My mother in this place rests in the dabs and strokes of her Three Volcano painting. I cleaned it with moistened cotton swabs, gently washing tobacco smoke and dust decades old. My mother in this place drips red and orange paints, the angry lava she had never seen down the slopes of one of these three mysterious volcanoes. And I know she dreamed of this future where the morning sun rises over Mauna Kea, the Snowy Mountain, Mauna Loa, the Long Mountain and Hualalai, the Jagged Mountain – all three dangerously dormant. Tera, my mother, saw this 70 years ago and dreamed it into being.
June 14th, 1990: Thursday evening in the front room, alone. Where does one begin to tell of the end of a journey? Janet Ryan, my friend Janet Ryan (I still can’t believe it) died early Saturday morning. It’s Thursday now, hardly bother with tissues anymore. Janet was an instigator. So am I. The East andContinue reading “We were the East and West Wind”
Mom was so shocked when I stated loudly and dramatically that I hated camping. As a matter of fact, I went down on one knee, shook my fist at the air and proclaimed in my best Scarlett O’Hara that “I will nevah go campin’ agin!”
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