Tribute to Joe Ramos - Dear Joe

Dear Joe,

Photo and sentiment courtesy of
Dale Moews

Though we only rode together once and then only briefly, I’ve been moved to write to you. I can’t really explain the motivation for this except that seeing what our mutual friends are saying about you riding on has struck a chord in my heart and soul. I try not to question my muse, He knows too much and His plans are too far-reaching for my limited understanding. One thing I find difficult to understand is why particular people are taken from us and when and how they are taken. I can only hope that by my writing this and sharing it with our friends that someone out there will be touched by it and thereby helped along the road to peace as I have been touched by your friends’ genuine sentiments they’ve shared about you. You’ve left quite an impact.

          You might notice that I’m leaving much of this letter about you in the present tense. That is because that which you were in life on earth lives on in the hearts of those left behind and so they are still valid and not lost to us.

          Yes, you have made quite an impact on your friends. To them you are ‘bigger than life’, a man of quiet strength. Your friend Ken Roybal tells me that you commanded respect from all who knew you. Notice that I said commanded rather than demanded. It is the person you are which drives the respect, it was never anything you demanded. Ken attribute a big heart to you and that you ‘never threw people away’ and are willing to give people two, three, four chances. Translated, that means you are a person of great patience and hope and of great integrity. Thank you for that.

Karen and Joe on Route 66
Photo courtesy of Tim Tarbet

You are a man who loved a lot of things in life; motorcycles, cars, food, and more importantly, your kids and friends. Your friend Dale Moews went on to tell me that the thing you loved most was Karen and that even after sixteen years together you acted like you were newlyweds. I love hearing that about you; your passion for your wife and the genuine way you feel about her. That genuineness carried through to how you care for your friends and the people you’ve just met and how they feel they’ve known you for years. The way people feel comfortable with you so quickly speaks volumes about the man you are at heart. Thanks for that.

          Our friend Brad Parrack told me about how you are a kind and thoughtful man and ‘a tower of a man in deeds, thought, and stature’. He told me of a time that you showed up at a meet point for a ride only to tell the others that you needed to stay home with Karen because she was ill. These things speak well of how you built your life on a foundation of love and how you put that love into action. I believe that love is a verb and requires action, a belief that we share. Thanks.

          Shawn Frausto called me today. You and Karen made a deep impression on Shawn and Danielle. We talked a little about what you mean to him and a couple of ‘G’ words came up. You and your Karen are gracious and gregarious. Gracious in how you opened your home to them after a long hot ride for them to come visit you. You gave them water, space, and a place to be refreshed in mind and body. You are gregarious, you love being around people and they love being around you as well. Shawn told me of how you and Karen made a long ride on your own to meet up with folks to celebrate Shawn’s birthday even though you had to miss the group ride and that looms large in Shawn’s heart. I appreciate what you’ve meant to our friends.

          I noticed a photo of you in a California State Parks uniform. Very sharp. I might be mistaken about this and I imagine I’ll hear the details of it soon, maybe as a result of sharing my letter to you. I understand that you had a career in law enforcement leading up to your Parks service, service being the key word here. From all that I learned about you from our friends it does not surprise me that you were called as a public servant. Honest and honorable, gracious and gregarious, respected and respectful, loving and caring, firm, resolute yet warmhearted. You are a natural at public service because of all of those qualities. I believe that others have seen the way you conducted yourself in your career and are better public servants by your example. This gives me hope for the good guys.

          You’ve left us with quite a legacy and a tough act to follow. Because this is what friends and family do – we take all the good things we know about the ones we lose, we remember the excellent examples of how they lived, and we do our best to honor those memories in how we live and love. And that’s what we’ll do with you, remember your best and be the better for having known you.

          I’ll finish up with this as a prayer, if you don’t mind, for you, Karen and your kids, and the friends who are hurting at losing you. This is a couple of stanzas from a song I sung with a handful of guys early in the morning I started writing this letter. You were fresh on my heart and mind at the time and the tune rings true for you.

          From 10,000 Reasons:

The sun comes up, it’s a new day dawning;

It’s time to sing Your song again.

Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me

Let me be singing when the evening comes.

You’re rich in love, and You’re slow to anger

Your name is great, and Your heart is kind.

For all Your goodness, I will keep on singing

Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find.

And on that day when my strength is failing,

The end draws near, and my time has come;

Still my soul will sing Your praise unending;

Ten thousand years and then for - - evermore!

         

Peace my friend,

jerry

Shuffle the Deck in 2016

New Year’s Day rides have now been established as a tradition for me as I made it two in a row with the core group of riders I hit the road with. Am I allowed to declare a tradition after only two in a row? New Year’s Day activities should be full of promise and reflection and this one hit the sweet spot making new friends and providing life-lessons – pleasant, reflective, and scary. All three categories are a fine thing as long as the lesson is well learned.

I’d been looking forward to riding with my VMC (Victory Motorcycle Club) friends thinking that there would be around ten bikes or so. A last minute addition to the VMC folks was a group from B.A.C.A. (Bikers Against Child Abuse) and our numbers swelled to around nineteen bikes and twenty-five riders with several B.A.C.A. couples riding two-up. I was introduced to them by their ride handles – Wizer, Big Cookie, Tinkerbell, Bikerdad, Mouse, Doc, Baby Doll, Bonny, Hands, Sonny, Phoenix, Frosty, and the soon to be monikered ‘Wolf’. I’m sure that I don’t have all the names of the folks who were with us so chime in with a shout out to them.

B.A.C.A. International, as the name indicates, is an international organization of bikers dedicated to ‘breaking the chains of abuse’ and creating a safer environment for abused children. The membership operates under the belief that no child deserves to live in fear. Use the following link to access the B.A.C.A. website for more information regarding their mission: http://bacaworld.org/mission/ No one I know, or would want to know for that matter, would gainsay their mission or that sentiment.

It was brisk and clear as only a New Year’s Day in L.A. can be and perfect for a ride into 2016. If you’ve ever watched a Vegas dealer shuffle cards you have an idea of what our two groups did as we left the gas station in Glendale. It was seamless and without effort as we rode through Griffeth Park and on down to Sunset Boulevard to swing up PCH and northward to Duke’s for lunch. It amazed me that with only a couple of wait-ups we were able to pull into the lot as a group and early enough that we had time for photo ops before the doors were opened to our big group. I love the way these people ride.

De-biking and gearing down at
Duke's, Malibu

We enjoyed a meal and good old biker fellowship at three tables. I somehow ended up at a table full of B.A.C.A. riders, Dave Hintz being the only person at the table that I’d ridden with before. New friends are great. I found out that Bikerdad and Tinkerbell live only a mile or so from me and are fellow CV Falcons, albeit more than a decade and a decade and a half after me. Kids! We talked about kids and rides and purpose and were amazed at how fast Wolf put down his hamburger prompting Sonny to request a name change to ‘Wolf Down’ for his name patch.

While the ride to Duke’s was full of city streets, stops, goes, and pot hole avoidance tactics, the ride out to the terminal point of the day’s ride was canyon riding at its best with twisties through the mountains and blue skies above Malibu Canyon and the Mulholland Highway. We were lined up nicely for a photo pass by Highway Photos and the pace setting was perfect, no lagging or dragging.

However, as I mentioned in paragraph one, I learned a riding lesson the scary way. Soon after we had twisted our way out past the Rock Store I suddenly hit something that would later be identified as sand. My rear tire went out from under me, my right foot came out on reflex and hit the pavement to keep me from going down, and as the rear of the bike caught up to my firmly planted and booted foot the saddle bag caught my foot and as far as I can tell, pushed the bike upright before I could go down. I believe that the saddle bag humping over my foot righted the bike and saved me from sliding out, the only cost being a nasty shin splint that cleared the next day during my dog walk.

After we had wound our way along the highway, through the Sherwood Lake community, and down to Thousand Oaks to our terminal point I heard several stories of the others hitting that same spot but to a lesser degree than I had experienced. That news both comforted me that I was not the only one and concerned me that I hadn’t seen it happen ahead of me. I’d let my vigilance down being too busy figuring out when to turn on and off my helmet cam and enjoying the scenery to watch the riders in front of me as my warning. You just cannot let your guard down. Ever.

The day ended with an impressive tally of good things; a good meal, good conversations, good, no make that excellent riding, and various riders reaching out to sooth a grievous wound to the soul for one of our members. People taking care of people, riders watching other rider’s backs, and doing those things that make riders good company and that made for a fine way to break-in 2016.

Ride with heart, ride with vigilance, love the children, and as always, keep the iron side up. Friends, have a blessed 2016.

jerry

PS – I would be remiss in my reporting if I did not share that three certain riders posed for a photo striking a pose that would not meet the ridged requirements of my old AT&T Sexual Harassment guidelines. The pose was too quick for the shutters to blink and no photo exists of the incident, only those mental images that will at one and the same time fade with memory and grow in legend.

Here are a selection of raw-footage helmet cam videos (I need to learn how to edit and splice …):

Mounting up in Glendale:

Arriving at Duke's in Malibu:

Entering Malibu Canyon and through the tunnel:

Advent in Action - 2016 El Rio Toy Ride

Advent. When capitalized, Webster’s defines it as “the period beginning four Sundays before Christmas and observed by some Christians a season of prayer and fasting”. When not capitalized, advent is “a coming into being or use” and used thusly is a word of action. I prefer that Christians use the term in its diminutive form and act, fast and pray for certain, then put into action the principles of life taught by the One for whom Advent honors.

The El Rio Toy Ride of 2016 was such action. It was advent, the advent of people working to bridge a gap to span the chasm of poverty for the children of our migrant farm workers less than an hour away from Hollywood and Beverly Hills, those cities whose iconic reputations are anything but poor. Make no mistake here. I am not advocating that delivering a couple of toys anchors the bridge to the other side of poverty but I do advocate that by making such a delivery and engaging the children with genuine care and encouraging words and actions, even the simple action of letting them sit on our bikes and imagine a bit, makes poverty suck a little less and plants seeds that others can water, others can tend and nurture, and still others can reap the fruit thereof.

I commuted in to Thousand Oaks to meet up with Tim Robertson, Bev Hope, and Sue Bourquin, our Victory Riders group, early on a crisp and clear morning. Tim led us from the Mobil station on Ventu Park Road to the Food Share of Ventura County where we dropped off food for the facility and our toys for the day’s event. Tim took us along back roads that brought us through Potrero Canyon, by the Cal State Channel Islands campus, and through fields already being worked by the parents of the children we were bringing toys to. The workers had arrived before daybreak to pick up their tools and containers to gather the harvest as the sun crested the hills we had just ridden through.

We gathered, we rode, we enjoyed

Bikers gathered from the surrounding areas, one had ridden in from Arizona. Bikers for Christ sponsors and organizes the event, the 2016 ride being the 16^th edition. Rider groups of all types were represented in full rider regalia. I saw riders from the Tri-Valley Touring Riders, Star Chapter 258, Cal Coast Riders Motorcycle Club, The Blue Knights, various chapters of our host organization, Bikers for Christ (BFC), and the Underdogs whose footnote of ‘We Just Ride’ was overshadowed by their ‘Service and Unity’ moto. I estimated 120 bikes, many of which were two-up, and a sidecar setup with a dad and two kids.  At least two toys per person were stacked into a truck that had a base of 600 toys gathered by our hosts until we totaled around 1200 toys, enough for two for each of the 600 kids we’d see at the school.

Inspired to care and interact

He wore a black suit, white shirt, and a blue tie and he is adorned with a close-cropped ring of hair on an otherwise bald pate, reminiscent of the man I see in the mirror. He sports a graying mustache, neatly trimmed, and frames his eyes with a studious pair of glasses and looked like he could have been the President of Oxnard Bank and Trust. Indeed, his job as a superintendent in the schools is more important than that. He held the microphone with a practiced hand as he spoke to the gathering, even delivered a sermon, if you will. He told us a couple of stories of the kids we were about to meet; the two boys who alternate days at school because they have one pair of shoes to share and of the three early elementary aged children who live in a garage, feed themselves cereal with condensed milk because before school they have no electricity and because their parents have both been in the fields before sunrise. He framed our advent by telling us that we were like the fieldworkers only the crops we were tending are the these children and the nearly 600 others that are in the Migrant Education Program. They attend six days a week to allow the parents to work in the fields six days a week and this was a school day.

We paraded the few short miles from the Food Share building through the Oxnard suburb to the school where busses from Ventura, Santa Paula, Oxnard, and the surrounding areas had brought in the children for the event. We close-parked our bikes in the school yard and let them cool as the pre-K and Kindergarten classes were brought in to select their toys and see Santa with his dog, a beautifully tempered golden retriever. We received a hero’s welcome and were fed chicken fajita burritos and salad. The kids came through the bikes in class groups and brought us hand-made cards. I received cards from three; one who likes chemistry, another who liked recess, and still another who likes loves art and who made an awesome card.

At the end of the day, as I find with most advents of this type, I was more richly blessed by those we gifted than they were by me; it is just how that works to keep me humble and my life in perspective. I kept those thoughts in mind as our Victory group took the long way home down along PCH to Kanan Dume Road, up to Mulholland Highway, back out to PCH along Malibu Canyon for a short break at Malibu Bluffs State Park where we said our goodbyes before heading down PCH to Topanga Canyon Blvd and inland until we reached Highway 118 where Tim and Bev headed west toward home and Sue and I east until we reached the 405 where the two of us separated to conclude our rides. I don’t know yet if Sue watched her odometer kick over 40,000 which was part of the inspiration for our long way home. Really though, what more inspiration do riders need beyond a crystal blue sky, the awesomeness of the Pacific, and the winding canyon roads of our Santa Monica Mountains?

Ride with heart, and with that heart advent something today, create an opportunity to bridge a gap. And as always, keep the iron side up. Friends, have a merry and blessed Christmas.

jerry

Helmet Cam Videos

Potrero Canyon to Oxnard

Ride into the school

Additional photos:

Playground full of bikes, happy bikers, and happy kids

Busy Santa in a packed 'Toy Shoppe'

Tim's Enterprise and Sue's XC getting the once over

Ready to ride my XC, likes recess and playing baseball.
The Dodgers can use a slick fielding, hard hitting player.

Rock Inn Hummingbirds

I’ve said it before and I’ll repeat it here, you can learn something new every time you throw a leg over a bike and take off. The ride to The Rock Inn located in Lake Hughes (CA) was sure to be full of opportunities if I kept my senses alert for them; eyes open, ears tuned, mind alert to aromas, tastes, and the feel of the wind and sun. Writing has helped hone my senses to unique experiences of various encounters while on the road. This day’s ride was no different but required patience and an open heart.

David Hintz opened up the opportunity to ride with the Indian Motorcycle Riders Group (IMRG) of OC (Orange County). David and I have ridden together one other time (MAMBA Encounter, 8/28/15 post) and hung out with on one other occasion when we met up at The Ride to the Flags, posted 9/15/15. I’m just getting familiar with David and haven’t ridden or met any of the other 13 riders. Plenty to learn there but that requires me to stretch beyond my basic instinct to fade into the backdrop when with people I don’t know. I road back in the pack from David on this ride and had the opportunity to see how well he fit in and relaxed his riding style is, two important things when riding in tight formations.

The meet point for our 12 bikes and 15 riders was just down Foothill Boulevard from me at the Shell Station on Angeles Crest Highway (2). On any given weekend or holiday off work this service station is the meet point for hundreds of bikes, pushing the estimate to a thousand and on these days is no stretch and you can almost count on and should plan for someone being carted out of the forest in an ambulance or flown out by helicopter. Sport bikes rule the rode by a large margin with riders testing their abilities and bikes and pushing the limits of physics. With the Angeles National Forest nearby I tend to avoid weekends and ride it evenings or weekdays if the opportunity presents itself.

Ride Leader Kerry along with Ride Managers Denis and Jeff took us up the Crest Highway and then across the Angeles Forest Highway which gave me a nice view of the backside of the mountain I live on; the Mount Lukens communications towers are fully visible from both my home and the highway. It was an excellent day for riding, about 70 degrees at KSU and down into the mid-sixties as our elevation increased and we got more into the back country. I love riding this stretch with my visor up and the cool fresh air splashing my face. It takes the lethargy right out of me. Our group was blessed with a traffic bubble and we were able to take the ride at our own pace only accommodating four sport bikers who turned off the highway with a few hundred yards of passing us. No helicopters and no ambulances, just good riders on great bikes that made it for an exceptional day on the road.

Photo by ride leasder Kerry of the
group in front of The Rock Inn

Arriving at our destination we found ample confirmation that The Rock Inn is a bike-friendly establishment with parking at a premium. We had a long table waiting for us and the attentive staff and management was excellent as was the food. All at the table got what they ordered and liked it. Live entertainment was provided by guitarist/singer Natalie Walter (my search for her online came up empty so I’m not confident that I have her name right). The place was built in 1929, first as a wood structure then of steel, concrete, and stone following a destructive fire. The old Gulf gas pumps are still on the property, rooms are still available at $80/night. This place gets an Iron Side Up thumbs up – a great place to get together for good food, atmosphere, and hanging out. See below for links to The Rock Inn.

Throughout the ride I’d been admiring the various Indian Motorcycles especially the black on black Roadmaster with the signature brown leather seats. There were other Roadmasters along with several Vintage Classics including nearly twin Willow Green on Ivory Cream models. Three Victory XCs and a Harley rounded out the ride group. What tied it all together is a passion for good riding and looking out for each other.

The black Roadmaster stood out and held what turned out to be the signature moment for me. I’d briefly met Angelina prior to rolling out of the Shell station and had the pleasure of sitting near her and husband Sidney “Rev” Long. The two other couples on the ride with us sat nearby. I enjoyed the easy way the group had with each other, the couples included. I sampled the ongoing conversations along the table in the way a hummingbird samples flowers. It’s a simile that I use from time to time and the way I like to conduct myself when in groups like this. I overrode my reticence and approached Angelina and Sidney to introduce myself and to complement them on the bike.

Angelina, Sidney,
and their Roadmaster

As it turns out, Angelina has a beautiful hummingbird patch sewn on her mesh riding jacket. Hummingbirds have been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember dating back to visits to my grandparents who had feeders around their house at Bass Lake. The feeders hung from the eaves and dozens of them whirled around all day long. After my compliments on their bike were received along with a gleam in Sidney’s eyes about upcoming customizing I commented on Angelina’s patch and it was then that I was treated to the day’s golden nugget. She and Sidney shared the special meaning that is attached to the hummingbird. After the tragic loss of their 15-year old daughter Mindy hummingbirds began making appearances, whereas in the past the tiny birds had remained in the background, scarcely noticed by the aggrieved pair. Now one roosts on their porch and others whir around Angelina’s Zumba classes in the park where she teaches. The hummers have become reminders to the couple that Mindy is always close by and they are a comfort to the two of them.

I then related my own story of how as my Grandpa Matt lay dying in the hospital a hummingbird appeared at the high window in his hospital room. The little bird hovered there and turned to look at each of us before zipping up and away. It was only moments later that my grandfather passed away and hummingbirds have come to serve as a reminder to me of my grandpa and the special bond that we share. In searching my Christian beliefs I have concluded that God uses various emissaries to remind us of those we’ve lost and still hold dear and with those ambassadors provides the promise of uniting with them again as His Kingdom is fully established. He uses even the smallest of birds for the biggest of tasks.

Ride with heart, keep the iron side up, and keep an eye out the emissary and the special moment of every day.

jerry

The Rock Inn links:

http://www.historicrockinn.com/

https://www.facebook.com/The-Rock-Inn-117318435942/?fref=ts

PS: Sidney is the President of the LA Chapter (CA XXV) of the Blue Knights, the Law Enforcement Motorcycle Club. For more on this honorable club check out their site at: http://blueknights.org/ . Very impressive organization. Huge.

Two raw footage helmet cam videos:

Pan shot of the group in final prep to head out for the ride:

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QltuYM_2l8

Ready to roll out from The Rock Inn: https://youtu.be/u1nd95SCZN0 

Singed and Uke It or Not

‘Singed’

My thoughts on the evening of our second day (October 27, 2015), an expanded version of a notion that I’d posted on Facebook:

“Thus hath the candle singed the moth”, Portia reflects in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice

The moth had no original intention to visit the flame, it saw the flickering brilliance within range and was inexorably drawn the source of the light via a tropism (an innate tendency) that requires its wings to beat faster to an external stimulus such as light. Since the candlelight falls more directly into one eye over the other the one wing beats faster than the other drawing it in shrinking concentric circles until it reaches the source of light, in this case the candle.

Our view from stage side seats,
just past stage right

I made the comment that Cindy and I are drawn to live music as the moth is to the flame and for three nights running we found that to be true. Our fourth night we simply surrendered and planned for the poolside music. It was not our intention to sit stage side and listen to the guitarist sing (mele) melodies which brought out the lithesome dancer to render music into motion with the hula interpretation of his singing. But our nearer ears heard the sounds and we could not fail to divert our dinner plans in lieu of taking in the music and dance, it is an imperative of our souls, our own personal tropism. We could no more walk away from the music (Pila ho’okani) than the moth from the flame.

With the trade winds blowing and whispering to our souls ('uhane) and the sky deepening to starlight, we could have spent the night in complete contentment if the pair could have drawn out the art for that long. In reword for our modest tip were given a lei, made by the dancer as we listened to the player. The flower necklace was a surprise and became an expression of our 'uhane.

While Cindy can approach the flames of music without being singed because of the music in her blood and tunes in her genes, I am not so fortunate and have found myself scorched for dabbling to near the source of music’s light. Others in my family have the gift but I am not so favored with the talent. I’ve come to grips with it and know in my heart that the closer to the truth in worship (adore = Ho’onani) I draw, the sweater is its aroma to the Lord. And that’s all I have to say about that.

'Uke It or Not...' - Homeward bound thoughts [October 29, 2015] –

Our morning swim puckered my fingertips we had dallied so long in the ocean. We didn’t want to leave the warm embrace of the Tropical Pacific (Pakipaki). Moana, the Hawaiian word for ocean, sounds motherly and the Pakipaki’s matronly care for us as we floated and propelled ourselves here and there with languid strokes was so inviting to us we could not abandon her.

There would be no rainbow on this morning as it was the first cloudless day that allowed us to see the tops of all three islands, Maui, Molokaʻi, and Lānaʻi. There were only a few clouds far to the northern reaches resting on the other side of our horizon.

Checkout time and a rigid schedule to make our flight home was all that compelled us to go ashore. There is no Hawaiian word for rigid that I could find, therefore we eased up enough to take in a few more sights and spend a few more precious minutes in Lāhainā. We had a good local lunch and followed it up with a musical (Ka hui maika'iana o na leo mele or harmony) acquisition to be enjoyed while eating Lappert’s Shave Ice under the great banyan tree. As Cindy posed under the Banyan with her new Ukulele in position and her case open for donations, she made a buck without strumming a cord. Okay, so I’m her biggest fan and slipped the dollar bill in after taking the shot. 

I find it emblematic of our time on the nani mokupuni that our personal souvenir is a musical instrument sure to bring pleasure with each strum.

Ride with heart and keep the iron side up.

jerry

Maui '15 - Double or Nothing

Third day highlight (only one of many) [October 28, 2015], “Double or Nothing”

We were tentative at first since only hours earlier at high tide the surf had been angry and aggressive, the sea roiling and restless. Nevertheless, we put aside the vestiges of caution and waded into the ocean that stretched out in front of us to the other islands as a color chart for the color blue.  We floated, we swam, and and with the calming sea enveloping us, we marveled at how wonderful it would be to eschew a pool membership in lieu of padding down to the ocean in the morning for a swim, a mile up and back in crystal clear water with coral formations supporting aquatic life in staggering hues, shapes and sizes. That would be a way to wake up in the morning. On our first swim a small sea turtle (honu) had swam by close enough for either of us to reach out and pat her on the shell. We kept an eye out for her or friends of hers but didn’t see another for the rest of the trip.

Up to this point, our third and final full day, we’d missed something, a favorite island scene had yet to unfold for us. It began soon enough though during our swim and so faintly at first as to make us wonder if the bow was of an imagination born of our desire to see one. The colors arose from the waters at the west end of Molokaʻi. The rainbow (anuenue), God’s promise to us, formed a short but intensifying arc up to the cloud base crowning the island. Floating on our backs, buoyant in the saltwater, we watched in wonder and glee as the bow of colors arched its way to faintly touch down at the northern end of Lānaʻi, brightening right to left to a fully formed and spectacular anuenue.

Elation caught up to us as a gentle rain fell on us from the clouds behind that caressed the hilltops of Maui. A faint but unmistakable second rainbow appeared above the first. With the cobalt ocean holding two catamarans at anchor the dual arches of glorious color provided a heavenly frame. The lower and brighter anuenue ranged from purple to yellow, the upper and fainter of the two from blue to yellow/green and back to blue again.

In lieu of a rainbow - love

The two islands, Molokaʻi to our right and north, Lānaʻi to our left and south, were connected in mystical communion that has played out over the millennia. It was ours to share and wonder about, to revel in and marvel (kupianaha) at God’s great mercies. Swimming, we had no camera and so have no photo, only the memory to fill in around an ideal day.

Keep the iron side up friends, when a rainbow is needed it will appear. 

Maui '15 - Ideally Speaking

My thoughts on our first full day on Maui (October 26, 2015), a riff off of Cindy’s declaration that it had been an ideal day:

Ideally Speaking – An attempt at capturing the ideal day can be wrong from the outset for they exist in many forms and concoctions, not to mention that one person’s ideal day is another’s drudgery. It is, though, admirable to attempt to capture an ideal day in thought and word as fleeting as the experience can be. However, the attempt often times leads to exasperation as ideal days exist in a multidimensional universe and only the best of writer’s achieve excellence in putting together an ideal sentence let alone a paragraph, chapter, or the ideal complete story.

Ideals exist as archetypal ideas as an image of the mind, ephemeral and perhaps imagined or as a piece of our flight of fancy. Some would even say ideals lack practicality since the fallibility of man leads to falling short of the ideal. I think that the pursuit of the ideal is courageous and lends to the nobility of the pursuer.

Just a part of an ideal day
on the beautiful island

That being said, you know when you’ve spent an ideal day. You feel it in your bones, the depth of contentment slows time down and it’s easy to imagine yourself as a Manta Ray (Hāhālua) gliding through an alternate universe. The difficulty comes in the telling of it, they are hard to explain being furtive and passing in nature. They happen on levels that defy script or type, oration most often falls short. And yet when we falter in our retelling of the ideal day to a friend it only highlights the genuineness of the experience to the listener, should they be so fortunate as to have experienced their own beautiful day the story connects the teller and hearer at a depth beyond the words stumbling to build the tale.

There is no recipe for ideal days to follow, God makes them just as my Grandma Matt baked pies; just a pinch of this, a dab of that, the crust rolled out just so. Every pie was excellent, no two exactly alike, just as God’s handcrafted days are rolled out to us.

Ideal days have aromas, textures, varied hues from an infinite pallet, light and dark expressed in shades of gray, sounds woven together more intricate than any symphony, brushes of wind and water against the skin that excite and calm at the same moment. Their combinations are infinite and yet we experience them on a limited basis, merely on loan from the Creator himself. We borrow them and hold them fleetingly in our minds allowing our memories the opportunity to recognize the next one that comes our way.

We had such a day today. If I tell you that I heard her laugh and exclaim in wonder more today than at any other time in the last couple of years (with the possible exceptions of our 4 family weddings) you would be glad for our day and then let your mind conjure forth memories of a special day of your own. And since it was such a day for us, enjoy a cherished memory and raise a prayer of thanksgiving. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Keep the iron side up for no ideal ride can be had without doing that. Treasure the day.