Mike's death; Betty's life...

Wednesday, August 26, 2026

Sunday, September 1, 2024

I was exhausted and was in bed by 9:15. As I thought I would, I woke up very early. I dozed for the rest of the night. I got up around 5 am. Elsa is my first task each morning, even before I get dressed. I love on her and check her skin. When I bathed her yesterday, I saw raw sores on her lower back. Ow! My poor baby. We can’t get that skin condition under control. I applied the salve the vet gave me with a good dose of MakesNoClaim on top of it.

During church this morning, I observed an unbearable scene- an unsupported infant’s head. The baby must have been about two months old. Her head dropped so far back that it rested on her back. The mother and the grandmother took turns holding her. Neither supported her head. They even kissed her head while it lolled, putting more pressure on it instead of lifting it out of its precarious position. The grandmother had raised four children successfully. I tried to convince myself that she did that with her kids, and they turned out okay. My mother taught me how important supporting the baby’s head was. I told Judy about it later in the day. She said a two month old should support their own head. There may be something wrong with this child.

Mass was over by 10. I spent some time socializing before I headed over to Unity of Kona for a sound bath at noon. I spoke to Nicole, a parole officer. I told her I would be willing to work with some of her clients and reminded her of my offer. She said she had to consult her boss first; I was in her toolbox.

I went to my favorite spot on the beach. I took Damon and Cylin to see it when they visited at the end of July. They agreed it was special.

I got to Unity of Kona well before others arrived for the sound bath at noon. It was just me and the folks who had attended the service having their social hour. Diana left and returned ten minutes later with an ice cream cake for the September birthdays. I don’t eat ice cream anymore. We used to have pints of it at least once a week. I scarfed down two pieces of the cake despite the ice cream not being very good. it was just the idea of eating ice cream.

One of the church members chatted as I ate my ice cream. She spoke about the twins she had adopted. I asked where they were now, and that opened a door to a world of hurt.

The identical twin girls came from a native Alaskan family when they were seven years old. One died a few years later from leukemia. The other one never did well after that loss. She married an abusive man. She had just weaned her second child when she decided to leave. He declared if he couldn’t have her, no one could and shot her and then himself. The woman who had adopted the twin girls became the parent to the two young children left behind.

Besides the sound bath, three women offered healing during the session. I was near one woman, Denise, who I knew from the Chi Qigong. I asked her to do a healing on me. She must have worked on me for a good fifteen minutes. I thought she could see how much pain I was in. I could feel her energy in my body. It felt good. She stopped when I released a sigh.

Fourth-grade LG’s mom had promised to have me work with her husband to see if we could solve the computer problem. She texted me to say they would use their new computer.

I wasted much of the day watching Vera and doing nothing else until I had my Zoom appointment with fourth-grade MH at 3. I proposed working on writing a story. I find it an excellent exercise. It teaches how to use your imagination when writing a story, how to organize the idea, and how to put your thoughts into words.

The students I work with have two problems. They don’t know how to expand their ideas. When asked to write about something they did over their vacation, they will write one sentence for each event. It’s a list. Also, they feel every word is set in stone from the start. This activity teaches playing with options. MH wanted to write about a fish that started alone in a fishbowl until its owner brought home many more fish. I encouraged her to use the first-person narrator. It was the one that appealed to me the most.

I woke up this morning to find more fish in my fishbowl. Until today, I had been alone, and I liked it because it was peaceful. I heard the owner talking about getting more fish. I hoped he wouldn’t do that, but he did.

I didn’t like sharing my fishbowl with other fish. They weren’t even goldish; they were guppies, striped, and neon fish. I had never met a guppy, a striped, or a neon fish before. The tank felt crowded with the new fish.

My fishbowl is no longer peaceful. The other fish talk, and some snore in their sleep.

This is as far as we got before we ran out of time. MH may leave it or add something else, which might solve the poor goldfish’s dilemma.

Saturday, August 31, 2024

I went to bed exhausted last night. I had worked hard in the yard, spent several hours trying to buy a new PC, and tutored four kids at Ulu Wini. I was in bed at 9:30 and looked forward to a good night's rest. I was dragged out of sleep by a sound my mind identified as someone sitting in my living room playing a computer game. Beep, beep, beep. It took me a while to be roused enough to figure out it was a coqui frog chirping away. It is a mystery why I would confuse that sound when I am so familiar with it. I fell asleep and finally woke up for the day at 4:30. That was a pretty good night's sleep.

As usual, my mind started focusing on upsetting thoughts, inconsiderate things others do, and things that leave me feeling overwhelmed or frightened. I read that the orbital prefrontal cortex is the gatekeeper to the default brain. I could quiet the tormentor by focusing on that part of my brain. This morning, I didn't have to struggle hard to get this part of my brain to work.

The theory is that blood goes to the part of the brain that is in use. If I need to use a part of the brain, blood will flow to it. Inversely, if I can get blood to flow to a part of the brain intentionally, it will perform its function. Therefore, if I focus on the right orbital prefrontal cortex, blood will flow to it, and it will control the activity of the default brain. This relationship between brain function and blood flow is the basis of my BrainManagementSkills protocols.

Joseph came out of his room fully dressed about the same time he usually does. I was in my old-lady chair doing my morning upper-body yoga routine. He would only be out for a short time this morning and then be in the house for the rest of the day.

I ate breakfast, did my morning puzzles, and went to the bottom of the property to load up more haole koa green waste. A property covered with those trees is a fire hazard. Now that the lady next door has cleared her property, I'm a significant neighborhood hazard.

Thanks to Dean, the job of downing the trees and stripping the leaves went much faster than it had before. I snapped off branches and stuffed them into the trash barrel without cutting them into bite-sized pieces first. All I had to do was press down on the branches in the barrel, and the pressure snapped them into smaller pieces. Any trunk under four inches in diameter I could easily snap myself.

Both Dean and Darby advocate using 'green waste' in their yards; they call it 'green gold.' 'Cut it and drop it,' Dean says. you control growth by trimming, but you allow what you cut to serve as ground cover. Darby heard it called sunscreen for the soil. It will undoubtedly keep it moist. The sun is intense and dries to the soil quickly. Their use of 'green gold,' plant waste that has not yet decayed, is unfamiliar, but I like the idea. I'm on the verge of a conversion but need help applying it to my property. It's an overgrown mess, and I am overwhelmed.

I listened to a book on Audible, Of Boys and Men. It argues that it was never just women who were in trouble; men were, too. I have always felt that way. While men had power over women, their lives were also in trouble. Power is a narcotic that masks the depth of our dissatisfaction.

The book describes the role of men in our lives. Given how slim our need for men is, I see why men used their power to ensure they were on top. The author says in the animal world, the 'strongest' males get to inseminate the most females. In the case of humans, one in every 200 men is a direct descendent of Genghis Khan. He was a busy boy. Where polygamy is allowed, the strongest man gets multiple wives, while a weak man might not have any. We don't need many men to make many babies. A well-stocked sperm bank will do the trick.

In addition, women can do most of the work men can do. Men are physically stronger than women, but women can figure out compensations for their physical weakness. Message: we don't need all those men. Talk about being in a scary position.

Note: it's not always the 'most powerful' man that gets to have the most offspring. When I worked in an inner-city Catholic School in Trenton, one of my students was a boy who was one of 50 children of one man. He didn't have to go around raping women like Genghis Khan or bullying them into sex like Harvey Weinstein. No, this young man was just a cool dude. The women flocked to him. He could brag about his fertility without concern for consequences.

The book argues that men feel their vulnerability. They used to have the role of breadwinner. Now, that has been usurped too. Women can manage quite nicely on their own, thank you. Men face an existential crisis. What is their purpose in life? Take that from any human, and you're asking for trouble. If we don't have a purpose, we don't have a reason to live. This isn't some cultural imposition, rendering us 'human doings' instead of 'human beings; it is biologically driven. I argue for mercy for all. The division between the powerful and the weak is both genuine and arbitrary. It's not an easy one to solve. But if we don't keep it in mind, the suppressed and denigrated will fight back. They have to; it's a matter of survival.

Dean and Nina came over for our Saturday game of Sorry and conversation. I enjoy their company. I can be myself with them. Dean is outspoken and has a tolerance for my outspokenness. So far, it's all been going well. We speak more than we play. It's a lovely mix. I hope Dean will teach me more about gardening. His idea of gardening is different from my understanding of it with my suburban background. He encourages working with nature, not taming it. His property looks abandoned or badly neglected. It's not. he works in the yard daily. He just has a different idea of what it should be. When I asked his advice today, he said, "Just listen to the plants." That's a skill I do not have. I was annoyed he thought everyone should have it. he says that partially because he denigrates his skills, some of which are excellent. He's already taught me a lot.

I learned that if I break the haole koa branches and trunk, while it will immediately bring out new growth, it will be easier to break the next time. It will take about a year, but the tree will die from repeated breaks. Dean also told me I could gird the trees, and they would die in months. Would he show me how to do that? I am a willing learner, but he talks about the things he does as if they're obvious, and everyone should know them. I don't.

Today is the 84th birthday of a very old 'friend.' He's the son of my parents' good friends. My father met this couple on the ship that brought him to the USA. All three were Jews fleeing Nazi Germany. Billy was born three months before me. When my mother visited his mother in the hospital after his birth, she said, "Margaret. It's horrible. Don't go through with it." She never did have another child. My mom tried two more times. One she lost in a miscarriage; the second resulted in my sister.

Friday, August 30, 2024

The Hula class was at 10 a.m. Before I left for the class, I filled a barrel with haole koa green waste and packed it in the car. I texted Nina to tell her I would drop the barrel off around 9:30 on my way to town and pick it up on my way home. When I pulled into Dean's driveway, there he was, his trash barrel ready to transfer my gift. "Now, you won't have to stop back here on your way home."

Dean lives as simply as he can. He shames anyone else who aims to live a simple life. He has a computer, but he does not own a cell phone. Until recently, he had a dial phone hooked up to his in-law's landline. When I want to reach him, I call Nina. She calls her parents' landline. They answer their phone and call to Dean, telling him to pick up his phone. He told me recently that his dial phone (yes, a phone with a rotary dial) had finally broken. I don't know what he's using instead.

Sweetie, the woman who teaches the Hula class, had the usual problems setting up her microphone and speaker. The increased volume makes no difference to me. I can't understand most of what she says anyway. Besides volume issues, she uses Hawaiian words to identify the steps. The ocean waves crashing on the rocks within a stone's throw of the outside 'wall' of the community center drown out her voice. Wall is in quotes because it is not a solid wall with windows; it's a grate with the wind blowing right through the building. I love the sound and sight of the water, but it does make it hard to follow directions. There is only one word I can hear clearly and understand: pule, which means turn.

Today, I learned that Sweetie sent videos of the dances she taught. I never received one. I asked one of the administrators. Had I written down my email address? I checked. I hadn't. My chances of getting a copy of that video greatly improved.

I stopped at the computer tech shop, Jack Be Click, to drop off my dying Surface Pro tablet. The video image pixelated. Bailey said it was the motherboard. He recommended a Dell or HP computer rather than a Surface Pro. The other brands were easier to repair. He said never to buy a 2-in-1 brand. With those, you can detach the screen from the keyboard. I've learned that those keyboards are total junk. Now, I have learned that tablets are difficult to repair.

I went to Costco to buy a new computer. No one was there to help me with the selection. My texts to Bailey with photos of computers so he could guide my selection didn't go through. I walked to the outside door, hoping that would make a difference. It didn't. I picked the cheapest HP. I thought it would suit my needs.

The texts to Bailey must have gone through on my drive home. I found a text from him not to buy the HP computer I did buy. He said it was a mere toy computer. Fortunately, I got to him before he even opened the box. It will be easy to return. Unfortunately, I will have to wait until Tuesday. Bailey was closed for the weekend, and Costco and Bailey were closed for Labor Day.

Later in the afternoon, I went to Ulu Wini to tutor. Second-grade KJ read well on a low third-grade level when just starting 2nd grade. I worked on comprehension, specifically identifying the main idea. She picked out a single fact in one selection. She said it was about where the hippo lived, which was in only one sentence. The other 5 sentences were about the size and weight of the hippo. She had excellent decoding skills for unfamiliar words. She read " weigh " as " why " and inferred the real word from context clues. She is so proud of how well she is doing.

Next, I had second-grade NV. I worked with her last week. She will be a challenge. She can't remember a single word. Today, I learned she does remember sounds when she is taught them. Her teacher taught her the letter A represents the sound /a/ as in apple. The problem is the letter A represents at least six different sounds in English. Italian is the prototype language for the one-to-one correspondence between a letter and a sound. it doesn't happen in English. Phonics programs try to simplify the process that cannot be simplified. I learned the NV has a good ear for sounds.

Last week, I learned NV's mind spun when asked something she wasn't sure of. That's fear. I didn't do a spin release with her then. It didn't feel right. She told me there had been a change. The size of the spin was smaller. She felt that was an improvement. While she remembered the word THE, she couldn't remember the second word on the list OF even though we went over it last week and today. There was no recall.

I asked if her mind spun faster when she tried to remember. No, it had changed. There was no movement. That made sense. It's like shutting off the car and expecting it to move. I asked her how she felt about her locked mind. She said she hated it. There is often a surprise about how we feel about our worst traits.

I asked her to do an exercise with me. I described it and told her she was not to do it if it didn't feel right. I asked her to repeat these words, "I let go of anything bad about my hatred of my mind and keep anything good about my hatred for my mind or anything I still need." Did she feel any changes? No. Then, I did the other half of the exercise. "Let go of anything bad about my love for my mind and keep anything good about that love for my mind or anything I still need." Did that feel different? Yes. I know. Once I saw that in myself, I always make myself do both halves of the exercise. We are complex animals. Once I reviewed the phonemes in the words OF and AND, we ended the session. This is going to be a long haul unless I find the magic spot.

Then, second-grade JM asked to work with me. I only worked on word recognition. I had her read several selections from the Reading Roots series on a first-grade level. The last book she read with me last year was Book 13. Today, she read Book 25 accurately. I did no work on comprehension. I know Shauntel got books on the next level.

The last student I worked with was third-grade PL. She looked much better now than she did the previous school year. Her hair was as wild, but it now looked deliberate. Her nose wasn't running constantly, at least not at this time of the year. She was as flaky as she had been. She had trouble keeping her attention focused. She read a low-level first-grade selection. She couldn't decode.

I asked PL to name the vowel letters. She gave me one letter, E. Students must know the vowel letters. They are the key to decoding words. I reviewed those. I must remember to write them down for her. There are two goals: having her memorize the vowel letters and use them in decoding. The goals can be addressed separately.

Then, I asked her to identify the number of syllables in a word. She didn't have a clue. She named the letters. She had more trouble learning how to identify the syllables than any student I have seen. Not following my directions caused her problems. I don't know why she functions the way she does. There are several possibilities. The good news was she could identify the number of syllables in all the words I gave her at the end of the session. That took up more than enough time. Let's see how she does next week.

While I worked with PL, Shauntel passed by and told her to pay attention. Before I left, I asked her not to do that with the students while I worked with them. She said, "I thought that was my job." I told her no; it was my job when I was working with the kids. She took my response badly. That's not like Shauntel. She is usually steady, calm, and accepting. She's amazing. I offered to explain my reasoning. She pushed me away dismissively. Something was terribly wrong with her. I walked away without pushing my point of view and hoped she would feel better.

At four thirty, I had an appointment with fourth-grade LG. His word recognition was perfect. Since that one day when he tried to read 'faster' and made many mistakes, he has been reading words accurately. I told him, honestly, that I had never had a student respond that well to my instructions.

While he did very well on reading accuracy, he continued having problems with comprehension. He has trouble seeing a sentence as a puzzle to be figured out. We continue reading a passage about rats. We worked on the second sentence. "Many live in other places where they can't be seen." In the IN THE BOOK section, he has to figure out what words are missing from the question. The missing word (s) are the answer. The question was, "What lives in other places where they can't be seen?" The answer is "Many." This is a particularly tricky sentence. It makes no sense out of the context of the passage. I would let it go with another child for that reason. However, LG has problems finding the missing words even when the sentence does make sense. Why do I push this activity? We all change the meaning of words into something we can understand. No one interprets text perfectly. However, I find many students with limited mental flexibility. It limits their ability to learn something new. They cling to the familiar. This exercise forces them to see the sentence for what it is and learn to cope with the confusion.

If we don't understand what people say or what we read, we feel confused. How we respond to that feeling separates the men from the boys. Those who deal with confusion well are good learners; those who deal with it poorly are bad learners. Once the student has identified the answer to that question as 'many," the next step is figuring out what many refers to. To do that, the reader has to refer to the previous sentence. In this case, it referred to 'rats.' Yes, those disgusting critters with those long hairless tails we associate with dirt and disease.

Last night, Joseph came home from his young adult group. The topic was love-bombing. Did I know what it meant? I knew of two incidents of love bombing. One was a friend whose ex-wife did that. In her case, she would love-bomb people to set them up to have the pleasure of shooting them down. OW!

The second incident is about a man who love-bombed a woman when he wooed her. Once he was married, he ignored her. He wasn't deliberately mean. He wanted to be married, knew he had to make an effort to get her interested, and didn't have what it took to be an engaged husband.

In the young adult group, people gave examples of their experience with love bombing. Some told about incidents where they were love bombed. One woman told a story when she was accused of love-bombing. She liked all the Facebook posts of a friend. That friend saw it as love-bombing, the behavior of an abuser. She accused her and blocked her on Facebook. Ow!

Thursday, August 29, 2024

Yesterday, I dropped off a trash barrel filled with haole koa leaf waste. I cut it off the tree after cutting it down. Dean said he would be over in the morning to work with me to cut down more. We caught up with each other on our morning walk. I thought he would have to go home to get a pair of work gloves. He smiled and pulled a rolled-up pair from his pocket.

I wasn't ready to begin work immediately. I wanted to eat breakfast and do my morning puzzles, Wordle, the NYTimes Mini crossword, and Connections puzzles. While I did all that, Dean sat on the lanai and watched the wild chickens in my yard.

While the original plan was to cut down haole koas and load a trash barrel full of leaf waste, I had another problem for today. Yesterday, the man who managed the crew next door, stripping all the vegetation with a backhoe, approached me and told me he would damage my fence when he removed the trees next to it. Didn't I want a rock wall? I said no to that and told him he would have to fix it if he damaged it. He smiled slyly and said, "No more money." Obviously, the owner of the property would be responsible for the repair.

I've seen this man before. He comes as close to evil as anyone I've ever met, not because he's an aggressive salesman. There is something sinister about him. Let it be known I've led a sheltered life. He pushes people into buying his services when they are not necessary. Maybe he's nothing more than a traditional used car salesman. They have a reputation for being sleazy.

He tried to bully me into agreeing to let my neighbor build a rock wall against my upper fence. I felt it would limit the airflow for my plants. I refused. He tried to bully me. The rock wall wasn't built. Last night, I was concerned he was threatening me, threatening to deliberately damage my fence. It's not a high-quality fence. It is a pig fence with steel stakes embedded in cement blocks with pig fencing. It wouldn't cost much to fix if damaged. We need to keep the dogs in and the pigs out.

The morning was devoted to filming 50' to 75' of fencing. Dean ripped off the wandering coral vine off the fence. I sawed down every haole koa I could and filmed it as I walked along. Now, I have proof of its condition.

As I worked, I noticed the evil man and an elderly white woman in the lot. I called out to her, "Are you the owner?" She said yes. I walked over to speak to her, wanting to tell her what the man had said.

I introduced myself and said, "You must be the new owner. The last family was Chinese." Oh, boy. Talk about making multiple assumptions. She was the wife of the Chinese man and the original owner. Why they held on to the property is a mystery. I surmise the woman is a bit wishy-washy in her thinking.

The workers said she planned to build two homes on the property and sell it as a package. Nothing of the sort. She has two daughters in their 50s who she hopes will return to Hawaii when they retire. They could build homes on the lot. She also talked about building a house for herself on it. She lived on Kaiminani, a main street running through the Palisades. She commented that it is so quiet here, and it is so noisy where she lives.

The spot I live in is ideal in so many ways. People who have lived in other parts of the island comment on this spot. It is the sweet spot climate-wise, not too hot, not too cold, not too wet or too dry. We have reasonably flat roads running from north to south. In the rest of the Palisades and many parts of the island, getting up and down your driveway or walking over to a neighbor is an athletic event. The roads are steep in all directions. People come from all over the Palisades to walk and bike here. And it's quiet. We don't hear traffic noise. The street I live on is the best of the lot. Dean says we get the optimal amount of rain here. He lives two streets down from us, and it's different.

The weather changes with the altitude. At the shore, it is hot and sticky. At 1400' or higher, it rains a lot. Yvette and Josh lived at 1500' before they moved into this house. They had to wipe the mold off the walls before we came. When Mike and I climbed into bed at night, the sheets were cold and clammy. We warmed them up with our body heat. They had a 'dry room,' a room closed off where they kept their clothes and books and ran a dehumidifier 24/7. We have no problems like that at our altitude of about 800'.

Freda, the property owner next door, and I exchanged telephone numbers. While she's right that she has eliminated a fire hazard by uprooting all the vegetation on the property, she has left us with an acre of bare soil. It rains a fair amount right now, but the dry season is coming soon. We could be facing a dust bowl. My open house will be hard hit, and it will be unpleasant for everyone in the neighborhood.

Judy said not to worry. Within a month, the whole lot will be covered with some growth. That would work if she doesn't just spray the lot. I hope she commits to hiring someone to weed whack regularly instead. She said she had done that. She paid someone to do the whole lot and discovered he only did the very top. She never checked.

Dean and I ripped foliage off the fallen trees and stuffed them into the trash barrel for transport to his house. I'd carefully cut the foliage off and then cut it into smaller pieces to get more into the barrel. Dean ripped off whole branches and pressed down to crush them. I like his system.

Dean said he enjoyed his time. OMG! I got so much. Besides getting his amazing help and companionship, I also got his expertise. I learned a lot.

I did some additional work before I jumped into the shower. I took on the area behind B's shed. The plants there have grown out of hand. I plan to cut them down to the ground and clear the ground of any unwelcome guests. By this time, my back hurt; I had to stop.

Earlier today, my acupuncturist texted to ask how my back was doing after her work yesterday. It was much better. I had planned to let her know and then forgot. I was glad she reminded me.

I spoke to Adolescent D's mom today. I told her I thought he was done. He had made a change. He had a job he loved. He was an adult. He had made no effort to contact me in over a week. His mom didn't think he intended to quit. She thought he hadn't contacted me because he was too busy. His 35 hours a week were reduced to 20 now, but he still was carrying the load of a high school junior. We'll see.

She also told me he had failed his driver's permit test. 'Did he use their auditory option?" No, he refused. I groaned. Why does this boy have to be so self-defeating? Yes, he can read the test now, but it takes him more energy than it would take a better reader. Then, he had no energy to comprehend and determine the answers to the questions. I have an argument against his refusing the auditory form. When he took a reading test without the oral option, he scored on the 6th-grade level. The following year, when he listened to the text and didn't read a single word, he scored on the 10th-grade level. He understands better when the text is read to him than when he reads it himself.

Sadly, Adolescent D doesn't like to do what other people want him to do. His mother said they called him Mr. Contrary when he was small. All ideas had to come from him. Of course, someone with an oppositional disorder doesn't follow what he wants. We don't even know what we want if we always do the opposite of what other people want. We just want power. How sad! At least, it sounds sad to me. I remember when I started saying yes to things instead of no in my mid-twenties. I don't think I was oppositional; I wasn't aware of what I did want yet. I was defining myself.

I called his mom to suggest she tell him he had to choose between two goals: either have the driver's written test read to him so he can do the best he can or read the test himself to achieve whatever that goal is. Is the goal pride in his accomplishment, or is it to ensure no one knows he has reading problems? My money is on the second of the two choices in D's case.

I called Shauntel at Ulu Wini to confirm the time of the kids' arrival after school. Two-thirty. She told me today was Food Bank Day. The staff at the community center distributed free food to everyone. I was tired from my morning work, and my back hurt. The thought of twisting my body as I sat and worked with the kids didn't sound good. I decided to stay home. I regretted my decision. I needed the stimulus of human interaction and doing something useful for someone else. I felt wasted.

My Surface Pro tablet screen has been acting up for the past two days. I texted Bailey, my tech guy, with a picture of the bum screen. He says the motherboard was going. I will have to order a new one. He recommended I buy a Dell or HP instead of the Surface Pro; they're easier to fix and much cheaper.

I watched an episode of Vera last night. Mike and I loved it. I've not seen it since he died in March 2019. They've put out six series since then, so I have lots of good times ahead of me.

Wednesday, August 28, 2024

I woke up early again despite a physically vigorous and napless day. Again, I got up and meditated. Maybe this will become my routine. Not a bad idea.

The plan for today was cutting down as many of the haole koa lining the north side of the property that abutted the empty lot next door. That property had been neglected as long as I lived here. I called it 'the haole koa farm. Most of the growth was those pesky trees. They're tall and skinny. By tall, I mean 10 to 12 feet high; by skinning, I mean the trunk never grows more than 6 or 7 inches in diameter.

I just checked out the Haole Koa on the internet. The article's author called the tree "a diabolical invasive species." That sounds about right. It was deliberating imported to feed livestock. As with so many imported plants and animals, it wasn't suitable for what it was chosen for.

We live with other deliberate imports. The mongoose was imported to control the rat population. There is only one problem: the mongoose is diurnal, and the Polynesian rat is nocturnal. They never met.

The coqui, another invasive species that haunts us, was not imported deliberately. It hitched a ride on plants imported from Puerto Rico, where the coqui is beloved and a symbol of Puerto Rico. There, the coqui is becoming an endangered species due to deforestation. Here, the coqui is flourishing. It has no natural enemies and does fine in an urban setting. You can't hear your TV in Hilo over the racket. Traditionally, the coqui only 'sings' at night. Here, some are becoming daytime singers as well. It's too much of a good thing.

My plan of attack was to start at the bottom of the property on the north side. Since I was going to take the plant's foliage to Dean's Today, I packed up my gear. I need my 6" chain saw with a battery backup and two clippers for narrow twigs and wider branches and water. I had my equipment in an orange bucket and a trash barrel to hold the green waste. I cut down a good dozen of the trees this morning. I put the leaves in the barrel and piled the trunks close to the driveway. A dozen barely makes a dent. The total number of these trees must be in the neighborhood of several hundred on a one-acre lot.

Today, I just cut the trees down. I will have to follow up with treatments to kill the trees. I will do that by drilling holes or roughing up the cut surface in the remaining stems, placing a few drops of Round Up on them, drilling holes on the sides of the stems, and hammering one or two copper nails in them. It's a slow process. Lutz says it takes four months to see the effect.

I was strong enough to lift the trash barrel filled with haole koa green waste into the trunk of my car. I drove it over to Dean's house. He met me at his gate. He dumped the green waste from my trash barrel into his. Mine was then ready for its next load. I will do that tomorrow.

I met with fourth-grade L at 4:30. He didn't complain about being tired today. He may have been tired during the other sessions. I started working on math with him. He declared he did well with rounding. I showed him 38 and asked him to round it. He said he could only round to 100s. While he got what the teacher taught him, it does sound like he missed understanding the lessons on rounding in grade three. The good news is he understands lessons better now than he did.

I am still concerned about how long it takes him to answer a question. I consulted with his mom. She finally admitted that he often hesitates if unsure of the answer. That would be a normal response if it weren't something demonstrated when he knows it well. If that is the case, what is the problem? Does he have a slow processing problem, or is he just afraid he will give the wrong answer? I had him answer that question today. I asked him what he thought about how well he did. He said he didn't know what to answer. I told him he was the only person who knew the answer to that question. I was asking him what HE thought. I might not agree with him with what he thought, but I couldn't disagree it was what he thought. These kids with their need to be perfect. Drives me nuts!

When we thought of automation in industries in the 1950s, we thought we would have a short workweek with the same pay. We didn't even imagine a zero-day workweek with no pay or the other option, a seven-day workweek with lousy pay.

Tuesday, August 27, 2024

I had a delicious restful sleep from 9 p.m. until 2:30 a.m. After that, I was wide awake and bushy-tailed. I tried to fall asleep again for an hour and gave up. I got dressed and went to my old-lady chair to mediate. This works better for me. I find it exhausting to try and stay in bed. I meditated for over an hour. If the goal of meditation is a peaceful mind, this session was a failure but not a miserable one. It left me calmer for the rest of the day. That's the real goal of meditation practices, helping us be better people in all the moments of our lives, not just during the meditation.

It was going to be a student-free day. I hadn't heard from Adolescent D, and Mama K texted me that she had found out what was causing the Internet problem. She hadn't paid the bill. She'd be paid on Friday and pay the bill on Monday. Another week would slip by before I got to see the girls.

I spent most of the day gardening. First, I cut the palm fronds from the lanai off my bedroom to stuff into the trash barrel beside the two 5 gal buckets full of plumbago green waste. I wheeled the barrel down the narrow pathway at the side of the house to the back lanai. I can't get the gate to that area open wide enough to fit the barrel through. I had to leave it on the pathway and carry the fronds to it. I noticed something moving around in a closed area near the street as I worked. Elsa! How did she get over there? At first, I thought I had left the side door to the driveway open, and she had gotten out. Later, I figured out she had gotten out through the doggy door and slipped through the open gate behind my back. She headed out to the driveway. I ran after her and opened the side door. Fortunately, she doesn't head to the street even if she hears passing cars.

I tried my automatic hedge trimmer on the Plumbago. It worked, kinda. The shrub is out of hand. I asked the gardeners to plant it. Like a mainland haole, I picked plants because they're pretty. Here, you have to take the rate of growth into consideration. Everything grows wild with the intent of taking over the world. Tending a garden is a full time job here. I also finished trimming the mock orange hedge with my trusty chain saw. I'm becoming a mad hot mama. I topped off the day by mowing the lawn.

The acupuncturist had called me in the morning to say she could come over today after 3:30 after she'd picked up her kids from school. I asked her to work on my back. I'd identified an area of pain on the right side of my mid-back. When I used the tennis ball treatment, I located the center of my pain along the right side of my spine. I also figured out the tension on my left side is from fascia adhesion, which is difficult to stretch. I was exhausted after the session, a pleasant, relaxed exhaustion.

During the session, my phone rang. It was my friend Jean calling to do our daily water meditation. She left a voice mail but didn't switch off the phone. We listened to her rattling around in her kitchen. I tried to call when the session was over. She didn't answer. She must have been asleep. I set out for my walk with Elsa. It was going to be a short one. I had already completed 11,000 steps. Mowing the lawn does that. I ran into Lutz and Darby separately. I spoke to both briefly. I was too tired to do much else.

I checked out several videos or TV series on Amazon and Netflix. Very little appealed to me. Then I found Dark Winds, a mystery based on Tony Hillerman's stories about cops on the Navajo reservation. It's got its ugly moments, but it is so well done.

Monday, August 26, 2024

I woke up early again and meditated in my old-lady chair. It was a rewarding session. I felt peaceful. I didn’t do the morning yoga. I ran out of time and would be doing the Chi Qigong on the beach this morning. There were two people beside Clyde and me, the usuals. One was Alison, who was back from her travels. She had been to Massachusetts to petsit. That person had a stroke and could travel. Alison made arrangements with a friend to travel to Spain and play tourist. She was back on the island for a week and then off to Kauai to pet set. Then she would be back with us for six months.

Alison has led an interesting life, allowing the wind to take her where it will. She lived in a cabin in the Alaska wilds without electricity or running water. She visited that community while she was gone. She told another story of being a cook in the Antarctic or Arctic; I don’t remember which. She has been visiting the Big Island for more years than I’ve lived here. She knows everyone and makes new friends as she goes along. I didn’t like her at first. She seemed a bit overblown. She toned down as she got to know me better and felt more comfortable. I like her a lot. We sat together at a bench by the shore for an hour, talked, and took in the view. I felt wonderfully calm.

I did some gardening, mostly just packing up some green waste for Darby.

I couldn’t meet with the Twins because the internet was down at their house. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the girls. Their mom has been running from one activity to the next for the last two weeks and was unavailable to help them connect.

Still, no word from Adolescent D. I assumed he wanted to quit. I can appreciate his feeling. He made significant changes this summer. He burst out of his cocoon. He interviewed for that job at Costco, got it, cut his hair, and set aside the hat that had been glued to his head. He loves the work and received a great receive. He feels he’s an adult now and done with childish things like tutoring or school. He’s got a job and is doing well. I’m delighted for him. I don’t have to worry about him anymore. His reading is good enough to make it in any job that does not require a college degree. I just hope he completes high school.

The final piece that pushed him over the line was our talks on perfection. I argued that if you make your goal perfection, you will always fail because true perfection is unattainable. We can describe something that is or was as perfect. That’s when something is good enough with a possible dollop of delight.

I did meet with fourth-grade L. I couldn’t hear him on his computer. He could hear me; I couldn’t hear him.. is it possible I had my laptop on mute? Did I check? I think I did. I shut off the radio right before I admitted him to the Zoom meeting. We used our phones for the auditory connection.

He was tired. We meet at 4:30 after school. I have to teach him how to cope with that physical discomfort in a learning situation. I wonder if he is tired on the days we have no tutoring. His exhaustion may be a result of being on overload. I will teach him to deal with that.

Sunday, August 25, 2034

I woke up early again. I was panicked about getting back into the hyperbariatric tank. I got up and meditated. I prayed, asking Christ to be with me. An image of myself as an infant came to mind. It wasn't a retrieved memory. I'm talking about difficult circumstances during the first three weeks of my life. My nose was damaged in the birthing process, causing pain when I cried.

How do I know this happened to me? I knew some of the details of my birth circumstances as a young child. My dad told me my nose was flattened against my face at least an hour after birth. Men were not allowed in the birthing room in 1940. My mother told me I didn't cry for the first three weeks of my life.

I just checked the internet to find out if it's common for newborns not to cry. The answer is no. Most cry two hours a day and settle down after six weeks. I cried a little for the first three weeks and cried more afterward. There are other possible explanations.

In my twenties, a boyfriend discovered my nose shape was altered. The septum was crushed. The injury had to be profound to change a newborn's nose permanently.

Those first three weeks of my life may be the trauma behind my panic. No one listened to me. I even had a baby nurse. I've seen her p picture. I remember my dad telling me she was German. No one recognized my dilemma. That I didn't cry because of the damage to my nose never occurred to my parents. It wasn't ill will on their part. They thought they had hit the jackpot- a newborn who never cried. Let's remember they were first-time parents.

Truth be told, there would have been nothing they could have done even if they had recognized the problem. If they had, they would have been beside themselves worrying about me. That wouldn't have helped. It would have made things worse. I would have had to deal with their disturbed feelings and my own. It wouldn't have eliminated my distress. Shit happens! It also has an impact.

Unfortunately, my mother's subsequent behavior showed the same kind of egocentricity. I don't mean selfishness. My mother always considered others; it was just that her point of view was skewed. She couldn't tolerate any contradiction to her point of view. I once told her what she was doing hurt me. Her response? She accused me of saying it just to hurt her. How's that for a Mobius strip response. At the end of her life, she declared, "I never needed a therapist; I had children." I heard her openly declare she used us as whipping boys to relieve her stress. Do I also believe she never meant to hurt us? Yes. Her thinking had some interesting twists.

My panic subsided when I accepted this as the cause of my underlying fears. I've known about the crushed nose all my conscious life. I've known it was permanently crushed since I was 25 when a boyfriend discovered my collapsible nose. Not being listened to and not being accurately seen is my life motif.

Walking was out of the question this morning. We were on hurricane watch, and it was pouring. I want to praise dear Elsa. She didn't use the lanai rug. I don't know what she did; she must have used the doggy door. The rain stopped at the end of the day, and I took her out. She did a good-sized poop.

While waiting to leave for church, Joseph sat on the lanai, and we talked philosophy. Joseph has an actual degree in the subject. I don't pretend to have more than a Reader's Digest knowledge of the great philosophers. I don't study philosophy. I create my own. Joseph seems to cope with my lack of knowledge and style of thinking. Mike couldn't do that. It drove him nuts.

I left early for church at 8:10. With plenty before Mass, I set my alarm and napped in the car. I had already been up and active for five hours. I brought the bag of limes that Dean gave me to church to pass on to Judy, whose husband loves them. I saw her car parked right in front of mine- at least, it looked like hers. She has a two-tone Nissan; the body is metallic blue, and the roof is white. I placed the bag on the front seat floor with a copy of the ad I wrote for Fourth-grade L's mom to post for me.

Before Mass started, Fr. Lio thanked those of us who attended. The roads to the south and north were already closed due to current or anticipated flooding.

During Mass, I worried the car might not have been Judy's. If not, I left a bag of limes with a copy of an ad I wrote in a stranger's car. After Mass, I checked. It didn't have the "Keep Christ in Christmas decal" on the rear bumper. Maybe it wasn't hers. I took the bag of limes and returned to the parish center to look for Judy and Paulette. I found Paulette. Judy hadn't come. I shared the drama about the bag of limes. She said, "Of course. The "Keep Chris in Christmas" isn't on the car; it isn't the Christmas season." Ah.

Third-grade C's mom came up to me after Mass and greeted me warmly. She said she had been overwhelmed with guests. Some were 'surprises' who expected to be wined, dined, and driven to see the sights. Not me. When guests come to my house, they're welcome to come and go as they please. They also know they will do all the cooking, not me. I barely cook for myself.

I stopped at Target to get enough eggs, cream cheese, sweets, and red raspberry jam in anticipation of road blockages and grid outages.

I was supposed to have a session with 4th-grade M this morning, but none of my Zoom links went through. I got a Daemon mailer for each one. There were Internet problems at M's grandma's house. Today, the storm added an extra challenge. The storm was more intense on Oahu than it was here on the Big Island.

Today, Fr. Lio's sermon focused on the value of sacrifice. This is a trigger for me. It's a conflict of values; which is better to give as an act of sacrifice or out of joyful goodwill? According to Kant, the person who gives out of sacrifice is the better person.

Kant compares two shopkeepers. One doesn't cheat his customers because it's immoral, even though he'd love to. The second doesn't cheat his customers because he cares about them and wishes them well. By Kantian standards, the first shopkeeper is the truly good person, while the other one is . . . . I don't know what. I can say it's not as good as the restrained misanthrope. That one was a shock to me.

It is a combination of the two. Where possible, lead with love and joy. The person who admits he gives for 'selfish' reasons is the one I prefer. Yes, sacrifice will be necessary at times, but it should not be the driving force of the relationship.

Those who judge the value of their actions by their degree of sacrifice are looking for brownie points. They are predators using others to get their merit badges, basing the value of their actions on their degree of sacrifice, not the value of their actions for the other person. I've been subjected to this treatment. These people have no interest in me or what I might need. They're submerged in their own thoughts and never come up for air to take a clear-eyed look at the other person.

I can think of an example where 'sacrifice' is applicable in practicing restraint. You practice restraint instead of saying or doing what you would like to do. I think of that more as self-control rather than sacrifice. If I do let loose, I have to deal with the consequences of that behavior. I choose not to do what I would love to do to avoid consequences I would hate. One of the consequences is to feel lousy about having been spiteful. I prefer to think of myself as a nice person. My sacrifice here is as much for me as for the other person.

All giving is selfish. Whether that selfishness is positive or negative depends on the circumstances. I like Lutz's term for the balanced relationship, which is symbiotic. Every act we perform is selfish. We are always thinking of ourselves, even when we think we're not. It's just that some people take pleasure in being moral, and some don't. Some take pleasure in being loving and compassionate, and some don't. Either way, we're motivated by our understanding of our needs. The irony is that a person who means ill can do good, and a person meaning well can do harm. Intention counts big time, but it isn't the whole story. Lutz sees it as I do. We are all predators, pursuing our own interests. The question is, do we seek symbiotic relationships or only one-sided ones? Some people measure their pleasure by how much the other guy has lost. That's a good person to avoid.

Saturday, August 24, 2024

I was up and dressed by 4:30. I meditated until 5:30, did yoga until 6, and then went for my walk. I did a slightly shortened version again, figuring I would get in enough steps with the gardening.

I spent the morning trimming the bougainvillea in the yard right outside my bedroom door. I cut it down to bare wood, spraying all the twigs with an acid bath to kill the coqui that had been living there for the past several months.

I had made unsuccessful efforts to rid myself of that noisy quarter-size frog. I got used to him, but another croaking coqui has shown up in the yard. The two compete for who's the loudest. My pal in the nearest shrub had to go.

The bougainvillea gets special treatment. Darby doesn't want it; she wants all my green waste except those with thorns. Bougainvillea have thorns. I texted Nina to ask if Dean wanted them. The reply was, "Dean said, 'Hell No . . . Chickens don't like thorns. '" Okay, I would have to take them to the transfer station and dump them in the green waste. I had a fully loaded trash barrel stuffed with them.

Nina texted me, "Sorry today?" I read it to mean sorry they wouldn't be able to come over and play today. I can't believe I did that. I concluded it was poorly written English, saying they couldn't come today. Nina came to the US from China when she was fourteen. She speaks perfectly well but never became completely comfortable with English. She was asking me if I wanted them to come over and play Sorry today. Absolutely.

When Dean and Nina arrived, he was pregnant with a load of limes cradled in his T-shirt. At first, I thought he brought them from his house. No, he picked them up from some roadside offering for himself and me. I will take my share to Judy. Howard, her husband, loves them.

I asked Dean to help me carry the trash barrel loaded with the bougainvillea waste from the backyard to the driveway and load it in my car. I went out to help him lift it. he assured me he could do it on his own; he was strong. I could barely drag it across the gravel. Dean picked it up easily. I was still concerned. He showed me he could pick it up with one hand. No, even better. He could pick it up with one finger. Okay, he won. He loaded it in the trunk of my car, resting it on its side. We played one long game of Sorry. We talked more than we played, interrupting the game.

When they left, I drove to the transfer station to drop the green waste. When a space opened up for the chute, I drove forward into the space instead of backward. I asked one of the men dropping off waste to help me. Two men jumped to my service, working together to dump that one trash barrel packed tightly with thorny waste. Hawaii is wonderful this way. It is truly the aloha state.

Last night, Joseph came home bearing gifts. He brought home food from work, a broiler-sized aluminum tray filled with beef brisket. It must have weighed a good five to seven pounds. There is no way I could have eaten all that or had the room to store it in my freezer. I texted Judy, Paulette, and Nina to ask them if they wanted some. Everyone said yes.

Paulette stopped by on her way home from volunteering at the food pantry. She took the half-filled aluminum tray home; they had three people to feed. I filled another small plastic container for Dean and Nina and took a much smaller quantity for myself. I wrapped five portions for the freezer and kept a few small bite-sized pieces for tonight's dinner. I have Mei's fried rice dish and the beef.

I had no word from Adolescent D for several days. He kept making excuses. I think he's done. It would be nice if he said so directly. I felt it was time to quit, too. Is he on grade level? No, could he ever be? Eh, maybe if he continued the exercises we'd been doing. Perhaps he will at an unconscious level.

I finished watching Season 12 of Call the Midwife. There is a Season 13, but it must still be posted on Netflix. I watched some of Lily in Paris. It's a silly, frothy piece with wild outfits and fantastic scenes of Paris. I tried something else, Wicked Little Letters, with a tremendous cast. It's billed as a comedy. I don't know who would consider this a comedy. It's about a repressed spinster who writes herself poison pen letters to get her free-spirited neighbor in trouble- as in jailed. It was sad on too many points to count. I figured out who the real culprit was immediately. I didn't have to wait till the end of the movie. To be sure, I checked the plot on Wiki. I turned it off. I found nothing amusing about this story.

Friday, August 23, 2024

I woke up early again. I got up when awake instead of lying in bed trying to fall back asleep. That never goes well. I wind up agitating about something. I’m proving to be very good at that. It’s like running my tongue over a missing filling.

I had a Hula class at 10 a.m. It went reasonably well. The first half hour went by quickly. All the movements emphasized lower body maneuvers. After a break, we worked on a dance we had previously learned, Lovely Hula Hands. It requires a lot of high arm movements. My left upper arm gives out quickly.

After the Hula class, I completed a few in-town chores. I stopped off at Long’s to find out how much a bushwhacker cost. A bushwhacker is a weedwhacker on steroids. Instead of a plastic string, it has a rapidly rotating metal disk. They were much less expensive than I expected, under $200. When I looked them up online, I found brands for under $100.

I drove over to Petco to pick up pill pockets for Elsa. I ordered more before I ran out, but the Amazon delivery was delayed. She expects a treat.

Today is the third day they have been working on clearing the vacant lot next door. They started with three men weed-whacking. The property is a forest of haole koa trees. I called it the Hole Koa farm next door. It was a mess. Today, just one man with a backhoe was ripping out everything. The men I spoke to said they were planning to take the lot down to the bare soil, build a house, and sell it. We will live with the dust and noise this creates for at least a year. So far, the noise of the weedwhacker and backhoe hasn’t bothered me, except for the beeping sound when the backhoe is in reverse.

The public school was closed today for a teacher work day. Shauntel told me she only had lunch and some play activities planned for the kids at Ulu Wini. I didn’t go. I had one client scheduled, fourth grade L. His mother texted to ask if he could cancel. He was exhausted. Of course.

Thursday, August 22, 2024

Back to grief. Damn! I can’t shake it. It’s a feeling I remember from before my sister was born, so it doesn’t have to do with losing Mike. However, his presence and his care for me kept this demon at bay for 45 years.

While I got up at 5:30, I didn’t get out for a walk until close to 7. I didn’t do the 4,000-step route. I cut it a bit short. Elsa sure prefers that. I should consider that her four little legs on her thirteen-pound body do way more steps than my two.

I did some garden clean up before breakfast. I filled two 5-gal. buckets with green waste from the Plumbagos. Then I walked down to Darby’s to pick up the trash barrel. Next, I ate breakfast before I went out to fill the trash barrel with large branches. I did more cutting on the mock orange with the chainsaw. Once it was loaded, I walked it down to Darby’s house.

As I left my house, I heard the sound of aggressive gardening. Was it my neighbor across the street and down the block? His bougainvillea needed serious trimming. Nope, it was right next door. Three men were clearing the empty lot. The owners haven’t done anything with this property for nearly ten years. It’s just been allowed to grow wild. Pigs make it their home.

I managed to speak to one of the men. Were the owners preparing the property for sale? Yep. They were uprooting every shrub and every tree. They were bringing it down to the bare soil, building a house, and planning to sell it. Oh, boy. This will impact us. We’ll see how much. Having all those trees gone will improve my view of the Pacific. We’ll see where they build the house. It will impact someone no matter what. The north side of the property is up against the homes that line I’lau Street. Two houses butt up against that property.

At two o’clock, I left for Ulu Wini to start tutoring. Second-grade KJ ran up to me and said, “Me first.” She asked to work on third-grade material she knew I had on my computer. Sure, why not? Her word recognition was very good. She’s going to need some work with multisyllabic words. However, her comprehension was impressively bad. I wasn’t sure if she was confused by all languages or if her confusion was just in English because Marshallese is her first language. She read a passage about how zoo managers had a new way to wash elephants; they ran them through a car wash. She knew what a car wash was. When I asked what came out of the car wash clean, she said it was soap and water. When I asked her what came out clean when she took a shower. Again, the soap and water. Not knowing the cause of her confusion, I had trouble figuring out how to teach her. I finally modeled it and asked the same question in several contexts, which was a good old-fashioned drill exercise.

The next person to ask me for help was fourth-grade MH. He often refused to work with me in the spring. I only had one or two sessions with him. I still had my notes from the spring. He was struggling at a mid-first-grade level. Now, he read the same third-grade passage I had used with second-grade KH. (My Microsoft program was giving me trouble. I couldn’t access any other material.) He read it slowly but accurately. He did reasonably well on the comprehension. Wow! I asked him if he did work over the summer. Yes, he had worked independently to improve his math and reading. The method I use shows students a technique for figuring out how to learn to decode words independently. I usually see students have improved after a break in the lessons. I asked him if his behavior was better in school. He also said yes to that. Then I asked him if he felt better. It was yes to that, too.

Neither sixth-grade ML nor third-grade CL wanted to work with me. ML was working on a writing assignment. I asked if I could see it. She wrote on the level of a second-grader. She had multiple ideas, but none were fully developed. It was a list of activities. One session with me would greatly help, but I doubt she will agree.

As for CL, I doubted she had improved much in math since I last worked with her. Hopefully, she will let me help her. I allow students to work with me as they choose. The alternative is too frustrating for them and for me.

Shauntel said these kids aren’t interested in learning. I ask why should they be? Most of their parents are illiterate in their native language no less in English. Most of the adults don’t even speak English. None of the adults have jobs that require reading or writing. Their lives in the Marshall Islands were simple. Life in the USA is complex, requiring academic and problem-solving skills. Neither of these was necessary on the islands. Most problems had been solved by generations of people before them. All everyone had to do was learn from their elders. If an unfamiliar problem arose, a wise man or woman stepped up to figure something out. Can you imagine such a simple life? How relaxing!

A new student approached me. Second-grade AN. She had just moved to the low-income development. She said she had problems reading. She sounded intelligent. I figured she’d be an easy fix. Oh boy, did I ever have that wrong! She couldn’t recognize the word the. Her mind told her it was the word is. Her mind read all words as is. I got her to remember the after a distractor but had no success with a second word of.

AN reported spinning. It went from in to out and sped up. I figured that people who have the spin move from the periphery to the center have the movement slow down. These people generally present as cognitively challenged. Hers went from the center out and increased in speed. I didn’t want to do the spin release with her. It didn’t feel right.

I saw anger in her spin. She said yes. She reported being tormented by the Marshall Islanders. She was Hawaiian. There is racial conflict between the various minority groups here. AN claimed she had no friends in the development. She only hung out with her sister. She was picked on by t other kids.

I went to Shauntel to ask her. She smirked. I asked her her thoughts. She said AN starts the conflict by throwing out racial slurs. She was one against a group. She was asking for it. I will have to work on her behavior. Other Hawaiian families live in the development. Why isn’t she friends with them? Something is rotten here.