Go Memories!

Yo!  er, that is, I mean:

 ALOHA !

Yeah, yeah...

Waikiki, Beach, Hawaii,

blah blah blah.

My mind is somewhere else-

Later today the

Philadelphia Phillies

will fight to remain

in the World Series Race.

The Phillies broadcasts

 were the soundtrack of my

Summers growing up:

By Sahm, Harry Kalas,

John  Facenda. . .

One day when I was little,

 Dad drove me into the city. . .

After paying some local kids to "watch" our car

we approached a big brick building that blended in

 with all the other brick

 in the city that Philadelphia was

 in the 50's.

My Dad told me that he went to

Mastbaum Technical High School right down the street.

I was a suburban kid,

 but he was teaching me that these were the streets

 we really came from. . .

courtesy (along with above): http://www.conniemackstadium.com/

I saw this on the website above

 and remembered walking past that wall. . .

http://www.baseballforum.com

I'll never forget the brilliant green of the field
after all that brick;

Right in the city!

I remember lots of cement and exposed girders.

 It reminded me of the subway

"The Philadelphia Phillies are the oldest continuous one-city, one-nickname franchise in sports, and no team enjoys as rich a history and as deep a connection with their fans. From their first game in 1883 through the team's back-to-back trips to the World Series in 2008 and 2009, the Phillies have earned a special place in baseball history and cultivated a passionate relationship with fans near and far."

From  THE OFFICIAL, DEFINITIVE HISTORY OF THE PHILLIES

Introduction by Mike Schmidt

Foreword by Christopher Guest

Dedicated to Harry Kalas

There's even a very pleasing Hawaii connection in the person of the athletic
 Shane "The Flyin` Hawaiian" Victorino.
He always seems to be in the thick of it!

So this afternoon (here in Hawaiian Standard Time) 

I will be spending time with FOX Sports,

 and my ghosts:

 Dad, Granddad, Jimmy,

 and the kid I was growing up in Philly.

Hope you make some lifetime memories this weekend,

 no matter how tiny.

 They might just loom large in later times. . .

You may sometime long to recapture the treasures

that seem so plentiful today.

     Warmly, cloudia

And GO PHILLIES!

Sports Roots

A L O H A!

Welcome to Waikiki, Sports Fans

don't be dodos - click on photos



“The royal road to a man's heart
is to talk to him about the things he treasures most.”
Dale Carnegie









"That deed which in our guilt we today call weakness,

will appear tomorrow as an essential link

in the complete chain of Man”
Kahlil Gibran

"The tree which moves some to tears of joy

is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way.

Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself."
William Blake

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When I was a kid, sports seemed like mass psychosis to me. Other kids, and ADULTS got so worked up about a game! Couldn't they just read a book or something?

Some ancient cultures used the outcome of games and competitions as oracles. Their gods literally chose sides and chose the victors. It is precisely the combination of talent, training, & skill plus a thousand and one variables that makes sports so compelling. And they provide a wonderful survival of magical thinking. Witness the rituals that athletes and even fans go through! If I remain standing, my team will score a basket, touchdown, home run or whatever. We make idols and demi-gods of our sports heroes because they are human-yet-excellent. We also like to live vicariously

through them.

This is not purely or even mostly a conscious thing either. When your school or town wins, spirits and testosterone rise!

We no longer build civic temples, but they survive as stadiums. Local teams are one common factor across all strata and conditions of society. Sports are, after all, a surviving, ancient form of mass behavior. Something primitive within each of us, and within our "civilization" still lusts to WIN. And when we DO win, it seems that heaven smiles on us promising to bless all of our endeavors. "What we plant will flourish!"

You might suspect that this post resonates with Monday Night Football here in the US.

Silly!

It's all about baseball and the Phillies.

The team that frustrated grand dad (and an entire city for) decades. Last year I was watching the game with my dad when they won the world series.

Dad passed around 7 months later.

I'm glad we had that moment together before he got really sick and started to leave worldly things behind.

It still chokes me up when I remember him saying:

"I just wish I could drive my car again."

Yes, the mundane things of this world are more important than I realized as a grandiose, underage philosopher

all those sports-hating years ago.

Now the Phillies of my roots, complete with my Hawaii's slugger Shane Victorino, will play in the Big Game for a second year. And when they do, I'll be watching along with many ghosts.

Yes, and I'll be enjoying every mundane little thing about it including the junk food snacks.

All the precious, passing Earthly treasures!

'Cause in heaven

there aint no beer.

But all pets go to heaven - so there will be someone to play catch with!

SHOUT OUT: To Universty of Hawaii/Manoa Women's Volleyball Coach, Dave Shoji on his 1000th Victory last week.

Go Wahine!

A L O H A, Cloudia

Riding with Dad

Aloha & Welcome to Waikiki! The trade winds are back today.

Bliss!

Today I had to drive out to Mapunapuna and pick Dad up.

“Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”
William Butler Yeats

A "Funny" guy, he could be stressful to others. But I knew we'd have a lovely ride together.

“I think the thing to do is to enjoy the ride while you're on it.”
Johnny Depp

I loved to see him laugh, and I really enjoyed sharing my town, Honolulu, with this "city boy" from the streets of Philadelphia who had lived on the rural Big Island of Hawaii for years. Here he is with Mom enjoying the Lunar New Year's Lion Dance blessing.

“Love doesn't make the world go 'round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile.”
Franklin P. Jones

So I drove out the H-1 this morning and picked him up.

It was a quiet ride. I did most of the talking.

He didn't criticize my driving, or suggest a better route.

He wasn't preoccupied with a list of "things to be done" and "things to worry about."

We stopped at the drive-through at Wendy's, and parked under a tree while I had lunch. He didn't want anything.

I remembered that some of the best times we ever had were in cars, including those diminutive English Fords he used in his route. He drove through the various ethnic neighborhoods of Philly selling dresses, housewares, and small luxuries to housewives on the installment plan. They bought some, they paid some; Poor Italians, Poles, "Negroes" (as polite folks called them then). He knew every corner in our "city of neighborhoods."

And everybody knew my Dad, albeit under a variety of "street names." I remember:

"Johnny the Dress Man."

for one.

Sometimes, like over winter break from school, I'd ride beside him, piled in with all the "merchandise" and all the notebooks, tools, and empty soda bottles that made up his "office."

My schoolmates remained safely in suburban ignorance, but I knew the grit, cobblestones, trolley tracks, corner "tap rooms" (bars/pubs) factories, and older housing stock of the city." I also knew that everyone was not Caucasian.

At Christmas the housewives clucked over me, and fed me cookies from every culinary tradition in town! Not my favorite Chinatown, though, as that was still a mysterious and impenetrable enigma broached only for "Chinese" food (the nectar of urban life!).

When I saw this exact "salesman dad/ride-along-kid" vignette on-screen in the film "Avalon" I felt as though I was watching a home-movie! The time period, and Baltimore row houses were PERFECT!

Later, Dad got up before dawn to deliver fresh-baked Italian Rolls from the Amoroso factory. This was his transitional period. I remember riding in the big truck, and learning how HEAVY bread could be!

"I wake the birds up every morning," He said, and it was true!

A changing society saw America's cities burst into flaming Summer "race" riots.

It was a far cry from my "Martha & The Vandellas (female vandals?) 'Dancing in the Streets' growing-up years. I was SO proud that they sang "Philadelphia PA now" in the list of places where folks were "dancin` in the streets!"

Now, even we no longer felt safe in certain areas.

Yo, Philly!

I'm very glad I knew that vanishing, blue collar city of breweries and lunch buckets before the decay of the 70's, and subsequent gentrification, changed my grandparent's red brick city forever.

So today I ate "street food" in the car like we always did.

Dad didn't mind.

I thought of all these memories, and more.

There was even a tear shed.

Though the Hawaiian music station was playing on the radio, I seemed to hear DooWop being sung by some kids on a corner somewhere.

My Dad, the poor kid from the streets of West Philly (neighborhoods, corners, high schools are important)

awoke his most recent mornings in sparkling Waikiki.

"Not bad for two kids from the city!" He'd tell Mom.

Last Fall, we watched the Phillies (complete with Hawaii player Shane Victorino!) win the World Series from Mom & Dad's "beach apartment."

After the bread, he got into the janitorial business.

Many were the exhausted ultra-early morning, or ultra-late at night, rides we took through our sleeping city together, surrounded by our mops, and rags, and keys. I still have a proprietary love of buildings that Kona couldn't satisfy. Luckily, my Honolulu has a gracious crop of many storeys and vintages!

Often we'd stop somewhere to grab a bite to eat, as today. I thought of all those rides as I ate: rides to school, to hospital, "down the shore" and even college visits. There were tense rides, and fun rides.

Winter & Summer; youth and middle age.

Today I had my last ride with Dad;

Bringing his ashes home to Mom

and to Waikiki. . .

A L O H A! Cloudia

One O'Clock

top: a Ted Trimmer Photo

Morning Sky

The Cousins

"Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today." - James Dean

"If you hear that someone is speaking ill of you, instead of trying to defend yourself you should say: 'He obviously does not know me very well, since there are so many other faults he could have mentioned.'" - Epictetus

"I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything."

- Steven Wright

Dad and I had a complicated relationship from the beginning. It was a product of the times, and of two very different temperaments. Recently when I read that brain scans show activity in the pleasure centers of bullies when they are torturing their victims, I found myself reflecting on Dad and on my upbringing. Immediately I felt guilty. . . but still . . .

He never intended to be "challenging." He kept a roof over our heads. He didn't ever understand the effect he was having. Going out on my own helped me to grow up and to follow my path . . . but still. . .

A few years ago he & Mom moved to O`ahu from the Big Island. I was glad and looked forward (finally!) to having relaxed times with them in their old age. Everything quickly became a negotiation. They mean well . . . but still . . .

They both are key parts of my identity, some parts I've had to outgrow, and some I cherish. A few weeks ago, Dad started talking about being the last of his circle of childhood buddies. All gone except the last of the Mohicans. He reached his 82nd birthday and started talking about "when he goes." Probably he already felt the signs. Soon we all noticed that he was weakening and losing weight. He's had health scares before, but bounced back. I guess I stupidly always thought there'd be time to laugh together . . . but still . . .

I was at his place when the Phillies won the World Series. It was one thing we could share happiness about.

The WWII veteran was also overjoyed when Barack won the White House; something else we share.

I knew that he had cancer. I've been a hospice volunteer and know the signs when they come in, still talking about "when I get better." . . . but still . . .

A fellow blogger, Bubble Wench, recently posted an honest "cri de cour," a cry from her heart, about all the challenges that she's carrying right now. Rather than be turned-off, or taking the opportunity to feel better about myself, I was moved by her honesty & courage. Judging by her comments forum, many others felt the same. She isn't a whiner - she's courageous . . . and human. Today deciding whether I had it in me to post more than pictures & quotes I thought of my web friend Bubble Wench and decided to risk sharing my heart with you this day.

You see, at One O'clock, Dad & Mom will be at the doctors office hearing the results of a million scans and tests. I already know what they will say: "Very little time for my Dad to really see me, and for us to really commune from our hearts." Tomorrow I'll resume posting about King Kalakaua's 172nd birthday (on Sunday), rhapsodising about the healing skies and drumming of the surf . . .but first, I want to leave you with a passage by a wise woman. I dedicate it to you, my web-friends, and fellow wounded healers.

“Service rests on the basic premise that the nature of life is sacred…Fundamentally, helping, fixing, and service are ways of seeing life. When you help, you see life as weak. When you fix, you see life as broken. When you serve, you see life as whole. From the perspective of service, we are all connected. All suffering is like my suffering and all joy is like my joy…Service goes beyond expertise. Service is another way of life. Service is a relationship between equals…In helping, we may find a sense of satisfaction; in serving, we have an experience of gratitude… When we serve, we discover that life is holy…Service is closer to generosity than it is to duty…Over the long run, fixing and helping are draining but service is renewing. When you serve, your work itself will sustain you, renew you, and bless you, often over many years.”

- Rachel Naomi Remen, from her book, 'My Grandfather’s Blessings'

Aloha Nui to YOU all!

Cloudia

Obama's Back Lanes

top: courtesy of Ted Trimmer

Walking in Waikiki

"Obama's Back Lanes"

I love little Young Street in Waikiki’s neighboring Makiki district. A one-time ‘carriage lane’ it is the quiet back street between urgent King Street and stately, rushed Beretania. Here, away from the main-stream are small, long-time businesses, the back side of office buildings, garages, small apartment buildings, and the occasional tiny, perfect Hawaii bungalow with mynah birds and doves singing in a front yard plumeria tree. On Young street you can hear your thoughts. Young Barry (Barack) Obama, whose childhood apartment is adjacent to Young street, must have walked the lane many times to collect his thoughts while growing up. And there he was again, during his most recent visit with the ailing Tutu (grandmother) he so often speaks of. No Michelle, no Sasha & Malia giggling this time; just a guy coming home, perhaps for the last time, to the rooms he grew up in, and the accomplished woman from Kansas who, he says, made him what he is today. One afternoon, the presidential candidate strolled down Young Street with the Secret Service at a respectable distance. The young guy with the basketball is now a family man with much more important contests to win, but the passing of an age, of those we love, puts things into perspective doesn’t it? He must have been enjoying the perspective of Young Street till the cameras found him. Pensively he rejoined the caravan. It’s a shame that his privacy was broached, but I am grateful for the few moments’ tape of him walking alone. A local guy walking down the back street, with miles yet to go. . . And speaking of local pride! My childhood Phillies have won the World Series with the help of local hero, Maui Boy, the "Flyin’ Hawaiian" Shane Victorino! In his ballpark locker, Shane has a news article headlined: “Hawaii Wins Little League World Series 08.” Our keiki (kids) inspire us, and now the Big League Bruddah is returning the favor. These tiny specks of island also produced the Beijing Olympics’ “greatest athlete,” decathlon gold medallist, Bryan Clay, soccer golden girl Natasha Kai (I know I’m forgetting others!) plus NFL players like kicker Jason Elam, and Washington quarterback Colt Brennan of last season’s WAC champion, yep, UH . . . (and let’s not forget Jack Johnson) But enough boasting! The Hilton’s Luau on the Lagoon looks to be getting very popular. You can now save yourself a bus ride far out of Waikiki (though Paradise Cove is a great place) while still enjoying torches, hula, games, and too much good food in a lovely setting . . . Jimmy Buffet is opening a huge-mungous restaurant at the Waikiki Beachcomber Hotel early next year. Don Ho’s old showroom was right there, so the atmosphere and acoustics should be right for a little pickin’ & singin’ eh Mr. Margaritaville? Swanning about: Four black swans mysteriously appeared recently at Ala Moana Beach Park. Sunday park goers were astonished at the sight; old-timers (and we get some OOOOLD-timahs) had never seen the like. Stately, poised and grand, the red-billed beauties glided in formation while swimmers kept a respectful distance. They seemed calm and tolerant of humans – though no one knows WHERE they came from! All the nearby Hilton’s wildlife was accounted for. (I mean, hey, would YOU leave free lifetime digs at a destination resort?) And then, as mysteriously as they had appeared . . . they were . . .gone. . . Maunakea, the Big Island’s ‘white mountain’ is once again tipped with snow. The far off white peak viewed against a blue tropic sky and wreathed in green swaying palms is one of the eternal images of Hawaii. Where else can you sled in the morning, ride a fine horse over the high, open range of cowboy Waimea in the afternoon, and surf Kohala’s gold-coast at Pau Hana (happy hour!) time? November 7 – 10th would be a perfect time to fly into Kona International Airport for the annual Kona Coffee Cultural Festival. Small town parades, beauty pageants, tastings, gourmet food events, art exhibitions, AND a coffee picking contest will showcase this unique region. You may even hear a “Kona Nightingale” (mule) braying on the hillside. Red coffee “cherries” falling into a canvas sack on a small family farm or coffee estate, still mean an awful lot to the people and economy of Kona. You can visit the picturesque town of Holualoa on the volcanic slope above Kailua Town, where you’ll find little shops, a small post office, art galleries, and you might even see wisps of volcanic steam arising from vents in the “resting” Hualalai volcano . . . Watching Oscar winner Chloris Leachman gamely dancing on TV got me thinking. It was sort of jarring to see a mature woman being thrown around like that. I started musing about all the times I have seen very old, or very heavy women (and men!) dance hula in public. They moved gracefully (or funny – Uncle!) and have never looked anything less than dignified and beautiful. Sorry for the clichés, but they fit this time. Our mature adults are graceful. They don’t try to copy the moves of the young. They express their Aloha, and have learned the timeless choreography that hula shares with nature: swaying, reaching, and embracing. In Hawaii, everyone is beautiful; and it has zero to do with make-up, a perfect outfit, or conventional “beauty.” Our tropic sun melts all pretension. Here, your posture, grooming, Aloha, and facial expression are your essential wardrobe. So come over to see granny dance, sometime. . . Diamond Head summit, that famous and rewarding hike, will be closed until November 20th. I really should make it up there someday, but it’s been a busy 20 years in Waikiki! Don’t worry: I’ll remember da camera ;-) . . . analog TV will be switched ‘off’ a bit early in the Islands (January 15th) out of respect for the `Ua`u bird (Hawaiian Petrel) which breeds up on the mountain tops in February, and might be disturbed by the dismantling of analog power equipment in those wild places. Good News: a new study has determined that our “deep seven” bottomfish species (Ehu, Gindai, Hapu`upu`u, Kalekale, Lehi, Onaga, and famous Opakapaka) remain more plentiful than previously feared! This means bigger limits for fishermen when the season opens November 15th. The fishery was “closed” last April when the standing ‘catch limit’ was met . . . In 1904 an abandoned Hale Pili (grass shack) from Kauai was shipped to Oahu. The popular Bishop Museum exhibit is being refurbished with now-rare Island Naio, Kauila, Uhiuhi, and Lama woods. So if you ‘wanna go back to a little grass shack’ pay a visit to the museum, which is a world center of Polynesian Studies and a fun place to spend an afternoon. Shout out: Big mahalos to Kaye-Lani and Mr. Wing Chan at Hawaiian Telcom who efficiently swapped my dead computer modem for a lively one with professionalism and aloha. Thanks folks, you made it almost fun! The other day I was putting coins in the meter at Kapiolani Park when a car pulled up in the adjacent spot. As the driver approached, digging in his pockets, I put a nickel in his meter and smiled. He looked pleasantly surprised and thanked me simply as I walked away. The best investment I’ve made in a while! There’s little market risk in paying it forward . . . when you’re walking in Waikiki . . . ALOHA! cloudia


Want to enjoy more Waikiki “street” life? Check out my Hawaii “Taxi Cab” Novel: “Aloha Where You Like Go?” at Amazon.com, local bookstores, or the Hawaii State Library branch near you!

I Hate Sports

I hated sports when I was growing up in sports-mad Philadelphia. Much of civic life and conversation revolved around the Phillies, Eagles, Big 5 College Basketball, and the 76ers. Oh, let me not forget hockey and the Flyers, the "Broad Street Bullies." It seemed to me that all this running around and incomprehensible rules was a waste of time. Worse than that, it was an ENFORCED waste of time. Kid life was like one protracted WWII movie in which knowing baseball facts meant you were "one of us," and being clueless about 'balls' & 'strikes' marked one as a social outcast. My 'sports dyslexia' did gave me lots of time to read, and is probably the Genesis of my literacy appetites and pretensions. "You throw like a girl!" was the huge schoolyard taunt. Gym class, and conversations about pitching or open field running (in which kids repeated what they heard their sports-fanatics parents say) were a gauntlet to run. "How about those Phils?!" was usually safe . . . unless it was basketball season. What a colossal bore! Fortunately, one inning 'out in left field' usually exempted me from further play. "Where's that Kool Aid?

Of course, the sound of By Sahm calling a Phillies game on a tinny am radio became the sound of summer by osmosis, and to this day hearing a baseball game on a radio makes me feel that my grandfather, passed these many years, is sitting nearby groaning about a botched play. And I have one brilliant memory of being taken to see the Phils at the old Connie Mack Stadium. (Pre-Veteran's Stadium, pre-Citizens Bank Field). My father drove us into the very heart of the crowded, red-brick city. Cobblestone streets, trolley tracks and tall buildings didn't say "baseball" to me, and when we entered the stadium, it resembled nothing so much as a factory. Bare girders, and cement floors felt more like the subway than a place for games. Then we topped the aisle and suddenly were looking down at a perfect, GREEN field in the middle of the city. I can still see that GREEN in my mind's eye, bright & iconic as only certain disconnected childhood memories are. But for young me, sports was one of the main things to rebel against. No, I didn't want to go to 'the game.' I'd rather moon about the Philadelphia Museum of Art, visit the University of Pennsylvania's mummys, or read indoors, thank you very much. "Bye now."

After puberty I realized that I'd better act more like a normal person if I wanted to have a 'normal' life. My guy-friend Jim Labig was a Cincinnati Reds fan, and so we went to the "Vet" whenever they were in town. I actually enjoyed being with Jim, the only person I could stand to be around or talk to sometimes. I enjoyed the crowd, the smells, and (strangely) the fact that I couldn't really follow the intricacies of the game made for a relaxing interlude. In those days before cell/mobile phones no one could reach you out at the ball park either.

Fast forward to 1980. I'm on the roof of a building with my schoolmates, overlooking Broad Street. The whole Philadelphia region is buzzing with uncontained glee and relief : the Phillies have won the world series at last, and in a moment they will parade below us! "If only Grandpa could've lived to see this!" we all thought as one.

And now, like Alexander Joy Cartwright, founder of the first professional Baseball Club, the 'Knickerbockers' and acknowledged 'Father of Baseball,' I live in Honolulu. It's my home (and he's buried here). Through a Hawaii player I am again rooting for the Phils. Memories arise....After a Fall day roaring around upstate New York on motorcycles with my pal Frank, head full of fresh wind and foliage vistas, we entered the City around dusk. Suddenly iconic Yankee Stadium, all lit up, rose into view under an Autumn moon. A New York City Saturday night was ahead of me as I thought: 'Remember this moment!" and I know that I always will. . .

Today the Phillies and Maui boy Shane "Flyin Hawaiian" Victorino could win the World Series. Much will play in my head as I watch that game: Philadelphia small kid times, Hawaii Pride, and friends who have passed on too early. But I know too that they live on in the crack of the bat; Once again Grandpa is sitting behind me (I know he's there!) and Jim is beside me on a sunny endless day . . . when I'm at the ball park. . . Because I hate sports. . . Aloha! Cloudia