Going Back in Time— My trip to Hawaii in 2020

Forty years ago, we lived on the Big Island of Hawaii. We lived there for 2 ½ years, from February 1978 to August 1980. It was an adventure—the tropics, an unspoiled paradise, prejudice, and so much more. In February of 2020, I returned to the Big Island with my daughter Diana and her family. But more than that, I went back in time in memory to those idyllic days.

Hawaii, forty years ago, was very primitive. I recall coming off the plane and coming down steps—not even

a ramp or unto a gateway. That was my first taste of what it would be like. The Big Island back then was predominantly Japanese—not haole (Caucasian), with plenty of Polynesian, Portuguese and Chinese mixed in. I recall the local McDonald’s in Hilo always served Sushi on their menu along with hamburgers, fries, and milkshakes. This time I came off the plane, we had ramps/stairs leading down from the plane and then we walked to the gate.

The local school our children attended was a small school with only 12 to 15 children in each class. Many were Polynesians, but also many were Japanese.

I checked online about the Kaumana Elementary School today, and here are the statistics

Kaumana Elementary School Enrollment By Race The student body of Kaumana Elementary School in Hilo, Hawaii County, Hawaii is made up of 7 ethnicities. The largest ethnic group of the 264 students at Kaumana Elementary School is Pacific Islander. This is followed by Asian (13.6 %), White (8.7 %), Hispanic (6.1 %), Mixed Students of two or more ethnicities (4.2 %), Indian (1.5 %) and Black (0.8 %). Race      Number            % Indian    4           1.5 % Asian     36         13.6 % Hispanic           16          6.1 % Black     2           0.8 % White    23         8.7 % Pacific Islander             172       65.2 % Two or More Ethnicities           11          4.2 %

When we lived in Hilo, each classroom had a door to the outside and a deck with a water faucet right by the door. The kids usually wore flip-flops and you took them off, washed your feet and went into the classroom barefoot. You can see from the above photo; they’ve updated the school and each classroom does not have a door to the outside.

In 1978, the first Safeway in Hilo was opened and back then, it was not popular. Most people preferred their Mom & Pop bread stores, vegetable stores, fish & meat stores. Safeway did eventually become more popular, and today those downtown individual stores are now tourist boutiques.
Everywhere I saw louvered windows, although more and more had screens on the window. When we lived there, that was the main type of window you had.

Living in Hawaii was laid back in the past. And I discovered as we went everywhere—it is just as laid back today, with servers taking a long time to come, and sitting talking to each other rather than serve customers; hotels took a long time to answer your questions or supplies.

  

Sunday

Church

The first thing we did Sunday morning was attended Church; and yes, they had louvered windows on them!

The service was the same as years ago, and after the meeting ended, a young woman who was moving came up and the audience sang “Aloha Oe” (Farewell to Thee), with the words on the inside back cover of the hymn book. I almost cried because that’s what we always did when someone left the ward. (FYI: I’ve requested that “Aloha Oe” be sung at my funeral).

City of Refuge

One of my most favorite places we visited on the Big Island was the City of Refuge, Pu’uhonua o Honaunau,

on the Kona Coast. In the ancient Hawaiian times, there were “kapus,” forbidden rules; when a commoner casts his shadow on an Ali’i (chief), or a woman eats with a man, or someone catches a fish out of season—all these were “kapu” or forbidden. Break any of these (and more) and you face the ultimate punishment of death. However, if you could elude your pursuers on foot, get to the coast and swim to the City of Refuge, you could be resolved by a priest.

Also, during a war, the site was a sanctuary for children, elders and other noncombatants. Even defeated warriors could seek safety in the refuge, and after the battle ended, return home, whatever the outcome of the battle.

Also, next to the City of Refuge were the Royal Grounds, where Ali’i met with their advisers and priests. On the site are examples of a favorite game of the Hawaiians, played on a rock board with tiny black and white pebbles.

They also had an ancient game (konane) that was on a flat rock and had small indents on it to hold the white

and black rocks. Above you can see Athena and Diana playing the game in 1979 and a closer look at the game, today.

The Royal Grounds also had a special “chair” made of rock for the chief to sit and watch the water, and a special rock where the chief’s wife angered the king and she ran with her dog and hid under a rock. He didn’t notice her until her dog barked. It reminded me that even Hawaiian royalty had marital problems.

I was pleased that the City of Refuge hadn’t changed much during the years, as you can see from the pictures I’ve attached of then and now. The City of Refuge was a joy to walk around in. We saw “noni” (morindra citrifolia) fruit, which was a stable of Hawaiian food, but also made many medicines for them.

The hand-carved tikis represented the image of various Polynesian gods and personified the specific “mana” or power of that God. These tikis tried to please the gods and break good harvest and weather, as well as success and power during wars.

If I'm Doing Okay, Why Am I Trying So Hard?

[This was written years ago when my children were young]

When the baby eats the dog's food, my first thought is, "If I were a good mother, this would never happen!" When I realize I have forgotten my daughter's fourth grade class concert, I think, "A good mother remembers things like that." Many times a day the "If I were a good mother...." refrain plays in my mind and I feel inadequate and frustrated as a mother.

If I were a good mother. . . .  

I would know instinctively what to do,

From the day they take their first breath

To the day they take their marriage vows...

And beyond!

          I don't remember my mother agonizing about motherhood. She didn't read Dr. Spock, child development manuals, or take parenting (or even Lamaze) classes. Yet she seemed secure and confident in her identity as A MOTHER! She just assumed that she would know what to do and she did. I recall her saying that the most important thing about parenting was loving your children and enjoying them, and everything else would fall into place. She also said that knowing how to be a good mother was instinctive and that when I had children I would automatically know what to do.

          I didn't! I worried and fussed from the first minute, armed not only with my sister's child development manual, but the most popular Baby and Child Care book I could find. I recall the overwhelming inadequacy that hit me as I looked down on my new firstborn and thought, "What on earth made me think I would know how to take care this?" Is such an awesome feeling of responsibility for another life normal or even common? Years later, I still worry that maybe I'm not doing my best and I'll pay for it with delinquent, drug-crazed, undernourished, unhappy, unloving or, heaven forbid, maladjusted children?

If I were a good mother

I'd always know where my kids are at l0:00 p.m.!

And before--not after--I hear a crash,

Or blood-curdling screams.

          Did television give me unrealistic expectations? I grew up with Claire Huxtable and Carol Brady of the Brady Bunch as my examples. Did it brainwash me into believing in an ideal mother, who always solved the problems of her children with a smile and in less than half an hour. Am I trying to live up to the mother in the TV ads who always has home-baked cookies warm from the oven for her children along with the perfect retort! Television not only gave me examples of "perfect" mothers, it also countered by showing me, every night on the 5:00 news, all the things that could go wrong if I failed as a mother: the delinquency, drug abuse, murders, gang wars, mental illness, kidnappings. And it instilled a feeling of guilt as it declaimed sententiously, "It's l0:00 p.m. Do you know where your children are?" even when they were in bed asleep.

If I were a good mother...

My home would always be spotlessly clean

With floors you could eat off and

Plates you can see yourselves in.

          Did commercials that sang of shining floors and shinier plates convince me that cleanliness was the embodiment of motherhood? Did it depict "mother love" as smiling when the baby threw the cereal on the floor or the dog tramped mud in on the new carpet? Did sitcoms that never showed clutter make me feel uneasy if my daughter cut out in the living room? When I bought a toy that wasn't "educational" or the latest fad, did I feel I was depriving my children? If they weren't computer whizzes, was it a reflection on me? Did it subconsciously (or consciously) influence me that love is giving your child all the toys, computer games or designer jeans he sees on TV? Or giving him only the "right cereal?

If I were a good mother...

I'd buy only organic food,

Serve only low-calorie, fat-free, high fiber

Peanut butter snacks carved in animal shapes!

           Was my generation the first to feel that there was a "better" way to do things? We wanted organic food, nutritious snacks, low-cholesterol breakfasts, sushi, Quinoa, tofu and bean sprouts. But our children still became junk-food junkies! Did we feel that if we bought the "right" food, they'd avoid all the obesity, heart-attacks and cancers that have plagued the earth for generations? Did we feel that supervised exercise and fun activities would make our children thinner and happier than we'd been?

           I must have subconsciously felt that my parent's generation must have been ineffective or our world wouldn't be in the mess it was in. I wasn't the only one I'm sure that wanted to show we could do a better job doing things "our way", but not even child psychology books could agree what the "best" way was. There has been free love, more welfare, living together, more "friendly" divorces, more single parents and same gender families, but has our generation done better than our parent's generation? We wanted to save the world with peace on earth and universal love, but our children are still unhappy, faced with greater problems, not only physical but sexual abuse, different wars, more dangerous drugs, expanded crime, increased poverty and homelessness, not to mention plagues like AIDS, than our own generation!

If I were a good mother...

I would help my kids with the "new" math,

So they'd become the class valedictorians

Or Olympic champions and make me proud!

          Do I try to live vicariously through my children? Because I was a full-time mother do I equate success or failure by my children's achievements? Or when I work outside the home, do I rationalize that I am giving my children more responsibility and opportunities to garner awards? Do I claim my children's honors are bonuses earned partly by me? How responsible am I for my children's successes or failures? I recall the tongue-in-cheek song, "Officer Krumpke" from West Side Story where delinquency is attributed to failure of the parents, the schools, society and the child itself. Just as the song comes full circle in putting blame for personal problems on everyone and no one, we can't pin down absolutely why children fail or succeed. We try as parents to do our best, but more often than not we succeed or fail in spite of ourselves. I am too apt to take credit for my children's successes and blame their failures on anything or anyone else. And is that fair to them or me?

If I were a good mother...

I'd be my child's best friend

And we'd have meaningful "raps"

In our quality time together!

          Was my generation too idealistic?  The disillusionment when I realized I was not an ideal parent made me feel not just inadequate but a failure. I was not a "good" mother, whatever that meant! My mother on the other hand never expected to be the perfect mother; but she felt she was a good mother. Would I worry less about how good a mother I was if my own mother could have shared her insight and failures with me as I raised my children? Do I see her as a more "perfect" mother that I can't live up to because she died before I made her a grandmother? Because I can't recall the times she yelled at me and got angry do I worry when I lose my cool? Was she more like me than I realize?

If I were really a good mother....

I would realize the raising a child

Is not always easy, but it's worthwhile.

The rewards are not always tangible,

But the most important thing is to keep trying.

          I felt the same overwhelming awe and fear with my fifth baby twenty years later as I did with my first when I was young and fearless! "Now that I know how impossible it is to be a good mother, why do I think I will succeed as mother this time?" To the awe and inadequacy I had felt many years ago when my oldest was born, was added the knowledge and sad experiences of the intervening years when my youngest was laid in my arms. I know now what I only suspected years before-- that raising a child is the most challenging and difficult job on the earth today! And that no time, or person is perfect.

          My mother once told me that she realized she was pregnant with my brother on the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. She was saddened to think that this new babe inside her might only serve as fodder in some war to secure peace in the world. The day that the my pregnancy test came back positive with my youngest child, I looked at the world and wondered if things could get worse. There were still wars, poverty, crime and pollution. I wondered what dangers my unborn child would face in this imperfect world. I am aware of the dangers that lurk hidden within each new day-- accidents, illnesses, failures, arguments, disappointments, wars, sociological perils, plagues, radiations, global warming and air pollution. But I also know the joys and delights, the revelry, the accomplishments, companionship, fun and excitement that lie behind each new day also.

          I laugh when I recall how I woke up my first baby continually to see if he was wet! I was so naive and innocent then! Now I don't worry if I will know what to do, but if I will have the energy to do it! And I realize how different and unique each child is and I know I can't treat them the same or expect them to react even similarly.

          There are many days when I feel very inadequate and a veritable failure as a mother; when I am late picking up my son from soccer or too busy to notice my daughter is unhappy. On those days, my "If I were a good mother" inner tape plays repeatedly and I feel like declaring maternal bankruptcy. But there are far more days when I feel good about how I'm doing as a mother and pat myself on the back. It may be something as simple as taking the baby to the park or fixing a special picnic supper that brings a glow to my heart. Or it may be that we survived a family dinner without a disaster or phone call!

          On those good days, I realize that I worry about how I'm doing as a mother because it is so important! I recall my mother's long-ago words that it's the loving and the enjoyment that counts and her advice to never quit trying! And so, although motherhood may not be instinctive and I'm far from perfect, I begin each new day vowing to be a not just a "good" mother (if there is such a mythical creature) but only a better mother than I was the day before.

          I try to learn from my errors and keep my head above water as I travel along the bumpy road of motherhood. But the scenery is always different and the road is filled with fun and excitement as we go along! And motherhood is one venture where the destination is only one part of the journey!

“Where Did I Put That?”

As we age, we tend to lose things more than before, but I began to lose things years ago. Maybe that’s because I began to lose my mind years ago.

I still get frustrated when I can’t find something—especially if I have just put it down. One

thing I always lose are my glasses. Therefore I have decided to put them in a special place on my china case, which is right inside our house, whether you come in from the upstairs or downstairs. However they still go missing.

Before we had to move to Los Angeles for nine months a few years ago I made a master plan of my house, put alphabetic stickers on everything which could hold anything (where it couldn’t be seen) and made a map with matching alphabetic keys which told what was in each storage area. I thought then I could remember what was in each storage area while I was gone. Then if I needed something, I could call my son who was living in the house and say, “Send me the ___________ which is the drawer labeled “EE” in my dressing room.

It worked well enough until I lost the map with the key.

When I got back, I started rearranging things and there went my plan. I found most of the time I can’t find stuff is right after I’ve gone through stuff, gotten rid of stuff and reorganized things. (There, family, I do go through and get rid of things—you thought I never did.)

For the first while after I’ve rearranged things, I can’t remember where the new thing belongs!!!

I have decided there are four reasons things disappear in my house:

1. My youngest son: He hides them to frustrate me. No, he is not a child—he is 27 years old, but he likes to tease me and move my glasses or purse just to see how frustrated I can get. I admit this isn’t often, but it does happen.

• The worst thing he did was not on purpose. We had gone to L. A. for medical reasons and I’d stopped the mail and paper so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. My husband ended up in the hospital and we stayed 10 days longer than we’d planned so I called and told him to put the mail in a pile on the kitchen table.
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• We came home, I went through the mail and paid the bills. The next month I got dunned for a bill I hadn’t seen the while we were gone. I asked my son about it, and he led me to another stash of mail that hadn’t made it out of the basement and was buried under his clothes. It contained the bill I hadn’t paid.
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• The worst thing he claimed wasn't his fault at all. He was borrowing my laptop at night when I was using it during the day at the hospital while my husband was hospitalized. One morning I was in a rush to go to the hospital and I could find the laptop in one place, the power cord in another and no sign of the cord. He'd already gone to work and I couldn't reach him. 
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• I texted him, "where is my mouse?" and left for the hospital. When I got to the hospital I got his text, "It is on top of the cabinet." Now remember he is 6 feet 2 inches tall and I am five feet 2 inches tall. Would I ever find a mouse on the top of a cabinet? He hasn't used my laptop since. 

2. My oldest daughter: She comes to my house and cleans and everything left out goes

into a box and into a closet. I usually try to straighten up before she comes because anything that is left out is fair game for her. She just puts it into a box for me to put away “at my leisure.” 

But then I can’t find the box with my purse, keys, glasses, and the important papers that I was working on when she came. She has to come and tell me where the treasure box is hiding out. But I appreciate her help with cleaning more than the hassle of finding the stuff she puts away, so she’s a keeper cleaner.

3. Curse of the Gadianton Robbers: We live in the Last Days, which has been prophesied as a day when wickedness will be prevalent that no one will be able to hold onto their treasures. The Book of Mormon scriptures mention that the people will be so wicked that the land will be cursed so no one can find their treasures: I don’t envision robbers coming to steal my stuff. Neither is the stuff I can’t find real “treasures” except to me, but when I can’t find something important I remember the curse upon the land that makes all things “slippery.”

• “Helaman 13:34: Behold, we lay a tool here and on the morrow it is gone; and behold, our swords are taken from us in the day we have sought them for battle.”
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•  Book of Mormon 1: 18 “And these Gadianton robbers, who were among the Lamanites, did infest the land, insomuch that the inhabitants thereof began to hide up their treasures in the earth; and they became slippery, because the Lord had cursed the land, that they could not hold them, nor retain them again.”

4. IL Folletto: When we lived in Italy years ago, I studied Italian at the University and through a conversation Italian class taught by the dearest Italian lady, Angela Buvoli. She taught us all about the customs, history, culture, folklore and other things about Italy that we’d never learn in a book. She told us the story of Il Folletto.

• The dictionary says a folletto is an elfin, elf-like, mischievous, playful, sprightly, genie, gremlin, or pixie.
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•  Wikipedia’s explanation is not as innocent: “The folletto is a legendary creature typical of the folk tradition generally depicted as being a small, joker, agile and elusive, able to fly and become invisible. In folklore European shares similar characteristics with . . . the brownies , the puck, the goblin and leprechaun .Lives in burrows in the woods especially conifers or at the homes of men, courtyards and barns. Almost always comes out only at night to have fun doing mischief to the beasts of the stables and mess up the hair of beautiful women, cluttering agricultural tools and household objects”

4. La Signora Buvoli’s Folletto: Her idea of a folletto was a tiny mischievous elf who lived inside the house and was attracted to shiny objects. He came out at night and would sometimes take with him shiny objects that were lying around the house, especially if they were not put away. However, the folletto was attracted to millet (grain) and if you left a little bowl out of him, he would get busy counting the grains of millet and leave your items alone. 

So you could fool him by putting your things away correctly in their drawers, shelves, etc. all the time, or leave a bowl of millet out for him to count. Then he wouldn’t steal your items away and you’d never find them—or you’d find them in a new place, when he decided to return them.

So, who is the real culprit when I lose something and can’t find it? 

Perhaps all of the above, but I admit I am most likely the biggest culprit for not putting things away where they should have put it away, and for trying to find new ways to organize things. And of course, my poor memory.

Grocery Shopping with Your Young Children

When I was young and child free, I loved to go shopping! Even as a young wife, I enjoyed grocery shopping, thinking how I would make loving meals for my new husband. But having young children made grocery shopping sheer torture. 

My husband with the three grocery-store monsters

The first thing you realize when shopping with young children is that it’s going to take twice as long as when you’re alone. One child will go one way; another child will disappear the other way and you’ll be looking for them—not shopping for what you came to buy.

Some mothers have admitted being tempted to pretend they don’t have any children until they’ve completed shopping. If they hear someone say, “Look at that awful child who knocked over the display,” and even though they know it is hers child, she’ll say, “Where on earth is his mother?” Then after her groceries are in the car, she sneaks back in the store and retrieves them.

However, abandoning your child can lead to disaster as one mother discovered when she found her daughter starting on the third of box of expensive Godiva chocolates (not to mention the doctor bill when the child was sick from eating so much). Another mother found her stray child crawling up the down elevator and causing all kinds of traffic problems. The possibilities are endless, but the least is that your child will pull everything off the shelves, and create chaos. So most mothers shop for a moment, retrieve a child, shop a little, retrieve another child, etc., ad nauseam.

Children love to race through stores, chasing each other, dodging other shoppers, and you can never keep up with them carrying the baby. Then you end up crashing into someone just as you are ready to grab the delinquents. You apologize profusely while the children race away. The baby loves the “race” (you walk fast, never run, but the baby gets bounced around anyway). When you finally catch the racers, you can either bribe them with a treat if they stay by your side, or threaten them if they don’t—whichever works best for you.

You must be careful to watch that they don’t throw everything in the cart—they will sneak in their favorite treats while their cohort detracts your attention. When you look down you will find all kinds of things you don’t allow in your house in your cart and two innocent looking children smiling. And of course they will have damaged them so you can’t put them back.

Even when you use shopping carts, this doesn’t solve a problem. Often putting all the small children in the shopping carts only centralizes the problem; the children stand up, lean over, or fall out of the cart. Right in the middle of checking the number of grams of fat, proteins and carbs in a food you are considering buying, you’ll hear a scream from someone and turn just in time to catch the baby in one hand as he falls out of the cart and the toddler in the other hand as the cart topples—without dropping the item. You also save the cart from hitting anyone or anything with your foot and make it look it look like a trick and not a disaster. (But look at what coordination you are developing--you could be training to be a gymnastic!)

But eventually you get all your acquisitions in your shopping cart, with the children, and pay for your purchases, looking fresh and cool as a Stepford Wife. If half of your items make it to the checkout in its original condition, consider yourself lucky. 

“Did you realize these sunglasses are broken, Ma’am?”

“Yes, my son stepped on them.”

“This birthday card is soiled. Do you want to get a new one?”

“No, my son stepped on that, also.”

“This magazine is all torn up, Ma’am. And it is about How to grow Orchids in Fiji. Surely. . . “

“My daughter destroyed it. Add it to my purchases. She can destroy the rest of it at home.”

“Oh, my goodness, Ma’am, this pie has something awful on top of it!”

“I know. My baby spit up on it. Luckily it is a type of pie we like and we can eat the rest of it.”

“Are you sure you want this bag of candy? It is half eaten and it is smeared with chocolate hand prints.”

“Yes, my oldest child did that.” 

Even though you pay for the damage, you wonder if you dare go back to that grocery store ever again. 

Or you could let your husband take them to the grocery store. Ha! As if that would happen! But what fun if it would be if he did!