Earlier this morning, my dear friend Marylyn and I were texting about sneaking in sweet treats while riding on public transportation, and it reminded me of an old favorite I just can’t find here. True, there are lots of mainland specialties sold on my island in the middle of the Pacific, but there’s a very limited market share for the prune danishes I used to devour on the PATH train when I commuted to New Jersey. Prune danishes! I read that one of my heroines, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, likes to nibble on prunes when she’s reading. But they’re not quite as scrumptious as my elusive...

Uncommonly uncoordinated, I have immense admiration for the women upstairs at the gym who contort themselves in unimaginable stretches, as I meekly press forward on machines. I’m racing against time with uncooperative muscles that won’t get me on a train I could miss. Lately, I’ve developed a curious habit of trying to guess how old these athletic apprentices are. One woman who looks like she could easily join the Rockettes or at least pass the entrance exam, told me she was 25. Ah, to be 25 again. But even when I was 25 and joined the tennis crowd high in the sky in New York, I...

My old gym in Oregon was, you could say, ranch-style. Exercise machines, stretch areas, refreshments, and a swimming pool set on one expansive level. It’s different here at my gym. We have two floors, and one can only be inhabited by women, with occasional brief visits by Alex, the owner’s wonderful younger brother, who helps us all out. The women’s floor is on top, with machines, stretch areas, and lots of chit chat. Downstairs, where men dabble with the free weights, we also have our Silver and Fit classes, which aren’t nearly as old ladyish as their name implies. Here we work...

This blog post is a sequel to “The Pigs are Coming,” June, 2017 Mama and her little sow (a sowlette?) were the first beasts enticed by the mashed lilikoi/avocado bait laced with macadamian nuts that Jeff set out in an extremely durable metal cage. So intrigued that they were led by their tummies and ignored the conspicuous metal webbing of the cage and gobbled up the entree and tripped the wire set to ensure their permanent residency, which is my way of saying that they were trapped. Two down, how many to go? Our first pig, who became known as Mama, had beautiful brown eyes and weighed...

Imagine if our birthdays showed up more than once a year!  We could have almost daily lunches at Pink Mocha Cafe, or even cozier, in the back room after chair yoga, where we’d take lots of pics and clean up our crumbs.  But there’s a quota on how many we can celebrate: one per person, based on when we first arrived.  And, January 31st is the day that our fearless leader chose to come on stage.  (Personally, I think she deserves at least five birthdays.) Kelsie’s stage is built in multiple layers. She has her desk at the front, where she sometimes rides the stationary bike and...

The warning signal chirped on our cell phones — not true … no Hawaiian birds could possibly emit such a chilling noise. (Bird reproduction would plunge as mating calls were drowned out.)  It was the same incessant beep sent out to alert us about island floods that never challenged us but jolted us out of whatever we were doing in quieter times. Mysteriously, the morning was clear and dry as could be. First, Bill’s phone at 8:06, and then mine two minutes later: “Emergency Alert… Ballistic missile threat inbound Hawaii.  Seek immediate shelter.  This is not a...