Archive for April, 2014

April 25, 2014

In such contention times, sometimes it’s difficult to find a topic upon which all agree. But I think this is one: every human being needs to eat. Needs food. Needs nourishment.

I think nourishment is the key, here. Every civilization, from the beginning, had to find a way to feed themselves. In the beginning were the hunters and gatherers. The men hunted. The women gathered. Women, at this time, were often carriers of the flames, the embers of the fires which cooked the food gathered. Not all food is edible raw. I always find that rather neat. Easy to identify with women carrying this sacred, in many societies, element.

Cooking is strongly associated with women. Men were often enlisted by women to protect them  from moochers. An old old saying, “The fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” and we can picture women perfecting  this art, surrounded by men, and becoming more sexually attractive to exploit the need for protection and I can imagine them thinking of ways to make ‘their’ men the strongest of all. Feed them good. Make them last.

Okay, we can give birth and nurse a baby, but we have to keep them alive so we  can feed them when they grow up. So they can protect us  and hunt and gather the food to feed them with.  Seems to me this all got kind of bolloxed up with the advent of fast food chains. Filling the belly with food is easy.  Drive in.  Pick  up.  Stuff  in mouth. Swallow.

But, there’s the rub. Does it nourish? “To provide with food or the substances necessary for life and growth?” And, as a man, must you think of protecting the girl who hands you a package of something to fill your belly. Anyhow,  she hasn’t cooked the food so who cares what  she  looks like?

So, it seems, food  got at least four  times removed from nourishment. Women nourish. Men and children eat. And, I think, far too many of them care what as long as it doesn’t incite the gag reflex. It should smell good. It should taste good. It certainly should fit  in your hands so you can carry it to your mouth. If you have time to look at it, it should look good. If you don’t have time to look at it, who cares? If someone could find a way to make your hamburger on a bun  sing, or at least hum, it would appeal to all your senses. Perfect.

But does it nourish? I think women still think to nourish. I think men don’t give it a thought and whoever heard  a  kid say, “Mom I need some more zucchini ’cause it’s good for me ” But here’s another rub: zucchini  only contains these vital elements if they are in the soil the zucchini  has been grown in.

Then there’s another rub. There are powerful and rich high-tech companies who have fond ways to genetically modify foods. zucchini is one of them. zucchini, according to some sources, are among the ten worst vegetables to eat because of this modification.

With little regulation and safety tests performed by the GMO companies themselves, we have no way of knowing  what risks these lab-created foods pose to us.

This is where it gets sticky. But one thing, I think, we can agree on, women, homemakers,  seem to be more concerned than men. After all, we are they who nourish. Feed.

Here’s another factor. Today so many women have to work outside the home to keep food n the table. They gather money to buy food. They must often eat on the run, feed their family on the run. They have bellies to fill, too. Not all of them have the time  to research. To study. To keep up with all the extraordinary changes going on in the world about them.

But they can observe.  They can ask questions.  Often they don’t need protection. They are professionals. Doctors and nurses and teachers. They are judges and lawyers and politicians. They are gardeners and farmers. Small gardeners and farmers. They keep bees. They milk goats. They’ve got their fingers in all the pies. Their voices will be heard.

Food and nourishment go together. Food and nourishment and women, like salt and pepper and spices in a soup,  go even better together. Listen to us, please.

On Kauai we are often noisy.



April 17, 2014

I had an interlude. Interesting. Fun. Difficult. A new ‘personality’ was born. In May last year I became a ‘columnist’ in the Wednesday Garden Island Wellness section. I had 32 columns published. I loved the wonderful full color  picture Carol Ann Davis took of me.

A black and white copy – a  photographic piece of art- was displayed in a local art gallery at Kukui Grove Mall. I also had the distinction of having the most ‘recommends’-108-of any columnist since ‘recommending’ columnists began in the Garden Island.

My healthy ego was busting out all over. My self-esteem soared to pinnacle heights. To gaze in the mirror was to see stars in my eyes. I walked on air.

But it wasn’t me. I am, and always have been, one who loves to rock the boat. Make waves. Stir the pot. Rattle the cage. Shake things up and scrawl a Bettejo.

So many topics on Kauai went unstung. GMOs. Milk factories. Christian mafia types galore. Too many grizzly patriarchs to shake a stick at. Cell towers. Jesus camps. Jesus!!

Greedy landholders.

Greedy? A rogue by any other name should smell so skunk. And that’s insulting skunks.

Why is it so few on Kauai see another vision of Kauai? A different future? All they see is the same old same old. More suburban sprawl. More Malls. More cars. Buy one get one free. They go home and breed. Everybody loves his car. Cars. We need more super highways to accommodate them.  More traffic jams.  Everybody loves the smell of CO2  in the morning.

Metropolitan Kalaheo is going to get an ABC store. Walk to this convenient store and buy cheap junk food and stuff for higher prices. Walk don’t waddle.

Love the sound of traffic rumbling by.  Drones and helicopters spying by.

Love vast fields of Franken corn to feed  Franken cows who produce  Franken milk. Franken ice cream. Franken yogurt. Franken cheese. Even Franken Tee shirts to sell to  tourists. Surfers and swimmers and kids and tourists swim in Franken cow poop, which-like old fashioned humuhumunukunukupua’a-goes swinning by.

Swimming bye bye.

Everybody needs more war games.More profit for pubs and bars and grass shacks of ill repute. More forbidden beaches.

More dead whales and dolphins and seals and other living things.Collateral? They get in the way. Who needs ’em?

I’m fed up with cutsey wootsy. Think positive thoughts. Be agreeable. Get along. Meditate. Hide under the bed and all the bad sick old stuff  that doesn’t work, never did work, will go away. Maybe if you close your eyes or keep them glued to the boob. Buy ear plugs and strap a fresh air tank to your back. Buy a cheap one at WalMart and breath through a hose in your nose.

Remember to kill all the chickens. Barking dogs, prowling cats, bleating  goats. Let the hills be alive with  the sound of Musac.

Don’t think of a different future. Don’t express it or write about it. It’s a mess. Be happy.












April 10, 2014

Isn’t that a beautiful word? Four letters. One syllable. The hard vowel-v-softened by the ‘la’ and the ‘oh’.  People  love words. And they’re free, you know. You can write them, or speak them,  or  hear them.

Some people love words like superccalifragilisticexpialidocious.

The word has been defined as follows: super- “above”, cali- “beauty”, fragilistic- “delicate”, expiali- “to atone”, and -docious “educable”, with the sum of these parts signifying roughly “Atoning for educability through delicate beauty.” It is defined as ‘something to say when you have nothing to say’.

I think that says it all. Bernard Russell said, “Beware the guy who cannot say it simply.” But note, please, some people ‘love’ words like that. Love is the key. The subject, here. This simple word can be a verb, “I love you”. A noun,”Love is all.” An adjective, “A love nest.” The subject of a proposition, “He did it for love.”

Forgive me, that’s a bettejo. I love to be a ‘creative’ writer. Break all the rules.  Full speed ahead.

The point is, you can love anything. Everything. You can love books. You can love cats. You can love people. Oe a people. People  belonging to a place, religion, nation, race, language, class or culture. People  living on Kauai.In Hawaii. Golly, you can love all people. That’s a happy, healthy  thing to do.

“All you need is love
All you need is love
All you need is love, love
Love is all you need”

I think I’ll write a song. Oh, darn it,  somebody already did.

The world is so full of such beautiful things, I think we should all sing and let love praises ring.

I think we can grok love to fullness.

I think we can dance love.

I know you can fall in  love with the scent of honey. Or Night Blooming Jasmine. Or plumeria.

You can fall in love with a forest glade, a sea scape, a mountain peak, a cloudy sky, a desert in bloom, a field of poppies, a green meadow full of contented  cows or frolicking goat or horses or mules.

You can get lost in  a reverie of love in the shade. Under a tree. On a ski slope or a garden path. Riding. Swimming. Sailing. In a class room of  happy children. In a restaurant of satisfied  diners. In a theater  filled with laughter.

I think laughter is almost always the sound of love.

Find a comfortable chair, grab a cushion, sip a chilly cold drink-Chardonnay  goes well here, with crackers= and cheese= and read a poem.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee ……….

Watch a fun love film. Some Like it Hot. A classic.

I think we should have a happy love hour-not just in a pub-but  in the schools, at job sites, in the work place.








April 3, 2014

I picked her up at the airport. She wore a backpack. This lady knew how to travel. We circumnavigated the Mall, taking  off for the golf course and a narrow  neck of suburbia. When the road turned, we were  in wilderness Kauai. Jungle growth, tall fields of green  grass. The narrow two lane road wound, dipped, and curved.

At a stop sign, where we turned right, my passenger gasped. It was heaven on earth. On either side of another narrow two lane road acres and acres and acres, on either side of the road, bloomed and blossomed and billowed with life. Natures’ patchwork  quilt of  green and gold sunshine.

“We grow lettuce and carrots and spinach. Maui onions. Tomatoes. We’ve got several citrus groves. Lemons, oranges, limes. Kauai oranges are ugly but  they’re delicious. Papaya and coffee and coconut groves. We’ve an apiary with the sweetest bees in the state. Their honey is sweet, too. They’re happy here.

We’ve  a large wind farm up by the highway under which a herd of  Angus graze in green meadows.”

“Oh, grief. They’re out. Someone left their gate open. They’ll be in the carrots.”

Suddenly  two bovine, contented Belle and Boss, appeared and ambled down the road. Vendors spilled from their road side stands trying  to turn them back.

“The guy who owns them is  eccentric. They’re his expensive hobby. They reside on ten acres.  He milks them himself. Sometimes he sells the milk. Sometimes he gives it away.We can do all this because the guy who owns this land  leases parcels yearly-at a reasonable rate-to those who are serious about growing organic food to feed people.”

When the road disappeared my passenger gasped. “What happened?”

“Underground parking. No automobiles allowed topside.”

I parked the car in the  expanse and we took an elevator up. When we stepped out my passenger gasped again. “Where did this come from?”

I laughed. “It’s huge. It’s high. It’s completely self-sustaining. It also snuggled into the cliffs. Camouflaged to blend. Greens.Purples. But the important thing is everything you need is within walking distance. Shops. Restaurants. Post Office. Banks. This is kind of the mall lobby. Offices are on the second floor. Studios, two and three bedroom apartments above.  The rich guy lives in the penthouse  but he walks around like a mortal. There he is. Looks like Robert Redford, huh? Wave. He loves to see people like you. You come from all over the world to see this.

Rich. Poor.  Young and old.  Black, white, yellow and brown walk around in here. Work. Play. Tennis courts. Pools. Miles of paths. There are quaint cottages, kind of old plantation style, clustered about. Affordable. We’ll visit one after lunch. Wanna buy some Kauai perfume?”

“Ladies,” the Robert look- alike called, “may I join you for lunch?”

When the rooster crowed at the break of dawn-I swear the thing was on the roof-I woke with a start. “I’m gonna grock you to fullness, bird. That was a good dream.”