Monday, December 31, 2012

Housekeeping and changing things ... for 2013 The Year of the Snake



I've my hair bundled up in a towel in Queen of Sheba style after a good cleaning, have the vardo next on my end-of-year cleaning, and our regular visitors will probably notice color changes on the blog.  I'm in the mood for change but want to keep the place inviting and comfortable for you, too. So I'm playing with changing things around for the new year, and I'm not done yet so please bear with me.

Most calendars shift to 2013 tomorrow, but the lunar new year (Chinese New Year) begins February 10, 2013 The Year of the Snake.

" 2013 is the year of the black Snake begins on February 10th shortly after the New moon in Aquarius, the humanitarian of the zodiac. This 2013 year of Snake is meant for steady progress and attention to detail. Focus and discipline will be necessary for you to achieve what you set out to create. The Snake is the sixth sign of the Chinese Zodiac, which consists of 12 Animal Signs. It is the enigmatic, intuitive, introspective, refined and collected of the Animals Signs. Read more ...
Our best wishes for a Good New Year ahead, from our tiny homes in the woods to your home ... Hauoli Makahiki Hou

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Boxing Day ... moving into the Light, giving thanks for the journey

 Once inside the curve a corner lit with light keeps tokens and growing reminders, baskets and jars of smooth stones and recipe books of places far and near the heart.
 Mid-way through a table painted as blue as blue can be where we the three sit and sprawl and chat and eat because of course ... at last we have a table at all!
 We pushed the wall to open us a space to cook and store and wash the pots and pans and plates of goodies, tea and cinnamon toast. The Ravens perch and keep us wild, while Rima's wood elf warms her toes.
Looking back to the beginning, the entrance to our now Grand Hut reminds us how far one can come with time and lots, lots, lots of imagination and belief ...

... Aloha to all our 'ohana and readers from The Quonset where safety pins and clothes pins hold us gently together.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Merry Christmas

from the woods on Whidbey ... Mele Kalikimaka

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Moon Time


The days have begun to length. Longer by increments, the light of the sun gives us the brightness of day. Around here the low incidence of light can become difficult, the lack of Vitamin D and the endorphins seem to pack their bags and take a Lost Days vacation.

Around here where the island is surrounded by large bodies of water, the tides affect us often without consciousness. It doesn't take much effort to find a shoreline, but once in the woods for example, awareness of the tides is veiled. But, up in a treetop shrouded sky the large and constant presence of Mahina Earth's only moon and tidal mistress.

Today as I sit to write I note:

  • The 'Ole Moons are pau
  • Last night we had a clear and lovely view of Mahina high in the sky
  • Today begins the fattening of Mahina into full ; it is Huna when no horns to Hina appear
We gather in town with a few friends to play Konane this afternoon. I wondered what the tide would be like then. The image above is the tide chart showing the tides nearby. As well, the image shorts "Moonset" and "Moonrise". What made me smile was to notice Mahina will rise just about the time we gather to welcome friends to play and eat applesauce. It was a reason to smile, and appreciate moon time.

Around here I'm looking for small pleasures. Wishing all of you, some small pleasure during the moon times,
Mokihana

Saturday, December 22, 2012

December 30th: need a reason for a resolution?



The Sun conjuncts Pluto somewhere in the zodiac, once a year.  This year, the conjunction falls on December 30th.  The Sun Pluto conjunction only occurs at the first of the year, for about 3 years out of 240, so  if you were ever going to make a New Year’s resolution, this would be the year to do so... In whatever case, this is not a fluffy thing nor a fluffy time. You want to set a goal that will require a focused effort. Read the rest from Elsa P.
From Terri Windling's blog Myth and Moor this quote:  "You're an artist ... that means you see the world in ways that other people don't. It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy--just different. There's nothing wrong with being different."  - Cassandra Clare (City of Bones)

Pete and I were up early. Pete finished off yesterday's dishes and I got oatmeal and raisins going on the small stove top burner. The oatmeal was cooked perfectly. I sprinkled each bowl with cinnamon and a dollop of coconut oil and a dose of sesame milk. We ate breakfast over lively conversation about art and resistance.


The topic led to Pete asking, "If there was something physical to [serve] as resistance to get around, over, through what would it be?"
At first I wasn't sure what he was asking. I had to think about it. I think best in silence. Pete likes to talk things through, have conversation. He's got Gemini. We got somewhere between spoonfuls of warm and comforting oatmeal.
"Cold. Cold and damp are physical resistance for me," I said finally.
"I've been dealing with cold all my life," my husband said.
"And, I haven't. Although damp and wet I know. It rains in Hawaii, too. Memories of damp winters and leaky roof." I chimed.
"Thing is with cold, you have to do something to make it better. Just can't sit there. One stone at a time, you have to warm the stone and bring it in. Ask me to warm up another ..." We use stones heated in water and wrapped in wool socks to get intense heat to ward off cold. I got the message he was offering.

If there is a resolution I want to make it is about caring deeply about staying the [long-term] course of art and writing. I know I need to commit to being confident in the work, and open to being taught what I can not do. If I resist? I stay cold. If I stay cold? Well ... Here's what showed up in my writers' group yesterday as I considered the answer to that question.
The Mistress

"Another?" She asked.
"Well really, I'd rather not," I was using my most forthright voice even as my body was feeling more like the insides of the jelly doughnut. The light from the near-shortest day was already deepening the colors outside. Still, there was sun and a blue sky. She was asking whether another dose of practical medicine wasn't what I required. I was trying to assure ... who? I was trying to assure myself that I did not need yet another cold, a second one this season. I continued ...
 "More sleep is all I need, really," my internal edges sense change more thoroughly than many and after all I thought I'd just finished with 10 doses of remedy. The Mistress was patient, infinitely patient, but was not easily swayed when she spotted something out of place. Virgo. She had shared that bit of her birthmarks with me, and I rarely forget.
"Sleep is a good remedy any day of the week, Pale. I know the cold and damp are not your favorite combination. Let it be so, we will make no never-mind." Her voice was calm and reassuring. She cinched her pouch of herbs; the smell of ginger pungent in the air. The Mistress' bent yet still strong fingers rubbed the dry yellow powder between her thumb and fingers leaving the pinkie and ring finger free. "Back into bed then," she said pulling the bed covers back for me she left finger prints of ginger powder at the edges. "For clarity, and dreams that make room for tomorrow." Smiling I simply nodded knowing she had left me with a remedy nonetheless. I nestled against my pillow, pulled the covers against my chin, and slept.
Do you have reason for new year resolutions?

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

'Ole Moons after New Moon in the Archer

Venus trines Uranus and closes in on its square with Chiron. What you want does not necessarily blend with your natural abilities. Innovate and use your so called flaws to help others and in doing so you help yourself. Oh, and it’s the end of the Pisces Moon: Don’t forget to drink!-Satori writes about the Wednesday sky


Today and tonight is  Ole Kukahi, the first of the four 'ole moons of Kaulana Mahina The Hawaiian Moon Calendar. Yesterday we were in town meeting with our local techno-experts. We're preparing to buy our first new computer in twelve years! How does a writer work without a new computer in twelve years? The same way she learns to live in 8x12 foot spaces called 'home.' Making do with what is available and as Satori suggests above "innovate and use your so called flaws to help others and in doing so you help yourself." Satori's view of the Wednesday already moving rapidly into it's cloak of night reminds me that my flaw or Chiron wound centers around being caught in feeling sorry for myself ... "too old a computer, too small a home, too wide a gap between want and need."

The 'Ole times are good for reviewing and considering the quality of your actions, decisions, projects begun during the past few days. In this case, the period of time to consider is the time since the New Moon in Sagittarius. All in all, and as things sit today, my New Moon wish has become sweeter and affirming as the mana of homeo-practical magic treats those with safety pins. Last night instead of watching a movie we ate a late and leisurely supper and I read aloud the entire 10-dose story about Pale Wawae, the not-so-young Border Witch. Pete was nestled under the covers with his back against the wall. I read and spin a tale that is as familiar to me as toast. I glanced from time to time and saw eyes shut as all good fairy tales are layered into their proper place when words are caught in the winds behind the eye lids imagination's favorite residence.

Before I finished reading the final words, my voice was collecting tears from the edges of time and memory that even a storyteller cannot predict. Waiting for their opportunity to join in, these tears are a potent ingredient, as The Faceless Woman discovers time and time again and again. I put the story down, the 14 point printed copy lies behind me as I pump these words through fingertips. Last night I did not dream of the border, but Pete said he did and early in the morning found his copy of The Safety Pin Cafe to read again. This time in the quiet of The Quonset Hut, the real Safety Pin Cafe where the silver-haired raven and kitty and safety pins galore nourish the Muse, the writer, the not-so-young.



Finally, I am reading an exquisitely written fairy tale, The Mistress of Spices written by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. Pete and I watched the movie based on this novel and loved it. The book is a storyteller's and fairy tale writer's delight. This storyteller and fairy tale writer's treat for the 'Ole moons. I read it slowly, not wanting the words to walk too quickly away from the place and the meanings. The small print makes reading less facile. But, the pace is perfect for these restorative moons. How blessed to learn "Cinnamon friend-maker, cinnamon dalchini warm-brown as skin, to find you someone who will take you by the hand, who will run with you and laugh with you and say See this is America, it's not so bad." I read this, and rewind the scene from the movie where Tilo shop owner and Mistress of Spices tucks the stick of cinnamon into the turban of young and tortured Jagjit. I breath in the scent of cinnamon and think How wide the stream of a Muse-led journey is. Generous, Muse. Generous Goddess.

The first snow of winter came early this morning, but is now a memory replaced with broad puddles of rain that wishes not to stop ... yet. We are dry, warm and nourished ... enough. My family is loved. I love my family. The cinnamon toast we enjoyed for brunch today hums in me and calls for company. My tummy is hungry for company. Sausages and squash for dinner.





Monday, December 17, 2012

A nod to the elves ... on the week before Christmas




Santa's elves have been busy all year long. Holiday craft fairs and markets on Whidbey Island started weeks ago. Pete and I have been wandering the stalls, talking with artist friends, and taking walks with them as well. Inspired by the artists and craftspeople during this month of December an offering of these snips of conversation as the season ripens into the Holy Days. Solstice approaches and we are inspired by the light art promises.

http://webclipart.about.com/od/holida1/ss/Santas-Elves.htm


"Limestone is easy." She meant her favorite medium for carving was also easy on her lungs. Water-soluble the dust would find its way out of her lungs. Walking the scant shoreline with her pink collared matron rescue dog, my friend told me of her love of sculpture. "The subtractive is what I love about sculpting," she said as we enjoyed a sun-break from the weeks of damp and dropping temperatures. I was learning so much about art and my new friend. Taking away the mass to reveal something within ... what a gift.
-"Tsonqua"

"These are like constellations," I said admiring the small scatter pins displayed at eyebrow level. The silversmith held the tiny saw and blade. I'd not noticed it. She drew me in. Behind the plexiglass display boxes I saw the detail of a penned design which came after connecting the tiny entry-holes. "They are  constellations," she said perhaps surprised at a stranger's view of her art. I'm wearing one of the bronze scatter pins a hoaka moon. I told the silversmith that I am a fairy tale writer, and had just finished my most recent tale. Things led to talk, talking story, and I discovered she lived on the Ala Wai Canal. She was born on O'ahu, lived on a boat, and went to schools I know well. I left her a safety pin, and she sold me the hoaka scatter pin.


For a moment, he was not sure. "Can we do this?" he asked not seriously, but then he rarely hesitates. "Sure, we can," I told him. Bellies topped off with stacks of blueberry pancakes it would have been easy to remain stationery and warm inside the car. The wind had stirred itself into a frenzy outside. How glad we were to continue the holiday spree of art fairs begun a week ago. Within a few minutes of browsing and conversation we had found art and artists with complementary souls for telling a story of whimsy. The ideas, artful lettering and use of recycled papers enchanted me. We have a small bag of these goodies to inspire and give away.
 "I'm a retired art teacher, and I love to create. It keeps me out of trouble," Nancy told me as I waited for her to total up my handful of lettered magnets.
-Nancy Skullerud

"I love your new beads," I emailed my friend Joan after spending time at her on-line shop Off Center Productions. She and her partner Lana sit among mountains of freshly "baked" ceramic and porcelain beads, talismans, and pendents. I was especially enchanted by two pieces. One of them reminded me of the Madrone from The Safety Pin Cafe... 
"The tree itself was elegant and tall her arms rose into the space above me. "Madrone, the lovely deep rooted one," I was thrilled to see her and reached for the smooth run of her skin."

-Off Center Productions

Back at the farm, the heater warms me, and the comforter does that for him. The wind is even more blustery now as I wrap up this simple nod and thanks to those who love to create. Elves are a handy lot with much to offer us at the Holy Season, and all seasons. Gathering December delights as we did this weekend is a satisfying thing, making life a bit sweeter knowing art lives and this on a laminated and lettered magnet says it well:
"I'll play it first and tell you what it is later"
- Miles Davis

A last minute update: from my astrologer(s) Elsa and Satori on ElsaElsa ... a fantastic stars and planet elf offering to navigate Saturn's 2.5 year transition through Scorpio. 

"I’ve had a few people ask for access to the Saturn in Scorpio workshop I did with satori, earlier this year. The workshop was very good. I hate turning these people away, so I pulled the content together and created a pdf that people can buy." - Elsa P.


Thursday, December 13, 2012

#10 The Safety Pin Cafe: Once there was ...

To catch up, and read the rest of the story ... look RIGHT at the side-bar for 'Doses 1-9" of The Safety Pin Cafe.

I was tempted to sit at the foot of the tiny door, curious about what might be inside. The ornate knocker was a luscious green--a set of three leaves. Steadying myself on the slippery stone bank I leaned on the silver o'o to get a closer look. The door itself was no larger than my palm stretched to full capacity. The knocker was intricately crafted. Ivy. Dangling from the leaves thick ropes grew down the length of the door. Feathered roots, like anchoring ropes the ivy vines were still very much alive.

"This is a door not opened for seasons long and short," the voice was Raven's. "Time is what you'll need to wrestle the roots of the Sure-footed one. Have you the time?" My mind played with the image of the Silver-haired bird who spoke but cloaked himself from me. The changing light around me gave me the answer about time. Night was passing into morning. I pushed myself upright, bid my curiosity a nod and noticed the river had slimmed to a trickle. The moss dried as I stepped away from Madrone. My sensible boots anchored to the stones. Each stone flattened into a smoothly laid path with the pressure of my weight fitting in place as a wall of the Menehune. "Or a mason," teased Raven. "It is a juggling act to maintain the borders of culture," he continued. "They are the same blood, Silver Bird," I was ready for his edgy banter. Aware that Ivy, the Sure-footed will stay to one side of a well-trod trail knowing not to cross to the other side. "They hear and sniff their place," I answered, my eyes winced as I straightened feeling the age of my back muscles.

The smell of apples and cinnamon replaced the smell of  the brackish stream. The sun was warm by the time I arrived at the second door -- a plain white door, solid wood it appeared. There was no knocker or bell just a simple metal door knob. From door to door the venture had given me: time. Time enough to remember how oddly cobbled I was. "Unique venture" the French mademoiselle did tell me. She was right. Does a Border Witch know as a child the journey ahead? I had my suspicions but my dreams, as are all children's dreams more stardust than human and it was time that would bake me to done.

The basket of 'ie'ie scratched at my armpit heated and in want of hatching no doubt. "Soon," I reassured the basket. "Moments only." A low rise of two wooden steps made a welcomed stoop. A pair of high-heeled shoes the color of caramels with straps used to lace around slender ankles lay to the right of the door. Next to them a pair of boots stout and worn leather creased across the box from movement. On the left wooden clogs with tops of heavy canvas a deep orange nearly red. Splatters and dusting of white smudges painted the orange canvas. I sat on the landing after setting the o'o against the front wall, untied my sensible black boots and placed them beside the canvas-topped clogs. Now in my socks, at the last minute I pulled them off as well and tucked them into my boots.

Knowing the protocol for visiting I called out, "Helloooo ... hu'i," refraining from knocking I stood back from the door but not before checking: pin in place,  kihei draped, o'o fully extended. I heard the  padded footfall of socked feet. The door opened in and I was greeted by a tall silver-haired man who towered above me. Dressed in black trousers, a shirt of silky red and a familiar fitted waistcoat Raven smiled. "Just in time," he had dressed for the occasion. I met his smile with the hand that held the o'o.   A wave of energy crossed between us. Images of molten lava, steaming new earth. Quick. The smell of sulphur. I felt for the lei po'o but it was gone and so too the o'o. Raven wore no gloves in this room revealing instead long fingers and flesh of the deepest tones. Ehu as the tree skin of mahogany polished smooth. There was no resisting, I caressed his face with the back of my palm. "Beautiful." Entranced though I was, once inside the door closed behind us, I saw a pair of purple slippers embroidered with designs of black and gold swords. Nearly invisible because the design was stitched in purple threads, a cauldron. The Gypsy Woman was here, too.

This room was surprisingly large, two rooms actually with a split of curtains separating the sitting room from a kitchen. Not a duplication of The Safety Pin Cafe below, but similar. The Gypsy Woman sat at a table with her back toward the entrance of the room. A floor to ceiling mirror hung on the wall behind the table. A table cloth of pale leaf green covered the square table. The four square wood table legs stood like carved trees. Silver place settings--a fork, spoon and knife, smoothly polished plates of wood marked places for four. Raven pulled a chair out for me, "This one," he said and waited for me to sit to the Gypsy Woman's right.



"I've been so impatient to help," she said. "I've lost so many faces in my time, it's nearly ... nearly ... impossible for me to wait to help. I stir and mix up fixes before a faceless woman is ready. Fixing is my job you see. I was born to it." I liked the face I saw next to me and the reflection in the mirror spoke of honesty. She was well-suited for her work. The lines in her face were expertly concealed with a well-applied foundation, face paint. "I love the color of your hair," I said finally settling into my seat as I rubbed by feet together. Sensible boots were well and good, but always, the feel of toes and unencumbered ankles: my favorite. "Thank you. Blond makes me feel myself, and I'm just glad to have the coins to pay for these treatments. My kind of medicine you might say," she was a cackler and a patter, too who instinctively pat the top of my hand in a rhythm any mother recognized. In spite of my often detached nature, I was at ease with her and felt myself relax. "It won't be long now," she read my thoughts. "Funny how we come to learn what we need in unexpected places." again with the cackles. "And timing?" I asked her. "That, too," she said this time simply nodding.

A clatter of plates and a comfortable rhythm of chatter came from the the room beyond the split curtains. The sort of curtains I'd expect to find in a sushi bar allowed me to see bear feet moving in time to the chatter. Every once in a while I'd see Raven's stockinged feet. Finally, the indigo blue sushi bar curtain parted. Raven came first with a steaming pot of what smelled like hot milk and vanilla on a wooden tray. Big china mugs filled up the tray as he headed toward us. A woman, I guessed at her gender, followed. The lei po'o of red lehua -- my lei po'o encircled her head. A mask that looked to be made of leather fully covered her face. A wooded heart hung around her neck. A cape the color of a near-winter forest hung loosely over her shoulders. She carried a large pie. The last through the indigo curtain was a dainty framed cook with brilliant blue eyes and a chef's apron to match her eyes. Her bare feet gave away ancestry as they nearly touched down with each step. The silver hat pin was all she carried.

"It's my first pie," The Faceless Woman said as she settled the hot pie onto a quilted hot pad. Raven held the chair next to me, touched The Woman's elbow to seat her and smiled in my direction. The chef stood beside the last of the empty chairs, waited for Raven to circle and accepted his courtesy and sat beside The Gypsy Woman. Raven poured hot milk with vanilla and pulled from his waistcoat pocket a tiny silver shaker. "Cinnamon," he asked. We all nodded for a sprinkle.

A woman's first pie from the sky is always a time of ritual passages. Not quite the same as celebrating the passing of first blood, a first pie is an occasion to recognize maturing. Sipping the warm milk I watched as memories long and short swam from the steam in front of me. A tent of blankets; a walk on sandy beaches -- white, rocky, warm and cold. Next to me, The Old Gypsy Woman sipped and ripe globes of pomegranates and tomatoes, rich dark coffee and children blond as sunshine. From the edge of the leather mask, the steaming cup of hot milk rose softening the face covering revealing a chin, the flesh nearly transparent. "Sip it, sip it, sip it," we chanted to The Faceless Woman. At first softly, we encouraged her. "Sip it, sip it, sip it. From the bottom up, sip it, sip it, sip it," With each enchantment the leather became her, forming a chin, then lips that could ... sip.

"This is a stop over place, The Safety Pin Cafe," the chef said as we watched The Faceless Woman emptied her mug of warm milk and vanilla. Raven refilled her mug and sprinkled more cinnamon. The chef continued. "Not every one finds this place, it's easily missed among the distractions ... this and that, either or. But, many do find us and we never turn people, mostly woman, away. Company worth keeping give us what we need, and all involved make piece with time." In the chef's hands the silver hat pin had transformed once again this time into a pie server. She handed it to The Faceless Woman and said, "I believe this is yours." An inscription on one side of the pie server read, "New Moon in the Archer. The sky is the limit" Tears fell from beneath that leather mask dampening it. Each tear turned leather to flesh forming one cheek, and another. "Time to cut the pie, and serve us each in turn. But before you do, these three will add one ingredient ... a wish, a prayer, a story," The Chef looked at us: The Gypsy Woman, Raven and me. "This may take a very long, or very short time," said The Chef. With no hesitation there came, "It makes no never mind to me. " The Woman less faceless than before answered. And so each of us did in turn add a wish, a prayer, a story.

Once there was, and once there was, and once there was not ...

The Safety Pin Cafe and The Joy Weed Journal are Copyright Protected(c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar 



Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Soften the ground ... with some laughing

Rain is falling, falling, falling. In the dark of the early, early, early morning. Worry tries to steal my dream-time glory. What can stop the worry from thwarting?

A song (in pidgin)
A voice (like no other)
A face (not the mafia)

As familiar yet so far away, I switch the channel, soften the flow and ...

Hear
Frank ...
De ...
Lima

Singing
About
SPAM Musubi


Thanks so much. Bruddah Frank you can still make me laugh till my stomach aches; and chase them worry warts far, far, far away.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Aloha crosses gender and time ... leialoha o'o



In the end we will remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends -- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

On February 13, 2012, Governor Chris Gregoire signed a same-sex marriage bill that had been passed by both houses of the state legislature. Voters approved the legislation in a referendum held on November 6, 2012. The law took effect on December 6 and the first marriages were celebrated on December 9, 2012.[1]
Link to Wikipedia and the rest of the article

This weekend our friends were among those couples who celebrated and married on Sunday, December 9, 2012. To malama (care for) these two women and celebrate their love, I gathered greenery from the land we share with them. Prayers, permissions and mindful assembling wove the leialoha o'o (garlands of mature love) pictured above. Aloha crosses gender, is powerful and means "hello", "good-bye" and everything in between.


Photo credit: Dr. Mary mk Sandford

Monday, December 10, 2012

Extra helpings, please


Behind the scenes and off-center a bit, though not very far away at all, the smell of cinnamon toast and vanilla reaches my nose. I love the scent and clamor to the half-open doors of the kitchen where a third smell tickles at my toes ... reaching, reaching for its identity. Ah, Turkish apricots.

For the love of it, a stack of toast and walls of Turkish apricots climb on two platters not so tall as to topple yet tall enough to tempt the fairies out of hiding. "Extra helpings, please," I hear them above the clatter of china plates and mugs. "Is it the toast you're after?" I asked, to get a little clarification. Fairies are notorious at mixing their messages, but as I've said before in this tale, forthright is what gets to them without delay. "No, no, not the toast. The pins, the safety pins. We need to spread them around."

Ah, now I understood. - behind the scenes of The Safety Pin Cafe


Would You like a safety pin from The Safety Pin Cafe?  The Wishing New Moon, is Thursday, December 13, 2012. If you drop us a line through email with the SUBJECT: "Extra helpings, please" we'd be happy to slip a safety pin in a cup, and into the snail's mail (Mail within the US only.) for you to make your Christmas wish come true. It's our Christmas present to you for coming to visit Makua O'o and for reading The Safety Pin Cafe.

We value your privacy, and will not share your personal information.


Leave me a message:
mokihanacalizar@gmail.com

Saturday, December 8, 2012

Haku

"to compose, put in order, arrange; to weave as a lei"- Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui and Elbert
 “We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.”― Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind 

It must have hailed early this morning.When we woke, the heavy drops were melting off the umbrellas. Pete found the broom to sweep the steps; one of his Cancer taking-care traits that smooths things here in the woods. Still sleepy and under the covers I peeked through the window, saw no white. Once up, the small patches of not-yet-melted hail were like chunky shaved ice.The illusion of an extended fall is over.

Last night we hosted our first guest for dinner in the Quonset, the real Safety Pin Cafe was open for visits. Our guest is one of the community garden interns who has planted seeds, turned compost, dug beds and shared her considerable knowledge with our South Whidbey world. She is the last of the interns to leave after seven months. She and Pete have worked and traded stories and philosophies in the garden and in the Good Cheer Food Bank. At least once a week during planting and harvesting season these two have shared meals. Last night a new experience wove itself into our lives with dinner-for-three in our tiny house world.

After a few preliminary adjustments to accommodate the smell of scented laundry products, our guest sat in one of the three chairs that fit in the Quonset. JOTS was not pleased, but she got used to our visitor. We sat together at the dark blue table covered with the lovely embroidered table cloth I bought at a garage sale two summers past. I watched her eyes take in the oddities of our way of decorating: blankets and skies of colored cloth arch across her head; aluminum insulation warms the walls; safety pins and clothes pins attach things everywhere. We share our 'how-we-got-here' stories when she asks; the stories are familiar to me, but the details weave different this time.

Soon she will board a plane for Boston to spend the holidays with family, and choose another garden-and-teaching position somewhere. The early winter meal and conversation is a recent memory, a part of our recent yesterday. I wonder how or if the experience will be remembered as this young woman makes her way adding to the composition of her life. My experience with a new guest in our Quonset, and the space which inspires the writings and visits in The Safety Pin Cafe give me pause and ponder time. Decades have passed and yet the cozy space we call the Quonset is so much like the inside of tents we slept in as children. Hung off of clotheslines and secured with clothespins those childhood shelters have imprinted me. Could I have known the safety of those times would transport so well? Not really, my stories were still so young then. But, pela perhaps, the die was cast even then.

One of the things we spoke of last night over Granny Smith Apple Pie was how truths change. When I first met this young woman I wore a mask often, not always, but she began to know I did need it. I believed I needed the mask and have used masks to feel protected. The need for a mask has changed. I have them, but use them less often. My stories are familiar, but change. "We all know how dangerous a mask can be ..." I wonder how that will affect the final dose of the story. Really, I wonder.



And finally, as the already muted light of December turns to night, I have spent the afternoon gathering and preparing lei. Haku lei. Our friends are getting married tomorrow. I hoped to be able to order a lei po'o from Hawaii (garland for the head) for the special day. It didn't work out. Instead, I have enlisted help from a friend (and botanist) to gather greenery and winter blossoms here. That was a treat, and such a great way to get to know more about the harpist and sister storyteller. We collected snips of this and that from the Apple Tree Garden on the grounds of The Whidbey Institute earlier in the week. Today, I took myself into the woods around us to gather salal, wild huckleberry and ferns.

I am a rookie haku lei maker, but have those lei-making genes in me. I asked for help from my Ma and Tutu. My lei is nothing like the one pictured above, but Pete says "That's gorgeous." Woven with lengths of raffia, the red-tips of wild huckleberry, branches of salal and wild blue berry nestle the purple heather. The weaving is a meditative activity, and I breath easily, and enjoy the company of my lei-maker ancestors who knew what they were doing back in their day. Tomorrow morning I'll finish up the second lei.

One can never be sure of what memories will stay intact, and which will evolve and how. Story is like that, too. Inspired by a memory and woven with imagination, and a change here and there. Haku the lei. Haku the story.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

New Moon in expansive Sag, December 13, 2012


"...Your New Moon intention should correlate with Sagittarius, a buoyant, expansive sign. What would you do if the sky were the limit and the odds in your favor?  This is a wonderful time to make a Christmas wish!" - ElsaElsa (read more...)
The three-phases of 'Ole are done. My dreams have been vivid and filled with medicine of the metaphoric. Review and repair nets our elders suggest for the 'Ole moons. Listening to my family speak of their dreams, and considering those I experience confirms the kupuna mana'o (traditional advice). 

Life continues, moving forward as Mahina moves through the heavens, and through the astrological houses of those who watch the sky. The coming New Moon in Sagittarius is something I welcome with clapping hands and a jig. The moon will be in my 11th House of hopes and dreams and friendships-affiliations. At the other side of the sky Uranus is in my 3rd House of communication in Aries.

This morning after bowls of warm oatmeal and raisins I sat at my Quonset Kitchen table and played with ideas and wishes for the coming New Moon. My Christmas wish is to hand a safety pin out to every one we meet between now and Christmas. Why? Drumming up interest in The Safety Pin Cafe (the story, character and 'exchanges') with all its wishes, hopes and dreams for a sky's the limit outcome.

Look for the 10th Dose of The Safety Pin Cafe with the New Moon, December 13, 2012.




Where is the New Moon in your chart, and your Christmas wish?

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Are you good at waiting?




The Epic Tale of Hi'iakaikapoliopele

" Writing fiction for me is like playing in sand at the beach.  Warm water, the sound of waves, and the sculpting of sand caves and castles give me room to let the playful girl out of an all too confining skin of restrictions.  Creativity loves room to play...The story "Splinters" is my latest adventure at playing in the sand.  Through the process, and through the recording done here on my blog I take the discipline art of studying astrology to frame characters; weave in my love and ongoing appreciation for culture; and, allow my need to express the everyday in some transformative way..."
This is an excerpt from a blog post at Moon Tattoos written on February, 2012 here.  My love affair with blogging has tickled scores of stories and creations that allow me "to express the everyday in some transformative way." The time traveling novel-in-the-making "Splinters" parks for a while, and I write other stories. The gifts of internet access and blog-making lay a foundation for doing what I love. And why do I do this?

" My past is like a patch of nettles, the memories burn as I pluck them up . . .and crush them . . .and spin them  . . .and weave them into coats made out of stories. My brothers are grown, but there are others still caught beneath swan feathers and donkeyskins. And so I continue to spin, and weave, and toss those coats made of words to the air — hoping that someday, somewhere, they will set somebody free.- Terri Windling
The three sentences above are the conclusion to Terri Windling's essay "Transformations" copyright © 2002 by Terri Windling which first appeared in the expanded edition of Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Women Writers Explore Their Favorite Fairy Tales, edited by Kate Bernheimer. Windling quickly, and steadily, became my modern day heroine. I highly recommend reading the whole of "Transformation" for an inspiring read about fairy tales as remedy for life. A writer, painter and blogger come to my world thanks to the internet, Windling's novel The Wood Wife and her blog The Drawing Board are regular fueling and refueling ponds for my creativity. I visit her blog daily, and have read The Wood Wife many times. My copy of the novel is tucked in a basket under my bed along with my other notions and potions of homeo-practical magic.

Like Windling, my life and the journey-journaling as Makua O'o is a winding tale. Over and under, challenged and defeated, up and out leaping or scrambling out of ashes I weave something from nothing. The myth and stories I tell are inseparable from the kumulipo (the creation stories) of my ancestors. But, they translate and kick-off (makawalu) versions of tales that fit me today. When I come to the keys and tell the latest story I am motivated by freedom. This morning I read this at my astrologer's blog:

I intended to withdraw my energy from this blog and the boards in order to focus... It’s sort [of]the Saturn model – finish the work, before you play, but then something weird happened. I found out one of the regulars on the site had been blocked by the communist party in the country where she lives.
The variations on the theme of motivation fueled a conversation my husband and I have been having about The Safety Pin Cafe. This version of tale spinning is new for me. Born like so many of my stories there was a need to remedy an experience. I called for help, asked for permission and let the words fly! That 1-2-3 process is consistent. Now, nearly finished with the 10-doses of The Safety Pin Cafe I want to know: What's it is like to read and visit The Safety Pin Cafe? You see I'm not quite sure what the story yearns for as a conclusion. My Hawaiian storytelling genes are evolving and there's no telling what those artistic genes will do from the borders. Before tying off this lei of words, here's something that inspires my lei-making and story-telling genes. Marie McDonald, master lei-maker and kapa maker has been making lei and teaching her aloha for this art from the Waimea country on the island of Hawaii. In the quote from a 1994 interview in The Waimea Gazette, I heard something to move me i mua, forward:

"I can hardly believe what they are doing with leis today! People are so creative, really inventive and I like to think I had a part in that," she said.
She believes true artists, whatever their mode of expression, have to take the traditional and add to it, not be bound by it.
Marie likes to think of people in the year 3000 studying their past history and saying, "Well, look at the difference... this is what they were doing with leis in the 1850's, and then look what they were doing in 1950 and 2050."
"We're supposed to evolve, to grow, to get better," she said.

So back to the question and topic for this post. "Are you good at waiting?" Help me with a new twist to my storytelling.

Are you reading The Safety Pin Cafe?

Did you read the installments quickly, or did you pace the doses? 

If you are a Hawaii-born reader do you see the way the traditional stories weave and change in this story? What do you think of this?

Do you have safety pin memories of your own?

Would you visit the real Safety Pin Cafe, and hear the final installment live in a location near you?

All and any answers will add to the homeopractical application of this medicine story. I hope you'll let me know what you're thinking. Leave a comment, or email me.

mokihanacalizar@gmail.com

The 'Ole Moons begin tomorrow, so I'll be mulling things over for a few moons.

Until next time.
Bisous,
Mokihana





Saturday, December 1, 2012

#9 The Safety Pin Cafe: Hoaka ... arch above the door

As promised, The Fairy Lady slipped into time in a blink of soft blue. As my sensible boot touched down its toe nudged the corner of the door. The door opened in. With it came the stench of stale brackish water, the sort that has sat too long with neither rain nor movement. The perfect environs for ... "Malingering," the word not mine seemed to suit. No turning back. I knew the journey was forward. I took the next step, planting both sensible boots outside the threshold.

In a heartbeat, and I could hear mine pounding soundly, the hall was a stream bed slippery with moss. Water trickled rather than flowed. My boots slid as I attempted movement. "Two doors down. Only two doors down," Raven encouraged. Imagining his silver-hair distracted me. I chose another thought as tempting as it was to stay with that one. My balance in the physical form as Border Witch was not so much missing as random. Sometimes my former agility wore me like well-fitting leggings. Other times, not so much. Slipping with the jelly basket in my armpit would be messy and the explanations afterwards ... well. I was too old for that.

Firm enough afoot, I steadied myself and slid the hat pin from the front of the kihei. Twisting the topknot in a clockwise direction with my right-hand the palm-sized pin grew into full and stout length. A walking stick. A tool. A third leg. I lifted my arm just enough for me to dip the end of the o'o between the woven vines of ie'ie, covering it with the sticky jelly. Blowing on the jell dried it, leaving it as cushion to my movement in the brackish stream. The going was easier, though the smell of the stale water thickened. No light assisted this journey. I laughed as I thought of my mother who would have carried a flashlight!


My preference was keep one as well, but did I leave that in the cafe as well? Well, it made no never mind to look back. I planted the silver o'o in the stream bed, reassured. It was dark but my eyes had adjusted to the absence of light. Shadows glittered and my awareness sharpened. "No shadow without light," I felt a tug at the lehua blossom. It was Hi'iaka. "Turn, turn," she continued. Confident now, my sensible boots pa'a, firmly in place, and my knees flexed I turned slightly and saw the crescent light of Hoaka above the bedroom door behind me. A fair distance behind me now, the light of Mahina cast a pale but particular glow. The shadows of tree skin, the bark as golden as Chinese gold rings outlined a door no higher than my flexed knees. 'ekahi ... one. The tree itself was elegant and tall her arms rose into the space above me. "Madrone, the lovely deep rooted one," I was thrilled to see her and reached for the smooth run of her skin. "The Faceless Woman was two doors down, but what is behind Door Number One?" I waited, wondering, for a moment whether that was the right question.


The Safety Pin Cafe and The Joy Weed Journal are Copyright Protected(c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar