Farewell in Blue

Photo by Ruth Shiroma Foster

We rode on a white foam trail, dozens of us in six boats, from the Waianae Boat Harbor to Maili Beach. I watched Jason sit in the corner of his boat, cradling the copper urn that carried his father's ashes.

The motor was loud, but constant, like a meditation. The blues of the water were rich and clear, like jewels. It was then that the song Time by the Alan Parsons Project began to fill my head. And, it was then that time stood still, and I could look to the Pokai Bay shoreline and remember Bob Adair, standing in the shallow waters, his hair soaked, wearing no glasses and always that smile from within, alongside my dad countless times during baptisms. Two mild-mannered men doing the humblest of tasks, together. Bob Adair was a deacon, he was a friend. I know the mountains in the backdrop behind Farrington Highway, each mountain proud to have its own shape and color, like old friends, all different, but meant to be together. Bob knew these mountains very well, too. It was good to say hello again to the water and the mountains of Waianae, even on the occasion of saying goodbye.

When the boats stopped at the spot that marks Maili Beach, below the Waianae Comprehensive Center, family members huddled around Jason, the youngest of Bob's children. Jason stepped with one foot on the ledge of the boat. Then, it was time. The ashes were rich grey plumes in turquoise blue, a transfixing sight. It was a moment when the ancient soul gathered to its chest a new and beautiful soul.

Farewell, Bob. To be in the sea will forever be sweeter.

+++++++++++++

Fading Film

Even if I were to be free
And fly as far away as I possibly could
Even if I had the chance to be me
To realize fully my potential,
The things I leave behind
Are things that I loved
Things that made me feel grounded as a human being
Like happiness and closeness to family
Joy and satisfaction.
I feel the cells in my body separating somehow
They are saying goodbye to each other inside my body
Like two lovers parting
Not because they want to
But because they have to.
This is so new to me, I don't know what will happen to me.
I know it goes somewhere, I just don't know where.
I shiver sometimes,
Perhaps out of fear
But mostly out of pain.
I keep crying because something is slipping away,
And I can't do anything about it
A part of me is fading away.
Sometimes I think of my mom's voice
And my dad's voice,
And they sound so sweet,
But somehow they are getting so faint
Like after you watch a movie you really loved
And you are trying to recall what happened.
Your heart connects with what you felt
When you first saw the movie
But the images get blurrier and blurrier.
Does anyone know what this feels like?
I thought this would be easier.

The Giver

With rough hands, she separates the wheat from the chaff while others stay inside, playing cards and sleeping off yesterday's folly. She walks a rocky path to bring harvest to them all. And this she will know till her hair turns to tin. No rest for the soul of one whose beauty hides within.

Pompous Grammarians

It happens without fail. Someone writes a Letter to the Editor about "proper punctuation." The only problem is that the letter itself has a grammatical error.

Take today's Advertiser:
http://the.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/2005/Sep/21/op/FP509210321.html

Anyway, according to this book, I am a "stickler" and proper punctuation is an endangered species.

That sentence is missing a comma, which would separate the two independent clauses. It should read:

Anyway, according to this book, I am a "stickler," and proper punctuation is an endangered species.

I know, I know. This kid is in the seventh grade, so I should have some mercy. But while the letter was written in jest, it still exhibited a kind of pompousness that gets me steamed. I believe in good grammar, and for the sake of the language, we should watch each others' grammar. On top of that, I do believe the print media should be held to an even greater standard than the everyday person.

Yet, when the day ends, and we all go home, grammar is just a set of rules that some people know - and use - better than others. That's it. I just don't think grammar is something that people should be beating their chests over. Oh, for the traditionalists, let me phrase it this way: I just don't think grammar is something over which people should be beating their chests.

Good night!

Posted by ruth at September 21, 2005 07:40 PM

COMMENTS:

I would write it:
Anyway, according to this book, I am a "stickler"! Proper punctuation is an endangered species.
But datz me and I write & spell however the hellway I please ~ in my blog anyway. I think because of the interent there is a literary feedom or creative license with punctuations. If you understand what the person is trying to say why ask why the punctuations are where they are or are not. But datz me. :)
Posted by: Lika on September 22, 2005 06:37 AM

My suspicion is that newspapers only run spelling, grammar, and punctuation rants when there is a spelling, grammar, or punctuation error in them.
Posted by: Ryan on September 22, 2005 08:59 AM

Esclamation mark should be within the quotation. "Stickler!" instead of "stickler"!
Posted by: jj on September 23, 2005 03:36 AM

Agree with that last paragraph. After all, worrying too much about preposition position is something up with which Winston Churchill would not put. :)
Posted by: Keith on September 26, 2005 10:29 PM

No. Period.

I was just dozing off at my computer here at work. And in a brief moment, I dreamed that a guy was red with indignation over why he decided to leave periods out of his sentences. He refused to use periods because there's enough space to designate the ends of sentences and that he wouldn't use periods if he didn't have to.

Trenches

I wish you knew what it was like

to dig dirt

To see your French manicure dulled

by the earth

I wish you could hear what we

think down here

But the only sound you hear

is the jangle at your wrist

of metal upon metal

Posted by ruth at June 07, 2005 01:36 AM

Comments

Ruth, I imagine you as being an archiaologist (don't know if that's the correct spelling) of some sort. Digging, metal to metal...perhaps gold? Anyways' great writing!
Lynn Vasquez
Posted by: Lynn Vasquez on June 7, 2005 05:48 PM

Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

Yesterday, I sat among the congregration, 20 or so of them, in that tiny Baptist church in Waianae Valley. Every time you stand in front of people, I feel so proud. I feel giddy, and I become like a little girl dangling her feet under the pew. Pastor, that's what they call you.

You look so kind in polyester slacks and aloha shirt. Your thick eyebrows and your silver hair make you look very dignified. For a preacher, you say very little. Your sentences are quaint, and you tell sweet jokes.

Yet, I know your feet and your back still carry the toil of the farm you knew decades ago, when life began to boom just after the Depression. You asked questions about life and what it all means when four tons of pineapple spoil, and you have to throw it all away. I know those kinds of memories hurt. I know you grew up with little money and that pursuing a better life was not easy, not easy like how it was for me. I know the secret decisions you made about claiming a faith, following a spiritual path when no one around you understood what you were doing. You were 27 when you did that, with no promise of a job, a wife, a future. You just had faith.

And this is a faith I inherited. In recent years, I struggled to understand what this faith all means to me, often resentful of how it shackled my arms and feet. For a certain period in my life, I didn't like the things you said from behind the pulpit. You had no idea about how cold my heart was years ago, when I sat listening in contempt of the message you delivered.

I no longer feel this way. I no longer fight with the message and the ideas. I see beyond that, and I see you. I see the love in your heart and a sincerity that is golden. You are humble and strong. You are good-natured. You smile over littlest things. Someday, I hope to be like you.

Your daughter,
Ruth


Posted by ruth at January 10, 2005 05:25 PM

Comments

Aloha Ruth, Mahaalo for sharing such a beautiful and spiritual story. I too, disliked what the Pastors were trying to tell me...for me it was when I lost my husband. Now, I am strong in the Lord again. Now, I am stronger in faith and in mind. No matter what may come my way, no matter how I suffer...he is there to carry me. Please say Mahalo to your dad for me, it is because of men like him that the lost come back to the groom, Christ Jesus!
Lynn Vasquez
Posted by: Lynn Vasquez on June 7, 2005 05:39 PM

Hey Lynn,
Thanks for sharing your story! I will pass this along to my dad.
Take care,
Ruth
Posted by: ruth on June 8, 2005 01:20 AM

tootie...
i miss you.
none has ever replaced you.
i love you my friend...
Posted by: christy on July 21, 2005 10:43 AM