Hawaii Then and Still

If you've read my first book, REACHING, you will know that I spent four years of my childhood living on the big island of Hawaii. That was forty years ago, 1970-1974. 

The red dot shows HPP where I lived in the
early to mid 1970s. 

The woman I call, "The Mother" in my book, bought a house in the Hawaiian Paradise Park subdivision, (HPP). The school bus carried us along Highway 130 to Pahoa where we went to school. You can see the route on the map below. I think it was about seven miles. 

From this map you can see where Pahoa is located and its close
proximity to Kilauea Volcano.  

Pahoa was and still is a small town with brightly painted buildings crowded against its main street. According to Wikipedia, the population in 2010 was 945 and 14% were white. At the time I lived there, the Caucasian population was probably less that 1% and the racial acrimony was traumatic for my siblings and me. It was a huge culture shock arrive at school only to be mocked and judged harshly for blonde hair and blue eyes. 

Pahoa 

I remember visiting the volcano on several occasions. It wasn't a long drive, either from HPP or from Pahoa School and I suppose the teachers thought it was a great teaching tool. Once the bus went as far as it could we'd disembark and walk up Chain of Craters Road until the lava stopped us. The teachers would then lead us on a trail towards the petroglyphs--ancient writings on the lava. Unfortunately, being on hallowed ground meant nothing to that small, traumatized me.  

Many nights my siblings and I could see an eerie glow from our bedroom window, evidence of turmoil in Kilauea's Halema'uma'u Crater. At that time, the lava seemed to take the path of least resistance, flowing southeast, towards the ocean. Other than numerous small but unnerving earthquakes, the volcano was a fairly innocuous part of life. 

Long after I left Hawaii and pushed those years from my mind, Kilauea's activity continued. Now and then I'd hear obscure bits about lava covering Kalapana, a town south of Pahoa where many of my school mates lived and Black Sands Beach, one of The Mother's favorite drop-off points where she would leave us to ourselves for a few hours while she drove off to pursue esoteric adult things. It was difficult to imagine those places no longer existing but this is how lava flows work. They obliterate everything.  

On June 27 of this year, a new opening in Kilauea's Pu'u 'O'o vent began sending lava down a different path, towards the town of Pahoa. Thanks to the Internet, my sister and I have been keeping tabs on the progression of lava and how it will affect the residents of Pahoa. 

USGS map showing current lava flow. 

From the map (above) you can see the lava flow and how it is inching closer to Pahoa. Although there are ways to divert the flow away from areas inhabited by people, locals refuse to do this, citing ancient taboos that would anger volcano goddess, Madam Pele. On a pragmatic level, I have to wonder what could be worse than having lava cover your home or being trapped because lava has covered the main access roads. But there remains a small part of me that remembers and understands the sacredness of Hawaiian traditions. 

I'll keep you posted. 

My Friend Martha

It's been awhile since I've written a post on this blog. However, I'm here today with an exciting announcement. My friend Martha Moravec has been very busy writing a book. It's a memoir of her journey to wholeness. Yesterday I was honored to receive an email from her with an image of her book's cover. How cool is this? I'm not sure if you'll be able to read the back cover copy but if you can you'll understand what a journey it's been for this amazing woman. Slated for release on August, 26, I'll likely have a review here on my blog shortly thereafter. Congratulations Martha. I'm so proud of you! 

What are you reading this summer?

Growing Up Country ~~ Book Review

HI PEEPS! BOOK REVIEW TIME!

With darkness now prevailing on the garden around 7 PM, I'm forced indoors and have more time to devote to my other love, reading! I recently finished Carol Bodensteiner's memoir Growing Up Country: Memories of An Iowa Farm Girl. 

To be honest, I wasn't sure what I would think while reading this book. Although I spent a good portion of my childhood in the country, it wasn't on a farm, with cows and chores and family dinners and parents that cared. But a few pages in and I was hooked. 

As a child, Carol--also known as "Squirt" by her endearing father--is a valued member of the family and farm. As she grows, so do her responsibilities. But Carol doesn't eschew hard work, she relishes it, proud  to please her parents and feel useful. 

I could not do the work of an adult at that age. But the work I did, the work all three of us kids did, had meaning. Everything we took on lessened the load Dad and Mom carried. Everything they asked us to do increased our sense of value to ourselves and to our family and the farm. And because Dad and Mom valued what I did, that was the best gift of all.  (Page 77)

So, what was I thinking as I read Growing Up Country? For one thing, I was thinking that life on an Iowa dairy farm is so not for wusses! Hard work from sun up 'til sundown was the norm. There were no sick days and it took a pretty strong constitution to tackle some not-so-pretty tasks. But there is also lots of delightful play time for children.  

I was also thinking that I wish I could have had this book when my kids were growing up. It would have made a perfect next-century follow-up to the Little House on the Prairie series. 

Growing Up Country, written with humor and affection, is the quintessence of the heartland and a vital account of American history. 

Still Here and Somewhere Else Again!

Hi Everyone,

Right now I'm doing the happy dance thanks to Tina Barbour. She posed some thought-provoking questions for me in regards to my memoir, REACHING and my life. You can read them, and my answers by clicking here. 

I'll have another post later this week. I hope you're all doing well. I'll be by to visit your blog soon, promise. 

The Dream Is A Reality!

MARK THIS DATE, May 13, 2013, the day it becomes official. After seven years, my dreams of being a published author are a reality--today! 

I'm sort of in a bit of a hazy, excited fog right now. I suppose I'm a lot like any author. I want readers. I want feedback. I want reviewers. I want validation. I, I, I... me, me, me... 

I've done all this "talking" 78,000 words worth. I've said it, written it and now it's there for consumption. SCARY! 

So here are the deets: 

Reaching is a sobering, real-life tale of trauma, brainwashing, and recovery

narrated by a gutsy and resilient heroine.

A turbulent childhood, complete with father's violent temper and mother's senseless apathy, her parents' divorce, and relocation with her mother and siblings to Hawaii, where she experiences racism and the violence of a stepfather who considers Grace and her siblings an intrusion into his life, sets the stage for this incredible real-life tale of abuse, brainwashing, and ~ ultimately ~ the long journey to recovery.

At nineteen, Peterson marries her high school sweetheart and experiences love for the first time. Seeking a remedy from what she perceives as spiritual oppression, she enlists the help of Brock, a charismatic exorcist and cult expert. Shocked by his findings, she tumbles into a world of esoteric rituals, Luciferian doctrines and New World Order conspiracies.

Set in Hawaii and Oregon, this gripping narrative illustrates how children adapt to a hostile environment and stumble into adulthood while misreading their untreated traumas. And by searching for answers, can become prey to unscrupulous charlatans who heap more damage onto an already wounded soul.

To purchase Reaching, click on the tab above titled, "Buy My Book." And please let me know what you think. I'd like to have a dialog about the topics I write about.

Now, I'm going to get up and do the happy dance.

It's Happening!

I HAVE SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU...

This, my dear, sweet, friends is my book cover. What do you think? I am totally beyond excited. It's finally happening. My dreams of having my own book published are becoming a reality. 

I've been working with my editor/publisher, Deb Harris. She has an incredibly skilled eye for detail. No more excessive exclamation points!  No more run-on sentences. Thank you Deb. 

I'll offer more details about the book soon. The actually release date has not been determined yet but I'll keep you posted. Thank you to each and every one of you. You've been so encouraging through all of this and I treasure our friendship. I'm getting closer. Hooray! 

Music and My Memoir

MY SON DANIEL IS A VERY smart young man. In his free time he's been buying broken Kindles and piecing them together to create like-brand new ones. Then he "roots" them and installs the Android operating system. The result, a fully functional touch-screen computer! This was my Christmas present. I know. My son rocks.

I am not a full-fledged techie. There is a lot I don't understand and when I hear words like the aforementioned "root" or "driver" or "sync" I glaze over. But I like my electronics. I like having my Kindle e-reader and my Amazon Cloud (music) Player. Thanks to my son, these apps are not only accessible from my laptop. The world exists on a 5x7 tablet. Who'd a thunk? 

When I wrote my memoir, I took advantage of all the memory-triggers I could think of. I spent hours at the library looking for books on various topics of my past. I Google-searched and Wikipedia-ed and Google Map-ed.  Many of my findings can be seen on my Pinterest pages. 

Music was one of the most emotional memory-triggers in my repertoire. I graduated high school in 1979 so the mid to late 1970s was my generation. I was addicted to KGON radio station and every time I got a paycheck I'd traipse over, sometimes with my gal pal Reva to For What It's Worth Records and buy an album. 

When I became a mom, I sold all my albums and changed roles. Throughout the 80s, 90s and part of the first decade of the new millennium I stayed in mother-mode. But when my kids grew up, I got introspective and started peeling back the layers. The bygone decades became important again. I bought CDs and would listen to them, tearfully pummeled back in time. I'd take notes on my surroundings and my emotions, seated in my bedroom, writing in my journal, Peter Frampton or Styx, or Boston lullabing me through the turbulence of my teen years. 

I'm so grateful to be alive in a time when, at least to some extent, the past is accessible. Do you have a favorite way to reconnect with the past? Favorite book, song, movie or TV show that connects you with those bygone days?  

  

Book Review: It Rains in February

WITH THE HOLIDAYS fully upon us, I wanted to finish reading It Rains in February and get my review written before being swallowed up in the festivities. Here it is. 

What is love? Is it the warm fuzzies we feel while embracing our husband of 30 years under a moonlit sky? Is it opening a small, exquisitely wrapped package to find a diamond of commitment? 

It Rains In February: A Wife's Memoir of Love and Loss, written by Leila Summers answers this question without even trying. It's the true-life account of one woman's struggle to help her mentally ill husband. 

Set in exotic South Africa, Leila and Stuart meet, fall headlong in love, get married and have two daughters. But behind Stuart's artistic, somewhat eccentric demeanor lies a skewed view of reality, likely stemming from a chemical imbalance or personality disorder. Once he lays eyes on cinnamon-skinned Amanda, his affection for his wife takes a backseat to his unrequited obsession. 

Perhaps Amanda is flattered, even titillated by handsome Stuart's flirtations, we don't really know, but she doesn't leave her husband for him. And despite Leila's numerous urgings Stuart refuses to resume first place in her life. He continues in decline, ultimately taking his own life. 

Leila is a gifted writer. The book is a poignantly candid love letter written to deceased Stuart, detailing the events and emotional difficulties during the months and years of their relationship. Despite the enormous stress of trying to keep Stuart from fulfilling his own demise, Leila's unconditional love never wavers. To me, this is the take-home message. 

I can't help but contrast the long-suffering devotion Leila exhibited for her husband in a far from ideal marriage to many of today's marriages that quickly dissolve when things take a turn for the worse. Leila constantly reassures Stuart of her love for him and tries desperately to get him to seek psychiatric help. She writes honestly about being pulled in different directions, caring for their daughters and trying to make a life for herself. Despite the worst possible outcome, Leila survives and ultimately thrives. 

This not a feel-good read. To those of us who have a need to understand humanity and all its frailties, however, this book will enlighten. 

And the Oscar Goes To...

HOOPLA TIME in Hollywood, once again. I don't live anywhere near Hollywood so no hoopla here. Actually, I'm reluctant to admit it but I'm not even sure who is in the running this year. Wait. Come to think of it, I believe Meryl Streep is a nominee once again. There'd probably be even more hoopla if she weren't, right? It would be a different kind of hoopla though. A testy, indignant kind of hoopla. Like, why did The Academy "snub" the Meryl Streep? She's an icon, no doubt about it and if she grabs the gold once again, it won't surprise any of us, will it?  

I wonder if Ms. Streep gets tired of it all. Can you just picture her, behind closed doors murmuring to her husband that she'd much rather stay at home and play Scrabble than attend yet another gala? But am I picturing the real Meryl or the public persona? It gets confusing.

From Pinterest

Because I've never ascribed to Hollywood society, I can't imagine the quandaries of such an existence; a life with such drastic disparities between one's private and public selves. 

If the rules of memoir are adhered to, the reader is getting the real deal, devoid of fictionalized sensationalism. I like this. Although I tend to avoid memoirs written by the famous, I like learning about how people think and feel and deal with their personal yet universal dilemmas. 

No delusions of grandeur here. I've got my hopes of being published but I doubt Hollywood will be calling anytime soon. No, I don't expect to turn any famous heads but I'd gladly welcome a few of the Scrabble crowd , should they be interested. 

Below is the working title of my manuscript and a brief blurb. Does it pique your interest? 

PHANTOM'S MURMUR: FROM RAW NERVES TO REALITY. 

In the predawn hours of March 23, 1993, I woke to what would be 45 seconds of seismic rumbling that shook the house and shifted my lifelong distress from meddling to mind-numbing. As a wife and the mother of four kids, it was imperative that I get help. But rather than choose the freeway, I heeded a long-ago voice that had persuaded me to take a narrow, brier-lined "shortcut."  

As always,

A FEW POSTS AGO I wrote about using Pinterest to post photos of places I lived and make mention of in my memoir. Since that post, I've added one more "Board" specifically for posting facsimiles of long-ago personal items, like album covers and toys. To those of you who aren't frequenters of Pinterest, you probably can't see the allure. On the other hand, if you are, indeed a Pinterest affectionado, you understand. It's quite therapeutic.

A few days ago I was proofreading a chapter and came across a paragraph where I had written about a certain cereal I liked. So I made a note of it, then later, Googled it, clicked on "images" and voila, there it was! After a few copy/paste functions, I had it on my board. So easy a cave man can do it. 

I've found that this process is really helpful when you're not sure whether you can trust your memory or not. For instance, around the time I was in first grade, I remember wanting a "Kiddle" Doll. Sure enough. It was indeed a doll, manufactured by Matel in the 1960s and 70s. It's now also on my "board." 

Have a look around. The first three "boards" are devoted to images of my memoir. They continue to be an enjoyable work in progress.  

As always, 

Thanks for visting!