chickens were molting and thin, obviously struggling to keep fit as winter was coming on.

The fault, I believe, lies in the potato skins...and skinny chickens. (I kept their feeder full.) No chicken of mine will ever be fed potato skins, and now I wonder about anyone eating them.

Rail, Sea, or Land

You guys have to watch this—no you don’t have to--it just knocked my socks off.

I know this isn’t giving you information.

It isn’t giving advice.

It isn’t about a contribution to society—but then maybe it is…

This story hit me between the eyes, or rather in the heart.

It is about love and caring, concern and even skill, and it comes from a monkey. It’s on YouTube. I stumbled upon it. I know, you can do your own stumbling, but I couldn’t resist.

A monkey was electrocuted at a subway station and was lying completely unconscious in the center corridor between two train tracks.

You can watch it here:  

http://www.theguardian.com/world/video/2014/dec/22/monkey-saves-dying-friend-train-station-india-video

Don't read the next paragraph is you want to watch the You tube. It's the Reader's digest Version.

Another monkey came up to the unconscious monkey, grabbed it, shook it, turned it over, worked on resuscitating it, dumped it in water that was puddling over the edge of a rail. The electrocuted monkey was like a rag doll, showing no sign of life. The rescuing monkey kept working on him. FOR TWENTY MINUTES. Finally the electrocuted monkey did rally, and at first was like a drunken sailor, then recovered somewhat. The video ended with the rescuing monkey patting the electrocuted one on the back. Probably humans probably would have pronounced him dead long before twenty minutes.

Success!

MOB (Man Over Board);

Have you heard this one? A passenger tumbled off a balcony of a Royal Caribbean Cruise Ship. No bells or whistles went off, no one saw him. He floated in the ocean for about five hours…and a Disney Cruise Ship came along that same corridor, a passenger spotted a man in the water, (imagine) and the Disney crew saved him.

Long live Disney!

P.S. Disney Cruise lines have a detection device that is an automatic man overboard detection technology. It uses radar and sensors to establish a perimeter around a ship. The Royal Caribbean Cruise line does not.

Success!

On Land:

My chiropractor told me I wouldn’t have any back problems if I lived on the moon. Well, I have recently become a Real Estate Agent, but I don’t believe I will investigate any property on the moon. Good ole planet earth. I’ll take my chances here.

Remember us if you ever decide to sell your house or want to buy one. No hard sale tactics, just good old win/win. You want to buy, someone wants to sell, Bingo. You want to sell, someone wants to buy. Ditto.

We are The Pink Flamingo Real Estate Team, at your service. 1 814-9613 ext 124

Coming soon to a yard near you: 

 http://pink-flamingo.wix.com/real-estate

How about joining me for the 90 Day Millionaire Challenge? http://www.the90daymillionairechallenge.blogspot.com 

I began it once, going at it again, just posted  "If we keep on believing that money doesn’t matter…" sign up to be a part of the process 

jewellshappytrails@gmail.com 
Say $, or millionaire, or something that will identify you.

Don't Grow Up

Remember when you were a kid and you believed that anything was possible?

One week you were going to grow up and ride a rocket ship to the moon. Another and this was my dream, that I would own a horse ranch and hire handsome men to run it.

One of my daughters couldn’t wait to grow up. The trouble was, she found when grown up that it wasn’t much fun.

How do we get the fun back? How do we pull back those dreams that sustained us on long winter nights?

I learned this from a horse trainer—let’s call him a horse gentler, for that is what he preferred. He said after he got a macho-etocomy, he realized that a dance partner doesn’t want to be pulled to their feet and forced around the dance floor--or slapped, or pulled by ropes. A horse, he said, will respond to pressure no stronger than you can put on your eyeball.  (Did you know that a horse’s hide is seven times more sensitive than a human’s?) The point of this that whatever the rank and file are doing, chances are you ought to do the opposite. (Stroke a horse, don’t slap it.)

I’m trying. (Yoda said, “Don’t try, do.) Yet we know when we are standing on the brink of an abyss we quiver a bit, we become immobilized, our brain becomes oatmeal.

You great readers who have been with me for a while know that I studied to become a Real Estate Agent.  I passed those horrible exams, I had my background checked, and all my little fingers finger-printed. I paid my dues. I backed off, I tested the water. Well now I have signed with a Brokerage, I’m on the brink, I don’t know what to do next.  I know that some of the old ways of operating do not work as efficiently as they once did. I don’t want to become establishment.

What is the opposite?

P.S.

Daughter and I are The Pink Flamingo Real Estate Team. Now doesn’t having a For Sale sign in your yard with a pink flamingo on it sound outrageous enough to garner attention?

 “Next time I’m really going to put my foot down.”

Thank you for following me all you wonderful people.

Post Script

I had never heard of Pahoa Hawaii before we moved there five years ago. We bought ten gorgeous acres with an acre of pineapples, some citrus, a macadamia nut orchard, room for horses, a main house and the cutest little Tiki Room we could imagine.  We were at the end of the road—or so we thought.

Later we learned that at one time Railroad Road went all the way to Hilo, but right beyond our gate debris blocked any vehicle from going farther.

Railroad Road also known as Puua Kapoho Road has been made into a through-a-fare; well maybe I exaggerate, but it has been made passable as an escape route for the people of Pahoa. We remember it as two miles of lumpy, lava encrusted, pot-holed infested road that beat the heck out of our Prius. It consisted of a single lane where we would pull over to let another car pass and therefore wave at our neighbors. About fifteen mongooses would do the squirrel scurry across the road before we got to the highway, and at night stealth wild pigs would run their little wiggly tails down the road before disappearing into the brush. Now Railroad is a two lane road, and our house which was once at the end of the road, no longer is.

Fiery hot lava is threatening to cut the town of Pahoa in half and close off the highway, the road out of there, thus they have widened Railroad Road as an escape route.

We sold our house and property on the island thinking it was not safe, and moved back to the states. Now the marketplace in Pahoa where we shopped, where we went into peals of ecstasy over the Bakery’s Butter Mochi, where we shopped at Malala’s  grocery store, where Island Crazy sold Barry’s paintings, and Island nick-knacks, and who took one of my books on consignment (sold it), is at risk. In that shopping center we frequented the propane store, the hardware store that once sold a bouquet of orchids for $2.99, the tire shop, The FEX X, where we FAXed more documents trying to get a loan on that property than I care to count, the Urgent Care Facility where they took good care of my husband, the Fish and Chips café, the Subway Sandwich shop, and the Sushi Restaurant—are all at risk of Pele’s hot lava.

The turn-off into the shopping center is highway 130, the highway to Hilo, and numerous other places on the island that I mention in my book, like the drive to Kea’au, and Black Sands Beach, and Kona— which was “Going to Hawaii,” for us, could be completely bisected by the lava. Long’s Drug Store, fancy and new, was being built as we were leaving, closed recently.

Barry, the caretaker who lived on our property before us, called it “The most beautiful spot on earth,” and the name given to it by its owner was Pu’u Honoa, meaning “Mount of Refuge.”

Maybe it will be just that for the people who travel the road in front of our house, (that is someone else’s house now), and thus escape Pele’s fiery ability to make more land by pulling it from inside the earth and depositing it on the surface.  

I wish all those stalwart souls well, and please watch out for the critters.

" A Christmas Memory"

“A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen, but due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched. Her face is remarkable—while not unlike Lincoln’s, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind, but it is delicate too, finely boned and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. “Oh my,” she exclaims, her breath smoking the window pane, “it’s fruitcake weather.”

The person she is speaking is Truman Capote as a seven-year-old child. 

Truman Capote writes, “A Christmas Memory” 1956.

The woman he is speaking of is sixty-something, they are cousins, and have lived together since before he can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over the two and frequently make them cry, they are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. The boy and the old lady are each other’s best friend…

Every year I read Truman Capote’s, “A Christmas Memory,”—makes me cry though. The old lady calls Capote “Buddy” after a best friend who died as a child. The old lady is still a child.

With his exquisite manipulation of words Capote tells of taking an old dilapidated baby buggy into the woods to collect windfall pecans for the fruitcakes, and gathering together their year-long savings of $12. 73 to buy “Ha Ha’s moonshine for the cakes…whiskey, that’s the best, and the most expensive.

 “Buddy,” she calls from the next room, and the next instant she is in his room holding a candle. “Well, I can’t sleep a hoot,” she declares. “My mind is jumping like a jack rabbit. Buddy, do you think Mrs. Roosevelt will serve our cake at dinner…”

Well, you just have to read the story…

Truman Capote has a natural gift that makes him a great guest at a dinner party—writes Irving Pen in Truman Capote 1965, “he is always interested in whomever he's talking to. For one thing, he really looks at the person he is with. Most of us see outlines of one another, but Truman is noting skin texture, voice tone, details of clothing.

[...]

One of the reasons that Truman is always interested in people is that he won't allow himself to be bored. He told me that when he meets a truly crashing bore he asks himself, "Why am I so bored? What is it about this person that is making me yawn?" He ponders, "What should this person do that he hasn't done? What does he lack that might intrigue me?"

He catalogues thoughtfully the bore's face, his hair style, his mannerisms, his speech patterns. He tries to imagine how the bore feels about himself, what kind of a wife he might have, what he likes and dislikes. To get the answers, he starts to ask some of these questions aloud. In short, Truman gets so absorbed in finding out why he is bored that he is no longer bored at all.

Can't help laughing...and this blog is about age

Picture, Unknown Victorians laughing

And this blog is about age.

When someone would ask Neil’s mother how old she was she would answer, “I’ll forgive you for asking that personal question.”

I even resent a doctor asking my age. That means he has immediately categorized me.

We do want to be perceived as young—that baby-butt smooth skin, how gorgeous is that? No wonder we want it, but who wants to be judged as slow, awkward, ugly, conservative, stupid, or forgetful—or worse yet, “What age did your parents die?” Horrors.   Even being victims of our DNA  can be changed, so I’ve heard, as genes are constantly turning on or off. Bottom line, we fight to look young, while we ought to be fighting to think young—meaning, of course, forward thinking, innovative, inventive, open to new ideas, and new people. Be a person worth keeping around.

“Look for your mold.”

Scientist Dr. Jonathan Sackner- Bernstein persuades us to “Look for our mold.” He tells the story of one scientist, who daily sorted through his petri- dishes checking specimens—you know where this is going, but the story bears repeating. Dr. Alexander Fleming was 47 when he discovered penicillin. Every day he would check his numerous petri-dishes. If he found that one had turned moldy he chucked it into the trash.  One day, a moldy dish looked a little different from the many others he had thrown away, so he put it aside. Later he noticed that the bacteria around the mold had died--thus Fleming discovered one of the first antibiotics. He called it mold juice—I guess Penicillin sounds more scientific.

Bernstein’s  point was that this scientist, Dr. Alexander Fleming, at age 47, had the years of experience to discern,  the wisdom to trust his intuition, and the training to identify. Unfortunately he was not good at communicating and thus the community didn’t listen to him, even in WWI when he said, accurately, that the antiseptics they were using did more harm than good. He brought in a couple more scientists and eventually the word on penicillin got out.

Too often people use the excuse that they won’t make a difference because they lost their chance, they are too old.

Remember what Richard Back (book Illusions) said, “If you wonder whether your mission on earth is over, if you’re alive, it isn’t.”

Berstein pointed out that even such things as learning to play a musical instrument involves different components than years and years of practice. It involves how you are supported, your attitude, and your innate talent.

 “Go boldly in the direction of your dreams.”

If you’re alive having your dreams come true is still an option.

I certainly didn't plan to revolutionize all medicine by discovering the world's first antibiotic, or bacteria killer. But I suppose that was exactly what I did.”

—Alexander Fleming

Angels Beware, a New Kid on the Block

It was over four-score years ago that she sat across the aisle from me in Spanish class. She smiled, I smiled. She invited me for lunch at the Barn at UC Riverside, and thus began a friendship that endured for those forty- some years.

We were both married students, older than some, both of us had a gap in our schooling. We graduated, lived in the same town, then apart, together, apart.

I remember a Christmas Eve in Oregon, when Sylvia and her husband Greg flew in from California, and found themselves unable to maneuver their car on our snow laden hill. I saw them from my kitchen window, trudging up the road dragging their suitcases, laughing and slipping. They joined us for Christmas, and we ate turkey and drank Champagne—one of Sylvia’s favorite things—Champagne and Christmas.

Over the years we have sometimes lived close by, oftentimes far apart, but visited often. The Fourth of July at Coronado Island and eating sea food from Point Loma Seafood, and watching fireworks will always be our favorite fourth of July—she mentioned it every year and wished we were there. 

We endured separations, togetherness, confidences, marital disputes, pregnancies, childbirth, child rearing. She had a little girl when I met her, and 13 years later she gave birth to a little boy. My kids and her little boy took baths together, ran around the Zoo, Disneyland, and Bazaar Del Mundo in San Diego where Sylvia and I drank margaritas, and the kids perused the court yard, and visited the toy store, and were safe and confined while we wiled away the hours.

We wondered about the afterlife together, and when hippies came along we contemplated what that meant, and about the gay movement, and women’s rights.

She liked shocking pink fingernails and toe nails, and flip flops with huge flowers on her toes, and all things bling, but her favorite were jewels of the real variety. Going to an auction stirred her creative juices, as did Interior Decorating.

I still remember those pink fingernails clutching basalt bluffs as Sylvia and I slogged in sandals through the water of Oneonta Canyon in the Columbia River Gorge, then we sat all wet and prickly, but laughing about it, until we changed at Nordstroms before the drive home.

Within this past year she said, “When I lose weight and get in shape I’m getting a pair of skinny jeans with rhinestones on the pockets.”

When you see a short lady with long blond hair, with rhinestones on her butt wandering around heaven—that will be Sylvia

She died December 7, the day after her 83^rd birthday.

Obey Your Whims

“Bon appetite.” Have any of us said that phrase in a normal voice since 1964?

Do you know of anyone who has hosted a TV show and never tried to change themselves?

Apparently Julia Child did not.  

(Above photo Photo of Julia and Paul Child)

With Julia, what you saw was what you got.

I am reading Julia Child Rules, Lessons on Savoring Life, by Karen Karbo, and I was struck by the notion that we have been trained that something is wrong with us, that we need changed, or that at least we ought to be working on ourselves.

More “How–to Books abound that any other. On top of that we need “Life coaches,” because we can’t figure it out for ourselves.  I am guilty of all that myself, having taken more seminars than you can shake a stick at (I never understood why anyone would shake a stick at anything, but it was one of those sayings mother’s perpetrate on their children.)

Most of us want to savor life, but don’t know how.

Apparently savoring life was built in to Julia. There she was a 6 foot 3 inch tall young woman in the 1930’s, too tall to play the damsel in distress in school plays, so instead opted to play the Emperor. Even after shaving three inches off her height she was too tall to be accepted into the WACS or WAVES during wartime, (talk about discrimination), so she because an OSS researcher instead. That was dreary work, typing files, so on a whim she moved to India where she was knee-deep in classified information, and where her organizational skills were appreciated. Julia was not a typical desired young woman to be courted; she was a spinster until age 32, but there in India she met and later married the love of her life Paul Child.

She and Paul were rare birds—mix-matched, he shorter than her by 6 inches, a sophisticated French man of the world, interested in intellectual pursuits and love-affairs—she a giddy free-spirit, and yet they married and lived a forty-eight year love-affair.

Paul introduced Julia to French food. She introduced herself to the Le Cordon Bleu Cooking school, and the rest is history. “How magnificent to find one’s calling at last,” she said. She was thirty-eight years old.

You know after seeing the movie Julie Julia, that publishing her book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking was no small feat. After many failures, she decided that writing an 800 page cookbook that didn’t sell, was better than working on an 800 page novel that didn’t sell, for they still needed to eat, she still had the recipes, and she still loved to cook.

When her mayonnaise recipe, one she had successfully made thousands of times, and even made to bolster herself up after a cooking failure, did itself fail, she turned her attention to the scientific interaction of ingredients, or was it the temperature of the bowl or of the eggs?  Julia made so many mayonnaise recipes that Paul finally called a halt to it, and she threw gallons of mayonnaise down the commode. See people do research because they want to know. (I don’t know, though, why her mayonnaise failed, Karbo didn’t say, and I’m not making sixteen gallons of mayonnaise to find out.

When Julia tuned 80, a birthday she would have preferred to ignore, her vast following were in the mood to celebrate her.  And Julia who, according to Karbo, had the stamina of a shed dog at full peak training, attended all 300 birthday bashes. (Some commanding $350 a plate.)

Julia was robust and healthy, except in later life her knees failed her, and she would sometimes cry in pain at the end of the day.

Julia followed her own rules, “Obey Your Whims,” “Live With Abandon, “Be Yourself,” and she became an original. She will long be remembered as The French Chef. (Who was neither a Chef nor French. Don’t you just love it?)

Well, I have a Revere Ware pan in my kitchen, not French standard issue, a travesty by French standards, but it is over 50 years old, I have burned more food in it than I care to count, and I have expended more elbow grease in cleaning it than I care to mention. On top of that I do not have a decent kitchen knife in the house. I'm no French Chef, nor one of any other nationality, but I love watching cooking shows.

Here's butter to you Julia.

Excuse me, I’m going out to eat…

Cruise or Fly? Oh My

There is a fine line between bugging people and notifying them of a service they can avail themselves of or ignore.

I get notices in my email, “Received mail meant for you,” “I’ve been trying to call you,” blatant sales pitches. Probably not meant to annoy, but do.

Since this blog has long been what I am up to, and I consider you my friends, I am including my latest endeavor, not as a bug, but as a notice. I am a newly signed Travel Agent. Yesterday my email filled with promos that made me rush to my bedroom and begin to pack my bags, then it dawned on me—I hadn’t bought a ticket.

Consider this: Oasis Cancun Jan 5, 12-28 Seven nights for the incredible low price of $1070, * all inclusive flight, hotel, and they throw in a free bottle of wine. Valid only November 7-13, 2014 (Whoops, that’s only a few days.) Charter departures from ST. LOUIS

(I’ve climbed the pyramid of Chichen Itza outside Cancun, it’s a must see, a must climb, and a glimpse into Mayan History. The bus might break down, the tour guide might stop and buy a bottle of tequila and pass it around the bus—I was grateful Neil and I were the first to sip from the bottle our guide offered.  All in all it’s a life-altering experience, and if you go during a solstice you will see the snake (a shadow) that is the sun rising or setting and appearing to climb the steps of the pyramid.)

I do digress…

 My host is Incentive Connection Travel, a fully bonded company, member of  ARC/IATH/CLIA

My agency is:

Cruise and Travel

With The Pink Flamingos.

The Pink Flamingo:

"Elegant. The King of the marches. Devoted to one mate, her family, with one of the longest migrations of any creatures on earth. She has wisdom for those who journey far whether the journey be physical or one of the heart. Her long legs enable her to forage deep into the water and thus find what others have missed."

 

Let the Pink Flamingos book your next colorful vacation.

The World is Now On Sale

Save up to $200 on every reservation. On top of those savings earn United MileagePlus® bonus award miles on every booking: 
• 10,000 bonus miles for Hawaii and international travel through 12/31/2014—now is your opportunity to see flowing lava. 
• 5,000 bonus miles for all 2015 Hawaii and international travel 
• 2,000 bonus miles for all 2014 and 2015 domestic US and Canada travel 
• Luxury and culture in the great cities of Europe and Asia 
• Relaxation on the sunny beaches of Mexico, the Caribbean and Hawaii 
• Adventure in the Australian outback or the rainforests of Central and South America 
• Or just a quiet weekend getaway somewhere new 

And during the month of November and December Military personnel can get 40% off on travel. Wow.

I plan a weekly Travel newsletter and in it will be Pink’s Pick of The Week, a saving worth raving about. If you would like to receive the newsletter, just click on 

contactpinkflamingos@gmail.com

 and say “yep.”

Thank you for reading. Here’s to a life filled with glorious surprises.

AN AWARD WINNING SHIP

The Norwegian Sky  voted "Best Short Duration Cruise" by Porthole Magazine Leaves Miami on 3-4 day cruises. Isn’t she pretty?

In Answer to my Question...

On the last blog I wondered if the Chiropractic office we frequented while living in Hawaii is still there. Well, here it is. 

As I write this the little town of Pahoa Hawaii is threatened by a river of molten lava. They expect it to bisect the town. 

 I've heard of fire walking, but come on...

P.S. One of these days I will complete my book of our experience in living on the Big Island. I heard yesterday that neither publishers nor agents look at anything during the months of November and December. Guess that gives me two months...

Pahoa Hawaii, the lava continues...

Could this have been our back yard?

I had never heard the word #Pahoa, or knew a town by that name existed until we moved into its vicinity. And now I am watching via Hawaii videos as a river of molten lava slowly creeps upon the quaint little town of Pahoa threatening homes and shops.  

Cemetery Road our passage to the Transfer Station, where we dumped all that extraneous stuff we found on our newly purchased property, has been cut off already.

I wonder if Mr. and Mrs. Chiropractor are still there above the dress shop with their little balcony where Baby Darling and I stood and called out the colors of the cars that streamed below. Mr. Chiropractor wanted to move off the island, but Mrs. Chiropractor said it was the first time she had a house of her own. They had built a kiln for her there, and there she worked as an artist making tremendous ceramic wall hangings and tiles. Their office and home was a virtual art gallery.

Across the street there was a Cash and Carry store where Husband Dear and I stopped one day after a Chiropractic visit and while standing in line I casually commented that I forgot to tell the Chiropractor about my over-worked sore thumb. The big burly Hawaiian man at the counter said, “Do this.” And he placed his index finger and thumb together in a circle and pushed. “Hold it for a minute,” he said. I did, and the muscles in my thumb relaxed, and it felt much better. That was Aloha. Do good without expecting anything in return.

The pizza shop on the main street made great pizza, and across the street we often frequented the Mexican restaurant that made good food, but not so good guacamole—they use the wrong kind of avocados. The kind they grow on the island are round and buttery. Someone should introduce good Haas avocados  I sincerely want those shops to survive.

There was the used book store where the proprietor was wiping down the books with #Windex to combat mold. (Take books when you go to Hawaii.) And at the South end of town there exists Kalia’s Resturant. It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but the inside is exquisite. The interior is painted red and a beautiful bar extends down one side. Every time we frequented Kalia’s a huge bouquet of Star Gazer lilies graced the entrance, and their fragrance wafted past our nostrils reminding us that we were on a land some call paradise. Their food was so good one reviewer ate there four times in one week.  Daughter loved their ribs. I loved their fish.  On the weekends they featured live music.

Some call Pahoa an eatery town. If you are ever there, go to the shopping area by Malama Market and there in a little pastry shop (left side as you enter) buy butter mochas—my mouth waters at the thought. Their mochas are made with rice flour and copious amounts of butter. They are baked in a pan then cut into squares. Besides tasting exquisite, their unusual chewy texture makes them fun to eat. (Recipe anyone?)

Greg Kahele wrote this: “I am a retired special education teacher from Colorado. I am moving to the area when I retire. I chose Pahoa specifically because the people were so friendly and sharing. A friendly young man I met told me that this was the only place he could "live in his own fur" and I decided I wanted to come to the Puna district and live in my own fur as well. Only sales pitch I needed!

Call Ruth! 

She was a big Hawaiian lady flown in from Honolulu years ago, and is accredited with stopping a lava flow before it destroyed Hilo.

From the web:

Authorities aren’t going to try to divert the flow.

"No matter how you would turn it, you would direct it toward someone's property,"

Taking precautions

The Hawaii County Civil Defense Agency has rebuilt two gravel roads to give residents escape routes from the lava flow. Power company crews are installing 70-foot-tall poles with heat resistant protection to raise cables higher off the roads.

A lei in the path

Josiah Hunt who has farm in a part of Puna that is not immediately threatened, described smelling burning grass, feeling warmth from the lava and hearing “popping and sizzling and all the methane bursts that are happening in the distance … mixed with the birds chirping and the coqui frogs.”

Hunt watched last week as the lava crept toward Pahoa and saw a woman whose house is near its path put a lei at the front of the flow. “It helps a person come to grips with the reality of the situation,” he said. “I found it to be oddly comforting in a really strange way.”

A Happy Ending

Daughter dear listed this LEGO minifigure on eBay for about a year. Then a couple of days ago a woman from Australia found it and bought it for her husband. She met him while backpacking, and thought he would get a kick out of it. Please, she said, include the story.

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The Picture and story below is as it was listed on eBay. He is now sold.

 Success! Old Surfer Dude Werewolf made it to Australia.

On his way to Australia to surf the big waves, Bobby Beach Bum camped out on the sands of a moonlit cove. Suddenly the light of the full moon transformed this poor unsuspecting surfer dude into a terrifying Werewolf!

Determined not to let his disability get in the way of his dreams, he continues to hitchhike across the country. Sadly, not too many people will stop and give him a ride. One look at his snarly teeth and hairy hairiness and wheels squeal off into the distance. Also, it's hard to hitchhike when you don't have any thumbs.

Please help this little guy get to Australia. Anyone living in Australia will receive FREE INTERNATIONAL SHIPPING! You say you don't live in Australia? You can still help by giving him a proper home with plenty of cream rinse and chew toys.