Tag Archives: 13

Singing in the Shower

Fozzie Bear : Singing in the Shower is all fun and games until you get shampoo in your mouth. Then it becomes a soap opera.

I’ve been chewing shampoo!

It’s fairly telling that my most “recent” post here dates from almost two years ago. It’s even more telling that I haven’t FELT like writing for two years. (That should be a red flag for a person like me, right?) And the real irony is that there was plenty to be writing ABOUT in those two years, which have played out like a soap opera on the screen of my life…  (To borrow the analogy from Fozzie Bear at the left, when suds get in your open mouth, your shower-song becomes a soap opera. I’ve been humming along as if everything were fine, when really I’ve been chewing shampoo!)

But after two years of twists & turns (or twisted turns) I found myself singing in the shower for real the other morning—which is a GOOD sign for me. Even though this particular rendition of “What a Beautiful Morning” took place in the uncurtained shower of a psych ward.

Clinical Depression isn’t new to me (or to this blog), but thanks to my little vacation psych-stint, my medical chart has a whole new line-up of initials added. B.P.A.D… P.T.S.D… O.C.D…B.P.D…. Bipolar Affective Disorder. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder. Borderline Personality Disorder. With all those disorders getting applied to me, I think an out-of-order sign is in order for my forehead!

out of order signJoking aside, I’m grateful. For each of those sets of initials, there’s now a treatment plan in effect. And with a new sense of perspective and self-awareness, I’m actually dealing with [cringe!] my emotions regarding events of the last couple years. I’m not good at emotions, but I’m tackling them.

In a blog that has previously served as a pretty comprehensive Journal of my Journey, I feel I should fill in that two-year gap with at least a “Cliffs Notes” catch-up before I start writing about THE NOW…  No doubt I’ll be treating a lot of this in greater detail at some point, but for now, for those who wonder what the heck has happened…

October 2014. Husband Keoni leaves me by means of his successful suicide attempt, literally in front of my eyes. I close our restaurant and try to contemplate an entirely changed life.

December 2014. I think (now) that the manic side of that Bipolar diagnosis can go pretty far in explaining my impulsive remarriage. (“Impetuous risk-taking behavior, anyone?) I will get to enjoy a few months of an imagined new life before I’ll start discovering all the lies on which that new life has been shakily constructed. In short, Dustin is a con man—among other things.

April 2015. Dustin doesn’t want me to work, but doesn’t want to hold down a job himself. When we do have money, he’ll do something like buy himself a guitar (which he’ll never play)  instead of paying the power bill. I’m becoming increasingly stressed about finances… And I’m utterly shocked at the sight of two pink stripes on a pregnancy test! I decide to treat this bombshell as joyful news (but note the revealing fact that I had to DECIDE on joy).

September 2015. Unexpected pregnancy may have been a jolt, but that’s nothing compared to the shock of Dustin getting served with divorce papers! The woman I had believed to be his EX-wife turns out to be his OTHER wife. (Well, one of them–turns out he hadn’t divorced his first wife either!) Oh, and it turns out that he had gotten fired from the “graveyard-shift job” for which he has still been leaving me most nights. Don’t know who “she” is, but she is not a job, and there’s not a paycheck. And now that I’ve kicked him out and filed for annulment, there’s not a husband.

baby ultrasound

growing a baby boy for Jennifer

My mother specializes in Adoption Law, and I ask her to find my baby a great family. When she introduces me to prospective mom Jennifer, I’m suddenly certain that God had a plan all along.

October 2015. I’m six months pregnant, unexpectedly single, and my van has just broken down. A kind man at my church sees me walking to Sunday services in hundred-degree heat and asks if I would like to borrow his extra car while I get myself sorted out. Jon has been widowed for five years, and he invites me to dinner when he gives me the car keys.  I’m not even thinking of this as a DATE (are you kidding?—did I mention “6 months pregnant“?) but I fall for him before the evening is over. (Literally. He picked me up on his motorcycle, and I landed on my rear in the parking lot trying to dismount. Ever graceful, that’s me!)

preemie premature baby

Greyson: 10 weeks early & just over 2 pounds

Baby’s not due till Christmas, but mid-October I’m in the hospital for an emergency C-section. Medically speaking, everything has gone haywire and sideways; I won’t get out of the hospital for several weeks, and tiny Greyson won’t go home with Jennifer for several months.

Jon visits me in the hospital and when he holds my hand I feel school-girl-giddy, even in a hospital gown and draped with tubes & wires and other unappealing accessories that comprise hôpital couture

December 2015. The annulment has gone through, my health is improving, the growing baby is a feisty fighter, Jon & I are getting serious… In other words, things are looking UP for the first time in a while. The illogical response of my alcoholic brain is to let down my guard—and pick up a drink. A LOT of drink.

“the new black” is NOT my color

After dropping my kids at school, I am arrested for Excessive DUI at eight in the morning.  Driving Jon’s car.  My kids are frightened and furious; neither one will talk to me for months. (Christian still hasn’t.)  Jon is furious but forgiving. I begin adjusting to life-without-license. Life-without-my-kids. Life-with-Probation-Officer.

On New Year’s Eve the ball drops—and so does Jon… to one knee, with a ring. I say “yes please!” My mother points out that I’ve been divorced, widowed, and annulled; I’ve gotten out of a marriage every way possible, so “how about if this one sticks?” Once again: yes please!

wedding day… waiting at the starting gate (OK, the church nursery)

February 2016. On the lucky 13th, a wedding. Not an impromptu spontaneous leap this time, but a real wedding. In our church, with our pastor, friends & family invited, “for as long as we both shall live,” Amen.

A week after our wedding we move into the 40-foot Fifth Wheel RV Jon has just bought us—he moving from his brother’s house and I from my now-too-empty three-bedroom apartment. Consolidating households and offloading extra STUFF is extremely satisfying. I’m offered a job working in the office of our RV Park situated right on the Boise River. I become fast friends with a near neighbor.

So….  This year has had its highs and lows… I gained a husband and a best friend and a home on wheels. I enjoyed my first seaside vacation in almost a decade. I lost my share in custody of my teens. I lost my dad. I grew a new person and gave him into the loving hands of an amazing mommy. I’ve enjoyed my job and RV living, but I’ve been virtually unable to get myself writing. I’ve had a more solid “safety net” (emotionally, financially) than I’ve enjoyed for years, but my moods have hit some new lows that don’t align consistently with the circumstances.

Newport Oregon

with My Jon on the Oregon coast

The above fill-in history should provide enough context for me to be able to write about my current life without confounding my previous readers, but there’s another bit to add today. The thing is, the last couple years have been over-full of drama & trauma—and until now, I haven’t actually dealt with a lot of that. I’ve been stuffing shit under the rug until I’m standing on top of a rug, on top of a pile of shit, and still maintaining that “I’m okay!” Yeah, that was awful, but I’m okay now. And “being okay” has seemed so important to my own self-image that I’ve even fooled myself into believing it. Throw in some additional un-diagnosed mental health issues, and my emotional life was becoming inexplicably dark. Hence my recent ten-day tour in a mental health facility.

It’s time to peel back the rug and start actually cleaning out the accumulation beneath. So here I am at the keyboard. And I’m happy to report that when I sang in the shower this morning, it wasn’t a soap opera. I’d call it a Praise Song.

sandal feet on the beach

feet on a fresh path…


Jon (Desert Storm combat vet) holding Service photos of himself, his brother, and their dad

Jon (Desert Storm combat vet) holding Service photos of himself, his brother, and their dad

An unrelated thought on this post-Election Veterans’ Day…

Heartfelt THANKS to all who have Served our country and sacrificed for others. 🇺🇸
We live in a country where people DO that for others, and THAT is something of which we should be proud. Let’s remember this week that we don’t have to be defined by our politicians–we can be defined by our heroes.


 


Once Upon a Restaurant

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

Kana Girl’s Hawaiian BBQ on a busy Friday night

Once Upon a Time…  Kana & Keoni owned a Hawai’ian barbecue restaurant.

For more than a year, Kana Girl’s Hawai’ian BBQ held UrbanSpoon’s #1 spot for “Best BBQ restaurant” in the Treasure Valley (home to one-third of Idaho’s population)…. And we had a kick-ass time of it, building a unique atmosphere with our combined knowledge of Hawai’ian culture and Keoni’s cooking—the authentic family recipes he learned from his Tutu Pa (grandfather) when he was a small kid. The word our guests most often used to describe Keoni’s food (a little ironic in view of our own alcoholic/addict backgrounds) was: ADDICTIVE.  We were closed Sundays & Mondays, which meant we’d have an onslaught of regular customers every Tuesday, jonesing for a “fix” because they’d had to go two days without his food. No joke.

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

A photo featured in “Boise Weekly” with a rave review of our restaurant… Keoni & me displaying a couple “Plate Lunches”…

When we first opened the restaurant, we hadn’t realized what an abundant number of Hawai’ians and Pacific Islanders lived in this area, but word quickly spread among the “Local” community (“Local” being a word Hawai’ians use to refer to other Islanders, regardless of their current location) and we quickly had a flood of folks looking to test us to see if Keoni’s food were the “real thing.” He passed the authenticity test, hands down—his “plate lunch” (a to-go container with sticky rice, mac salad, and favorite Island entrees) is precisely what the Local folks remember from back home. Word-of-Mouth served us well; most months we didn’t spend a dime on advertising—but business was booming.

Island Time Zone

The two of us ran the place by ourselves–the original “Mom & Pop” approach—so we had the pleasure of getting to know our many Regulars, and after a while we couldn’t go anywhere in town without being pounced on and identified as “the Hawai’ian BBQ people.” No doubt it’s the closest we’ll ever come to experiencing “celebrity” status. (Keoni follows the Hawai’ian custom of addressing everyone as “Bruddah” or “Sistah”–a personable habit that came in handy in the occasional encounter when we were unable to put names to the faces of people who obviously recognized US…)

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

Wally & Esther—a friendship that began with “Howzit”… Enjoying Lau Lau, an ULTRA-traditional Hawai’ian dish

It led to some interesting social dynamics at times… During our first week of business a gentleman came in the front door and I greeted him with “Howzit“–the Island version of “Hey, how’s it going?” He literally stopped dead in his tracks and repeated the word with a question mark. He looked “Local” to me, but I expanded with an explanation: “Howzit–How’s it going?” He looked askance at my haole (white!) self and retorted, “I know Howzit. How do you know Howzit?” I explained that I went to school on the Big Island, and that I’m married to a Hawai’ian (the cook)—and once he tasted (or should I say tested) his first Plate Lunch order, he was hooked. In fact, he and his wife became some of our closest friends in the years that followed.

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ taro

Keoni  “playing ukelele” on a taro root

And then there were my Friday-morning rounds to the Asian markets in town… We made our fries from the taro root (the Hawai’ian staple from which they make poi)–but taro is understandably difficult to come by in Idaho. All the Asian markets got their produce shipments on Friday mornings, which meant that every Friday the markets would be swamped with lovely ladies who came up to my shoulder… And every Friday I made the rounds of all those markets, buying up their taro root. I’m not sure what the Chinese words would be for “tattooed white lady who buys the taro,” but chances are that I’d recognize the phrase if I ever heard it again… The taro fries were a hit—and we noticed that although people occasionally asked if we had poi, very few people actually asked for it. Let’s just say that poi is an acquired taste.

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

Keoni on a “charm walk,” sharing a shaka with a connoisseur of the keiki (kids’) menu

Whenever Keoni had a few minutes of down-time in the kitchen, he’d wend his way through the dining room (I called it his “Charm Walk”) speaking Hawai’ian Pidgin with the Local folks and “talking story” with other diners.  (Pidgin is a recognized language in the Islands, so Keoni was considered a Bilingual Officer when he worked in the prisons there…) He also sang in the kitchen all day long–he’s got a gorgeous tenor voice and knows all the classic Hawai’ian songs by heart… His Tutu Pa was a musician, and taught Keoni to sing as well as to cook–and also to blend the things he’s passionate about.

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ kanikapila

Piko (one of our regulars) kicking back for some kanikapila after a meal

Our restaurant was the kind of place where diners (who didn’t know each other) would chat among tables, where people would bring ukeleles and indulge in an impromptu kanikapila (“jam session”) when they finished eating, where a couple might get up and dance in the middle of the floor to one of Keoni’s solos, where regular customers would drop in to say Aloha and give us a hug even when they weren’t there to eat, where people brought in all kinds of Hawai’ian mementos until our decor was a wonderfully collaborative clutter, where we could get to know people’s regular requests and personalize their orders (that’s also how we ended up with Vegetarian and Gluten-Free menus), where people could slow down from the hectic pace of their lives and enjoy a mini-vacation in our “ISLAND TIME zone” (as the sign above the door proclaimed)… We liked to think of it as an embassy of sorts—a few hundred square feet of Hawai’ian soil in the middle of Idaho.

We loved being able to work together—we were happy to go to work together every morning, and we were happy to go home together every evening. We were only half joking when we’d say that Keoni was afraid of the cash register and I was afraid of the smoker—but together we made a Most Excellent Team.  And Keoni liked to boast that he got “paid in kisses and tattoos.” Whenever a diner told me I should give the cook a raise, I’d lay a big ol’ smooch on him!

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

evidently this chick doesn’t look like a business owner…

We regularly ran up against sexist stereotypes when dealing with salespeople and the like; very few people made their first approach with the idea that I might be the “businessperson” of the operation. One salesman came in while Keoni was out picking up supplies, and insisted on sitting and waiting until my husband returned, rather than talking to me. When Keoni came back half an hour later, you can imagine the guy’s chagrin when Keoni told him, “You’ll have to talk to Kana Girl about that. She’s the owner—I just cook.” Needless to say, this guy had already lost any chance of making a sale. Other people would ask me if they could talk to the owner (never mind my apron with “Kana” across the front, and the “Kana Girl’s” name across the front door)—and one fellow went so far as to ask me if I knew who the owner was. (Surely it couldn’t be the tattooed chick in the miniskirt!)

Ohana

Keoni at the restaurant with the youngest 4 of our 7 kids: Christian, Kapena, Elena Grace, & Kawika

We were also both very happy about NOT having to work for anybody else. It was one of our favorite jokes, whenever anyone asked if we could make a substitution or fulfill a special request—Keoni would answer, “Well, I’ll have to check with Corporate…” Then he’d turn to me with the question: “So what do you think, Babe?” (We also joked that if I were “Corporate,” that made Keoni my “Corporate Man-date”…)  We loved being able to do things the way WE thought they should be done, and we loved being able to involve our keikis (kids) in the family business.

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQLooking back now… Opening that restaurant when we did looks in retrospect like a totally harebrained idea. We were deep in a recession and eateries were closing left and right. Neither of us had ever owned a business, we’d only known each other for half a year, and only been Sober for that same half-year. Launching a restaurant just then was a crazy-ass thing to do. And we had a lot to learn! But all in all, it went beautifully. In fact, in some ways it was an advantage to be new to the restaurant business, because we weren’t hidebound by “The Way Things Are Done.” (Take the zero-dollar advertising budget, for example…) Although I also have to say that there were plenty of other things, learned along the way, that we would definitely handle differently if we ever had a “do-over.”

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

Keoni with another Keoni, who gave us his old license plate to hang on the wall

In the end, we threw our beautiful restaurant away. We didn’t lose it; we threw it away. After a year and a half of booming business, we drank again. In a mere matter of weeks, we threw away absolutely everything that was important to our Sober Selves. Custody of our kids, our restaurant, our house, our car, and almost our marriage. (People regularly ask us if we ever fight—a question usually accompanied by the observation that we clearly have a lot of fun together. The honest answer is that we don’t argue… when we’re Sober. When we drank, we didn’t even like each other.)

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

Keoni cooking on his smoker—in sunshine, rain, sleet, or snow… And always in shorts! Crazy Hawai’ian.

That was a little more than two years ago. If we could take back the hurt we caused to the people who love us—particularly our kids and our parents—we’d do it in a heartbeat. But at the same time… There are a lot of things about our journey of the last couple years that we wouldn’t want to trade. (In fact, that’s probably a whole post in its own right.) Bottom line, though: despite the financial struggles and various challenges of the last 27 months, we’re in a better place now than we’ve ever been—spiritually, emotionally, in terms of our Sobriety and our family relationships… in every way, actually, except financially.

And then… An unexpected blessing fell into our laps. Keoni had a retirement account from his career in Corrections; we’d been trying to avoid tapping into that resource, but we’d been falling behind on our rent, and he had a couple surgeries to get through (last week’s spine surgery, and another knee replacement coming up) before he could get back to working… So we finally decided we’d better go ahead and cash out his retirement. We thought it would be just enough to catch up on our rent and pay ahead a few months while we figured out “what next”… But when the check arrived, it turned out to be quite a lot more than we’d expected. In fact…

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

a wakeboard made for us (and autographed) by one of our regular customers

It turned out to be enough to re-open our restaurant. Seriously, how often in life do we actually get a “do-over”? Well, we just got handed one. To quote one of our favorite A.A. guys: “How cool is THAT?!”

Things have been falling into place the way only God’s plans do. (One of the things we’ve learned in Sobriety is that when we’re working too hard to try and make something happen, it’s time to take a step back and evaluate whether “our plan” is really the best thing to be doing. Not surprisingly, God’s ideas are better than ours.)

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

“Coming Soon!”

We found the perfect location almost immediately. It’s  ideally situated from a business perspective, and it’s right next door to Elena Grace’s school and within walking distance of Christian’s junior high. There’s even a private space upstairs that we can use as a “family room” when the younger kids are there with us.

This time around we also have the advantage of some eager extra hands within the family. Our teenage son Kapena has already been working full-time between two jobs, and he can’t wait to quit those  jobs to work with us. Even Christian is gung-ho about being part of the venture. And we have the chance this time to put into practice all the things we learned the “hard way” the last time around. I can’t even begin to describe how excited we are.

We’re set to open April 13 (our lucky number 13!), giving the landlord time to do some remodeling and updating of the building, and giving us time to “remodel” the cook (those surgeries I mentioned). The restaurant website is still under construction, but I do have the menus posted: www.KanaGirlBBQ.com. And so… The next adventure begins! Stay tuned…

Kana Girl's Hawaiian BBQ

our “save the date” card


Something to Prove (or… “MOMMY can change a tire!”)

My hubby and I were having a thought-provoking conversation the other day, about the (sometimes) delicate balance between care-taking and independence.  He knows me well enough to understand that I have a sort of fierce pride in the knowledge that I can take care of myself.  In the year that I was single, I bought my own house, worked on my own landscaping, mowed my own lawn, kept the tires rotated and oil changed on my own car, made my own meals, managed my own bills, took my own vacations…

changing oil

changing the oil this morning… “I either need some more muscle or some more torque!”

There’s a story that has pretty much become a family punch-line, about the afternoon when my son Christian (seven at the time) and I arrived at my car in the supermarket parking lot and realized a tire had gone flat; Christian’s reflexive response was to wail, “Oh no–we don’t have a man with us!” To which I replied (with a fair amount of heat, it must be admitted), “OH noMOMMY can change a tire!”    I did change the tire (refusing several offers of help, in fact–on fire to prove a point) and we went on our way.

Four years later, any conversation on the topic of what-moms-are-capable-of-doing is likely to be punctuated by Christian roaring “Mommy can change a tire!” (and then collapsing into giggles). Evidently I made my point…

All that to say… I’m a person who can get unreasonably prickly at any implication that I’m incapable of doing things for myself.  Keoni and our sons joke that I’m “one of the guys,” and it’s true that I have a strong tendency toward some stereotypical guy-traits… I’ll refuse to go to the doctor until my chest-cold has turned into walking pneumonia, I can’t bear to ask directions when I’m lost, I’d rather spend hours trying to figure something out by myself than simply ask someone who knows, when I argue with someone I’m all about logic and dismissive of emotion…  I always wanted to be the girl who took care of her own shit.

But you wouldn’t guess this if you watched our household for a few days, because I am spoiled now. Keoni argues the semantics and says I’m not spoiled, just “well taken care of“–but I suspect most folks would agree with my verbiage. He does all the grocery shopping, cooks three meals a day for the family (every day), brings me breakfast and coffee in bed (every day), does all my laundry (and returns it to my closet according to my own peculiar system of organization), is the sole master of both the vacuum cleaner and the lawn mower… I don’t even remember the last time I shaved my own legs. I am spoiled. And purring instead of prickling.

changing oil

Like my funnel? A soda-bottle dug out of the recycle bin and cut in half… Household on a budget! :)

What happened to the prickly-and-independent Me? I can only guess (and this was the topic of our conversation the other morning) that it’s Keoni’s acknowledgement–celebration, even–of my capacity for independence that relaxed me into allowing and enjoying his care-taking.  I don’t have anything to prove with him–he already believes in me.

He’s also enthusiastic about sharing knowledge with me–and for the first time in my adult life, I don’t feel threatened by being taught. I’m learning to handle a pistol. Today I learned how to change the oil on the car. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s so clearly an intellectual equal that makes this so easy. It might sound counterintuitive, but I was more fierce-and-prickly about these things when I was an admittedly “dominant” partner—in my first marriage it was a joke between us (in friendlier days) that my Ex was the “chick” in the relationship, and I was the “guy.” Too much truth to it, unfortunately—it was not a relationship of equals, in too many ways, and I was always walking a fine line between “taking care of shit” and not making him feel threatened by me. Is it ass-backward that that was the time in my life when I was the most protective of my position as a-person-who-could-manage? Maybe… it’s because I didn’t have the luxury of lost-ness or “weakness.” If I didn’t step up, nobody would.

My first husband… didn’t have anything to teach me. In fact, he drove me kind of crazy with the things he couldn’t understand. His lack of a grasp of the basic (intuitive, I would have thought) principles of physics hampered activities ranging from home-improvement projects to sailing, I couldn’t talk about literature with him, and his response to being asked to read my writing was to get grumpy. His first year of teaching biology, I wrote his lesson-plans for him, and explained them every morning, and got into a shouting match with him on the Evolution unit when he wouldn’t treat the word “theory” in its scientific sense. Anything that he didn’t do, he made a point of belittling. My cross-country running wasn’t a real sport, my Master’s degree in creative writing wasn’t a real thesis, my stay-home-motherhood wasn’t a real job. (Though when I went back into the work-force and he was faced with summers at home, the kids went right into daycare. Hmm.) I was in a constant tug-of-war with myself between flaring up in defensive anger when my contributions were belittled, and “dumbing myself down” to appease his insecurities.

changing oil

#79 was our son’s football number last year (and Keoni’s before him)… He says this year he’s going to be #13–our lucky number!

Today, in contrast, when I was struggling to loosen the nut on the oil pan, I could freely comment that I needed either some more muscle or some more torque. (Since we didn’t have a wrench with a longer handle, Keoni lent me the muscle, and then I got right back under the car.) I spent fourteen years editing myself at home rather than saying what I knew. Maybe that’s why I was wired to be so desperate to show “I know!“–and so loathe to admit when I didn’t.

I did nothing but stunt myself with that, and I’m joyful now to be growing again, and learning. Joyful to be with someone who has things to teach me, and who is open to new things from me as well.  And joyful that  MOMMY can change the oil… now.