Photo Phriday

peacock color
New Regular feature for my blog.

UPDATE #2 I should probably tell you that this photo was taken on my Hawaiian holiday at Waimea Falls.

Join the fun by posting a comment with the URL to your Phriday Photo.

BTW: I got this idea from Karen the Shama-lama-mama and her smart alekey comment about my Worldless Wednesday photo. 🙂

UPDATE: I just realized the photo wasn’t showing… oops. Probably because I had the Height set at 0 pixels! I’m dangerous with a little HTML.

The Hawaii Stories: Dawn Bicoy

“You like play chalk?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me.

Looking into her eyes, trying to connect, “You like play chalk?” I repeated, sure that she would understand, or somehow recognize me.


It was crazy, really, to imagine that she would know me.

I wore a gray hoodie over a black dress that was really a beach cover-up and with my still sandy feet and salty stiff, salon red hair I looked very different than the ten-year-old tow-head I was thirty years ago.

If it weren’t for the newspaper clipping I carried I wouldn’t have recognized her either. She stood almost five feet tall, still the same olive toned skin, brown hair and soft eyes. Dawn Bicoy, all grown up, singing in a jazz band at Makaha.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

I felt like I was speaking a foreign language, and I was. I was speaking pidgin English, the language of my childhood. It was the language of jacks and jump rope and Barbie dolls, the language of eating guavas and li hing mui and running from imaginary wild boars. It was the language my parents hated, the language I needed to know to fit in.

* * *

The neighborhood we lived in was new and all the families were young with kids. Our house had the best view of a distant Pearl Harbor, the result of an architectural misunderstanding—or so the story went—that put our house a good ten feet taller than any other in the neighborhood. Dawn’s family moved into our neighborhood last. Their house was custom built and had a swimming pool.

My new best friend Dee Dee Wong and I weren’t sure if she were a boy or a girl so we walked arm in arm around the cul-du-sac, once, twice, maybe three times. We stared at this kid sitting on the low lava wall that defined the Bicoy property.

Dawn was the first to speak. “You like play chalk?” she said. Dee Dee and I looked at each other and shrugged, walking towards Dawn, her outstretched hand holding a piece of chalk.

We sat on the sidewalk and began to draw.

* * *

“You like play chalk?” I repeated. Dawn looked confused. “I KNOW your mother told you we were coming,” I said as I watched recognition light up Dawn’s eyes.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Jennifer?”

I nodded.

“Oh my God,” she said again. “I’m gonna cry.”

“Me too,” I said, laughing, crying, smiling as we hugged. “That was the first thing you said to me. Don’t you remember? We drew with chalk on the sidewalk in front of your house.”

Its not Easy being Green er, uh, Blue

Maybe not really blue, but definitely out of sorts. Is it winter? the holidays? Or one more step in the grieving process… post holiday blahs? post vacation (I have a boring life) blues?

We are almost done closing up my Dad’s estate. For our trip to Hawaii, Debby and I were able to use my Dad’s US Air air miles for a free trip (did YOU know you can inherit miles?). When we got home the lawyer told us that the IRS is going to forgive the penalties and interest they wanted to extract from us. So that’s good news, right?

Somehow it makes my Dad’s death all the more real. Finalizing makes things, well, final.

It is time to move on, I feel it. And even though in some ways having all this paperwork pending keeps me closer to my Dad, I know it’s closer in a thoroughly unhealthy way. I’m just not entirely sure how to push through. I have projects of my own I am not working on. Writing I am not doing. So if anyone has any tips, or recommendations for a good therapist, let me know. 🙂