Shaken, Not Stirred

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         Shaken,Not Stirred
All of us remember the famous words spoken by James Bond, "Shaken, not stirred." We were led to think that he was talking about a martini. We were wrong, he meant riding the bus here in Honolulu. It is there that you get shaken, due, no doubt, to the many pot holes in the city streets. We have some of the worst roads in the country, but we also have one of the best bus services to be found anywhere.

Before I discuss busses and bus service, let me talk about bus stops. They are varied in number. Many have benches with an oriental- style roof, and many in the city are without benches. This is because the benches have been removed to prevent bums from sleeping on them. They are replaced with round concrete mushrooms. Two or three in number.

There are regular-size busses, and some double-size with an accordion pleat joining them together. It is fun to sit in the middle four seats, where the two parts of the bus is connected. When making a turn, those four seats revolve. Some of the busses have a bike rack on the front. It can hold two bikes. When you enter the bus you find that the driver has lowered it, making the bus level with the curb. A special feature on each bus is the front few seats can be moved upwards to accomomdate a wheel chair. There are also locking devices for the chair.

If you really want to see the ethnic mix of the people here in Honolulu,there are two places to go. One is Wal-Mart, and the other is the bus. Though sometimes really jam-packed, people are very nice and polite.

It is possible to take the bus all around the entire island. My friend Ray has made threats that one day we will jump on any bus, and keep making transfers, just to see where it will go. Also, senior citizens can buy a year-long pass for $30.00. Regular bus fare is now $2.50. Still, a good deal. Many people ride the bus, rather than own a car. Bus drivers are helpful, directing tourists to the proper bus. And, in conclusion I would suggest that you try and not get a seat directly over the wheels. Pretty bumpy there. Remember the pot holes and "shaken, not stirred."

           Aloha
           Grant

The Great Flood

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          The Great Flood
Unless you have studied Ancient History, you are probably unaware that there is another story of the flood as told in Genesis.

The Sumerians were ancient people who inhabited the land between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. This area is known as Mesopotamia,which means the land between two rivers as in modern day Iran and Iraq. This area is often rightly called  the "Cradle of Civilization." Very ironic when you consider what is going on there today.The Sumerians are responsible for creating 21 contributions to civilization. I can't remember all 21, but I can remember two. They invented writing, and the wheel. As great as the Inca and Aztec civilizations were, they never developed the wheel.

And, the Sumerians were the first people to both write and keep written records. There are historical records and literature. The writing is called cuneiform. The name means "Wedge Shape" from the Latin. Soft clay was  pressed with a wedge-shaped stick. Some of these clay tablets are very small, while others are the size of your hand, or even bigger. This writing can be read today.There is a long story called the "Epic of Gilgamesh." There are piles of these tablets, and many are to be seen in museums.
Now, at last, I come to my main point, and that is that these clay tablets contain a story of a man, like Noah, who experienced a great flood. The same story which is told in Genesis. So, the question is; is the story of Genesis borrowed from the Sumerian account, or is it simply another confirmation of the story told in Genesis?
At any rate,  one thing we do know, is that there was indeed a great flood. Archaeologists have confirmed this as a fact.

And, now on the lighter side, remember the funny telling of the flood by the comedian Bill Cosby?  God said to Noah he wanted him to build an Ark. Noah asks, "What's an Ark?"  Noah protests, and God asks him, "How long can you tread water?" If you have missed this, look it up, it's really funny.

      Aloha
      Grant

Two Old Poems

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           Two Old Poems

              Spring
        Frogs are singing
         spring is here!
You can see it in the buckets
of seeds in the feed store
Piles of green plastic hoses
swollen buds of maple trees
    and lilac bushes
    but outside it is
        snowing

     Planting Time
  Old timers say the
     best time
   to plant corn
is when the oak leaves
  are the size of a
   squirrel's ear
 I took my problem
to the local expert
in my front yard tree
He did most of the
    talking
but I did get a
good look at his
     ears

         Aloha
         Grant    

Footprints

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            Footprints
I got to thinking today that everywhere we walk and live, somebody has been there before. On my small acre of land, it must have been where Indians once camped. My land was somewhat higher than the surrounding land. And,I had a giant oak tree which when measured was 13 ft. in circumference. I had a set-to with a drunken farmer who rented the field next to me. He said that the tree shaded his corn. He wanted me to cut some limbs. I did not, much to his dismay.

One time I built a concrete form for a back step to the kitchen, and dug up several Indian artifacts. So my hunch was right. I remember too finding arrowheads in the field after a rain. The Wyandotte Indians had left their footprints.

Another time, I discovered a buried brass gunpowder flask, beside a wall of a shed. But alas, no rifle. I think that the powder flask must have hung on the wall of the shed, and the strap holding it was cut either by rats or the passage of time. Again, more footprints from a previous owner.

I have come to learn that the drunken farmer is gone, but so is that huge tree. But they are still alive in my memory, and now on the printed page and the internet.

      Aloha
      Grant
     

John Brown

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            John Brown
A woman I met last evening told me that the deed to her farm listed the fact that it was once owned by John Brown.This was the same John Brown who led the attack on the Federal Arsenal at Harper's Ferry. If you were not sleeping in your U.S. History class, you may remember that this was one of the big events leading to the Civil War. Remember the people called "Abolitionists," who wanted to abolish slavery? Sure you do, you were paying attention. John Brown, his sons, and a few slaves attacked Harper's Ferry Arsenal in order to get weapons, and arm the slaves. He was captured, tried and hanged.

With the coming of the Civil War, a Union marching song was popular. "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave...but his truth goes marching on."

In Paris in 1926, an American poet named Stephen Vincent Benet, wrote a long poem called "John Brown's Body." It won him a Pulitzer Prize. He took as his subject the entire Civil War. Some of the poem is in rhyme, other parts are in blank verse. The war is seen through the eyes of some principal characters. There is a young boy named Jack Ellyat, who joins the Union Army. Then there is a Southern  planter Clay Wingate, who leaves his plantation a rides away to war. There is also a runaway slave,  and his adventures during the war. The poem deals with not only John Brown's attack and trial, but also the major battles, the final meeting with Lee and Grant, and the death of Lincoln. This is most excellent, and it is a treat for those of you who think that you don't like poems, but enjoy the history of the Civil War. If I had it to do over again, I would set aside the text book, and have my students read the poem. That is, if the school budget would allow it. And I am really glad I met that woman last night, which led my thoughts to this writing.

        Aloha
        Grant

Progress Report on MaiTai

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        Progress Report Mai Tai
          Peeing on paper    A
          Pooping on lanai   A
          Behavior            B
          Nipping            C
          Jumping Up         D
          Plays alone        A
          Sleeping           A
          Playing Ball       A

Comments:   Plays well with others.
Mai Tai needs to stop nipping and jumping up.He also must stop putting his head in the shower while the water is running. Fighting the towel while being dried, is something he needs to work on. But, all in all an excellent start.
                Mr. Smart

Christmas 1944

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           Christmas 1944
Why am I writing about Christmas when there are palm trees outside my window? It is because a writer should write about what he knows. And, this is something I know and remember.

           Christmas 1944
It is December 1944, and I was eight years old. My sister was four. My father was in the Army somewhere in Europe, fighting the Nazis. My mother was teaching school in a nearby town, and rode the bus each way. She received a monthly allotment check from my father.Her  brother Tom, was in England flying for the R.A.F. Her other brother Sam was in the Navy, and because of a bad leg, was stationed in the States. My grandfather was on the Draft Board. All up and down our street there were banners with stars on them. One star for each man in service. There were gold stars for those who had been killed.

Our house was typical of those in the neighborhood. Four rooms and an outhouse. There was also a basement with a  coal furnace.

We were invited to my mother's parents for Christmas. We were also to see my two aunts and  my two girl cousins. A sad Christmas to begin with, what with all the men absent.

We were to ride the bus to the grandparent's house. Busses and trains at that time were always crowded. The bus company had added aisle seats. Folding chairs that came from an aisle seat, filled the center of the bus.

I remember that we didn't stay all that long. There seemed to have been some kind of argument. I never knew what it was all about. Anyway, crying, my mother scooped up my sister and we left the housee. And we     walked in the snow to the bus stop.

Arriving home late that night we were greeted by a dark silent house. Once inside, we could see our breath. The coal furnace was cold. My mother and I broke up crates for kindling.Newspaper supplied the flame, and when the fire was going well,a few lumps of coal were placed on top. It took quite some time before we were able to remove our coats and the house became warm.

There was nothing in the ice box for Christmas dinner,except for a bottle of milk, a block of margarine, and a few eggs.
My mother had anticipated that we would enjoy a good meal at her parents. So far, things weren't looking so good. Even if she had enough ration points to buy some meat, the butcher shop was closed, as it was Christmas eve.

But then our next door neighbor came to our  rescue, for our Christmas dinner. He was a coon hunter,and he skinned a coon he had   killed.The carcass of that raccoon became our Christmas dinner. My mother had always been an excellent cook, and so we ate well, I think.

My father didn't have a very merry Christmas that year either. He told me later that they were retreating from the Germans during the "Battle of the Bulge." Everything, including Christmas boxes were thrown out from their trucks as they made their escape.

And now years later, when I went with my friend Ellis, coon hunting,I often recalled that Christmas dinner. Funny thing though,  I have never again eaten raccoon.

         Aloha
         Grant