END OF THE SEASON

The last long weekend of the season was appreciated, thanks to the MLK holiday, and I used it well enough, I guess. Got off to a strange start with a toe injury when I got up in the dark to check on a tree that had blown apart in one of our recent high-wind events. The tree was fractured, but my toe was only sprained. Needed a quick visit to the doctor confirm that; fortunately Dr. Liu was much more sympathetic than House M.D. would have been: "You sprained your toe! Stupid! Be careful next time!" Still the calm and compassionate Dr. Liu did say that had it been broken there was nothing to be done anyway, except suffer and heal. Which I'm doing. After I returned from the doctor, I arrived at work only to be sent home because it was...windy. Hawaii weather alerts are not like the rest of the world's. Triumph the insult dog had it right. Poor Hawaii.

Still, it was VERY windy (50-60 mph gusts) and the tree suffered in the weather.This is a BIG tree, maybe 12 stories tall. (This view is from the 10th floor.) It was entertaining to watch the professional tree guy disassemble it later. If you look closely, you will see him in the very center, dangling a 10-foot log he's just chain-sawed off. There are two more albizias, at the right, lovely to look at but vulnerable and dangerous, that really need to be removed from the parking area to avoid lawsuits and injury or death; it will cost something like $12,000 apiece. I love these trees and hope we can preserve as much of them as possible; they provide shade, noise muffling, and a pleasing aspect, especially when they are in bloom.

Speaking of trees, we dismantled the Christmas sacrifice and stored the decorations in the remote locker for another year. Inspired by the professionals, the Wizard devised a clever method to get the tree down to the dumpster area and avoid a lot of fallen needles to sweep up. Just lop off all the branches. We wrapped up all the "trimmings" in a sheet for disposal.

Had a couple of great dinners with an at-sea sailor, a friend from Maui on Oahu to complete some Coast Guard certifications to get his license upgraded. His tour-boat gig has failed in the bad tourist economy so he needs to do something on a larger scale, like oil rig tending in the Gulf of Mexico. Our dining-out included the most costly restaurant meal (>$250) I have ever shared among three people. Maybe the economy isn't that bad. Fortunately, my entree, a chunk of ahi as big as my cat's head, (never eat anything as big as anyone's head) with doggie bag provided me three complete meals so nothing was wasted. But I was forced at claw-point to share a bit with the Yellow Emperor.

The Yellow Emperor

All this exuberant dining led to a couple of major middle-of-the-night heartburn attacks, particularly after the rich northern Italian food at Cafe Sistina, where the decor features reproductions (by the chef/owner) of the Sistine Chapel's frescoes. The food and service there are also great, and not reproductions. But after the GERD episodes, I think the season is telling me it's time to cut back. I'm not sure which is yang and yin, but anything spicy rising in the esophagus is not fun.

Since it's been "cold" (58 degrees F, Poor Hawaii, in the bedroom the morning of the tree-toe fiasco) it's also been some good days to cuddle up under a quilt and read when not eating food contra-indicated by GERD or destroying trees. I finished one book, read another, and started a third. I completed "Red Dust," so-called Chinese version of "On the Road." Something may have been lost in translation, it was good, a picaresque travelogue, but it wasn't Kerouac (whose "Dharma Bums," another Christmas present, is rising to the top of my to-read pile, along with a lot of David Foster Wallace). I switched continents, from Asia to Africa, to read "The Miracle at Speedy Motors," the ninth Botswana book, which was as usual, a bon bon with vitamins, maybe an odd book to read on MLK day and in anticipation of the Inauguration. After that fast feel-good read, I decided to revisit "Eat, Pray, Love." I managed to get through Italy with this depressed, lonely mid-thirties divorcee but I'm not sure I can continue with her to the ashram. I may simply be jealous that she got an advance to write this whiny soul-searching travelogue, or I may just not be able to relate to her inablity to have a committed relationship. I'm not sure I want to find out if she can heal herself. I'm not sure I care. (Was this another Oprah book?)

Tonight I start a 14-week class in traditional Chinese Brush Painting to kick off Chinese New Year. As with the Inauguration today, it signals a new kind of energy and effort. It's yang rising, that first bit of momentum out of the fullest yin; a surge of hope, movement away from fear, and time to change the subtitle of this blog to recognize the Year of the Ox.