Mike's death; Betty's life...: 2026

Monday, May 25, 2026

Thursday, February 29, 2024

We had driveway yoga today instead of on Wednesday. Yvette had to schedule something for Wednesday morning and offered the class today instead. It was just Yvette and me in the driveway and Deb in Seattle on FaceTime.

I had a session with twenty-six-year-old S today. I didn’t see much progress over the last class. She still has problems disregarding letters. When I tell her she’s wrong, she can easily correct herself.

I had an appointment for an eye exam. I’m not going to get glasses anymore. Whatever problems I have seeing without my glasses, my vision is better without them. I need something like five modifications to my glasses. The smallest maladjustment of the frame, and they became useless. I did have my retina checked. I had a foveal pucker. I still have some, but the condition has been improving. Meali’inani did a cursory vision check. My vision is actually better. My right eye is for distance 20/20. My left eye is better than it was before. I thought she would diagnose eye strain, but no, she said my eye muscles are getting stronger. No sign of macular degeneration. Usually, there is some by my age. The veins in my eyes look good. She said she has seen 18-year-olds in worse shape than me. Mixed news. It predicts long life- but is that good or bad? Looks like I’m going to find out.

I stopped off at Island Naturals on the way back home. I love their tuna salad and raspberry mini strudels. I also stopped off at the transfer station. There was no one there. Wow!

Josephine canceled for today. She said they were too busy to accommodate me, and rain was possible. I drove into the Ulu Wini subdivision to donate something to Habitat for Humanity. The rain had passed by the time I got there, but I could see good-sized puddles. While I had not seen rain where I had been, I had poured at the higher altitude.

When I got home, I got to work preparing the linens to donate to the church silent auction. While I love some of the items, I have no idea what to do with them. They’ll all wind up in the trash when I die. Better put them in the hands of someone who will appreciate them.

I finally got the call from Kia saying my car was ready. Today was the end of week eight when my car was in the shop. Tyler agreed it was late; I could pick it up on Friday. I felt sad about surrendering the loaner, a newer car with more features. I considered trading my car in and paying the difference. We’ll see.

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

I slept soundly until midnight. Then, I fell back to sleep till 4- 4:30. I didn't get up with the alarm at 5. There was no driveway yoga today; I wasn't in a hurry. I lingered in bed unnecessarily. When I got up, I completed my Gentle Seated Yoga, my Gokhale foot exercises, twenty sit/stands, kneeling while holding on to an upholstered chair, stretching while in that position and finally getting up from the kneeling position. The goal for the last one is to get up without using my hands. I am far from that goal with either my left or right leg. What I can do now that I couldn't do is bring one leg through, so the foot is on the floor. I haven't been able to do that with ease since my early thirties when I discovered the problem doing a Salutation to the Sun sequence.

I made a second attempt to mow the lawn. Yesterday, I rolled the lawnmower down the driveway to see if I could keep control of it even on the steep decline. I was good to go. Today, I put in the battery but couldn't start it. I brought the battery back into the house. When I placed it in the charging dock, I found the battery was fully loaded. The battery was not the problem.

I went to Ulu Wini today. I planned to continue working on comprehension with fifth-grade M. When I asked her if she had seen any improvement in her comprehension since our first session on comprehension, she said she not really. I asked her what the problem was. She said she had trouble reading multisyllabic words. I taught her the six-step procedure I use. I teach students to identify the sounded vowels in the word to determine the number of syllables and then to give a logical sound for every letter in the word. However, they're not to assume they will come up with the accurate pronunciation of the word. There is no way to guarantee a word will be 'correctly' decoded even if one follows all the phonics rules. We worked with the word hesitancy. The word can be decoded in three ways: he/si/ta/ncy, he/si/ tan/cy, and hes/i/tan/cy. All three decoding options represent 'correct' phonetic possibilities, while only one represents the word how it is spoken in American English. Determining what a word really is in English requires the use of context clues as well as decoding skills. Suppose the word is not part of the reader's listening vocabulary. There is no way to figure out the correct pronunciation in that case.

I worked with third-grade S. He recited the entire alphabet without hesitation and accurately read a book at a first-grade level, decoding many of the words. When I first started with S, he couldn't recite the alphabet and couldn't read at all. His progress is amazing. Today, I worked on the fear of failure. I used the 'little you' image.

I evoke the 'little you,' the conscious mind, to convince the unconscious self to understand that our lives are not in danger even if we never learn to read. From the view of evolutionary psychology, we are driven to conform to the people around us. If we can't learn whatever the culture expects of us at the same rate as our peers, we fear for our lives. That's not an unreasonable fear – evolutionarily. Children who could not progress normally had to be left behind. The band of hunter/gatherers couldn't afford to carry someone who would only be a drain on the limited resources. Over the last thirty years, I have done this exercise with at least one hundred children. So far, in each case, the child recognizes that they feel more relaxed after the exercise. As I talked about that fear, S turned around in his chair and faced me directly. I had his full attention.

Second-grade D is also reading much better. Last time, he did well with the Fry Sight Word list, but I had him reading Carpenter materials, which are pre-primer level. Today, he read on a high first-grade level.

It had been a while since I had worked with second-grade K. She read a passage on a low third-grade level. She read slowly and deliberately but accurately.

After I finished with the children, I talked to Josephine, the administrator of this amazing program. I volunteered at Ulu Wini many years ago when a different organization ran the program. What a difference. This group is so hands-on with all the members of the community. Josephine and at least two other women live in the community.

I asked Josephine to let others know about my work with the children. I want others to take an interest and learn my method. I'm even impressed with the effectiveness of my methods. She said I want to leave a legacy. No, not really. I would feel terrible if someone else claimed the work, but I don't need to get a great deal of recognition. I would find that overwhelming. Josephine didn't really understand; she proposed a training program for the parents of these children. Worse than that, she explained that third-grade S's improvement was due to a change of attitude on his part; he was making an effort now where he hadn't before.

I'm not too fond of that comment on two counts. One, it completely denigrates my work. It says it wasn't what I taught him; he just changed his attitude. I also hate the concept of learning implicit in that comment. It says that learning is completely the responsibility of the learner. The teacher has no impact. Either the learner gets it or not. There is nothing a teacher can do. The burden on the learner is cruel. It's very 18th century. Can someone learn tennis without instruction? Can someone build a house without tools? It argues that third-grade S is doing better because he is making an effort. Before, when he made no effort, he denied both S and my work in one fled swoop. I gave S the tools to learn.

First, I showed him that all words are made up of sound units. He watched in rapped attention as I broke down every word in a sentence into its phonemic units. In another session, I showed him how to use his brain to remember. After five 15-minute sessions, he was reading at a first-grade level. When he started, he couldn't even recite the alphabet. The other kids knew him as a non-reader and possibly considered him a special case. Today, he rattled off the alphabet, but he didn't know what the vowel letters were.

I teach the vowel letters in the context of the whole alphabet. I write out A-Z and circle the vowel letters. The rest are consonants. S looked a little confused. I asked him if he wanted to know why the vowels were different. Yes. I explained that all the consonants (except for h) have the breath forced through a constricted passage or blocked by the lips or the tongue. In the case of the vowels, the space in the mouth is kept broad. The sound changes are from reshaping the mouth without constricting the airflow. S paid rapt attention. He may be a deep thinker, incapable of learning something unless he understands it.

On my way home, I stopped off at Home Depot for a thicker extension cord than I used for the car charger. B noticed the slimmer extension cord I was using was hot. I figured out that the higher the number, the thinner the cord. I needed a thicker one. I also bought a sprinkler to water the mulch.

Tuesday, February 27, 2024

I woke up in a messy mood, agitated. I surrender to the musings too easily. Unfortunately, I have had success through this process. I often think of something I can do to improve a bad situation. That doesn’t happen frequently, but it is often enough to keep me hooked. It’s hard to battle. The best technique I have found is breathing into the frontal lobe. What does that mean? How does one breathe into part of the brain? I have no idea how to explain it. You either understand it, or you don’t.

I thought I heard rain while doing my morning Gentle Seated Yoga, but I also thought I must be imagining it. How could I hear rain over running water from someone’s shower and the yoga video?

I looked out the window and saw no signs of rain, no puddles with bouncing drops of water. When I went outside for the morning walk, low and behold, it was raining. My alertness to the sound of rain has become acute from my years living in Hawaii.

When Mike and I first moved here, we would ask, “Are we hearing the sound of palm fronds being buffeted by the breeze, or is it raining?” We would need visual confirmation. Now, I can hear rain over other sounds. The perceptual system learns in each new environment.

When I went out to the lanai, I could smell the mulch. This is the first day it impacted me. There was no smell when it was first delivered. I was so relieved. With this morning’s rain, the mulch is soaked through and stinks. I bought an enzyme to make the mulch break down faster. Will that make it smell more? Will it make it smell for a shorter time? Will this last for eight to nine months?

I made my second attempt to mow the lawn at the lower level, which meant using the electric lawn mower Darby and Patrick lent me. I tried to attach the grass catcher but discovered I had no memory of what Patrick had shown me the other day. Darby came over and repeated the steps. I had to remove a piece from the inside of the machine that blocked the machine from spitting the grass out its back instead of dropping it on the ground. Darby also helped me with the second problem: how to open the battery case. If I didn’t insert it, I was going anywhere.

I did the second and third loads of towels. One room is almost back to normal. I had emptied out my linen closet to cover every piece of furniture before the delivery and spreading of the mulch. Remember, I can’t close off the common rooms from the outdoors. The dust kicked up by distributing the mulch would have created a mess.

I had one session in the morning with 26-year-old S, who I worked with eight years ago. She had stopped coming. I never knew why. Once, I bullied the neurologist to take her off Adderall after 14 years of unsupervised prescription refills, creating all sorts of problems. She needed time to fully recover from its effects and get used to the new her. She’s back now because she wants to learn to read. She is a good student. When she was seventeen, no one tried to teach her how to read, and she couldn’t remember anything because the seizures caused by the Adderall interfered with retention. Now, she is quickly adopting my suggestions. One of her bad habits is guessing a word without confirming her conclusion. That’s what bad readers do. I wanted her to substitute doing nothing for just guessing the word using the first letter and maybe one or two others in the word. She did that immediately.

I am not saying guessing isn’t a good reading strategy. Quite to the contrary, it’s one all good readers use. We anticipate the next word; we predict what will happen in the next paragraph, the next chapter, or the end of the story. Prediction is a vital reading skill. Good readers confirm their guess. If it’s right, they move on; if it’s wrong, they have the tools to see that and revise their thinking. Poor readers don’t check and don’t revise.

I had three scheduled sessions this afternoon. One with Mama K’s crew, one with Adolescent D, and one with first-grade B. The one with Mama K’s crew was a complete bust. They were at the paddling site. The girls only paddle on Mondays and Wednesdays, but their brother paddles on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The twins are only ten, not old enough to stay home alone. That means the twins must be at the paddling site four days a week.

Mama K tried to connect them to Zoom on the phone. It was a complete bust. First, Mama K had to redownload the Zoom app. Once they were on, it almost immediately dropped. When it held, their voices were unintelligible. We would have to limit our sessions to Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. I am particularly anxious to record Twin A reading a third-grade passage. True, she has read it before. I suspect she couldn’t read a third-grade passage this smoothly. However, she is not on a Kindergarten level, the level the teacher has her reading at in school. I am furious. Hopefully, I can record her reading this passage and an unfamiliar third-grade one.

The work with Adolescent D is progressing. I am pulling words from a New Yorker article about Cate DiCamillo, nice big chewy words, and a few I selected to cover a phonics rule. He continues to progress nicely. He no longer goes mind dead when I introduce something new, really anything he isn’t confident in. He takes on the challenge each word presents without hesitation. He is open to discussion and correction. I share my thoughts about the pattern with him. Figuring out the pattern in an English word is often confusing. There are lots of surprises in the English language. I love being surprised. I think this quality is necessary if you’re going to work with the approach I’ve developed. It is one of the qualities of mind I try to teach my students. It makes them good learners.

Finally, I had first-grade B at 5 p.m. She zoomed through the Fry sight word lists 101-125. There were a few words she didn’t recognize. I worked on decoding skills with her. I should have her down to one half-hour session a week or two fifteen-minute sessions a week.

I fell into a trove of TV mystery series. It started with The Sounds on Amazon. When that finished, Innocent popped up as the next selection. Both were excellent, with good scripts, well-directed, good acting, and compelling.

Now, the next offering is Restless. Michelle Dockery and Charlotte Rampling are in it. How bad can it be?

Monday, February 26, 2024

I finished ironing all the vintage linens I planned to donate for the church silent auction. Many of the pieces were monogrammed by my mother with MS for Margarita Starick. Since Starick was her maiden name and she had known my father for ten years before they married, it is possible she did the embroidery before she met him in 1927. There were a few embossed linen towels embroidered by machine. Those were probably done by a professional after my mother immigrated to the USA and married my dad. One tea towel is embroidered with KS, which matches my maternal grandmother’s initials for Kampe, her maiden name, and Startick, her married name. The towel might date back to the late 1800s.

I checked my total blog numbers. I wound up with two accounts at one price on Blogger.com. They’re both under the same heading, With Mike; Without Mike. The one I can access through Safari goes up to June 2022 and has 60,121 views today. The Blogger site I can access through Chrome is up-to-date and has 81,668 views today.

Sunday, February 25, 2024

I had a brilliant night’s sleep. I went to bed at 10 p.m. and woke shortly before my alarm went off at 5 a.m. Could it be the creatine I added to my diet? I learned about it from Andrew Huberman, who does the Huberman podcasts. He announced that if he took only one supplement, it would be creatine. It supports muscle development. I ordered it.

I left early for church to deliver all the linens and kitchen equipment to Shirly for the Silent Auction. I had worked hard the last two days sorting and labeling the vintage linens. I delivered two boxes of linens, a bag of cooking equipment and a white oval ceramic stew pot. I thought of also donating Mike’s brown ceramic cooking pot , but that’s the one he used the most. I kept it.

I had third-grade M. I encouraged her to make logical guesses. Reading unfamiliar words with 100% accuracy is impossible in English. The best you can do is come close by attributing sounds to all the letters. If you assign a logical possible sound to each letter in a word, you have a good chance of figuring out the word using context. You’re out of luck if you don’t already know the word. You can figure out its meaning but can’t know its correct pronunciation.

I just figured out my role in perpetuating trouble in a relationship. I couldn’t wait to work with Shelly to get help. I know this person is concerned that I think of her as stupid. I’ve said so to her, and she agreed. What I didn’t do was declare it to be an absurd idea overtly. I rarely talk about a person’s intelligence. I have worked with a few people with very low IQs who were clearly dysfunctional. But other than that, I consider good thinking skills just that -skills, skills that are learned. Some people don’t develop them because they’re not exposed to others who think that way, and some because they developed an antagonism to logical or analytical thinking for various reasons.

There’s no prize for logical thinking. I assumed this person would realize how ridiculous such an assumption is. What I never did was state that it was a ridiculous idea. I’ve always thought she was intelligent. Just because someone doesn’t think the way I do doesn’t mean I assume a lack of intelligence. I may not like how they think, but I don’t think they’re stupid.

I finally clipped back my leggy myrtle crepe brush. I cut the branches to the back way down and left the one in the front alone. Once the back ones start sprouting new shoots, I’ll cut back the ones in the front.

I called Darby to see if they had a sprinkler I could borrow. I want to keep the mulch moist to foster a more rapid breakdown. Patrick said it would be 7 to 8 months before I could plant new bushes. If I plant too soon, the roots will be in the mulch and not in the ground. They will be exposed once the mulch breaks down.

I filled the trash barrel and one 5-gallon orange Home Depot bucket with green waste and took them to Darby’s.

Saturday, February 24, 2024

I ran into someone new this morning. I can't remember how we started talking. Was he walking a dog, which is how I meet most people? Elsa, my dog, introduces us. He told me he lived on Holoholo and ran an air conditioning company. I knew of one on that street, No Sweat. No, that wasn't Matt's company; his was AC Air Conditioning. No Sweat lived across the street. He had hired the owner of No Sweat when he was a skinning kid. Now, he had his own company. He didn't complain about

the competition.

He also gave information about a mystery house. Most of the properties in this neighborhood are not density wooded. This yard was dense growth meticulously groomed. I occasionally saw a man go to the mailbox and disappear again. Matt had the story.

The man living there was Ray. His male partner of many years died a few years ago of a blood disorder. Ever since then, Ray had become a recluse. I said, "But he takes care of the property." Matt said, "OCD."

Dan came over today to spread the dumpster-sized mound of mulch Tanner delivered on Monday. While the wind blew dust as he pushed the dirt, it blew toward my neighbors to the north, not toward me. All my elaborate prep for nothing.

Thanks to Yvette, I've discovered the Huberman podcasts. I'm happily going down that rabbit hole. Many of his topics are of interest to me. I also like the style of conversation- intellectual. One guide was talking about muscle strength. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I found it soothing. It reminded me of good times around the dinner table.

Another Huberman podcast was on procrastination. We're all familiar with that. I asked Cylin, my daughter-in-law, what made her get her writing done. She said deadlines set by her editor. I have no deadlines in my life anymore to get my adrenaline moving enough to overcome my fear of failure. My childhood voice cries, "I can't do it." I don't know if that was a nightly scene, as I remember it, or if that happened only occasionally.

Tonight, I finished Season One of Deadloch. They addressed some of the issues with the characters I couldn't stand. It was a You don't make a presentation appropriate for a first-grade class to a fifth-grade class.

I checked the in-person location of the Gokhale workshop. It's an hour away, as suspected. I'm still concerned about the possibility of bad teaching methods. The more I think about the instruction I got in the individual sessions, the more appalled I become.

Instruction falls on a spectrum between teaching the material and teaching the student(s). If the emphasis is on all the material, there is no regard for the student. They either got it or they didn't. You don't make a presentation appropriate for a first-grade class to a fifth-grade class. I can't present a first-grade class with a physics lecture appropriate for a fifth-grade class. While some student in that first-grade class would get it, that doesn't make the presentation appropriate for the group. I don't know if there ever was a time when teachers ignored the students entirely. Nowadays, the emphasis is on student needs. The assumption is everyone can be brought up to speed. Unfortunately, the educational system can't find the teaching methods to accomplish that. I have developed solutions that address some of those needs. I work with low-functioning populations and make a difference. I also pay careful attention to a student's strengths and weaknesses. I don't just follow a formula. Do I bring everyone up to grade level and beyond? No, but I give everyone tools to learn on their own.

Friday, February 23, 2024

I woke up early in the morning hours in a terrible mood. I worried about the Gokhale group workshop. Yesterday, I received notification of my registration for the class. I was shocked to see the text was Esther's book, 8 Steps to a Pain-Free Back, instead of the Essentials Handbook. The handbook is more detailed. The book-book is available through Amazon; the Elements Handbook is only available to folks who sign up for the private classes. Had I signed up for another disaster? I hoped the group workshop would cover the same essential movements the private class covered or was supposed to cover. I was in a tizzy.

Shelly recommends EFT to calm unwanted emotional states. She recommended it when I brought up the image of my grandmother's ordeal during the end of WWII. She shared her experience in a transported state, which upset me then, but I had no idea it had stayed with me until now. The theory is we can clear those images and their emotional impact by tapping while holding on to the image. We can do other things, but tapping is quick, easy, and readily available. I used it. It calmed me. I got up and meditated.

Sitting in the chair meditating, I worked on my posture, straightening my spine. The stretchsitting and stretchinglying recommended by Gokhale have a fantastic impact. When my spine is aligned correctly, it is very calming.

Yvette and I cleaned out the shed today in preparation for storing the battery-powered lawnmower Patrick and Darby are lending me. I mowed the strip in front of the house immediately. Wow! Pushing that mower is a dream. It's lighter than a gas-powered mower. It doesn't make as much noise, and it doesn't smell- and it starts every time.

Yvette helped move everything out of the shed onto the driveway. We found several items that we could get rid of. One was a 6'6' level. I suspect it belongs to Scott, who forgot it when he made his hasty exit. I checked the price. The cheapest is $43, and the most expensive is $129. I can't imagine why there is such a big price range. We found a large black bucket and several bags of insecticides. I had no idea where they came from.

I swept and then hosed down the floor covered with rat feces, dead ''worms,'' millipedes. Most of the containers were intact. Once the floor was dry, I moved some of the stuff back in and moved the items for trash and donation near the car. I drove the trash to the transfer station, expecting a long wait. I've been on that line before with ten cars ahead of me. Not today. One bay was open when I arrived.

Everyone backs up to the shoot. Not me. Backing up is not my thing, even with a wonderful backup camera. I tried parking once using it. Let's say my car didn't wind up between the lines. I pulled up to the bay front end and carried the trash from my trunk to drop. Now, I have to drop off the rest of what we pulled from the shed to Habitat for Humanity. Also, Yvette brought up things she and Josh had set aside to donate.

I combed through the Brit Box and Acorn TV on Amazon to find my evening's entertainment. I found Deadloch. The mystery was interesting, but many of the characters were downright obnoxious. Female homosexuality was a big theme. The series was written by two women. Given the obnoxiousness of the female characters, I assume they were homophobes. I have never heard that many f-bombs in a given time in my life. I can curse with the best of them, but this was over the top. I discovered the show was an award winner. Huh?

Thursday, February 22, 2024

I woke up in deep grief this morning. It comes and goes. The trigger was a bad interaction with a friend that forced me to see that I was safe game now that Mike was no longer around to protect me.

No one set out to hurt me, but they did, and badly. It was a big shock. No, it wasn't retribution. They wanted restitution for what they saw as old ego injuries. Nonetheless, it was a powerful shock. I hadn't previously considered that aspect of Mike's loss. It was a devastating realization. For the first time, I considered what it would have meant if Mike had died before my mom and left me alone with her. I hate to think of the monster that would be released. Given my reaction to my friend's behavior, I know now I would have been as helpless with her as I had been as a child. How terrifying! Again, my mom never meant to hurt me. She only meant to shore up her own damaged ego. When I told her she was hurting me when I was a child, she insisted she wasn't. I was only saying that to hurt her. How's that for a twisted sheet.

I met with Shelly today. I wanted to work on my intolerance of people with a different cognitive style than me. I'm committed to the position that all cognitive styles are of value. My analytical, intellectual style has value, but it's not the only way to live. I'm lucky it's currently valued. In previous eras, I would have been burned as a witch or as one possessed by the devil. The very idea of a woman thinking would have been abhorrent. The acceptance of a woman's intelligence as normal occurred in my lifetime. There were always exceptions in earlier periods. Many wrote under male pseudonyms, think George Elliott. As a child, I was often told I thought like a boy or a man. This was not a compliment. I was being censored. My future did not look rosy. How would I find a husband? Missing out on a conventional relationship predicted a bad life. I don't know when the comments stopped, but they did. Thank God.

However, it is hard for me to be patient when someone's mental style differs significantly from mine. They're black-and-white thinkers. I could defend my intolerance of the Gokhale instructor whose responses to me were robotic at $200 an hour, but I was also annoyed by the occupational therapist at Hawaiian Rehab. Unlike the Gokhale instructor, the OT knew her field well enough to answer unanticipated questions. She responded to my questions, observations, and modifications of her exercises, incorporating them into my daily life, using objects at hand, without surprise. She often commented, "No one asked me that before." it was hard for me. I was frequently a little edgy around her, although I didn't think she deserved it. She was a lovely lady and excellent at her job.

While I wanted to work on my intolerance, I wound up working on something else. For some unrelated reason, I told the story of a friend who went into an altered state when talking about her passion. It frightened me. I wondered why I had that reaction. I remembered I had seen someone in that state only once before in my life. I was in high school. My grandmother was telling her experience during the bombing of Berlin at the end of WWII.

She told how she and my grandfather went to the basement of their apartment house when they heard the sirens. And there they sat as they listened to the bombs whistling through the air, wondering if it would hit them. When the all-clear was sounded, they went out to the street to find the buildings on either side of theirs had been flattened, and everyone in the other buildings was dead while theirs was intact. My poor grandmother was in that altered state, reliving the experience, and I was sucked in. I wasn't very kind to her. I didn't comfort her or acknowledge what she had gone through. I called my mother and said, "Make her stop." I knew something was wrong. The whole experience was weird.

I sobbed while talking to Shelly, both for having to experience the trauma with my grandmother and for the terrible way I treated her.

My grandmother also told the story of the invasion of Berlin by the Russians. All the people who lived in her housing were collected on the first floor. They took a young girl to the second floor and gang-raped her, forcing everyone to listen to her cries. The Russians seem to have a taste for cruelty. While this is a horrible story, my grandmother wasn't in an altered state as I recalled it, and I wasn't as affected.

I worked with five kids at Ulu Wini today, with two on comprehension. The big problem with most who have problems with comprehension is to get them to look back at the text to find the answer. They think they're supposed to generate it from memory. That would be nice, but I always check the text. I worked on memory with the two others. One first-grade boy's nose ran while he stuck his fingers in that nose or in his mouth. Oh, boy.

Yvette texted and told me to check out the sunset. They're all impressive, but this one was of particular note. I don't know if they're more impressive here than anywhere else, but we get a better view of them. Tonight's was unusual. A dark bank of clouds sat on the horizon, making the ocean look like a large lake with hills on the far side. The light broke through the cloud cover above the water. I sat and watched it until dark. It is so beautiful here.

Friday, February 23, 2024

Wednesday, February 21, 2024

I had a great night's sleep last night. The first time I checked the time, it was 4:45; my alarm was scheduled to go off at 5.

It was driveway yoga today. I got down on the mat without hanging on to the chair. I also got up from the floor without using a crutch. I had Yvette spot me in case I toppled on the way up.

When working on the blog, I read about my bad relationship with the grief counselor at the hospice center. I said I was relieved that Mike died because of the impact on my life he had lived. The counselor commented on how most people are glad the person died because they got relief from their pain. That's a given. I suffered because he did, as well as the way his condition would have changed my life. Some people believe you're someone who never thinks of others if you mention yourself. Fortunately, Mike didn't perceive me that way initially and never changed his mind about me.

I spoke to Adolescent D's mother. She said she heard him read the other day and was amazed. I said, "You are so lucky you found me." She protested. "Teachers always said he was cooperative.," focusing on his character rather than the improvements he's made under my watch. I said, "He's a 'you can have my body, but you can't have my soul' kind of guy." He never invested in the process. I can't say he didn't invest at all. He continued working with me. His mom commented he was like that with everything. So sad.

The difference in his performance is because he started investing in the process. He sees figuring out words as a game. He is prepared to use trial and error to figure out this game. I finally got him to use multi-syllabic words in our "give me a word, any word" exercise, where he has to use his knowledge of the sound of the word to figure out the relationship between the sound and the letters and then figure out the sound of each syllable before blending the word back together again- a simple but powerful exercise because it's a game.

I started working with him in the spring of 8th grade. He was still tested as a first-grade reader. Last spring's evaluation wasn't accurate because he had the computer read everything to him. But the previous spring, he tested on a 5th-grade level when he read the test himself.

To my delight, Gokhale's customer service agent returned my call today. I called yesterday to get help accessing the Elements Handbook. I also asked if I could get out of the private classes I had signed up for. I found the teacher's presentation and responses robotic. She recited a script no matter what I said. I was expecting trouble from the customer service agent, but she was more than cooperative. I am concerned about instructions in the group classes, too, but I won't be expecting individual attention, and I will learn from the other student's responses. It's still $90 an hour. Outrageous. I am so relieved to be shod of those individual sessions. The instructor gave a private viewing of a public presentation. Even her posture corrections weren't designed for me and my body.

Today, I spent time prepping for Dan to come and distribute the dumpster-sized pile of mulch over the 720 square feet of bare soil left after he removed the half dozen or so Ficus trees. I covered all the upholstered furniture in the common areas with linens and towels. I can't close off from the common living space from the outside. We get a lot of dust from the outside anyway. Yvette complained about the dirt when our house was under reconstruction. This should be a real mess.

My acupuncturist arrived at noon. She didn't even notice the bedecked furniture. She asked why I didn't just cover the screens with sheets. Good question. I didn't even think of it. More evidence of my impaired mental state after the eight hours of surgery and anesthesia. When I thought of it, I had no idea how to fix the sheets in place. Push pins sounded too hard; staples would damage the sheets and the wood. Then I remembered I had shades over the top part of every section of the screens. Wow! It took some time before I thought of that. I remember a time when considering options was a given. I never came up with something afterward I should have considered beforehand. Scary.

Tuesday, February 20, 2024

I woke up feeling lousy. I felt like I had been up all night working on a paper and smoking. My whole body felt like the inside of an ashtray.

I incorporated additional morning exercises after finishing my Gentle Seated Yoga video: the three-foot exercises prescribed by Gokhale, 10 to 20 sit/stand from a chair, and a kneeling exercise with thigh stretches and finally getting up from that kneeling position. I still have to provide assistance with my arms.

I called Gokhale support for the second time to get help finding the Gokhale Elements book online. I couldn’t locate it. While talking to customer service, I realized that I could ask to be transferred to a different teacher or, better yet, have my payment prorated for what I’ve already received and moved to a group session. I was almost in tears with relief. I told the customer service agent I was sure the teacher would be as relieved to be rid of me as I would be to be rid of her.

Her teaching is so bad it should be considered a crime to charge $200 an hour for it. The teacher knew the script well but nothing beyond that. She made no adaptations for my personal needs. I don’t think she read my intake form; I wrote I had a spinal curvature. If she had known that, she could have given me specific directions. The worst incident was while she was teaching me the stretchlying. She said, “Do it every night for five minutes.” I said, “I do it every morning, too.” She said, “Do it every night for five minutes.” I tried again, “ I do it every morning, too.” She repeated, “Do it every morning for five minutes.” She became robotic. She told me not to do it in the morning, only at night, and only for five minutes. She contradicted the founder, Esther Gokhale, who said to do it as often as possible.

I continued pouring boiling water on the weeds. It’s a nontoxic weed killer. I boil the water in my electric carafe. It’s easy to carry out; it’s easy to pour with its handy spout.

I had plans for lunch with Zola. She called to say she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to cancel. She proposed rescheduling for next Tuesday. I was already booked for another luncheon date for then. We made it for two weeks.

I went to town to pick up meds from Kaiser and check out Farm and Garden again. As I drove on Queen K, a departing plane flew overhead. I remembered how Mike would wave to the plane as it passed over Otec beach, almost close enough to touch. I loved Mike’s joyful abandon. Mike once went swimming with Jean’s husband, Randy. Randy told Jean that Mike was like a little kid jumping in the waves of Kua Bay. Mike was emotionally open in other ways; he was loving. He was comfortable expressing his joy about me. He was more reserved, expressing his dissatisfaction.

We had a false warning about a North Korean missile attack on Hawaii. It was supposed to be a test of the warning system, but the guy pressed the wrong button. The governor had the power to override the warning, but he couldn’t find the password. We spent several hours waiting to see what would happen. Mike was on Oahu at a deacon retreat. He sobbed like a baby because we weren’t together. Someone told me about it, judging him as weak. I never found his ability to cry freely a weakness. He was the only man there without his wife, facing the possibility of his death alone or surviving while I died. I do think he wouldn’t have lasted very long without me, but that’s true of most men when they lose their wives.

While Kaiser contacted me, saying the meds I ordered were available, I had to wait for the pharmacy to find the tube. Huh? It was pleasant sitting at the outdoor picnic table. I was told I would receive a text when the prescription was ready. Nothing. I set my alarm for five more minutes. No text. I went inside to check the board. There was my name.

I went to check out Farm and Garden next. I tried to stop by yesterday, but it was closed. I was surprised it was closed for Presidents’ Day. It looked the same today. There was a chain across the entrance. I looked up and saw the sign was gone. They were gone, really gone. Farm and Garden is an institution in this community. We depend on it not just for products but for wonderful advice as well.

I called Darby to see if she knew what was going on. She did not. She was in the store about a month ago. They didn’t have a product she wanted and told her to return in a month. There was no mention of moving.

I called Margo. She knew. They moved to a new location in the new industrial center. I found it. It was in a bay at the back of the Island Marina. It looked very neat but much smaller. An Asian man was behind the counter. I asked him why they moved. “Because our lease ran out.” The previous owner sold the property to a large corporation without consulting the previous owners. They were devastated. The new location was smaller and more expensive. Hopefully, they can keep going.

Monday, February 19, 2024

I ran into Dean and Nina this morning. I asked her how the Intrasound was working on her keloid scars. She has large ones on her chest for the last ten years. She has had to suffer regular cortisone injections into the scars every two months for the previous ten years to control the itching. Today, she said there was no itching, and they weren't as red. She was doing well enough to postpone her regular injection for another month. It's incredible. I would be jumping for joy. Those injections caused her terrible pain. Dean said the night after she got them, she moaned in her sleep. Nonetheless, Nina will only be impressed when the scars are completely gone. It's a great goal, but relief so she can avoid the cortisone shots sounds good, too.

Taylor picked up the dumpster with the root balls yesterday to go directly to the transfer station to get the mulch on Monday morning. I called Yvette and suggested she close her windows and doors. At some point, the mulch would throw off a lot of dust, if not when Taylor dumped it, then when Dan spread it.

It finally dawned on me I had no windows to close. All I had between me and the dust was a screen. I got to work emptying my linen closet of every towel and sheet to cover my upholstered furniture. I was anticipating a mess.

Taylor arrived around 11 o'clock and dumped the mulch. He said he called Dan and expected him over shortly. After he deposited the mulch in a big pile, he thoroughly cleaned the dumpster with a leaf blower. While it's used to dump garbage, it's maintained as if it's a vehicle from an elite car service. I've ridden in taxis that are dirtier.

I waited for the impact of the smell to hit me. B said some friends of his had a large quantity of mulch delivered, and it stank. I heard it could be really bad for a week. None of us was looking forward to it. The smell never arrived. There was no smell to speak of. And Little, who liked to roll around in smelly stuff, had no interest. Two problems were resolved on their own.

Would the smell be worse when Dan spread the mulch? I waited for him to arrive. Nothing. I finally called him. He would be here in a few days. He had something else to take care of. It was the first glitch in his service. He didn't keep me informed of his plans. Or maybe he and Taylor weren't on the same page. It was Taylor who promised Dan for Monday morning.

I loaded one barrel of green waste fronds I had cut to an appropriate size to take to Darby's. I wheeled the loaded trash barrel down the street to her house. The sound of the wheel on the macadam didn't bother me the way it had the first time I took it over.

It had been a bad morning for my anxiety. It is weird the way it comes and goes. At least, it does go. I drove to town and did some chores. The activity did wonders for my nerves. I finally put the large box of things to be donated that had been sitting under the eve in the front yard into my car and drove it to the Goodwill Donation Center. I waited while they examined the items. I wanted to take back anything they couldn't use. I didn't want to stick them with garbage they would have to throw out. I would do it for them. Besides what I had in the box sitting by the side door since July, I had a large roasting pan, suitable for a Christmas turkey for a large crowd. I was going to donate it for the church silent auction, but it had a bit of rust at the bottom. I also wanted to see if they could use the tiles from the sheets for the kitchen wall I had so diligently cleaned, hoping some artist would use them. Habitat for Humanity had rejected them, and now Goodwill had also.

I had four chores to do in town. After my drop off at Goodwill, I stopped at Farm and Garden to buy some enzymes that would speed up the breakdown of the mulch. It was closed. It was odd for this store to close on Presidents' Day. I would stop by the next day.

My next stop was at Costco. My built-in microwave has been giving me problems. Sometimes, it did nothing when I pressed the start button. Usually, it would start if I opened the door and spun the tray a few times. Yesterday, it took several tries before it responded. It might be on its last legs. I bought a new one to be ready. I have become very dependent on microwaving.

My last stop was Home Depot, where I bought a new step ladder. The ladders were at the far end of the store, in aisle 25 in the construction section. I found a three-step ladder. The one I had before was only two steps. It would be perfect for me. I could reach the higher branches of the shrubs in the driveway. I loved my new ladder.

Of course, why did I think I had to buy one in the first place? I couldn't find the two-step ladder that Mike had bought to access the higher shelves in his library. I wouldn't have bought a new one if I had found the old one. I had looked everywhere, including in front of the house with the gardening equipment. I couldn't find it until I arrived home with my new one. And there it was, as bold as brass, right where I had left it. I swear I looked there.

Adolescent D. continues with decoding words, any word. He questioned if we should continue reading school-assigned articles. I told him it was his choice. Whichever one he thought would be more fun. I wouldn't go along with playing video games on my time, but either activity would address the objectives I had in mind. I preferred playing 'give me a word, any word' game. It would do more to help his reading. If he was having fun, he was all in. It was an unusual state of mind for D.

Sunday, February 18, 2024

As I tried to fall asleep, I realized that I could have clean mulch free from herbicides if I had my freshly cut trees chipped. Dan or Darby told me you can get a batch of mulch filled with herbicides. It depends. If the load is from trees, not including the stumps, it is probably free from poisons. But if it’s from a row of hibiscus shrubs, there is a good chance it’s been sprayed repeatedly.

Yvette and Josh gave strict orders that no herbicides were to be used on the property. I had thought their concern was for the environment. No, it was to protect the dogs. I told Yvette about the situation. I figured it wouldn’t be a fresh spray, but Yvette remained concerned. She said Little liked to roll in smelly stuff. Sounded like a perfect description of the mulch. Because of their concerns, I wanted to get mulch I knew would be toxins-free. The green waste from my yard would fill that description. Could Dan put that through the chipper and produce mulch for my yard? I was upset thinking I could have saved the cost of the two dumpsters, $680, and the disposal fees, close to $300, and $250 for the mulch from the local transfer station and have guaranteed clean mulch.

Tanner was supposed to pick up the now full second dumpster. I wanted to get to Dan to ask him about it before that happened. When I spoke to Dan at 7 am after my morning walk, he said that wasn’t a good idea. The refuse in the second dumpster wasn’t ‘clean.’ I trust Dan; I took his word it wasn’t good, but I was curious about what made it not good. It was mostly root balls and covered with soil. No one would put it through their chipper. It would ruin it.

The second reason was even more of a surprise. All those trees wouldn’t have provided enough mulch. I spoke about it to Darby later in the day. She confirmed that you may think that a large tree would provide a lot of mulch, but that is not so. She said it’s always surprising how little mulch a large tree produces.

The other day, I posted links to my reading videos on my blog, which I access through Chrome. The number of hits dropped precipitously, from triple-digit to one-digit. Could this be a response to my posting those videos? Did the teacher have to pull his students out because he thought I was selling something? I am selling something, but not for money. I am selling ideas and ways of teaching reading in alphabetic languages. The drop in hits maybe because it’s the weekend. The total hits on the blog site accessible through Chrome are 79,249; the total hits on the site accessible through Safari is 59,921. There are hits from all over the world, the USA, Europe, and Asia. I don’t see any from Africa or South America.

Saturday, February 17, 2024

As I walk around the neighborhood, I pick up small bits of garbage, cigarette butts, soda or beer cans, miscellaneous pieces of plastic that were part of God knows what, and the occasional food container. People love to hurl their garbage from the car window. Yesterday, I came across one of those white cardboard food containers. I stooped to pick it up, only to discover it was loaded with food. Someone didn't like what they bought.

I only took a sealed condiment package with me but left the rest. It was too much. I knew the ants would take care of the food. Sure enough. Today, that container looked like someone had taken it home, scrubbed it clean, and put it back out there. Gotta love what the ants do for our world. Okay, they sometimes mistake the food we want for ourselves as refuse, but really. Can you imagine what our world would look like without their excellent assistance?

Something else broke down today. The list grows: my car, the solar system, the vacuum cleaner, the refrigerator ice dispenser, one of my computers, and now my electric tea kettle. I remembered the YouTube advice for my computer. Wipe down electric connections with alcohol. I got a wipe from the closet and tried it. There was some white power from the Intrasound shipping disaster on the base.

One of the powder containers cracked during shipping. There was powder on everything, inside and outside the box. USPS put the package in a plastic bag, and the powder migrated to the outside of the bag. The alcohol worked like a charm. That shallow film on the platform was enough to prevent a good connection. Well, one item off the list.

Dan came back today and finished off the Ficus trees. I knew I would need some mulch. I figured something like ten bags purchased at Home Depot. Uh-Uh. I needed a full dumpster of mulch. I needed it 9 to 12 inches deep to kill off whatever small roots got left in the soil. I was drowning in new information. Overwhelming. Dan said Tanner would be over on Monday to pick up the second dumpster and return with a load of mulch.

Judy had inquired about Dan. Two years ago, she had a 40-60-foot tree trimmed. It hung over the house and was damaging the roof. It did what all healthy trees do; it came roaring back. Before it grew too much, Judy thought cutting the tree down and killing it was a good idea. I called Judy and Paulette to say I was coming and drove him up there. Paulette greeted us, and Judy and Carol joined in. Dan could do the job for $2500. The guy's amazing. He offers very good prices, is prompt, works efficiently, is nice, and has a fantastic body.

The other day, Darby and I were in the driveway as he was heading out to his truck on the street. He was shirtless, and his pants had slipped down to the hip joint, exposing the crack at the top of his butt. Darby and I both gave appreciative glances. You don't see many men his age, 40s, still in good condition—a mature, well-formed body. Dan does not think about his appearance one way or the other. There was an innocence to the moment.

Friday, February 16, 2024

My hair is definitely thinner. Randee told me otherwise, so I didn’t feel bad about losing so much hair. It all happened after the fall and the 8 hours of surgery to repair my shattered shoulder and elbow. The stress of the fall, the surgery, anesthesia, pain relief drugs, and being flat on my back for three weeks, two of them in the hospital. Caused the problem. Will my hair recover from that stress at this age? I’m going to find out.

Elsa and I visited Auntie P. I get Kangen water from her and stay for an hour or so. Auntie P throws a mouse stuffed with catnip to Elsa the whole time we’re there. P and I sit on the lanai and chat. Elsa loves visiting Auntie P. She hyperventilates and bounces in excitement when she sees me with the blue plastic bottles in hand. We drive to Auntie P’s even though they live three driveways down from us. While I could carry the empty bottles there, bringing them home full is another matter. Also, Auntie P’s house is at the top of a long steep driveway. When I enter it, I stop and let Elsa out. I love watching her charge up the driveway. It’s the cutest thing in the world.

Something remarkable happened today. Adolescent D volunteered the word retribution for our opening exercise. I start each class with him, saying, “Give me a word, any word.” So far, he has been offering single-syllable words. Today, he volunteered that beauty. What made the difference? He said it was just a word that came to mind. He had avoided using multisyllabic words because he feared they would be too difficult to work with. I assured him I was there to help. We attacked that word.

First, he had to determine the number of syllables and where the divisions occurred. He could use his knowledge of the spoken word to figure it out. We were working from the sound of the word, not figuring out words we didn’t know. It was hard to hear where the division came in. Was it ret/ri/bu/tion or re/trib/u/tion? We played with the possibilities. It was fun for both of us. This is a significant breakthrough. He is experiencing figuring out words as a fun activity. We had some time to work on the article he was reading for school. I heard a difference. He finally acknowledged there may be a difference. Halleluiah!

Thursday, February 15, 2023

I ran into Dean on my morning walk. We shared accident stories. I told him how I 'flew' down a long flight of stairs at Hunter College in 1977, looking like Wonder Woman as I dove for the wall at the end of the landing. It's quite a story. I've told it before in the blog, but it is always fun to tell it again.

It was just before the change of classes. I was heading to the cafeteria to get a bite before my class. As I was going down the stairs, I passed this adorable girl. This equally adorable boy came up the stairs a second later to greet her. I turned to my right to enjoy the Norman Rockwell scene; I caught the exposed big toe of my left foot in my right pant leg. I couldn't free the foot. I struggled once or twice as I tilted forward, heading for a life-threatening fall. That's my last memory.

I woke up at the bottom of the stairs against the landing wall, lying on my right side. The cute young man was at my side as I turned over. "How are you?" Fine. "Try and move." While I knew he was concerned I had broken my spine, I felt I was all right. I got up, people handed me my books and purse, and I went to class. I had a slight bruise on the inside of my left knee but otherwise was fine. As I tried to wash my hair the following morning, I discovered I couldn't get my arm up to my head. I had a torn rotator cuff.

As far as I can figure out, this is what happened. When I hit the tipping point, my unconscious mind took over, used all the knowledge I had from dance and diving, put me in a dive, pointed me for that far wall, guided me to push off as one would in a dive, and knocked me out so I wouldn't interfere with the plan. I pulled off a stunt a professional stuntwoman wouldn't been so happy to try.

Dean's story was about how he got T'ed on a motorcycle by a sixteen-year-old driving her brand-new car. The wheels of the car went right over his head, crushing his helmet. He suffered memory problems for several years but devised systems to compensate for it.

Today was the day Dan started cutting down the Ficus trees. Taylor had delivered a dumpster yesterday. What an elegant system. He drives an immaculate truck designed to carry the dumpsters. He backed the truck into the yard, pushed a button, and a mechanism smoothly moved the dumpster off the truck's bed onto the ground, released a hook, and retracted a chain, pulling the hook back to its resting place.

Dan spent the day cutting down the Ficus trees and putting them in the dumpster with this tractor thingy with a 'thumb," some mechanical appendage that can pick up large chunks of wood and hoist them into the dumpster.

Yvette and I were planning to add the palm fronds the gardener had stashed out of view to the dumpster. B, who lives on the property, drew my attention to them. Yvette went down to start the process. She backed out. "Betty, could we just have Dan put that pile of fronds into the dumpster? There are too many creepy crawlies for me." Sure. Instead, I did it all by myself and had a wonderful time. I cut the spikey section off the fronds and threw those in the dumpster. The rest I set aside for Darby.

Darby is up for all green waste I can pass her way. It just can't be anything with spikes: no bougainvilleas and no palm fronds with spikes. Those palm fronds are heavy. They were going to add weight to the waste in the dumpster. I had to pay per pound. I cut off the spiky part, put that in the dumpster, and piled the rest to take to Darby's. I rolled a garbage pail filled with green waste down the street to her house. As I came down the driveway, I yelled, "Delivery!" I was delivering more than waste. Darby had lent me a book months ago with stories of old Kona dating back to WWII. The authors were mainly Japanese who wrote in an Anglicized version of Hawaiian pidgin. I found reading it unpleasant because of the language, but the stories were interesting, so I plow through.

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

I was wide awake, feeling like I had a wonderful night’s sleep. When I checked the time, it was 12:30. Damn! I set myself up in Gokhale’s stretchlying position, and I might as well use the time. I knew I had a full day ahead. Instead of doing my morning gentle seated yoga video, I showered. I applied Salon Pas and KT tape to my right inner thigh muscle that felt ‘pulled.’ The only cause was the change in my head position; from tilted to left, I made most of my life to tilt to the right. When I changed my head position, I could feel my weight shift to my left buttock. The whole left side of my body relaxed when I shifted. The right side went, “What?!!!”

Wednesday was driveway yoga. I walked up and down my two-block street instead of around the block. That way, I could make it home quickly when my alarm went off at 6:50, giving me ten minutes to prepare for driveway yoga. I met Dean and Nina coming down the street. Elsa pulled to greet them. She responds to them as she does to a passing cat intensely. She ran to Nina, ignoring Dean, who petted her liberally. Dean and Nina walked up and down the street with me.

After yoga, I had to leave at 8, right after the yoga class, if I was going to make the kapuna mahjong meeting at the church. I frantically got everything together to be ready at the end of the yoga class. I set up my water flask under the water dispenser in the refrigerator door. I put the packages for the miso soup into a cup. When I turned back into the room, I saw the floor was covered with water. At first, I thought the refrigerator was leaking again because the door had been slightly open all night. I quickly realized the water came from the dispenser. I told Yvette to start the class without me. I had to vacuum up the water.

I grabbed my Bissel wet/dry vac. It wasn’t sucking it up. Instead, it was blowing the water away from the vacuum. Another broken object; the list grows. Solar panels, car, refrigerator ice dispenser motor, my Surface Pro is crashing, and now my Bissell vacuum cleaner. Fortunately, I had my Rainbow wet/dry vacuum at hand and used it to suck up the water. I wouldn’t like to be without a wet/dry vacuum. I use it to wash the floors. I throw several quarts of water on the floor and suck it up. The floor comes out clean, clean, clean. With all the water sucked up, there is no muddy water left on the floor. I am so spoiled.

I had too much to do. I gave up the idea of leaving promptly. I had to be ready to be at Ulu Wini at 1. I sat down and enjoyed my piece of toast.

I left around 8:20. Oh, well. I would be late.

When I arrived at the church, only two people were in the meeting, Cathy and Paulette. I was hoping to just sit and watch. I didn’t have a handle on Mahjong. I wanted to sit and watch to learn. But with the three of us, I had no choice.

Cathy started the session with healing prayers. I did better than expected with the game, although I confused the circles and the bamboo tiles. Cathy was somewhat impatient with my confusion. She, of course, knows the game well. After two games, I had had it. I was too tired to go on. I retired to the car for a nap. I remained in the parking lot until noon, when the Ash Wednesday mass started. I thought it would be a nothing Mass with few people. Boy, did I have that wrong.

Judy called while I sat in the car and worked on my updates. She asked if the parking lot was packed. I couldn’t see anything until I looked into my rearview mirror. Oh, my goodness. The parking lot was full. I must have slept for close to an hour.

I sat outside on the north lanai as usual for the Mass. Ash and Eucharist were brought to the lanai; we didn’t have to go inside. I had to leave right after receiving communion to make it to Ulu Wini in time. The school bus dropping off the kids arrived just before me. I waited until he was ready to leave; he was parked, so I couldn’t get in.