What is my deal?  Why does life seem so hard when it is so, so easy?

For everyone's amoosement, here is a picture someone took of me in a wax museum.  Several people were mugging with the figures, so I decided to try.  I was touring the place alone, so a stranger took this photo.  It's hard to be silly with a total stranger saying "which button do I push?"

I need to clean my house.  Please don't even mention my aquariums.  I am overwhelmed.  Yes, that's right: I have a wonderful home, Carlton, my whole family, a job that pays me well, and more than I ever dreamed of having.  Whine, whine.

I need a challenge.  I need new things, new experiences, and new people to challenge my perspectives.  I want to sleep well, to drink great wine, and to be less judgemental.  I am tired.

I saw this meme on someone’s blog and thought I would, well, meme it:

A) Four jobs I have had in my life:
1) Nanny
2) Beverage Flavoring technician
3) Pharmaceutical Chemist
4) Director of Quality Assurance (my favorite job, but not my favorite company)

I) Four people I think will respond
1) Oz

Uh… I think he’s the only person who reads my blog…..

Check out these two… on the left is Baja (Mr. Kitty) and on the right is Silo (Nibs).  One would never think that a cat and a rabbit could be such good friends, but they are always together.  One of these days I’ll have my camera ready and I’ll take a picture of the two of them sitting at the dining room table in chairs across from each other.  It looks like they are having tea.

We also have another cat, Mini, named because he looked like a smaller version of our cat.  He was a stray that we found outside.  We fed him outside because he was skin and bones, gave him flea medicine, and tried to keep him alive outdoors.  Then one night, my husband said, “well, I better go feed the cats.”  Cats?  I looked at him and saw the sheepish grin.  He’d brought the cat indoors!  We fought over taking him to a shelter.  My effort to give up the cat was halfhearted at best.  After a few vet visits, his parasites were cleared, but he has FIV, so adopting him to another home is a tough sell.  I really dislike having him because we have to keep the cats segregated- Mr. Kitty could contract FIV if Mini bites him.  The chances are low, but it’s too much of a risk.

So I’ve been kicked out of my art room by a cat.  I just bought him a $200 litterbox so that maybe the room will be fresher (I cannot stand cat litter).  I’m also building a back room on the house so that maybe he’ll be able to be with people more- it seems like jail to lock him in one room most of the time.

I’m blathering now, aren’t I?  Well, aren’t blogs for boring topics anyway??  Hmph.

Dad and I continued our tour of his past today.  We (finally) took the rental car out of the garage and took it around the island to his old haunts.

Our first destination was Waipio.  Dad was driving because he knew the way, and I was the furiously busy photographer.  I’m too lame to be able to upload pics while I’m here, so I’ll add them later.

As I listened to traditional Hawai’ian music on the radio, I was daydreaming about how good life is and how fortunate I am.  Suddenly, he said “how far up highway 99 are we?”  Before I could answer, we had turned into a little apartment complex.  He actually found the apartment- 6A- where he and my mom had lived.  I’ve seen the photos of him as he carried her over the threshold.  He called my mom and they relived old memories as he looked out upon the apartments of their old friends.

We headed next to Schofield Barracks where Dad had worked.  We entered the gate and they started checking our IDs.  Let me pause for a moment: my dad is so gregarious that he doesn’t always understand when he’s too close to someone, or if he’s boring them, or whatever.  So I was a little nervous that we’d bother someone as we entered. 

How silly of me.

As we presented our IDs to three twenty-year-old servicepeople, he told them in his most Nostalgia Dad voice: “I lived and worked here forty years ago.”  Instead of looking bored like many 20-year-old strangers would, all three of them perked up and were very interested in his story.  He shared a few moments with them and we entered the Barracks.

We found the place where he had once lived.  We entered, and I was worried that two civilians might be kicked out of the place.  We looked at the board listing chain of command.  Some young kid- 19 maybe?- passed us and we were starting to receive some glares of “why are you civvies here?”  My dad told the kid, in the same voice as before, “I lived and worked here forty years ago.”  Like the others, he actually perked up and asked Dad some questions. 

I could continue the theme of everyone we met hearing Dad say those same words, and their respect for him as a result.  Dad found his old office and we took pictures again.  As we left, he shook hands with the guys and said, “thank you for what you do for our country.”  The reply: “No, sir, thank YOU for paving the way for us.  Thank you for your leadership 40 years ago.”  I was floored.

It wasn’t a one-time thing either.  That happened again on our way down the stairs as he thanked someone for their service and they said, “If it weren’t for your sacrifice, I wouldn’t be here today.”

I think war is the heartbreak of civilization, but meeting these men and women was extraordinary.  They were all respectful, well-groomed, and the way they carried themselves made me stand a little straighter and give them the respect they deserve.  I have always respected that these folks put themselves in danger so that I can be free to disagree with the government and say so.  Now, it’s not as abstract: I truly honor them and the sacrifices that they make for us.  Not only that, but I saw my dad in a new way too.  He lived that life once and its lessons have stayed with him for a lifetime. 

We went to a beach on the north shore after that, and the peaceful calm gave Dad a chance for a nap and me a chance for some yoga and reflection.  Life is good.

This site is well known for its crashing waves, but it’s little known as a dive spot.  That’s perfect for me.  I like shore dives as opposed to a boat dive.

The divemaster, Mike, was kind enough to let my dad tag along and stay on the beach.  Dad took some pictures and had a minor panic when he saw me disappear under the ocean.   

The water conditions were not bad, except for visibility.  There was some surge but Mike taught me a tip to keep my energy use minimized: “tread” water when the current is against me, then do powerful kicks when it’s moving me in the right direction.  It was a dive lifesaver.

We saw all manner of fish and some cool turtles.  Mike poked around looking for an octopus but had no luck.  If you are seeing this post with no pictures, they haven’t been emailed to me.  Mike had the same camera I have but with a nice underwater case.  The photos looked pretty crisp. 

The only problem with this shore dive was the ingress and egress.  It’s a steep, rocky path with some steps 3 feet tall.  It starts about fifty feet above sea level.  The picture at right shows the terrain; Dad is on the rocks and I'm in the water.  Anyway, my fear of heights reared its ugly head on the way down as my mind raced to what my brains would look like dashed on the rocks.  Dad walked in front of me and that helped.

The way back up to the car was worse.  I had to do some heavy kicking at the end of the dive in order to go to shore.  The wave crash wanted to pull me back out to sea.  Anyway, I emerged from the 55-minute dive with rubber legs.  Rubbery muscles + 40 pounds dive gear + fifty feet of climbing = disaster.  I did OK on the smaller steps, but started to falter about halfway up the path.  Dad started helping by pulling one arm as I lifted myself with the other arm and both legs.  A few of those big 3-foot steps and my legs buckled under me.

Mike had already made it up to the car, removed his gear, and cleaned his first stage.  He was nice enough to come back down the path and take my equipment so I could climb better.  It was a little embarrassing to be unable to walk.  I need to build some muscle tone in my legs!  Time for some squats I think. 

I would recommend this dive site for intermediate divers with more leg strength than I.  I would not want to go there as a beginner – especially without a person who has been diving at the site – because of the danger if one goes too close to the blowhole itself.

Speaking of chance, I called a Waikiki dive shop to arrange a dive and ended up knowing the divemaster from nine years ago on my first dive.  He told me today he contracts with five different Waikiki shops so I guess it’s not that much of coincidence, but still…

Word travels fast, and I received a phone call from another friend of mine, Wil, from nine years ago.  I knew him pretty well, but haven’t spoken to him in all these years.  We’ve had a couple of brief phone conversations because his friend the divemaster never showed for our dive yesterday.  It was weird to hear his voice after all of this time and it set me to reflecting. 

Nine years ago, my life was a roller coaster.  I made my own fate; I was happy one minute and angst-filled the next.  I had a horrid temper, frequent migraines, and a penchant for being a wench.  I remember (while wincing) how I would snap at people I loved, be it family or a boyfriend or whatever.  I was so busy trying to control everyone that I didn’t have time to control myself.

Now?  Well, I’m not perfect by any stretch, but I am a lot better.  I think nine years ago was a turning point for me where I started to try to be a better person.  It culminated in meeting my husband seven years ago and promising myself I would change my relationship habits.  I don’t engage in a lot of the petty stuff I used to do.  I am so thankful that I started to change nine years ago as a result of my good friend from Hawaii.  If I had not followed his example and changed my demeanor, I would never have been ready to meet my husband and to be the kind of person with whom he’d want to spend the rest of his life. 

People walk in and out of our lives all of the time.  It’s worth taking a moment to see what you can learn from everyone.

Why am I so philosophical these days?  I don’t know.  I think it could be that the relaxation time has given my brain room to stretch itself in different ways.

Wow, two posts in one day!!

I am a big proponent of the theory that life truly is what you make it.  However, there is some chance to it, where prayers or runes or blind luck lead you to where you are.  For instance, I was born into a wonderfully loving family in the United States, not into the poverty and orphaned life of Sudan.  But, as usual, I digress. 

On our layover, my dad told me a story.  I wanted to document what he said so it wouldn’t be lost.

I knew that my parents married on their fourth date and my father stationed in Hawaii right after their second date.  I also knew that Vietnam had become a full-fledged military operation and that my dad was never sent there.  Here’s why, in the long-winded version:

He left for Hawaii after his second date with Mom.  They’d already determined that they would marry (!) in the next few months.  He left his own family as well, my paternal grandparents, to move to a place that was farther from home than he’d ever been.  I can’t imagine how awful it would feel to do that; how lucky he was to be stationed in Hawaii instead of elsewhere!

Dad reported to Fort Shafter after arriving in Hawaii.  He was to be a payroll clerk despite his MBA in finance.  Gotta love the military…

His boss immediately recognized that Dad could do way more than payroll, and he was reassigned to Scofield Base to audit non-appropriated funds, such as movie theaters and officer’s clubs.  My dad was the first non-civilian to do this job for his civilian boss.  As tours of duty in Vietnam were assigned, my dad’s boss knew that operations would come to a screeching halt without Dad and my dad was granted the opportunity to continue to work in Hawaii.  For Round Two of assignment of tours of duty for Vietnam, my dad only had 11 months left of his military service.  Tours were 13 months, so he could not complete a full tour, and once again was passed.  Twice he could have gone to come back scarred for life or worse.

As Vietnam embroiled our country in controversy, Dad said my mom was scared that he’d be called to serve at any moment.  Lucky for me, he escaped that tribulation.  What if he’d been called?  Would he have come back, forever changed from the man I know?  What if (shudder) he hadn’t come back at all?  How many people have parents whose whole personalities changed?  How many people were never born because of Vietnam?  I would not have been…

So I’m feeling pretty damn lucky right now.