Mitchell Way
“Hello. My name is Marty. And your name is. . .”
I leaned forward and squinted to see the name on her identification badge.
“Angus. Nice to meet you, Angus.”
“It’s Agnus, you insulting twit!” she barked as she spun around and walked away.
Cheryl and I have visited four of the Hawaiian islands: Oahu, Kauai, The Big Island, and Maui.
I would rate them as #1 Kauai, #2 The Big Island, #3 Maui, and #4 Oahu. This is based on things that interest me.
To tell you the truth, it wasn’t until my late 20s that I learned the word hierarchy and the medical term pes cavus weren’t the same thing. I should never trust the images in my mind.
Thirty years ago, there was a different mentality about weddings. It seemed that “most” couples preferred to be married in a church. Nowadays, I really can’t remember the last time we had a wedding in our church.
Cow tipping is nothing about slipping a cow a $5.00 bill after a nice fresh glass of milk.
The term Cow Tipping is an urban legend thought to have been started sometime in the 1970s. It involved going out at night and searching the farmlands to find a cow that was sleeping standing up. (This was usually done by inebriated high school, or college age boys.) The legend has it that two or more boys snuck up to a slumbering cow and pushed it from the side causing the cow to topple over onto the ground.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Officer Luke. My partner, Officer Lease, is in the next room talking with your wife.”
“Talking about what?”
“The hospital,” Officer Luke continued, “is required to call us when they suspect domestic violence.”
In the early 1920s a phrase was coined which stated, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” That being the case I started thinking, “Maybe my audience includes story writers who don’t know they can write stories.” So here is my idea, I’ll post some photos and you make up your own stories of what you think happened in each photo. Then I will tell you the real story behind the photo. We’ll compare your creativity with the truth. This will save me a great deal of time that I would otherwise have had to put out for this week’s blog post. It seems like a simple exercise; let’s try it.
I have been asked by many of my readers, “When are you going to put all of your stories into a book? I’d buy one.”
In 2009 my mother, Patty, decided she would like to take her family to the Big Island of Hawaii. She had time shares in a condo, so she acquired two waterfront rooms for seven days in Kona. There were four families in the group. Mom’s husband had recently experienced a heart attack and was in a rehabilitation center, so mom had a spare airline ticket. She asked her niece, Gae, to join her.
For the longest time he had no name. Perhaps if he had not made a simple mistake, we never would have known his true identity.
The piano melodies of Bach, Chopin, Beethoven, and Brahms echoed around the walls of my small room. Occasionally, my mother would sing an opera or classical favorite from the 1940s while accompanying herself on the piano.
As far as I can tell, there are two groups of boys in high school: those who are comfortable with girls and those who are terrified of them. I personally, though not being afraid of girls, was still of the elementary school mindset that they were icky. As far as I was concerned, life in high school would have been far less stressful without two of the annual school sanctioned activities: Prom and Tolo.
“Seat belts on; Doors locked; Brakes set; Circuit breakers in; Fuel selector valve on both.”
Four of us were sitting in a Cessna 172 at the parking area of the Roche Harbor Resort airstrip preparing to depart.
Thou shalt not sit down on T- Bars
For you first time users, T-Bars like rope tows are a means of pulling you to the top of the hill. You must first stand in an interminable line of skiers watching the skiers at the head of the line move into position where the attendant slaps them on the rear end with a T-bar as it comes around. To the first-timer watching the process, it all seems very straight forward. The cable with the T-bar comes around the bullwheel, the attendant slaps you in the hips with the bar and up the hill you go. What you may not know is that the T-bar cable is on a retractable reel and must feed all the way out before it catches and starts pulling you up the slope. It came as a bit of a surprise to me, a first-timer, when I skied into position. I felt the attendant slap my hips with the bar, which I assumed I could sit on. The result was a rather unglamorous flop onto my back in the snow as the cable continued to feed out of the retractable reel. Then, when the full length of cable had retracted, the T-bar shot up the hill, raking down the back of my legs, slapping the skis off my boots and causing raucous laughter from the interminable line of skiers behind me.
Sometimes the best laid plans work too well.
The Screech Owl- Scientific name: Megascops asio. We had many of these smaller owls in our neighborhood. The first 30 years of my life I lived in a house close to the main railroad tracks which stretched from Vancouver, B.C. down the west coast of the United States. We had so many trains travel by daily that we didn’t even notice the noise anymore. The tracks followed the top of a cliff which dropped 100+ feet down to Bellingham Bay. The sides of the cliff had layers of sand and clay. During the summer months, the Angel boys across the street (Craig and Doug) and my brother and I would spend endless hours climbing the cliffs, jumping from the cliffs, and using trails on the cliffs as the shortest distance to travel to explore the beach itself.