Suffering from senectus

Click here for the song

Yesterday it was task-interruptus (not completing a task because I was distracted by another). Last week I got out of my car and walked over to my garbage can to throw away some trash.  In went my car keys along with the rubbish.  It took me over half an hour to even think of looking for them there.

You guessed it; senectus is Latin for Old Age. What is disturbing is that the symptoms are coming now at an alarming pace. The inability to remember someone's name, trying to remember the words to a song, forgotten appointments. It is starting to disturb and worry me.

My daughter suggested that every once in a while I should brush my teeth with my non-dominant hand. Apparently it is recommended to break your routine in a challenging way to improve memory function. This will use brain pathways you weren't using before. Perhaps I could also get out of bed on the opposite side. That sounds challenging.

"Neurobic" exercise is also suggested. This would be like an aerobic exercise for your brain, forcing you to use your faculties in unusual ways, like showering and getting dressed with your eyes closed.  Actually, at 5:30 am, my eyes ARE usually closed while doing these tasks (thus the toothpaste still on the corners of my mouth); maybe I should try doing these tasks with my eyes OPEN.

Learning new skills can be the most effective way to improve memory. So, I've decided to teach myself how to play the ukulele. My fingertips are not thanking me at the moment, but I peacefully drift off to sleep at night humming "my dog has fleas", and chanting my new mantra "G C E A, great cooks eat alot" (apparently musicians can take liberties with common spelling errors).  My dogs don't seem to mind my new hobby; they don't howl, cover their heads, or run for the hills. Perhaps I can even teach them to sing and dance along with my playing someday.

In any case, hopefully, my memory will be preserved, old age will be staved off for awhile, and I'll be an accomplished musician. But first, I need to remember where I put the tuner.

Dead men floating

Walking down dark and narrow browning yellow tile steps I could hear the creepy echoing of quiet splashes. Moisture clung to the walls and ceiling, threatening to drip on my head. It was my first time going down to the pool-level at the ancient YMCA and I was glad I wasn’t alone. We gripped our swim caps tightly and sunk into the thickness of our terrycloth towels, venturing into the unknown.  I was five years old, my sister was 6. I remember at the time feeling a little bit of disbelief that my mother would let us descend into the dark cavern on our own to meet certain death.

It was my first-ever swimming lesson and it was in the dead of winter. We came from outside where the weather was dry and probably in the minus degrees, slogging through thick piles of snow drifted in high heaps cut neatly with paths to the waiting doorways. In hindsight, I’m sure that my mother had been overwhelmed with all of us running screaming through the house on winter break and decided that now was the time to not only educate us in the art of swimming, but also provide herself with needed alone-time. “What use is belonging to the local Y if we don’t utilize it all year round?” she most likely professed.  The change in atmosphere was almost debilitating. From freezing cold to 99% humidity and 80º in under 2 minutes. From hats, mittens, scarves, coats, and boots to almost naked and feeling vulnerable in under 10 minutes.

As we emerged into the large cavernous space that housed the Olympic-sized swimming pool we were met with a disturbing and somewhat revolting site. There, just inches from the slippery and scum-covered pool edge, was a lifeless figure floating face down in the murky water. Ok, the water wasn’t exactly murky, but it may as well have been full of alligators and man-eating carp, because all my little brain could process was the real and somewhat puffy corpse in front of us.  Here we were about ready to learn life-saving techniques, and there in front of us was an example of someone who could have used these important instructions.

In actuality, a moment later the corpse came to life, declaring himself our swimming instructor telling us that what we had just witnessed was called the Dead Man’s Float (which, if executed properly, could one day save our little lives). I could have puked. What kind of cold, calculating beady-eyed person would think that this type of maneuver would actually want to make people jump in the pool? The answer: everyone else in the class, including my sister.

We eventually all mastered the Dead Man’s Float but the reason still escapes me. Shouldn’t we be floating on our backs so we can actually breathe? Maybe this attitude explains my life-philosophy: if life gives you lemons, float face up in the lemonade. 

Found in Translation

As of late, I've been perusing Craigslist to see if it is possible to find "better accommodations". Translated, that means a place where the walls don't mold, there isn't termite doodoo falling all over everything, there isn't a dusty unpaved road in front of the house, and perhaps there would be an enclosed yard.


But, I am finding that my standards could possibly be unreachable here on Kauai. The other things on my wish-list for housing also include: a nice view, within earshot of the ocean, not in a neighborhood, dogs allowed, high ceilings, it catches trade winds, not too far from work, and, of course, a solar water heater would be nice.


What I am finding, though, is that there is a special language employed by those who post rentals. But no worries! I am here to translate.


Cozy = usually under 800 sq. ft. (yes, there are plenty of these)
Water included = the landlord lives on the property and doesn't want to break out the bill
No dogs = there are already 50 dogs on or near the property
Furnished = circa 1975 hotel motif
Utilities included = there are other renter(s)/landlord on the property
Ocean view = If you stand on the roof, you may spot an inch of blue
Country setting = dirt driveway
One mile from beach = As a crow flies. Does NOT imply view of beach
Shared washer and dryer = the landlord or other renter(s) on property
Cute Hawaiian Shack = nature close at hand (outdoor shower, ants, spiders, and centipedes)
Lots of mirrors = Feng shui to make 400 sq ft look like 1,000 sq ft.
Downstairs unit = bottom part of two story house. Landlords usually above
Steep driveway = usually unnavigable in a vehicle
No smoking, no drugs = landlord lives on property and they have small kids


I could go on, but you get the picture. I'll put my desires out to the universe anyway. You never know, the perfect place might be waiting for me; posted by someone who does not speak the Craigslist language yet.


Wish me happy hunting!

Pointing at the moon

“When a finger points to the moon, the imbecile looks at the finger”

Chinese Proverb 

Oh, my gosh. Did you see the moon tonight/last night (depending on when you are reading this)? It was the biggest and brightest moon I have seen in a very long time.  Which is saying a lot because, here in Hawaii, we get to see a lot of moons due to expansive vistas, clear skies, lack of extremely tall evergreen forests that blot out the sky, lack of pollution, reasonable viewing temperatures, I really could go on and on.

Anyway, it took me a little by surprise because I haven’t been noticing the phases as of late. But I think my body clock already knew the waxing moon was on its way. My inner urgings were telling me to plant; plant seeds, plant seedlings, plant plants. Get in the dirt and plant something!

Over the past week and a half I have planted two papaya trees, two cherry tomatoes, three loofah seeds, three sweet pepper seeds, three spider plant babies, and an orchid. All of the seeds have now sprouted and are beginning to shed their little seed-pod hats. I’ve even taken measures to protect my papaya trees from the neighbor dogs by enclosing them in a flexible net (this will keep the wild chickens from digging them out as well).

Historically it has been shown that during a waxing moon (from no moon to a full moon) you should plant above-ground plants. During a waning moon (from the full moon to no moon), you should plant below-ground plants. This has to do with the moon affecting not only the ocean tides but also water tables and even the fluids inside the plants! Greeks and Romans knew these facts and it has apparently been passed down through folklore and with the help of The Farmer’s Almanac for centuries.

So, my window of opportunity to plant any more foliage-type plants has closed and I should now consider putting some taro, carrots, or potatoes in the ground. But I won’t. Like the moon, I feel my energy waning as well and my body fluids firmly planting me back onto my couch in front of my computer.

Now all I need to add is a little water and watch the magic happen. Ain’t life great?

Danger, Will Robinson!

Yesterday, I was talking on the phone with my mother who had just purchased a new vacuum and was reading the owner's manual. She told me that not only did the instructions tell her to not vacuum up hot ashes, but that the cord contained lead and other things that may cause cancer, birth defects, and god-knows-what, and that she should wash her hands after handling it. Say what?


Are we talking about a modern day cleaning appliance, or a nuclear science experiment? You'd think in this day and age it would be safe to purchase and use common household items that weren't deemed to be "carcinogens known to the state of California"!


This question ties into my ongoing fascination with hazard signs. If you knew of all of the dangerous activities, machinery, chemicals, and situations that are lurking around every corner ready to assault you, you'd never leave your house.


Loud noises. Thin ice. Slippery things when wet.  High voltage cables overhead. Tsunami hazard zones. Men working overhead. Dangerous places while machinery is in motion.  Wet floors. Bio-Hazards.  Oh yes, and the ever-present Pedestrian crossing ahead.


Here is why I love living in Hawaii reason #46: people do not take hazards seriously (the one exception is the ocean - Dangerous shorebreak, Sharp coral, Sudden drop off, Slippery rocks, Man-o-war, Jelly fish). These are no laughing matter.


I'm talking about other daily hazards; working in a restaurant kitchen in flip flops, riding a bicycle while holding a surfboard, having your rear view mirror so loaded up with dead flower leis it is impossible to see 63% of the windshield, and lastly, Pedestrian crossings.


Aloha from Hawaii!

Nature versus Nurture

I have Created In My Likeness. I'm not proclaiming to be godlike or have special superpowers. I'm not even claiming that they share my genetics or even look like me. But I have utilized the power of "habit" and created two likenesses that mimic my character, drive, and productivity.


Yes, I have created two Saturday Couch-potatoes. Their names are Koko`o and Bean and I have successfully turned them into me. We sleep in late (not arising at the normal 5:30 am alarm clock setting), do nothing but lounge around all day, and eat when we're hungry instead of at mealtimes. Sometimes we all even stay in our p.j.s all day!


I never knew that dogs could sleep so much during one day. Out of the 12 or so hours that we spend "awake" (that means not in bed sleeping at night), they probably sleep about 7 of them. Plus the 7 or 8 hours at night. That means that they sleep roughly 63% of each day! Is that healthy? 


Anyway, I feel badly that they have become accustomed to my laziness. I think it would help if they could actually talk. "Hey, why don't we go run at the beach today?" might come out of their little mouths, guilting me into activity.


For now, their needs are silent and only involve "calls of nature" (interpreted by me as furtive glances toward the sliding door). I have nurtured them completely away from their instincts of hunting and chasing.  Perhaps I can cultivate this even further and teach them how to make meals in a crockpot or even operate the washer or vacuum.


But for now, we are just enjoying another lazy Saturday, sitting all in a row, listening to the activities of the neighborhood drifting in through the window.

Why is the color blue associated with baby boys?

In honor of the recent spat of baby boys born to my friends in the past month, I thought I'd provide the answer to a question I know you all are clamoring to know the answer to: Why is the color blue associated with baby boys?


The association of colors with babies undoubtedly started as an attempt to identify the gender of that one group of humans to whom the cliche "they all look alike" often applies.


But why blue for boys? In ancient times, it was believed that evil spirits lingered over nurseries and that certain colors possessed the capability to combat evil.  Blue was considered the most powerful color, possibly because of its association with the sky and, thus, heavenly spirits. Since boys were then considered the most valuable natural resource to parents, blue clothing was a cheap form of insurance.


Evil spirits apparently couldn't bother with pestering baby girls.  Not only were girls not dressed in blue, but they had no color to call their own until centuries later.  Our association of pink with girls stems from European legend, which professed that baby girls were born inside of pink roses.


European legend also holds that baby boys are born in blue cabbage patches - yes, the same patches that spawned the doll craze of Christmas 1983.


Welcome to our world new baby boys! You know who you are.


From Imponderables: the solution to the mysteries of everyday life, by David Feldman