might be baloney

By Friday, December 10, the daily routine was a bit quieter. Only our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, remained with us.

At assorted points, the wedding travelers had packed up, scrunched into those big aluminum winged birds, and flown back to the mainland.

Elizabeth was scheduled to take a red eye out of Honolulu on Saturday evening. With her remaining time, she pursued a combination of stints on the beach and taking in more Hawaiian beauty.

At some point on Friday, Elizabeth, Betsy, and I made the drive back to the Waimea Valley Visitors Center. We wanted to take the walk to the falls and to explore the lush grounds along the way.

Quite simply, this is a beautiful walk. If you come this far to Hawaii, you must take this walk. Excuses are not acceptable.

No matter where our eyes are cast, our attention is captured by an unsurpassed loveliness. To put it another way, I can’t stop taking pictures. The vivid colors of floral blooms are remarkable.

The layout of the walkways is easy on old bones. Yes, there is a gradual incline to the falls, but the push upward is quite manageable. Sprinkled along the way are educational displays related to island life. Yes, these are nicely done, but the plant life steals the show.

At assorted points, we can see where the torrential rains from Monday created chaos with washouts and tree damage. The stream that meanders along with us is now running clear—an indication that nature’s filtering system is working.

Occasionally, birds chirp, an electric cart carrying visitors might whiz by, but overall it is quiet, serene, and calming as we work our way toward the falls.

And yet in all of this pretty tranquility, we encounter a meltdown.

At what I would describe as a concession/rest area off to our right, we hear a loud voice.

At first, we can’t determine if it is an employee in a confrontation with another employee or tourist. But, with a few more seconds of listening, we determine it is a tourist, a wife, a mother who has exploded at her husband and older daughter.

Apparently, there was some miscommunication. This lady had been waiting for the husband and daughter in this spot for a long, long time.

Her meltdown, spewed with hot volcanic words. For those intense minutes, ears burned. Respect for herself, her family, and innocent tourist with children was gone. That respect melted into a molten gush of harsh, profanity laced, yelling—a shameful embarrassment.

Upon reflection of this tirade, I thought it was too bad this aggravated lady had not been standing under a coconut tree. Perhaps, a timely drop of a coconut on to her volatile noggin might have brought her back to reality. But, who knows maybe what we heard was the reality of her life.

Despite this intrusion, the falls were as advertised. And yes, you can take a dip or swim in the pool below the falls. Water shoes and life vests can be rented if you want to take the plunge.

After admiring the falls, we turned around. The walk back to our starting point gave our eyes a new perspective as we saw the landscape from different angles. Yes, I took more pictures.

We drove back to Waialua even more appreciative of our world, and thankful that someone a long time ago made the decision to protect Waimea Falls.

Back at the house, we went down to the beach and took a long walk along the shoreline. Soon, in the distance, the sun would be setting behind the hazy, darkening hills. We were hoping for a colorful western sky as the sun slipped into the Pacific.

On the morning of Wednesday, December 8, 2021, there was a mad scramble to get organized for the ride to Kailua Beach. Somehow, we made the deadline, and three cars left Waialua loaded with enough beach gear to fill several cargo ships.

The ride over to Kailua Beach was long. Even the adults in our car asked the question reserved for children—“Are we there yet?”

That question was asked in good fun. But, the ride was full of a variety of scenery and that only enhanced the experience for us.

Gradually, we found our way to the public access parking lot for Kailua Beach. We unloaded, weighted ourselves down with the beach gear, and made the walk over the slight rise to meet the beach. Now, I understand why we made the long drive—Kailua Beach appears to be just about perfect.

We found a good spot to set up our gear and plopped down.
When we arrived the sun was out. The sun worshippers on the trip were excited. They finally could catch some rays. But that optimism changed quickly.

The sun teased peeking in and out of clouds, and as the morning minutes ticked by, the sun became hidden. Clouds came in, the wind picked up, and rain seemed likely. For quite a while, we stubbornly held our ground. Hopeful, that a smiling sun would return.

But, at some point, our hope faded. A decision was made to pack up. Arms loaded again, we trudged back to the cars. We agreed to make the short drive to the famous Kalapawai Market and order sandwiches from their deli.

There are three additional locations of the market scattered around. This store was packed with all kinds of tempting items. Whoever does their purchasing and marketing knows what they are doing. And the BLTA 10 sandwich on sourdough bread that I shared with the Commander Supreme was delicious.

There was a small outside area where we could gather and enjoy our sandwiches. It didn’t take long for the local bird moochers to recognize that a bunch of tourist had arrived.

As the birdies searched for crumbs, we reloaded, and the caravan headed toward the Honolulu Fire Department station in Kahlulu home of Engine Company 37. This is where Betsy’s nephew, Parker, works as a firefighter.

All of the grandkids were excited, and I will admit, so was I.

For some reason, I have always loved fire trucks. I still remember the kindergarten visit to the fire station in Burlington, North Carolina where I grew up. The station at the time had a brass pole for the firefighters to descend from the second floor living quarters when an alarm was sounded.

I know the unique sound of a fire truck’s siren grabs our attention. But for my old ears, the unmistakeable sound of the truck’s engine is what I love to hear. Even without the wail of the siren, I know when a fire truck is on one of our neighborhood streets.

The building for Engine Company 37 is being readied for some renovations. Despite this work, Parker gave us the full tour, and the Captain provided the kids with a bag of treats about fire safety including some hands on crafts.

But, the highlight of the visit was when the Captain gave Parker permission to take the kids with their parents for a ride in the massive truck. Though the raindrop ride was short, all faces, minus one were smiling from this experience. Hudson liked the ride so much that he told his mother he wanted to go for another ride in the truck.

We thanked Parker and his teammates for the tour and headed back to Waialua.

On the morning of Thursday, December 9, I needed a run.

Earlier in the week, Abby and Art had taken us on a walk along the bike path to where it ends. But, they showed us how to extend the path by connecting to the quiet, narrow road named Crozier Lane.

Crozier Lane is a flat, straight shot with houses on the right side that look out on to the blue Pacific. On the left side of the road, the homes were on larger parcels of land.

Architecturally, the houses are a hodgepodge of styles. Some are original. Many have been renovated. And no matter where I look, my eyes are curious.

Occasionally, during the run, I hear the singular crow of a rooster, and once out in front of me some chickens scurried across the road.

Taking this loop allowed me to marvel at the rich green hills in the distance. Some of these large lots on the back side were gated, secluded in appearance. Others were open with lives on display.

Slowly, I made the correct turns to reconnect me with the bike path for the slog back to the house. A few times my attention is drawn to the darting appearance of the saffron finch, a small yellow feathered bird whose head and face are splashed in a faint sunburst orange.

I made it back to the house where I would need to hustle to be ready for a trip to the Dole Plantation.

The ride over to the Dole landmark featured more beautiful agricultural land. At certain points, coffee and banana trees filled in the landscape, and some of those plots appeared to be growing pineapples.

Once at Dole, we opted not to take the popular train ride, but we did fumble through what is billed as the world’s largest maze. Caroline and Hudson enjoyed this nicely designed puzzle of paths.

We did learn a bit while touring around Dole. Pineapples are still grown on the Dole land, but not in quantities large enough to supply the mainland. It takes 16 to 24 months for a pineapple to reach maturity.

Of course, the marketers at Dole have a very nice visitor’s center designed to tempt tourists to open their wallets in support of the Hawaii’s traveler driven economy.

So, if you go to Dole, you must treat yourself to a Dole Whip. This frozen pineapple concoction is a must. I had one, and I immediately wanted another one.

After the Dole Whip, we walked through the store, and yes, we did add to the support of the travel economy.

We crawled back into our assigned seats in the car. On the return ride to Waialua, Hudson requested Christmas music be played.

And while, his request seemed out of place, Bing Crosby’s “Mele Kalikimaka” never sounded so good.

Our neighbors on the east side of our house have two sons. The oldest, Atticus, is a middle school student. When we are traveling, my wife asks Atticus to collect delivered packages and the daily newspaper.

Back in October, my wife let Atticus know that he had lost one of his responsibilities. After a brief discussion, my wife and I decided to stop the daily home delivery of the print edition of the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

That was a difficult decision. For years, we loved holding the morning newspaper and skimming headlines.

But, it is no secret in the world of newspapers that a print subscription costs more than a digital edition. We made this decision to switch to digital despite the Times-Dispatch offering us a modest discount for continuing our print subscription during the last two years.

A daily newspaper has been a part of my life for many years.

Growing up in North Carolina, the Burlington Times News arrived every afternoon. On Sunday mornings, the Greensboro News and Record landed at the end of our gravel driveway. Sometimes, the carrier’s aim was off. The paper landed in a rain swollen ditch or puddle.

I loved sports, with either paper that was my first stop. During those years, I was never a prolific reader of the other pages that filled out the paper. Yet, unknown to me at the time, I was quietly developing my love for newspaper reading.

In college and graduate school, I remember spending library time researching assorted assignments. Some research required tracking down newspaper articles. I’ll never forget the sound of the spinning reel of the microfiche viewer as I skimmed through what seemed like miles of microfilm to find just the right article.

When I entered the teaching profession, I looked for opportunities within the curriculum to introduce students to journalism. Occasionally, editors of literature books wove historical reporting, essays, and opinion pieces from newspapers into textbooks.

During my assignment as principal at Lakeside Elementary, I cherished the point during the school year when the PTA provided funding for Newspapers In Education. Classroom sets of the Times-Dispatch were delivered to the school. Instructionally, our teachers were creative in how they taught students about the newspaper.

Earlier this fall, I listened with great interest to an interview with Art Cullen on the NPR show Fresh Air. Mr. Cullen is part of the ownership of the local newspaper in Storm Lake, Iowa. This newspaper is a family run business. Mr. Cullen, his wife, son, sister-in-law, and brother are the team that works to keep the paper alive.

Keeping a newspaper breathing is no easy task. Background for Mr. Cullen’s interview, cited one study that revealed 1,800 local newspapers have closed their doors or merged since 2004.

Despite the challenges in publishing The Storm Lake Times, in 2017, Mr. Cullen won a Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Writing. Those pieces had a significant impact in bringing about change in the Storm Lake community.

However, when local newspapers close, “so-called news deserts” emerge. This gap in local news coverage can in turn limit opportunities for less informed communities to embrace change.

Being a natural born worrier, I have added to my worry list the loss of newspapers. These closures, this loss of reporting news at the local level isn’t good.

Rightly or wrongly, I have friends who passionately dislike the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Their disfavor might be attributed to a single flaw or multiple agitations.

But, in truth, their dislike, disfavor, and agitation is at the heart of why we need responsible journalists, editors, and publishers.

Our communities need to be informed.

We need to know when work within local governments goes right and when it goes wrong.

We need to know the struggles of citizens to find employment, housing, and food.

We need to know when public leaders succeed and when they fail.

We need stories that make us laugh, cry, and most importantly— think.

And now more than ever, we do not need inaccurate misinformation. We need newspapers to fully vet diligent research and responsibly report the truth—no exceptions.

My wife has adjusted to the digital version of the Times-Dispatch better than me.

I’m attempting to be patient as I learn the digital format.

Next door, I suspect Atticus is quietly hoping that I will lose patience, implode, and resubscribe to the print edition.

Who knows, maybe out in Iowa, Art Cullen is rooting for the same reversal from me.

My wife, the Commander Supreme, is stronger than me.

Let me explain why.

Before we departed for Hawaii on November 30, our home was completely decorated for Christmas. True, she did receive an assist from our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, but I had nothing to do with this decorating.

There was one exception.

Upon our return from Hawaii on December 18, the Commander was insistent that I do all of the exterior holiday lighting for our front door entrance.

This prodding did make me silently curse like a foul-mouthed coach who had just been assessed a technical foul. However, after ninety minutes of bungling lights, cords, outlets, and a timer, the lights are up and working. I’m sure her non-existent ego is smiling knowing she can still manipulate the knucklehead she married forty six years ago.

Another reason the Commander is stronger than me is that without her planning and logistical insights there would not have been a trip to Hawaii. At some point near the end of our paradise journey, my sister-in-law, Abby, her husband, Art, and I toasted the brilliance of this conquest by the Commander.

But, here is the real reason the Commander Supreme is stronger than me—she has stubborn endurance.

Let me explain further.

Despite her children and I telling her not to undertake her usual Christmas baking, on Monday, December 20 thru Thursday, December 23, the Commander Supreme became the Baker Supreme. Dozens of mini pumpkin bread loaves and round after round of cookies on baking sheets became gifts for family, neighbors, and friends.

The Commander bakes in stages, and when baking takes a break, she is running all kinds of errands to make sure that Christmas will be enjoyable. And when you ask her why she immerses herself in all the madness related to baking, there is a simple response—“Because I want to.”

Yet, I sense there is another reason too.

On Thursday morning at 9, helpers arrived to decorate sugar cookies—two of her granddaughters, Josie and Ellie. And then a bit later, her niece Sarah, a junior at Clemson, joined the fun.

Maybe, just maybe in the coordinated chaos in the kitchen, future baker seeds were being planted. Knowing how much the Commander Baker cherishes family, I believe years from now if our children, grandchildren and nieces were hunkered down in their kitchens baking sugar cookies at Christmas, the Commander’s heart would smile.

Currently, I’m reading 41 A Portrait Of My Father, a book about George H.W. Bush, written by his son, George W. Bush. I have learned that the elder Bush was quite a letter/note writer.

Back in 1983, he wrote this note to his children: “I’m getting a little older. I’m not sure what the future holds. I don’t worry about that. Win or lose, older or younger, we have our family.”( Page 150 from 41)

Those last four words—“we have our family” are powerful.

No matter the ups and downs, I have put my wife through, and the ups and downs experienced by our children, and the ups and downs of the Commander’s siblings, I think she has always valued the words— “we have our family.”

Clearly, we would not be a family without the steady, stubborn endurance of the Commander Supreme.

Quite simply, we would be lost without her.

Yes, my wife is stronger than me.

And in truth, she is our strength, our pulse, not just at Christmas, but everyday of the year.

Thanks, Merry Christmas, we love you.

During the early morning hours on Monday, December 6, the wind howled and rain pattered around the beach house where we were staying in Waialua.

At some point during that night, we lost power for a few hours.
Monday was a wash out for us. The rain coming from the Kona low pressure system was to be relentless into early Tuesday morning.

At times on Tuesday night, the rain came down so hard that I could not hear the waves crashing on the beach. These were long, sustained torrents of rain. In my 68 years of living, I’ve never heard such rain. I wondered how much rainwater could this Hawaiian land hold?

In terms of inconvenience— we were lucky.

Betsy’s sister Abby had booked all of us to attend a luau at the Waimea Valley Visitor Center. Wisely, the organizers of the luau notified Abby that Monday evening’s performance was postponed.
So, on Monday afternoon, we gathered at Abby and Art’s house.

Betsy’s nephew, Brad, his wife Lawratu, and their daughter, Suzy, had made the trip from London to Hawaii for the wedding. Yes, that’s correct London, England. This was to be our last chance to say goodbye them.

They were scheduled to fly back to Los Angeles on Tuesday. Before flying home to London, Brad and his family would be staying with his Dad who lives in southern California through Christmas.

There was lots of family energy in that room. If my math was correct, I think 27 of us were present. It was quite a sight to look around at those happy faces. Laughter dominated at times with a mixture of old and new stories. I know this trip to Hawaii will eventually become an unforgettable chapter in our lives, especially for the bride and groom, Parker and Brandy.

At some point, Brad stood up and gathered Lawratu and Suzy. We each had a goodbye moment with them, and then they were off to pack up in Honolulu.

That gathering made me think how lucky I have been to have a family. Family has grounded me from my first crying gulp for air. Family has sustained me in so many ways in my life. And, family will sustain my loved ones when I take my last breath.

During my career, I have seen first hand the challenges individuals face in our society when there is no family. One of the biggest challenges America faces is the unceasing erosion of families. That erosion is no different from the waves of the ocean constantly pounding our coastlines.

No community is immune from this loss of societal structure, not even in the beauty of Hawaii.

Day Eight: Luau

On the morning of Tuesday, December 7, we were greeted by the unmistakeable sound of a crowing rooster.

Yes, he was perched on the back of a neighbor’s pickup truck doing his best to wake up this quiet cul-de-sac.

At our house, he did a good job. His screechy call blew through the open windows and screened doors.

Thanks to the rooster, we moved more briskly, and eventually some of us took a long walk past where the bike trail ends.

We were on a narrow road that toured us through an extended neighborhood. Some homes faced the ocean, others were on large parcels, on the opposite side of the road with the mountains as a backdrop.

The architectural style of the homes caught my eyes as did how the homes with the acreage used their land.

And even though, the clouds were broken, they still looked like they held rain, but no shower found us.

On the return, we took a left turn that hooked us toward another section of homes on the ocean side. A small park next to the beach gave us a clear view of the Pacific.

Tuesday’s weather was better, and as we pushed into the afternoon, the focus was on getting ready for the luau.

By some miracle of the Hawaiian gods, we were all ready at the appointed departure time for the drive over to the Waimea Valley Visitor Center where the luau was to be held.

When we arrived on the grounds of the Visitor Center, it was clear to see that the rain had an impact. We were not able to take any extended walks on the grounds. But, there was still plenty stunning plant life to be seen.

It wasn’t long before the staff had our attention and organized us for the first phase of the evening. Out on the patio were five stations that tested our skills in learning about Hawaiian traditions with coconuts, cocoa beans, weaving headbands/crowns, and whirling poi balls on strings.

From there we moved inside the open air Pavillon where we would be entertained with a combination of humor, cultural traditions, a delicious meal, and an ending that featured the skills of the performers twirling fire batons. No matter your age, the luau had something for everyone.

But interestingly, there was a recurring theme—family. That point was made a number of times during the dialogue with the audience as we learned about the importance of family in the Hawaiian culture.

After the show, cast members were available to interact and take photos. As you can imagine that had a big impact on the children.

As we walked toward the parking lot, a head count was taken before the cars were reloaded. On the ride back to the houses, the performance we had just seen dominated the conversation.

Even on the following day, positive comments continued to surface about the luau. Clearly, the performance made a lasting impression on our family. If the organization can sustain the quality and heritage of the luau, then I feel certain families will continue to attend.

But perhaps, the luau’s best attribute was its size. This was not hundreds of people crammed into a massive hotel assembly line production. The open air pavilion was just right for an intimate audience, with clear sight lines, and a comfortable setting.

This piece was submitted to the Honolulu Star Advertiser newspaper for publication consideration on Monday, December 13, 2021. The piece was published in the newspaper’s views and voices section on Wednesday, December 15, 2021.

Unfortunately, the previous posted link does not allow a reader to read the piece unless you have a subscription to the Star Advertiser. If you are interested, here is the original submission:

Protect What You Love by Bill Pike draft started 12/13/21

On Tuesday, November 30, I was excited when our plane touched down on the runway at the Daniel K. Inouye International Airport in Honolulu. For my wife and me, this was our first visit to Hawaii. We made the trip to attend the wedding of her nephew.

During our stay, we would be based in Waialua. My wife’s sister and her husband have a home in a quiet neighborhood.

As we eased ourselves off of the interstate, my eyes were quickly captivated by the landscape— shades of green, mixed with colorful blooms, the indescribable color of farmland soil, and fading sunlight slowly sinking behind the hills. Hawaii, you had me even without a peek at the ocean.

Over the next two days family members arrived, and on Friday, December 3, I could not believe the weather forecast map from the National Weather Service for the Hawaiian Islands—especially the blizzard warning.

Not a drop of rain fell during the backyard wedding ceremony on Saturday afternoon. We adapted to rain showers for a visit to Turtle Bay on Sunday. Monday was a washout. By Wednesday, the weather was better.
Back home in Richmond, Virginia, my family and I have ridden out remnants of hurricanes and strong summer thunderstorms. But, I have never heard such torrents of rain as created by the Kona low. It rained so hard Monday night into Tuesday morning that I could barely hear the crashing of waves on the beach. I wondered how much water could the land hold?

I read with great interest how the storm impacted Honolulu. Friends back in Richmond, emailed or texted us wondering how we had fared with the weather.

As the week progressed, we could see the impact of this powerful rain event on the beach. Nearby rivers, creeks, and inlets spewed into the Pacific blue. Gradually, the wind and tides changed the water color to a murky brown, and the shoreline was filled with debris like items that couldn’t be sold at tired yard sale.

Plastics, lumber, flip-flops, mammoth tree limbs, chainsawed trunks, tires, irrigation piping, styrofoam, aluminum cans, and rusted cans were among our findings.

A year ago last fall, my wife and I spent a Saturday morning volunteering for a local conservation group. Our assignment was removing debris from an urban stream that runs through Bryan Park. Regrettably, most of the items I found on your beautiful Hawaiian beach were also in our pretty stream.

I wonder when you, me, we, us are going to wake up and responsibly care for our environment?

Just as the Star Advertiser was reporting about contaminated water from the Red Hill bulk fuel storage facility, our paper back home reported about two environmental groups suing our county over a “series of pollution violations” into the James River.

Again, when are we going to wake up?

On Saturday morning, December 11, we took a hike out to the albatross nesting grounds at Ka’ena Point. As long as I live, I will never forget this trek.

No matter where my eyes scanned, I was treated to majestic views. I could not stop taking photos. However, one sign really grabbed by attention:—Marine Debris Drop-off Station—Protect What You Love.

I wonder why we are so challenged to protect and love our land, water, and air?

Perhaps, our senses have been obscured by a selfish, self-denial that make us oblivious to the urgency of protecting what we ought to love.

Time is rushing by us.

Not protecting what we ought to love isn’t an option.

Friends, on Wednesday, December 15, 2021, I was honored to have an op-ed piece published in the Views and Voices editorial page of the Honolulu Star Advertiser newspaper. Here is the link to the piece:

Column: Time is passing, so protect what you love

On the morning of Sunday, December 5, I took my second run on the bike bath in Waialua. I extended the route a bit further this time. Again, the run was pleasant, and I encountered a few bike riders, walkers, and runners along the way.

When I returned to the house, there was no post-wedding sluggishness. Adults can’t be sluggish with grandchildren in the house.

At our house, we had two grandchildren. Over at the Babcocks were their three. Plus at our house, we had Betsy’s nephew from London, his wife, Lawratu, and their daughter, Suzy. They had stayed over night after the wedding rather than making the drive back to Honolulu. Both houses were buzzing with energy that only children have.

The plan was to get packed up and drive to Turtle Bay. There we would meet Betsy’s brother and his family, and we would all converge on the beach at the Turtle Bay Resort.

Gradually, the cars were loaded and the caravan pulled out.

To get to Turtle Bay meant meandering along the coastline with all kinds of views. We drove through the Waimea Valley home of the famous waterfall, and also saw Waimea Bay, a favorite surfing spot for surfers. Around the bay area, onlookers and serious photographers lined the beach side watching the waves and the surfers.

On the drive, you see spectacular oceanside homes, frail looking shacks, houses tucked up in the hills, and a diverse mix of local businesses and national brands.

Thanks to our son-in-law Doug, we make the drive without any challenges. He drops us off at the entrance to the beach, and patiently waits for us to unload all of the gear needed for surviving a few hours of surf and sand.

Now, the sun worshippers on this excursion are disappointed. Gray clouds hover overhead, and a couple of times during the morning, light rain showers intruded. Those showers forced us to find some temporary cover. But, none of us melted.

The sandy beach was perfect for the kids, and with a bit more exploring down the beach, we found a tidal pool that worked well for them too.

We took a walk around the Turtle Bay resort with its many amenities, spectacular views, and manicured grounds. And we even managed to dodge the raindrops for a nice lunch on a quiet poolside patio overlooking the always restless—Pacific Ocean.

After lunch, we walked through the lobby of the hotel. Christmas decorations are up. Caroline and Hudson enjoyed seeing these. I’m still adjusting to Christmas decorations in this tropical climate. But, anytime we are driving in the car, Hudson wants to hear Christmas music with “Jingle Bells” being his favorite.

Working our way back to the beach, we start to gather up our belongings. It is a cumbersome trudge to the parking lot, but we survive.

On the way back to the house, we follow the same route. But, we do make a stop at one of the oceanside overlook areas. Lots of people are making similar breaks too.

No matter, where I look the landscape is irresistible. The designer, creator made good choices in weaving the ocean and the coastline together.

Too bad we humans don’t respect this grandeur like we should. I imagine the good Lord is disappointed in our care, but that’s another story for another day.

As we prepared for our trip to Hawaii, I will admit, I did very little research. I was more focused on how to pack, how to endure the long flight, and hoped that the rest of our family would arrive safely.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I checked out the National Weather Service’s forecast for Hawaii on the morning of Friday, December 3, and at the top of the list was a blizzard warning.

Wait a second, a blizzard warning in Hawaii, no way, I must be suffering from jet lag and sleep deprivation. But, that was the forecast for the high mountain summits on the Big Island. Additionally, the forecasters included an assortment of advisories, watches, and warnings for the rest of Hawaii.

Forecasts aside, for the family gathered here, the focus was on Saturday afternoon at 4 p.m. That’s when Parker and Brandy would be married in a beautiful backyard overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We wanted no raindrops that afternoon.

I took my first Hawaiian run on Friday morning in a light rain. I enjoyed every step as I followed a bike trail that paralleled the main road in this Waialua neighborhood.

At noon on Friday, we attended a rehearsal luncheon at Haleiwa Joe’s. This was inside, no raindrops bothered us. The food, service, and atmosphere were perfect.

On Saturday morning, we drove the short distance to Haleiwa Beach Park to watch a surfing competition. This was a big deal— TV coverage, lots of spectators, and of course rain. The rain started lightly, but then it picked up and ran us back to the car.

Despite the rain, we decided to drive into Haleiwa to check out some local shops. As we drove, the rain intensified.

Once parked, we made a dash for a store with an awning. Gradually, the rain let up. With no raindrops, we moved around more freely to the shops. In those splashy walks were some teases from the sun.

For whatever reason, the rain held off for the 4 p.m. ceremony. Not a drop fell until late into the evening, when by that time no one was feeling raindrops.
Over the years, I’ve attended quite a few weddings. Each wedding was special in its own unique way. But, I think my old brain will hold on to this one for a long time.

For sure having the Pacific Ocean as a backdrop was pleasing to the eyes. But, what I loved more was the simple, uncluttered charm of the ceremony—there was no fluff.

It is my hope, my prayer that the heartfelt exchange of the vows from Parker and Brandy will last them a lifetime.

No doubt, the number one objective for our trip to Hawaii was to attend the wedding of Betsy’s nephew. While in Hawaii, there are many options to consider for sight seeing. However, only one place was on my must see list for a visit—Pearl Harbor.

So on Thursday, December 2, our third day in Hawaii, we had a 1 p.m. slot to take the short boat ride over to the USS Arizona Memorial. With our son-in-law, Doug, driving us, we left Waialua early enough so that we could tour the grounds and exhibits at the Pearl Harbor Visitor Center.

Thursday was a beautiful, sunny, warm day in Honolulu. The sky was a stunning shade of deep blue.

The Visitor’s Center has been nicely developed with wide sidewalks, manicured grounds, and quality exhibits that tell the story of Pearl Harbor with words, photographs, real artifacts, and filmed interviews.

Visitors quickly learn about the importance of time as they take in the exhibits and displays. The destruction that occurred on that fateful Sunday morning had been timed out to perfection by the Japanese leaders.

Throughout our visit, I found guests to be interested, engaged in absorbing the information presented, and respectful with a quiet dignity as they moved about the grounds.

National Park Service employees are friendly and willing to take questions. The shuttle boat ride to the Arizona Memorial is well organized and communication is effective.

And for me, the visit to the USS Arizona Memorial served as a sad reminder—war is horrible. The wall that lists the names of all who died on the Arizona from the attack is all the confirmation I needed.

Today, Tuesday, December 7, 2021 marks the 80th anniversary of the attack.

I think to myself what have we learned about ourselves during those eighty years?

Personally, I know we must always confront evil intruders. World War II and 911 affirm this.

But, I wonder why can’t we exist in peace with each other?

Why is this so hard for us to achieve?

Maybe, our hearts are not fully committed to do the hard work required to achieve peace.

My old heart tells me that our stubbornness and our inability to trust prevents us from making peace.

At assorted points along the Pearl Harbor Visitors Center are several beautifully displayed quotes.

My favorite is from Radioman Third Class Warren Verhoff from the USS Keosangua: “I will never forget.”

Sailor Verhoff was correct.

We should never forget.

Yet somehow, we must find in our hearts the pursuit to build a framework for peace—a lasting peace.

Failing to pursue peace will only lead us to more heartbreaking memorials.