Mahalo, by Laurie Berkner
Mahalo to the urchin
Mahalo to the sea
Mahalo to the skies above
Mahalo to you and me
Sing mahalo, mahalo
Mahalo for everything
Mahalo that means thank you
Mahalo, mahalo, mahalo
Mahalo for the air I breathe
Mahalo for my dad and my mom
My sisters and my brothers
And my good friends
Mahalo for sharing my song
Sing mahalo, mahalo
Mahalo for everything
Mahalo that means thank you
Mahalo, mahalo, mahalo
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
December Snow
Wasteland?! I think you mean Wonderland!
A two hour delay gave us time to bundle up for real and go out in the snow this morning.
We were happy to frolic for awhile but the chickens had other plans.
This is our dead tree yard art decorated for the season.
The birdhouse in the giraffe tree.
Rhetta insisted I build a snowman for her.
They were both very proud of it. LOL
Winter snow, stunning and serene.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Beginner's Jazz Dance Winter '09
Rhetta was in Beginner's Jazz Dance this semester. She didn't seem to want to go at all most times and I was afraid this was the end of her dance career, although I knew it brought her such joy when she wanted it to.
Tonight was her recital. She was so excited when I told her Friday night that she went straight to bed and woke up the next morning insisting it was Sunday. She was ready this morning 5 hours early.
She had to wear make-up all over her face which I did not know beforehand so she did not know beforehand. Never had anything on her face. I was sure this would be a sensory issue.
So far, so good!
Got a little itchy after an hour waiting for their turn.
Willon being so cute in his seat after running Rob around nearly the entire show through intermission and another two classes before Rhetta came on. He hides his guilt well, don't you think?
You can pretend you know which one is her if you want to, it's okay. If you look closely in the video, though, she is the one with her hair in her face. Seated at first on the floor in the group on the left. She is foremost on the right of that bunch in a lavender kimono. When they hop up and move across the stage in a line she is out front. (No matter where she started in practice she would jet to the front so they seated her so she could be in front.) That however put her in the back row all the way to the right for the remainder of the routine. She did surprisingly well! Much better than she demonstrated in class. More proof that when other people think she's not paying any attention they just don't know her very well.
Okay, I guess you gotta squint and probably just had to be there, but here it is:
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Goodbye Undertaker, but not RIP
Rob bought the Suburban in the mid 90's when he lived in the high country (Leadville, CO) and worked over the pass in Silverthorne. He had to drive in the snow many months of the year so he prefered a 4 wheel drive. He also needed something he could sleep in when he had a late shift followed by an early shift, or whatever other reason, like 3 feet of fresh powder. Anyway, he bought it for a very reasonable price and took to it immediately. He named it the Undertaker (after - don't laugh - his favorite WWF wrestler) because it was mostly black and looked somewhat like a hearse.
When Rob and I reconnected in 1999 we planned a trip out west for the Christmas holiday and he came to pick me up in the Suburban which we then took to CA to visit his folks. His dad took one look at it and started calling it the Subdivision as it seemed to cover acreage instead of a single parking space. We didn't care. We loved it. We could road trip in it, camp out in it, and even live in it.
That's right. We lived in the Suburban. But not just lived in it. We lived in it, at a trailhead, in the deep snow of winter, at 9,200 ft. above sea level. You see, when we decided we could not live another without each other I packed up my little truck and moved to Colorado. Not prepared to buy a home yet we worked by day and slept in the Suburban by night. My new CO license even read "Trailhead at I-70 and Highway 9, Silverthorne, CO." For three months we drove into our little nest through feet after feet of fresh snow. It was cozy, mostly very warm, and downright romantic.
Later we took it to Grand Canyon to get married, then on our honeymoon to the Oregon Coast, and home again. It moved with us to Morro Bay, CA and back again after Rhetta was born. It stranded us and left us with an empty bank account more than once. I called it the Money Pit but Rob was very attached to it so when it needed a new radiator or new tires or a new engine, that's what it got.
Sometime after we settled into our home here it started to cost too much money in gas to take it to work and back every day. Then the transmission started to go out yet again. We opted to accept an economy car from Rob's folks as a gift and park the Suburban until we could afford to fix it. The house needed a new roof after all and we couldn't even afford that. And so it sat.
Until today. Today we donated it to the NPR Vehicle Donation Program. They can fix it and sell it and someone somewhere will get some use out of it, we hope. Perhaps it will go for scrap, we don't know.
To be honest I have wanted to get rid of that thing for years. Sheesh, it's just an old truck. But I'm sentimental. Today I shed a tear when I had to say goodbye.
When Rob and I reconnected in 1999 we planned a trip out west for the Christmas holiday and he came to pick me up in the Suburban which we then took to CA to visit his folks. His dad took one look at it and started calling it the Subdivision as it seemed to cover acreage instead of a single parking space. We didn't care. We loved it. We could road trip in it, camp out in it, and even live in it.
That's right. We lived in the Suburban. But not just lived in it. We lived in it, at a trailhead, in the deep snow of winter, at 9,200 ft. above sea level. You see, when we decided we could not live another without each other I packed up my little truck and moved to Colorado. Not prepared to buy a home yet we worked by day and slept in the Suburban by night. My new CO license even read "Trailhead at I-70 and Highway 9, Silverthorne, CO." For three months we drove into our little nest through feet after feet of fresh snow. It was cozy, mostly very warm, and downright romantic.
Later we took it to Grand Canyon to get married, then on our honeymoon to the Oregon Coast, and home again. It moved with us to Morro Bay, CA and back again after Rhetta was born. It stranded us and left us with an empty bank account more than once. I called it the Money Pit but Rob was very attached to it so when it needed a new radiator or new tires or a new engine, that's what it got.
Sometime after we settled into our home here it started to cost too much money in gas to take it to work and back every day. Then the transmission started to go out yet again. We opted to accept an economy car from Rob's folks as a gift and park the Suburban until we could afford to fix it. The house needed a new roof after all and we couldn't even afford that. And so it sat.
Until today. Today we donated it to the NPR Vehicle Donation Program. They can fix it and sell it and someone somewhere will get some use out of it, we hope. Perhaps it will go for scrap, we don't know.
To be honest I have wanted to get rid of that thing for years. Sheesh, it's just an old truck. But I'm sentimental. Today I shed a tear when I had to say goodbye.
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