Ku'u Home O Kahalu'u

We have landed in da country.

Leased a place on Kane'ohe Bay steps away from the ocean and a launching spot for paddleboards. My brother and I have paddled out a number of times; the last couple we free-dove the drop-off, carrying spears and looking for edible targets. No dinner yet. But amazing to see all of the life out there; no trip has not included at least a half-dozen turtles and a couple of big porcupine fish, not to mention the thousands of brightly-colored reef fish, small and large.

Can't wait to share the new home with our old friends.

Aloha!

Nalu Hele Mai



Here come the waves...



 

Poi Pig Tacos, Late Night Surf, Mountain Biking, and Mantras

Home from work after four yesterday and not in the mood for a pau hana surf session, I arrived to an apartment that smelled like an imu. Proud of my kalua pig skills, I looked forward to chowing on some ono local kine grinds!








I named my slow cooker "imu" to add some old Hawaiian flavor to my culinary island adventures.












I ate a couple of homemade poi pig tacos, watched a couple of episodes of Netflix's "Orange is the New Black," and lay around.

Around nine I decided to go catch some waves at the Wall. When the tide's higher, I walk out to the end of the pier, toss the sponge out, and jump off the end, timing it to hit the water as a waves swells into the wall, and landing in a seated position, fins out, so my entry is shallow.

That technique has served me well, except for the time I was a little left of my usual entry and caught some reef square in my left butt cheek; it was the meaty part, so just bruised for a while and in a spot that I was only reminded of when seated in the bathroom. Enough on that.

As soon as I recovered the sponge and paddled ten feet a wave swelled up and I turned and dropped under a little curtain of lip. Short and fun and I was paddling back out.

I know the spot, so could orient myself by the pier behind me and the "No Surfboards" buoys outside. I caught a half-dozen waves total, with nobody out but me. It may be more fun with more moon. Tonight  the moon angle was right, out to sea and low, but the cloud cover dimmed it so much I was left without much vision of what was coming.

I hung in the spot I saw the waves I wanted breaking and spun and dropped in quick, with only enough time for maybe two strong kicks and I was launched.

Short session, but more waves than I sometimes catch in twice the time with crowds around forcing me to be more picky at what waves I choose.

If you've known me long enough, you've heard me talk about mountain biking and the rock in the trail. If you don't, well, you're in luck, 'cause I love telling that story.

I used to ride Surveyor's Ridge out near Parkdale, Oregon, every summer. I'd do anywhere from 20 to 35 miles, as a loop from Toll Bridge Campground. There's a spot up there where I was heading South on a sidehill, sloping from above to my left, down to my right. It was a narrow single-track across an open grassy hill and midway along there was a rock on the uphill side of the trail that protruded halfway across the trail.

My first time I came across it, I stared at that rock, thinking, "I don't want to go there." So, if you know bikes at all, your wheel goes where you look. So, bang. Hit it.

Next time, I looked at the rock, then looked where I wanted to go and focused on my desired path. No bang. And away I rode.

Life lesson learned. Now to apply it.

As Kris and I struggle to move away from the obstruction in our lives, we are looking for a path to focus on.

When I paddle out on a big wave day, I have to duck through a few waves and sometimes get hit with a big set on the head in the impact zone; lucky timing.

I know I have to pop up, center on the board, and focus on the horizon, and scratch like hell to get out where I want to be.

Kris and I need a mantra.

VOGGY Breakdown

My eyes started itching about four days ago, just about the time the trades shut down. Kinda puffy, and teary, they itched worse in the ocean and then Tuesday, sitting in the office, I started feeling dizzy and then nauseous. Yesterday it was worse and I went home. Same today.

The VOG got me.

Surf got a little bump Tuesday afternoon through Wednesday night. I got a bunch of fun ones on the long board at Publics and Queens. Then went out last night and had fun at Walls.

Oh, yes. I still surf when I'm sick. It's healing, my friends.

So, I've been working out this story about my kids and our new life and I'm going to take it off line for the time being and work on it in a longer form. Feel free to comment or send me your feedback. It'll be healing work and good for us all to do it.

For now, back to the fun stuff.

I've been slack about writing about surfing. I've thought about it a bit the past couple of weeks and come to the conclusion that when I got here in April, I was so happy to be back in warm tropical waves, that each wave I caught, each turn I carved, every drop-in, bottom turn, kick-out offered me a special peak moment that experienced in it's entirety, fully, as a student.

Then a couple of big South swells came through and I got the rush that always has drawn me to this surfing thing more than any other reason.

The big wave experience.

Speed.

Adrenaline.

A full-body immersion in mother nature and powers greater than myself.

I knew the first time I slid down the face of an overhead wave that this was something I wanted to do again and again and for the rest of my life. When I caught a 20+ footer in Hanalei and got held down for three waves before making out to the channel, I was less discouraged than I was challenged and touched spiritually. This was the first time in my life that something had grabbed hold of me and held me down and left me with no control.

As I tumbled it came clear to me that I couldn't even move my had to my face if I tried. The ocean had me in a complete embrace of rolling warm salty water. I'd returned to the womb and had no voice in the world I was immersed within. Eventually, I surrendered the struggle and my ego quieted. I accepted my fate and waited to see the outcome.

When I was able to figure out up I stroked to the surface, marked the channel and swam clear of the impact zone.

I needed that.

Facts Shmacts

Yada yada yada, but what's the story? That's what is so hard about all of this. When you're in a bind with a mentally ill person, what do you do? Especially someone who's illness is built around narratives and plot lines and archetypes?

That's what I mean about clinging to what I know to be true. I can look at this extended family that my children belong to and I can see the importance of each involved person. I can also see the narrative lines that the GEM takes and exploits.

The fact is that she tried to orchestrate an arrest of myself and my wife for what she called 'custodial interference.' We had a disagreement about when and where the kids where supposed to be exchanged and how daycare was supposed to be handled. Rather than work it out and find a way to compromise, the GEM called the Beaverton police department and pretended to not know where her child was. This despite the fact that she had already called the school and had been told that the kid was picked up by her father.

She then called me and left angry messages ordering me to bring Aoibhinn to her.

The police called me and discussed what was happening. The cop was a bit on the confrontational side. I told him I had A and I planned on getting her back to her mom as soon as I could find out where she was and arrange the drop-off. (It turned out that the GEM had rushed to the daycare and picked up M while I was sitting upstairs with A.)

I also told the cop that nine months previous, the GEM had decided she wanted to keep the kids for a weekend in the summer and rather than swap with me, she just kept them and didn't return them to me on Tuesday. I called her a couple of times and tried to get them back, even asking her if I should call the police. Her response made it clear she already looked into the consequences of keeping the kids on my time. She said, "Go ahead. Call the cops. It's a civil matter and they won't do anything."

So, cop on the phone hangs up. He calls back a half-hour later and I tell him I'm on the way to drop A at her mom's house. He says, "Yeah, well good luck. She's on the other line right now with my sergeant trying to get him to write me up."

I'd like to say something glib, make a flip comment here, but this is a mental illness. As I am becoming more aware of what I'm dealing with it's becoming more real. Just like I wouldn't expect a man on crutches to manage a trip up a staircase, I'm becoming more aware that this mental illness is not something that can be treated by expecting normal social functioning.

Yet, it is causing harm to everyone else in this blended family. The children are least aware and most at risk.

So, what? What now?

I won't ever lose

What do you do when you're confronted with someone who has spent eight years grabbing every possible negative narrative strand and whipping everyone in their orbit with it? The outrage and frustration is overwhelming at times and compounded by the fact that our natural instinct as humans is to want these things to heal themselves with time, as we've been told they will.

So we wait and we take it. Attack after attack. I know the truth. I know what reality is, and that's the strand I have to hang on to with both hands.

Tightly.

At the other end is this angry, hurting person trying to shake me free and off into a groundless orbit, like a beach ball at a Padres game. Hanging on to this narrative thread, knowing that I love these little girls that I give them something they need. I've moved away from that unstable, abusive arena, hoping for quality time, over quantity. The Oregon legal system did my kids wrong. I know I'm the parent who is the best choice to have kept this family together. Given the reins, I would have steered us along and things would be smooth and easy. I have no desire to displace the girls' mother. I love them and I see their need for their mom. In fact, I see it even more clearly through the fog she creates, ironically. I can see the girls' being slowly and steadily co-opted as their mother actively campaigns to force me out of their lives and paint me as a villain at every step.

I've not forgotten that her closest friends didn't understand why she had taken this path and that they couldn't even stop her from attempting this violent coup, forcing me to the sidelines and attempting to drive a wedge into our relationship.

I know her one honest moment was her confession that she was afraid the girls would love a step-mother more than her. That's a normal fear. It's completely unfounded in this case.

And yet here she is, maniuplating every person, every action, everything to create this widening physical gulf.

Go ahead, build a massive gap. I do not fear I will be replaced. I love those girls immensely. They know who I am. I have a place in their lives I won't ever lose.

GEM Explodes

After seven months of living out of the RV at the horse farm we were ready for change. We looked at our options. We thought about living across the river in rural Clark County; we looked all around Western Washington County; we considered Spokane; and even a commute from out in the gorge.

Then I started getting calls from Hawaii.

Kris and I were married in Hawaii and the kids came along for the wedding. I lived here in 2004 for a few months while working on a project for the Hawaiian Islands Blue Cross/Blue Shield organization. I love it here and Kris always wanted to live on an island.

Why did we consider moving away? The kids were at a different place developmentally than they had been when we put this parenting plan into place. That coupled with the GEM's worsening personality disorder led the three counselors we worked with--Kris's, mine, and the children's--to  the conclusion that the best thing for us to do would be to withdraw from the fifty-fifty arrangement and try and stay in the kids' lives from a distance.

In early April of last year (2012), we missed a payment at the kids after-school program. They sent a note home to Sarah's house saying that A couldn't come back until the payment was made. I went and got A from school the next day and took her over to the after-school location. In the meantime, the GEM rushed early from work, grabbed M from downstairs in the building I was in and raced home and called the police telling them that A was missing.

The cops called me. The weird thing is, the year before, in the summer, the GEM decided she wanted the girls for a particular weekend. Rather than work it out with me, she just didn't return the kids to me on Tuesday and kept them for an extra week.

When I called and asked her to return the kids, she refused and when I asked what I should do; should I call the cops? She told me that I could go ahead and call the cops, but this was a civil matter and they wouldn't do anything about it.

Now here she was trying to get the police to arrest me for custodial interference. I told the cop that called me that this was a civil matter, as I'd learned from her the previous summer. He called back a half-hour later and said the GEM was on the phone with his sergeant trying to get him written up.

By the time we got over to the GEM's house to drop A off, she must have been in a frenzy. She came stomping down the middle of the street, straight at our pickup and grabbed Kris's door handle, opening the door as we slowly drove past. She did the same with the back door, where A was sitting, and then punched the side of the pickup bed.

We drove up to the top of the cul-de-sac and A jumped out, saying, "I'm outta here!" She ran past her mom who was headed straight for Kris.

Screaming yelling threatening nonsense ensued. We handled well and left.