Sunday, December 22, 2013

The Magi: An Investigation


       More Letters From Paradise
       The Magi, An Investigation
      The coming of the Magi plays an important role in the Christmas story.  But who were they?  Where did they come from?  The Bible only tells us that they came from the East,  and brought gifts to the infant Jesus and worshipped him.  That is not much information. Biblical scholars believe that they came from ancient Persia, modern-day Iran.
     Ancient people of the Near East spent a great deal of time in the study of the stars. Without the glare of modern lights the dark sky made the stars very visible. They looked to the stars to give them time to both plant crops and when to sow. They named various groups of stars for animals and mythical figures. The stars were also looked to as guides both on land and at sea. So it seems logical that when a prophecy came concerning the birth of a king,  that they would use a star to guide them to their goal.
       It is interesting about the gifts they chose to bring:  gold,  for its great value, frankincense, which was a gum resin burned as incense, and myrrh, also gum resin used to bind burial cloths.  If you were to bring gold as a gift for a king,vit would surely have been a large quantity. This would require a beast to carry the load. The other two gum resins would be smaller quantities, but would also require transport.
What I am getting at is that the three Magi or kings, as they are often called, did not travel alone. As they were wealthy men carrying gold, an armed escort would be required. And, what about tents, food, clothing etc. It was a very long journey.It was also a very hard journey. This is best described by the poet T.S. Eliot, in his great poem, "The Journey of the Magi."  No one can detail the journey and its hardships any better than he does.
      And in conclusion I argue that the Magi did not make the journey alone. There is also the matter of the gift of myrrh. Perhaps it was foretelling the body of Jesus being prepared following the crucifixion. Who knows? It's something to think about.

           Aloha
           Grant  


The Two Travelers



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         The Two Travelers
      What follows is a little something I just now wrote for the Christmas season. Thinking of how it might have happened.
      A weary traveler stops, and inspects his sandal. He sits on a rock and sees a man of medium height, holding a staff in one hand and leading a donkey, upon which sits a young woman. As they draw closer he observes that the man's face is set with grim determination, and that he moves with a rapid pace.  The woman seated on the donkey appears to be somewhat younger than the man, and is showing signs of fatigue. She has a lovely face, set with deep blue eyes. It is obvious that she is far advanced carrying a child.
      The man at the roadside hailed the two travelers, asking them  to stop and rest awhile. The man leading the donkey at first intended to refuse the offer, but, seeing how tired his wife was, accepted the offer.  Gently he lifted his wife from off the donkey and seated her on a nearby rock. The host waved his sandal and bid them welcome.  He was bored, and longed for some conversation. Names were not exchanged, for it was not the custom when meeting strangers.
      "I would like to share a brief bit of food with you," he said. Their host explained, "I have been fortunate in life. I always carry a large amount of food with me. You can never know where you can find food, and as you can see, I am a large man.  I was just about to have a quick meal," the man said. "Will you please join me?"
      He then pulled two large loaves of bread from his pack, and a large wineskin. "Wine clears the dust from the road," he said. He passed the bread to both the man and the woman. Taking the bread from his host, the man then broke the bread in half, and gave thanks to God  for this unexpected meal. The three sat in silence for awhile, and passed the wine skin to each other.  At last the man told his host that he was a carpenter by trade. He said that he was traveling to Bethlehem to be counted in the census, as required by Roman law. He and his wife had been on the road since before dawn. He was eager to reach the city before the child she was carrying would be born along side of the road. His host listened with great interest and sympathy for the two tired travelers.
      At the conclusion of the meal,  the carpenter thanked their host.  He then helped his wife to her feet and up on to the donkey. The host watched them,  until they were swallowed up in the vast distance.
He sat for a time, lost in thought. This was something he had never done in his life. Offering food and drink to strangers. Yet somehow this seemed to have been the right thing to do. They were such a nice couple of people. And she being with child.
      He got to his feet, and, taking his staff in hand, began to walk. He then said aloud to no one but himself.  "I think I will try and find this couple, and see what happened to them."
          Aloha
          Grant

The Two Travelers


     nd bid them welcome.  He was bored, and longed for some conversation. Names were not exchanged, for it was not the custom when meeting strangers.
      "I would like to share a brief bit of food with you," he said. Their host explained, "I have been fortunate in life. I always carry a large amount of food with me. You can never know where you can find food, and as you can see, I am a large man.  I was just about to have a quick meal," the man said. "Will you please join me?"
      He then pulled two large loaves of bread from his pack, and a large wineskin. "Wine clears the dust from th More Letters From Paradise
         The Two Travelers
      What follows is a little something I just now wrote for the Christmas season. Thinking of how it might have happened.
      A weary traveler stops, and inspects his sandal. He sits on a rock and sees a man of medium height, holding a staff in one hand and leading a donkey, upon which sits a young woman. As they draw closer he observes that the man's face is set with grim determination, and that he moves with a rapid pace.  The woman seated on the donkey appears to be somewhat younger than the man, and is showing signs of fatigue. She has a lovely face, set with deep blue eyes. It is obvious that she is far advanced carrying a child.
      The man at the roadside hailed the two travelers, asking them  to stop and rest awhile. The man leading the donkey at first intended to refuse the offer, but, seeing how tired his wife was, accepted the offer.  Gently he lifted his wife from off the donkey and seated her on a nearby rock. The host waved his sandal ae road," he said. He passed the bread to both the man and the woman. Taking the bread from his host, the man then broke the bread in half, and gave thanks to God  for this unexpected meal. The three sat in silence for awhile, and passed the wine skin to each other.  At last the man told his host that he was a carpenter by trade. He said that he was traveling to Bethlehem to be counted in the census, as required by Roman law. He and his wife had been on the road since before dawn. He was eager to reach the city before the child she was carrying would be born along side of the road. His host listened with great interest and sympathy for the two tired travelers.
      At the conclusion of the meal,  the carpenter thanked their host.  He then helped his wife to her feet and up on to the donkey. The host watched them,  until they were swallowed up in the vast distance.
He sat for a time, lost in thought. This was something he had never done in his life. Offering food and drink to strangers. Yet somehow this seemed to have been the right thing to do. They were such a nice couple of people. And she being with child.
      He got to his feet, and, taking his staff in hand, began to walk. He then said aloud to no one but himself.  "I think I will try and find this couple, and see what happened to them."
          Aloha
          Grant

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Two Old Poems


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          Two Old Poems

          Ice Box
"When were refrigerators invented,?" she      asked.
Suddenly you remember the ice box.
Every time you had to empty the drip pan
it was overflowing.
Water usually was spilled in the middle
of the kitchen floor
on the way to the sink.
And what about the ice man?
We would stand around watching
as he took the heavy steel tongs
and carried the ice block to the house.
Now was our chance to see if there
were any ice chips he couldn't use.

          Henry Ford
Nearly everyone by now has heard
how Henry Ford  had said
you could have any color car you wanted
as long as it was black.
But did you know that the paint
contained soybean oil?
Many farmers soon learned
not to park their cars
anywhere near a cow
as it would lick off all
the paint.

       Aloha
       Grant


Window Shopping


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          Window Shopping

He had discovered it in the window of the consignment shop.  It was a very small tricycle, antique certainly, he thought.  The price tag read through the glass, was marked $50.  Oh, but it was wonderful, he thought. The large front wheel was only about ten inches, and the whole thing was constructed of iron.  Iron pedals and wood handles, with a tiny wood seat.  Someone had recently painted the tricycle with black paint, covering the few places where rust had  begun its work. How old was the child who rode this tricycle?  He would have to have been very small,  he thought.
He imagined the tricycle sitting under a candle-lit tree one Christmas a  century ago.  It would look real good inside the entrance of a house,  just after the outside door closed.  Perhaps a stuffed teddy bear sitting astride the tricycle, or maybe a pot of flowers sitting on the seat.  I must remember to call my daughter about this, he thought.  See if she thinks she would like me to buy it for her.  I'll come back tomorrow and get it.
The following day he looked in the shop window, and saw that it was no longer there, and he suddenly felt very sad.

          Aloha
          Grant

Monday, December 16, 2013

A Shepherd Remembers


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         A Shepherd Remembers
The following is a short dramatic reading I wrote some time ago for the Christmas season. Costume your reader and listen as he speaks:
I am old and ignorant. I can no longer even go into the field to watch the sheep. But I am content, for I have received a great gift from God.
I will never forget that night. The memory of what happened, has been forever burned into my brain.
(after a pause) Let me begin by saying it was just an ordinary night. Cold, after the brightness and heat of the day. The dark shapes of the sheep could be dimly seen among the rocks on the hillside.
And, then it happened. You may doubt my words, but I was not alone. I have witnesses.
Suddenly the sky grew bright as day, and a figure all glowing in white appeared.
Well, I don't have to tell you that we were terrified. We all fell down on our faces, my whole body shook, I couldn't breathe, the light was blinding!
But that was not all. The figure told us not to be afraid. A Savior had been born who was Christ the Lord. We were told that we would find a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger.
I heard the words distinctly, and that is not all. Suddenly, the figure was surrounded by others praising, and saying Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace to men on whom his favor rests.
Do you know what it feels like to get knocked down by a sheep? You can't get your breath. That's how it felt, or maybe I should say it was like having a great rock dropped on me, and suddenly lifted.
Anyway, we just sat there on our knees, there in the darkness, and nobody said anything for a long time.
Finally, somebody broke the silence. I don't know who it was, but he suggested that we go down to Bethlehem, to see this thing that had happened.
I'll tell you that we just up and left for Bethlehem. Left the flocks there all alone. Never did that before in my life, and never did it again, except for that one night.
We traveled as fast as we could. Each one of us in a daze, and not discussing what we had just seen and heard.
It was late when we arrived at the city, and how we found Him, I can only guess. The city was full of people for the census.
It was as if we were being led to Him. You know, like being pulled by a long rope.
It was in one of those caves in the hillside that are sometimes used as stables, that we found Him.
A young mother had just given birth, and the baby was wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. Just like we had been told. This was the Son of God! The Messiah!
No one spoke. We all fell on our knees and thanked God who in his infinite mercy had allowed us to share this moment.
All this happened so long ago, but I will never forget that night, or what happened.
No!never! (end and exit)                                        
         Aloha
         Grant

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Thoughts About Santa


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        Thoughts About Santa

      One Christmas etched forever in my memory is of two little girls, Jennifer and Jessica,   dressed in long flannel night gowns, with frilly cuffs, waiting for Santa. A fellow I knew who worked for Detroit Edison, often played Santa. He said that if I would give him two wrapped gifts, he would  make a surprise visit.  At the appointed hour and day, there was the sound of sleigh bells, the front door was flung open and there stood Santa! Both girls were simply in awe! With a hearty ho ho he handed them each a gift, and was out the door in a flash.
      One time when my youngest boy,  Jeremy, was in day care, I was asked to play Santa. I accepted the offer, and enjoyed the role.  I even held Jeremy on my lap, and he didn't recognize me!  I failed to receive an oscar for my performance, but I did get a bottle of booze. Best ever Santa, the ladies all said.
      And still trusting to memory, there was the Santa on the Island of Molokai. Tonto and I had spent a week on the Island, each December for some time. This Santa had on the traditional costume, but on his feet in place of boots, were two big brown feet attached to rubber sandals!
      And just recently, as we were heading home tearing alaong at a brisk clip, on the top of the mall, I suggested to Tonto, that if she would speed up, she could take out the huge Santa located there. Picture in the paper too. She declined.

          Aloha
          Grant

King Herod


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              King Herod
The following is a dramatic reading I wrote some time ago, for the Christmas season. You have only to dress King Herod, let him gesture, and speak these words:
     (enter Herod)
I tried to kill him. I really did. But I can't be sure.
Many others died too, but it couldn't be helped.  I mean, after all I am a king.
Kings sometimes have to do unpopular things.  I know that I am not loved by anyone, but that is alright, because I don't trust anybody either.
And that includes our "guests, the Romans."
(after a pause)
I have to tell you that it all began with the star. The news of the star, that is.
I was just finishing a plate of figs, when word reached me about a bright star over the village of Bethlehem.
You may think me mad, but my informers told me that it was unlike anything they had ever seen. Bright as the light of a thousand torches, and it stood still.
Normally, I would have shrugged off information such as this. A king hears many things.
But this was different. The information came from three men with royal bearing, who said they had been following this star for many weeks.
They were looking for the one who had been born King of the Jews. I was upset when I heard this, but I managed to conceal it.
(after a pause)
After dinner I called them together secretly and asked at what exact time the star appeared.
They told me, and I ordered them to search carefully for the child. And to let me know when they had found him, so that I might worship him too.
I think they believed me.
Of course I had no intention of worshiping a baby as a King of the Jews.
I am the king, and I will not tolerate anyone who is a threat to my power.
I thought they had believed me, but someone  must have told them. Because they did not return as I had ordered.
My informers told me that they had been warned in a dream not to return here.
That is, of course, nonsense. But I have also learned that they found the child and his mother in a stable in Bethlehem.
They were so convinced that he was the Messiah, they even gave him gifts.
Imagine, the King of the Jews, born in a stable!
It was laughable, but still a king  has to be careful, so I ordered that all baby boys two years old and younger, to be killed.
This way I thought he could not escape.
But I am troubled by a paradox. If he is the Messiah, and I say "if," born to establish a new kingdom, I may have missed killing him. And, if he really is the Messiah, have I killed him?
Do you know? Have you heard of the Messiah?
(End and exit)
 
          Aloha
          Grant

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Red Light and Being Driven



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              Red Light
Before my recent health problem, I used to walk with two of my friends, Phil and Jorge, early, very early (5:30 or 6:00 am) in Ala Moana Park.  The words mean "Ocean Drive".  It was very dark, quiet, and with the trade winds blowing, it was a great time to walk along the water. We noticed several times a small red light just off shore.  In time, we found out that the red light was operated by a small, thin 90 year old Japanese woman on a short surfboard.  Her husband, who waits on the shore for her, informed us that she was suffering from Parkinson's, and this was her way to fight it.  He also said that she was once a great athlete. When she finishes,  he takes her board and hands her the walker, and she makes her way to the nearby fresh water shower.  While all this goes on, their tiny white dog wipes its nose on the window of their car.  I wonder today if there is still a small, red light just off shore. 
      
              Being Driven

My doctor does not permit me to drive.  When I will be able to drive remains to be seen. This is a mean blow to the male ego, but Tonto is a very good driver, and so I must be content. My license will expire on my birthday, and so I must get a state ID card. Here is something you will find interesting.  The driving test is available in eight languages:
Tongan, Samoan, Tagalog, Mandarin, Korean, Vietnamese, Japanese and English.
The local paper recently reported that our state has the worst roads in the entire U.S. Here in the city the problem is magnified due to water main breaks under the streets. Pot holes are fairly often seen. Then too, tree trimmers block sections of some streets in order to remove palm leaves and coconuts. One single palm branch is heavy, and can cause damage to a car. I have seen this done to a windshield.  And as for coconuts, Tonto treated a woman tourist who had been hit on the head with a small one. ( a few years ago) And then there is the matter of cones. Orange in color, strings of them at some times of the day in order to change the flow of traffic from its usual direction, to the opposite. This often results in the loss of one lane. I failed to mention that a recent law now requires people riding in the backseat to also be buckled. However, people can ride in the open back of trucks without any. I grow tired and so must close for now but I must add that my dear 92 year old friend just renewed his Hawaii driver's license.      
                Aloha       
                Grant

My Early Childhood


          My Early Childhood 

 The early years of my childhood is a record of stories and memories. The story told of my overhanded throw of my bottle onto a cast iron floor register and shattering it. Then too, the story of my mother dressing me in a bright red coat so that I could be seen easily in the wide, empty farm yard.  No animals to pet or play with,but a rooster that liked to chase me. But here memory kicks in. I remember breaking several eggs into a large empty barrel, and stirring with a stick. I remember too how I stood sucking my thumb while watching the giant steam engine, and the wheat chaff blowing out of the mouth of a large pipe.  It was thrashing time, and it was our turn to have the wheat thrashed, and put into gunny sacks.  I tried to make my version of what I saw before me, with wood blocks and tin cans. Orly Swift, one of the neighbors, saw me with my thumb in my mouth and said that I was too big of a boy to be doing that, and he showed me his hand with a missing thumb. I was cured of the habit instantly. The farm was one of two owned by my mother's father, and we were living there.
 But now, only memory will be employed. My parents bought, or more likely, rented a small house in Michigan Center, just outside of Jackson, Michigan. The house consisted of a kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms. There was no bathroom, but there was an outdoor toilet, and a one car, empty garage.  All of our neighbors also had outside toilets. Behind our toilet grew many wild rhubarb plants. One game played by boys in the neighborhood was called "Golden Rod." A long stick would be thrust into one of toilet holes, and stirred around. Then the stick would be stood up against the rear of a toilet, with the messy part right side up. Then a sucker would be tricked into a race, the unsuspecting kid was to run around the corner and grab the stick and throw it. Pretty crude fun, but boys would also tear off the boards of the out houses in order to watch girls pee. We also briefly chewed road tar found in large barrels. When the war began we made grenades of clay and threw them at each other. Fighting took place with rubber guns. A pine board would be cut into a sort of gun shape. An inner tube would be cut into wide bands. Then, a couple would be used to attach a clothes pin. A rubber band or inner tube would be stretched over the end of the gun, and secured by the pin. When released by the pin the rubber band would fly, and if lucky, hit the other kid. And close up, it hurt. Two bolts could be screwed together on a single nut, containing a head of a kitchen match. When slammed on a hard surface, a loud report would result. There was also the game of "Kick the Can," under the street light at night. I can still recall the sound of screen doors slamming, and softly playing dance music. Our street was gravel, which made it fun to splash in puddles after a rain. I loved lying on my stomach watching it rain while looking through the front door screen. The house had a small front porch which was seldom used. In front of the house was a wide patch of purple violets covering the hidden septic tank. 
 My father was a guard at the Michigan State Prison in Jackson. I remember one time when he returned at night from a manhunt, and put his gun on the table. We had a canary named Johnny, raised in the prison. His cage was built there also. 
 And then came the war. My father went away to the Army, leaving my mother, sister, and me. We hung a small banner in our front window. My mother had two brothers, Tom and Sam. They also went away. There were a number houses on our street also with banners containing a dark star in the center. My uncle Tom had courted a girl who married another guy. She had a baby, and Tom bought a silver baby mug with the baby's name on it, and went away to war. He went to Canada and then to England, where he enlisted in the Royal Air Force.  As I think about it, maybe he went to England before we entered the war in late December. Anyway, he already had his pilot license, and may have taken part in the Battle of Britain in 1940. He never talked to me about the war. He did try to get me interested in radio, and I built two. I still remember his call letters were W8EYU. My other uncle, Sam, joined the Navy.  My mother taught school at a town called Vandercook Lake. I remember how in the dark early morning she would walk down to the bus stop and I would take my sister on my sled and travel the two blocks to the house where a woman whose name I can't recall, would take charge of us. My mother must have had a lot of guts. A job, two kids to raise, laundry, shopping, cooking, and a coal furnace. I remember carrying buckets of dirty water up the steps from the basement,and throwing it on my Victory Garden. 
I think it was Christmas at Grandma Beal's house when my mother suddenly took my sister and I back home. I never knew why, but I remember coming home to a dark, empty,cold house. A coal fire had to be made in order to try and get warm. There was probably no ice in the ice box, and no meat for Christmas dinner. Our next door neighbor who was a hunter had just killed a racoon. He gave it to us for our dinner. Some things like that, you remember. Meat was rationed just like most everything else. My mother later in life fondly recalled when she went to the butcher shop and Mr. Doan surprised her by wrapping up three pork chops, instead of her order. 
I remember too how the kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Arnold, taught us to grow wheat in a large box outside our class room window. I was finally taught how to skip by being chased around the piano. There was also a band. I played the bass drum, as did all the boys. The girls played a triangle, or twirled batons. We all wore red and white caps and capes. The scar over my left eye is long gone, but the memory lingers. I was pushed from behind while sliding on the ice, and hit my head on the ice. I was wearing a  flat army cap with a blue border. I was bleeding, and required seven stitches. My father sent me a German helmet, and we sent him cardboard boxes filled with socks,candy, and other stuff. He also sent letters called "V Mail." These letters were printed on photo paper and measured about five by seven inches. Some sentences were blacked out by censors. We had a map of Europe, and my mother tried to find where my father was. After the war, he said that she was often right. 
I was sitting in class, looking out the window when I saw a taxi stop at our house. This was unusual, as you never saw a taxi. I knew that it was my father. I asked the teacher if I could be excused. She told me I could, and I raced home. He had brought me a box with several plastic airplanes inside. I learned later that these must have been made for German kids. He also had three pistols, Nazi arm bands, a bayonet, and some German medals. The war was then over for all of us. 



Or We Will Cut It Off


     More Letters From Paradise

       Or We Will Cut it Off

You may well wonder what it is that will be cut off. (Think pure thoughts please) I am writing about surfboard lockers and locks. This is probably not a problem where you live. Here it is a problem. There are a limited number of lockers, and a long waiting list. Put your surfboard where it doesn't belong and not only will your lock be cut off, but your board will be taken!
Thinking of surfboards reminds me of the time when from a couple of floors above us, and we are on the 30th, a surfboard came whirling past our bedroom window hitting it, before crashing into the lake below. We found out later that a Korean woman was angry with some guy, and tossed it over the side. The poor unfortunate fellow was seen sloshing in the shallow water in search of his board. It is said that Korean woman have a temper. And, he put out the story that the wind blew the board off the lanai.
Tonto and I have seen a recent development in the surfboard department. This is stand up paddling. It seems that it is not enough to balance and ride the board, but now some people stand up on the board, and move it through the water with a single long oar. I wonder how the guys from Venice would do here in Hawaii. But at least when they were
dunked, the water would be warm, and a whole lot cleaner! 
There isn't a whole lot more I can say about surfboards, because I don't know much more. But I do know that Hawaiian kings used 12ft boards made from koa wood. Those boards must have been heavy as hell. It would have taken a couple of men just to take it to the water. And, as you would expect, the poor folk were made to use only short boards. I understand that boards today are made of molded styrofoam. I believe it, and you would too if you had seen a board with a shark bite taken out of it. 


                Aloha
                Grant

Be Prepared

   More Letters From Hawaii

             Be Prepared

 Hurricane warning. What's the first thing you should do?  You know, quick, fill the bathtub. Why? So you will be able to flush toilets when the power fails.  Flashlights, water, battery or crank power radio, can opener, canned food, Sterno camp stove, medicines, toilet paper.  Why toilet paper?  Because some time ago there was an emergency due to a dock strike on the mainland. Toilet paper was impossible to buy. That's probably why you always see shoppers with big packages of it. We also buy large packages, so as not to be caught with our pants down. 
Living out in the country back there in Michigan, Tonto and I were well prepared when the earthquake hit us back in 2006.  We were just leaving for church and heading for the elevator when it hit.  I wanted to go on, but Tonto persuaded me not to. Good move, or we would have been trapped for a couple of days. As it was the light fixture over the dining table was swinging back and forth.  When the quake had ceased, our neighbors on this floor, the 30th, joined us in a picnic  type  meal.  All the lights were out, and all of the city was in darkness. I cranked up the propane stove, and we all suffered with warm martinis.
                  Aloha
                  Grant

Big Door Problem and Fowl Play


     More Letters From Paradise


        Big Door Problem
Almost every morning, as is my custom, I go to our exercise room to do my thing.  When I arrive I have already done some exercises, which were shown to me at the Rehab Hospital of the Pacific. It's amazing what you can do with only a stool and a chair! 
Arriving this morning I found the door wide open. This is in violation of the new rules adopted by the condo board. This was the result of a fight between three residents over the question of the door being closed or open.  I must mention here that my occupants were the usual, an Australian woman and a Chinese woman. When I brought the matter to their attention, the Australian lady (Marlo, by name) remarked that she thought that the movement of air from the hall was important. Then Quan, the Chinese woman, unleashed a barrage of Chinese mixed with English.  Having a very limited knowledge Chinese, I came to understand that she was of the opposite opinion. You haven't seen anything unless you have seen a really pissed Chinese woman. I explained to them it was for their own safety, and the room is supposed to be air-conditioned.  Marlo quietly left, and Quan moved off to lift some weights. The door remained closed, and I wonder if in the morning, is my life is in danger? 

            Fowl Play

The morning paper carried a story about city chickens. Here is a short condensation of what it said: 
Some residents are complaining about noisy chickens. There is a city ordinance passed in 2000, that allows people to keep two chickens per household. Chickens making noise continuously for 10 minutes, or intermittently for a half-hour, are in violation of the law. A $60,000 contract was made to Animal Haven to trap and remove the birds. Three warnings are given, and then the matter is turned over to the police.  Do you suppose the police are tired of chicken?  Must be, as there are 400 complaints per month, and 60% of the crimes remain unsolved.  Fines range from a low of $50. up to $1,000, and 30 days in jail. What I want to know is where are my two chickens?

                Aloha
                Grant

Are You Smart as a Chimp? and It's in the Bag


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      Are You Smart as a Chimp?

 Probably not, when it comes to peeling a banana. Trying to peel it by bending, twisting, and at last in desperation using a knife. Chimps,on the other hand, being smarter, go to the bottom of the banana. Once there,they pinch the end and simply peel away. Why do you suppose it has taken all these years for us to learn this simple trick? Maybe it's because they have had years of practice, and we are just now starting to catch up. Now have courage,if chimps can do it, so can you! 

            It's in the Bag

 I was reminded the other day while looking at some of the old emails, and found this recipe: Omelette in a bag. I had long forgotten it. I suspect that it had its origins with the Boy Scouts. 
To serve one person (or two if on a diet) You need a one quart Zip-lock plastic freezer bag,two eggs,a handful of shredded cheese,some peppers (or other vegetable of your choice) and any other stuff you like. Then comes the hard part. you seal the bag and squish the bag around in your hands. Next, you place the bag into a pan of boiling water (no, the bag won't melt) for 13 minutes. When the time is up,open the bag and slide the omelette on to a plate and enjoy. Warning! do not use this recipe over a wood campfire without using both a pan and water.         Aloha
               Grant 

More Than Just a Tree

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        More Than Just a Tree

Hawaii too has pine trees. They are of two kinds, either Norfolk Pine, or Cook Pine. Similar looking, and yet different when seen up close. Consider if you will a section of a freshly cut pine. Notice how the branches are connected to the main trunk, and the many growth rings. 
Place a chunk of pine on a wood lathe and create a beautiful thin-walled bowl. Tonto and I recently met a man named Francisco Clemente who does just this. Apprenticed to his godfather in Spain, he learned to make chairs. But when coming to Hawaii, he was turning bed posts when the idea came to him to turn and carve pine into art objects. "The wood is alive and yet dead, and then it comes alive again," he explains. I saw this  most beautiful bowl, and Tonto and I agreed we had to buy it. The bowl is about seven inches in diameter and five inches high. Inside are streaks of green, and best of all are the dark eyes on the sides, looking like eyes. These are what once were the branches of the tree. It is so beautiful. In his brochure I noted that the artist placed 3rd in some wood working shows. I thought then who was first? God? Anyway, I hope Tonto can send out a picture of it. You can see some of his works at:
fclemente@hawaii.rr.com  or www.galeriaclemente.com 
I probably should not have gone on like this but when I like something, I really like something. Have I ever mentioned I really like (love) Tonto? 

                   Aloha   
                   Grant

War and Peace

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          War and Peace

Yesterday marked the 68th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima.  The Hiroshima Peace Bell was rung by a survivor, Mr. Keigo Hakojo. The service was held at the Izumo Taishakyo Mission here in downtown.  Singers from the YMCA and Pacific Peace- Makers sang "We Are the World."
But, unless I missed it, there was no mention of the 140,000 who died.  And Nagasaki was next to be bombed. The Japanese take the matter of the bombings of these two cities very seriously. But, so did my father who was in the army in Germany.  Having finished with the Nazis, these tired soldiers were being prepared to be sent to the Pacific.  News of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was greeted  with joys of relief.  I have talked to other men who had fought in Europe, and they too felt great relief.  The belief at the time was that the Japanese would have fought bitterly to defend their islands. They were already training civilians to march and be ready to fight armed with bamboo spears.  It was a hell of a choice President Truman had to face.  But why is it that women and children always have to suffer the madness of war?
I also urge anyone who has not yet read "Hiroshima" by John Hershey to read it. 

              Aloha
              Grant 

Seeing Red


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            Seeing Red

You no doubt, have an ordinary-looking coffee pot.  I don't.  Tonto and I were visiting Sam's Club when a beautiful blue coffee pot caught my attention.  Upon further investigation, we found that these pots came in many colors. They are square-shaped, and have all the bells and whistles.  And they are made in Canada!  That was hard to believe.  And best of all, they are gecko proof.  I will explain for recent readers of my letters.  
A couple of years ago, Tonto called to my attention that a gecko (small lizard) was floating inside with the coffee.  I had already had two cups.  Not the usual Folgers in my cup.  Anyway, this new pot with its enclosed sides should prevent this happening in the future.  There is nothing I have against geckos. They are supposed to bring good luck.  Also, they eat ants and cockroaches.  We had a couple living with us, and I was surprised, when opening a cupboard door, to find one looking straight into my eyes.  They must be strong climbers, as we live on the 30th floor. That's 300 feet.  Maybe they rode in on groceries.  Who knows?  The other day I found a baby one about two inches in size. Tonto said later that it had died.  Too bad, but if there is a small one, there must be a mother somewhere. 
But getting back to red.  Tonto made a red cloth cover for our ice cream machine. There is also the bright red cookie jar on the kitchen counter.  So, that's all I have to say except that the name of the coffeepot maker is "Bella."   
                    Aloha
                    Grant

Caroline


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              Caroline    
It is a wonder that what with all the sailboats around us here in Honolulu, that I had not thought of Caroline.  All of this happened some fifty years ago. 
I first saw Caroline when I was stationed at Coco Solo, Panama.  She was tied up to a large seaplane bouy.  She was about 32 feet long, constructed of wood, and had a raised cabin, with round brass port holes.  She was an old girl, needing some paint, and lots of work.  She was sloop-rigged, and her bottom was covered with barnacles, which I was later to find out. Her history was that she came from the East coast of the U.S., and had arrived here in Panama via the Panama Canal, brought through the locks tied to a passing freighter.  She was the property of two rich guys in our squadron.  My boss, Devore, had purchased a share in Caroline, and was eager to restore her to sailing condition.  In order to do this he needed help. That's where I came in. The prospect of sailing down the coast with a cargo of several cases of beer, some rum, and local ladies of easy virtue; who wouldn't enjoy a short sail?  The temptation was too much to resist.  I enlisted my paint brush.  Our planned destination was to have been Porto Bello, an old pirate hang-out in the 18th century, located somewhere along the coast.  I had not yet learned to sail, and I didn't know if Devore did.  But that didn't matter, you could always count on someone, when told the details of the coming voyage. 
Work proceeded well.  We painted the interior of Caroline, and were busy on her deck when Devore called to my attention that we were adrift.  Somehow we had become untied from the seaplane buoy.  I told him that it was not my boat, (this often said in boating circles) and he should go over the side, and tie us up.  He refused, saying that he couldn't swim.  I still don't know if he was not telling the truth, or that he was just chicken, because we had seen a couple of sharks around the boat earlier in the day.  This was a really big problem because the sails had been removed, and we were without an engine.  I knew this because the sails had been removed, and were currently in the photo lab where we worked.  What to do?  Drift on out into the Atlantic, or swim with the rope to the buoy, and never mind the sharks.  I reluctantly chose the second choice. I had not long been graduated from high school, and was a strong swimmer. I had earned my senior life saving patch, but I was scared silly.  And so, like Tarzan, with the rope in my teeth, I made an olympic free-style record, and made us fast again.  When Devore pulled me up over the side of the boat, my legs were ripped by the barnacles on the underside of the boat. 
The rest of the story is brief. Devore left for a 30 day leave back to his home on the West cast.  And one day soon after, Gene, one of the guys in the lab, who was also one of the photographers in our squadron, asked me what he should do to get even with Devore, something he was pissed about.  He felt that Devore should have to pay for what had been done to him.  I said in an off-hand way that he should sink his boat.  And that is just what he did. Devore returned from leave to learn that the Caroline had been sunk, and that a friend of his had had chains passed around the hull, and dragged the boat to the shore. Not long after that my squadron was moved to Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico.  And that was the last time I ever saw Caroline. 

              

The Unknown Poet



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         The Unknown Poet

 I am a 76 year old unknown poet,retired and living in Hawaii. For six years after living in Hawaii, and sending emails about our experiences, I felt obsolete with the coming of "Face Book." I had my collection printed,and a financial failure. But, so did Thoreau. So, I crept back into my shell, and was silent for the next two years. Then suddenly following my brain operations,(that was probably it) I began writing again. I have been writing seriously since my time in the Navy. Poems, short stories etc. I felt that I had been killed by the internet. But now, I realize now that, how many people buy books of poetry anyway? And so, if Walt Whitman, would have used the internet if it had been invented, why not me? I then embrace the internet,"Face Book" and others that I don't understand. I sing its praises, that which I had long rejected. And you are certainly less costly. 
My poems do not rhyme. I have no gift for rhyme. To those who do, I tip my hat to Rudyard Kipling, AE Houseman, Robert Service, and many others.  And then there is the old master, Robert Frost. Frost once wrote that blank verse that didn't rhyme, was like playing tennis without a net. That may well be true, but we should remember the ancient Greek poet Homer, whose poems didn't rhyme either. And what about Walt Whitman, whose poems ran through several editions of his "Leaves of Grass"?
My mentors have been Alan Ginsberg, Ken Patchen, and the "Beat Generation" poets of San Francisco. I greatly admire the poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay, Langston Hughes,and  Ezra Pound. Plus many others, who are without rhyme. 
My credentials are the experiences of my rich life, the places I have seen, and the people I have met. So, in my future letters,don't be surprised to find that I have slipped in  some of my early poems in with the adventures Tonto and I have here in Hawaii.
            Aloha
            Grant            

Pictures in my Mind

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         Pictures in my Mind 

 I now realize that I was too hasty in trashing some photographs taken in Panama, some fifty years ago. They exist now only in my mind. And if I could show them to you you would see in one, an old couple, they are brown-skinned, and she is holding a plate in one hand, and a fork in the other. The old grizzled -looking man is holding up a very large pork bone with both hands, and mimics chewing on it. The place is a wedding reception in a small village along a dirt road, which became the Pan American Highway. The name of the town is either Pina Nome(no may), or David (Dah-vid). 
 I attended the wedding at the request of my boss, Devore, who was in charge of the photo lab there in Coco Solo, Panama. He knew that I had been trained in a photo studio back in the states, and that I had shot a number of weddings. Devore had a friend who was a teletype repairman, married to a local girl. I think it was her sister who was being married. Get the connection? I jumped at the chance for adventure, and leaving the base. 
We arrived at the village, and discovered that we had the only car in town. The single connection these people had with the outside world was electric lights. Men came to the wedding on mules, while women carried jars on the top of their heads. The bride and groom rode in the car to the church, and were photographed in it. Following the wedding mass, I took all the usual photos.

The reception took place in the family four room house with a tin roof. So many attended that the reception spilled out into the yard. The father of the bride must have saved for a long time to provide a case of Scotch wiskey. There was also a native drink called "chicha fuerte" This was made from ground corn meal and sugar, a left to ferment. No distilling here. It was referred to as "strong corn." And it was! The main entree was roast pig. Music was provided by large drums and guitars. I remember a young girl standing in one corner, singing a solo. The music continued late into the night. I fell asleep listening to the pounding drums. In the morning I called upon my high school Spanish, for breakfast. We were the only English-speaking people in the village. I remembered a Spanish children's song,"Give Me Bread and Cheese." Coffee, needed no translation. And as for eggs, you never say "Have you any eggs?" This is considered a sexual insult. Rather, you should say "Are their eggs?" This information could save you a slap in the face, or a punch in the mouth. Anyway, I was fed, and my huge hangover retreated somewhat. As I write this there is still the sound of drums in my mind. 

              Aloha
              Grant

Archaeology in Hawaii


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        Archaeology  in Hawaii 

 I think everyone knows that archaeologists dig in ancient sites, and often use pottery to help reconstruct the past. From the study of these pots, cups, and bowls, much can be learned.  And so, if archaeologists would have dug in our kitchen, what might they have found?
One shelf full of coffee mugs. (The many others donated, failed to make the shelf).
The first one discovered is plainly marked "Alcatraz." It is black- painted, and was said to have once been the home of Robert Stroud, the Birdman of Alcatraz, Machine Gun Kelly, and Al Capone. Next to it is a white mug with three large Japanese characters on one side. We don't have to read Japanese, for the translation on the reverse tells that it marks a Great Sumo Tournament. Then there is one bright-red mug with the words "Keep Calm and Carry On." The origin of the mug is Portland, Oregon, not England.  No doubt a copy of the WWII British posters seen in England during the Battle of Britain. One white china mug appears to have come from Rome, Italy. On it are the Latin words "Roma Caput Mundi."   Translated means "Rome, Capital of the World."  And that was once very true. These Hawaiian people seemed to have traveled a great deal.  The next mug is white with red flowers all over it. There are also the words "Tahiti, Bora Bora, Moorea, and Raiatea."  This also was easily understood.  But closer to the site in Honolulu, we take down a mug which is white with green painted quilt patterns on it. There is another mug just like it but with pink patterns. This is a puzzle. For we know that Hawaii no longer has a queen, and in spite of the words "Queen Emma's Summer Palace," on one side, the bottom is marked with "Made in China." Another local find is a white mug with an old sailing ship on its side. The name of the ship is the "Falls of Clyde."  We find yet another mug from Italy. There are paintings of the Mona Lisa, and a painter named Da Vinci. Its origin is Monte Catini Alta, a little town located high in the mountains of Italy. 
One other strange find is a white mug with an adobe church painted on it. The writing on it tells us that it is from the Pueblo of Isleta, in Santa Fe. And again, on the bottom are the words "Made in China." Another mug appears to have come from California. There is a picture of a large round-pointed building, and the words, "Hotel Del Coronado".  We also know that this is what it is, because it said so on the side. And again the  words "Made in China" on the bottom. We must deduce from our finds, that pottery making was not a  part of their culture.  
There is also a white mug with the Greek words "Nepenthe," on it. We also know that the words mean anything inducing easeful forgetfulness. The place where it was purchased was Big Sur, in California. One of the most beautiful places along the coast. The actors Orson Welles, and Rita Hayworth, bought a house there, and it is said that she purchased some curtains for it, but that they never returned. And once again on the bottom of the mug, "Made in China." 
Closer to home in Hawaii are two mugs, one yellow-colored, marked "Hilo Hattie" on the bottom, and the other a blue and white mug with the words "Mama's Fish House Maui."  You can guess what is on their menu. And you would find on the bottom, "Made in China." One great find is a mug with the picture of an American president. We know this because there is his picture, and also his birth certificate on one side. There are a few more mugs remaining to be examined, but there is no more space to log them in the book. Perhaps another time when there is more paper and time. And what has this archaeologist learned from this study of mugs? Only that these people drank a lot of coffee, traveled a great deal, and always returned home to Hawaii.  

              Aloha
              Grant    

Georgia On My Mind


         Georgia on my Mind

 I think it was a couple of years ago, when Tonto and I visited the Santa Fe Art Museum. We were expecting to see a number of paintings by Georgia Okeefe. Alas, there were very few. You may remember her large paintings of a single flower. Some say that they depict the female vagina. She lived near Santa Fe, and used the desert as her palate. Anyway, our own Honolulu Art Museum, is now having a showing of some of her work, painted in Hawaii. We never suspected this, We always associated her with New Mexico. Also showing, are photographs by the famous photographer Ansel Adams. Again, we were surprised. We were well aquainted with his photos of the wide desert vistas. But,photos taken in Hawaii! And they are simply great! Having been a photographer myself, I was greatly impressed. As for the Georgia Okeefe exhibet, it was pretty poor. Only one large flower painting; a few smaller ones painted for Dole Pineapple Co. A sketch book,some pictures, and that's all. The point being I guess, is that she was here. 
 Thinking of Georgia Okeefe led me to the song "Georgia on my Mind"written by Hoagy Carmichael,which I am trying to learn to play. And, if you will permit me, a poem I wrote way back in 1984:

              Georgia

          Georgia I love you
      I love your red rich earth
        The bright green leaves
          of the pecan groves
             the twisted
             tortured limbs
            of the live oaks
         hung with Spanish moss.
         I love the smell of your       
         Pine and fresh-cut boards                     
           I love too the sound
             of your voices
            The crash of waves
              upon your beach
               a palm branch
              scraping against 
                 a window
           the rich dark laughter 
           of some of your people
                 Georgia
                I love you 

                 Aloha
                 Grant

More Letters from Paradise

The New Normal

Tonto and I used to joke that when we could no longer fly, we would get a dog.  Guess what? That time has suddenly come upon us.  We met with a neurologist, Dr. Olaru, yesterday and received some very sobering news.  Not only can I not drive, but I also cannot fly.  Or take baths, swim in a pool or ocean.  You see, in our ignorance, we assumed that the medicine I am taking would prevent further seizures.  Wrong!  It  does not do so.  There is a better than 50% chance that I will have another seizure.  Flying over the Pacific for 5 hours at 30,000 feet and having a seizure would be a most unpleasant event for all involved.  I had for a time, been down on the 6th floor exercise room and we thought that we could communicate with our cell phones.  Wrong again.  With a seizure, I would go out like a light.  These revelations and others were revealed to us by our dr.  We were then told we had two choices: either continue to live our life as usual, travel, etc, or continue to live where we are where we can receive medical care and where our records are.  We made the second choice.  But if we have to be stranded or isolated, what better place than Hawaii.  Tonto has cancelled our trips to the mainland and we are thinking about buying a dog.  We welcome visitors.  Thanks to Tonto I now have a website.  So to read more about our adventures from my standpoint see:

grantsmart@morelettersfromparadise.com

Aloha
Grant

Something About Papayas

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         Something About Papayas

      When Captain Bligh set sail on his ill-fated voyage on the ship "Bounty", he was part of a long tradition. His orders were to bring the plant known as breadfruit to the West Indies. It was seen as a cheap food to feed slaves. We all recall the mutiny, and that the plants were thrown overboard. The second try was successful, but the slaves would not eat it. It was not their native food.
      But, sometimes transplants really do take hold, and are accepted by the locals. Papaya is one of these. Papayas were brought here from Barbados in 1919. All that I know about papayas I learned from a most excellent article written by Lorraine Brooks, in our local paper. (See Monday 8/5/13 Honolulu Star-Advertiser)
Papayas are a short-lived perennial. And in our house, very short lived, as we consume one every breakfast.
     Whichever one of us gets there first, washes the papaya, and cuts it in half. Inside the are a large number of seeds which must be scooped out. I take a slice off of the bottom of each half. This causes the half to remain upright on a plate or in a dish. Tonto then fills each cavity with plain yogurt, and tops it off with blueberries. The blueberries come from California, Oregon, or Chile. She says that these are powerful anti-oxidants. I will probably never meet an oxidant because of this.
Papayas here cost from as little as 39 cents a pound in Chinatown, and as much as $1.79 a pound in the local store. The average seems to be abut a dollar a pound or so. We try to keep a supply on hand so that they become ripe when we want them.
      It may be surprising to you that many of the plants grown here anadmired,came from somewhere else.
                Aloha
                Grant
  

An Excellent Adventure


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        An Excellent Adventure

      My wild-haired friend from Tennessee, Ray, came by a couple of days before my birthday, and asked Tonto if he could take me to lunch. You see, someone should be with me at all times in case I have a repeat seizure. This most always has to be Tonto. So when he asked, she was pretty sure that he knew his numbers, and could find and call 911. I wasn't so sure, but decided to go with him anyway. This left Tonto to do all those things that girls do when they are not taking care of men.
       And so off we went in Ray's red painted Jeep.  With all of his wild hair, he is often looked at by the locals as one of them. That is until he speaks with the sound of Tennessee. Our destination was La Mariana, the last tiki bar in Honolulu. (I should explain that a tiki is a god. And there are many of them. They are most often carved from wood,have angry faces, and are sold to tourists.)  La Mariana has a sailing club and a good restaurant. Many carved tikis are seen on posts.  It is the first stop for people we meet at the airport, sometimes for lunch, or dinner, depending when their flight lands.
      La Mariana is located on Sand Island, in a very industrialized section. Very poor-looking, area. This place seldom sees tourists, unless someone tells them about the place.  There is a small strip mall and a couple of gas stations after you turn on Sand Island Access Road.
   You enter between tiki carved posts, to find yourself in a seedy-looking tropical bar. I heard a woman once say that she expected to see Humphrey Bogart walk through the door at any time. The ceiling is covered with fishing nets, and glass floats. There are also large lamps with shades made from scallop shells. Tiny lights shine amid the fishing nets, always ready for Christmas.  And in one corner, a live tree extends up through the roof. Tables and chairs are scattered throughout the room. A row of booths line one wall, with a glass ceiling over the area. Sort of an attempt at creating an atrium. There is a bar set back against another wall, and the kitchen that remains hidden. I feel that some of the charm was lost when they replaced some of the high-backed, and regular chairs with their greased stained arms.
The place had been owned by a 90-year-old woman whose name I fail to remember. She died a couple of years ago, but the place continues to be operated by a loyal group. She could most always be seen seated at a small table, with her dog at her feet, looking out over her patrons. There is a small memorial of photos placed there now.
      She also employed blind piano players, who played so loud sometimes that you simply could not talk over the music. And blind piano players continue the tradition. But the music is less loud.
      Sorry, I just got carried away. On with the adventure. Ray and I ordered (mah-mahi and burger). I asked to see the woman manager. She remembered me, and I asked how my suggestion worked. She told me that she did as I had said. Flies had often been a big problem. I had told her to take a quart freezer bag and fill it a third or half with water and suspend these bags along the edge of the roof. I had learned this trick at another restaurant here on the island. It seems to work. Why it does, we still are not sure, but think it has to do with the fact that flies have many eyes and the watter filled bags must appear large and fill them with fright. Anyway, the manager was filled with joy and to thank me, picked-up our $25  tab.
      On with the adventure. Sand Island is the home to the Coast Guard, and they moor two big ships there. They are about the size of Naval Destroyers. There is one area of wood buildings dating from WWII or earlier, which are riddled with termites. You can see the damage from the road. I think that without street noise, you could have heard them chewing. I wanted to show Ray one particular building which housed a museum and army surplus store. It had been some time since I had been there with my friend Paul, and it was no longer there. This was also the building where bodies of our guys were returned from Vietnam. I wrote all about this in my old "Letters From Paradise."
      Along there also are the places where shipping containers are loaded and unloaded. This is where you go if you want to ship your car to the mainland. Across the road are several huge fuel tanks.
     You must cross a bridge shortly after leaving La Mariana.  Continuing on out to the end of the island are a number of small raised bunkers, once used to store ammunition. Sand Island was also once used as an internment camp for loyal American Japanese.  Today there are picnic tables, showers, and toilets. There is also a large red dirt baseball field.
      Well, our adventure ended and I'm glad I didn't get a chance to see if Ray knew  his numbers.

               Aloha
               Grant
  

I Like Aprons



I Like Aprons

Maybe I just got into the habit of wearing an apron working at the A&P supermarket, while in high school. Anyway, I always wear one while cooking. There are some very good reasons to do so. First of all, it protects your clothes if you are wearing any. And an apron is a good place to dry your hands, or a towel, if one is hanging from it. The single most important feature of an apron is that it must have two large pockets on the front. These are essential for carrying bottles of wine or other beverage. These pockets will hold handfuls of silverware, salt and pepper shakers, and small kittens or puppies.
I have several aprons, but I must mention a couple of odd ones I have acquired. The first one is made out of a used Japanese rice bag. Another apron which was a gift from our friends, Jim and Ann, is made to be beer proof. It is slick-looking and has a can holder, with an opener attached. A very interesting and useful variety. And then there is the everyday apron, the beer apron, which meets all the requirements from Connie and Ray, with its subtle from lettering, "Welcome to the Brew-Ha-Ha."
I thought had seen it all until my recent birthday. Our friends Gary and Lori from the Big Island gave me the gift of a welder's apron! I am now protected at the kitchen stove for temperatures up to 1,000 degrees, and it weighs a ton. I think I still like aprons.
Aloha
Grant
 — in Honolulu.