Pilgrims and Patriots

It’s independence day soon and stars and stripes are everywhere. But the shows of patriotism aren't just found in the bunting and banners, it’s seen all over the social media websites as well. A friend of mine has posted a quotation on Facebook recently that read, "We on this continent should never forget that men first crossed the Atlantic not to find soil for their ploughs but to secure liberty for their souls. -Robert J. McCracken.” I stated that the first settlers actually came looking for wealth. She replied “I don’t count Columbus as the first settler of the USA. This quote is in reference to the pilgrims who were indeed looking for religious freedom.”

I gave a long reply and no doubt she will wonder why such a seemingly innocuous quotation resulted in such a strong opinion, and no doubt this opinion will anger those brought up on the Shiny Picture of the Beginning of American History that we've all been fed since Kindergarten. My opinion touches such sore nerves, not because it’s anti-American or unpatriotic, but because it’s informed and doesn't fit the Shiny Picture everyone believes is incontrovertible truth.

Before I delve into my opinion, what does this Shiny Picture consist of? 1) the Puritans, also known as the Pilgrims, were the victims of the evil King of England and came to America in a last ditch effort to live their lives in religious and political freedom. 2) The Pilgrims were God-fearing people who threw a big “thanksgiving” feast and invited their Indian neighbors to share in their bounty. (The pictures we’re shown as children, if you remember, the ones that form the foundation of our understanding of this era, depict happy, smiling Pilgrims and Indians sitting at a long table, eating, laughing, and getting along marvelously.) 3) The Pilgrims minded their own business, but just as the settlers were getting used to their new-found freedom, the greedy King of England decides to tighten his choke-hold, leading to the skirmishes between the most powerful army in the world and a bunch of poor, abused Americans just struggling to make a living under a heavy burden of taxes.

This, in a nutshell, is the Shiny Picture of the Beginning of American History. Starting in junior high, your education in history repeats this Shiny Picture, spends months on the Revolution era, and progresses in rapid brevity to end right before the Civil War and summer vacation. This pattern continues throughout high school. (In fact, I hardly knew anything about history during and after the Civil War because no class ever seemed to get that far. I was in college before I’d heard of Lincoln’s attack on habeas corpus, McCarthism, Henry Kissinger blunders in Cambodia, or Julius and Ethel Rosenburg.)

But I digress. In regards to my comment on the aforementioned quotation, about the first settlers, I wasn’t talking about Columbus, as my friend supposed. Columbus, after all, wasn’t a settler but an adventurer/explorer. The central reasons the first settlers in what is now known as the United States of America migrated was for wealth and power. The Puritans weren't as politically/religiously oppressed in England as everyone thinks they were. The Puritan ideology had a LOT of political power in England. (Who do you think financed the migrations and finagled the charters?) In fact, one of the reasons for shipping Puritan settlers over here was to spread Puritan power to this new, resource-rich land to continue to threaten the strength of the King and Company. (And the King's followers shipped over their own settlers to threaten the power of the Puritans. It was a chess game.)

To gain this foothold, however, willing bodies were needed to venture into a virtually unknown and alien territory full of cannibalistic savages. To counter this widespread idea of a dangerous place full of death and far from the reach of all that is civilized, the idea of ‘freedom from the King’s oppression’ was sold to the lower classes to get them shipped over here.* It took a while for the ill-prepared Pilgrims to stop starving long enough to prosper, but once they did, they built up their base of power, and the wealth they derived from it, with a grisly vengeance. With the support of the Puritan power base in Mother England, the American contingent was able to become an almost unstoppable force, so blood- and land-thirsty, non-Puritan settlements took on the attitude of ‘stay far away and try not to piss them off too badly and maybe they’ll leave us alone’. (They didn't.)

 The pitiful story of shamefully abused and innocent Christians in search of respite, however, has stuck. The full details of the initial settling of America don't give people warm fuzzies and a sense of righteous superiority. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.  So we hold up this vague idea of ‘freedom from tyrants’ and skip over the details that make us face the uncomfortable truth that doesn't mesh with our Shiny Picture.

Instead, we focus on the Revolution era, where we take the justifications for treasonously rebelling against the government and use it to gloss over the reasons we set foot on the continent in the first place, as well as the things that happened once our feet touched soil. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the political ideology of the Revolution era and can get just as much caught up in the excitement of David kicking Goliath's trash as the next person. England was too comfortable in its own Shiny Picture and paid the price. However, I don't much care for the use of borderline jingoistic platitudes that, whether in ignorance or not, completely dismiss or purposely manipulate the facts of history.

Eighteenth Century America, the Articles of Confederation, and later the Constitution and Bill of Rights, were based on divinely inspired ideas, but this doesn't mean we can overlook the greedy, blood soaked foundation they were built upon. Looking back, we can see how the Puritan personality of ‘I’m right and everyone else will burn in hell especially you Kingy’ was watered down, mixed with other influences, and morphed into the spirit that fed Thomas Paine’s Common Sense, but this in no way excuses the Puritan’s secular reasons for building their little empire, nor the evils they perpetrated to achieve their ends.

In fact, understanding the sordid and wonderful history of the country is one of the points of an Independence Day celebration. Being reminded of exactly where this country started, where it’s been and what it’s done is supposed to give us not only pride in our history, but a renewed determination to build on the past and become better than our forefathers. Not more powerful, not more wealthy, but genuinely better. To rephrase something Dinesh O’Souza said, the shape of the future is most affected by the debts and actions, both good and bad, of the past. If we don’t truly understand the good, bad, and ugly of our history and instead continue to uphold an incomplete Shiny Picture, we will be little better than Icarus, glorying in our fragile strength and freedom and killing ourselves in the process.

*I acknowledge the fact that there were individual Puritan settlers who truly believed in moving to the New World to worship as they pleased. I speak more on the widespread belief that this was the only and pure reason for Puritan migration and that therefore we ought to hold them up as some sort of holy paradigm. I also note that the settlements of Maryland, Virginia, New York and Maine had quite a different sort of settler and history. These other settlers really did ‘cross the Atlantic to find soil for their ploughs’. Liberty for the soul had little, if nothing, to do with it.

The (necessary) Fall of Adam and Eve and Our Ability to Choose

A few weeks ago, I purchased the book Christ and the New Covenant by Jeffrey R. Holland and I've been loving it! As I was reading in his chapter on the Atonement, I came across some stuff I thought I should share. I added the "bolding" myself (if that's even a word). For a great explanation on the plan of salvation, see http://www.lds.org/topics/plan-of-salvation?lang=eng

"God's premortal children could not become like him and enjoy his breadth of blessings unless they obtained both a physical body and temporal experience in an arena where both good and evil were present [and] such a temporal experience must be predicated upon moral agency...If choice is to exist and agency is to have any meaning, alternatives must be presented...Righteousness has no meaning without the possibility of wickedness. Holiness would hold no delight unless we realized the pain of misery. Good could have no moral meaning if nothing could be considered bad. Even life-the nature and eternal possibilities of which are the subject of the plan of salvation...-would have no meaning if we knew nothing of the nature and limitations of death. In short, without opposites and alternatives, "there would have been no purpose in the...creation of [human life]."...[Adam and Eve] were willing to transgress knowingly and consciously (the only way they could "fall" into the consequences of mortality, inasmuch as Elohim certainly could not force innocent parties out of the garden and still be a just God) only because they had a full knowledge of the plan of salvation, which would provide for them a way back from their struggle with death and hell...Adam and Eve answered forever the plaintive question that is so often heard: "If there is a God, why is there so much suffering in the world?" The answer to that is we now live in a fallen world filled with opposites, a world in which God is the most powerful but decidedly not the only spiritual influence. As part of the doctrine of opposition, Satan is also at work in the world, and we knew before we came here that he would bring grief and anguish with him. Nevertheless, we (through Adam and Eve) made the conscious choice to live in and endure this mortal sphere of opposition in all things, for only through such an experience was godly progress possible...We wanted the chance to become like our heavenly parents, to face suffering and overcome it, to endure sorrow and still live rejoicingly, to confront good and evil and be strong enough to choose the good...But Adam and Eve made their choice for an even more generous reason than those of godly knowledge and personal progress. They did it for the one overriding and commanding reason basic to the entire plan of salvation and all the discussions ever held in all the councils of heaven. They did it "that men might be." Had Adam and Eve never left the garden..."they would have had no children."...The privilege of mortality granted to the rest of us is the principal gift given by the fall of Adam and Eve...That doctrine, fully understood and thoroughly taught only in the restored gospel is as important as any taught in the entire Book of Mormon. Without it the world would be ignorant of the true nature of the fall of Adam and Eve, ignorant of their life-giving decision, and ignorant of the unspeakable love they demonstrated for all of God's sons and daughters."---Jeffery R. Holland, Christ and the New Covenant, published by Deseret Book in 1997

I'm baaaaaaaaack!

All hail the resurrection of the almighty blog, where average citizens, such as myself, can post their mental or verbal vomit into the void of the world wide web in the vain belief their witticisms will be adored by all. Or in my case, where I post because it's 1 pm and I've nothing better to do at work. But as I've decided to resurrect this probably pointless endeavor, for reasons I don't understand, without actually having anything to blog about, it seems this brilliant ideas is...not so brilliant.

Since my boss's wife is at girl's camp this week, he's working from home so he can referee his two boys. Consequently, there has not been a whole lot for me to do (hence this foray into my blogging past) and I've spent a great deal of time looking out the window wishing I was somewhere eating something. Unfortunately, there is a bowl of Dove chocolates sitting in a bowl on my desk, ostensibly for clients, but the mint and cookies and cream flavors seem to mysteriously find their way into the stomachs of the employees. You tell yourself every morning that you're only going to have one, but by the end of the day your trash can is littered with the foil skins of a multitude of your chocolate victims. And you feel no guilt. In fact, all you can think is, "Hmmm, the bowl is getting low. Better get some more." And we employees all tell each other the clients must really like these chocolates. Yes, the clients, riiiiiigggghhhhtttt. A nod, a wink, a nudge-nudge. They never tell you that the shadiest things that happen in the law is over the candy bowl.

Today's Painting...

My Ridiculously Awesome Weekend!

First, none of the pictures are mine. I stole them from Google.
Okay, so this is a long blog to read, but totally worth it because its choke full of cool stories! First off, I spent the past weekend with my Auntie Sierra in Kalaheo. On Saturday we all went up to Hanalei side to go to the beach alllllll afternoon. That night, when we had stopped to eat at Bubbas (“We cheat tourists and drunks”) somehow the keys got locked in the truck. Fortunately I was the only one holding a cell phone, so Sierra called her sister to have them drive to Kalaheo then up to Hanalei to get us the spare keys. For those of you in Idaho, it would be like someone calling you in Driggs, asking you to drive to Jackson, then turn around and drive to Idaho Falls. For those of you in Montana, it would be like driving from Bozeman, to Manhattan, to Livingston. Long freaking way. So we were in Hanalei from 7-10pm, listening to really crappy live music, catching whiffs of ganja, and, on my part at least, having a keen old time texting a friend.
Then next morning I went to church in Kalaheo ward and sat next to that same friend (Brandon) and his friend (Kori). Quite enjoyable. Funny thing happened in sacrament. The closing song was one of those short two or four liners that no one knows or ever sings, so no one sang it. After the song had dribbled to a close, the chorister dashes to the microphone and tells everyone they were going to sing it again because she felt like she was the only one singing. So the congregation made their mumbling a bit louder. Afterwards both Brandon and Kori turn to me and say “Welcome to Kalaheo ward. Stuff like that happens all the time.”
After church, however, was the best part. Kori’s 80 year old (or so) grandfather, Brother Hasegawa, was getting baptized. From what I’ve been able to glean, he’s the only member of the family who isn’t a member of the church. They call him “The Missing Link”. He’s never wanted anything to do with the church, never wanted anything to do with the elders, and to all intents and purposes it appeared the only way his family was going to get him into the church would be to wait until he died and do his work by proxy.
Until God sent “the angels”, aka the sister missionaries.
Now, we haven’t had sister missionaries over here for a very, very long time. On the second day they were here, they were having lunch with a member and asked her about any non-members they could go visit. She told them about her son, but told the sisters that they’d have to stop by the Hasegawas to get directions. So the sisters met the Hasegawas and continued to stop in whenever they were in the neighborhood or felt prompted.
One day they were sharing a message with Sister Hasegawa and were about to share a word of prayer when Brother Hasegawa came in. They asked if he wanted to join them, he did, then they asked if they could share the message again, so Brother Hasegawa could hear it. And history was made. Brother Hasegawa started sticking around for the messages and was soon being taught the gospel.
Meanwhile, one of the sisters, Sister D, is from Idaho Falls. Her father one day is prompted to go to Reed’s Dairy to buy ice cream. While there, he’s talking to the owner and mentions his daughter is serving in Kauai. The owner mentions that his son married a girl from Kauai. After comparing notes, they discover that the Reed daughter in law was Brother Hasegawa’s granddaughter. So after this Sister D’s dad sends his testimony to Brother Hasegawa.
And so on Sunday Brother Hasegawa was baptized by his grandson Kori and given the gift of the Holy Ghost by his son (son in law?). They had one of the sisters speak before the baptism and then after they had a surprise for Brother Hasegawa. Instead of Brandon’s dad speaking on the Holy Ghost, they called Sister D, who had returned home to Idaho, and held up the cell phone to the microphone so she could speak about the Holy Ghost and be part of the program.
The whole thing was so amazing. I had goosebumps the entire time and I don’t even know the family! Then after receiving the Holy Ghost, Brother Hasegawa, his face almost entirely hidden from the huge pile of leis around his neck, says a few words to thank everyone. His first words as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Afterwards, there was a big luncheon and I sat and ate ridiculously good food and talked to my friend Tina, who’s leaving for a mission to Portugal in December. After she left, I talked to Brandon and various other people until the only people left in the church were his and Kori’s family and it was three in the afternoon. One of the best Sundays ever!
Then one of the BEST DAYS EVER happened. Monday night Brandon sends me a text telling me to skip work because we were going on a NaPali Zodiac tour for $20. Google this so you can see what I’m talking about! Normally this 5-6 hour tour costs $160, but because the captain is Brandon’s friend, we got the hook up. (See Picture 1)
So, those of you who know me know I can’t swim and am more than a little afraid of water. I have nightmares about being dragged out to sea by a freak wave. So seeing this thing and knowing I’m going to be two feet above the water going over 40 mph…ya, little nervous.
The harbor you set out from is about 20 miles or so from the NaPali coast (seriously, google pictures of this place and bear in mind pictures don’t do it justice). Partly because our captain (Brandon’s friend) is insane and partly because you can drive to most of the places we were passing, Captain Danny rocketed to the start of the cliffs. (FYI: these cliffs are the second largest sea cliffs in the world, taller than the Empire State Building, and can’t be accessed by road at all.) Off to the right you can see Niihau, the Forbidden Island, and up ahead, you can see the cliffs rising slowly, tantalizingly, out of the water.
Before we could really get into the cliffs, Danny stops so everyone can snorkel. Now, remember, I’m in this boat, don’t swim, and have been refusing to snorkel for years and years because I’m way too chicken. But I’m looking at this water and thinking, ‘It’s pretty flat. When am I ever going to get to do this again? The guys are watching. Be a Nike slogan and just do it.’
So I snorkeled. In the ocean. Where there’s no walls to protect me from man eating sharks and turtles and Nemos. The girl terrified of water. SNORKELED! And it was awesome! I don’t know what kind of fish I saw and I dare say I could do a little research, but who cares what the little ones were because the highlight was seeing a Humuhumunukunukuapua’a! (See Picture 2) After snorkeling, Danny books it to the end of the coast, to Ke’e Beach. Along the way we’re seeing turtles popping up everywhere and, best of all, spinner dolphins, not ten feet from my foot. (See Picture 3)
Now, you have to understand what speeding across the ocean is like in a little raft like thing. The waves were “small”, only about 2-4 feet high, but when you’re only 2-4 feet off the surface of the water, and slamming up and down the swells, “small” waves create big waves in your stomach. It’s incredibly difficult to come up with the words to describe what it’s like to be bouncing around a raft like a carnival ride, your hands gripping a rope so you don’t get thrown overboard, your feet tucked under another rope for added protection, getting sprayed by cool salt water, the dolphins a few feet away and some of the world’s most awe-inspiring scenery all around you. No picture, no words can sufficiently convey what you see, hear, smell.
The water, as we progress, continues to turn impossible shades of green and blue. At times, you can see the bottom of the ocean flashing past you. Above you are the black cliffs covered in green and topped with misty clouds. Helicopters and seabirds buzz around reminding me of a bee hive. (See Picture 4)
Some of the cliffs look like a giant hand took a knife and cut a mountain in half. In ancient Hawaii, the ali’is (chiefs) would be buried somewhere on the cliff face. The person honored with the task of burying the ali’i would then jump to his death so no one would ever know where the man had been buried. This way, their enemies couldn’t steal the bones and consequently the ali’i’s mana, or power. Danny was telling us that in the 70s an outrigger canoe was found in a cliff. How in the world they got a canoe up there is beyond me. (Oh, when they tried to get the canoe down, they broke it into a millions pieces. Guaranteed there were traditional Hawaiians beyond pissed about this. Moral of the story: leave the bones be.)
So we get down to the end of the coast and Danny takes the boat slower and closer along the cliffs. He tells us about the Hanakapiai Beach, known locally as Hanakapidie because so many people drown. He tells us about the Hawaiian story about the star children frozen into rock spires. (See Picture 5).
We also hear about the Kalalau Trail, one of the world’s most difficult and beautiful hikes. It’s only 11 miles one way, but it takes you an entire day. Then you camp and the next day hike back out. He pointed up to a thin line hugging the edge of one cliff and told us how narrow the trail there is and how people crawl on their hands and knees to keep from being blown off. It makes me sick to think about doing anything that fool hardy. It wasn’t until yesterday that I thought about what would happen if two crawling people going opposite directions met on the trail. (See Picture 6). As you can see, there’s not really room to turn around or squeeze past.
Eventually you reach Kalalau Valley. (See Picture 7). According to our guides, this valley once held 2000 Hawaiians at their peak of power. Come the 60s and 70s, it became the Taylor Camp (named after Elizabeth Taylor’s brother), the most documented hippie commune in history. Apparently there’s still the odd hippie living there (illegally) and growing food and sweet, stinky weed. Danny joked about how the feral goats have eaten all the marijuana and are now very peaceful, happy animals. I suppose this would make them easier to hunt. At any rate, this is where everyone camps who were crazy enough or brainless enough to brave the trail. I’m perfectly satisfied with the fact that I will never see this valley unless someone drops me by helicopter or I’m boated in, if that’s even possible.
Danny keeps boating along the coast giving us fascinating information that of course I can no longer remember since I was starting to feel a bit queasy. Great thing about being with a group of guy friends and having the captain know your friend is that they make sure you’re okay and not scared and…to be perfectly honest…give you a half dozen reasons why you are desperately trying not to get sick enough to puke. I’d have no qualms about barfing in front of strangers, but people you know? I don’t think so.
The reason the zodiac tours are a million times better than the catamarans is that you get to go in and out of the caves! Again, how is one to describe the oppressively damp heat of a dark cave? You hear the water splashing and slapping against the back wall, trying to carve its way through the center of the island. Around you is the shiny rock, looking very much like someone’s taken an ice cream scoop and carved pieces out. Ahead of you is the fiercely blue sky through the entrance. Danny tells us that the winter waves get so high, it engulfs the entrance, trapping all the air inside and causing it to burst out of the cave like a gun, taking huge chunks of rock with it.
There was one cave that made a U-shape and we sped through it in a big circle a few times. According to Danny, it’s the Tunnel of Love when you go slow and the Tunnel of Terror when you go fast. Understandable, because it’s dark and you’re wondering if you’re possibly mentally unbalanced captain can even see where he’s going. But going from the bright, hot sun to the dark cool cave and suddenly into the light again…oh my goodness!
In this cave is a hole in the ceiling where the end of a waterfall dumps into the ocean. This was without a doubt the most beautiful thing I saw that entire day. (Apparently it made the cover of a National Geographic photography thing.) (See Picture 8).
We also turned a corner and upon this huge, breathtaking cliff where a spring of water was dripping into the ocean. You can’t see the water until you get right under it and watch the droplets coming down in slow motion. It was like something out of a dream or a really awesome music video. I could’ve stayed there for a long, long time.
But we continued on to what they called a “Traditional Hawaiian Washing” in the “Waterfall of Fertility” which basically meant they were going to drive us under a freezing waterfall a few times until we were completely drenched. And believe me, Danny made sure everyone was soaking. But seriously, I’ll take a bit of cold to get dumped on by water that only a few moments before was in a rain cloud. But you couldn’t stay cold for long, because we sped along to a beach where we could land and eat ono grinds (delicious food). Seriously, it was good. As we landed, they announced that if anyone had to tinkle, they could either “pretend” to swim or use the outhouse, but don’t just go into the trees and take a leak because the beach was an active archeological sight. Since I had to answer the call of nature, I was left with the option of either walking back into the water and having everyone there know I was peeing my pants, or use the hazardously unsanitary outhouse. The latter had toilet paper, so the choice was easy.
After eating Danny asked our little group of friends if we wanted to go on the tourist hike and learn about Hawaiian history or take his “manly” hike. Now, I’ve heard stories about his idea of hikes so I quizzed him on how difficult this “manly” hike of his would be and then decided if it got too much to do in slippers (flip-flops for you mainlanders), I’d just stop and wait for them to return.
So glad I did the “manly” hike. He led us through the trees up a dry river bed over rocks and around decaying goat carcasses to where a waterfall had at one point cut a tube out of the rock. Beautiful! Over the ledge you could see the tops of more and more cliffs stretching farther than you can see. If you’ve seen the third Lord of the Rings movie and remember the part where Aragon ventures into the mountains to find the ghost people, this looked very much like that. If you turned around, you could look down the river bed to the ocean below. Incredible.
Monkey Man Dan decided he was going to show everyone the cliff the goats clamber over by leading everyone up a steep slope of shaky rocks. I stayed behind. I dare say I could have handled climbing the rocks in my hiking shoes, but not foam slippers. One of our friends went up, but turned around and came and sat with me when he saw where Danny was leading them. (Danny and his sister, by the way, were barefoot. My EMS senses were tingling overtime.)
That was the last stop. It was funny, when everyone headed back to the boat, to notice how all the tourists were huddled in the back of the boat because no one was brave enough to sit in the very front, where the splashing and bouncing were the worst. However, since I’m apparently braver than them and technically not a real customer (they paid $140 more than me) I was relegated to the very front. SO MUCH FUN!!! The way out we had to stop to have the tourists switch places because they didn’t want to sit in the very front. Granted, the way back wasn’t as bumpy, but I stayed in front the entire time. I can very much understand why someone would get addicted to being out on the water.
Long story short, it was ridiculously amazing and I loved it! If anyone ever takes a trip to Kauai, save up your money and do this! It’s not a tour to snap pictures (take a catamaran for that) but in my opinion going in and out of caves and under waterfalls and being a few feet from dolphins and getting sprayed by the water is way way way way WAY better than standing on a boat with a camera! (See Picture 9).

Chickens chickens everywhere and not a one for eating!

I realized the other day that next time I go to the beach I should spend less time reading and more time watching the people around me. What a show!
There's the man sitting crosslegged on the sand, his grey, wasit-length beard and lack of facial expression making him look like a leftover hippie or wannabe yogi. Except that the heavyset woman right next to him is wearing a dorky visor, a stylish swimsuit, and is reading a book. Quintessential odd couple.
There's the haole local, his arms covered in tattoos and his bleached hair pulled back into a ponytail. He's gliding his surfboard expertly past the tourists who are struggling to stay on their feet in the knee-high water as they attempt to board their boards. They stop their splashing long enough to enviously watch him go by. Haole boy looks proud of him self. You can almost see him puff his chest out.
There's the woman whose face places her in the 50-60 year old range. But what is a 60 year old woman doing with a tiny string bikini on? Perhaps she was a Vegas show girl and struggles to let go of the fact that her body is no longer appealing? Hasn't been for about 20 years. Her body is shining with enough oil to cover everyone on the beach and still have enough left over to make french fries. She's got her arms, legs, and fingers splayed to make sure every ancient skin cell catches as much toxic UV rays as possible. Her tanned skin is wrinkled and leathery and I'm mesmerized. I wonder, if I watch long enough, will she shrivel up like plastic fork in a campfire?
Not far from her is the man with the rotund paunch and the plastic coconut bra. He may have an odd sense of fashion, but the entire hour plus that I'm there, he's in the water splashing and laughing and playing with his kids. There's something to be said for that.

***

I'm sitting in the parking lot of the public library finishing my fries and watching a wild rooster and hen get closer to the car. I wonder briefly if chickens can smell and search the beak for anything resembling a nostril.
The rooster gives me a cold look and puts me in mind of another rooster. Two years ago my mom, me and Sidnee were parked at an overlook watching the waves. Sidnee is throwing food at the ever-present chickens, but she soon tires of it and closes the door. Suddenly, we all hear a loud thump on the windows and turn in time to see the rooster attacking the car, furious that we'd ceased to feed him. Maybe Hawaii should spring for some "Warning: Attacking Chickens" signs or at least some saying "Please don't feed the wildlife".
The chickens at the library are getting ominously closer and I debate whether or not I should roll up the window, just in case they CAN smell and happen to be a fan of greasy, sugary McDonald's french fries.
Maybe they've heard I live in the cock fighting capital of the island and will rise up against me in a show of Chicken Solidarity. Here's for our fallen comrades!
I sit in the car until I'm sure they're gone, then make a mad dash for the library doors. You can never be too careful...

My encounter with salt water. Not the ocean.

I got a bit bored this afternoon and decided I since it has been awhile since I have tasted Root Beer, I'll walk down to the 7-11 and get one. According to Google maps, its only a half mile, 10 minute trip. I can brave the unknown horrors of the ghetto for that long. No problem.
And it wasn't a problem. It was entirely uneventful. The whole trip, walking there and back and waiting in line at the register, took less than 25 minutes. Probably less than 20. I wasn't really keeping track. Not quite the time waster I'd imagined.
On the way back home I decided to call my cousin Emma and see what she was wearing for the first day of school.
"I wear a uniform, remember?" she said.
No I did not.
The whole conversation lasted 2 minutes and 18 seconds and when I hung up I noticed something very odd. There were two drips of water running from the inside of my elbow and down my arm. For a second I tried to think of where I could have been splashed with water when I realized it was sweat. I don't sweat cartoon-like droplets, but in the short amount of time my arm had been bent, it had been enough to make it sweat.
This was a first for me. A disgusting first. And I had to share it with the world.
And this, my friends, is what living on an island does to you.