Hawai'i Trip, Day 2, June 15, 2018

Wake up call at 5:30am with breakfast at 6am. The students go to breakfast in two groups; the first and then 15 minutes later the second. The dining room in the Tiki Grill & Bar has long tables set up that accommodate the numbers well. There are tables for 4 on the balcony facing the ocean and the adults have claimed those. For once, I am happy to sit with anyone who has an available seat at their table. It's a nice feeling after years of still hesitating as I enter the school dining room; scanning for an empty seat, observing who's already there, seeing how far along people are in their meal.

We depart by charter bus at 7am for a tour of O'ahu. The buses are from two different companies; sometimes gold Royal buses and sometimes buses splashed with advertising for the Polynesian Cultural Center. More on that advertising later. Our driver and guide today is Carlos. The students quickly take a liking to him as he balances a microphone in one hand, points out sights with the other, leaving the bus to steer itself for brief periods (minutes, but seemingly longer). He is very enthusiastic and soon tells us his life story through his tour: that's where I was born, that's where I went to middle school, there's my high school. He also points out his favorite restaurants including Leonard's, a bakery known for its Portuguese fried dough (malasadas). We later have plain ones (dipped in sugar) delivered to our lookout stop, but learn that we have missed the filled versions especially the guava filled. According to Carlos, the best. As we pass the community college Carlos tells us that he went there to study hospitality and he loves what he does. He's a good driver and a natural tour guide: serious, warm, funny, and earnest about his duties. He is apologetic at the end of the day because the students have now asked if he will be their guide for the entire trip and he is at the beck and call of his company to assign him. He leaves us with a "let's hope," but, in fact, we never have Carlos as our driver again.

The lookout point is over a beach where many vans are unloading passengers and snorkeling equipment. Had this been a family vacation that might have been me. It was a brilliant day and the shades of blue and green on the water are breathtaking.

The Bishop Museum tour and Iolani Palace are on the agenda for the day. The seniors are expected to chant for the person who will decide if we are to gain admission. Not a guarantee, but a test of intention and sincere interest. The students, a little unsure knowing that they are not the glee club singers, do well. The tour guide is efficient and thorough and, as the students had been forewarned, they don't question anything he says. In fact, they may have taken it to the extreme and don't ask any questions at all. After the tour, however, we have an hour to walk around to view the exhibits in more detail. A few things that stay with me from the museum are the use of feathers in traditional garments and leis, the connection between Taiwanese and Hawaiian languages, and discovering that the ulu (breadfruit) is actually larger than a grapefruit.

I have a print at home that I brought back from Tonga. As I'm studying a tree outside the museum I have a realization that the print is not a fruit the size of a lychee as I'd always assumed, but it is this fruit in front of me, ulu.  It is the fruit that is also on wall murals on the outside of the Kamehameha high school.

The feather cape belonging to Captain Cook and displayed in the Bishop Museum is on loan from New Zealand's National Museum Te Papa Tongarewa. The cape and a matching helmut were given to Cook by Hawaiian Chief Kalani'opu'u in 1779. It has been over 200 years since the garment has been in Hawai'i. The guide told us that the Bishop Museum is hopeful that this long-term loan will end up as a permanent return of the items to their collection. The cape is made up of 3 million feathers from 20,000 birds. Only a few feathers were taken from each bird and they were then released back into the wild. A woman demonstrating the making of feather leis told us that it took 150 years to collect the feathers. True evidence of the Hawaiian concept of generations being connected; that you are never separate from the ancestors who came before you.

We head to lunch at Ward Village, a shopping mall and restaurants. I eat with two teachers at Piggy Smalls, a Vietnamese restaurant created by chef Andrew Le. We start with a half-dozen oysters on the half shell and then I have a bowl of pork belly noodles.

After lunch we go to Iolani Palace. The seniors chant once again and we are received on the first attempt. The chant, or oli, is used to communicate important information, often revealing information that establishes a relationship between the chanter(s) and the responding chanter. The words to the chant written for HM are below. The notes are from a practice session that Tim ran for faculty before the trip. The reference to "twin rivers" are the Hudson and East Rivers that surround NYC. The text is the single most important aspect of chants. The chant, like the hula, is the oral storytelling language of Hawaiian culture.

Iolani Palace is where Queen Liliuokalani, who rose to power following her brother's death in 1891, was imprisoned in her room in 1895. A provisional government was established after an unsuccessful attempt to reinstate the Queen marking the end of the Hawaiian monarchy. The quilt she sewed while imprisoned is on display in her room. It's a patchwork of embroidered pieces, some from her own garments, showing many aspects of her life and the names of people in her family.

The last stop for the afternoon is Diamond Head. It's the first time we impress upon the students the need for water bottles, sunscreen and hats. The Hawaiian sun is beating down and already we're watching the students who are flirting with sunburn. I stay behind with one other teacher who has also chosen not to do the hike. We take the opportunity to have pineapple shaved ice and a smoothie while sitting under the shade of the trees. It's a nice chance to chat and cool off in the warm breeze of Hawaii. The students are quick going up and coming down and have about 45 minutes at the end to gather under a gazebo, play music and sing their hearts out. The group grows in size with each student coming down from the mountain and the music grows louder.  As we move the group to return to the buses a woman walking near me says, "That must be some bus ride!" All joyful energy.

We end the day with a leisurely dinner at the Pagoda Restaurant, a Chinese buffet and a restaurant build over a fish pond of koi. I looked over the railing of the bridge and saw a real life version of the screen of swimming fish on Lumosity, the brain game, that trains your eye to follow individual movement amidst the constant movement of a group of koi. Challenging on the screen; challenging in real life.

Hawai'i Trip, Day 1: June 14, 2018

The weeks leading up to our departure for Hawai'i were packed with welcome gatherings for new families, end-of year gatherings for faculty, retirement recognitions, and preparations for graduation. They were also filled with final details for this trip; getting gloves for the fish pond, lists of students and medical forms, meeting chaperone groups and deciding on what to pack.

It is the day after graduation, June 14, 2018. We've barely said farewell to the graduates and we are getting on an airplane for an 11 hour flight to Hawai'i. 6am departure by school bus from Horace Mann to JFK. A 10am flight on Hawaiian Airlines to Honolulu and a bus ride to a the Aston Hotel in Waikiki.

I was imagining that the bus would be full; in fact, there were three buses waiting at HM this morning. The orchestra/bands group has 81 students on the roster traveling with 11 chaperones. The choir has about 100 students and another 11 chaperones. I hadn't anticipated that many students would be going directly to the airport. When I ask how many students we are expecting on the bus (I am thinking final head count) the response is that the bus is leaving at 6am as scheduled and anyone not on it will miss the ride. It is early and there is time to get to the airport by car, if necessary.

As we are getting ready to close the bus doors one chaperone is unaccounted for. Teachers try calling, but her phone goes to voicemail. And then finally the call goes through and she says she is already at the airport. The others don't seem surprised; I am wanting a definitive list of who is where.

We have a long wait at the airport and the students use the time to get food and use bathrooms. Hawaiian Airlines flies out of the Jet Blue Terminal, one of my favorite terminals. I have been in it so often and yet have never seen the end of the terminal that serves several smaller airlines including Hawaiian Airlines. Everything is on time and though the directors have been casual about a final chaperone check before letting the students get on the plane, three of them stand in the doorway of the gate until the waiting area is empty to do a final sweep of stuff and to confirm that no one is left in the area. I quickly learn that the chaperone groups throughout the trip are the key to accountability.

We arrive in Honolulu at about 2:30pm and are at the hotel, Aston Waikiki Beach Hotel, by 4pm. We walk to a nearby park for a catered dinner buffet; the students relax and the seniors practice the protocol chant in preparation for Tuesday's visit to the Bishop Museum. The chant has been commissioned by HM for this visit to Hawai'i and the composer has come to the park to practice with the students. Tim's sister drops by. She lives near the beach and tells us she had been out surfing earlier in the day. Tim introduces us and reminds us that we both work in early childhood. "I'm ready for retirement," she says with laughter in her voice and a sigh.

We return to the hotel in time for a 10pm bedtime; already 4am in NY.  The plan is for seniors to do the first bed check each night, followed by an adult bed check 30 minutes later. This first night everyone is tired and we only do an adult check at 10pm. The guards we've hired from the hotel show up with folding chairs in hand to sit in the hallways on the three floors with student rooms.

 Aston Waikiki Beach Hotel

 Practicing the Hawaiian chant in the park

Bookends of school year 2017-18

End of summer 2017

September 4, 2017

I had in mind to end the summer with one last visit to the water. I've been seeking water all summer remembering the sand beach in Acadia National Park and the beaches along Lake Ontario. I found a park on the edge of the Hudson in Irvington, NY, about a 20-minute drive north of here. It was in the general direction of the supermarket, my last task of the day on Labor Day so I headed there first. It was a stretch of park right on the river with a clear view looking north to the new Tappan Zee Bridge and south toward New York City. There was a warm wind blowing over the river and several people on sunfish were zipping across the water at a remarkable speed. Well after 3pm and the sun was still high in the sky, bright and warm and creating a glassy, bright reflection on the water.

A strange thing is happening. I am finding company in being alone. It took me at least a year to go to the places where Gregory and I used to go. I worried that it would feel too sad to be alone in places we always shared. On a holiday or a Sunday afternoon we often took off for neighborhoods downtown to browse bookstores or find new coffee shops or gelato. We might drive north along the Hudson stopping in the small villages always imagining what a life in one of those towns with a Main Street would be. I still have that feeling, wanting to browse and roam, but now I go alone. It is where I find him and feel he is with me and though I am without company I never feel completely alone in those moments.

Picking up where I left off at the end of summer 2017:

June 24, 2018
The start of summer 2018, my last school year summer. Emma and Andrew are coming with Felicity and Henry for Maggie's wedding in Sodus. Andrew will head home afterwards, but Emma will stay until September and that means I will have spent 25% of 2018 with Felicity and Henry! Ruby is coming back to Rochester for camp. I hope she's not disappointed to find that the children may have changed. It's the summer between her changing schools. A time to make new friends. Maggie and Tony get married on July 7th in Sodus. Dad turns 100 on August 31st. I'm giving a workshop at a conference in Virginia organized by a classroom from Global Competence Certificate Program on August 18th. We're preparing for the leadership workshop for the HM administrators with Mariama Richards, July 16-18. Busy weeks ahead.

I paid my first month's rent on the apartment in Rochester and am heading up to help paint and figure out how to furnish it. An exciting, but overwhelming, shift in thinking about home that I have been at tug-of-war with.

Gratefully, my summer started this year with a trip to Hawai'i with the music department's 200 students and 25 chaperones. Waking up to the ocean each morning for a week. Walking in the warm air in the evenings. Eating delicious pineapple. Trying poi. A perfect start.

Reflection, September 11, 2017

June 24, 2018
In memory of my Aunt Christel who passed away this year in Hamburg, Germany.

September 11, 2017

I was putting on a duvet cover this morning and recalled the first time I had ever heard of or seen a duvet cover. Writing this is also reminding me of the first time I was asked by the landlord, "It's a nice davenport, isn't it?" and I nodded yes, having no idea that the davenport was the sofa in the furnished apartment my roommates and I had rented for senior year of college. I thought it was something to do with the woodwork on the porch. Back to the duvet cover.

We were visiting Uncle Alvin and Aunt Christel in Germany for the first time and they greeted us with great excitement and warmth to their home in Hamburg. Before settling in, Aunt Christel showed us the bedroom and went to get a clean duvet cover for the quilt on the bed. I remember her showing me how you grab the top corners of the quilt and hold them inside the corners of the duvet cover shaking the whole quilt until it falls into place inside the cover. I thought the buttons at the bottom were especially wonderful, buttoned inward and leaving the bottom closure flat against the bed.

This morning I put on a freshly laundered duvet cover in preparation for my Aunt Cordelia's visit next week. There was something reassuring about being able to create a space that would welcome her and Warren. I'd just read recently two perspectives on top sheets. I never use a top sheet; only a duvet cover. I was glad to hear that one perspective was joy over having a fresh duvet cover against your skin without the fuss of an extra sheet between you and the quilt.

I have been alone in this house for over four years and I don't think a day goes by that I don't try to envision what it will feel like to leave it for a new home. That vision is filled with memories and fears. Memories of the people who have called this home, of Emma's high school years, of proximity to work and the community that has kept us in NYC all these years. Fear of creating a space without Gregory in it. Fear of living in a space that my parents will never know. Fear of the reality that this next move is mine alone. Fear of being unknown to new neighbors; unfamiliar with new patterns of living. Fear of letting go of the objects that surround me by intention and default. And yet, in this fifth year of living alone I am suddenly more able to think about this move than any year that has passed.

Reflection, October 2016

June 24, 2018
I don''t know why I didn't post this piece in October 2016. It has been a disgusting week of news about immigration and displaced children who have been separated from their parents at the border and sent all over the US and placed in the hands of systems that are unprepared to provide for the volume of children. Airlines have been lied to about who and why they are transporting unaccompanied children; no records have been kept so the exact number of children is unknown and their is no way to trace the location of parents and children to reunite them. The President changes his mind on policy with no regard for how practice will follow. His staff disagrees on practice.

The first lady goes out to visit a center that is holding children and finding them placements in homes. She wears a jacket that says, "I don't really care. Do U?" on the back. The press secretary claims there is no message on her choice of clothing. Who is more wreckless: the first lady or the press secretary?

In 2016 when I walked into Dad's room and he was glued to election news on CNN he said, "This is how Mao Tse-tung came to power."

October 2016

I started my last blog entry some time in the fall. I should have posted it.

Anyone who is planning to vote in the November election should see The Nazi Games - Berlin 1936 on PBS first. It is the story of bold deceit and cover-up of the truth about Hitler's regime and intentions that enticed the world into a version of the Olympics that continues today. It was the first game to run the torch relay from Olympia to Germany, a tradition that has endured. The pomp and ostentatious display of athletes was also something that endured from the Berlin games. Hitler's extraordinary sense of pride enabled him to present Berlin to the world as an example of success, organization, accomplishment and perfection. A shining example in which the world participated with enthusiasm.

We are witnessing the power of followers who believe in this type of leadership. Leadership that presents itself as powerful, shows results that promise to combat fears and convincingly advocates that there is only one way to reach a goal. 

The terrifying and ugly conflict in Charlottesville, VA this week that was triggered by white supremacists' protest over the taking down of a statue of Robert E. Lee has made real all the bluster and bullying of our current president. It was possible to ignore his impulsive tweeting and his contradictory declarations, unfounded truths (mostly made up lies), and erratic behavior demonstrating his true distaste for disloyalty. It is impossible to ignore the devastating violence and aggression of his supporters on the extreme right.

I have just read Do Not Say We Have Nothing by Madeleine Thien. It's the story of the Cultural Revolution in China and the government's response to protests in Tiananmen Square in the 1980's in support of democracy. I read The Handmaid's Tale by Atwood this summer, a dystopian tale in which women's single role is to procreate or fulfill a role that ensures that select women procreate. I read Michael Eric Dyson's Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America in which he pleads for recognition that the black experience in America has been shaped by a history of white supremacy and privilege.

In all of these the loss of freedom is paramount. Tonight, at a performance of Tchaikovsky's Concerto in D for Violin, op 35 by Gil Shaham I was reminded of what this really means. To have this beautiful music taken away during the Cultural Revolution is to leave a landscape without texture. It's to dull the soul and starve the human intellect and creative spirit. We are in a terrible period of history and the only hope that we will come out of this stretch of history differently than those before us is our ability to remain connected, to listen for voices that are being silenced, to look for people who are being made invisible and finding power by turning fear and frustration and anger into action.

Rochester, NY

On my way to Canada to celebrate Gena's birthday and, of course, to play with Ruby. I want to lounge in her pool and help pick vegetables from the garden. She has such a nice life!

Arrived just in time yesterday to join mom and dad, their friends Elaine and Jay, Kathryn and Barbara and Don for dinner at Shanghai. Elaine and Jay were much later than expected and when they arrived they said they had been sitting at Tokyo, the restaurant next door, waiting for us. They even ordered tea and after a long wait the waitress finally asked if maybe their friends were at a different restaurant. Jay said, "This is the Shanghai, right?" I was reminded of the story of a friend's mother who showed up for her son's engagement party at a private New York City club. When she arrived at the club they assumed her to be a guest of the party taking place on the 4th floor and sent her up. She chatted with guests, had a drink and then realized that her son and his fiancé's family were no where in sight. The wrong club. It was a good opening story when she finally arrived at the engagement party.

The drive up was quite beautiful especially coming through the area around Cortlandt on Route 17. I stopped in Roscoe and with the addition of the Prohibition Distillery and Trout Town Brewery the town is quite busy. I was looking more carefully at the landscape this drive having spent so many hours these past two weeks riding through the cities and countryside of Colombia. There is something so pristine about the farmland in New York States; very green, manicured, well-defined. It almost lacks human presence unlike the Colombian landscape that we saw. The evidence of human life in Colombia was what caught my eye: seeing children, laundry hanging outside, trash, especially plastics, piled along roads.

The official end to the Colombia trip

It's already August 4th at 2:46am. This day started when I woke up at 6am on Monday to get ready to leave Bogota. Esperanza called at 8:30am to say that she'd found me a driver to go to the airport and would come get me at 10am to go for a walk around the neighborhood before the driver arrived at 11:30am.

We walked past the theatre that had a comedy about semantics playing, something I would have loved to have seen if I could have understood any of the Spanish, and down toward the main road. As we walked Esperanza pointed out people who lived in the houses, houses that had been sold and switched from residences to businesses, and the Christian coffee shop and residences. She also took me past her church and the local park (that some people have been advocating to turn into a parking lot for business). We ended up on the main road and stepped into yet another mall. I spotted the Artisanal shop that was closed in the other mall and we went in. I walked out with an array of leather and mola purses and coin purses. The mola art comes from the indigenous tribe of Panama, the Kuna, but is also found in the northwestern areas of Colombia that share culture with Panama, once under Colombian rule. I also walked out with a purse that was a gift from Adela. She hadn't forgotten that she wanted to buy me something (remember the browsing at the Gold Museum?). I love my red leather and mola purse.

We arrived back at the hotel at 11:30am, but Esperanza told me she had to head home to meet the cab. When she returned, about 10 minutes later, her mother was also in the car. They decided to accompany me to the airport. We stood by the back of the car thinking the driver would put my suitcase in the trunk, but he informed us that he did not have a trunk and put the suitcase on the front seat. The three of us squeezed into the back seat along with my overstuffed backpack. Along the way the driver got off the highway and then circled around to get back on toward the airport declaring that he'd forgotten that we were going to the airport. He was headed toward home. Esperanza told me that she knew this driver since they were children together.

Despite the traffic we arrived at the airport at 12:30pm and I checked in and went through security. The security has often included a pat down, but you keep your shoes on and you don't need to take out computers or liquids. I bought a water once I was inside and was surprised that I had to go through another security check at the gate to the plane from Panama to JFK and give up the water. They also had us take off shoes and watches.

The airport was mostly rows and rows of duty free shops; names brands from around the world. I stopped in three different stores of Colombian goods, but the prices were all in US dollars and much more expensive than on the street. The bags I bought at the market for $22 were selling for $135. I was glad I had done my shopping during my trip. I did end up spending all of my pesos before getting on the plane to Panama by picking up last-minute gifts. I also had my first black coffee since Juan Valdez in Barranquilla. It's very hard getting coffee without milk! Turned out that the shop was Peruvian selling coffee from Peru (with a large display comparing it to Colombian coffee).

We landed in Panama City and I walked the whole length of the airport to get to the gate for the NYC flight. I had the very last seat on the plane, 33A, by the window. A man was in the aisle seat across from his family, a woman and two boys, and he was more comfortable with the arm up so that he could sit in a little more than one seat. A woman came to take the middle seat, but hardly had room to sit and was moved before we took off. I had been thinking that I should have upgraded for this flight to enjoy some space and quiet after weeks of being close to lots of people; I think she got upgraded to first class. With no one in the middle it turned out to be a good seat. I watched movies and slept. I woke up to look down as we were flying over Cuba. I noticed a lot of lightning as we were flying. Is there lightning up in the clouds that doesn't make its way to the ground?

Arriving early to the airport meant that my luggage was almost the last suitcase to come down the belt. There are now automated machines for checking passports and customs declaration so it was a quick trip to the baggage claim. It took an hour to get the luggage. My cab driver was from Bangladesh and he chatted all the way to Riverdale about travel and the excitement of seeing countries around the world.

So now to spend the next few days unpacking and unpacking the experience.
Arriving in Bogota
On the way to the Bogota airport

   Trek up Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta
On the way to Palomino
Atop Montserrate, Bogota
Meeting the Minister of Education, Barranquilla