It was the last evening of the final lesson.
Mom made beef stew with whole chunks of unskinned potatoes, carrots, celery, and beef. The poi was nice and sweet with ice cubes; that was a kind of heaven with no description that could be put into words. It was an experience, and you had to be there. Terry, Thomas, Jenna, and Jen were there, too, helping prep the table. Each took turns peering into the fridge and salavating over the rice pudding. The 'opihi and sardines, raw onions, and red salt were put out. Jana, Jen, and Yandra were on the 'o'io salad while my two brothers carefully brewed the mamaki tea. When everything was finally set out, Mom put her hands out, and everyone in turn joined hands, and there was a short second of silence."Terry," Mom said.
"Mom, you know I'm Mormon," Terry protested.
"I'm not telling the Mormons to bless the food; I'm telling you to do it," Mom retorted in that voice of hers.
Terry knew better than to protest at that point because the pulling of his ear would come no matter how taller or broader than Mom he might have been. "We ask our ancestors Kū and Hina to come and bless our food and to give blessings to our 'ohana as we gather here this evening for the sustenance provided to us from our 'āina and the hands of our ancestors who worked it,"
"Aloha," everyone said in unison.
I was given the first bowl of food and took it outside to the kū'ahu to make the first offerings to our gods and ancestors. Mom had me put it together as part of my learning. The girls said nothing about it because it didn't bother them. "Interesting," Thomas nodded while eating his food.
Terry was the only one who was slightly bothered. "Mom, that's the work of the devil offering sacrifices like that,"
"And eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood in the form of bread and wine is not?" Mom retorted.
"That's Christianity, Mom," Terry condescended.
"This is a Hawaiian house, and none of the women in it are subservient to anyone, no matter what their religion tells them. You walk through that door; you're Hawaiian and nothing else, especially when you speak to me." Mom had that look again like she had that night when she talked about cracking someone over the head with a ukulele. Except this look was more murderous. "I've invited all of you here to celebrate the completion of your brother's learning from me. Tonight makes three years."
Everyone was congratulatory, even Terry. Mom looked at me with a beaming smile of pride and aloha. "That's it, Timoti. We are pau; there are no more lessons to learn except for this one thing. Everything I've taught you up until now is not about you. You might not understand what that means, but you will."
Just then, Aunty Elena walked in with her ukulele case. Behind her were their old bandmates, Kimo and Scratchy. Both were wearing white polyester bell bottoms and blouse tops. Mom invited them to sit and join us for dinner. Mom got up and walked out the door, asking Aunty Elena if the cab arrived. "Ah, there it is!" She exclaimed. In walked Yandra's Mom and dad. Yandra let out a scream of excitement and ran to the door with her arms open. The three hugged and cried together.
"Everyone, these are Yandra's mākua, Emilio and Adoncia! They flew all the way here from Miami!"
The two fell into a sea of embraces from my family; it was undoubtedly a love fest.
~
By the end of the evening, everyone lounged about while beautiful Hawaiian music serenaded us. Jana asked Mom to play her favorite song, which Mom obliged. She and Jen went silent, hypnotized. Thomas translated for Yandra's parents so they could understand.
Ma ka poli iho no
e ho'onānea
e 'ake inu wai
a ka manu
Lose yourself
here in my arms
I long to drink deeply
of love
Hū wale mai no
ku'u aloha
Ku'u pō ho'okahi
e naue ai
My love wells up
on this trembling
night of
anticipation
Yandra's parents were so taken by the translation that they got up and slowly danced until the song ended. Then, The Four K's, as they called themselves, played Boy From Laupahoehoe, which meant my brothers and I got up to dance. It was fun and lively. "I didn't know you could dance the hula?" Yandra was genuinely surprised. By two in the morning, Emilio and Adoncia retired to Mom's room to get some well-needed sleep. Aunty Elena, Kimo, and Scratchy were still gossiping and playing music simultaneously.
"That flight must have cost Yandra's folks an arm and a leg," I told Mom.
"They didn't spend a dime," Mom told me. "I paid for everything. They needed to be here for this. Besides, I knew Yandra missed her folks."
"Mom," I was shocked and pleasantly surprised.
"We worked it out months ago, so there's nothing to discuss," Mom said, raising her hand to me, indicating that no discussion would be held. Yandra hugged Mom and held on for a long time, weeping and thanking her. "When you love something more than yourself, when you think of other people's happiness before yours, when you're fulfilled enough with your own self-confidence and a complete sense of who you are, and you begin to look forward to helping others have the same thing that you have, that's when it's not about you," Mom told me. "You have a few things you have to work out, but you'll get there,"
At that point, Mom told everyone that she was retiring to the comfort of one of our old rooms. She gave everyone the option of staying or going home. If anyone stayed, they would have to help with breakfast in the morning. If they chose to go home, they'd miss out. Yandra and I went home. We were there in less than ten minutes with no traffic at that hour. My phone rang when I entered the door and flipped on the lights. It was Aunty Elena. It was challenging to hear her because it sounded like crying and sobbing in the background.
"What's going on, Aunty?" I asked.
"You gotta come back, Timoti," Aunty's voice cracked. "Your mama, ua hala 'o ia,"
I went out the door with Yandra, "What happened?"
"That was Aunty Elena; my Mom just passed away in her sleep," saying the words and fully absorbing what that meant were two completely different things. It wouldn't hit me for a while.
~
I'm blessing a small three-story office building off South King Street across from Washington Intermediate. The occupants are worried because everyone has been physically assaulted by what they say in an unseen entity, which has left bruises on their arms, legs, and torso. Without hesitation, I told them I couldn't help them. They were shocked at first and did not know what to say.
"Just so you are all aware, you cannot claim being physically assaulted by a Poltergeist as part of an insurance claim," I began. It won't work, and my blessing, this place will be your validation point. I can't help you; I'm sorry. Have a good day."
On the way back to my car, I was so upset at those people that I plopped myself on the driver rather than just sit. I started the car and headed up Artesian Way to Beretania. Once I took a right up Pi'ikoi, heading to the freeway to go to my Mom's house and tell her about the audacity of these people, it hit me. She was gone; she'd been gone for a while, so why suddenly did it feel like she was at her old house, waiting to hear the news? I took the Vineyard cut-off, pulled across from Kamālu Park, and cried for hours. I didn't want her back; I didn't scold her for leaving. I just wanted her to be happy wherever she was. That's all, and that's when I understood her last lesson. I wished for someone else's sincere happiness other than my own. It wasn't about me, after all.
......Pau
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