Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Tag, You’re It

We’ve both traveled plenty. We weren’t even that far out of our element. But the Bohemian and I had reached that point in our trek.

We weren’t lost in the wilderness, but we were in unfamiliar territory on our neighbor island, in the city of Honolulu. We’d been walking a couple mile stretch of asphalt streets, heading in the direction of the bus line that would take us to the airport and connect us with our flight home.

Our packs were each filled with five pounds of immigration paper work (the purpose of our Oahu day trip and the topic of another post) and even our most comfortable slippers were beginning blisters on our feet. The sun was in that pre-sunset blaze, roasting down on the us and the endless sidewalks.

We knew we were walking in the right direction, we just didn’t know how much longer the streets would meander and curve toward our #19 bus line. It was the Bohemian that spotted the 7-11 store and suggested that we just ask someone how close we were.

Still slightly dressed up from our appointment with Homeland Security, we didn’t quite seem island-style, as we entered the convenient store full of locals lined up buying cold drinks and spam musubi. Once the Bohemian began asking the question, his accent full and foreign, we looked like a couple of well-dressed backpackers that wandered too far from the hostel.

In response, several patrons pipe up about how we aren’t far from the main highway and our bus stop. And in typical Hawaiian style, they proceed to offer directions without street references (because it seems no one in Hawaii pays attention to street names unless it’s the one on which they live).

Instructions offered don’t get more specific than something like, “just go straight down this road and then turn left at the end. You’ll see it.” This was the strategy that had us walking the past two miles and I was seeking something a bit more specific.

One large man in a blue aloha shirt pays for his drink at the register and heads toward us and the door. “I’m walking in that direction, you can walk with me if you like and I’ll show you.”

We pause for a moment but agree to walk with him. As we move through the parking lot he tells us, “I knew I came to the store for more than an Arizona Ice Tea. This is just my way to show you a little aloha.”

When I tell him we live on Kauai, he lights up, surprised and happy. He offers the names of family members that live on the West side and recounts some of his favorite spots on our island.

In less than five minutes we’re in front of his restaurant destination and he’s pointing us in the direction of our bus line. “After you turn left there, you’ll soon come to the highway. Be careful. That’s a dangerous spot and people are driving crazy.”

We give our sincere thanks and it’s obvious our aloha-shirted friend feels happy to be our good Samaritan.

“Ok, you two. Have a good trip. God bless you. And tag, you’re it.”

Just as he indicated, we are soon on the highway at the bus stop for #19. It looks like we’ve got plenty of time to catch the plane. Our little directional challenge did not devolve into an argument between the Bohemian and I. All is well, as we ready to bid adieu to Oahu.

Cars pass as we wait for the bus. One minivan drives by with a huge sticker on the back window, outlining a boy with a stream of pee projecting from his body. I’ve seen smaller versions of this before but never one so large. I wonder at its meaning and puzzle for just a moment at what inspires its display.

Moments later, we hear a whistle and we peek around the branches of a tree to see the minivan stopped and the driver, door open, walking towards us.

“Hey, I saw you guys at the store!” He’s smiling.

“I’m heading to the airport, c’mon, I’ll take you there.”

The Bohemian and I look at each other. Merging traffic is pulling on to the highway and beginning to back up behind his stopped van.

The driver looks at the cars behind him and waves us forward. “C’mon!”

We walk up to the passenger side where I see the urinating boy sticker. Hmmm. He has swung the door open for us. We peer in and see the driver behind the wheel, the cab empty. He glances in his rear view mirror and I see the line of cars stuck behind his van.

“C’mon. Hop in, I’ll take you to the airport.”

We don’t need to say a word to one another. The Bohemian and I are both hesitant. We know the bus will be arriving any moment and though this man seems friendly enough, we have no idea who he is or where he’s really going.

“We’re alright. Thanks so much. We’re just going to wait for the bus.”

He sees our hesitation. “What, you scared?”

The cars behind him on the highway are getting impatient.

“Thanks for the offer…we’re good.”

He shakes his head in a bit of disappointment. “Okay.”

And we shut the passenger door and he drives off.

Within minutes our bus arrives, we board and head for the airport.

The Bohemian and I talked about it then and I ponder it still.

Going on my intuition alone, it seemed like the guy got inspired in the store by our good Samaritan and he wanted to be a part of the do-gooders club, too. I think he really did want to take us to the airport. And it seemed like when we denied him, he was both disappointed and annoyed. As though the state of the world had created a mistrust between humans that would not even allow us to let each other offer a helping hand.

So, that’s my gut feeling.

But I wasn’t going to gamble on it. And neither was the Bohemian.

The skeptical perspective says that guy could have been an evil-doer, seeing two fish-out-of-water asking for directions in the big city, with plans to drive us to who-knows-where and do who-knows-what to us.

Not for a minute do I regret declining his invitation. But I’ll forever wonder the true motivation of his gesture.

In the meantime, we’re on the look out for our turn to do a good deed, because after all, we’ve been tagged.

photo courtesy of Waikiki Natatorium
photo courtesy of Waikiki Natatorium
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Oahu

The Bohemian and I leave Kauai and fly to Oahu for the day (an important appointment calls us there, more about our adventures in a future post).

Some may think of Hawaii as a group of islands, all pretty much the same.  But each one has its own kind of feeling.  Kauai is known as the “Garden Island”, where, supposedly, no building is taller than a coconut tree.

Oahu treated us so well.  But it’s certainly a different sort of paradise.

2013-08-07_oahu building

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Beyond the Ceiling

I believe life has a soundtrack. Poignant moments in our lives are punctuated by the songs playing in the background. The sonic thread that solidifies our experiences, just like a scent.

I grew up in an orange grove listening to vinyl records that spun sound over back yard tomato vines growing out of oak barrels. My dad’s Linda Ronstadt, my mom’s John Denver. We had the cassette tape for The Sound of Music and I knew every word to each song.

Life’s soundtrack changed around the age of nine, however, as I moved into my own bedroom, got a small radio, and gained a window into the world of mainstream pop music. Eddie Grant’s “Electric Avenue” was like nothing I’d ever heard, fitting perfectly with my wonderment at the fifth grade boys in checkered Vans and their BMX tricks. Men At Work‘s “Land Down Under” was another song full of foreign intrigue. I bought the cassette at the local Radio Shack and would play it in a portable recorder on my front porch, as my sister and I roller skated in circles.

This music was not my parents’. The sounds escaping the little seven-inch speaker of my radio moved me in new ways and linked me to the world beyond the orange trees.

Music has forever been a part of my life. I only recently retired as a DJ at our local community radio station after 16 years of sharing my favorites on my show “Music as Medicine.” I left the realm of mainstream radio in the 90’s and have spent the last twenty years exploring music of many genres and mostly listening to what would be considered “independent” music.

Jeb’s been raised on Alexi Murdoch, Scott Matthews, Micheal Franti and Feist. Of course, Joni Mitchell’s been in there and Bob Dylan, too. Try as I may, he insists that he just doesn’t care for Bob Marley.

Blame it on the school bus, but it was last year’s trips between home and school that introduced my nine-year old son to the world of mainstream pop. With my own opinions that Top 40 music was generally market-driven and superficial (not to mention, sometimes just plain terrible in its content), I began to hear random snippets hummed from Jeb at home. There was talk of a specific radio station that played these songs, but the frequency just didn’t reach our part of the island.

With our new commute to Jeb’s art camp this summer, one of the highlights has been the ability to tune into his favorite station, JAMZ 98. That’s right, the “Island Blaster” has been gracing my vehicle with songs from Maroon 5, Rihanna, Justin Beiber and Pink.

KJMQb

 

At first it was fairly painful for my prejudiced ear. But my memories of how it felt to hear Michael Jackson for the first time on the radio superseded my distaste, wanting Jeb to also find his moments of joy with sound.

We’re going on two weeks of 7am travels with Top 40 and I’m trying to strike a balance. The audio book for Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of Now” is in the car, and after dropping Jeb I often listen to a few words of wisdom from the man that speaks of the present moment. Many times, just listening to him calms me and brings a bit more presence to my drive.

He suggests:

“Time isn’t precious at all, because it is an illusion. What you perceive as precious is not time but the one point that is out of time: the Now. That is precious indeed. The more you are focused on time—past and future—the more you miss the Now, the most precious thing there is.”
― The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment

I absorb Eckhart’s words when I’m alone on my daily trek, and I find myself leaning upon them with Jeb in the car, while Pitbull and Christina Aguilera pump through the stereo. As superficial as the songs may seem on the surface, the more I listen, the more I hear a yearning to transcend time.

“One day when the light is glowing
I’ll be in my castle golden
But until the gates are open
I just wanna feel this moment”

The message comes through in the guise of bass beats, extreme production, electronic keyboards, and vibrato notes, but it’s there all the same. The human desire to be free.

So, as the bass pumps through our speakers and Macklemore and Ryan Lewis are chorusing

“Here we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight ’til it’s over
So we put our hands up like the ceiling can’t hold us
Like the ceiling can’t hold us”

I rest on the teachings of Eckhart Tolle.

“Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at the moment.”
― A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose

No need to change the station playing in our car. Instead I tune my inner dial to the now. Enjoy the soundtrack solidifying this experience with my son.

We are driving on the bridge over the Wailua River. Kalalea mountain rises to a point in the distance. A blue sky domes above us. The air conditioning is broken in our Toyota so our windows are down. Warm salt air mixes with passing cars and swirls our hair in the cab. Red dust is on the console. Jeb’s fingernails are covered in paint. He sips a homemade smoothie from a mason jar. He is nine and a half years old. I will be 40 in a few days. A male voice echoes the station ID, tough and serious: “Island Jams! FM 98. All hits.” This the summer of 2013.

The ceiling can’t hold us.