Muse Maria

Sitting in the front of the 49th State Brewing Company in Healy, AK.

There's a whiteboard magneted to the fridge. On it we write to-do lists and things to pick up at the store; we draw pictures of home projects we're imagining and sometimes when I'm on a work call I'll write down names and emails of people I should definitely be in touch with and their info might stay up for weeks until I think to erase it.

We also use it to write notes to one another. He's an early bird, gone by 7 or 8am each day and I'm a night owl (both of us avian), up late til the sun disappears in Alaska springtime. It's a way to communicate the day's final thoughts, the morning's first ideas to one another. Now I cannot get sleepy and so I wrote him all the things tonight - the intensifying daylight of spring, another round of monthly cramps, the mind-spinning waiting pool... Oh this waiting pool.

That's what they call it in adoptionland when you are done with all your tests, paperwork, classes; when you've assembled a portfolio and paid all your fees - you officially enter the "waiting pool". When people ask where we are in the process, I now enunciate wait-ting pool because it often sounds to me like I'm saying wading pool. The shallow safe one, for novices who are still getting comfortable. "Yeah, so we've been in the wading pool for about 5 weeks so far, just getting our feet wet you know, until we get get acclimated and go under all the way."

So, we're in the waiting pool now. I've always been fascinated by the specific vernacular of small groups. If I happen to become part of those groups, I don't take the usage of their lingo lightly. Clearly I don't. Expecting is another term for this period of life, anticipating a baby, awaiting parenthood. But that's a more private venture, isn't it, we're in a collective, part of a pool.

Come to think of it, I don't know anyone else currently in this place. Seems like we could have some good conversations, find some important camaraderie with other waiters. Even though they could be chosen and not us, and even though I never really desire to belong to any group and try to avoid it most times, and even though it'll probably be a short amount of time that we're in this place - it could be nice, right now, to know what others are thinking about.

Tonight I wrote on the white board: Can't get sleepy - Spring! Cramps! Waiting pool!... and the way I wrote it this time, it looked like Wanting pod! Which is not entirely inaccurate. Neither is the idea that wholly different than "wading pool". A pod of similar individuals, hanging out in our pool, all of us waiting, wanting to get soaked.

Twice this week I've been privy to the message that "you are what you love, not what loves you back". And I'm thinking about: babies on their way to this world, ones I will raise and ones that I will only hear about, pray for, and love whether I mother them or never meet them. Then there are much lesser things, things like choosing a key fob that represents me when it all gets shrunk down to a little key chain-sized tchotchke.

So, what DO I love and what might it make me. In two parts...

PART I - The Serious Part: This adoption waiting pool business, waiting for that call, that birth mom to pick you selection, that eventual helpless, new human that comes to live with you and needs constant care - it's a mystery and it's a process fraught with emotion and preparation and daring to hope but carefulness not to hope too much.

Even if they don't choose us, it's okay because there is someone else chosen who wants just as much as we want - and for longer even! - and isn't that just as good or even better? I've come to think so, yes. Everyone should win at this, my competitive spirit is absent in this. Good. It's not selfish-good, but it's universal-in-the-grand-scheme-of-things-good which in this case is a child's life.

Choose us or choose another, I will still love and that's this message of being what you love - doesn't matter when that baby joins us - because one will join our family someday - and until then we will, I will, hear about all these moms pregnant, unable to parent, in the most tenuous, not ideal situations, mostly desperate but still wanting to make a plan for this child to have a good life even so. And every time I hear their stories when they call to tell us "there's this birth mother who..." about 4th, 5th, 6th babies, moms overwhelmed, moms abandoned, moms who haven't had a chance to get their degree, do their life yet, find their true meaning... Women undone and needing the biggest kind of help - I just let them into my heart a little bit and I love them, whether or not they pick us.

There is nothing in my life that can compare to this, come close to that kind of wrenching reckoning. Because for every time I don't get a baby, I have everything else - love, stability, a degree, a purpose, success, options... In other words: I don't need to be loved back - by every birth mother choosing adoptive parents, by every little baby born to become someone else's child - to be something that I want to be now. I have something, I am something. And soon I'll get to be a mother. When it's right. I'm so happy to wait for right!

PART II- The Vapid Part: I recently shopped online looking to purchase a keychain for my new Lexus car key. So I started out looking for Lexus key fobs - bor-ring - then I thought, well what about something that represents what I like? So, let me tell you, this practice really boils down all that one likes in life, one's symbols so to speak, the things that you wouldn't mind representing you in some way. For me it was enlightening, sort of, to figure it out and realize the "things I like"(but don't necessarily want for gifts for birthdays, Christmas, etc...).

Herewith, ideas/concepts that represent what I like/me-in-a-nutshell figured out whilst shopping for a key fob:

• Mexican art
• Paris in the 20s
• Christina Rossetti/Emily Dickinson/Sylvia Plath/Anne Sexton or any other brilliant and tragic poetess (no key chains available for that one)
• Frida Kahlo
• Mermaids - just mermaids in general
• Sagrado Corazón
• Wonder Woman
• Music - but not music notes or pictures of instruments 

I ended up buying an inexpensive, custom made leather fob with my initial stamped into it. I love it. What's it mean? Probably nothing, but maybe ideas like simple, stylish, classic, unique and hopefully made to withstand years of purposeful use. Yes, that's good, I can work with that.

Pushing up through the snow melt rot and mold, these little crocuses will live a couple more weeks until they disappear, overtaken by rhubarb.

Fish: 110 degrees
Air: 36 degrees
Finding your barbecue under 5 feet of snow: too cool

Harhar, there were DREADLOADS of hippies in Pa'ia - we asked a bunch of people why? They didn't know... Maybe it's cuz they feed them there.

Aloha, Hawaii, see you next year when we already have a list of things we didn't get to this time:

1. See a mothereffing turtle!
2. Learn to stand up paddle (me)
3. Take surfing lessons (Jim)
4. Jam with the locals on my ukulele
5. See a volcano erupting

Gorgeous view, eh? Yes it is real and can be enjoyed whilst dining on fresh and delicious food at Mama's Fish House - everything it's a cracked up to be.

I am so enamored of flowers; at home we always have vases of them all over the house. So when I learned that one of the businesses in Hana was the tropical flower supply business I couldn't wait to visit a farm and buy armloads of ginger blooms, sexy pinks and parrot beaks, to enjoy even for just a few days in the vacation rental.

Except all the farms were...not everywhere as I'd imagined. We asked around in town and at banana bread stands until we got a location - Hana Tropicals.

We drove up a long, muddy drive and parked under a banyan tree in front of a warehouse and barn. There was no one around. We ventured up some stairs to the empty warehouse, evidence of packing and shipping flowers all around. Music played in the background and silver streamers hung high over rows of growing orchids to detract birds flipped in the breeze. A few chickens pecked at hollow papaya shells on the ground. It was eerie, uninhabited and we crept around, feeling like we might be trespassing, looking for someone but saw not a soul. So we left.

We got in the Jeep and started to drive out when a hippy chick with no bra, a hula hoop and a knitted wool ear warmer for a headband came out of some woods followed by a silent, older man. "Hey guys, what's up?" She asked easily, hopefully. We told we wanted to buy some flowers, not to ship anywhere, just to have in our vacation rental. "I can cut you some flowers," she said.

We parked again and followed her back to to warehouse and the flower fields beyond where it was now starting to pour. She grabbed a scythe and flopped in her too-long, sopping wet pants and barefeet out to the fields where we lost track of her until about 15 minutes later when she retuned with this bouquet you see above. She wrapped it up and just before handing it to me said hang on and went inside then came back out with a guava. "I picked some today, have one."

I took both flowers and fruit and asked, "What do I owe you?" as I pulled out my wallet. She looked embarrassed and balked, waving me away with her hand, "Oh nothing!"

"Really? No, we'll pay for the flowers."

"No, no - you guys just enjoy, yeah?"

"Thank you so much, we'll really enjoy these."

"No worries, guys. Pass it on, pass it on," she said meaning the good will, karma, kindness.

Today, we passed her and a friend hitchhiking on the highway, trying to get to a drumming festival. I flew past them, then realized who it was. Pass it on, pass it on. I turned around, picked them up and helped them a little closer to "vibing out" at their gathering.

Last night brought a storm of epic proportions. Roof shaking thunder, lightning like a cheap discotheque strobe light and relentless rain just pounding down. Believe it or not, it even hailed!

The power went out and the roads were closed, which meant no daytripper tourists came to Hana today making for a quiet, muddy day. Road crews were out all day clearing debris and thick mud. The wreckage below is near our home.

Visiting the spa is one of the very best parts of a holiday if you ask me. Spending half a day, or even an hour, receiving treatments is a wonderful way to pass the time, zone out and let your mind wander whilst your skin gets glowy and your muscles get pounded but good.

The atmosphere and the people are a huge part of the spa experience - is your therapist someone kind, professional with whom you can be okay being totally naked? Are you made to feel special and even, healed? Is the treatment worth the price?

And, is the overall experience corporate relaxation with a logo or quaint bliss with a personal touch? That brings me to tell about two of the spas I've visited in Hawaii - Spa Luana at the Turtle Bay Resort, Oahu and the Luana Spa Retreat in Hana, Maui - the former corporate and overpriced, the latter quaint, warm and personal.

I just returned from the Luana in Hana (luanaspa.com) where I had a great massage/facial package with the owner, Nancy. She was so down to earth, interesting to talk to and really good at her job. She took extra care on all the problem areas I identified - sore calves from hiking, super stressed and irritated skin around my mouth - and we casually chatted off and on about families, how Alaska and Hawaii are similar in certain ways, the real social structure of Hana, where to find local art, etc... She took good care of me and sent me off from the cozy little treatment yurt on a hill with a hug and a wish to see me back next year when we return with the baby.

The other Luana at the resort was still very nice - but expensive and while the treatment staff were good, the reception were young and completely clueless when it came to welcoming a guest. I felt like I was intruding when I walked in for my scheduled appointments and they'd ask my room number before my name. (In general, that's my complaint for ALL of Turtle Bay, the professionals in the spa, the servers in the restaurants, the bartenders, the yoga and surf instructors, the housekeeping staff - they were all great; it was the front desk staff, the spa reception and the restaurant hosts that clearly had little to no hospitality training, were sloppily dressed (Ugg boots and leggings to seat us for an expensive meal - really?!) and they were even rude at times. I get that these are low-level, high turnover jobs but it is a shame (and a liability to return business) that these folks are the first faces you meet before you get to the really great, dedicated employees who make you feel welcome.) The spa includes a mandatory 18% gratuity on the final bill and then in fine print explains that "portion goes to the staff and a portion for an administrative fee" then suggests you leave an additional tip if you like. I almost always tip 20% or more for spa services, so I was annoyed to see this on there already - what am I, a group of 8 or more diners in a restaurant? I guess that's how it goes in a giant resort, though... It all kinda turned me off.

I probably wouldn't have even considered writing about the contrast of these experiences had the spas had different names from one another. Luana means basically "leisure" or "pleasure" in Hawaiian, and I suppose however you define those two ideas would decide which luana spa is more your style.

Mamacita, she comes with the house.

You hear them before you see Waimoku Falls. Breathtaking is what they are, forty stories of crashing water, yelling to make your appreciation heard by a hiking parter. Do you see that?! Look at that!! Oh my god, look at those falls.

Entering the bamboo forest portion of the trail was cool and still warm at the same time; the hollow bamboo stalks bumped into each other and swayed in the wind causing a sort of echoing song. Ironwood trees with twisty branches looked for the sun amidst the young, thick bamboo grown up all around their older, sturdy trunks.

We hiked the Pipiwai trail this morning starting at about 9:30, beating most of the daytripper traffic into Hana. It started out steep and muddy, but .5 mile in it was GORGEOUSNESS at every turn - waterfalls, pools, a bamboo forest, fallen African Tulip blooms on flat, shiny rocks.

And the air...the air was sweet and thick with oxygen, it felt like breathing in life essence and warmth with every inhale - that may sound flowery, but anyone who has hiked in dry or cold climates knows how agonizing it can be to breathe in harsh, unkind air while physically exerting oneself.

The 2 miles in, 2 miles out hike ended with an absolutely awesome 400 foot Waimoku waterfall. And here I mean "awesome" in the truest definition of the word. (The waterfall in this post is the "small" 300 foot Makahiku falls).

Why I adore temperate, even climates - the outside and inside are virtually interchangeable. And the fruits and flowers are plenty, cheap.

We tramped around the backyard this evening, tried to open a coconut, collected fallen plumeria blooms to bring inside and marveled at all the lava rock under the grass, a constant reminder that this is an island.

I used the restroom at the farmer's house; came out and asked Jim for his camera (mine was dead) and the tour guide smiled like I was right on cue. "Everyone does that," he said.

We were the only two visitors on the Ono organic farm tour this afternoon. The farm is located near O'heo, about 30 minutes past Hana.

I'd been looking forward to "eating fruit right off the trees" as advertised, but with the heavy rains making much mud there was no strolling through the orchards. Instead we sampled a dozen fruits on the farmer-owner's lanai, many of which I've never heard like soursop, chocolate guava, sapote (two kinds!), brown sugar fruit, vi fruit and star apple. We even tried the banned-on-public-transport, Limburger-cheese-of-fruits durian!

After the fruit came fresh cacao, roasted cacao nibs, "chocolate" made of coconut oil, cacao and cane sugar and dried whole apple bananas the size of a finger. Plus, coffee grown on site to wash it all down. All in all, a delicious lunch even if we didn't get to pluck it off the trees.