Hawaii (& other trips ) With Dad

                      (My dad and me.  First journey together, a trip down the front door steps)

   It wasn’t unusual for the phone to ring on my office desk  at the Downey Call-Enterprise  early Monday morning, what was unusual  was to hear whose voice it was on the other end. 

“Kathy, it’s  your dad.” 

“Yes.  Hi ,  dad.” 
 

    Because my father lived in St. Louis, and it wasn’t his habit to call me at work, my first thought was to ask if everything was okay.  It was.  

    "I’ve got a  business meeting  with a client in Hawaii”, he said, “and would like  you to join me. How about it ?  Can  you get Thursday and Friday off ?   We’ll depart LAX Wednesday evening with a return flight Sunday night.”

    I had gone on other trips with my Dad, one when I was only  eight years old.  We  drove to Salt Lake City   from our  two bedroom duplex in Bell, California to attend my Uncle Pep’s outdoor  wedding. Mom  had a serious  eye infection so she and  my brother, Walt was unable to go.  For Dad n' me, it  was fun time.   Although,  I'm not sure how much company I was for dad, since I slept so much of the way.    We travelled in our  bright red ‘57 Chevy.  It reminded me of Christmas with it’s shiny silver like chrome trim.  Even at my young age I thought it was very cool,  and wonder  if dad had any idea then, our  '57 Chevy  would one day be a  classic !

    Another trip  Dad and I took  together was  June 14,  1968. The day after my high school graduation.  We flew to San Francisco to visit a college in Marin County I hoped to attend in the Fall.  My emotions were raw, giving way to typical teenage dramatics. Not only was I tired  from attending the all night party at Disneyland,  I fretted    my comfortable  and familiar life at Bell High was ending ,  and was sad I'd  no longer be part of it. I worried about the future.   Dad was his usual optimistic self, and very encouraging, telling me   my future was bright, and I had much to look forward to. How right he was !, and how grateful I am for his promising words of encouragement.

     But  our trip to Hawaii was truly special ! Dad and I had  fabulous fun exploring the Aloha state,  taking in main attractions on both Oahu and Kauai;   Diamond Head, Pearl Harbor, Banyan Trees,  the Fern Grotto, and Upside Down Falls. We ate Poi at the Polynesian Culture Center,   juicy pineapple at Dole Plantation, and sipped  refreshing Pina Colada’s    on the white sand of Poipu Beach.    I always thought if Dad didn’t have a  successful career in marketing,  he would have made an excellent travel planner or tour guide ! He's the best at seeking out, and finding the most interesting places to visit.

 

      After sightseeing all day Saturday,  we had  dinner that night   with Dad’s client  and his wife at a small  Japanese restaurant  tucked away  in a corner of Honolulu far away  from the tourist filled  high rise hotels, and well worn  Waikiki path. It didn’t take long for Dad and I to recognize we were the only Anglo’s there,  and only three of us were speaking English—Dad, Dad’s client and me.  Petite Japanese women wore kimonos, and bowed  their head each time  they greeted us, and  lots of tea and Saki being served .  With our   look a like dark  brown eyes, dad and I  smiled at each other, as if in silent agreement  acknowledging  it was a  most  charming evening. Later that night I reflected on how different  it was in the 1940's , when Japan and the United States were at war, and how much better it is  now  that we're friends and allies , able to  enjoy meals, music and laughter  together.

 

     For me, my  Hawaii holiday with Dad ranks  high on my list of favorite times,   not only because it was spontaneous, and such a happy surprise ,  or  because of  all the special sights we saw,  but because I was with my dad;  neither one of us had been to Hawaii before,  it was a first time experience we shared together, and  now , like a warm tropical  breeze, the sweet memory of our island adventure  gently lingers on, and makes me hungry for fresh pineapple, and another trip with Dad !

.

Daytime Moon, Summer Sun

The fiery sun is  too bright to
look at straight away, even
with my sunglasses on
The heat of the sun, on this
nearly cloudless day is hot
against my skin as i work
a landscape project, lining
up bricks and setting 12 x 12
stone squares in sand
i wipe my brow, and
glance upward - The sun, still slowly

moving on its path from east
to west will soon be
directly overhead
What grabs my attention                      
isn't the normality of the
summer sun,  but the unusual                                                    
daytime moon, propped like a soft,

white halo resting high  above                    
age-old  trees

Gavin's Birthday

From the first moment I  got a  glimpse
of him, my heart was captured,  and totally his
He came into the world with
a  head full of hair, and long toes
and fingers - perfect for playing
the piano someday
 He was the most beautiful
baby I'd ever seen. The nearness of
him wrapped in my arms, his new
breath so close to mine brought
joy beyond compare. My own
precious son, so sweet and fair

Poetry and Pottery (& my Grandma Viv)

A couple weeks ago I stopped at Browser’s Books, a small  over-stocked used bookstore  in Coeur d Alene to   peruse their poetry section. I quickly found the Robert Frost I was looking for, when another book of poems  caught my attention, Mostly California  by Don Blanding.   Copyright 1948, published by Dodd Mead.   Initially , the author wasn’t the reason I picked the book from the shelf, but  California.  I was raised in the golden state, moving there with my family when I was 4 years old,  not moving away  until I was 42.  I enjoy reading about California history, especially southern California   1930’s thru the seventies, and  am old enough to remember the sweet smell of colorful orange groves dotting the land, oil wells pumping  the ground  along Telegraph Road, and freeways not yet crowded with bumper to bumper traffic.

So after reading  the  description  on the inside cover,   “Mostly California is entirely Blanding in its colorful presentation, by drawings and verse, of California,  the Land of Gold; of the Padres and Forty-niners;  of the magic of the mountains and deserts and redwoods; of the fabulous cities and towns and of Hollywood with its glittering stars”, I knew I had to buy it. 

To my great delight I discovered Blanding wasn’t only a poet, but a pottery artist/designer  for Vernon Kilns,  the same  southern California company my maternal grandmother worked for  in the 1940’s and 50’s,   hand—painting their  popular plaid pattern  dinnerware.   

Just as I was familiar with poetry from an early age, I was also familiar with Vernon Kilns , not only because Grandma Vivian was an employee,  but because  their Organdie pattern  was the dishes grandma used to set her table  -  the dishes I would help wash and dry after eating dinner.  The same pattern I have now.

For the past several years I’ve used  that set  at Thanksgiving, and other special occasions.  They always trigger a warm feeling, and bring happy memories of my grandmother and the wonderful meals she prepared , and holidays shared.  And of Scrabble games played , when  she and I would  eat ice cream from  brown and yellow plaid  bowls. Each one  marked on the bottom,  Under glaze Hand Painted ORGANDIE Veronware California U.S.A .

I’m sure I didn't think much about it then,  but today it makes me smile, and proud  to know many of the painted   are from my grandmother’s own hand.

My Wooded Realm

How i delight in this  wooded realm, the
small  outdoor kingdom  i
share with a family of lively  rabbits and
white  tail deer, wild turkey
and busy bee's ; Eagles, grosbeak
and chickadee, and the tiny hummingbird
sipping nectar from wildflowers
 No artist's rendering dare
compare to this panormic
view of  deep, blue lake
and  evergreen trees, some
older than me, standing
tall with all their majesty

American Authors, The Flag & Freedom

Hooray for the red, white and blue

for the stars n’ stripes that

wave so proudly from

pillar and post, from

 roof top and Cemetery grave,

From city park and baseball

field, and to the

Republic for which it stands;

For the parade of citizens

of every nationality, language

and color of skin

We the people. Not the politician,

pundit, or demagogue.

We the people—our voices heard

Freedom of Speech

Freedom of Religion

Freedom from Want

Freedom from Fear

Democracy.

Orators and statesmen,  proclaim

It loud, proclaim it clear

“One nation under God, indivisible,

With liberty and justice for all”

Our pledge of allegiance  - cherish the

words, hold it dear.

Since Monday is 4th of July, and we observe and celebrate the day with barbecue, picnics, and fireworks; Salute the flag and everything USA, and because WNI is a blog dedicated to writers and writing,  I thought I would mention a few favorite authors whose prose and style are uniquely American.  Whittier, Whitman, Dickinson, Twain, Crane, Sandburg and  Poe;  Robert Frost, and  the poem he wrote for Kennedy’s inauguration :

To break with followers when in the wrong,

A healthy independence of the throng,

A democratic form of right divine

To rule first answerable to high design

And in The Gift Outright ,  Frost prophetically   writes,

To the land vaguely realizing westward,

But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced,

Such as she was, such as she would become.

Since the birth of our nation, there have been  many writers we acclaim, and hold in high esteem—Franklin, Jefferson and Paine, who wrote of liberty and lofty goals.  James Fenimore Cooper, Melville and Hawthorne—bringing to life The Last of the Mohicans , a menacing whale, and witch trials. Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Hemingway;  Willa Cather, and Little Women’s , Louisa May  Alcott. 

Each one presents, and helps preserve a slice of Americana through the  stories they write. They tell us about the lay of the land during  certain time and space,  of people and places , prejudice and
 great generosity -  the challenges of life, choosing good over evil. Always, a call to freedom of spirit prevails.


So, this  4th of July, along with cheering  fireworks bursting bright,  I encourage you to read a book by an American author, who also  sheds a light— a light of knowledge and  imagination about our America; Who we were, who we are—  

To all of you, Happy 4th of July ! Let Freedom Ring.

*** NOTE: I originally wrote  this blog for    Writing North Idaho  http://writingnorthidaho.blogspot.com    It was first  posted  July 1, 2011