Thursday, May 24, 2012
Incidental Lives Premium
PAT Watarai is not a doctor, but he has earned quite a reputation as a foot-removal specialist.
As a teenager growing up in Seattle, Sheryl Nelson looked forward to volunteering at her local hospital.
To the untrained listener, the best way to absorb the confluent rush of words from the identical mouths of twins Timothy and Symon Rowlands is to abandon all hope of keeping track of who is saying what.
Jocelyn Conoly figures she had ample excuse to give in to the riptide of tough circumstances and poor choices dragging her farther and farther from the life she had envisioned for herself.
When the SUV is double-parked and the baby is a-wailing and you absolutely have to find, oh, a bag of marshmallows fast, fast, fast, you could run blindly around Safeway's stadium-size Kapahulu store until your faint — or you could simply ask clerk Katrina Muranaka for help.
When Hiroyuki Ito has something meaningful to express — his friendship, his appreciation, his wish for a speedy recovery — he often does so with a gift every bit as rare and delightful as the spirit with which it is offered.
When Noelle Steneker arrived in Hawaii in January, her knowledge of the state, its tumultuous history and its unique mix of cultures was admittedly scant.
Jennifer Wong isn't sure she wants to translate her mother's words, but, dutiful as always, she does what she is asked.
This year's Mother of the Year for American Mothers of Hawaii insists she is just like "99 percent of all mothers out there.
Every once in a while, Kahuena Kaona’s parents will ask her to pick up a little something on the way home from work.
Imagine Keoni Kahoano those first few weeks at Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard, one day pounding nails into a board for hours on end just to get the technique right, another sweeping inches-thick layers of dust from a warehouse floor because, hey, no one pays anyone to sit around.
Think you have a lot on your proverbial plate? Meet Donna Sepulveda.
The blood-slowing cold of that first winter in Syracuse might have been enough to send a less devout young nun scrambling home to Pepeekeo, but Sister Margaret Antone Milho knew adjustments would have to be made once she devoted herself to the church.
More than anything, Ned Matsuyama just wanted to play. Sure, he'd spent a season kicking around a Kona baseball league, but that hardly satisfied his desire to play the game the way it was meant to be played.
As those who have put themselves in harm's way to serve their country can attest, heroes come in all shapes, sizes and job descriptions.
Jonathan Perreira has lived too many years, made too much money off his own wits, suffered too many slick-talking, Reyn's-wearing ninnies to be anything but absolutely direct about the things he cares about most. So here's the deal: Perreira, 90, has a valuable Hawaiian heirloom that he wants desperately to give to a deserving charitable organization.
Dennis Okada figures he was due for an awakening, a kick in the eye, a redirection. "I was selfish," Okada says. "I wasn't necessarily a bad guy, but I was too focused on myself. I didn't care enough about others."
Of all the things a bright, artistic teenager might think to collect -- graphic novels, obscure recordings, grievances against the adult status quo -- what Aloe Corry prizes most are the magazine cutouts, hastily recorded dreams and snippets of wordplay that flash like lightning across the landscape of her imagination.
You generally do not go to the mall just to buy a wind spinner. If it happens, it is because someone like Giovanni Kabessa has broken through your sophisticated consumer defenses and sold you one.
Time, it seemed, had come. Roy Nagahara said his final farewells to family and friends, then turned to his wife, Irene, as the medical staff removed the breathing tube from his throat.
When it comes to gift-giving, you aren't likely to find anyone quite on the level of Sally Okura Lee in your grab-bag pool or Secret Santa circle.
When Tony Jones showed up for his first day of work at Nanakuli High School 16 years ago, he cast an eye to the long patches of red dirt around the campus, noticed the black-and-gold design of the Hawks' logo and felt a tug of recognition.
Vanessa Whang has been on the job long enough -- three weeks, to be exact -- to know which passers-by will drop a little something in her kettle, which won't and which would love to but just can't.
Had they a few extra minutes to spare, the two men crouched intently over the chess board might discover a few things about each other that would surely astound.
When Gloria Valera opens her mouth, it's a good bet the first words to roll off her tongue will be, "I have a story ..." What follows is always worth listening to.
Midway through his shift at Honolulu Airport, Johannes Empron Jr. is itching for something to do. He pushes a cart through the baggage claim area, eyes scanning the empty room for travelers in need, ears alert to the jumble of voices crackling through his walkie-talkie.
Letty Geschwind moves nimbly along the overgrown brick pathway that cuts through the 100 or so plots that make up the Manoa Community Garden. Well, as nimbly as any 75-year-old woman can move while steering a wheelbarrow full of dark, rich soil.
Siblings Tammy and Isaac Lau have decidedly different ways of following their artistic impulses, each process perfectly suited for the way they engage the world.
Every so often a reader will ask what the deal is with the name of this column. "Incidental Lives"? How insulting! How arrogant to deem someone else's life as something of minor consequence, as some byproduct of mere chance.
Catherine Choppin insists she's not a caregiver. Catch the sniffles and she'll tell you to keep your cooties to yourself. Land in the hospital and you'll be lucky to get a phone call.
When local masseur Wade Kitagawa suffered the third heart attack of his life last month, it wasn't as if his clients were overflowing with sympathy.
The O’Brien women aren’t the sort to waste a lot of daylight.
Next year, the Chaminade University basketball program will celebrate the 30th anniversary of its historic victory over then-No. 1 Virginia and, as such occasions occasion, Tony Randolph will field a fresh round of calls from local, national and international sports journalists seeking fresh insight into what is broadly considered the greatest college basketball upset of all time.
There will come a time in the not-so-distant future when Damien Memorial School chemistry teacher Gerry Sigmon and husband Mike give up the itinerant life and secure for themselves a comfortable retirement niche in a place that feels like home.
Tell the political correctness daisies to treat themselves to a Xanax while 60-year-old Hauula resident Clarence Logan shares a decidedly old-school rhyme.
By her own admission, 70-year-old Pearl Murata loves to talk. It's part of what makes her such a popular figure among patients and staff at Kapiolani Medical Center for Women & Children, where she works.
Hillary Brown had just finished walking her 8- to 10-year-olds through their pre-dance warm-up when the headache hit.
Is there a subtle way to say that you studied classical piano at age 3 and spent your teen years giving solo performances at Westminster Cathedral or St. George's Chapel Windsor Castle (for Queen Elizabeth!) — y'know, without inviting a hellacious two-fisted melvin?
As a teenager growing up in Seattle, Sheryl Nelson looked forward to volunteering at her local hospital.
To the untrained listener, the best way to absorb the confluent rush of words from the identical mouths of twins Timothy and Symon Rowlands is to abandon all hope of keeping track of who is saying what.
Jocelyn Conoly figures she had ample excuse to give in to the riptide of tough circumstances and poor choices dragging her farther and farther from the life she had envisioned for herself.
When the SUV is double-parked and the baby is a-wailing and you absolutely have to find, oh, a bag of marshmallows fast, fast, fast, you could run blindly around Safeway's stadium-size Kapahulu store until your faint — or you could simply ask clerk Katrina Muranaka for help.
When Hiroyuki Ito has something meaningful to express — his friendship, his appreciation, his wish for a speedy recovery — he often does so with a gift every bit as rare and delightful as the spirit with which it is offered.
When Noelle Steneker arrived in Hawaii in January, her knowledge of the state, its tumultuous history and its unique mix of cultures was admittedly scant.
Jennifer Wong isn't sure she wants to translate her mother's words, but, dutiful as always, she does what she is asked.
This year's Mother of the Year for American Mothers of Hawaii insists she is just like "99 percent of all mothers out there.
Every once in a while, Kahuena Kaona’s parents will ask her to pick up a little something on the way home from work.
Imagine Keoni Kahoano those first few weeks at Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard, one day pounding nails into a board for hours on end just to get the technique right, another sweeping inches-thick layers of dust from a warehouse floor because, hey, no one pays anyone to sit around.
Think you have a lot on your proverbial plate? Meet Donna Sepulveda.
The blood-slowing cold of that first winter in Syracuse might have been enough to send a less devout young nun scrambling home to Pepeekeo, but Sister Margaret Antone Milho knew adjustments would have to be made once she devoted herself to the church.
More than anything, Ned Matsuyama just wanted to play. Sure, he'd spent a season kicking around a Kona baseball league, but that hardly satisfied his desire to play the game the way it was meant to be played.
As those who have put themselves in harm's way to serve their country can attest, heroes come in all shapes, sizes and job descriptions.
Jonathan Perreira has lived too many years, made too much money off his own wits, suffered too many slick-talking, Reyn's-wearing ninnies to be anything but absolutely direct about the things he cares about most. So here's the deal: Perreira, 90, has a valuable Hawaiian heirloom that he wants desperately to give to a deserving charitable organization.
Dennis Okada figures he was due for an awakening, a kick in the eye, a redirection. "I was selfish," Okada says. "I wasn't necessarily a bad guy, but I was too focused on myself. I didn't care enough about others."
Of all the things a bright, artistic teenager might think to collect -- graphic novels, obscure recordings, grievances against the adult status quo -- what Aloe Corry prizes most are the magazine cutouts, hastily recorded dreams and snippets of wordplay that flash like lightning across the landscape of her imagination.
You generally do not go to the mall just to buy a wind spinner. If it happens, it is because someone like Giovanni Kabessa has broken through your sophisticated consumer defenses and sold you one.
Time, it seemed, had come. Roy Nagahara said his final farewells to family and friends, then turned to his wife, Irene, as the medical staff removed the breathing tube from his throat.
When it comes to gift-giving, you aren't likely to find anyone quite on the level of Sally Okura Lee in your grab-bag pool or Secret Santa circle.
When Tony Jones showed up for his first day of work at Nanakuli High School 16 years ago, he cast an eye to the long patches of red dirt around the campus, noticed the black-and-gold design of the Hawks' logo and felt a tug of recognition.
Vanessa Whang has been on the job long enough -- three weeks, to be exact -- to know which passers-by will drop a little something in her kettle, which won't and which would love to but just can't.
Had they a few extra minutes to spare, the two men crouched intently over the chess board might discover a few things about each other that would surely astound.
When Gloria Valera opens her mouth, it's a good bet the first words to roll off her tongue will be, "I have a story ..." What follows is always worth listening to.
Midway through his shift at Honolulu Airport, Johannes Empron Jr. is itching for something to do. He pushes a cart through the baggage claim area, eyes scanning the empty room for travelers in need, ears alert to the jumble of voices crackling through his walkie-talkie.
Letty Geschwind moves nimbly along the overgrown brick pathway that cuts through the 100 or so plots that make up the Manoa Community Garden. Well, as nimbly as any 75-year-old woman can move while steering a wheelbarrow full of dark, rich soil.
Siblings Tammy and Isaac Lau have decidedly different ways of following their artistic impulses, each process perfectly suited for the way they engage the world.
Every so often a reader will ask what the deal is with the name of this column. "Incidental Lives"? How insulting! How arrogant to deem someone else's life as something of minor consequence, as some byproduct of mere chance.
Catherine Choppin insists she's not a caregiver. Catch the sniffles and she'll tell you to keep your cooties to yourself. Land in the hospital and you'll be lucky to get a phone call.
When local masseur Wade Kitagawa suffered the third heart attack of his life last month, it wasn't as if his clients were overflowing with sympathy.
The O’Brien women aren’t the sort to waste a lot of daylight.
Next year, the Chaminade University basketball program will celebrate the 30th anniversary of its historic victory over then-No. 1 Virginia and, as such occasions occasion, Tony Randolph will field a fresh round of calls from local, national and international sports journalists seeking fresh insight into what is broadly considered the greatest college basketball upset of all time.
There will come a time in the not-so-distant future when Damien Memorial School chemistry teacher Gerry Sigmon and husband Mike give up the itinerant life and secure for themselves a comfortable retirement niche in a place that feels like home.
Tell the political correctness daisies to treat themselves to a Xanax while 60-year-old Hauula resident Clarence Logan shares a decidedly old-school rhyme.
By her own admission, 70-year-old Pearl Murata loves to talk. It's part of what makes her such a popular figure among patients and staff at Kapiolani Medical Center for Women & Children, where she works.
Hillary Brown had just finished walking her 8- to 10-year-olds through their pre-dance warm-up when the headache hit.
Is there a subtle way to say that you studied classical piano at age 3 and spent your teen years giving solo performances at Westminster Cathedral or St. George's Chapel Windsor Castle (for Queen Elizabeth!) — y'know, without inviting a hellacious two-fisted melvin?
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