The Alice in Wonderland Effect

Hanging out with 1,800 year old redwood trees is pretty amazing.  The world of Henry Cowell State Park feels both ancient and timeless.
 

Eagle Creek crossing

Before our hike, we had a pleasant conversation with a smiley ranger.  My guess is he loves his job.  Following his suggestion, we walked to the back of the main redwood grove and entered a trail at the General Fremont tree.  (That sucker is 277 feet tall!)  From there we hiked the River Trail and Big Rock Hole Trail.

Don't forget to stop and look up.

As we walked, I could feel us moving away from civilization and into the world of the Zayante Indians, the area's residents for thousands of years.  There is something fresh and honey-ish about redwood-infused air.

For a while I was invigorated.  Then I got a little drowsy, sort of like I was under some kind of cosmic spell.  I released to the floating, dreamy sensation.  Perhaps being dwarfed in stature and time created an Alice in Wonderland effect.

I'm glad that Henry Cowell's son gave away $14 million to enhance the "public good."  As a member of the public, I agree:  It's good.


If you go to Henry Cowell, you can enter through the main entrance, where parking is $10.  There you have easy access to the main redwood grove, the Roaring Camp train, and the visitor's center and gift shop where you can get a free map.  This map is much better than anything you can find online.

There are free entrances at several well-marked trail heads off Highway 9.  To explore another area of the park called Fall Creek Unit you can enter off Empire Road.  Hikes range from easy to challenging.  Trails are numerous and well-tended.

The Secret to a Happy Life

Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.  

- George Bernard Shaw

What is "finding" ourselves, after all?  We are where we are.  There's nothing to find!

I guess I could be "there"...but that would still be "here."  (credit)

Shaw's right:  There's a lot to be said for creation.

The secret to a happy life, in my humble opinion, is a two-parter:

1.  Cherish the moment, and 

2.  Be excited for the future.

Part 1 is focusing on being.
Part 2 is focusing on creating.

This equation allows me a beautiful balance.  When I'm cherishing the moment, I'm really here.  I smell, taste, touch, feel, appreciate the richness of life.

And when I'm excited for the future, I'm wondering, imagining, exploring and reveling in all the possibilities life holds.

If my thoughts about the future are fun, joyful and productive, I bask in them.  If they bring me anxiety, I focus back on the present and remind myself that the future and the past are just thoughts.

If what surrounds me at the moment isn't pleasing, I luxuriate in thoughts of the future knowing that everything, no matter what, changes.

View of the Grand Tetons from our river raft trip down the Snake River (photo by Dave)

I find that the more I appreciate life, the more exciting things there are to look forward to.  It's like being on a raft floating down a river and feeling the sun, smelling the water, viewing the light and wildlife and trees--and knowing that whatever comes around the bend will be another amazing sight to see.

And Mom lives on...

Mom's non-funereal-funeral was this Saturday.  It was a gorgeous day in San Francisco (the city of her birth) filled with tears and laughter and love.  With the trio of musicians playing Hawaiian music that my mom loved, with wine and stories flowing, it was a true celebration of her life.  I could feel her presence.  And this morning I received a timely reminder that we do live on, in so many ways.  Here it is, from a woman in Tennessee:

"I just learned that my 5-year-old twin sons have red-green Color Vision Deficiency.  I began madly searching for resources for my sons and his teachers, and I found Seeing Color:  It's My Rainbow, Too. 

The book for kids.

"In my search, I learned that there really aren't many resources out there on CVD for children.  From what I could find, this was really the only one.  I found it out-of-stock on Amazon.com and could not find it in Borders or any other Nashville bookstore.  I finally found it on a couple of web sites and have ordered three copies.

Mom also wrote one for teens and adults.

"I am emailing to tell you that I ran across a link to your blog when searching for availability of this book.  I read about your mother's recent passing, and even though I am a stranger, I am very sorry for your loss.  I read your words and her obituary, and I could tell that she was a very special person.  I am so grateful to have found copies of her book.  I am a former elementary teacher, and I plan to give one to my boys' kindergarten teacher and another to the art teachers at their school.  I consider her book a true gift for parents of children with CVD.  I hope my sons' teachers will read it and gain a better understanding of "colorblindness" and its impact on approximately 8% of the boys (and possibly a few girls) that they teach. 

Mom's novel, a romantic comedy-mystery with a colorblind hero.

"My twins learned to read early and easily, but their preschool teacher was concerned about their difficulty with (and lack of interest in) puzzles. Even though my sons don't go to preschool anymore, I will now share with them what I'm learning and recommend your mother's book.

After releasing a mix of Mom and Dad's ashes into the Bay,
in their beloved city where they married.

Thank you for your work in editing Seeing Color, and I know that your mother's contribution will continue to help parents like me and children like mine.  I believe her amazing spirit will remain with you forever."

Nurse, Writer, Mother, Grandmother, Wife, Adventurer...

Mom with her friend Nancy, both nurses in Hawaii, circa 1955.

She lived a rich life.  I'm glad her obituary reflects that.

"True humor's essence is love." - Thomas Carlyle

My mom died last week.  Because of her dementia, she hadn't spoken in over a year.  The last word I ever heard her say was "yes."  In fact, that was the only word she used for quite some time.

No language, but a big smile.

Another thing she did for a long time after losing her language was laugh.  When someone cracked a joke, she'd grin--even though it didn't seem possible she understood it.  And as it had throughout the years, America's Funniest Home Videos continued to make her giggle.

Taken a few years ago at Christmas.  Mom thought this was a hilarious picture.

My mom always loved to laugh.  Especially at self-deprecation and irreverence.  Five years ago--after my father had died and she'd not only been diagnosed with Alzheimer's but had fallen and broken her arm and spent months in and out of the hospital because of various maladies--she was staying at my house for a while.  I put on Monty Python's Life of Brian, ready to turn it off if it was just too much.  But mom laughed the whole way through.  We howled with laughter together at the end--you know, the scene when the crucified men merrily sing from their crosses:  "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."

Mom as a young nurse in Hawaii.

Soon after her diagnosis, she told me she'd been considering suicide.  I told her no one wanted her to do that--that her death journey was part of her life, and we'd all be in this together.  Later, she shared that with a longtime friend of hers, also a former Catholic.  The friend--who also had struggled with illness--said, "I've thought of that too but I'd have no idea how go about it.  Besides, isn't suicide a mortal sin?"  She and her friend laughed hard over that.  And my mom totally cracked up when she shared the story with me.  Sometimes we'd kind of cry and laugh at the same time.

Years later in Hawaii, with her daughters and her favorite drink:  a Lava Flow.

I'll never forgot her 70th birthday, nine years ago.  We had a family party.  When it came my turn to toast, I said: "I'm glad you've lived long enough for me to appreciate you."  She roared!  And whenever I reminded her of the line, she laughed again, like it was the first time she'd heard it.

Our longtime family friends Gary and Laurie wrote a beautiful letter to my sisters and me telling us they can still "hear her laughter rising in the California foothill sun."  

Yesterday I said to Dave:  "When the day begins with paying bills and writing your mom's obituary, you know things can only go up from here."  She would have loved that line.  In fact, I think she did.  Her laugh seemed to echo off the kitchen walls.

They loved nature.  And they were great dancers.  I think they're now foxtrotting in the stars.

Gary and Laurie characterized my mom perfectly as a "gentle soul with toughness and resolve who not only performed the art of motherhood as well as any we’ve known, not only served as caregiver to her husband for decades but here was a woman who allowed her own personhood to blossom beyond her life duties. ... Hers was a special beauty." 

They added:  "She saw you grow and settle, she experienced the future of her DNA as she enjoyed her beautiful grandchildren, she drank deeply of a marriage, friends and the recognition she received as a vital professional and community member.  Most never live so much life."

No one is ever really gone.  All we have to do is think about them and they can be right there.  I've had great conversations with my dad during the five years since he passed.  And I know I will with my mom, too.  I think there will be more laughter.

Mom in her beloved Yosemite, where she worked as a nurse and met my dad.

Two Hawaii Water Treats

There are so many ways to experience the water in Hawaii.  We did a ton of excellent snorkeling at Kohala beaches and other choice spots, namely Two-Step and Kealakekua Bay (aka "Captain Cook's").

Dave and I snorkeling with dolphins, turtles and a manta ray.

But two of our most wonderful water experiences weren't even in the ocean.  One was the warm pool at Ahalanui Park, south of Hilo.

I took this picture today before we slipped in.

A mix of fresh and salt water, the warm pool is volcanically heated.  It's like floating around in a bathtub.  Except this tub contains little fish that delightfully nibble at your skin when you're still.  Supposedly they help exfoliate you.  Unlike the spa, this experience is free.

Volcanic bliss.

Another free amazing water adventure that's a bit more off the beaten path is the Queen's Bath, a freshwater pool inside a lava tube.  You have to walk a little ways over lava to get there, but it's totally worth it.

A ladder for easy descent.

The water is unlike anything I've ever felt or see before.  It's so clear and cool, and it feels silky.  Must be all the minerals.  After our swim, my skin and hair felt super soft.

One happy mermaid.

You can swim from one side of the tube to the other beneath lava.  The whole experience feels primordial.

So when you come to Hawaii, enjoy the ocean but don't forget there are other ways to frolic in the water.

Don't Worry About a Thing

We keep hearing this song like a message from the universe.


It pops up on the radio in our car.  One of my Pandora stations plays it often. We danced barefoot in the sand when the musicians at our reception played it.  And again we danced to it when the band played it at a Hawaiian house party.

These lyrics are central to my view toward life:

"Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."

Every time I hear the song, I'm a little extra grateful for everything that has led me to know the wisdom of these words.

Hakuna Matata Beach

Another song has become part of our Hawaii repertoire.  We had such a lovely day at Hapuna Beach that we renamed it "Hakuna Matata Beach":

Hakuna Matata!  What a wonderful phrase...
It means no worries for the rest of your days
It's our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Matata! 

Bottom line:  Worry never solved a problem.  It's taken me years to understand that when a worry pops up, I can gently direct my thoughts elsewhere:  to a possible solution, to appreciation of something else, to the gentle acknowledgement that, indeed, everything will be all right.

Of course it's easy to feel that way on my honeymoon in Hawaii after such a perfect wedding surrounded by so much love.

But now I'm being reminded that appreciation of life isn't about experiences.  It's about feeling.  When I'm worried, I'm pushing life away.  When I know that "every little thing's gonna be all right," I'm embracing life.

Thanks Bob Marley and Elton John, for the musical soundtrack to a happy life.

Wedding Gifts from Hawaii

1.  The people.  

A party at the ranch home of new Hawaii friends.

The musicians played for hours, and all the species danced.

 2.  The water.

The international "life rocks!" sign.

Taking the plunge after taking the plunge.

 3.  The animals. 

 

This guy has been hanging out in our condo.

No need for speed.

Dave and the dolphins.

Destination: Wedding

Here's the wonderful thing about a destination wedding:  You get to spend days with family and friends.  The celebration stretches out into shared experiences, in our case hiking, snorkeling, kayaking, zip-lining, swimming, and just hanging out.

Dave and the three sisters on the Pico Kai.

There's something about spending such quality time together at a seminal time in life that makes it so rich.

One of our most amazing adventures was on the Pico Kai.  To be able to share adventures like this with my family was an exquisite treasure.

Snorkeling at Mauna Kea.

Because a number of us stayed at the cottages or nearby, we'd spontaneously create moments together to just sit around and talk, sipping wine and watching the waves. 

At the Lava Lava Beach Club

Speaking of the Lava Lava, they did an incredible job with our wedding and reception.

Reception masterpiece.

We are now on our honeymoon for a few weeks in paradise--and we continue to share it with some loved ones who are lingering for a few more days.  The camaraderie, the love, is palpable.

Shaka nuptials.

Dream Come True

For years I've dreamed about what happened today.

I glided in the water with a manta ray.  Her undulating fins flicked at the edges as she slid through the sea.  With the aid of my snorkel, I floated above her for a long time, mesmerized by her beauty.

magical manta

But that's not all.  Dave, my sisters, and our friend Lari also swam with dozens of dolphins and a huge sea turtle in our four hours on the water.  The dolphins were playful and at times came quite close to us.

All this was made possible because of the amazing women who run Blue Connection Hawaii.  Being with them was a sweet experience because the small boat, with is maximum of six guests, fosters an intimate experience.  The crew is so friendly and knowledgeable.  And one of them is a mermaid!

As they took us around on a snorkel tour, we encountered a few other boats packed with people.  That made me happy to be one of three people sitting on the bow of our boat as it booked across the waters.

The boat's name is Piko Kai:  umbilical cord to the sea.  I certainly felt like I was in the womb of the universe today.

Wild about Cheryl and Dave

Cheryl Strayed's Wild, her captivating memoir about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail alone, is like potato chips.  Those yummy, addictive, thick-cut kind.  I've been eating for hours, the bag is still half-full, and I can't put it down.  Fortunately, unlike chips, the book isn't fattening.

Wild about Cheryl

We leave for Hawaii in two days.  I'm not packed.  Still have laundry to do. And this blog entry to write.  And eggs to stuff with poems. And I've completed only two of my four syllabi for fall.  I'm justifying my hours with the book because it's a fat hardback that would take up too much space in my carry-on.  I need to finish it so I can bring a small paperback instead.

As I read the book, I'm reminded of the only time I did something similar:  I once hiked alone for five hours across a volcano.  On the very island we are going to Monday to get married.

Wild about Dave

Then again, I suppose another similar event would be having sold everything I owned at age 29 and taking off to Japan alone to teach English.  My first taste of sushi was on the flight across the Pacific.  My first attempt to learn some Japanese phrases also occurred on that flight, as I was tutored by the passenger sitting next to me.  I was as unprepared for Japan as Cheryl was for the trail.  But I plunged off the cliff and, to paraphrase Ray Bradbury, my wings unfolded on the way down.

It's fun to be reminded of all of these life adventures now as I'm embarking on a lovely new chapter of my life:  Marrying Dave.  It's wonderful to be creating a life together, enriched by our combined 100 years of experience.  We've both had our "starter marriages" (okay, I've had two, but who's counting).  We've both traveled the world--often alone.  We've both been enriched on the journey of discovering what's important to us.

In other words, we come together as veterans of life, complete with scars and medals (dare I say Purple Hearts?) and the camaraderie of a rich group of friends. 

Forty of these friends will be with us in Hawaii.

Beach at A-Bay

Initially we thought our wedding would be a tiny affair--just Dave, me, and two witnesses with our toes in the sand.  We'd decided on this tact after we serendipitously discovered that at the same time we'd planned to be on the Big Island, his sister and brother-in-law would also be there.  Soon after we'd decided on north of Kona as our wedding spot, we sent out an Evite to some close friends and family  inviting them to join us if they were so inclined.  We had no expectations that more than four or five would come.  In fact, we let everyone know we'd have a one-year anniversary party in Santa Cruz next summer so we could all celebrate together.

Suddenly RSVP's were rolling in.  More people than we'd imagined were jazzed about a destination wedding.  Dave fantasized that we'd be able to stay with these friends in a beach-front locale, spend a lot of time together before and after the wedding.

So I contacted my friend Amy, who lives on the Big Island, to ask if she had some ideas.  She told me about a brand-new place being built on the very beach where I'd imagined getting married.  It wasn't open yet but would be by July.  She described it as beautiful, toes-in-the-sand, casual yet elegant.  She said Scott, the guy opening the place, was well-known on the island as an excellent restauranteur.

Lava Lava bungalow lanai

I contacted Scott who told me that the new Lava Lava Beach Club had an open-air restaurant, four bungalows, and a private party spot right on the beach.  Fast forward:  Our "non-rehearsal" dinner is taking place at the restaurant, our wedding and reception in the private party spot, and our friends have filled the bungalows. 

And how's this for another serendipity:  Dave's long-time friend Jim reconnected with a cousin who lives in Kona to tell her he'd love to see her again.  Turns out, this cousin is best friends with Scott, the Lava Lava Beach Club owner.  Now the cousin and her husband are joining us for the non-rehearsal dinner.

Jim told Dave and me that he's grateful that this wedding is reconnecting his family.  The wedding has also brought together two new couples.  One of Dave's long-time friends, and one of mine, have each invited a new amiga to Hawaii. 

And to top it off:  Two couples we'd invited had already tossed around the idea of coming to Hawaii to celebrate their joint 10-year wedding anniversaries.  So getting the Evite was like a message from the universe shouting, YES, do it!  Years ago, these couples met through each other.  The woman from one couple was the wedding officiant at the other couple's wedding.  And vice-versa, the man in the other couple officiated at the other wedding.  Each couple has a nine-year-old (one's a girl, one's a boy), who are best friends and will be throwing flower petals on everyone at our ceremony.

friends old and new

As if that's not enough...my sister threw me a GNO party (I'm too seasoned to call it a "bachelorette").  The limo-ride-wine-tasting-dinner-and-dancing bacchanalia brought together an array of my friends, creating a whole new web of interconnections.  In the aftermath, it's been fabulous to see all of them friending each other on Facebook.  The web expands!

The GNO event had quite a profound effect on my friend Daisy, which she wrote about so eloquently on her blog.  I'm flushed with gratitude as I read what she wrote.  She captured the fact that life experiences lead one to the next.

We get to choose:  Will the past drag us down, or will it enrich who we are? 

Aloha.

Evanescence

As friend and I walked through my neighborhood this morning she said, "This place is a wonderland."  Perfume of jasmine.  Patchwork of homes small and big.  Sea air and blue-green waves.  Beaches that stretch mile after mile.  Seaside amusement park that's colorful in the daylight, and animated with moving lights at night.  Yes, I've thought the same thing about Santa Cruz over and over:  Wonderland.  Wonderland.  Wonderland.

I guess that makes me Alice. There are times I feel a bit like I've eaten the magic mushroom just because of the beauty here--or maybe it's the infusion of negative ions. 

Santa Cruz shines even in a photo taken on an old iPhone.

Now that it's summer, there are a lot more people on the beaches than when we moved here in December.  It struck me today, as Dave and I played Frisbee in the sand, that all the people around us were happy.  Blissed-out people sunbathed, ate, drank, played guitars, and nursed babies on blankets.  Others snapped photos of their laughing friends.  Everyone screams joyfully when they are close to the water's edge and a wave sneaks up on them.  Even (or especially) the dogs seem high on something, walking with an extra bounce in their step.

We live two blocks from the beach, and sometimes at night I wake up to hear roaring, crashing waves--or barking sea lions.  Some mornings we walk a block to our local cafe, get a coffee and a cherry turnover, and walk to our favorite bench overlooking the water.  

My dad always loved the ocean.  We lived hours from it, but whenever we went to a beach together, he'd insist we watch the sunset.  He said there was something special about watching the sun sink into the water.  You could see time pass.  It was a reminder of the evanescence of life.  Dad wanted to suck every moment from every day.  Living in Santa Cruz makes me feel that way.