family: ... home sings me of sweet things...

Laughing Beauty

Today M and the girls get home from their extended AL stay, and I'm celebrating their arrival by taking a vacation day to clean (and go to the dentist - scheduled before they made the reservations) and shop and get the house as ready as possible for M to come in and sit down or lay in the tub or climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. As she wishes.

Because she's been solo parenting now for 10 days, and in my limited experience, I know how tiring this can be. And yet, she's sounded good when we've talked, never letting on just how drained she must be as the only parent, and this is something I value greatly about her: she always tends to put a positive spin on whatever situation she's in.

It's something I noticed when we first started dating. Ask her how things are going and her answer was typically "Great!" Ask me and I'd mumble something like "fine" or "ok." Quite a contrast! I'm still not sure what she saw in me.

I don't know how single parents manage. I suppose I would step up if I needed to do take the girls for 10 days on my own, but I highly doubt I'd be able to do so with as much positive energy as M does. That energy serves as a good example for both the girls and for me.

It'll be damn good to have them home. I'm looking forward to it. And I'm sure they will be happy to be back in their own home/beds/places too.

In the meantime:

Multi-tasking Beauties
(snacks and kicking it in FL)

photo thursday: sign(s) o' the times

here's a double-photo to make up for the single definition on tuesday:

Both shots taken within minutes of each other, somewhere in northwestern FL just north of Chipley (a classic, quiet little town where "quiet" = overcome by heat and humidity).

Home of... meat!
(actual sign)

Someone clearly paid good money for this sign (it's not just mismatched letters on a reader board (see below)). And I love that it doesn't get specific. It's not "flame grilled chicken" or pork or beef, but "meat." Home of the Flame Grilled Meat!"

We actually ate here, and it wasn't bad, where "wasn't bad" = they didn't run us out or poison us.

I wouldn't say it was the best flame grilled meat I've ever had, but what can you do to meat with flame that ruins it? Other than burn it to a crisp. Which they did not do.

I always feel a bit awkward and out of place when I eat at some small local restaurant or drink at some small local bar (the latter a purely hypothetical scenario these days). I worry that I'm sitting in someone's regular spot and that all the locals are plotting ways to toss me out. And this was the panhandle of Florida, where they probably believe Obama is an alien and that Hawaii is not part of the U.S. And they are most certainly church-going folk and I always believe that it's printed on my forehead that I am something other than church-going. And this was around noon on Sunday, and everyone else had come directly from church with dresses and button down shirts shiny shoes and we were there in a corner in shorts and t-shirts and slippers and "unbeliever" tattooed on our faces.

But no one attacked us, and they put up with 4 squirming little girls. And they had bottomless sweet tea!

Cold Sunday BEER

(not the only one of these we saw)

There are many things I love about this sign, but first and foremost, the cold Sunday beer. As my brother-in-law said when he pointed out the sign, if it's worth mentioning, it's probably not that common. And he's from these parts (sorta), so he should know.

Or maybe it was actually "COLDSUNDAY BEER," meaning, they'd sell you beer on a cold Sunday. Kinda of like a cold day in hell, which, now that I'm remembering, it was about 95 F as we drove by that Sunday....

Then there's the unpunctuated "699" that warrants an entire line of its own and which I almost took for a reference to some bible verse (hey, this is the deep south and I'm feeling particularly heathen) but recently realized is probably the price for the pizza. Unless it's the price for....

a "Reese Milk Shake." The most uninteresting option is that this is just a shortened form of Reeses, as in Reeses Peanut Butter Cups. More appealing to me is something I came up with when I went into what M calls "writer mode:" The counter guy have a crush on Reese, who may or may not know this and may or may not reciprocate but who is at this very moment dressed up and sweating bullets in a church, not really listening to the preacher but rather thinking about having a milkshake, completely unaware that down the road a piece there's a sign with HER name on it, HER milkshake.

Or possibly she's thinking about a coldsunday beer.....

definitions: palanthrow

double-definition tuesday (sadly, with a single definition)

palanthrow - noun, a lacy herb often used in mexican cooking.

usage:

L: Daddy, what that?
me: It's cilantro
L: Palanthrow?
me: Cilantro.
L: Palantha-row?
me: Cilantro.
L: Palanthow?
me: close enough.
M (walking into the kitchen): What's going on?
me: Did we get her hearing checked at the hospital?
M: ???

family:...take a letter...

... mommy....

I've been getting the occasional email message from Birmingham. Sometimes it's from M. And other times it's from "the girls."

In the spirit of Wikileaks, I'm including the actual text of the most recent message here.

BTW, I refuse to reveal my sources for this document, so don't even ask!

--
subject: we love you dada
from: redacted
to: dada
msg:
uuuudwaddggnllluuuuuuffseeeeewwwkkkkhhhhhhhhcczzsssswtttvnm,dtcctupcrrewqzfvbbyyy

kkkknnnnnnnnnglllhhhhttttttttttttttttrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnkkkkkkkkkkkkkkllllmmm

lyyyyyyyrrrrrrwwwwwsssssssszzzzzzxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxlllllllllllllkkkkkkkhhhhjjm

bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnbbbbbbbbbbb

ggggggggggggggggggggttttttttttttttttttttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyybbbbbbbbbbbbbb

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaffffffffffffffffftgggggyyyyyyyy666666666666


6666666666666666asttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt

bnb
bcbcbcbbbccbcbcbcccbcccbbbbbccccbcbccbcbbcbcbbcbcccccbcccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccbcbb
cc cdsdccfresa]gfrw4esee34e4rol

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll


xxxxxxooooooooxxoofrghg

family: ... we are riding...

... on a Camelbak! A real, live Camel.

One of the more memorable moments of our post-Florida Birmingham Zoo visit:

K & L, riding Daisy
(a curiously named male camel)

This was an exciting experience for both girls and parents.

We made quite a deal out of the fact that neither M nor I had ever ridden a real camel.

K, when excited or overwhelmed, tends to get a little reticent, so she didn't fully express her feelings about it right then.

But later that evening I had one of my favorite moments of the entire trip when, as I held K perched on the toilet, she looked up at me with a goofy grin on her face and said, "I rode a camel." It was clear that she'd felt the significance of the event.

photo thursday (friday): ... (beach) games people play...

L, getting the "spin treatment"
(from M)

family: ...operator, information, get me...

... daddy on the line!
(Being a recap of my first conversation with the girls.)

Yesterday I had my first chance to talk to M and the girls since leaving Birmingham. As previously noted, I had somewhat limited expectations with regard to how it might go. And it went more or less as I anticipated, though it also occurrs to me that I may be doing K&L a disservice in thinking that a phone call doesn't adequately communicate my love.

In any case, I called to get some details about an online account, and after M and I dealt with that, there was a line queued up to chat with me.

Stripes and Tot
(Birmingham Zoo)

First up, L:

L: (breathing in phone)
me: Hi L.
L: Hi. Daddy, K puthed me and I started to cwy becauthe she puthed me and I wath cwying and my mommy gave me the telephone to talk with you.
me: Uh... I miss you.
L (whispering, her voice growing quickly softer with each sentence she speaks): I mith you too.
me: How are you? What have you been doing?
L: Talking to you.
me: Did you see the puppets last night?
L: Yeah.
me (not realizing that the phone has already been handed to M): I love you.

(M comes on, laughing, and we recap my conversation with L, after which she passes the phone to K.)

K, on Lion
(Birmingham Zoo)

K: Hi Daddy.
me: Hi K. I miss you.
K: I miss you too.
me: Did you see puppets last night?
K (voice increasingly quiet): Yeah.
me: Were they big?
K: Yeah, really big.
me: How tall were they?
K: Really tall. Daddy, we watched Black Beauty.
me: You did? That's cool.
K: Yeah. Ginger dies.
me (trying to remember anything about the story beyond Black Beauty = nice horse): Yeah?
K: Yeah. You know what Black Beauty is?
me: Yeah, I've read it. It's a book, a long book. We could read it some time. It would take a while, like Charlotte's Web, but we could ready it.
K: Ok.
(in the background L is calling out that she wants another turn at the phone)
me: I love you.
K: I love you too. Bye.

(M comes on and asks if I have time for one more talk with L.)

L: We watched Black Beauty!
me: You did?
L: Yeah.
(silence)
(in the background M is telling L that they need to let Daddy go.)
me: I love you!
L: I love you too.

(M comes on and after a brief conversation during which I wish her good luck, we say goodbye.)

family: ...i held my breath...

What do you do when you vacation at the beach? You swim. In the 95 degree heat. And the tarbally water. Or not.

Here's how our typical morning went down in Sea Grove:

Approximately 8a

me: Want to go to the beach?
L: Thur.
(aside: I'm not sure where she picked up the habit, but lately L's "Yeth" and "Yeah" have been replaced by a quiet "Thur")
me: Ok. We have to change into our bathing suits.
L: Our bathing thuits?
me: Yup.
L: And thwim diaper.
me: Yup. For you. Not for me.
L (grinning): Because you don't wear a thwim diaper!
me: Right!

Approximately 8.40a, now finally dressed

me: We've gotta do sunscreen.
L: Thun thcream?
me: Yup.
L (pouting): I don't like it.
me: Me either, but if you don't wear it you'll end up looking like me.
(aside: I find this is a useful general purpose threat, whether for brushing teeth, eating broccoli, or wearing thun thcream. It'll probably generate years worth of therapy after I'm gone.)

Approximately 9.15a, now relatively screened and looking like vampires or other undead, we begin the wander down the quiet road, up a small hill past something that smells like bad standing water, across a busy road (here we wait for someone to stop for us, and when they do, L says "They wath nithe. They thopped" and I agree), along a short block and to the top of the steps leading down to the sand. This walk takes a normal person somewhere between 5 and 6 minutes. With L ambling along in her orange Crocs, it takes us somewhere close to 15. At the top of the steps we leave our Crocs/slippers, remark on the dog poop we saw one morning at this same spot, and slowly begin our climb down to the white sand.

Below us are the beach, the green waters of the Gulf, and several hundred men (and women? I never noted any women) dressed in long pants, long-sleeved shirts, and wearing rubber gloves, all walking along the edge of the water (in regular shoes), picking up tar balls when then find them, adding them to plastic bags they carry. There are also periodic shade awnings set up in the sand so these same people can recover from walking in the sun and 90+ degree heat in long pants, shirts and shoes. And we're here in our swim suits and Seattle-white skin. And we're paying to be here!

Pairs of beach cleaners
(picking up tar balls)

Once down on the sand, we make our way to the water where L stands in front of me, holding on to both my hands, while small waves push past us, splashing her to her chest and me to my calves. I lift her when bigger swells come in, and she laughs until she notices sea weed.

L (squirming): Theaweed! I don't like theaweed!!
me: What do you mean? There's no seaweed!
L: Theaweed!!!
me (wondering where I got this kid): There's nothing wrong with it. And there's almost none!
L: Ith on my hand. Daddy!
(I take a tiny strand off her pudgy finger and let it drift away behind us. At one point I put a bit into my mouth, stunning her into a moment of silence.)
L: It good theaweed?
me (feeling the need to be honest): No, not really. Just salty. (pause) We used to play in seaweed when I was a kid. Dig in it, throw it at each other. This is nothing.

My "argument" does nothing, and eventually she'll tire of the salt water and be ready to get out. If she's in a good mood we splash for up to 10 or 15 minutes before she gets her fill. After which, on a good day, she plays in the sand for 10 minutes before announcing that she's done, she wants to go.

Just. About. Done.

So, for approximately 30 minutes of walking, we get up to 30 minutes of beach time. More or less. But I don't mind. I've never been one to just hang out on the sand.

When we leave,we retreat to the pool next to our house where we spend anywhere from 10 minutes to over an hour, L holding onto my hands and jumping from the wall and going all the way under to come up with a wide-eyed smile of accomplishment, putting her "whole big face in!"

Lounging... with attitude

And I'm happy.

family: ... have I got everything...

... am I ready to go? *

I'm back from our trip to Alabama and Sea Grove, FL, and have plenty to share about the experience, but before I get into that I figured I'd write a bit about travel and about the difference between leaving an adult behind and leaving children. (M and the girls will be staying an extra 10 days in Birmingham to help her mom who is about to have hand surgery.)

Popsicles, shared
(front porch, before leaving for FL)

I find flying disconcerting, but not for the reasons most people assume. Sure, I hate the poor leg space as much (if not more than) anyone, hate the treatment of passengers as dumb animals, the ridiculous charging of checked luggage that virtually guarantees people will try to carry on more than they ought to, thus clogging the aisles and slowing both boarding and offloading and guaranteeing that if we needed to exit quickly, we'd all be f@#$ed, the "security" measures that could hardly stop any intelligent person determined to do something bad.... What I'm talking about is the disconnect I always feel between me as traveler and anyone I leave behind.

In 2 hours I can experience multiple scene shifts, surprises, shocks, while back home the kids have been sleeping the entire time and M (if she's lucky) has managed to go back to sleep after dropping me off, or (if unlucky), gets coffee going while helping the girls wake up.

Sitting in Memphis at 7a, my day already felt half-over, the urge to call M at her mom's house was strong. So much to tell her: the unhelpful ticket agent who basically said we would get nothing from the 3 tickets we're not using, the backed up security line, the 6'+ woman volleyball player, the family of 4 (one lap child) who took our other 3 seats. But I know it's a silly urge. On her side nothing has really happened since we kissed goodbye at the airport, so there's nothing to report.

Leaving always feels edged with sadness but this time it felt especially so, and as I lay in bed the night before I left, I thought about how much I love K&L, how much they mean to me. This, even though there have been plenty of moments during the last week during which I would have been willing to trade them for minor league players to be named later. But that's always the case - the chaos and noise and intense demands of parenting are balanced by intense love, profound joys.

As I lay there thinking about the girls I tried to understand why the missing I anticipated for them felt different than that I anticipated for M. And when she climbed into bed next to me we talked and the closest I could come to explaining the contrast was to say that I felt I could rely on her to understand purely verbal communication, while the same is not true yet with the girls. I can tell her I love her and miss her and trust that she'll take me at my word.

But with K&L so much of our communication remains non-verbal. Snuggles, hand-holding, looks at one another. I carry one or the other. I hold K balanced on the toilet, brush L's hair out of her eyes when she's hot and sweaty. I wipe noses or tears, kiss booboos and share (not entirely willingly) bites of food. This is how we say "I love you. You are important" to children. This is how we reaffirm to them that they matter to us.

I'll miss M very much (and will be thinking about her back in the 90+ degree heat) but not with quite the sharpness that I'll miss K&L. I know I'll talk to all of them multiple times, but those phone conversations will be more satisfying between M and me than they will between me and the girls. I won't get the benefit of sticky hugs and teary cheeks smeared against my chest and tiny fingers grasping my thumb.

I'm back, but not completely.

Group Portrait, Sea Grove
(what happens when an air conditioned camera goes outdoors)

(* from "Traveling Again" by Dar Williams)

definitions: unmail / irun

it's double-definition tuesday!

unmail - verb, to open an envelope, especially an envelope that doesn't belong to you.

usage:

L: Mommy, can I have thomthing to unmail?
M: Unmail?
L: Yeah. Pleeth?
M: Like what, L?
L (holding up an envelope from the bank): Like thith thing.
M: Oh, like something from the mail?
L: Yeah. Pleeth?
M: Ok, yes.
L: Thith thing?
M: Let me see it. Sure, yup, you can unmail that.
L (starting to tear open the envelope): Becauth I need to unmail it becauth I need to.


irun - noun: a device for turning individual beads (colour (?) beads) into a single, integral decorative unit. (Rumored to also be used for pressing wrinkles out of clothing, but this has not been verified.)

usage:

K (climbing into the car at school): Mommy, look what I made at Art Camp!
L (from the "way back" car seat): K, what you made at Art Camp?
M: Wow. That's pretty.
K: Yeah, I know. I tried to pick... to pick... colorful beads.
L: What you made K?
M: You did a good job.
K: Yeah. But this part broke.
L : It bwoke? K, it bwoke? What bwoke? Can I thee it?
M: How do you make those?
K: Uh, you put the beads on the thing and then put paper over it and then use an i-run, except the teachers have to do that part because it really hot.
L: It really hot?
M: An iron?
K: Yeah. But it hot.
M: And you put paper over the beads?
K: Yeah. Some kind of....
M: Wax paper?
K: Yeah, yeah. That's it!
L: Waxth paper?
M: We can do that. Maybe we can fix it K.
K: But we don't have a i-run.
M: Yes we do.
L: We have i-run?
M: Yes. Remember, I ironed those shirts once.
K: No.
M: I did.
L (laughing): Noooooooooo....

family: ... oil vey!

We're heading south, to Birmingham AL and then to Sea Grove FL, where we'll bask in the warmth of familial proximity and wallow in the warmth of the oily waters of the Gulf Coast.

This is our semi-annual Foust Family Reunion, and this year we're celebrating by going to spend some quality time with BP oil. (The trip has been planned for months.)

There will be cousins, lots to eat, air conditioning, a pool, not quite enough room for our family and M's brother's and sister's family (2 kids each, making for 6 adults and 6 cousins, plus M's mother), and did I mention the oil?

This is a perfect time to mention again that Margo Pellegrino is currently paddling south along the West Coast, heading to San Diego from Seattle. In a one-person outrigger canoe. She's already paddled the east coast (Miami to Maine) and the Gulf coast, and does this to raise awareness of the state of our oceans, and to encourage people to get involved. Especially people who use the ocean for work or play. People like paddlers, surfers, fishermen, sailors, vacationing families, etc.

In any case, besides wanting to mention Margo and her trip, I'm giving notice that posts will be sparse between now and... when we return. There may be some, as time, technology and sanity permit, but it's not going to be the typical word storm you've grown used to.

On the bright side, there may be some photos coming out of this next week. Picture small children shiny with crude oil, looking out at the horizon over gelatinous swells.... something like that.

Until then, here are a couple to keep your interest:

Joy of Dreamthickle!

Already looking like a Teenager
(at 4!)

Happy July!

family: ... sitting and thinking...

it's photo-thursday, and this looks like...

...Trouble

family:... here comes the sun king...

Holy Waterwings, Batman! It looks like it may possibly finally be summer!!

Misleading Calm
(in stove-warmed water)

And only just in time, given that we're heading out to the "triple digit" temperatures of the deep south. And the oil. The oil of the south. And I don't mean cooking oil.

But enough complaining. Here are a few photos from the 5th of July, which, predictably, turned sunny. Predictable because this is what it always does around here. It rains on the 4th. And then it gets nicer. Summer starts. Which is just as well given that, for a decent neighborhood, we've got what feels like a high level of idiocy* marked by people who think blowing up things is a nice way to celebrate. Especially when mixed with alcohol. And small kids. So, rain = less chance of fire = me not stressing quite as much as usual.

But enough complaining!

I present a couple of bathing beauties who were sooooo ready for nice weather. And sooooo ready to wear their new swimsuits (purchased for our upcoming trip to the Gulf shore where we'll find out how well Shout! manages crude oil stains on white swimsuits**):

Ring-Around-the-Rosie

Kicking Practice

L, in her new "thrawbewy" swimsuit
(rubba slippa too!)

* To give you some idea of the levels of neighborhood idiocy we're talking, last year either at New Years or on the 4th, we heard something hit our roof (after we were in bed). In the morning I found a bullet that had bounced down onto the ground. And we're in a "nicer" neighborhood.

** But enough complaining!

family: ... as we are all together....

it's celebrity double tuesday!

can you hair me?
(this is phyllis diller,
in case you didn't recognize her)

and hair tomorrow...

family: ... yummy, yummy, i've got love in my....

An update on where we're at with regard to life's big issues (pre-teen pregnancy for example).

Funny, she doesn't look pregnant!

Several conversations crossing like sniper fire in the kitchen:

K: I'm pregnant
me: wow
L (with 2 purses over her shoulders): look at me! I carrying 2 bags.
M (laughing at my comment): you're carrying a lot, L.
K: why you laughing? It's not....
me: not funny?
K: no!
M: I was laughing at your daddy.
L: look at me! I have a lot.... a lot... a lot on my thhoulders!
me (laughing now): yeah, you do. And I do too!
K: I'm still pregnant. I have 2 babies in my tummy. One the size of a jelly bean and one the size of ....
L: Daddy, I'm still pregnant but my babies are not pregnant. my babies are not pregnant because.... because.... because I'm still pregnant but my babies are not pregnant because.... because....

Ok, I'm glad we got that all sorted out!

family: ... I see bad things arising...

West S(e)addle Club
(second season)

It's funny how a slight shift in perspective puts things in a different light.

There I was on a(nother) rainy sunday morning, with the girls parked in front of Saddle Club and me scrambling to get a million and one things done. Not enough time in the world to do it all, and not enough uninterrupted time to really focus on anything. Not. Enough. Time.

K (from down in the basement): Hey!
L: Hey!
me: (ignoring the yells)
K: Hey!
L: HEY!
me: (still ignoring)
K: Close the laundry door!
L: Clothe the laundry doa!
me (getting up now and going to the basement stairs): I heard you.
K: Close the laundry door!
me: Don't yell. (walking to the laundry door... seeing sheets of water flooding the
floor.... CRAP!) Crap! Shit! Crapcrapcrap!
K&L: (silence, engrossed in S.C.

I scramble to sop up water, determine that it's not coming from outside in spite of the sodden ground, determine further that the machine itself is leaking, open it up and find the seal has come loose from the door...

All that lack of time and too many things to do.... Yet somehow there is time to sit in a cold puddle of water on the concrete floor and struggle to put the seal back on the washing machine door. Funny how that works.

family: ... sitting and wondering....

here's a conversation snippet that accurately captures certain aspects of our household at the moment:

(preparing to have some neighbors to dinner)

me (calling upstairs): Hey M, where's the mop? Is it downstairs?
M: I don't think we have one any more.
me: Really?
M: We got rid of it... 2 years ago? It was old and awful.
me: Ah...
K: What 'mop?'
L: What mbop?
M: I used a rag that last time I cleaned the floor.
me: A rag?
K: It like vacuuming?
me (looking at her): Ah...
M (laughing): Yeah, K. Kind of like that.

aloha friday: photo memories, spreckelsville

Here are two pictures from my past (plus a bonus picture), all of which tap into strong feelings I have about the place I was lucky enough to spend my high school years:

600 Stable Road, Spreckelsville, Maui.

This was Margaret and Colin's home, a magical (to me) 5+ acres of quiet north shore beachfront on which there were dozens of coconut trees, some huge monkeypod trees, a banyan or two, and several cottages along with the main house. Here they raised their family and, as we reached high school age, invited us in to join them.

Kim moved in to start her freshman year in high school, and I did the same 2 years later. A year after that, when our parents separated, Mom and Karol came over from Oahu to join us. Kim and I lived in the main house. Mom and Karol lived in Kanani Cottage but were over for most meals and evenings (in my memory).

After living on Oahu, where the pace of the city (seems ridiculous now!) felt overwhelming to my plantation-bred sensibilities, being back on Maui and in Spreckelsville was like going home in the best possible way. The Camerons really took us in and made us a part of their family, and I've always been immensely grateful. They treated us like their own kids, and among other things, helped pay for our schooling. Margaret had grown up relatively poor in Hilo, and went to school on a railroad man's scholarship (her father worked for the railroad there). What she told me regarding the help she gave me was that she'd been the recipient of help, and if I was ever in the position to help someone else, that's what she hoped I would do.

Maui, especially the central valley, can be quite hot and dusty. (I've heard that 19th century sailors would find the islands by sailing east-to-west down south, and when they saw the plume of sandy dirt blowing off the central valley, they knew they could turn north and hit the Hawaiian Islands.) But the Cameron's property had a calm, cool, protected aspect that felt like a retreat from the busyness (!) and heat of Kahului town. I loved it there, and this was the "home" I went back to whenever I came home from college.

Effie on the driveway
(September, 1976)

The afternoon light coming through the coconut trees, the Ironwood needle-strewn driveway, the peaceful feeling that place held on even the least peaceful of days....

600 Stable Road, from the air
(July 1977)

In 1977 Margaret gave me four hours in Bruce's airplane as a birthday present. He took me on 2 flights, one circling west Maui, the other circling east Maui. On the second, we cruised over both Spreckelsville and Kuau and I got pictures of both houses. Neither place looks the same any longer.... but then nothing really stays the same, does it?

We spent so much time on these beaches, and back then, the only company we had were the occasional fishermen when the timing and tide were right. I'd see an outrigger paddling past, heading down to Kahului Harbor now and then, a team working out before a race, and beyond the reef, barges pulled by tug boats coming from Honolulu or Hilo.

I also spent a great deal of time on the beach with my guitar and Debbie, my dog. I was a moody kid in high school. No one understood me (I thought). Except Debbie (I thought). Luckily there was a beach to retreat to, to get me out of everyone's way.

Here's Kuau Point, also taken in July 1977:

Mom's house, Kuau
(at center-left, with the dry looking yard)

Thanks U.C, A.M, and Mom and Dad.

family: ... doctor, my eyes....

... can see you over the tub....



It's a balancing act, trying to capture the girls as they careen through life, while at the same time both wanting to participate in that careening and to respect their personal space and privacy.

Maybe because I've had a camera in my hands more or less the entire time they've been alive, the participating bit hasn't felt too difficult, usually. They seem to expect that half the time I'll be pointing a black box at them while they go about their business of being girls.

The privacy thing though.... that's another issue entirely. Here I am, posting photos of them for anyone who wants to look. To most folks it probably doesn't seem like a big deal, but I can imagine that for K&L there will come a time when they wish dad wasn't writing things down and wasn't posting pictures of them splashing in the bathtub or still fresh from a good cry. At which point I'll likely take these down to respect their wishes. Until then though....