Time

  The spacebarandkeysothebottomrowareworn  ... frombeing hit ... timeafter  time.

Rain is falling and the keys still stick, less often.

So much to say but maybe not until we replace the old. This one can be reconditioned. Probably.

 

The Safety Pin Cafe Spoon, Spice & Herb Shop

Introduction

The Safety Pin Cafe began as a story, a magical medicine story about a cafe for faceless runaways. A very tiny fairy woman and silver-haired raven, who knew his way around tea and cinnamon toast, made space for the lost, lonely and those unsure of who they'd become. Woven with fantasy on a day a duck could love (it was wet!) and told "with slant" that story saved an old woman's life by creating a world she could thrive in. That was nearly nine years ago. 

 

Story has a way of growing in the ravines of tree trunks, catching a ride on the winds that blow dandelion fluff or gusts that end up circling Earth like my ancestors who always considered the ocean one big 'continent.' Telling itself, the original stories grow legs and love situations bred from imagination. What appears finished, but is not, is testament to story's resiliency.  When logic,habit and all the best of plans lead to a circle revisited, but stale and oppressive, it is story that punctures unpredictable holes while also holding us together ... like safety pins impermanent yet commonly enough.

This time a mo'o --a grandchild-- adds just the dash of spice, language that includes trade wind, a spoonful of something to make a new story worth telling. An herb sprouted through a crack in spring time on an island ... 

 

Dedication

The mundane and messy work of real life is necessary. It is where the beauty rises. For ocean people like my ancestors, who believe the coral polyp is our beginning I dedicate this story to Carter Lanakila, my grand-son who grows on my home island; and to the radical and wonderful BIPOC  (Black, Indigenous, People of Color) in my neighborhood, on this island. People, I have waited  a long time to know and be with you. How glad I am to have persisted to see, and know you all.

And, to Ma, Helen Mokihana Calizar, on your 103rd birthday. I'm glad for the safety pins, the flashlight and the everything. I love you, Ma xoxo

He puko'a kani 'aina ... it does take time for coral reef to become an island.

 

Chapter One

Samuel  and favorites

Samuel's nose twitched, nostrils flaring like sails. "Bread!"

"No way. What bread?" That'd be Iliahi, jabbering disbeliever.

"You got stuck nose, and no imagination, Ahi," Samuel teased. Still dripping with ocean, Iliahi gave Samuel a raspberry then blew the snot from his nose. "Yeah, well maybe I got stuck nose, but you ... you have too much imagination."

"There's never enough imagination. Imagination makes dreams possible." Squinting at the diver with squirming he'e making undulating shapes of the old flour sack Samuel spread his arms wide, and wider to punctuate.

Iliahi Clark raised the bag with his morning's catch and his goggles with his left hand, signing the cross with his right-hand. "Imagination  and dreams, cannot eat."  He lifted  the octopus to his lips smacked appreciatively, and shoved the bag into Samuel's belly. 

"Shoulda kept that to myself," Samuel said, but smiled to think of his grandmother who imagined impossibles all the time.

"I gotta go. School," Iliahi was Samuel's age, and it was a school day for him. Samuel and his twin sisters were home-schoolers. The beach was school. The lanky diver boy was a head taller than Samuel and glowed like sunrise with skin the color of  iliahi.Sandalwood. He shook a head of blond hair that stuck to his shoulders. Every morning, before sunrise the boys met at the same spot along the Windward shore. To be on the sandy shore and cool ocean while still dark took a lot of trust on their parents' part. Well, Iliahi was hanai, adopted in the traditional meaning and raised by his aunty along with a younger brother and a cousin. And Iliahi knew Aunty cast her mana, her protection over her boy, and nobody would mess with that woman, or her people.

"Later, Sam.Going to the market?" 

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"Me too, if I'm not pau with the yard work before you pau ... save me a slice of what ever your dad wiped up." Iliahi knew the  bread would be crunchy on the outside and smooth like all heck on the inside. His mouth watered as he reached to slap Samuel on the head. Samuel dodged his friend's outstretched palm, and caught his wrist. Kids didn't know to keep their hands off the po'o. 

"The head got important business to do, Samuel," his grandmother's voice clear as ocean. And this morning Samuel had a strange new feeling ... a kind of floating away. Then he felt his thoughts return to the moment. This moment. Have to remember to tell Ahi not to do that. Next time.

Samuel stalled his friend's exit, "You drying the he'e, even steven." Samuel used his hands to mimick a scale. He and his family loved the chewy tentacles eaten like long-lasting candy." 

"Nope, Aunty making squid luau, with he'e but." That was even better thought Samuel.

"Imagina-tion! See you." 

The sky was already lightening. One of Samuel's favorite times of the day. Like caterpillar breaking out of the cocoons. Was new. A new day, a new way. Drawing in a  deep breath he smelled the bread again.

"Prickly and sweet." Samuel said to himself. The dog gave Samuel a half-interested sniff. He heard the comment, but focused on the breeze coming off shore. The tide was low and the smell of rotting seaweed and small crabs trapped in the mash of green and purple enticed the low-riding, shiny black mutt. 

A poi dog sorta, Grog was mixed breed with one white ear, and one black which was notched into fringe. Rough-times tattoo's what dogs called the injuries they survived when they roamed alone and without a pack. The salty water triggered memories of those times. A small moan threatened to escape from his proud chest; he willed it down. 

Temptations--rotten crab meat and limu-- were hard to resist, but the dog knew they had only a little time before sunrise, and the run down the beach had been fun. 'Next time,' thought Grog.

Samuel at four could sort smell because he was trained to know the difference between something that was not quite right, and something that was way the hell wrong. 

"Don't go telling your mother I told you that." His grandmother was joking, mostly. "She worries I'll turn you hyper-sensitive and ..." Her thoughts trailed. Samuel picked up the dropped words.

"Don't tell Mom, you taught me to know that smell." Samuel pointed in the direction of the neighbor's dryer, and finished... "that smell, is way the hell wrong." They both knew it was the 'way the hell' part that wrinkled his mother's otherwise flawless smooth face. The two friends giggled at the thought, and shot a wink to seal the secret.  The wink shimmied mid-flow turning to stardust. Samuel could not be sure things like that happened to other boys his age. "It makes no never mind, honey," his Tutu read his mind as a matter of nature, like knowing the tides.

Samuel's grandmother -- his Tutu -- was his most favorite person. A person he wished would be with him every day, all the time. While she was with him, Samuel and his Tutu had great moments. Samuel, like most young children had a broad mind -- he was curious about everything --and had even broader heart. He had lots of room for people he loved. He also paid attention. The strange floating feeling rippled through him; tossed his heart.

He missed his Tutu. Samuel felt his heart squeeze in his chest thinking about her. He reached for his baby finger, something his grandmother had taught him. "Just a gentle jump," she'd say to him. "Anytime. Anywhere." A couple minutes was all it took for Samuel's heart to release the ache. He could almost hear his grandmother assuring him with her laughing eyes magnified in the old round wire framed glasses. He could hear her, "I'll be back." Of course she'd be back!

The smell of fresh-baked bread got stronger. The loaves were out of the oven. Samuel at eight almost twelve (his birthday was coming up) knew his dad would like it if he was there for breakfast, his mom would be getting the van ready for market, the twins were probably covered with more flour than was in the big rounds of bread scored with swirls and slit like ripe mangoes; and the baby would be wanting more milk.

It was farmers' market day, whatever bread his dad baked today would sell by the slice with a special blend of 'butter': a spoon full of liliko'i jam unsweetened, a pinch of spice -- sometimes chili powder, other times a pinch of black pepper, or black sesame seeds and finally 'swimming' herbs snipped weeks ago and packed in honey. That magical mouth-watering blend was a family secret: the exact proportions varied depending upon the ingredients. But what mattered most was how Samuel's Butter (for it was his nose that metered what was just right) led to the full spread of the family business: The Safety Pin Cafe Spoon, Spice & Herb Shop.

"Dad's baking rosemary and ulu sour dough. I hope he made extra. Extra ulu." Samuel reached for the soft spot behind the dog's ears, and scratched. Grog let out a long low sound somewhere between a groan and a bark. Ulu was his favorite food of all time. Samuel loved the sweet baked breadfruit too.

The small but sturdy pack sewn from bright highly visible nylon held Grog's leash and the lightweight scooter Samuel's father built from aluminum scraps, two steel conduits, and old tracks (skate board wheels). Black electrical tape trimmed with orange high visibility tape on either end of the shorter of the two conduits made holding on easier. Samuel pulled the folded scooter from his pack, tugged on the two hinges until he heard that click and lock, extending the riding surface to its 18 inch length. A battery operated light welded to the neck of the scooter automatic switched on when Samuel gripped the handle bars. His father was practical, and safety-first kind of guy. The light was 'old-school' not lithium. Two double AA-batteries in a thin case made it work. 

The soft leather leash snapped easily into the ring in Grog's collar. Short legs and a belly just barely above ground, Grog had a powerful thick neck and shoulder muscles and thighs like a sumo wrestler. Smiling and serious (a necessary combination for adventure), stubby tail wagging, Grog flexed shoulders and backbone, and recalibrated for Samuel's additional weight.

Samuel wound the other end of the leash over the handle bars. "Ready for some breakfast?" The boy asked. The dog did not have to be asked a second time. Samuel adjusted the pack so he'd be visible in the early morning light. Grog gave Samuel a steely look, "You ready?" Samuel nodded and the race for ulu was on.

Just as he suspected, the van doors were open. Grog skid to a stop before hitting it, Samuel braced himself using his left foot for brakes on the grass that was still wet from kehau. The chocolate colored van with bright purple letters flowed on both sides of the delivery truck. The Safety Pin Cafe... spilled over the side where the doors opened to neatly stacked shelves. Spoon, Spice & Herb Shop covered the passenger-side of the specially designed van. 

Samuel's mother, was just finishing up. Seeing dog and boy still wind blown from their adventure, and Grog's paws and belly covered with evidence of wet beach Mamo Black closed the delivery truck door, turned with that look of wonder that would not dilute. She didn't play favorites with her four children. But it was hard not to love Samuel without overflowing. He mea iki. It was a small thing ... to love him so. It took no effort at all. 

Grog waited for Samuel to unleash him then rubbed up against Mamo. Mamo was Grog's most favorite person. They had grown up together, rescued together. She pulled her gloves off once the bread was stowed and crouched to hold Grog's face. 'My pack,' she crooned. 'You did good pal.' The girl who was now a grown woman with children was the only one who could turn him to soup.

Water. Grog needed a lot of it, and where was that promised extra ulu?

 

To be continued. I'd love to hear what your heart has to say about this first installment.

👂...💗 Mokihana

THE ADD-ON: Spoon, spice & herb shop UPDATED

 

catch a clue with the view of The Safety Pin Cafe Spoon, Spice & Herb Shop's new homepage

The Safety Pin Cafe began as a story, a magical medicine story about a cafe run by a very tiny fairy woman and an awesomely hunky silver-haired raven who knew his way around tea and cinnamon toast. Woven with fantasy and told "with slant" that story saved an old woman's life by creating a world she could thrive in. That was nearly nine years ago. 

The cafe has been a venue for storytelling and the spreading of safety pins both literal and metaphoric. The old woman and the silver-haired raven teamed up, made mischief, pitched tents to keep telling; and stretched the world of blog for all it was worth.

Now with the virus who has sat down beside us all and made itself very comfortable with our sometimes silly-ways, The Safety  Pin Cafe has added ... a Spoon, spice & herb Shop. To reach you on the internet, I'm taking the advice of long-time blogger and astrologer, Elsa Pannizon of ElsaElsa: I'm innovating.

UPDATED: 3/11/21

With the coming Pisces New Moon, The Safety Pin Cafe Spoon, Spice & Herb Shop will launch IN TIME FOR that New Moon, March 13, 2021 as a letter. I'll write a newsletter mailed to subscribers once a month on each New Moon.

I've played and posted the content, and delivery and  after receiving personal messages from very  special people,  I'll send New Moon story or posts just as I have as a link sent through an email.

Much aloha,

Mokihana