HOW I MADE A 6,416% PROFIT ON eBAY

Floral Print of an Original Oil Painting by Lola Ades

(Hawaiian Odysseus Photo)

During a Christmas trip to Forest Grove, Oregon, my family and I had an opportunity to shop at a Goodwill Outlet Store in Hillsboro.  What was particularly interesting about this store was that people were dumpster diving.  I use that term with tongue firmly embedded in cheek because that's the best way I can think of presently to help you conjure up an image.

I watched for a while before taking the plunge and following suit.  The process involved circulating through this huge warehouse and diligently sorting through the hundreds of items in each of dozens of large rectangular carts.  (Research regarding thrift store shopping and reselling purchased items on eBay is abundant on YouTube.)

Surprisingly, I observed a lot of people--many of whom were Hispanics--with devices that looked like cell phones with semicircular tops, or attachments of some kind.  They held these high-tech gadgets up to chosen items.  One of two things would then happen--either a red light would be emitted, as with scanning devices, or the individual would type out something on his or her keyboard, and information would pop up on their screen.  I soon determined that they were accessing eBay, Amazon, or some other website to check on the value of their chosen items.


(Note to self:  I gotta get one of those gadgets!)

Books seemed to be the most popular item being scanned.  The value of toys, records, and collectible items also appeared to be of more than passing interest.  

I asked one Hispanic young man to explain the workings of his gizmo.  He politely nodded and smiled, and I politely backed off, quickly assessing that I'd either broken a boundary or that his understanding of English was limited. Being a former poker player, I'm opting for choice C--the one that said, Mind Your Own Business!  I quickly decided to store that inquiry for later.  Besides, if I'd learned anything in the last couple of years, it's this:

Doing my own research is more profitable in the long run.

While my wife and daughter were finding clothing and household items, I found two interesting tins, a book about sharks, a book about the history of aviation, and two art books that were splendidly filled with magnificent floral prints.

At some point, I figured I could sell the tins for $5 each.  But it was the books that were of greater interest to me.

You see, one of the things I've been trying to do lately is to sell actual prints gleaned from magazines.  I wanted to up the ante a bit and look for old books with which to do the same.  Again, it was on YouTube where I first got the idea, and because I'm gung ho for projects that are outside the box, this idea has great appeal for me.

My God, the God who's loved me through almost 60 years of falling on my face and getting back up again, is all about outside the box.  Who am I to second guess the beauty of thinking and doing above and beyond the norm?

 While the din of hundreds of people picking up and tossing items filled the enormous building, and with dozens of elbows, hips, and other body parts brushing up against me, I focused on finding books with lots of pictures.

And I found them.

My wife and I paid $2 for each of the two hardbound books.  The art books had soft covers, and we were charged magazine prices for those--25 cents each.

When we returned home, I wasted no time in carefully removing the floral prints from one book.  There were about 16 large pages, about 13-3/4" x 10-1/4" in size...roughly the size of the old Life magazine pages.  

Since some of the pages had prints on either side, I solicited the help of my wife in determining which side I should list on eBay.  I trust the woman's intuition when it comes to things of this nature.

Delightfully, eBay was offering its sellers free auction listings, including the Buy It Now feature, so I took full advantage of these freebies and posted my listings.

A week later, even though several items were being watched, I had only one live bid.  I'd calculated earlier, however, that even one sale would provide me with some kind of profit.  Remember, these floral prints had come from a book that had cost me only 25 cents.

The print sold.  I told my wife that I was thinking about emailing the customer, someone in Thailand, and reminding him or her that buying three items or more would mean free shipping anywhere in the world.

I dragged my feet on that idea, but I'm glad I actually followed through on it.  When I woke up this morning, the customer had bought two more prints.  

Here they are:

Yellow Roses in Black Teapot

Floral Print of an Oil Painting by Lola Ades

(Hawaiian Odysseus Photo)

Sunbeam Roses

Floral Print of an Oil Painting by Lola Ades

(Hawaiian Odysseus Photo)

So, for those who are interested, here are the crunched numbers:

Total sales amount for the three items was:  $27.97.  

My overhead was $11.93.  Here's the breakdown:

• Cost of book             $  .25
• Listing fee                    .10 (free, initially, but I re-listed unsold items)
• PayPal fee                  1.39
• Final Value fees         2.80
• Postage                       7.39

The postage was expensive because the customer, as I mentioned, was from Thailand.  Even so, my profit was $16.04.  Dividing that by the initial investment of $0.25--the cost of the book--the profit margin was 6,416%!

Okay, so maybe there are a few cynics out there who are saying,  "Bah, humbug!  All that work for $16.04!  Not worth it!"

I don't consider what I do as work .  I perceive it as a refreshing way of living.      I have the best earthly boss in the world--me.  I work for a very loving, devoted, and faithful Master.  What I'm doing--recycling old vintage items and presenting them to the world--is no different than what He's doing in my life.

Work?  Hardly.  You know who's really working hard?  The guy at the local Safeway parking lot, right there by the bus stop, who sits on the cold pavement in the dead of winter with his dog waiting for a handout from the passersby.  Now that's hard work!

I would love to teach him how to sell other people's throwaway items on eBay and other online venues.  As I can vouch from my own experience, he would definitely regain his God-given dignity.


You can find out more about the fabulous vintage print niche in the following articles: 


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/Prints-Charming-on-eBay


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/Starry-Starry-Walla-Walla-Night


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/Funnyin-Kindergarten-They-Taught-Us-NOT-to-Tear-Up-Our-Books


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/A-Kit-of-Pigeons-on-eBay


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/Of-Cow-Pies-and-eBay


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/How-I-Laid-An-Egg-On-eBay


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/And-Magazines-Ha-Theyre-Even-Easier-to-Tear-Up


http://hawaiianodysseus.hubpages.com/_hoblog/hub/The-Hounds-Have-Me-at-Bay-on-eBay

GOD DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES

Weeds?  Or misunderstood vegetation?

(This and subsequent images are Hawaiian Odysseus photos.)

As some theologians might reason, weeds are the result of original sin.  The premise of their argument would be that ugly things weren't part of God's masterful design.

I'm not so sure.

Every now and then, I am compelled for the sake of good health to get up from my desk where I have been wrestling with the labor pains of writing and go for a leisurely stroll.  On this particular midsummer's day, with the temperature already in the 90's at 10:00 AM, I walked towards the Walmart Supercenter and Meadowbrook Plaza located in the southern portion of College Place.  


Located three miles west of Walla Walla in southeastern Washington state, College Place is a small bedroom community comprised mainly of retired seniors and students, faculty, administration, and support services personnel of Walla Walla University.  A good portion of the residents of this low-key, easy living community are Seventh-Day Adventists.  The rest of the town are Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days Good Ole' Boys and Gals.

As I ambled along, I imagined myself to be a contemporary Henry David Thoreau in need of a respite from urban trappings, politics, and a harried lifestyle.  As much as I was somewhat in awe of how much development had occurred in this particular area of town--once nothing but overgrown grassland and pasture--I found myself, oddly enough, paying closer attention to the dense shrubbery along the sidewalk.


I walk my mind like other people walk their dogs.


Ever notice how dogs are actually walking their owners and not the other way around?  It's like that when I go walking my mind.  


My mind will choose where it wants to go.  My body is just along for the ride...er, walk.  


Weary from the severe energy expenditure of writing (and don't kid yourselves, it does take a lot of energy--at least, it does for me--to harness my severely attention-deficited mind), I put my body on automatic pilot and let my mind lead me.  Helium-filled with the exhilaration of going outside and wandering aimlessly, my mind (again, picture a little yapping chihuahua or a great big St. Bernard, whatever tickles your fancy, but make sure you add to your fantasy the fact that the dog just ingested some hamburger laced with meth) frivolously and feverishly frolics (sorry, just needed to get my daily supplement of alliteration) through the residential neighborhood en route to the aforementioned Walmart area.


Whew!  


Where was I?  Oh, yes...


So on this one particular day, my mind/dog wasn't so much focused on getting to Walmart and vicinity as much as it wanted to explore the overgrown weeds along the major sidewalks in the general area.  Every now and then, my mind/dog would figuratively mark a spot.  If memory serves me right, it even relieved itself on a clump of dandelions.  I regretted having forgotten my plastic waste bag at home.  Looking up and down the street and acting nonchalant as a couple of cars slowly passed by, I finally came to the conclusion that, at the very least, my mind/dog had done its thing in the bushes.  Everything's good; we're still doing our environmentally GREEN civic duty here.


Okay, time to get serious again.

At the intersection of Larch Avenue and Lamperti Street
College Place, WA

 

And so I found myself at the intersection of Larch and Lamperti.  As alluded to earlier, it was a beautiful day, the sun reveling in a cloudless azure bath, and all clouds hibernating until autumn's arrival.  

An occasional butterfly would flutter in and out among the bushes, not unlike a contemporary passenger airline pilot whose autopilot had just turned off, leaving our protagonist scrambling to try to remember what it was like to actually fly a plane manually.

I paused to watch a bee circumnavigate a flower quickly drying in the August heat. 

It was then that I paid closer attention to the overgrowth of weeds.

Overgrowth?  

Wait a second.  It was actually a natural growth...

I challenged myself to change my mindset.  Events in my own life had led me a long time ago to a place where I deeply resented how we easily tend to label other human beings.  To an even greater degree, perhaps, we are at fault for doing the same with other living things, fauna and flora alike.

The ancestral roots of these weeds were here a long time before the first human being ever set foot in this area.  

We are the newcomers.  We tore up the land, planted our crops--vegetation that was probably foreign to this terrain--built our homes, and developed our towns.  The weeds were pushed to the wayside.

It's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?

Today, the Departments of Agriculture in all fifty states label unwanted plants in any given acreage as noxious weeds.  

Was that God's plan?  And are we modern day armchair theologists blaming the devil for creating weeds?

When Adam and Eve fell from grace, God allowed the weeds and thorns to be a consequence.  Man would have to live by the sweat of his brow, toiling laboriously to cultivate the land.  

God never called the weeds noxious or evil.  God doesn't create ugly.

God doesn't make mistakes.

With all these thoughts germinating within me, I began to take on a different perspective.

These weeds are actually quite beautiful, I thought.

I looked to the southwest at the picturesque splendor of the Blue Mountains.  There's a good chance these same weeds, or at least close cousins, adorn the foothills, gently rising slopes, and summits of that wonderful mountain range that we take for granted.  No one calls them noxious or nuisances up there.

Like pixels in a lovely photograph, each weed has its rightful place and meaning and value no matter where it's at.

How often do we treat our fellow men and women--especially those on the fringe of society--as undesirable, untouchable, and thus lowly.  Do we assess them in the same category as weeds?

If so, here's a challenge to all of us to remedy our low-minded ways.  We need to take inventory of and eradicate our own darkness in order that we might have a more godly perspective.

Simply put, we need to weed our own gardens.

And, if so, what to do with the weeds?  Well, we go green.  We recycle the weeds as compost.

God isn't involved with condemnation.  

God is into the business of redemption.

God has a purpose for everyone and everything.  

Even weeds.

Homeward bound, southwest on Lamperti,

a little bit wiser and more appreciative

MUSINGS ON A RAINBOW

Wailua Falls

Aptly located on the Garden Island of Kauai

(Photo courtesy of Silas K. Aqui)

The scientists will say that the rainbow in the picture above is caused by white light from the sun passing through one side of the curtain of water vapor from the waterfall and getting bent as it passes through the other side.  This phenomenon of bending is called the REFRACTION INDEX of a given particle.  In the process, the white light disperses into the seven-color spectrum visible to the naked eye.

I remember as a young boy learning from my science teacher how to remember the seven colors.  The instructor taught us an acronym that was the name of a boy--ROY G. BIV.  The letters stood for Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, and Violet.  

Honestly, I forgot until just a few minutes ago about the process of refraction.  But I never forgot the name of the little boy.

It's mnemonic devices like acronyms that make learning easier for me.  And when it comes to nature, I especially enjoy what I call the God element.

Back to ROY G. BIV, for example.  God cleverly put the seven visible colors in the very order with which an observant individual would someday come up with an acronym that little kids like me could understand.  

I mean, the colors could just as well have been arranged in such a way that the resulting acronym would have turned out to be:

• GORY B. I-V (gory b(loody) intravenous shot?)

• BY VIGOR (not by feebleness, but by vigor!)

• BI ORGY V. (fifth reunion of indiscriminate lasciviousness?)

• IVY BROG (a sharp stick from the wall climber?)

• IVORY B. G. (anemic b(lood) g(lucose)?)

• RIV. GOBY (freshwater big-eyed fish?)

Okay, I'm getting mentally fatigued.  But you catch my drift.

God intended the exact order of those colors in the rainbow spectrum.  And He surely anticipated the appropriate acronym that would someday help millions of schoolkids remember the majesty and splendor of a rainbow.

So while the scientists--obsessively compelled to organize, classify, and define nature--scramble to come up with theories and terms like refraction index, I imagine God adorning His landscape with creation after creation.

Chuckling every now and then at man's incessant and futile attempts to categorize even Him...

And pausing to leave His indelible humor on the whisper of a tradewind

or on the crashing percussion of waves against rocks

                                                       or on the muted slate of desert sand--

His comedic counsel in the form of--you got it!--another acronym:

K * I * S * S

TOOLS OF THE TRADE

Laptop, Blogger, Cellphone, Tablet, and Venti Caramel Frappucino
Tools of the Trade
(Hawaiian Odysseus photo)

Whenever my brother, Charlie, a creative and talented carpenter, is hired to construct a special project, he has to make sure that his tools are accounted for and in good working order.  Without the assurance of knowing that he is fully equipped to do a good job, he cannot and will not leave home.

Similarly, I am ill-equipped and dysfunctional without my tools of the trade.  

I cannot speak for other bloggers, so I want to make perfectly clear that everything I write in this post are the things that work for me.

With tongue in cheek, but also with a degree of seriousness, the photo above depicts 10% of my tools. The other implements are 80% divine inspiration (a fancy way to describe God kicking me off the couch) and 10% raw nerve.

The laptop, of course, is a biggie.  These computer keys open up portals to a myriad of worlds in my universe.  In the next life, I imagine I will be a travel writer--winging my way from galaxy to galaxy and posting up like a small forward for the Master Editor's heavenly newsletter.  Knowing me, I will boldly ask God to forgo the feather quills and give me the newest Dell notebook instead.  There's something about the tap-tap-tapping of keystrokes that contributes greatly to my daredevil blogging.  Wow!  I actually mentioned God and daredevil in the same paragraph.

My former English professors and grade school teachers would advise me to create rough drafts and use outlines.  Personally, my comfort zone is predominantly comprised of free fall writing--you know, jump out of the airplane with a bare minimum parachute and see where the air currents take me.  Some days, they're balmy trade winds; other days, tyrannical typhoons.  Either circumstance finds me landing on my feet with a pretty decent post.  I'm happy with my own personal voice, and that's what matters most of all.

(A distracting aside:  Some of my best stuff started out with a first sentence, perhaps even a first paragraph...nah!  make that a first page! of nothing but aimless wandering.  Then again, maybe that's what the meditationalists try to inspire--an emptying of the mind.  A mental purge.  Throw-up on paper.  And then the purity and clarity of creation can take place.  Who knows?  I'm just aimlessly wandering and getting a kick out of taking you along for the ride.)

One of the funniest sitcoms on television that entertained millions of fans for years was contrived to look like aimless wandering.  Seinfeld.  It was (and, via syndication, continues to be) a brilliantly written series. Why?  Because instead of contrived situations that comprised the themes of other shows, Seinfeld dealt with life's minutiae. And made us laugh over the small things.

As I fly from galaxy to galaxy some future eon, I will realize all the more that everything on earth  was about small things.  God is no dummy.  He loves good entertainment.

The cell phone and notebook to the right of my laptop make for good communication.  

It's nice to get a phone call every now and then.  Kinda reminds me of that movie, Poltergeist, where the little girl gets trapped in another dimension and the only contact her family has with her is through a static-stricken television set.  Sometimes, I get so far off in my own little wold that I need someone to throw me a rope.

The writing tablet isn't there for me to draft my next paragraph.  It's there for me to have mindful clutter.  Let me explain.

My brain is constantly on overload.  There hasn't been one conversation with my wife where I didn't leave her at some point and go somewhere else in my head.  I have not gotten any better with time.  Bless her heart, she thinks I am listening better.  I'm just a better actor and pick up on cues faster.  Some people speed-read.  I speed-listen.  Scientists call it ADD.  To me, a fancy label like that just doesn't ADD up. Sorry, I couldn't resist.  Actually, I could have, but it was a good filler.

To put it simply, I have been so used to having a full spectrum of split screens playing in my head that I would honestly be lost without the blessing of mental multi-tasking.

So, on my tablet today, I wrote notes about hooks I ordered from my wholesale vendor in Colorado (see: http://stores.ebay.com/Lords-of-the-Fly); the cost of my Venti Caramel  Frappucino for tax purposes; and today's eBay listings.  

Without ADD, I would go nuts!

The frappucino is a treat...a reward, actually...for one more week of being a halfway decent human being, for working hard at the bagel shop, and for surviving, period.  Plus, Starbucks just happens to be promoting a half-price special on frappucinos.  

Caffeinated drinks aren't good for my health, they tell me, but it sure nourishes my attention deficit disorder, and without ADD, I can't mentally function.  Know what I mean?  Of course you don't.

The predominant tool is a dependence--a lot of times, stubbornly given--on God to move that huge writer's block for me.  Without words, and often without any awareness whatsoever, I pray.  

When my son, Ryan, was about two years old, I stuffed one of my socks with the other one and taught him how to swing it like an old-fashioned slingshot as we played David and Goliath.  I'll let you adjust your ADD long enough to figure out which one of us was Goliath.  Before the little pebble (actually, the balled up portion of the sock) connected with the big giant's head, Ryan was to say, "God, give me strength!"  And then he'd wallop my head a good one...not too shabby, given  his young age, and definitely reinforced by my outrageously loud roar as I fell to the living room floor.  The first time wasn't so bad, but as I was to learn with both my children, one of their favorite sayings came to be, "Do it again, Daddy!  I wanna do it again!"  That's the part that literally hurt!

The focal point of the last paragraph was the simple prayer:  "God, give me strength!"

I can't begin to tell you how many times our family has uttered that prayer, verbally or spiritually spontaneously, over the past two decades.  What I can tell you is that God, in all His supernatural ADD, never failed to answer us in the affirmative.

So that brings me to the last tool.  

But before I go into that, I just realized I forgot something.  I'm keeping this real, folks, and not doing much editing except for grammatical, punctuational, and spelling corrections.

You wouldn't be able to read this post--or any part of my blog, or anybody else's, for that matter--without the graciousness of our host, Blogger.

In fact, for much of yesterday and part of today, Blogger was kaput!  And I was really frustrated and lost. That little grain of sand, that irritant in my psyche, was giving me such a pain, and I did not have the canvas upon which I could vomit my words and somehow stumble into something I could  feel good about calling literary art.

Thank goodness it finally got fixed, whatever the problem was.

So, while I pretty much take it for granted, I am very grateful for the free service that Blogger provides countless others and me.  Blogger is indeed a very significant tool of my trade.


Finally, there's the ingredient of raw nerve.  


There has to be an element of boldness in order for creativity to find an outlet.  It takes guts to spill one's guts. (Silly imagery, I know, but therein lies the raw nerve.)


One cannot reach for the stars without first daring to jump.


The craft of blogging, and again I boldly walk out onto that proverbial limb because I've only been doing this for five months, involves taking risks...sometimes, huge risks.


I face my insecurities and sometimes my personal demons every time I sit down and tap-dance with my fingers on the keyboard.


Somehow, on the wings of a "God, give me strength!" prayer, and with the help of my trusted tools, I get the job done.

I MISS KAUAI!

A View of The Sleeping Giant From the Mauka (Mountain) Side
Wailua Homesteads, Island of Kauai
(Photo courtesy of Silas K. Aqui)

We were there--my wife, adult children, and I--just shy of four months ago.  And, yes, when you're there in person, everything is greener and bluer and more picturesque than any digital photo could ever depict.

No one photoshops better than God.

                                        

MIGHTY TO SAVE, PERFORMED BY FIVE ON FIRE

The powerful worship song, MIGHTY TO SAVE, written by Laura Story, encourages all of us to share our personal testimonies.  There is no pressure to perform; there are no expectations to meet.  We simply present ourselves and talk about what God has done in our lives.  God is the One who is mighty to save.  It is His grace, glory, and power that provides salvation.  

In the 2005-2006 academic year, five freshmen at Walla Walla University formed a band with the sole intent of presenting their own unique testimonies through the medium of contemporary Christian music.  Later, they added a couple of co-eds to lead out in the worship singing. Throughout their four years at the university, this group of dedicated Christians blessed thousands of people of all ages in the Walla Walla Valley.

 Here, then, is the group, Five on Fire, with their rendition of MIGHTY TO SAVE.

                                                                           

THE ROAD HOME

Mt. Shasta
San Luis Obispo, CA
(Photo courtesy of Ryan)


(Dedicated to my mother, Marion, 
on the occasion of her 78th birthday--
April 9, 2011.  
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!)

As a young child, did you ever have an opportunity to ride in the back of a pickup truck and watch something huge--like a mountain in the backdrop--as your vehicle proceeded along the highway away from that object?

I don't have the scientific term for it, but I trust my senses and intuitively knew--even as a little boy--that there was some kind of optical illusion going on.  

By this, I mean I could easily see the things on the side of the highway getting smaller as the truck rambled on.  But the huge mountain in the distance seemed to incredulously grow larger the further away we traveled.  This phenomenon may have something to do with one's visual perception being simultaneously assigned multiple tasks--for example, tracking the large mountain on one level while noticing the objects passing by and looking smaller on another level.  And then, of course, there's also the neutral sky above that one notices but ironically neglects.  

For some reason, it came to mind just now that I never did talk about this phenomenon as a young child.  I waited 58 years to discuss it now in this blog.

Perhaps there's a reason for this.

But, first, let's reverse the direction of our vehicle.

Imagine that you're in the front seat now and that the huge mountain is in front of you--miles and miles away.  This visual works best when you're traveling in a desert or flatland because then the mountain really stands out.  Case in point--the above photo.

Here, then, is the opposite visual effect.  Things in the near and intermediate distance come rushing at you and appear larger.  But the huge mountain in the distance seems to get smaller or at least remains the same size even though your brain is cognizant that you're headed straight towards it.

As a youngster, I always neglected to track where both phenomena mentioned above lost that optical illusion.  

But as a middle-aged writer, I am taking the liberty of remembering and making an observation or two as I wax poetic or otherwise.

The title of this blog--HAWAIIAN ODYSSEUS--suggests a journey homeward.  

For me, the journey is three-tiered.

HOME OF ORIGIN:  First, there is the journey back to my youth.  Only in discovering unlocked treasure chests and understanding the historical and genealogical lessons gleaned but perhaps not resolved at the time can one move forward with increased awareness, wisdom, compassion, and grace.  

This, then, is the phenomenon of riding in the back of the pickup truck.  Our past becomes increasingly important, or larger, the faster we move through the present and into the future.

NUCLEAR HOME:  For me, social and economic circumstances made it necessary for me to be away from my home and family in one part of the state and be relocated in another.  The very writing of this blog was a vehicle (no pun intended) for me to cope with tremendous angst, loneliness, and sadness about the severe psychological, emotional, physical, and spiritual struggles I faced in my situational exile from home.  Only by sitting in the back of the truck and making sense of the significance of my past was I able to find the strength and courage to persevere in the present.  

Every adventure, crisis, and obstacle were surmountable only because I kept my eye on the mountain in front of me...the one that seemingly became smaller the closer I got to it.  I could easily have become discouraged, but the good Lord filled me abundantly when I was at my weakest, and I am eternally thankful.  The mountain ahead of me is the reunion with my wife and the readjustment to the nuclear home.  My children are adults and, thankfully, off to a very successful start as they travel on their respective highways through life.  

I made the huge decision this past week to return home about two months from now.  It is a decision that both excites and scares me.  Once again, I find myself in the front seat of that proverbial pickup truck and wondering why that mountain seems to get smaller the closer I get to it.

This is no time to let anything or anyone discourage me.  I AM GOING HOME!

My daughter graduates from high school in the early part of June.  Soon after, she will be traveling to Spain to attend summer classes.

My son graduates with a dual degree in mechanical engineering and business management from graduate school in central California.  I will be traveling there with my wife and daughter, and the prospect of precious time with family and celebration during those four days makes me very happy.

Just days later, I will join some of my siblings, extended family, and relatives in Oregon for a family reunion.  

I have not seen my father, who presently lives in Maryland with his wife, for 33 years.  This wonderful and long-anticipated event would be a culmination of both phenomena cited above--at once, the mountain behind gets bigger the further I travel from it, and the mountain ahead gets smaller the closer I get to it.

HEAVENLY HOME:  Recent events in both our collective and individual lives, dear reader, only serve to provide further evidence that this world is getting older and fraught with more and more ailments.  Prior to this generation, we humans have not been the best stewards of this world.  And so we are confronted with severe consequences.

Increasing lawlessness matches the rapid increase of mankind's knowledge.  We may all do well to heed the lesson of the Tower of Babel.  Politics and judicial decisions at the highest level suggest that man has grown too big for his britches.  The spiritual reverence our country once had for the Creator has fallen by the wayside, and--alas!--we will pay dearly for it.

It is both the mountain that grows larger the more we travel away from it and smaller the more we struggle to get back to it.  

In my humble opinion, it is God growing bigger in His desire to redeem us when we grow apart from Him.  As we stumble back to our feet and turn away from our foolish choices; as we hunger to make it back home...He appears to grow smaller, but it is only His way of saying, "Okay, you've made the choice to return home.  Show Me with all your might how much you desire to get back to My front porch.  Show Me just how hungry and desperate you are...I will be waiting with a hot bath and some delicious lentil soup for you."

I plan to be on that front porch with my ukulele and singing Tropical Rainbow*.


Will you join me?




*http://hawaiianodysseus.blogspot.com/2010/01/tropical-rainbow.html

                                                

THE RAIN WAS HERE LONG BEFORE ANY OF US WERE AROUND TO COMPLAIN ABOUT IT.

Majestic 'Opaeka'a Falls
(Photo courtesy of Silas K. Aqui)

The rain was here long before any of us were around to complain about it.

This thought came to mind as I sat in a coffee shop one morning wondering if and when the sun was ever going to come out and play again over the Emerald City.  I was at the Olive Starbucks on Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood at the time, and the raindrops were pummeling the large window to my left.  Seattle rain usually is of the drizzle variety, but on this particular morning, it reminded me more of torrential Hawaiian rain.

Which only reinforces my split personality lifestyle--one mental foot in Hawaii, and the other in Seattle.

Japan is also on my mind.  A lot of people's minds, for that matter.  

Sadly, the death toll in our Asian neighbors' homeland has reached five digits.  The meltdown of the nuclear reactors currently poses an ominous threat to the safety and security of not only the people of Japan but also the populations of other countries.

True to its role as a socioeconomic barometer of global current events, the stock market plummeted and then gained back a small portion of its drop yesterday.  As I write this just before 10:00 AM on Wednesday, March 16th, the Dow is at 11705, a drop of approximately 150 points, or 1.28%.  Understandably, the crisis in Japan figures significantly into the current stock market weakness, but history dictates that the investor's best course is to maintain a cool and calm mindset.

The rain was here long before any of us were around to complain about it.

We need to be mindful that it is not the event but rather our attitude about the event that makes or breaks us.  I will be the first to admit that I have much to learn about keeping my cool under fire.  But at least I can be honest about my weakness in that regard, and that in itself is a beginning.

I purposely selected a photo of 'Opaeka'a Falls for this post today that showed it in all its muddy water glory.  You won't see too many island postcards, if any at all, depicting a brown waterfall.  I mean, it's just not great marketing, is it?

Still, it's a definitive mark of integrity to showcase that which is natural and real and brutally honest.  

We're seeing a lot of that lately in the news.

Here's some additional insight regarding the photo above.  It was taken before the Ka Loko Dam breached  one night, resulting in several people being swept out to sea by a powerful flood.  

You can read about it here:  http://archives.starbulletin.com/2006/05/22/news/story02.html

Unfortunately, disasters happen.  It's an inevitable intersection where Mother Nature and civilized man 

have a head-on collision. 

Some blame God. Some praise God.  Some don't believe in God but nevertheless point their accusatory fingers at someone else. 

I choose to live by this simple and original homespun adage:

The rain was here long before any of us were around to complain about it.

                                         

DARE TO STAND ALONE!

View from Princeville at Hanalei

There are times when one will flow with the crowd.  

Social conformity, after all, is a requisite for a civilized and progressive nation.

There are times, however, when one must stand apart from the majority.  Times when one must draw a definitive line in the sand and declare,  "I disagree with what you're doing.  I choose something better for myself."

It's a matter of principle.  A matter of character.  A matter of courage.

It could also be the one choice that makes a significant difference.

Case in point:  My brother, Charlie (aka Silas Kaumakahia Aqui).

Several months ago, Charlie made the tough but very sound decision to quit smoking and drinking.

He didn't pussyfoot around with patches or programs or a slow and steady weaning from the nicotine and alcohol.

He just made up his mind to quit.  And he quit.  For good.

You see, we have a brother who, without warning, collapsed as a result of a brain aneurysm.  A lifestyle of poor choices--yes, including nicotine and alcohol.  Lots of both.  Poisons that are seductively alluring, overpowering, and controlling.

Thankfully, our brother survived and is currently traveling the challenging and sometimes rocky road of recovery.

Charlie quit smoking and drinking as a result of what had happened to our brother.  As the addictive poisons gradually left his body, he became reacquainted with the inherent beauty of a lifestyle that is totally void of mind-numbing chemicals.

It was as if his life made a quantum leap from being a film noir movie to living like a blu-ray DVD.

His food tasted better.  His passion for the laid back island way of living was renewed.  His love for all things Hawaiiana, especially his free diving and fishing for reef inhabitants, like the octopus (please see previous blogs, using octopus as a key search word), was enhanced tenfold.

Charlie rediscovered his appetite for life itself.

His old drinking buddies, gathered at a favorite spot on the beach, would see Charlie approaching...no longer sporting a 6-pack in each hand but, rather, a water bottle.  Charlie had now chosen to imbibe on artesian liquids rather than products of fermentation.

And the wonderful thing about friends is that none of them made fun of him.  They totally respected his choice.

Meanwhile, our brother neglected to follow his doctor's orders and re-immersed himself in the old, familiar lifestyle of smoking and drinking.  Knowing full well that he was endangering his very life and jeopardizing his relationships with loved ones, he coped with life's stressors by succumbing to toxins which were at once very familiar and very dangerous.

Long story short, he got into trouble.  Health-wise and legally.  

Fortunately, our brother was given the opportunity to enter into a rehabilitative program.  With tremendous support from his beloved wife and adult children as well as his family of origin, he committed himself 100% to the rigorous program regimen.

Just recently, he graduated from the program and thus earned the privilege of returning home.  His freedom, albeit conditional until he can get final clearance from the presiding judge in his case, is something he does not take for granted.  

I know without a doubt that our brother will make it.

Which brings this post full circle back to Charlie.  

Because Charlie took the strong stance to give up smoking and drinking, and--more importantly--because he regained the pre-Fall gift of clear, levelheaded thinking and decision making, he was and continues to be our brother's go-to guy, mentor, and chief support person. 

Those of us who have experienced similar situations know very well how tenuous and challenging a transitional period can be.  Charlie's role in our brother's life is pivotal.  

It's about the beautiful yin/yang of recovery--when one is weak, the other can be strong.  Brother carrying brother until both can stand on their own two feet.

Or walk.

Or even run again!

As Charlie succinctly called it in a recent phone conversation I had with him--"Hey, maybe it was meant to be, yeah?"

There is no doubt in my mind that the Lord had had His hand in all of this.  In spite of our foolish and often bullheaded choices that end up hurting our loved ones and ourselves, God has a wonderful way of turning bad into good.

So, Charlie, there was no maybe about it.  There was definite divine intervention.  And it was allowed to be because both of my brothers began making better choices.

My hat's off to my brothers.  They each in their own individual way inspire me.

I love my family of origin.