Aloha!

The good news, my finger has healed nicely and we made our flight!

The bad news, Hawaii was experiencing record temperatures and humidity, the tail-end of a hurricane AND the day we left, a tsunami warning because of Chili's earthquakes.  The  heat kept us driving around a lot - as the car had air conditioning and our condo did not.

I COULD give you details - but as I was reading through my notes - I decided they were quite entertaining and left enough unsaid to add mystery and intrigue. I have added photos.


Tuesday
Met lovely couple who lived in Makaha but had vacation property in Stevens, WA.
Helped young girls get unstuck from sand, Peter hurt his back being macho
Got rolled in surf fully clothed - flashed life guards and some now traumatized children

Wednesday 
Saw sea turtle basking on our beach
Went west of Makaha
Walked/jogged along road
Went to north shore - stopped at dole pineapple plantation
Ate lunch in Hale'Iwa
Cruised the beach
Toured the coffee farm


Thursday
Our Turtle and her little friend were back on the beach in the am
Went to Honolulu and dropped in on Dale.
Went to Islands restaurant in the mall and had lunch, (including mai tai's)
Lost car in parking garage
Went to the punch bowl and war memorial
Drove east - saw the blow hole and two turtles playing in the surf
Came home through a long tunnel through the mountains
Took a sunset swim in Makaha. Fell asleep by 9:00





Friday

Rain!  Thunder, lightening!
Headed into Honolulu
Took a turn down Luauluaulei rd on a whim and ended up on a military base with very nice MP's who let us turn around without arresting us.
Went to the Hawaiian Plantation Village.  Peter played with a poisonous cane toad while I panicked and frantically googled cane toads to see if he was going to die.
Ate hot malasadas from a hot malasada truck
Pearl Harbor with realistic thunder and lightening sound effects and a plentiful mongoose population
Following Siri's directions went looking for a mai tai ended up on another military base (Fort Shaftner) and fortunately, again, didn't get shot.
Found somewhere else to enjoy a mai tai (or two)




Saturday

Headed north
Went to Wai'mea valley and waterfall. Beautiful place filled with horrific blood-sucking, pleasure depleting mosquitoes. Could not get back to the car fast enough.
Lā'ie state wayside with natural bridge

Spied two island pigs strapped to the hood of a Honda CRV.  Can you say Luau??
After failed attempt to find Kona brewing ended up with happy hour dinner at the MonkeyPod on Ko'Olina (yummy lilikoi foam & macadamia nut mai tai and then a lilikoi martini)
Sunset swim in the ocean followed by a dip in the pool






Sunday

Started the day with rain and laundry.
Peter went for a swim by himself
Then we headed west and explored the coastline
Stumbled upon a movie set for a web series.
Stopped by the Maunalahilahi botanical garden. Peter explored.  I stayed in the relative mosquito-free safety of the car.
Again, following Siri's directions, dined at Cisco's Cove - on a military base guarded by the same fellow who didn't shoot us in Fort Shaftner.
Went for a sunset swim on Makaha beach - a turtle swam right past us. I startled and screamed like a little girl!

Monday
Surfing at 8:00 am. Got stuck in traffic and arrived 15 minutes late.
After an awesome lesson took a long walk on Waikiki beach.  Not impressed - too crowded!
Sneaker wave, shoes got wet. Had no shoes to wear. Bought a pair of flip flops for $3.49 at Longs drugs - which saved my life as my toes had been rubbed raw by the surf board
Drove east past blow hole and along the beach then home again (after Peter went the wrong way on H-1)

Tuesday
Up at 5:00. Coffee and breakfast
Visited the NW corner of the island so lovely in it's emptiness. Saw turtles in the water. Finally and luckily Experienced Mackey's Shrimp Truck.  Fed little sparrows and chickens our leftovers.
Dinner at Roy's in Ko'olina with Dale and Cathy.





Wednesday - our last day
Drove west of Makaha again. Poked around on the rocks.

Peter rescued three little fishies stranded in a tide pool. Headed back toward our condo and stopped so peter could show me the 'dead sea lion' he had spotted days before.  It had moved to a different location and was wiggling.  Not dead at all!!
Got home, went swimming in the ocean, then the pool.
Peter chatted up a man with a Dutch accent by the name of Hank Zandberg who, freakishly, turns out to be related to Dini of the Holland Cafe in the Windmill in Lynden.
Got permission to check out later so we went back to the ocean.  As we were bobbing about in the water a sea lion swam by within about 10 feet of us!!
Got sunburned.
Made lunch of all the food we had left: Salad, banana, coke, popcorn, cheese, celery, juice, peanut butter, milk. A fine, but bizarre meal. Then we napped and finally left about 4:00
Enjoyed a farewell beverage and pupu's.
Now - sitting at the airport waiting for our flight.

Mongoose

Peter, being Peter

A dog on a surfboard

Lilikoi Martini

W(h)ining

I have recently come to terms with the fact that I can work.  Working is good.  The money one makes from working is better and allows special little treats like new shoes and vacations.

This summer I have been working like crazy.  Rarely turning down an offer of additional hours.  Some time in July I had a well deserved day off and the phone rang.  It was the boss inquiring if I could cover a shift because someone was sick.  I smiled and said sure, hung up the phone and said:  "That does it!  We are going to Hawaii!!"  And just like that a lovely Hawaiian holiday was planned for mid-September.  Tucked right between my birthday (the 4th) and Peter's birthday (the 19th).

The rest of the summer proceeded to be unusually hot and sweltering.  A week before our much anticipated vacation, and entire month before expected, our grapes became ripe.  Not instantly, but it became apparent they would not last until our return. The fruit flies, the birds, nature would destroy them if we waited. We HAD to make wine, and we HAD to do it immediately!  Unfortunately, I was still putting in the hours at the Post Office so most of the picking, de-stemming, crushing, pressing, & barreling fell to Peter.  I helped when I could.  I helped frantically, passionately, and carelessly.  I was snipping and clipping grapes off the vine when I snipped and clipped right into my left ring finger.  Blood.  Everywhere.  I cursed.  I grabbed my finger, Peter looked up and declared it was time for first aid!  Then he asked me if I was going to pass out.  I guffawed and said emphatically, "NO!"  As we were traipsing back to the house and applying pressure the world started to close in.  Things started going black and I started to dwell on that "are you going to pass-out?" question.  I changed my mind regarding my original answer and, yes, I believe I was.

I sat down.  Peter checked on me and then trotted to the house for bandages and water.  By the time he got back I was completely horizontal.  You know I am in trouble if I lay down on the ground where there are spiders and ants and earwigs and squished grapes and other disgusting things.  Peter returned and bandaged and disinfected and forced me to drink water.  Then, bless his heart, he took my picture.

In my defense to this very overly dramatic pose - my right hand was on my forehead because I didn't want to rest it on the ground where all the nasties reside.

After 15 minutes of self-pity and wallowing in my injury I headed back out to the vineyard and continued, CAREFULLY, snipping grapes clusters.

We had to be in Portland by Monday night as we were flying out Tuesday morning.  Monday we were still pressing grapes.  But when all was said and done, we got it done. Hundreds of pounds of grapes processed in record time.

We have a pinot, cabernet, a white wine, some blended red and some concord.  Oh - and six gallons of beer. Because man (and woman) can't live on wine alone.

Congratulations! It's a bouncing baby girl!

It might be 50(mumble mumble mumble) years past due - but I would like to issue the following announcement.

I would like to announce the birth of Carla.

Younger sibling to Jerry and Sharon Hotho.

Those of you who know me, probably know I am adopted.  It's never been a secret to me, or to my brother (who is also adopted).  I have never felt like it was something that needed to be hidden.  I haven't, however, generally shared that I had other siblings.

The short version is:

• A woman named JoeAnn got married and in about 1951 had a child she named Gary.
• JoeAnn got divorced shortly after Gary was born.
• In 1955 she had a child and gave this child to the childless Hotho couple who cherished this boy (that looked like a monkey - according to my mom) and named him Jerry.
• In 1959 she had another child and gave this child, as well, to the now not-childless Hotho couple who gladly welcomed a non-monkey looking baby.  They named her Sharon.
• JoeAnn got re-married and in 1961 had another child and named her Carla.

Really - that is about the shortest version of this story that is even remotely possible.

JoeAnn has since passed away.  Gary has as well.

Through the wonder of FaceBook Sharon, Jerry and Carla have found each other.  An amazing feat seeing as how Carla lives in Nebraska, Sharon in Washington and Jerry in Florida.  We span the US.

This past weekend Carla was in Oregon fishing for Salmon at the mouth of the Columbia River.  That was way to close for me to not go see her.

So after 53 years - I finally met my baby sister.

Peter and I picked her up and we went sightseeing in the Columbia gorge.  While we shared life stories Peter acted as chauffeur and was (not so) stealthily in the background taking photos.  We compared shoe sizes, hair color and blood pressure.  We talked about our kids - she has two and our animals - she has horses and chickens and dogs.  We talked hobbies and passions and skills.  She loves horses and can't cook.  I love food and can manage to feed myself quite nicely.  And we talked about her mother.  I learned a lot.  I was never overly curious about "my roots" while growing up.  I had loyalty for my parents and loved them very much.  Part of me felt that pursuing that information would some how have been disloyal to my parents.  I think mom would be more than pleased with this turn of events.

Carla's life was not easy.  JoeAnn's life was not easy.  Gary's life was not easy.  I don't feel their stories are mine to tell but Carla says Jerry and I were the lucky ones.  I believe her.

What I can share is that JoeAnn's mother was 1/2 Cherokee Indian.  JoeAnn was 6 feet tall and wore a size 10-1/2 shoe.  Information I found utterly fascinating!  It helps explain why my son has hit 6' 3".

As Jerry and I were growing up my mother never stopped being grateful to JoeAnn for giving her the gift of children.  She sent JoeAnn letters and updates and photos.  JoeAnn saved all these things.  Carla brought them all to share with me.  How cool is that??  She also brought me several photos of  her mother.

At our initial meeting Carla and I both expressed a desire to eventually be able to call each other sister.  I think we have made major strides to this end.  It's not an easy thing to take a virtual stranger and call her family.  It takes time.   It's a work in progress.  In the mean time we need to pull Jerry into this  and are trying to plan a family "union" - as we can't call it a reunion - next winter.  Jerry and his family, Carla and her family and, of course, my tribe.

There you have it.

Paperwork

I am determined.  I tell you... DETERMINED! to find something creative to do to make money.  Working at the Post Office is not creative. 

I really enjoy knitting and felting and making bags but there does not seem to be a market for these items.  A nice felted bag costs me at least $30.00 in materials and I might be able to sell it for $30.  Maybe.  But common business sense tells me I am not going to get rich (or even afford a cup of coffee) selling things for the same it costs to make them.

I need to find something to sell that doesn't cost me an arm and a leg to make.  I need to find something where the construction materials are dirt cheap. 

I remembered reading something once about people making paper from elephant dung in Thailand.  I don't have elephants, but I have alpacas.  They make poop.  Poop is free.  And plentiful.

Paper it shall be.  But first I needed to learn to make paper because not knowing how to do something has never been a reason to not do it.

You Tube here I come!

In a few short hours I learned a lot about making paper.  Most processes started with uh.. paper.  But I did find enough information to learn that I needed some basic equipment (frames, screens, couch papers..)  Well - so much for a cheap enterprise.

The next day I was at the local second hand store and what should I find?  A brand new paper making kit for $1.99!  Never even been opened.  It contained all the basic tools I would need along with directions that included pictures.  How easy could it be?

 

I thought I would try something easy to start with.  I took shredded newspaper and whirred it in a blender.

 

And I ended up with this.. a fine piece of thick gray paper.

 

I tried again but used college rule paper and added some plant life.  (begonia petals to be exact)

 

And then again and added dandelion petals.

 

Feeling quite pleased with myself I felt it was time to try poop!  I went out to the pasture and gathered up a nice fine FREE supply.  I put it in a pot to boil.  And boiled and boiled.  Outside of course.  In a second hand store pot.  At this point I would like to add that Peter is not supportive of the PPP (Poo Paper Project).  He kind of likes to use the alpaca poo for the garden and I will quote him here.  "It's a shitty idea."  Harummph to him I say!

 

After 2 hours of boiling and letting it cool down over night, I smashed it and smooshed it and then rinsed it through a screen, then through cheese cloth, repeatedly.  I rinsed away most of the poop and I was left with this lovely stuff.

 

 

More rinsing resulted in even more fiber and less poop. 

 

I was afraid that my remaining poo fiber was too fine and not enough of it so I added some paper pulp.  I didn't use the blender - which would have been helpful I think, but Peter had this thing about putting poop in the blender he makes milkshakes with.  I don't get it... all the boiling made the poop completely hygenic.  I think he's weird.

 

The fact is, when all was said and done, I made poo paper:

 

 

Two days of boiling, soaking, rinsing, etc and I ended up with one sheet of 6" by 9" paper that isn't even usable.  Not very encouraging.  The materials might be free but I might have better things to do with my time.  All is not lost though.  I have learned a lot.  I think I have learned how to do to better.  I will try again because it takes more than one failed attempt to convince me to give up on an idea.



The little Blue House...

For those of you who don't know me - here is a bit of insight into my psyche..  I can obsess.

I get an idea in my head and can't let go.  In the last few years I have had this idea to buy a vacation house.  At the beach.  Lincoln City, Oregon to be exact. 

I rationalized this decision by telling myself we spend so much time there it would be common sense to invest our money in real estate.  It would put us close to my children, close to our favorite weekend location and more.  It could be a lovely family vacation home.  The kids (and grand kid) could meet us there - we could have family time.  As an investment it made perfect sense and my obsession grew.

I started prowling real estate websites. 

A year ago or so I found a three story "fixer-upper" that was just one block from the ocean with a beach view and beach access.  Peter and I went to look at it.  We wandered around outside and peaked in the windows.  It was a wreck and I loved it.  Except the kitchen was in the basement.  That was weird.  There was a door to the outside on the third story.  But there was no balcony or stairs.  Just a door to outside, and a bit of caution tape.  Oh.. and there was also the issue of the price.  Too expensive for us!

Then I found a very nice, fully furnished three bedroom house on the east side of Highway 101.  The price was quite reasonable, considering the size and that it came furnished.  The furnishings were just my style.  We actually looked INSIDE that one.  It was very cute.  Very well furnished.  But two rooms were downstairs and one upstairs.  The family space was small and I couldn't see it functional as a family vacation space- which was one of the thoughts rumbling around my obsessed self.  The other problem was that Lincoln City was working on a new law that would not allow vacation rentals on the east side of of the highway.  We need to be able to rent out our new home part of the time in order to make this a successful venture.

Then I found the Little Blue House.

It was tiny.  Like 582 square feet tiny.  One bedroom.  One bathroom.
Two blocks from the beach - but certainly in walking distance.   It was on the west side of the highway.  A perfect little rental property.  I had to change my vision from a family vacation property to a vacation/retirement home that would accomodate kids, kind of.  I looked at pictures of it almost every day.  Then the price dropped by $10,000.  This little Blue House became MY little Blue House in my blue-house obsessed head. 

Last month Peter and I wandered around the outside of  "My" little Blue House.  We peaked in the windows.  I saw nothing to discourage me.  I wanted this little blue house.  I needed it.  Did I mention I was obsessed?

This week I just happened to be in Oregon on another mission and decided to contact a realtor about my house.  My grand plan was to look at the house and find something, anything, ANYTHING that convinced me that this house wasn't meant to be.  Really it was. 

Problem was, it backfired.  The house was built in 1930.  It had original fixtures.  You know, those really cool ones that you just can't find anywhere?  It had a wonderful wood burning stove.

The kitchen was too cute for words with original glass fronted cabinets and an original farm sink and a faucet that comes out of the wall..

 

 



The flooring was a wreck - but how much could replacing flooring cost in a house that's only 582 square feet?

I started the process of buying a house and sent Peter a text message that I was buying us a house.  Bless his heart, he took it in stride and hardly reacted!

In my head I started deciding how I would furnish it.  I considered starting up a pinterest board (an application I have previously failed to see the point of...)  In my head I went over the stuff I had in storage trying to figure out what I could re-use.  I decided I needed to buy a new hide-a-bed for the living room and new matress for the bedroom - but I pretty much had everything else.  I pondered paint colors and considered even changing the outside paint from bright blue. 

Then I got the call.  The dreaded call.  It seems that bright blue outside paint is covering some very durable but toxic asbestos siding and that the foundation was a crumbling mess.  No bank on the face of the planet will loan money on this little train wreck of a house. 

Well it was fun while it lasted and after all - I had hoped something, ANYTHING would convince me to stop obsessing about it.

My plan worked after all.  I am letting it go.  Slowly.  But I am still cruising the real estate websites...

Kitchen Floor make over.

In August of 2012 I started removing the first of several layers of vinyl in my kitchen. It was nailed and stapled to a thin sheet of plywood.  The plywood was nailed down to older vinyl flooring that was less ugly than the top layer.

In February of 2013 I started picking at the next layer.  This layer was glued and nailed and stapled down.  It did not disappear willingly.

It was a very long tedious process and about a year ago I got the floor to a point where I could live with it.  Most of the glue was scraped off.  Most of the nails were pulled or tapped in - at least the ones we might step on and the overall look was somewhat charming.  Yeah - that's the word.  Charming.

I have been aching to get back to that project for awhile now but with work it has been impossible.  I finally bit the bullet and filled out appropriate paperwork to ensure I could get 3 days off in a row and Monday I started the final push to finish the kitchen floor.

The first step was to clear out the room and take a picture.  Not SO ugly, huh?

The next step was to crawl around on the floor for the next 12 hours sanding, scraping glue, pulling nails and questioning the sanity of my choices.

As you can see, not much progress was made in that 12 hours.  By 10:00 pm Wednesday I had the floor as ready as it was going to get.  Fir is a soft wood and there was just no possibility of getting up all the black and imperfections.

Peter and I realistically adopted the "we aren't going to make a silk purse out of a sows ear" attitude.  Our floor is 80 years old.  It has been abused with glue, nails and staples.  It has been horribly mistreated and our options were limited.  There were a few places worse than others.  There were some very odd repairs and patches.  There were holes and there was a very odd spot that was stained and finished.  To minimize (aka hide) the flaws in our sows ear we decided to stain the floor dark.  Very dark.  So we started staining:

This morning I added the first of 3 (or more) coats of polyurethane.  

With the exception of a few very odd places that you might have to get on your hands and knees to see, I would say we DID make a silk purse out of a sows ear.  I really like it.   It sure feels great to have this project nearly off my to-do list.

I'm already planning my next project, which will either be painting the cabinets white or removing the popcorn ceiling from the bedroom.  Because heaven forbid, I should sit idle!