The Day of the Sat

I am loving the weekend. It's gorgeous outside -- all grey and beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, my beautiful boy is enjoying the change of scenery now that he has the run of the house. He loves to sleep on my dad's chair in the afternoon. And he is now king of the pillow in the window.

And because he has the run of the house we can't leave things out that he might want to bite, like my flannel shirt. I heard a thump and knew BK had jumped off the counter, but I did not realize that he did so with my shirt in his stinky maw.

I refer to this as an opportunity. He has given me an opportunity to applique. So last night and this morning I stitched the hole, which turned out super janky-looking. So I took a piece of Japanese fabric and stitched a character from it on top of the hole.

Adorable, but the underside still looked like garbage, so I stitched on a piece of fabric that I, in the end, realize I could have used for the original hole. No matter. I still love it.

Then I cut some fabric for another applique project, and made roasted vegetables. I would like a nap now.

This morning's accompaniment to sewing was the new Meghan Markle show. I was prepared to not like it. As I said to mrguy, she does not meet my expectations. And he looked back at me and said "She's just a lady". And he's right. I have just wished for her to thrive and cringe when she keeps making mess ups that are public (like her websites, botched corporate names and the like) that seem like things that a professional should handle for you -- once and well.

But the show isn't terrible. The episode with her friend (stylist?) was ok. The one with Mindy Kaling was over the top. When they take all their cute food and then change clothes and eat it in a gorgeously decorated potting shed that is too much. The episodes with her Argentinian polo friend and chef Roy Choi were just about right. If she can just be more authentic, she's watchable.

With one exception. The music for this show is atrocious. It's overly loud, changes tempo and theme every few minutes, and occasionally sounds like old fashioned "needle drop" music. Pick a lane, people.

She's just a lady, indeed, but she's been paid a lot to make this show and I wish, for her, that it was a little less forced. I will watch it while I do other things, but that kinda puts her in the same league as Australian Opal Hunters.

Good luck to ya!

Cat Names

There comes a time when you have to admit that you will not have as many cats as you have in your list of cat names. How to prioritize? Will there ever be another, or is boy kitten the end of the road?

Amy

Angela

Babbette

Berniece

Cedith

Charlene

Connie

Danke Ciao

Desiree

Ed Ho

Faith Yanagi

Felicia

Frits

Geraldine

Giacomo

Glendora

Harlow Mitten (name of a person who piloted plane that crashed but everyone ok)

Javi

Jazzette

Jomar

Killer

Mansion 

Manu (i.e. Manuela or Manuel)

Martin

Melba

Mits Funai

Nanette

Ona Lee

Pappy

Pillboi

Ranger

Raymond Shrimp Boy

Ron

Sarshel

Schatzi

Shadrach (Shad)

Tammy

Uli

Vashka

Vinnie Malavarco

Wayne

Wifi (pronounced Wee Fee)

Willette

Fake Leg Balustrade

There's a house on the way to the freeway that's getting flipped. They've painted it black, as you do these days, but the posts holding up the railing on the porch are painted this horrible peachy white man's flesh color. I always call this fake leg color. My mom preferred this color for her nail polish. I really don't know why.

It's been a deathy day today. Our beautiful boy, the inky ingot, left us. He was feeling poorly this week, not eating. Yesterday I said that I felt like he was telling us it's his time. And this morning he was hiding behind the tv console in the kitchenden while in another room I spoke to our dear dear friend about the death of his wife a few weeks ago. I came back in and mrguy said it was time to go to the ER. Sweet boy was crying, and breathing fast.

We went to the ER at the clinic that gave mr handsome a clean bill of health four weeks ago. They saw us immediately and were so kind and professional. The bad news came soon -- our boy was basically almost gone already, with his congestive heart failure winning out over his kidneys, which were failing. There was not a single thing to be done, and not a way to bring him home. It had to be done there.

Sweet boy. I felt the krink in his tail one last time and petted and kissed him, but you could just feel his suffering.

On the way home with our empty cat carrier we passed the house again. They've painted more of the black but seem set on the tan color for the porch, which mrguy has dubbed the Fake Leg Balustrade.

You probably think I'm terrible for referring to this color as "fake leg", and you'd be right. It's outrageous and insensitive and some day I'll probably quit it but not today. The usage of that term in the guy household came from the big guy, mrguy's dad, whose birthday guest list we found after he died. On it, (typed up in Excel, mind you), were the names of his various business partners and friends he wanted to invite to his gathering including one weird entry that said Fake Leg Guy. We knew exactly what he meant. The big guy's company made a product, an industrial ingredient, that they were always trying to find new markets for. And this is how they met a man whose company manufactured prosthetics. Guess he couldn't recall the guy's name.

Today's been a shock, really. My sweet boy. He turned his love rays on me this past year, which was pretty different from the 14 that came before. I needed it. When mrguy was so sick he was such a comfort. And he didn't stop after mrguy got better. Just like with his sister, who died of congestive heart failure earlier this year. She also decided to love on me this year. I guess they just know.

And now we're down to one. I guess we can give him the run of the house now, as long as we hide all dish towels and clothing. This will be a weird adjustment for all.

Saint Fiberica

This morning the Rev came over, and we went to an Italian bakery that I'd never heard of. It's on a frontage road, in a business center of warehouses that surrounds a giant parking lot. Not the place you'd come to look for Italian pastries. 

But we did. Oh man, I had a salmon and cream cheese plate on focaccia. Not very on trend for this restaurant but I hadn't had a bagel plate in so long that I really craved the flavors.  I came home with a strawberry camel puff pastry for mrguy.

We had parked in front of a quilting store, so we decided to check it out after our nosh. It did not disappoint. I bought some beginners' embroidery needles, asking for help from the people who were working there. I recognized one of them. I had had two cups of coffee previously. The conversation went like this:

Me: Did you go to [name of University]?

Her: Yes

Me: Did you own iguanas?

Her, eyes wide: Yeeees?! At [name of housing unit]

Me: I lived in your apartment right after you. OMG that is so wild. I'm here with my best friend from freshman year at college. Rev! You remember the iguana apartment? This is the lady who owned the iguanas!

They introduced themselves. From this point I will identify the woman as "G". I think that the other lady working in the store might have been her daughter or granddaughter, as they shared the same big blue-green eyes.

Me: I think the last time I saw you was right after the earthquake. We moved chairs out of a truck into a building for people. It was a Red Cross thing.

G: I worked for the Red Cross at that time.

So she is now retired, but had a great career managing the communications department at the university near where we both now live.

The story of the iguana apartment is epic. I had never lived with other people before living in a shared apartment at school. After my first quarter at school it was clear that sharing a room was not a good idea. So I looked for a single room in a different apartment. G was going to PELP, so she wouldn't be needing that room. PELP stands for Planned Educational Leave Program. It's a way of leaving school for a period with a way to ensure you can come back to school later.

Anyhoo, before I moved into it I remember that you could recognize her apartment because her iguana liked to bask in the sun while clinging to her window screen. You could see it from the first floor. She lived on the third. When I moved into her apartment she'd left a few things behind. There was iguana poop and mashed banana baked into the shag rug. There was a refrigerator containing frozen newts in the freezer compartment. And a phone bill.

We didn't know what to do about the phone bill. We figured out which number was her mom's and called it. Mom was unsympathetic: "My daughter is an adult, and she can manage her own finances". So we had to eat the cost. But one day I realized that she was in a different section of my entomology class. The way they returned your test results was to toss them in a pile on the floor outside of the lecture hall. I rooted through the pile, wrote "Pay your phone bill!!!" on her mid-term, and a while later she repaid us.

She was delightful today. I love seeing someone who is retired and doing what they truly love. The shop was filled with every sort of gadget that you could want or need for doing needlework. And there were crafts. Rev ended up going home with a dog toy. I bought needles and a thimble and got some fabric from a scrap bin that had big lip prints on it. She gave it to me for free because she'd brought it in herself. I want to applique it on a cheap top that I bought on ebay that is unsatisfying and did not arrive in time for our trip to Hawaii.

Here is the candle in honor of Saint Fiberica. Like I said, they have everything.

We had planned to do other things, but this was such a satisfying jaunt that we stopped there. Plus rev was having an allergic reaction to something she was wearing. 

We wound our way back to my house via points of interest in my town, including my old singing teacher's old house. It was bought by hoarders. There is stuff crammed onto the porch, and her beautiful garden is completely overgrown. To their credit, the current owners do a good job of watering.

And that's all there is to say for today. We really did it up. Now that my phone is charged, it's time to go to Safeway and do a big shop.

One Rabbit Hole out of Many

There isn't enough time or energy to staunch the flow of things I want to know about. When a prompt asks about what's a recent rabbit hole I've gone down, I don't even know where to start. There are so many.

Recently I've been thinking of a drawing group that I used to sit for as an art model. The homeowner was a classically trained painter. His figures all have a similarity. The one below recently came up for auction, and it resembles me at the time that I used to sit for him. What I like about the painting is that it isn't me. But it isn't *not* me, either, since we blend into that similarity. We are all Benny Bufano / Vigeland-esqe. 

The only truth in this painting is the light. The woman sits facing a large set of windows. The floor is not blue. The wall is not white. She is perched on a chair, on a fair-sized riser in the lower level of a Victorian home on a steep hill. Behind her is a famous and gigantic 19th century map of Paris made of four enormous sheets that are tacked to the wall.

The room smells of sweet raw wood and sour coffee, housed in an old fashioned urn that you'd find at a church function. The whitener offered is a can of Carnation Evaporated Milk. To this day that is what I drink in my coffee.

The model changes in a small raw wood closet behind a curtain. A fat black string is tied to the pull chain of the lightbulb above. It's clear when you're working for this group of artists that you are experiencing something of another era. 

Because of this, and because I no longer know these people, most of whom have died, I sometimes try to recreate the room in my mind. What you can't see in the model's face is that the she sits across from artists in chairs two deep, in four hour stretches on two successive Mondays. There's Joe, my sister's old boyfriend, who introduced me to the group, and Dale, who lives in the same co-op he lived in back in the day. The hummer, who may have been the only female artist in the group. Henri, a tiny and charming man from Martinique, who dated Julia Child's sister during the war. He's the one who taught me the story of how (supposedly) the French field easel was invented by a man who was imprisoned during the war. 

I stopped sitting for drawing groups decades ago -- the work's so strenuous that I would sometimes almost faint. But I miss the environment, and these people and artists in general, really.

That was today's rabbit hole. I had a sudden thought that if I Googled Dale's first name and the name of the co-op (a former mayonnaise factory), I could probably learn his last name and what had happened to him. It worked. Glad to know he's still doing art.

I really should have bought this painting.

Ritual

The prompt was about ritual and nature.

In mid-February the poorly pruned plum trees on the Parkway "pook", which is my word for bursting forth. The plum tree is giving me its little high five that it's early spring. He tells me that it's time to look around or I'll miss it.

I have a fair amount of time to think about it. I'm waiting for my burrito at my favorite taco truck. The smiling workers in their Gatorade green safety vests chat up the owner of Melting Pot, which is truly a place where the owner can make you anything. He also knows your order before you ask. He grumps when you say "yes" to the pickled carrots he offers -- EVERY TIME -- explaining what a pain they are to make. I refrain from saying "I love you but stop making them" EVERY TIME.

The wait gives me time to enjoy what a perfect little flower the plum flower is. And to take photos that hopefully capture the tree, the roadway, the school bus repair yard on the other side of the street and maybe some passing traffic on its way to the port, a few blocks away. 

The port closes at noon for lunch (unions, you know) and if I'm lucky, after I spend time taking in the faint almond smell of the poor plum, and some exhaust, the burrito steam and friendly banter, I'll take my yummy food tube and drive away. If I'm double lucky I'll see some 18-wheeler drivers, parked in orderly formation, asleep at the wheel, waiting for the port to reopen.

This only has meaning for me, but I think (and hope) that everyone has their own version of these thoughts.

Hawaii 2025: Epilogue

Every time we come to the Honolulu airport I see the circa 1960s roof of what I know is a church. I've taken pictures, I've used Google Maps, and I could never figure out what it is so that I can visit it. I've always known it would be cool. Just now, while writing that last post, I saw my latest photo of the building, which was surprisingly close up. I plopped it in Google Image Search and now I know:

This thing is:

First Southern Baptist Church of Pearl Harbor.

The architect is Ralph M. Buffington.

So happy to finally know. 

Hawaii 2025, Day 7

On our last day we drove to Kailua and had lunch at a very random but sweet Viet Thai restaurant that may already not exist. The food was pretty good, and it was just nice to eat somewhere where only locals would eat. 

It had one good sign -- the requisite storage-in-plain-sight situation that endeared me to the donut place in December (didn't take a photo, but they had all of their striped donut boxes piled as high as the ceiling in one corner).

On the way back from Kailua we stopped to take pictures of a sculpture I'd wanted to see. It resembles the Automium, but it is a sugar molecule. It sits on land that had once been a sugar plantation in Aiea.

For dinner we met with Miss T, whose parents lost their house in the Lahaina fires. As wildfires were happening back home at the time, and our insurer dropped us last year, we had much to learn from her experiences. Dinner was great, conversation was great. 

Ahhh.

Hawaii 2025, Day 6

On Day 6 we had breakfast in Manoa, at Waioli Kitchen & Bake Shop, which mrguy found. Breakfast was tasty, and we learned that everybody who works there pretty much is part of a rehab program. Good on them. The baked goods are gorgeous and even our parking space was pretty.

It felt great to identify a new breakfast joint to look forward to since Koko Head Cafe is just...over. Next time? Kaneohe Pancake House or Koa Pancake House and Waioli.

Moving on. Mrguy's oncologist had suggested the cat cafe on Kapahulu. It was great. The people were nice and they made an *amazing* Americano. And the kittens were so fun. These two enjoyed a little morning calisthenics. And mrguy found a kitten to match his favorite Cook Island aloha shirt and played with her for much time. It would have been possible (with a lot of effort) to bring her home, but someone would not go for it. She was adorable.

Mrguy made reservations for a sunset cruise. We'd done this years before and it was kinda gross, but also pleasurable? But this one was a complete pleasure. The music selections were great -- something for everyone -- and our fellow passengers were a nice group. I met some folks from Austin by way of Germany, and I have video of mrguy singing along to the song Brandy by Looking Glass. I have a love/hate relationship to the song because it's so singable but the point of view of the lyrics is of all the man who's not around, a sailor who gave her some shiny stuff and booked because he loves the sea more than her. F you, sailor. Ahem.

On the way home we stopped at the beach cafe and got some dinner. The entertainment was a guitar player and his wife who could barely walk but sometimes got up and danced. I impressed myself and exactly nobody else by knowing the melodies and often a few of the words to his hulas. Best quote of the day was him saying that he liked to play at this restaurant because you can play as loud as you like.

You go!

Hawaii 2025, Day 5

The wind calmed down and we were able to truly swim at Sea Bear Beach. I walked out of the water so deeply relaxed.

We ate lunch at the museum. The Satoru Abe exhibition was completely satisfying.

And I got to visit my favorite Lee Bontecou, which was not being exhibited last time:

After happy hour at the hotel restaurant, we ate the rest of yesterday's burrito and watched Storage Wars. Funny.

Hawaii 2025, Day 4

In the morning got to see mrguy swimming in the surf, rocking his Powerport! It was too windy for me so I just watched from the shore. 

We went over to Manoa, where I was going to have a haircut later. Mrguy found us the most beautiful mall. The parking lot was beautiful. My blood pressure immediately reduced.

We ate many Japanese baked goods and I am now a fan of coffee milk jelly.

Before the trip I decided to get a haircut in Honolulu. I finally settled on getting a curly bob, not knowing if my hair would do the thing it needed to, but knowing that my hair had gotten lots more wavy over the past few years. I found a stylist on Instagram who did great curly cuts and made an appointment. Turns out the salon is right across from the Mexican restaurant where on our last trip we heard a bunch of old ladies laughing about their vibrators. Burned into my memory...

You can just make out the restaurant across the street. We went there on our way home and had a delicious and comforting dinner.

Bye hair! On the day of my haircut my hair reached down to my back pockets. Now it's above my shoulders, but not a pixie. Who knew it could be so curly?

We wound up the day eating Mexican food on the lanai and reflecting on the crazy year we've been through since mrguy's diagnosis. 

Also, the haircut is slammin'.

Hawaii 2025, Day 3

Day 3 was Kaimuki Day.

Kaimuki is awesome. In my mind it has been the Brooklyn to Honolulu's Manhattan. A little funky, with some remnants of 60s businesses and street profiles. I will try to see if I can find out the name of the artist who made this tile mural that appears on the Kaimuki Professional Building. It appears over two different entrances. Edward Sullam was the architect. He also designed the Diamond Head Apartments, close to our hotel, where our friends used to live.

We ate at the Koko Head Cafe, which has moved from its original location to what seems to have been a bank. I'm sure it's a more pleasant place to work now, but the makeover left its spirit behind. Verner Panton-style pinecone pendants, tall booths that isolate you from the other diners, less Hawaiiana...it lacks. Also my favorite dish, Eggs Hāloa, is no longer on the menu.

Mrguy wanted to eat at Koa Pancake House, and we shoulda.

The Goodwill is still there in Kaimuki. Many a treasured item has been procured there. I got a big old scarf, in dark purples and bright pinks, and tied it in a bow on my head. Made me very happy.

The Okumura Building is hanging in there. I've been photographing it for years. It is now building full of local craft stores and a fabric store. The car that matches it is a super bonus.

Back to the car. Couldn't resist taking a picture of mrguy in his Reyn Spooner shirt as he passed by this vibrant bus shelter.

Then we went to Kaka'ako, to Hungry Ear. It did not disappoint. I bought some Japanese records and a record by Leon and Malia. I can't resist a 70s-era record with lots of inserts. Plus they said it was their most important record, and who am I to dispute this fact? Haven't listened to it yet.

We visited Arden Restaurant for happy hour and dinner. It was the easy thing to do, and it was delicious. The leftovers kept us going at a few points later on. I engaged mrguy in an exercise of "Where would you have a time machine take you if you could?" and when I said I'd like to go to Grossingers in the 50s, he said "You wouldn't want to be Hitler's girlfriend so you could off him?"

Why do I have to do the hard stuff?

Gladrackets

Curiosity has become my favorite trait. To put it another way, the realization that curiosity is so fundamental to my being gives me joy.

A man flips a postcard onto the table at a restaurant where I had moments before leaned over to pet a dog, only to have him nip my face. I grab the postcard, rush to the curb and hand the postcard to the taxi driver, my dinner mates barely jumping in behind me. In half an hour I am cage dancing in a club on the Reeperbahn. A girl steals my purse. My friend finds her in the parking lot and steals it back. I apologize over dinner the next night, and my friend replies “That was GREAT”! 

I step into Beauty 4 You, even though it appears to be for someone else. But how can you know if there’s something you never knew you needed in there, if you’ve never seen it? And surely they have a wide-toothed comb for my  new hairdo and some stuff for curls, right? I am now the happy owner of some African Pride curl mousse. 

My notebook and phone retain curiosities of the now, in trust for the future pleasure. Edward Sullam, who designed the Kaimuki Professional Building also designed the small Diamond Head Apartments, where my friends used to live. Hon Chew Hee designed the cement facade of Holiday Apartments, and now his etching, Wash Day, hangs in our laundry room, which thrills us (and possibly not him).

Curiosity is hope. Recognition of how much I enjoy the pursuit helps me know that I will be ok, no matter what life serves me.

I look up the hill from Beauty 4 You and Annapurna Mart, toward home, where I will enjoy my new purchases.

Note: no photos of the club -- pre-iPhone, and I lost my camera in the taxi.

Sunbeam Toaster

In response to our friend Paul Lukas' post about his Sunbeam toaster, I offer the following:

My oldest friend in the world, who grew up in an Eichler, regaled me with stories of his family's magic Sunbeam toaster. I had to have one. 

Years later I finally found one at Thrift Town, and it was our first family toaster. You had to jiggle the toastiness setting sometimes to get it going, and finally we had to put it out of its misery. Then we got a *reconditioned* one at the Sunbeam store which was a thing that existed at that time. It had similar issues, but lasted us until 2005. An important advisory that *should* exist is that this is not the kind of toaster you use on bread that warps (i.e. thin pumpernickel). I turned my back on the toaster on New Year's Day 2005 and returned to find flames shooting out of it. I unplugged it, carried it into the back yard and emptied the hose into the one slice slot. I walked into the garage, where we had backups to every small kitchen appliance after my father-in-law died, found a toaster, and resumed toasting. I'm not sure where our current Sunbeam came from, but I love the ritual of jiggling the toastiness setting, and occasionally shaking the whole thing to get it to acknowledge my bread. 

Like Paul, I will also replace my Sunbeam when it cacks.

Hawaii 2025, Day 2

Day 2 was an epic day of achievement. Except for the beach. Our beloved beach has wild surf right now. I think it's too windy for me to get in the water. I want to be safe. I'm kinda disappointed but trying to keep it positive. Here's our beach that we love so much, nestled behind Michel's at the Colony Surf:

We went to Ala Moana, cause what would a trip to Hawaii be if we didn't go to Macy's? Mrguy got a new pair of shorts that fit his slimmer hips. I found a great shade hat that was misfiled in the men's sock section. It is perfect except for a dumb patch on it which I will replace, pronto. 

Mrguy also bought two pair of sunglasses at Sunglass Hut in Macy's. Rick, of Sunglass Hut, was soooo nice. From Fresno, Giants fan. He and mrguy talked about the upcoming season's prospects, as you do. And now mrguy has his first sunglasses ever that have no prescription in them because he doesn't need it. Wild. 

My excitement was the Hoka store, where I could try things on in person. I just sent back a pair of Hokas last week that didn't fit. When they do, it's superduper. At the mall I tried on some Bondi 8s, and they didn't fit even though that's what I'm wearing right now. Ended up buying a pair of Men's Bondi 8s. I learned from the salesguy that some styles in different colors end up fitting differently. That seems darned inconvenient.

All missions accomplished, we trudged toward the parking lot. Went to California Pizza Kitchen (a family first), had lunch, talked about the reasons mrguy hates aspects of the Beach Boys and brought home a pizza for dinner.

We sat on the lanai and watched the stories that happen in the park across the street. The green parakeets who screech and flit between the trees around here. I swear that there used to be green, blue and the occasional pink, but I've only seen green. And there was good dog watching. and two boys trying to take advantage of the still-abundant wind to fly kites. But they were running in the wrong direction. One kid ran the other way and got good purchase, but the other kid wasn't as successful and, frankly, didn't seem to try as hard. I hope he comes back. In the meantime, mrguy and I were talking about him making kites, and our shared memory of the local power company's comic book about kite safety. It was part of a presentation given to children every year in certain grades. Deciding to find one on ebay, I instead came across Hi-Flier kites, and their slogan "Playmates of the Clouds". Eventually I found a bunch of the comic books. The aspects I remember in mine were Smokey the Bear, the story of Ben Franklin, and how you could die if your plane touches a power line. Also Reddy Kilowatt and a cartoon character. It was horizontal in orientation. We think that mrguy's era had a different character than my era. Here's one that I might be remembering. Sorry that the link to it will not last into the future...

Another day in Paradise.

Hawaii 2025, Day 1

Sorry but this is gonna be kinda boring. Our Lyft was mercifully uneventful. On so many other occasions there was drama. Like the taxi driver who accelerated down our steep hill and the taxi ride where I looked down to see I was stepping on the remains of a soft pretzel (with mustard). Or the Airporter driver who was a hoarder and wouldn't pull over to the curb at our house. When we looked in the back of his van it was filled with piles of paperwork and he ranted about Richard Nixon.

Our Lyft was not like that.

We went first class, on miles. Every time I take the cats to the vet and pay with my Hawaiian card I remind myself I'm just that much closer to Hawaii. I did some sewing on the rid and watched German Love is Blind.

We were stumped a bit at first. Our usual lunch stop, La Mariana Sailing Club, is closed on Mondays. Hau Tree was closed for shift change. I really didn't want to walk anywhere, but we did and Barefoot Beach Cafe provided the eats. I like their weird curry rice burger thing. I didn't like the Hawaiian Christmas music. A guy named Sam did not pick up his order. Eventually they started taunting him on the overhead "Sam, your plate is getting warm."

On the way back to the hotel we went shopping for breakfast and took a nap.

For dinner we went to Diamond Head Grill instead. It did not disappoint. Love the 'ahi wasabi shoyu plate. Never disappoints. We usually walk across Kapi'olani Park and then up the hill, but it is really nice to just drive there, which we did.

When we got back to the hotel Mrguy just said "I'm going to rest up and then brush my teeth."