Braiding stories

Spring is here. The wild winds have stirred pollens into the mix sending the message, "New birth, new birth, now." All that is wonderful and necessary but I have my challenges increase with the pollen season so it's a mixed bag spring is ... and so is life. Mixed. I'm spending time reviewing and making changes to two stories, and have created new birth to mark spring with a website-blog called Red Hibiscus and Dragon Wings. Grateful for these woods where we can plug into the 10cents-a-killowatt source of electricity while we manually wash our dirty clothes and wring them through with appliances it is a life of braiding; dexterity, practice and variable results all part of the process.

Years ago I began to use the imagery and the process of braiding to describe the nature of the writing I do. Braiding and writing are hand-work and in either work, thinking about it won't get it done. My own hair is now nearly to my waist and is threaded through with bands of white and silver along with the black. Sometimes it just falls, other times it tangles because I haven't washed it with filtered water and the mineral-hard Whidbey water loves to tangle. Other times, I will it into two long braids that hang behind my ears. And then there are days when I braid it into a single tail to dangle down my back.

When I was a younger woman a friend who had hair thick and black and long tried to teach me to French Braid my hair. Maybe most of you know that French Braiding happens when you don't simply braid the whole split into three hanks, but 'pick up hair as you go' to create a flatter braid. I have never gotten the hang of this braiding style. But, this morning when sorting through a subject to bring to the blog I found the YouTube included above and gleaned from it a bit of imagery that fits for what I am doing with my writing. [Check this: at 2:00 minutes into the video above the process of 'pick up hair as I go']

I am 'picking up hair as I go' with the fairy tale The Safety Pin Cafe and my novel-in-the-work Splinters. Each of these stories has been written on my blogs. I've laid hanks of the story in their first and unedited stages into blog posts, writing fluidly and automatically. Without much preparation or methodology, I braided simply with the Muse directing my hands and opening my heart for hearing the story. Weeks and months later (in the case of Splinters) I am loosening up those braids to rework them. Time and more life (more hair) open me to a new way of looking and hearing the story. A bit of hard water has been flushed through and I filter out some of the unnecessary and consider the editing advice once again. I pick up hair as I go.

In the case of my novel, the time traveling story that grew from my life of living in Hilo I am rewriting the opening chapter and think I have a way of tying things together at the end ... hopefully, braiding a better story. Here is a link and a bit from the original hank of the Introduction and opening chapter of Splinters

Introduction

Time is maleable, my ancestors would probably agree that time is a membrane rather than a wall with access to wa i mua o i hope.  This is a story of time travelers and values that travel as surely as the moon, in cycles and variation you can count on regular surprises particularly if you are paying attention.  One family and their extended 'ohana experience time travel on the illumination of match sticks, splinters tipped with sulphur, and discover how ancient and contemporary truth adapt to survive.  This is a journey of visits with old heroines who remain as tangible as basil and tomato red sauce for supper.  Polynesian and ancient earth culture season "Splinters" with language and protocol of permissions to invite comfort in any reader with a longing to connect with the feeling of being at home.  If you will allow me, I will spin for you a tale kissed with tradewinds. 

Welina make yourself comfortable,
Mokihana

That Introduction feels like a solid hank to the braid of the story. What is changing is how I look more closely at the details of the scene which I wrote a year ago. There are errors that show themselves, or details that will need explanation to make the story 'true.' Like this:

"A vase of purple cornflowers sat in the middle of the oval table.  El fished into the clear glass fishbowl, pulled up a moon snail shell that was only half there.  She rubbed at the inner spiral of the shell."

When I began writing Splinters I wrote as if the characters were here ... Washington. "Purple cornflowers and moon snail shells" are not usual in Hilo. But, maybe the cornflowers were found in the market or florist. Maybe the moon snail shell was picked up and brought back from the Salish Sea while some of the characters was on holiday? Braiding stories does include the journeys I make or have made and when I write or tell them initially they flow without regard for details. The story engages me and the keyboard allows the first telling. Sometimes, that is just right. And other times, rewrites and dropping a hank might be necessary. I'll make room for rereading and consider the sort of braiding to do today. I am blessed with the handwork of writing, and treasure the chance to learn that I could French Braid if I practiced.

Do you braid?

Speaking of editing ...

 My husband Pete loves to read comics. He thought I might like this. I do, I do.

http://news.yahoo.com/comics/doonesbury-slideshow/

Pinning things together while Saturn is in Scorpio

From something called The Learners Dictionary I found the drawings above and this ... " metal pin that is used for attaching things and that has a point at one end and a cover at the other into which the pointed end fits."

The wind is strong today, and a storm is forecast for tomorrow. With all the water piling up in the heavens it makes sense we would collectively experience storm. On a daily basis I learn things about being an Earthling and try to pin those lessons together to make a bridge over which I get from one place to another. More often than not my bridges take me back and forth to places I have passed before; reassessing my past relationship is something I do often.

Bridges are great inventions, evolving over time I'm sure the simplest of bridges was made by stretching ones legs across a stream, a gap in the valley. Into the arms of the stretchee perhaps a small child, a treasured tool or another such loved one went from one side to the other using the human bridge. I wonder about the metaphor of bridges as I finished reading a message telling us about the passing of a neighbor. Death is both bridge and form of passing from one side to the other. I am saddened by the news though I never met the man who passed; I chatted to his wife just the other day for the first time. Still death is universal and though this couple was in the middle of a divorce, the grief will probably be as full and real regardless.

Which brings me to the point of this post. With mortality and passings being as real as that message, I had begun to write about pinning, and unpinning stories. There are so many stories: some wait to be found again, others remain hidden because only a spider or lizard can tell it, and then there are stories which are only told by the young, or by the very old. Here at Makua O'o I tell stories that happen on my way to becoming an elder. With no guarantees I will be wise in the telling, I have simply told them from the heart. Earlier this week I have been coaxed from the caves into which I retreat when the world is too painful for me. Terri Windling and the writers, readers and artist who come to pin stories to tales, and tales to pictures and pictures to dragon wings on her blog, give me fuel to keep giving it ago ... my best is all that I can do ... and that is enough.

Mortality, and Saturn in Scorpio are messengers that urge living to the fullest in whatever form is possible from this side of the bridge. It's a deep crevasse over which my bridge and those of others transits. Travail and transformation equally possible in the crossing. Today I decided to take my next best shot at the journey and climbed aboard the dragon and urged her to spread those wings ...

Take me from the Red Hibiscus Hedge, Mo'o
Pin me with memories sepia and worn
No longer new but not nearly so old
To forget what purpose Dragon Wings serve
Is as likely as never having bridges
That need crossing

So to continue pinning stories I have returned to my culture where first I was dressed in the language of story. There are red hibiscus and dragon wings waiting, and if you forget the password to enter ...
JUST REMEMBER ... it's "thelanguageofstory."

Click to find Red Hibiscus and Dragon Wings

Dressed in the language of story ...

Yesterday the full flood of a Piscean-sky had me "playing with words and images, using corners of my brains I don't usually visit unless I am dressed in the language of story that wears me like a red hibiscus." If there is a verb that needs to live more comfortably in my life it is playing. Too often I am working hard at play, and that rather defeat the jolliness of the activity so there you have it. A path well-worn does not mean a new one cannot be slid upon from time to time, and then with practice slid upon more often.

Regular readers here know that I am in the fits and tangles of learning the language of 'being edited.' I'm not through the woods and out the other end, but I'm learning to play with it ... tricking the demon-mind from her obsession with being perfect. The opening paragraph of my fairy tale in the works includes this description "Dressed for the season in my long skirt, paisley wool shawl, and tea cozy hat with a red felt hibiscus over my left ear my feet splashed in puddles." Now that is a description begging for play!
-long skirt
-paisley wool shawl
Sensible for the season
-tea cozy hat with red felt hibiscus 
-over my left ear
Well now, there's a pitch for playing and whimsy
-my feet splashed in puddles
Oh yeah, a child lives within

My friend JT offered me this about 'editing.'
"this business of editing...Making it all tidy and clear; making the plot arc etc;but I worry that in editing this magic we lose the magic. Now maybe it is true that few people will be able get the story or the magic if it is untamed but I wonder if it needs to suit everyone. Good luck. I love the snippets and flow and hidden parts of the story I like filling in the holes with my imagination and I carry some images around with me. In any case the writing is grand ..."

It is this under-toe that sends me into waters where I cannot touch bottom as I wrestle with the words and tidy it up. The arc of the plot in my tale? No, it does not go from point a to point b and there are holes in it and secrets left untold. Purposeful omission on my part, as the tale was written in doses like homeopathic remedy for the writer, and the reader. The holes are meant to be filled in from the readers' end.

I fear the loss of the free roaming spirit that writes the story through my fingertips. That untamed dragon spirit that without the language of story is constantly on alert and in edit-mode. The middle road has long been one that I find difficult to tread. "Why be normal?" was a license plate I once wore on my sensible brown station wagon.

There are many fine writer's sites and editing blogs that give good and sound practical advice about learning this process. If it turns out this old girl is a dragon that won't be tamed, I do hope there are readers and myth lovers who can recognize me when I am dressed in the language story. Because one thing is for sure, dragons are happiest when in good company.

Source

 Any thoughts?

Red Hibiscus and Dragon Wings

Red Hibiscus for our windows Kaimuki Dry Goods

"Final project, says Maple Head to her class...write down some things you believe in that don't make sense...but don't worry about coherence and shape and narrative style. Just make notes. Play with words and ideas...Try to use corners of your brains you don't usually visit...Write from the heart." - Brian Doyle Mink River

"It was a day a duck could love. For that matter the week was a duck's paradise. Dressed for the season in my long skirt, paisley wool shawl, and tea cozy hat with the red hibiscus over my left ear, my feet splashed in puddles."- Yvonne Mokihana Calizar The Safety Pin Cafe

I am playing with words and images, using corners of my brains I don't usually visit unless I am dressed in the language of story that wears me like a red hibiscus. Fragile. Lasting but a day that is all it takes to make space for magic. Spring is making promises today. The first magenta of salmon berry coaxes me from hiding. Sun and puffy clouds tell me "seasons are for reasons." The sly wind is back and turns the rain fly into a dragon dulled from so much rain but still ... its wings never forget what flight is.  Between the editing first drafts and re-writes  I lose the melody of the story and tears come because it is the song of story that like wet dragon wings knows what is at the heart. I was in need of reminders of magic that can come if I remember to include all corners in the folding of art.

From corners of my brain so rarely visited, drawings and watercolors wished for their moments of light. Drawn onto squares of white paper with black pen and filled in with water colors folded origami tea cups spill a story of silliness ...

 The tea cozy hat with bright red felt hibiscus over my left ear, and hints as to the color of paisley that would tickle the joy from the kitties.

 The tea cup unfolded reveals the fullness of paisley, a long shirt and hair no longer blue-black ...

while sensible black boots splash in puddles and twirl at the end of city blocks.

I am in need of more reminders of the best of times from my homeland of red hibiscus. I went searching yesterday, on the look-out for new lengths of cloth to soothe me. When I was a girl learning to sew there was a place I, and many other girls, women and grand-mothers would go. Back and forth I went as my life took me on planes to become mother, career traveler-trainer and wife. Away did I go and yet when I did return to Hibiscus Island there was that place where girls, women and grand-mothers still went to find lengths of cloth, notions and patterns and the chatter that comes when preparing to stitch.

The length of fabric I found to satisfy my craving for Hibiscus Island is from Kaimuki Dry Goods' Online Catalog. I wished it was possible, and made a call to the 808 phone number from my 808 cellphone. Connected and chit-chatting the sound of a familiar lilting voice, and conversation as easy as pie has me well on my way to ordering yards of cotton with large hibiscus and tropical company. In time for spring, my sensible black boots will take me to my sewing machine and stitch a story that I could love.

Strange that this should become a bit to offer at Terri Windling's Moveable Feast entitled "Desire for Dragons. It did not start that way, but nonetheless here it is and I am glad. Link to Terri's blog Myth and Moor for the answer to the question ...Faded dragons forget what their wings are for?

Preparing for Mercury in Retrograde (begins February 23, 2013): Learning to be edited

"The truth is you have to learn how to be edited just as much as you have to learn how to edit," he says. "And learning how to be edited teaches you a lot about writing, about distance and objectivity and humility, and ultimately about yourself."- Gary Kimata

I got a call from a dear pal. She was calling to check on me. "You haven't been blogging for awhile, are you all right?"

"Thanks," I said and meant it. I don't have many people checking up on me and this friend has been one (a friend) for a good long time. She checks when you doesn't see the evidence of 'writing' because writing is the knotted cord, the Rapunzel's locks that tells her I'm in the zone, in place, or at least writing my way through things.

Behind-the-scenes I am working on incorporating the critique and editing of my latest writing, a fairy tale. It's not easy, and I'm honestly not much practiced in being edited. Some people are of the opinion that if you're writing for yourself (and not writing to be 'published' and paid) blog. Somehow that made sense to me, but doesn't sit well with the many parts of me that are prideful and Leonine. As I've blogged, I've gotten better at the venue, and used it to chronicle the inexplicable, the darkness and the loss; but there has always been the vein of grace and hope and finally, a place for joy and lightness.

Being edited is a process I've avoided for decades. Moving from personal journals onto the immediately gratifying experience of the blog has allowed for much experimentation, and healing. Did I know the writing, and publishing of my medicine story would lead here: to editing? No, I did not. But, likened as editing has often been to being in the hands of a sharp knife, I can apply that comparison to my life during the recent past. I had a biopsy on an ugly growth. I feared the procedure because of my sensitivity to the chemicals common in a medical setting, and feared as well an outcome I could not afford. My fears were unfounded on the one hand, and justified on the other. The growth was benign, but the setting was toxic. Recovering from the chemicals took weeks, but I am better now.

The notes and suggestions for editing The Safety Pin Cafe sat for days and I considered the changes offered me. Was I so in love with the story that I could not allow for a tweak here, or a major rewrite there? During the past week, and now as the 'Ole Moon Phase of four completes itself today, I have rewritten the first "Act" of segment and it is a major shift. My first reader, Pete, my husband has read the rewrite, and re-read the original draft. We have talked about it. I'm mulling things over. I'm writing about the process here. My editor gave me a set of general questions to answer.

Who is your main character at the beginning?
What is her journey?
Why is she on it?
How does she get on it?
What contributes to and what detracts from it's success?
Who is your main character at the end?

My answers to those questions led to a fork in the road, a choice on my part. What would I do with that original story after I answered the questions? And, would I take all the advice to heart or only take what I like and leave the rest (a bit of 12-step advice I have pondered for decades). 


To weave the tale and make use of this blog space, I braid some inspiration, and hank of hair from the fairy tale Rapunzel to make sense of the journey of learning to be edited here. A brief snip from Wikipedia about the original fairy tale Rapunzel describes the plot:

A lonely couple, who want a child, live next to a walled garden belonging to an enchantress. The wife, experiencing the cravings associated with the arrival of her long-awaited pregnancy, notices a rapunzel plant (or, in some versions^[7] of the story, rampion), growing in the garden and longs for it, desperate to the point of death. On each of two nights, the husband breaks into the garden to gather some for her; on a third night, as he scales the wall to return home, the enchantress, Dame Gothel, catches him and accuses him of theft. He begs for mercy, and the old woman agrees to be lenient, on condition that the then-unborn child be surrendered to her at birth. Desperate, the man agrees. When the baby girl is born, the enchantress takes the child to raise as her own, and names the baby Rapunzel. Rapunzel grows up to be the most beautiful child in the world with long golden hair. When Rapunzel reaches her twelfth year, the enchantress shuts her away in a tower in the middle of the woods, with neither stairs nor a door, and only one room and one window. When the witch visits Rapunzel, she stands beneath the tower and calls out:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, so that I may climb the golden stair.

I can relate to the opening of this tale, a version more true to the telling than Disney's. The craving of a woman "the wife, experiencing the cravings associated with the arrival of her long-awaited pregnancy, notices a rapunzel plant (or, in some versions^[7] of the story, rampion), growing in the garden and longs for it, desperate to the point of death." My own craving for stories that tell the truth of things through myth is powerful in me. The price for the craving is often more than I've bargained for. Fairy tales with their deep roots in magic and tendrils wound through human nature prickle at things that I would just as soon be kept secret. But ... part of my best good comes when the secrets are composted into story!



Astrologically, that pack of Pisces will be backing up soon, and this old Scorpio with antennae as sensitive as cat's whiskers feels things. So, I've been picking up Mercury in its own shadow thing. Here's part of what Elsa wrote about the Mercury Retrograde beginning February 23, 2012.

We’re talking about people who are angry and don’t know it. We’re talkin’ sneaky, misguided attacks, purposeful brainwashing / gaslighting and the like. It’s entirely possible that you mind (Mercury) fuck (Mars) yourself, so I highly recommend you find an positive outlet for this energy.

 For example, you can direct your imagination to serve others.   You can be driven (Mars) by compassion (Pisces).  You can communicate with sensitivity and you can pray.

You can also transcend your mental confusion. You can escape it, but this is rarely a strong suit for Mercurial types which is why I expect a soupy mess! Just remember that Pisces has the potential for self-undoing. If you find yourself indulging in this, head in the other direction! Also, remember the old adage, “Never try to reason with a drunk”! Odds are you’re going to run into a lot of them.

Astrology, like fairy tales, offer insight and application, warnings and opportunity. I read in Elsa P.'s advice this particular medicine "It’s entirely possible that you mind (Mercury) fuck (Mars) yourself, so I highly recommend you find an positive outlet for this energy." Learning to be edited may be the positive outlet if I am aware to side-step the mind fuck and be in charge of the length of my own hair.

How am I? Still braiding Jt. Still braiding.

From Tangled the Disney version of Rapunzel

Lunar New Year Begins

Satori, co-anchor astrologer from ElsaElsa has been serving such rich daily readings. She's a Pisces Sun and perhaps the heavily occupied sky in her sun-sign magnifies her insight more than ever. What ever is doing it for her, I am grateful for the poetry and the expressions. Satori has this to say about the heavens for Monday, February 11, 2013, the start of the Lunar New Year.

"...  Feelings follow perceptions stimulated by the root of ingrained damage originating from childhood experience. This can be experienced as emotional pain and there may be the urge to act out or communicate this pain in a diffuse way. The high road here is to connect this to the self in a conscious way, to recognize its healing connection to the overall human condition. You’re not alone...
Read more

Earlier today I was making a batch of cookies. They're small almond flour cookies I've named "Thumbelinas" in honor of the tiny beautiful one of the same name from the fairy tale written by Hans Christian Anderson. Feeling those 'ingrained damages" Satori writes about, I thought how I could make something wonderful to sell. Something to turn into money! First, I climbed into bed and tried to get lost in the new book Pete and I are reading. But that didn't do it, or maybe it did. I could not wallow. Instead I thought about what it might take to make Thumbelina's to sell. A toaster oven tray filled with beautifully toasted Thumbelinas was ready in less than an hour. The cost for making these mighty mite treats may be prohibitive. At retail cost for the ingredients I'd have to charge at least $1.75 to make money on them. They're delicious and rich! You really only need to eat one of them to satisfy. But two? Easily.

I served Pete chicken and squash stew and Thumbelinas for a late lunch. He loved them both. I asked him, "Would you pay $1.75 for a beautiful sweet thumbprint cookie made from almonds, coconut oil and no sugar?"

He said, "Wow." This man is THE cookie monster of South Whidbey, and he's the man who would buy all my cookies, any day. But that doesn't exactly give me with (as in our joint resources) the money I was asking for. It's a two bite cookie, and I think it's worth the price. My New Moon wish, and New Year commitment is to look at money in a different way. I'm working with that, and working on those cookies, too. Satori's got me thinking:

"What matters now is not how we’ve hurt or been hurt, but what we will do with it NOW. How can we use this to maintain and build our place in the world, to do our part. Mars squares Jupiter which trines Venus. Mars sextiles Pluto. Go deeper. Create value."

Would you pay $1.75 for a really, really good cookie? Or $20 for a dozen and the storyteller comes to your house to tell the story of Thumbelina?

New Moon in Aquarius, February 10, 2012 New Lunar Year Monday, February 11, 2013

The sun is making a grand appearance. Now that our computer has moved out of the vardo and into the Quonset, a sunny day ripples through the wavy panels of clear plastic. Looking through the waves onto the mix of sun-spotted green and pink gray tree skins I count the blessed in everyone of the Tall Ones. I'm still wavy myself as I ride through a cycle of restoring health, digging in when the deep dreaming brings old lovers, wise youngsters, and activity that has me spinning when I finally wake up. Living with health that is 'wavy' as I have for a number of years it is storytelling and writing-blogging that makes sense of the fluid nature of limited energy when nothing solid remains for long.

First let me define my terms. I'm going to refer to the limited energy one has when dealing with a chronic illness in terms of “spoons” -- so if you haven't yet read Christine Miserandino's very useful "Spoon Theory" essay, it might be helpful to do so. -Terri Windling

“Illness is the night side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use the good passport, sooner or later each of use is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.”

― Susan Sontag

Every day is a new one, and every 29-30 moons is a new one. The New Moon in Aquarius coming up this week end is another auspicious time to make the best out of where I find myself.

My favorite astrologer Elsa P. offers suggestions for making the best of this New Moon. Her ideas/suggestions are based on where the moon (which House) will be in the natal chart this coming Sunday. The Aquarius New Moon will be in my 2nd House. "New Moon in the 2nd house – Handle money in a new way. Experiment with self esteem."Good idea, good reminder for me.

Use this link to Elsa's blog post to see what the moon which leads to the Lunar New Year of The Water Snake.

Mystic Medusa writes ..."[T]he new CHINESE Year is the Year of the Water Snake and in Flying Star Feng Shui it is when all the ‘stars’ fly back to their original places...It’s the beginning of a new nine year cycle & actually an even longer one.."Click here to see an awesome drawing of the Water Snake and thoughts about the year to come.

All the best to all of You, readers, friends and family.

Gung Hee Fat Choy! Happy New Year,

Flight of the 'Alala

A magical process happens when a story is given to you and upon receipt you know you are responsible for the care of it. Almost every day I visit writer and mythic mistress Terri Windling's blog. I sit with her newest musings on fairy tales and stories, eat my oatmeal slowly as I add the words from Windling to feed me on the journey as storyteller. Like a name given with mana and meaning the story grows with time. In my case the names I was given at birth have a story; each a separate one. My Hawaiian name, 'Mokihana' is the one which has a legacy that could only be understood as I aged. Born at a time when the meaning of 'olelo (Hawaiian language) was at best clouded, to know the many meanings of it now is part of the responsibility.

I am in the process of cleaning the bones of the fairy tale I began writing in November-December. It began as a medicine story given to me in doses like homeopathic remedy: I was ill and in need of something ... not a cure, but something. With the editing and cleaning process the tale is being looked at in tinier chunks together with my son, my editor and my collaborator in Hawaiian culture. Together we see and feel the cultural component of the story from two perspectives and with each question posed possible flights of unexpected transport or point of clarity hone the bones. I love this!

Simultaneously I have been making room for a second part of the tale, expanding the character of Pale Wawae Border Witch. Several segments are clattering and laying themselves into story. I'm enjoying the direction and as always when the story is right, I am surprised! I make no bones about my writing being biographical; life influences everything I write. This week as I fly through the swirling winds of dreams while sleeping and delirium as illness takes me up and over out and through I have been visited by the Hawaiian Crow, 'Alala. It all started a few weeks ago when my friend Pam asked me if there were any crows in Hawaii. Without hesitation I said, "No." I was wrong.

Without giving away the delicious further adventures of Pale Wawae, I will leave you with this segment from the newest story, The Joy Weed Journal the private writings of Pale Wawae Border Witch.

 "Do you know the 'AlaLA, Pale Wawae?" Max asked as he took the mug of strong Oolong tea from me.

"I do not," I said. Though even when I said the word it seemed familiar. I sat in the rocking chair facing Max and sipped. Too hot. Cautious of the baby, I set the tea on the glass-topped wicker table and let it cool.

"And, Alala?" Shifting the emphasis on the vowels, the word was different and right away I knew it.

"Sure, Alala is the name of the road where Bunny and Chucky live. In Lanikai back on O'ahu." My first cousin "Chucky" was Charles Kaulana Wawae and his wife Bunny, was Bunny Roberts. Flashbacks to Alala Place. Scenes I rarely allowed while awake. A time when it was I who was the Faceless Woman lit up scenes behind my eyeballs.  Now was not the time for remembering. I willed the memory away and listened to Max's voice.

"It is the same word, but in the Nowadays pronunciation is lax. The word is 'AlaLA with the accent on the final syllable. It is the word, the name, of the Hawaiian Crow. A crow, a bird that is now extinct in the native places." Max paused and looked to me for any connections newly made on my part. None yet. I cocked my head, and the kahuna began his story.

....................

The beautiful video above comes from Hawaii, its title influenced this post and I suspect will influence the story and private writings of a border witch.

Time travel

Kaa'awa, North Shore, O'ahu

Kuliouou Beach Park ... the river, the Ko'olau Range and Paiko

Sandy Beach ... The Naupaka, white sand, Tide Pools and place where Honu love to feed

It's a wandering sort of day. Up very early I caught up with my son via email, and did some rewrites on The Safety Pin Cafe. You might have noticed the 10-dose fairy tale remains available to read here in it's original unedited form. Thank Jupiter for going direct and moving me into changing my mind about taking the story down. (Slide down the side-bar if you're interested in reading it.)My son's editing the story and together the process and the story open up because two other eyes and the ideas behind those eyes see something more. The collaboration is wonderful. Internal landscape includes the imagination, and the imagination is fed on things real and the space between. 

To refuel that internal landscape I visited O'ahu through the cyber-avenues stopping first at one of Pete's frequent cyber-stops ilind.net. Ian Lind blogs from the North Shore of O'ahu and is one of the top Hawaii blogs. For all sorts of reasons, the O'ahu journalist, historian and political hound dog has created a go-to place. I'm usually peeking over Pete's shoulder as he reads the latest scoop: politics, cat reports (Lind and his wife have 8 or 9), and over the years his posts and photos about his parents round out a well-conceived and executed blog. Today I was captivated by Lind's recent post about a long-time, and long gone landmark restaurant. M's Ranch House was in Aina Haina, not far from where my family lived. Two valleys Koko Head, as a matter of fact. That's where I lived as a kid.

One thing led to another and along with a request from a family member asking for genealogical info to flesh out the family tree, I was caught in time traveling. The three photos are beach shots of three of my favorite and most frequented wahi pana (sacred places) on O'ahu. These three places have a long or marked history for me. Ka'aawa was the place Pete and I hoped would be a safe haven for us. It was short-lived, but we experienced it and stories will come from that. Kuliouou Park and the river are places from childhood. Concrete and new histories cover the memories of times when dairy cows, Costa's store and Mrs. Quon School nourished the valley families. Sandy Beach and The Tide Pools they are both a childhood sacred place, and the place where Pete and I called 'home' during the dark hours of night and homelessness.

Internal landscapes and imagination feed storytellers. And, we all tell stories.

M’s Ranch House, which once stood in Aina Haina.

M’s Ranch House, which once stood in Aina Haina.

Under pressure? Saturn squares the Sun

Satori from ElsaElsa.com is really rolling with bowls filled with astrological food to fuel me. Today, as the sun winds down on this Monday after the 'Ole Moon phases, she fed me this to prepare for tomorrow:

"... Saturn squares the Sun, challenge, but that’s not always a bad thing. It also slows down the process and instills structure. That can create value through permanence...." Read the entire post for tomorrow's sky here.

I am gradually rolling out a week of feeling poorly and came to our trusted old Acer laptop(the big bruiser of a desk top computer is still in get-used to me mode, We aren't used to a monitor that's huge and bright!) to see what bones might be in old Mother Hubbard's cupboard. Sometimes, like the nursery rhyme there is nothing but lucky me today Satori had something to nourish me.

Any Saturn-heavy readers here? Satori's reading of tomorrow's heavenly alignment could offer a nice tweak to the persistent challenge of being Saturnian. I'm drinking a mug of ginger tea and heading back to the vardo for a bit of Saturn and silliness with Nanny McPhee.