A COLUMN THAT TALKS BACK

Yes, i am a voracious reader. My library needs a library. The chairs, the tables, the couches and every flat surface in the barn/jungle house I roost in is stacked with books and I know where every one of them is. I think there is not very much in this world that I can’t find in a book around here somewhere. it’s kind’a like a library in a good law office that I can research, open, flip pages, check indexes, take a tour. I can do this on line, too, of course, but my books are my friends and all that scribbling in the margins and  down turned pages marked with black or red ink stars and asterisks remind me, sometimes, of what I used to was. Have I grown? Have I changed? Have I aged? Do I now need to argue with myself? Nope. I’d rather argue with you. Laugh here.  Yes, I am one of those awful writer/book readers who scribbles in the margins, turns down corners, argues up a storm in a situation where the authors cannot argue back, except in my head. But writing a column-a blog it’s called today-and sending it out to winds of cyber become words that can talk back at ya.

Isn’t that fun?

To those readers off island, most of my posts will be focused and concerned with Kauai. Hopefully you’ll visit or have visited, but it’s obvious you read the  Garden island our very own island newspaper. Pretty good one, too. Small and dinky and how it stays alive is a miracle but it’s our small and dinky and that matters.

Each of our lives here on Kauai is different. Is special. All of us live in different worlds. Different dimensions of  this multi dimensional island. I still live in cow country. Surrounded by open space, goats that bleat, roosters that crow, cows that that moo and donkeys that bray and horses that whinny and things that go bump in the night and I haven’t even mentioned the song birds that greet every day with a song.  I also live fifteen minutes away from one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, I think, the Hyatt Regency in Poipu. Poipu. The home of the rich and the brazen, or something. It’s little Santa Barbara. Bumper to bumper million dollar house lots and multi million dollar cottages and club houses. A shopping mart so desperately old plantation it reeks of all that long green stuff you can’t eat. Sigh. Used to be miles and miles of waving cane and a little red barn my husband I built for $900.00 that survived, with nary a scratch,  hurricane Ewa while the homes along the shore, millionaire’s row, fell and slithered  like punch drunk ice skaters in the fields. Hundred, maybe thousand of dollars of silver-teaspoons and forks and enormous  silver bowls and trays and ice buckets-lay strewn about the landscape like shells tossed by little kids on a sandy beach. That’s old Kauai and new Kauai rolled up in one.

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