Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 187
December 19, 2015
a Christmas essay
Eighteen years ago, I read this on the CBC. At least one of its predictions came true - next week, there will be two small heads gazing at the tree. Cheers to you all.
Christmasaired on CBC's Fresh Air, December 21, 1997
As this time of togetherness approaches, I think of one Christmas, a long time ago. At the age of twenty-four, I moved across the country to Vancouver where I knew no one, and so found myself alone, on Christmas morning, cat-sitting in someone's apartment. The little box my mother had sent sat under the rubber tree in the living room; opening it, slowly, was my festive activity for the day. Luckily, in the evening, I was invited out for Christmas dinner. Still, it was a long quiet December 25th.
In subsequent years, I had friends to help make an occasion of the day, and then, suddenly, I had a life's partner, someone to spend Christmas with forever and ever. And then, just as suddenly, we were expecting a baby. That year we joined my parents in Edmonton on Christmas Eve. With great ceremony, my father opened the bottle of 1959 Burgundy that he had stored in the cellar for just this occasion – to toast new life in the family.
The following Christmas, there was a busy seven-month-old in residence, and from then on, the holiday was buried under snowdrifts of paper, boxes and ribbons. When the next baby came, a few years later, our Toronto home became the centre of the family. My parents flew east for the celebrations. Auntie Do drove down from Ottawa with my brother and two dozen freshly baked mince pies. After his wife died, my bereaved uncle flew up from New York for his first visit ever, to be with us. The house was really full then – my husband and I, our children, my parents, all those other relatives – one year my in-laws too, from B.C. – and always, in memory of that lonely day in Vancouver, a few people who didn't have anywhere else to go. Homeless waifs, we called them - a fixture, a necessity at our festive table.
After the groaning excess of dinner, my mother would pound out carols on the piano; we'd stand around singing in the paper hats we'd pulled from Christmas crackers, the table behind us strewn with plates, bottles, tangerine skins and nutshells. As he sang, my father loved to offend with his own irreverent lyrics; "Deck your balls with cloves of garlic," was his favourite. Later, the children would settle down to read with him or do a puzzle with Grandma and Auntie Do. It was exhausting, and there was always a familiar family tension under the cheer. But this, I felt, was what Christmas was really meant to be.
The summer my first-born turned seven, my father was diagnosed with stomach cancer. That year, we went to Edmonton for the holidays. Our plates at Christmas dinner were piled high, as usual. In front of him sat a small bowl of turkey broth, which he couldn't finish.
Next year was very hard. There was an unbearable silence at the centre of our gathering, though we were all aware of the irony of our grief – my father, an atheist and a Jew, had never really liked Christmas. At least, the religious, manger part; he loved feasting and giving gifts. The rest of us mourned and drank a good bottle of wine in his honour. After that my uncle, his brother, decided he didn't want to travel at such a difficult time of year."If I'm ever in Toronto, though," he deadpanned, "I'll be sure to look you up."
One bleak November not long after, my husband and I separated. Though we struggled, in the end successfully, to remain friends, each year there was a painful tussle over the children at Christmas – who would be where when, for what. My aunt announced she could no longer manage the journey to Toronto; she and her mince pies would stay at home. My brother bought his first house and decided to stay at home too. I was grateful to our homeless waifs for filling out the table.
Last year was a celebration of another sort: the guests included my ex-husband and his girlfriend. It was good to see him at the head of the table again, carving the turkey in his yellow paper hat. This year, though, he's overloaded with work and can't come. My mum has just bought a condo in Florida, so she'll be staying south. This year, on Christmas morning, it's just the kids and me.
They're teenagers now, leaving home before too long. I find myself wondering – will I end up once more alone, with a small present under a large plant? I don't think so. I think these children will keep coming back, if they can. They seem to feel that there's only one place to wait for the feast – at home, even if the dog and I are the only ones here.
One day, our ranks will swell once more. Perhaps I'll marry again, who knows? My kids will find partners. Maybe one day they'll make their own joyful announcements, and with great ceremony I'll open the bottle of 1982 Burgundy I have stored in the cellar, to toast new life in the family. On Christmas Day, the children of my children will settle down to read and do puzzles with their grandma. That'll be me.
And once again, there'll be a big turkey and the best tablecloth covered with debris and bottles and chaos and carols and paper hats. And always, homeless waifs on a solitary leg of their own journey, invited to join us at the ever-changing banquet table of life.
From the ebb and flow of my house, to the ebb and flow of yours – Merry Christmas.
Christmasaired on CBC's Fresh Air, December 21, 1997
As this time of togetherness approaches, I think of one Christmas, a long time ago. At the age of twenty-four, I moved across the country to Vancouver where I knew no one, and so found myself alone, on Christmas morning, cat-sitting in someone's apartment. The little box my mother had sent sat under the rubber tree in the living room; opening it, slowly, was my festive activity for the day. Luckily, in the evening, I was invited out for Christmas dinner. Still, it was a long quiet December 25th.
In subsequent years, I had friends to help make an occasion of the day, and then, suddenly, I had a life's partner, someone to spend Christmas with forever and ever. And then, just as suddenly, we were expecting a baby. That year we joined my parents in Edmonton on Christmas Eve. With great ceremony, my father opened the bottle of 1959 Burgundy that he had stored in the cellar for just this occasion – to toast new life in the family.
The following Christmas, there was a busy seven-month-old in residence, and from then on, the holiday was buried under snowdrifts of paper, boxes and ribbons. When the next baby came, a few years later, our Toronto home became the centre of the family. My parents flew east for the celebrations. Auntie Do drove down from Ottawa with my brother and two dozen freshly baked mince pies. After his wife died, my bereaved uncle flew up from New York for his first visit ever, to be with us. The house was really full then – my husband and I, our children, my parents, all those other relatives – one year my in-laws too, from B.C. – and always, in memory of that lonely day in Vancouver, a few people who didn't have anywhere else to go. Homeless waifs, we called them - a fixture, a necessity at our festive table.
After the groaning excess of dinner, my mother would pound out carols on the piano; we'd stand around singing in the paper hats we'd pulled from Christmas crackers, the table behind us strewn with plates, bottles, tangerine skins and nutshells. As he sang, my father loved to offend with his own irreverent lyrics; "Deck your balls with cloves of garlic," was his favourite. Later, the children would settle down to read with him or do a puzzle with Grandma and Auntie Do. It was exhausting, and there was always a familiar family tension under the cheer. But this, I felt, was what Christmas was really meant to be.
The summer my first-born turned seven, my father was diagnosed with stomach cancer. That year, we went to Edmonton for the holidays. Our plates at Christmas dinner were piled high, as usual. In front of him sat a small bowl of turkey broth, which he couldn't finish.
Next year was very hard. There was an unbearable silence at the centre of our gathering, though we were all aware of the irony of our grief – my father, an atheist and a Jew, had never really liked Christmas. At least, the religious, manger part; he loved feasting and giving gifts. The rest of us mourned and drank a good bottle of wine in his honour. After that my uncle, his brother, decided he didn't want to travel at such a difficult time of year."If I'm ever in Toronto, though," he deadpanned, "I'll be sure to look you up."
One bleak November not long after, my husband and I separated. Though we struggled, in the end successfully, to remain friends, each year there was a painful tussle over the children at Christmas – who would be where when, for what. My aunt announced she could no longer manage the journey to Toronto; she and her mince pies would stay at home. My brother bought his first house and decided to stay at home too. I was grateful to our homeless waifs for filling out the table.
Last year was a celebration of another sort: the guests included my ex-husband and his girlfriend. It was good to see him at the head of the table again, carving the turkey in his yellow paper hat. This year, though, he's overloaded with work and can't come. My mum has just bought a condo in Florida, so she'll be staying south. This year, on Christmas morning, it's just the kids and me.
They're teenagers now, leaving home before too long. I find myself wondering – will I end up once more alone, with a small present under a large plant? I don't think so. I think these children will keep coming back, if they can. They seem to feel that there's only one place to wait for the feast – at home, even if the dog and I are the only ones here.
One day, our ranks will swell once more. Perhaps I'll marry again, who knows? My kids will find partners. Maybe one day they'll make their own joyful announcements, and with great ceremony I'll open the bottle of 1982 Burgundy I have stored in the cellar, to toast new life in the family. On Christmas Day, the children of my children will settle down to read and do puzzles with their grandma. That'll be me.
And once again, there'll be a big turkey and the best tablecloth covered with debris and bottles and chaos and carols and paper hats. And always, homeless waifs on a solitary leg of their own journey, invited to join us at the ever-changing banquet table of life.
From the ebb and flow of my house, to the ebb and flow of yours – Merry Christmas.
December 18, 2015
festive
It's only been a few days since I returned from out west, but it feels like a year. Whoever that woman was swanning around Hawaii and splashing in turquoise water - can't be the same woman who has a list of her lists and sits in the kitchen much of the day consulting them. Getting away is essential, I realize, love my home as I do - because otherwise the ruts of routine I dig will get so deep, I might never get out.
On Wednesday my midday routine, as regular readers know, is attending my favourite class at the Y. But not this week; my daughter had an appointment she couldn't miss and asked me to take Eli to his last swim class at the West End Y and then to the local community centre drop in's Xmas party. I sat, the proud Glamma, watching him and his friend Pierce put their faces in the water and blow bubbles and kick and do all the other things the instructor asked them to do. He nearly passed his first level - Bobbers - and will soon move up to Floaters. Yes! Not bad for 3 1/2. High five.
The Parkdale Xmas party was quite something, every ethnicity and colour of parent and child - butter chicken with rice, then cookies, then running madly around the gym - at least, if you were under 4.
Then back home to read stories and admire baby Ben while he had a big lunch of sweet potato.
Putting on a jacket and a sparkly necklace and wiping the sweet potato off my pants, I headed out to my own Xmas party thrown by U of T. It's at Wychwood Barns which is a lovely venue, and it's always fun - great food and drink and company. When I walked in, a lovely young woman stopped me and said, "Are you Beth Kaplan? I follow your blog." It's odd to encounter a stranger who knows an extraordinary amount about my life. But that's what a blog is and does. Anyway, she was not only interesting, she was one of the teachers being awarded the Excellence in Teaching award this year. Brava, Julia.
I drank just a bit too much wine. As I tell my colleagues, U of T pays us less than Ryerson but has terrific parties, so you have to make up for the shortfall in food and drink. And I did my best.
Thursday, an Xmas party for my home students here, much cooking and cleaning. There were 14 of us sitting down to a fabulous potluck dinner - including a sweet potato casserole - and then reading stories. We started early because I had another invitation, so at 8, I left for an hour to go to the Xmas party right next door. So much merrymaking!
In fact, I am not feeling particularly merry, with the madness in the world, the images of refugees, the hateful Republican lunatics to the south ... someone commented on the Daily Show, which happily now I can watch again, that George W. Bush looks like a moderate paragon of tolerance and intelligence next to the current crop of nutbars. True. I watched "Bear Grylls" last night - a show about a British guy who takes famous people into the wilderness. His guest was Barack Obama, who may be flawed - drones! - but came across as a warm, genuine, thoughtful human being with a great sense of humour. And Canada has one of those too, a Prime Minister who wept when talking about how Canada has treated its First Nations people and who took 20 sick children from hospital to a special screening of Star Wars. Who is this amazing guy?
So there is hope, there is reason to look up. My son, along with 60 other bartenders, was also invited to a special screening of Star Wars with free Jameson whiskey, imagine what fun that will be. And the weather is pretty amazing too, very mild for December, though there was a flurry of Christmas-like snow tonight. But only a sprinkling, gone already. I have my tree - Eli was horrified when he heard I didn't have one and wanted me to buy one there and then - though it's not decorated yet. That's on the list.
Today a meeting at Riverdale Farm about the Babe pageant. Our request of the farm staff was to have at least one cow in the barn on the night. When we started the pageant, there were two Clydesdale horses, a donkey, and three cows plus the goats and sheep inside the barn - it was magical. But there's a new policy; the big animals stay outside all winter except for the coldest nights, so there are far fewer animals surrounding the tableau. Could they make an exception for this one night? Two staff, he said, are required to move a large animal and we are short-staffed, so probably not. Oh well. We tried.
These are my concerns. Not food or shelter or safety, not disease or violence - just procuring a big warm smelly cast member for our pageant. We have a rehearsal Sunday afternoon. And after that, guess what? An Xmas party. Yay.
On Wednesday my midday routine, as regular readers know, is attending my favourite class at the Y. But not this week; my daughter had an appointment she couldn't miss and asked me to take Eli to his last swim class at the West End Y and then to the local community centre drop in's Xmas party. I sat, the proud Glamma, watching him and his friend Pierce put their faces in the water and blow bubbles and kick and do all the other things the instructor asked them to do. He nearly passed his first level - Bobbers - and will soon move up to Floaters. Yes! Not bad for 3 1/2. High five.
The Parkdale Xmas party was quite something, every ethnicity and colour of parent and child - butter chicken with rice, then cookies, then running madly around the gym - at least, if you were under 4.
Then back home to read stories and admire baby Ben while he had a big lunch of sweet potato.
Putting on a jacket and a sparkly necklace and wiping the sweet potato off my pants, I headed out to my own Xmas party thrown by U of T. It's at Wychwood Barns which is a lovely venue, and it's always fun - great food and drink and company. When I walked in, a lovely young woman stopped me and said, "Are you Beth Kaplan? I follow your blog." It's odd to encounter a stranger who knows an extraordinary amount about my life. But that's what a blog is and does. Anyway, she was not only interesting, she was one of the teachers being awarded the Excellence in Teaching award this year. Brava, Julia.I drank just a bit too much wine. As I tell my colleagues, U of T pays us less than Ryerson but has terrific parties, so you have to make up for the shortfall in food and drink. And I did my best.
Thursday, an Xmas party for my home students here, much cooking and cleaning. There were 14 of us sitting down to a fabulous potluck dinner - including a sweet potato casserole - and then reading stories. We started early because I had another invitation, so at 8, I left for an hour to go to the Xmas party right next door. So much merrymaking!
In fact, I am not feeling particularly merry, with the madness in the world, the images of refugees, the hateful Republican lunatics to the south ... someone commented on the Daily Show, which happily now I can watch again, that George W. Bush looks like a moderate paragon of tolerance and intelligence next to the current crop of nutbars. True. I watched "Bear Grylls" last night - a show about a British guy who takes famous people into the wilderness. His guest was Barack Obama, who may be flawed - drones! - but came across as a warm, genuine, thoughtful human being with a great sense of humour. And Canada has one of those too, a Prime Minister who wept when talking about how Canada has treated its First Nations people and who took 20 sick children from hospital to a special screening of Star Wars. Who is this amazing guy?
So there is hope, there is reason to look up. My son, along with 60 other bartenders, was also invited to a special screening of Star Wars with free Jameson whiskey, imagine what fun that will be. And the weather is pretty amazing too, very mild for December, though there was a flurry of Christmas-like snow tonight. But only a sprinkling, gone already. I have my tree - Eli was horrified when he heard I didn't have one and wanted me to buy one there and then - though it's not decorated yet. That's on the list.
Today a meeting at Riverdale Farm about the Babe pageant. Our request of the farm staff was to have at least one cow in the barn on the night. When we started the pageant, there were two Clydesdale horses, a donkey, and three cows plus the goats and sheep inside the barn - it was magical. But there's a new policy; the big animals stay outside all winter except for the coldest nights, so there are far fewer animals surrounding the tableau. Could they make an exception for this one night? Two staff, he said, are required to move a large animal and we are short-staffed, so probably not. Oh well. We tried.
These are my concerns. Not food or shelter or safety, not disease or violence - just procuring a big warm smelly cast member for our pageant. We have a rehearsal Sunday afternoon. And after that, guess what? An Xmas party. Yay.
December 15, 2015
Anne Lamott in Toronto
I have read a huge number of books about creative writing; one of my all-time favourites remains "Bird by Bird," by Anne Lamott. She's blindingly honest, personable, funny - and a very good writer.
So I imagine she's a good speaker too, and I'm going to find out in May of next year when she comes to speak in Toronto, sponsored by the Henri Nouwen Society. Nouwen was a deeply spiritual man, a priest and a writer; Lamott will speak about her own faith, and, I hope, about her own creativity. I urge you, if you're in Toronto and interested in writing or in life, to get a ticket to this event.
http://henrinouwen.org/?event=henri-anne-lamott
So I imagine she's a good speaker too, and I'm going to find out in May of next year when she comes to speak in Toronto, sponsored by the Henri Nouwen Society. Nouwen was a deeply spiritual man, a priest and a writer; Lamott will speak about her own faith, and, I hope, about her own creativity. I urge you, if you're in Toronto and interested in writing or in life, to get a ticket to this event.
http://henrinouwen.org/?event=henri-anne-lamott
aloha
Dear friends, I'm home and my to-do list is long. The sky is grey but it's mild out there in Toronto; there are birds, not noisy bright tropical ones but noisy brown sparrows and the occasional cardinal. There is green, not lush thick overwhelming green but green nonetheless - no snow, no frost even, just a sharp wind - not like December at all, really. Fine by me. The house is in great shape thanks to Carol; the Xmas cards have started to come in.
The trip home was seamless - a great flight to Vancouver, where I stayed in the luxury of the airport hotel since we landed at nearly midnight - oh, king-sized bed and huge bathtub, I could get used to you. Chris came in the morning with my big suitcase and we walked around the terminal, where a group of adorable local children were singing and playing - yes! - ukeleles, just like the children at the concert in Honolulu:
We walked on a trail by the airport and though the roar of jet engines is never far away, still, my friend admired nature as if we were deep in the woods:
The airport itself, though it doesn't have an open central courtyard full of plants and trees, does have tons of gorgeous First Nations art, very impressive:
A perfect flight home - an empty seat between me and a lovely young woman from Brazil; I watched Bridge of Spies which is a very good film - notable, again, for the powerfully understated performance of Mark Rylance, who gives nothing away, working beside the solid openness of Tom Hanks - I wonder how they enjoyed working together. And I read "Ru" by Madeleine Thien, bought in the Vancouver airport - a beautiful, haunting book about being a refugee, very timely.
We landed right on time at 9 and I was home by 10.15, overjoyed to stand in my own living room and sleep in my own bed. I miss the soft air and water and birds, I miss my friends Penny and Chris and Bruce, am glad to have had a visit, am glad to be here. And now - laundry, groceries, a Christmas tree.
Onward.
The trip home was seamless - a great flight to Vancouver, where I stayed in the luxury of the airport hotel since we landed at nearly midnight - oh, king-sized bed and huge bathtub, I could get used to you. Chris came in the morning with my big suitcase and we walked around the terminal, where a group of adorable local children were singing and playing - yes! - ukeleles, just like the children at the concert in Honolulu:
We walked on a trail by the airport and though the roar of jet engines is never far away, still, my friend admired nature as if we were deep in the woods:
The airport itself, though it doesn't have an open central courtyard full of plants and trees, does have tons of gorgeous First Nations art, very impressive:
A perfect flight home - an empty seat between me and a lovely young woman from Brazil; I watched Bridge of Spies which is a very good film - notable, again, for the powerfully understated performance of Mark Rylance, who gives nothing away, working beside the solid openness of Tom Hanks - I wonder how they enjoyed working together. And I read "Ru" by Madeleine Thien, bought in the Vancouver airport - a beautiful, haunting book about being a refugee, very timely.We landed right on time at 9 and I was home by 10.15, overjoyed to stand in my own living room and sleep in my own bed. I miss the soft air and water and birds, I miss my friends Penny and Chris and Bruce, am glad to have had a visit, am glad to be here. And now - laundry, groceries, a Christmas tree.
Onward.
December 13, 2015
on the plane
O the miracle of modern technology - I am flying from Honolulu to Vancouver, and for a mere $6.50 I had a tiny bottle of red wine and for a mere $7.99 have unlimited internet and all is well with the world. I have a whole row to myself, my feet are up and through headphones I am listening to Jake Shimabukuro, my new hero, play Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I second that. Hallelujah. (Jake just said, in the YouTube clip I watched, "I love being a ukelele player, because audiences around the world have such low expectations.")
This morning, Penny and I went to the Church of the Crossroads with Harriet. I found it moving, very warm - literally and figuratively, as everyone was very friendly but also, of course, the walls were open and tropical breezes stirred the air. Some of the kids there were barefoot, and one of the new members is now a woman but was not at one time, and glamorous she is too. The minister said to us all, "Your presence here means everything. We belong together. We matter to God so we matter to each other." What a profoundly comforting thought. Though I am not a believer, I was happy to be with this kind, open group of people, singing hymns and sharing thoughts. And then - lunch, a huge hot meal, completely unexpected and very good. I took a picture of Harriet and Penny beside the massive banyon tree in the courtyard.
They drove me to the airport, fond farewells to an old friend and a new friend, and into the maw of the people moving machine. But this airport is different - many walls, like in Harriet's church, are open to the air, and there's a gorgeous courtyard in the centre with birds and ducks swimming in the pond - in an airport!
That's the airport!
A few final notes on Hawaii, as I head back to Winterland: Last night at the concert, when the announcer, who spoke in Hawaiian, Japanese and English, said "Aloha," everyone in the audience shouted "Aloha!" back. It is a very valuable word. And people actually do wear Hawaiian shirts - the more bright flowers splashed across your body, be you male or female, the better.
Volleyball is big here - all sports are - but women's volleyball here is bigger than men's and the games are transmitted over both radio and TV. I know because Harriet is a big fan.
A mai tai is made of fresh pineapple and orange juice, orange curaçao, Bacardi, orgeat and whaler's dark rum. And it is very good indeed.
Penny and I were introduced by Harriet at the service this morning, and later, among others who spoke of worries and blessings, I stood to speak. I said I was heading back to winter and that the beautiful islands of Hawaii, and the welcoming, generous people who live on them, would stay with me forever. And they will.
This morning, Penny and I went to the Church of the Crossroads with Harriet. I found it moving, very warm - literally and figuratively, as everyone was very friendly but also, of course, the walls were open and tropical breezes stirred the air. Some of the kids there were barefoot, and one of the new members is now a woman but was not at one time, and glamorous she is too. The minister said to us all, "Your presence here means everything. We belong together. We matter to God so we matter to each other." What a profoundly comforting thought. Though I am not a believer, I was happy to be with this kind, open group of people, singing hymns and sharing thoughts. And then - lunch, a huge hot meal, completely unexpected and very good. I took a picture of Harriet and Penny beside the massive banyon tree in the courtyard.
They drove me to the airport, fond farewells to an old friend and a new friend, and into the maw of the people moving machine. But this airport is different - many walls, like in Harriet's church, are open to the air, and there's a gorgeous courtyard in the centre with birds and ducks swimming in the pond - in an airport!
That's the airport!A few final notes on Hawaii, as I head back to Winterland: Last night at the concert, when the announcer, who spoke in Hawaiian, Japanese and English, said "Aloha," everyone in the audience shouted "Aloha!" back. It is a very valuable word. And people actually do wear Hawaiian shirts - the more bright flowers splashed across your body, be you male or female, the better.
Volleyball is big here - all sports are - but women's volleyball here is bigger than men's and the games are transmitted over both radio and TV. I know because Harriet is a big fan.
A mai tai is made of fresh pineapple and orange juice, orange curaçao, Bacardi, orgeat and whaler's dark rum. And it is very good indeed.
Penny and I were introduced by Harriet at the service this morning, and later, among others who spoke of worries and blessings, I stood to speak. I said I was heading back to winter and that the beautiful islands of Hawaii, and the welcoming, generous people who live on them, would stay with me forever. And they will.
Proud to be Canadian
http://www.nytimes.com/2015/12/12/opinion/canadas-warm-embrace-of-refugees.html?ref=opinion&_r=0
Proud of my prime minister! So quickly, the cold monsters of the past put to rest. Let's pray it lasts.
I'll pray for that this morning, too.
Proud of my prime minister! So quickly, the cold monsters of the past put to rest. Let's pray it lasts.
I'll pray for that this morning, too.
gone
8.20 a.m., the sound of tropical birds, the feel of the hot sun outside. Beside me, my suitcase. Goin' home.
So much to report. Briefly: after the art gallery and Waikiki, Harriet, who is half Japanese and half Hawaiian, and her son Sean, who is half English, took us to a Japanese restaurant for dinner - an inauspicious place on the second floor of a little mall, packed to the brim with Japanese diners. A superb meal, especially because Sean knew what to order - including tuna broiled with a cheese sauce, which is 100% unJapanese but delicious, and tofu done the way it should be, creamy and full of flavour.
Yesterday morning, Penny and I set off at 7.45 a.m. for Pearl Harbour, as we'd heard it's a must see in Honolulu. As I've mentioned, the American military machine, particularly the navy, is a giant industry in this state. Someone told us the Pearl Harbour site is a theme park, and it turned out to be true - yes, respectfully honouring those who died, but both Penny and I were uncomfortable with its celebration of might, sacrifice and war, its cruise missiles on display for children to admire. We were ushered first into a movie theatre to watch a film about the day - Dec. 7 1941 - an even-handed telling, pointing out why Japan felt it had to take out the American fleet (all about protecting natural resources and business interests, of course, on both sides.) And then we got onto a boat which took us out to a memorial built on top of the S. S. Arizona, which was sunk that day and left where it was.
Not much to see - some rusted ruins and the names of those who died, and then we got on the boat back. There was much ordering around and many rules.
What was fascinating to me was the huge number of Japanese tourists visiting; one woman was taking selfies in front of everything, including the wreaths honouring the dead. Much time has passed, and a new generation, I guess, feels no connection. But P and I were glad to get out of there. Not a word, anywhere, about peace, about making sure this never happens again. Perhaps not a surprise as one of the sponsors of the film was Boeing.
Then my intrepid friend drove us, in Sean's old car and on the wrong side of the road for an English driver, across the island to a glorious beach, perhaps the best yet, at Kailua on the east coast.
Incredible, no? It was actually quite crowded, which the photo doesn't show... Unlike on Kauai, there were no rocks or coral in the water, which was warm. A dream beach. We floated and walked, finally dragging ourselves away to eat a sandwich from an old market nearby and drive back, through a blinding rainstorm, to the city. Harriet then drove us to her son Sean's girlfriend Yang's house in a gated community on top of a mountain, with an incredible view. There was a UFC party - I gather that's something about a fight club, there was a big fight yesterday, men attacking each other with fists and feet, and a group was gathered to watch. P and I mostly stood on the deck, looking at the view right over the city.
The TV room with distant view
The view
Sean and Yang, whose brother lives in Scarborough - so I will see them again, I'm sure.
Harriet drove us to see a last view, and I caught a last sunset from the car.
And then one of the greatest treats of all - a ukelele concert. Yes. When she suggested it in an email, I said a tentative yes, imagining the sweet plinkaplink we associate with the ukelele. But we went to a beautiful old movie theatre restored to a performance space, the Hawaii Theatre, to see a virtuoso - Jake Shimabukuro, of Japanese descent - brilliant. He made that tiny electrified instrument sound like a Spanish guitar, a sexy lead guitar in a rock band, a balalaika, a cello; he played a version of Freddy Mercury's Bohemian Rhapsody and a spectacular version of George Harrison's While my guitar gently weeps. Various others appeared, including a dancer, a pianist who accompanied him in a ukelele concerto, incredible, and best of all, an elementary school class playing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer - 22 small children on ukelele, unforgettable. What an end to my stay here - starting the day at Pearl Harbour, and ending it watching a brilliant Japanese musician playing the local instrument of choice.
Now to finish packing - Harriet is coming at 10 to take P and me to church with her this morning. Her church means a great deal to her and it was clear she'd enjoy taking us with her, so off we'll go and then directly to the airport, landing in Vancouver late tonight, one night at the airport hotel, home tomorrow. Chris will come to the hotel tomorrow morning bringing my big suitcase and winter clothes - sigh. I will miss so much, but will also be very happy to be home.
At church, I'll send all my gratitude to heaven for sun, birds and ocean, for music and friendship, and most of all, today as a new climate change deal dawns, for a clean planet and for peace.
So much to report. Briefly: after the art gallery and Waikiki, Harriet, who is half Japanese and half Hawaiian, and her son Sean, who is half English, took us to a Japanese restaurant for dinner - an inauspicious place on the second floor of a little mall, packed to the brim with Japanese diners. A superb meal, especially because Sean knew what to order - including tuna broiled with a cheese sauce, which is 100% unJapanese but delicious, and tofu done the way it should be, creamy and full of flavour.
Yesterday morning, Penny and I set off at 7.45 a.m. for Pearl Harbour, as we'd heard it's a must see in Honolulu. As I've mentioned, the American military machine, particularly the navy, is a giant industry in this state. Someone told us the Pearl Harbour site is a theme park, and it turned out to be true - yes, respectfully honouring those who died, but both Penny and I were uncomfortable with its celebration of might, sacrifice and war, its cruise missiles on display for children to admire. We were ushered first into a movie theatre to watch a film about the day - Dec. 7 1941 - an even-handed telling, pointing out why Japan felt it had to take out the American fleet (all about protecting natural resources and business interests, of course, on both sides.) And then we got onto a boat which took us out to a memorial built on top of the S. S. Arizona, which was sunk that day and left where it was.
Not much to see - some rusted ruins and the names of those who died, and then we got on the boat back. There was much ordering around and many rules.What was fascinating to me was the huge number of Japanese tourists visiting; one woman was taking selfies in front of everything, including the wreaths honouring the dead. Much time has passed, and a new generation, I guess, feels no connection. But P and I were glad to get out of there. Not a word, anywhere, about peace, about making sure this never happens again. Perhaps not a surprise as one of the sponsors of the film was Boeing.
Then my intrepid friend drove us, in Sean's old car and on the wrong side of the road for an English driver, across the island to a glorious beach, perhaps the best yet, at Kailua on the east coast.
Incredible, no? It was actually quite crowded, which the photo doesn't show... Unlike on Kauai, there were no rocks or coral in the water, which was warm. A dream beach. We floated and walked, finally dragging ourselves away to eat a sandwich from an old market nearby and drive back, through a blinding rainstorm, to the city. Harriet then drove us to her son Sean's girlfriend Yang's house in a gated community on top of a mountain, with an incredible view. There was a UFC party - I gather that's something about a fight club, there was a big fight yesterday, men attacking each other with fists and feet, and a group was gathered to watch. P and I mostly stood on the deck, looking at the view right over the city.
The TV room with distant view
The view
Sean and Yang, whose brother lives in Scarborough - so I will see them again, I'm sure.Harriet drove us to see a last view, and I caught a last sunset from the car.
And then one of the greatest treats of all - a ukelele concert. Yes. When she suggested it in an email, I said a tentative yes, imagining the sweet plinkaplink we associate with the ukelele. But we went to a beautiful old movie theatre restored to a performance space, the Hawaii Theatre, to see a virtuoso - Jake Shimabukuro, of Japanese descent - brilliant. He made that tiny electrified instrument sound like a Spanish guitar, a sexy lead guitar in a rock band, a balalaika, a cello; he played a version of Freddy Mercury's Bohemian Rhapsody and a spectacular version of George Harrison's While my guitar gently weeps. Various others appeared, including a dancer, a pianist who accompanied him in a ukelele concerto, incredible, and best of all, an elementary school class playing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer - 22 small children on ukelele, unforgettable. What an end to my stay here - starting the day at Pearl Harbour, and ending it watching a brilliant Japanese musician playing the local instrument of choice.Now to finish packing - Harriet is coming at 10 to take P and me to church with her this morning. Her church means a great deal to her and it was clear she'd enjoy taking us with her, so off we'll go and then directly to the airport, landing in Vancouver late tonight, one night at the airport hotel, home tomorrow. Chris will come to the hotel tomorrow morning bringing my big suitcase and winter clothes - sigh. I will miss so much, but will also be very happy to be home.
At church, I'll send all my gratitude to heaven for sun, birds and ocean, for music and friendship, and most of all, today as a new climate change deal dawns, for a clean planet and for peace.
December 11, 2015
more from the Honolulu Art Gallery
A beautiful Buddha
A message from Rodin
From an exhibit on Japanese street fashion - fascinating. What a cross section - a great museum.
going ...
Penny sits on our lanai with her usual cup of tea and says goodbye to the Lawai Beach Resort in the rain
Honolulu - we meet our hostess Harriet's friend Kazue, who gives us beads made from nuts ...
and then Penny picks passion fruit for her in her garden. Harriet lets us off at the Honolulu Art Gallery and we are amazed - an incredible collection of western and eastern art. From the beach straight to great art. Dazzling.
Diego Rivera
Matisse, my fave, and below, my father's friend Alice Neel next to an anonymous 19th century portrait
amazing trees with roots that descend from on high
We got a bus to crowded expensive Waikiki Beach and paddled and strolled 
They're trying to keep out the riff raft
Penny went on walking, and I did the classic thing - went to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel beach bar ...
for a mai tai. Delicious. I'm not a cocktail person, but that could change.
A gorgeous monkey pod tree in the front courtyard of the old pink hotel. In April I was on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, and today on Waikiki Beach, which has a similar feel - huge old hotels, beach, rich people - except that most of the people here today were Japanese. And also runners - the Honolulu Marathon is Sunday. I thought briefly that I might enter but decided to drink a mai tai instead.
Harriet with her cousin, who's wearing a shirt with a Hawaiian Christmas theme. She picked us up at the beach, dropped us at our room, and soon we're going out for a Japanese meal with her and her son. My treat. I am so grateful to Penny and her old friend Harriet for this incredible vacation.
December 10, 2015
going
I don't know what I did in my past life to deserve this week on Kauai, but it must have been something good - because this was a week to remember. And all through, as Penny and I floated in the sea and the pool and the hot tub and ate fresh fish and sat in the sun, all that time, Christmas music was playing and tropical trees were decorated with tinsel and bright balls. Surreal.
We rented snorkel equipment first thing this morning - masks, breathing tube and flippers - and tried them out immediately on our local beach. Phenomenal - I'd thought there'd be a few fish, but there were tons of the most gorgeous tropical fish, yellow, silver, bright green and blue with orange splashes, schools of tiny translucent ones, big ones, medium sized ones ... Magical. We went next to Poipu beach where the water is easier to get into - and saw as we arrived a string fence had been set up. There were other sunbathers lolling about on the beach.
A male and a female monk seal had climbed onto the beach to sleep in the sun, and the volunteer Monk Seal Response Team was on the case, making sure they were not disturbed. I asked if they were a couple (the seals, not the response team), and the man said, "Well, for right now - she's had several partners just in the last few days."A monk seal floozie! Long may she flourish - he told me the Hawaiian monk seal is the most endangered mammal in the U.S. As we spoke, a woman looking at the seals started clapping her hands and shouting, "Wake up!" and he rushed over to shut her up. He told me there's a big sea turtle resting nearby, and people touch it and try to put their children on its back. Poor beasts. There are so many idiots.
And then we floated in the water looking at fish. Lots of people stay out for hours; I couldn't last too long - my mask leaked or salty water got into my mouth and I got cold - but I saw plenty of magnificent fish, including a big one in electric pastel blues and greens. I felt I was swimming in Chris Tyrell's fish tank. Why are tropical fish so stunningly decorated?
We went to Koloa for lunch - friend Nicky who has often come here recommended the food truck fish tacos in the parking lot, and she was right, they were delicious. And then back for more snorkelling, ending with a float in the warm pool and the jacuzzi. Could there be more pleasure? We cooked dinner using as much as we could of our groceries - not much left. Had a final shower to wash out salt and sand, and watched a final sunset.
So that's it. We leave tomorrow morning for Honolulu where I spend two days, leaving Sunday afternoon for Vancouver. Carol writes from home that it's been unseasonably mild but the cold is returning ... Sunday. Sorry to hear that; it will be a shock.
Thank you to the gods for the magnificence of our planet. May the powers that be at the Paris climate change conference right now shoulder their responsibilities to our fragile blue ball full of wonders. And may Donald Trump (I bought a New York Times today but shouldn't have) fizzle like a wet firecracker and vanish. The Americans have their own Rob Ford, only this one is lethal not just locally but globally. Terrifying. Let's not end with him, though.
The arrival of the parakeets. Followed a few hours later by the departure of Penny and Beth.
We rented snorkel equipment first thing this morning - masks, breathing tube and flippers - and tried them out immediately on our local beach. Phenomenal - I'd thought there'd be a few fish, but there were tons of the most gorgeous tropical fish, yellow, silver, bright green and blue with orange splashes, schools of tiny translucent ones, big ones, medium sized ones ... Magical. We went next to Poipu beach where the water is easier to get into - and saw as we arrived a string fence had been set up. There were other sunbathers lolling about on the beach.
A male and a female monk seal had climbed onto the beach to sleep in the sun, and the volunteer Monk Seal Response Team was on the case, making sure they were not disturbed. I asked if they were a couple (the seals, not the response team), and the man said, "Well, for right now - she's had several partners just in the last few days."A monk seal floozie! Long may she flourish - he told me the Hawaiian monk seal is the most endangered mammal in the U.S. As we spoke, a woman looking at the seals started clapping her hands and shouting, "Wake up!" and he rushed over to shut her up. He told me there's a big sea turtle resting nearby, and people touch it and try to put their children on its back. Poor beasts. There are so many idiots.And then we floated in the water looking at fish. Lots of people stay out for hours; I couldn't last too long - my mask leaked or salty water got into my mouth and I got cold - but I saw plenty of magnificent fish, including a big one in electric pastel blues and greens. I felt I was swimming in Chris Tyrell's fish tank. Why are tropical fish so stunningly decorated?
We went to Koloa for lunch - friend Nicky who has often come here recommended the food truck fish tacos in the parking lot, and she was right, they were delicious. And then back for more snorkelling, ending with a float in the warm pool and the jacuzzi. Could there be more pleasure? We cooked dinner using as much as we could of our groceries - not much left. Had a final shower to wash out salt and sand, and watched a final sunset.
So that's it. We leave tomorrow morning for Honolulu where I spend two days, leaving Sunday afternoon for Vancouver. Carol writes from home that it's been unseasonably mild but the cold is returning ... Sunday. Sorry to hear that; it will be a shock.Thank you to the gods for the magnificence of our planet. May the powers that be at the Paris climate change conference right now shoulder their responsibilities to our fragile blue ball full of wonders. And may Donald Trump (I bought a New York Times today but shouldn't have) fizzle like a wet firecracker and vanish. The Americans have their own Rob Ford, only this one is lethal not just locally but globally. Terrifying. Let's not end with him, though.
The arrival of the parakeets. Followed a few hours later by the departure of Penny and Beth.
