Dome Sweet Dome

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           Dome Sweet Dome
      A popular book in the late sixties and early seventies was "Operating Manual For Spaceship Earth." Its author was  a professor at the U. of Illinois, named Buckminster Fuller.   In the book he wrote that we should look on our earth as if it was a spaceship hurtling through space.  And on the ship people had to rely on food, water etc.  Our job is to conserve and take care of our planet in order to survive. Good advice then, and even more so today.
       He is also the inventor of the geodesic dome. You know, those connections of triangles.   And that is where I come in.   I helped construct, and owned,  two domes.  I was part of the back to the land movement, and, as such, had a small farm.  I wanted a greenhouse.  I had learned much at the U. of Mich.:  How to graft, bud, seed propagation, etc.  I bet you didn't know that you can graft together a potato plant to a tomato plant, and have in a pot, tomatoes on the top, and potatoes on the bottom. That's because they belong to the same genetic family.  But now getting back to domes.
       My first dome was rather small and dumpy looking.   It was about 15 ft in diameter, and about 7 or 8 ft high. It was built out of 1x2 pine, and covered with white plastic.  To attach the triangles you had to drill two holes in each one, and then bolt them together.   It took a lot of time, and you had to have a ratchet.  When finished, it worked fine, that is, until one of my pigs got loose and punched a couple of holes in it.  So much for that one.
      The second dome was much bigger, 25 ft dia. and about 10 ft. high.  It was constructed of redwood, and covered with vinyl.   Two of my students helped me build this big one.  When finished, it looked like a giant soap bubble.   It was a Sunday when we put in the final bolt.  A wire was strung from the top of the dome to a long steel rod in the ground.  I would finish the tie downs after school Monday.  As luck would have it, a very powerful wind storm arose, and when I came home I found 109 triangles all over the field.  Would I build another if I had the chance?  No, I don't think so, been there and done that.
        Domes are really wonderful, the sense of space and the absence of walls. But domes have the problem of leaks where the triangles are joined. And our problem with the big dome was not tying it down, but also covering it with vinyl.  For that material does not block the sun's rays.  While working on it you could get a sunburn.  Still, it could have been painted with white wash as green houses do. Anyway, it was an adventure.
       Aloha
       Grant

Thank You for Asking

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         Thank You For Asking
      How do we occupy our time while living here in Hawaii?   There are a great many things we have to take up our time, and it isn't spending it on the beach either.
      First, it's appointments with our doctors.    It is often said here that if you didn't have dates with your doctor, you would not have any social life.   I have three, four if I count the dentist. Tonto has three also, plus the dentist.   One doctor said that you should take a pill for every decade of your life.  I take six.  I still have one more to go. ( I am 77 ears old.)
      And, there are prescriptions to pick-up. Both of these events are most often at very inconvenient times.
       More of the have to do,'s are buying food and all the other stuff that life requires.  We shop at Cosco, Sam's Club,  Wal-Mart. and Don Quxiote.  The first three are familiar, but the last one is part of a Japanese chain of stores. Why Don Quxiote? and why is their mascot logo a penguin?  Who knows? We sure don't.   A very interesting store with the store divided in half, more or less, with Asian food on one side and haole food on the other.  The two sides  meet, though, in the dairy, meat, fish, and booze sections. There are often food and sake offerings.   "Here, have a couple of cups of sake."  Sake is sometimes served in square wood boxes about 3x4 inches.  I was given two.  I could go on and on about this store but there are other things to occupy our time.
      The hotels in our neighborhood have cheap pupu's and live music.   It is nice to spend an evening by the ocean with our friends, Connie, Ray, Paul, Pete, and Ann sitting on chairs we brought, in the sand, listening to the music, and drinking booze we brought with us. Total cost zero. We also have church and the Elks Lodge.
      If we feel that we want some culture, there are the museums, opera in season, the symphony, hula shows etc. And when we have guests, we make sure that they get the full treatment; seeing Hawaii through the eyes of residents. There is more I could add, but what about here at home?
      Tonto and I exercise in the morning, read two newspapers, and she consults her computer.  She is in charge of our library on Thursday each week.   I am on the Board of Directors,  and am up for re- election.   I fix breakfast, clean up and go the the exercise room and ride the bike for 3 or 4 miles.  It's while I am on the bike and others are all plugged into whatever, that I think about what to write next.
We often attend movies, I write for my blog, and practice my ukulele.  And we read a lot.
Tonto is a member of the "Daughters of Hawaii," and a monthly "Birthday Club." As for me, I belong to a Friday breakfast group called "Romeos." (Retired Old Men Eating Out.)
      We have a tightly-knit group of friends which we call the "Tribe."  In order to gain entry, you must answer the invitation question correctly,  "What is your favorite vegetable?"  If the answer is"green beans." You are accepted into the tribe.  Coaching is allowed.  As a tribal member you agree to  help each other at all times. Members of the tribe were at my hospital bedside for a long time. There are also airport trips, both in and out. Also, there are meetings where food and beverages are served.  And so, that's how we spend our time.  Thanks for asking.

             Aloha
             Grant        

Tom and Margaret Martin

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        Tom and Margaret Martin
Tom and Margaret Margaret you are dead.
      But you already know this.
I am reminded of this fact each time
     I pass the weed-grown corner
    where your store used to stand.
      I recall hearing that when
           Margaret died
     You sat with her body for
    three days in the back room.
    And nobody would have known
except that teenager (what's his name?)
      wanted to buy something
  and you told him you were closed
     because your wife was dead.
     The boy ran off in a panic      
       and called the police.
  Soon after I learned that you were      
        declared unbalanced.
   You died in the State Hospital.
Tom, I remember that you got shot
in the knee in Archangel, Russia
      during World War I.
  Margaret was a British Wren,
 and you brought her to America.
    Your building stood empty
        for a few months.
Some kids broke most of the windows.
After that, the store was knocked down.
All that remains to mark the spot
is the faded, peeling Texaco sign.
   In the summer some people
 sell vegetables on the corner.
But I wonder, how many remember
      Tom and Margaret?  

          Aloha
          Grant

Summer Sounds Remembered

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       Summer Sounds Remembered
      One sound was baseball.  It wasn't so much the game's win or loss,  but the sound itself.  The   announcer's eager voice, the roar of the crowd when a ball was hit or a man scored.  Every so often the voice urged you to buy Blue Blades or Stroh's beer.
      There were other sounds too. The creak of a porch swing, and the slam of a screen door.
Another sound was the clickety click of the push mower as it mowed down the protesting grass.  Then silence for a moment,  only to be repeated again.
      And as twilight turned into night there were other sounds.  Crickets and frogs sang, while radios played dance music, and an army of small boys played kick the can under the street light.

           Aloha
           Grant

Want to Play?

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           Want to Play?
It's a Kendama. A two- century old wood toy from Japan.  It is a short turned wood shaft with a point on one end. There is also a short shaft with shallow cups at each end, forming a cross.  A wood ball with a hole drilled in one side, is attached to the crossed shaft by a long string.  The idea is to toss the ball in the air and try to move under the ball and catch it in one of the two cups, or even harder, catching it on the point of the shaft.  Some Kendamas are painted and sell for big bucks, $65. or so. Tonto found one for us on line for $15.  I found it pretty difficult, but learned that you don't swing the ball out in front, but simply toss the ball in the air and quickly move under it.   I  saw a very small boy in church today, who repeatedly caught the ball on the point of his Kendama.  I congratulated him, and ask how old he was.  He held up five fingers.  He and his brother said that they had owned them since Friday.
Kendamas have been banned from  the area schools because they may promote gambling. Also, there have been several Kendama competitions. Just think, no batteries required.
 
          Aloha
          Grant

Taking Stock

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             Taking Stock

      Now, in my 77th year, I thought it best to take stock of my life.  I have been blessed.  I have survived an incident with my heart, and two brain operations.  I enjoy a very happy marriage.  I have sired four children and have three beautiful grandchildren.  I have been loved, and I have loved.  I also have known moments of great joy, and great grief.

      Many good friends I have, and a few enemies.  Someone once said that "a man without enemies is lacking in character."  I received an excellent college education for my profession of teaching for 30 years.  I served in the Navy for four years.   

      I have done some things that I am not proud of, and some things that I am very proud of, such as running in several 26 mile marathons.

      Travel has played a large part of my life.  I have stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon and gazed in awe! The marvels of the Sistine Chapel, the vaulting of the great Gothic cathedrals, are mine too. I climbed the hill of the Acropolis and stood in the center of the Parthenon.  The Colosseum and Pantheon in Rome are also mine. The Elgin marbles in the British Museum, and Notre Dame in Paris, I claimed them as my own. 

      I have walked the silent streets of Pompeii, yelled at the bullfights in Madrid, and sang with the crowd in a beer hall in Munich.  

      I have seen the birth of both the atomic and hydrogen bombs, television, computers, and a man on the moon.

      I evidenced the genocide of millions of innocent people.  And WWII has been followed by several other wars.

      I have seen the election of the first black president, and the assassination of another. 

I became acquainted with great classical music, opera, and great literature. I also developed a taste for a medium-rare steak, red wine, and 12 year old Scotch. 

      I have greatly enjoyed the art of the great masters. The smell of pine, and turkey roasting in the oven, are to be remembered. I have sailed on the great oceans of the world, as well as Lake Erie, and the canals of Venice. 

      I have felt the touch of snow flakes on my face, and the soft touch of a baby rabbit in the palm of my hand. Oh, there has been so much in my life.   I was a Justice of the Peace,  a pastor, farmer, photographer, apiary inspector, and leather craftsman.

      Tahiti, Bora Bora, and home here in Hawaii.  

In spite of Pascal's Wager, I hope for the promise of an afterlife.  I have no regrets, I have had a rich, full life. 

    

         Aloha

         Grant

      

On Writing

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            On Writing
      I have long been interested in writing.  The scratches made by prehistoric men, the cuneiform marks on the clay tablets of ancient Mesopotamia, and the early Minoan script of Ancient Greece. I find it interesting that early written Greek is without any periods. This has led to some differing translations of scripture. Missing periods can cause other problems as well.  I admire the flowing Arabic script, but know nothing about it. Then there are the Chinese with their character  symbols which require a person to memorize at least six thousand in order to read a newspaper. The Japanese adopted the same system. The Koreans did not. I understand that they have an alphabet. That's about all I know. Then let's not forget the ancient Egyptians with their picture script.  Imagine writing a letter with it.  It was translated by a Frenchman named Champollion. The angry faces of the Mayans, and Aztecs too, should not be forgotten. And Sandscript.  It boggles the mind.  So many forms of writing.  I greatly admire the penmanship of our "Founding Fathers."  Imagine sharpening a goose quill, dipping it into ink made from iron filings. I feel a kinship with their struggles.
      Way back in olden times when I was a boy, we used long wood pens with steel points. They were dipped into ink wells, usually. The paper was thick, with ruled lines. Over the chalk board were cursive letters to copy. Not so easy if you were left-handed.  Most of you (the majority of the population) are right handed. When you write the ink flows behind you.  Not so with lefties. Notice how left-handed people most often bend their wrist,  looking like some one who has had a stroke. This is done to avoid getting ink on the under side of their hand. Not only was the ink a problem, but often the steel pen just tore into the paper. Not much fun. The funny thing is that I can't recall ever having had a left-handed teacher.  Hence, my writing is pretty poor.
      I heard lately that cursive is no longer taught in schools. A guy I once knew named Don Thurber, invented a system which made the transition from printing to cursive very easy. He called it "D'Nealian."  Some of you teachers may even have used it.
      A fellow I met here in our condo is a teacher in one of the public schools.  He informed me that student papers are all printed.  He tries to tell them that on timed tests, more time is used to print than writing in cursive.
      And speaking about writing on tests. I recall that at U of M, when it came time for a test, you would buy a blank "blue book." Two or three questions were put on the board. Your job was to fill the blanks pages of your book. I remember that one time a girl seated near me was not writing in her book, she was drawing flowers all over the pages. Was she not prepared, or simply "high?"   We may never know.
                Aloha
                Grant

A Gift for my Son

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         A Gift For My Son
I thought it might be interesting to write the outline of a short story in the form of a dialogue.
" You asked me to come and see you, Sir."
"Yes, I don't believe that you knew your father."
"No, I didn't, my father died before I was born. All I have ever known is that he died in prison."
"He left some things for you.  I was to wait until you were old enough to understand.   Now I think the time has come.   I am very old, and my health is not good, and I don't know how much time I have left."
"What is it that my father left me?"
"I will show you.  They are in that metal box over there in the corner."
"What are these?"
"They are called books."
"I have heard about them, but I have never seen one before.  They were all destroyed in the "Great Burning."
"Yes, I know, but they were not all destroyed.   There were people like your father who cherished books."
"What happened to them?"
"They were sent to prison.  Your father's crime was that he had a  book. These books were his.  I promised I would keep them for you.  You may never have heard of these titles: "Walden," "War and Peace," Holy Bible,""Crime and Punishment," and several others are in the box.  I think you should start thinking about finding a secret place for your books.  There are many others hiding books, and they will contact you."
"I don't see why books are so important, I have my tablet."
"Yes, as long as it is charged.  But with a book, no one can tell you what to read or when you can read.  Don't your eyes grow tired staring at a lighted screen?  The choice is yours.  You can either hide and read your father's books, or turn them over to the police.  I hope that you will make the right choice."  END
This could, with uniforms, plastic, and stainless steel, become a short story.
Sci Fi, you say.  Maybe not.  Remember, in Nazi Germany books were burned. The idea for this story came about because of an article concerning the public library in San Antonio,Texas.  It is without a single book. Only tablets, and this idea seems to have generated great deal of outside interest.
I own two Kindles. On the first one, I have read a great number of books. The second has a lighted page. On it I am reading Nelson Mandela's "Conversations With Myself." I am also reading James Joyce "Ulysses," but not on a kindle.  I began reading it years ago, but gave up.  I know now that I wasn't old enough, nor well-educated. The book sings with the Irish tongue.
In spite of all the wonderful technology, I still prefer turning the pages of a BOOK.
          Aloha
          Grant
           

Jail Birds

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            Jail Birds

A  neighboring school district  saw the first of many clashes between teachers and school boards. the problem could be traced to a statement made by Mark Twain. "God created idiots first, and then he made school boards." Sadly, this is often the case.

The teachers in this district had worked hard to obtain a contract, but to no avail. They resorted to the use of the press and television, in order to tell their story. They also resorted to picketing school board meetings. Still, no contract. In sheer frustration, a strike vote was taken. The teachers struck. 

The Superintendent and School Board obtained a court order, which ordered the teachers to return to work, or go to jail. Faced with this threat, the majority of the teachers returned to their classrooms. 

There were a few stalwart males, who refused to bow to this order. They then were arrested, finger printed, photographed, booked, and locked up. Their crime was refusing to teach without a contract. 

And much later, a contract was settled. The ex-prisoners were all transferred to unpopular  positions in buildings far from the main building. The Superintendent found a job in another district, and the judge who sent the teachers to jail died. He was fondly remembered by one of the jailed teachers, by hanging the picture of the judge over his basement toilet. True story.  

            Aloha

            Grant           

            

Da Smokehouse

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           Da Smoke House
I felt naked, as I was the only one a the bar without a tattoo. It was not yet noon but some of the persons were clinging to their stools, and fighting the sound of the ice in their glasses.  Hemingway would have loved this place, as he wrote about" some worthless characters."  The barmaid was discussing her plans for decorating her one arm. The other one was already covered with a dragon.       She wanted this arm to tell a story. A well-worn woman came in and took a seat. "Coffee," she said. "We don't have any," came from the other side of the bar. "That's o.k., I'll have a beer." The bar clock read 9:25 a.m. Other patrons clutched their beer bottles and mused about the previous night. One guy said that he had never seen so many tits and tattoos in his life. Some grass too.
You may ask why this writer was also occupying one of the stools. It's like this. Tonto promised some new, never-been used martini glasses to the owner of the bar.  I was the designated bearer of the glasses.  And so it was, in the early morning January First, 2014, at the Smoke House, Honolulu, Hawaii.
I have never been an admirer of tattoos. I know that in Western culture, they were used to mark criminals. In the Pacific, tattoos are a part of family history and culture. Some of them are quite nice. But I remember when I was in the Navy watching, as a drunk 17 year old climbed into his bunk, with a tissue on his arm covering the words "Death Before Dishonor," or maybe "Mother," with a red heart." I think it is so sad to see an attractive girl with with a tattoo while wearing formal dress. And there are people who have tattoos where you could only guess they might be. If you change your mind about removing the name of your old girlfriend, the process is both expensive and painful. But live and let live, if you desired it, enjoy your tattoo. But, as for me, I think I'll pass.

            Aloha
            Grant












 

Pigs in Paradise

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          Pigs in Paradise
I like pigs. I used to raise pigs. Pigs were often called a "mortgage-lifter." That was because when money was short, you could always sell a pig.  I did, several times.
Pigs are not dirty.  Pigs are clean, if housed in clean pens.  Not only could you sell a pig, you could buy one also. When I was farming, you could buy a small pig for about nine dollars. You carried it home in a burlap bag, or poke. Hence the phrase, "pig in a poke."  One sow I owned had a litter of 13 piglets, and raised every one.   Pigs are very smart too. You may remember the pigs in George Orwell's book, "Animal Farm." They were smart.
I once had a pig I was trying to confine with a single-strand electric fence.  This pig just walked up to it, pushed the insulator up, and walked out to freedom.
There are all kinds of pigs: Duroc, Poland China, Hampshire, and Yorkshire.  There is  also the "long pig," which was eaten by cannibals here in the Pacific many years ago. And what about "pigs in a blanket", or Kahlua pig?
But, I am supposed to write about pigs in Hawaii. Wild pigs are a problem here on Ohahu. There are so many, and they cause damage to lawns and gardens. A fellow had a contract paying him $58,000 a year to solve the problem.  Just recently an association of pig hunters have offered to solve the problem for free, if they could keep the meat.  This seems like a no-brainer, but we await a decision.
The latest news from the morning paper is that reproductive scientists, from our own University of Hawaii medical school, have created 10 piglets that glow green  under black fluorescent lights. Imagine, you could find your pigs in the dark!  The green color shows that the flurorescent genetic material injected into pig embryos was incorporated into the animal's natural makeup. The goal of the research is to introduce beneficial genes into larger animals, to create less costly and more efficient medicines.
Earlier this year, Turkey used the same method to produce  "glowing green rabbits." I also used to raise rabbits, but none of them ever glowed green. (The scientific stuff I stole from our newspaper.)

           Aloha
           Grant        

Spellbound

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             Spell Bound
Honolulu continues to offer surprises. Eating establishments come and go. Mostly go, due to greedy landlords.
Tonto and I had been informed by our two good friends, Connie and Ray, about a new restaurant. It's called "Yogur Story,"and it has a Korean owner. The place is very difficult to find, tucked away amid a cluster of Korean stores. When we asked the waiter about the name, and he said that the Korean owner had a yogurt machine, coffee, and wi-fi, back in Korea. He doesn't speak any English, so he named this place "Yogur Story," This is probably because the place has a second floor. Our informant didn't know if there is a letter "T," in Korean.
The house special is waffles. All kinds of toppings. Other stuff too. Breakfast and lunch only so far. Who knows what's next?

           Aloha
           Grant

The Unending Task

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           The Unending Task

Prehistoric Man covered himself and herself with the skins of animals. This was because  skins provided warmth and protection from the weather. But with the birth of spinning and weaving, laundry was also born.
Washing clothes is never very much fun. During some periods of history, it was even ignored. Some fellow whose name I have forgotten wrote that the people living in the Palace of Versailles, at the court of King Louis XIV smelled very bad. In fact they stank. They covered themselves with perfume to cover the smell. They didn't bathe, and neither did their clothes get washed.
The English didn't smell very much better. Clothes were seldom washed. It was not very much fun to wash clothes.
I remember seeing women in Mexico washing clothes in a river, and beating them with rocks. The same thing is true today in many  parts of the world.
My earliest association with laundry was as a boy, during WWII. It was my job to empty the washing machine, and the two rise tubs. I would climb the steep basement stairs, and throw the bucket full of water on our Victory garden. This took many trips, and it was the only real work that I did.
The procedure was as I remember, first,  sort the clothes into piles according to color, dark clothes separated from white clothes. I remember sometimes having pink underwear, due to some mistake. The clothes went into the washing machine, where they were moved about by the agetator. Then they were put through a pair of rollers. The clothes went through both rinse tubs, wrung damp-dry and hung up to dry in the basement or the backyard, during good weather. It was always interesting to see frozen pants on the clothes line.
We are so happy that today our machines require less labor. Our washer and dryer are stack units. Washer on the bottom and dryer on the top. But for really big loads of rugs, we use the big machines in the laundry across the street, run by a Vietnamese, who I suspect has turned down the temperature on the dryers, in order to receive more quarters.
There is one solution to solving the problem of laundry. But, going around in the buff is frowned upon, even here in the tropics. And there is also the chance of sunburn and bug bites.  
             Aloha
             Grant