IMR: Entries: 2001: November: 23 — Friday, November 23, 2001

The Season Well fed and well rested, the best way to spend this holiday. If only Jen was so lucky.   Heidi and Todd join us at dad's for Thanksgiving. Eathan and cousin-in-law Song "Dahi" Hatae. A tale of two (great) grandmothers. Katie gets straight to the point of the holiday. Macy's is finally unveiled in Hawaii. You could say they were doing brisk business. The elevator crowds were even thicker. Macy's "Cellar," for now still on the top floor. Pots and pans in demand — and who's that? The main mall was a roiling sea of shoppers. A sunny day for some insane shoppers. You suppose mommy needed that today? National Guard checkpoint on Lagoon Drive. Planespotters becoming an endangered species? Finally, a late afternoon beach stop. You can't beat our weather in November! Yesterday, for Thanksgiving, we did the "two-part turkey day" thing once again: we hit dad's in Aina Haina for lunch, then drove out to mom's in Mililani for dinner. With two feasts on the agenda (separated only by a 40-minute drive), we were prepared in advanced to end up more stuffed than the proverbial bird of the day. On the way to dad's, we made three stops, to pick up grandma Ozawa, a pumpkin pie from Saint Germain's Bakery, and three orders of gon lo mein from Duck Yun restaurant. Unfortunately, we didn't get the pie (all that was left were custard pies), but the other two pick-ups were successful. During the drive out to dad's, Katie and grandma sung, clapped, and communicated in that way only the elderly and very young can. Katie melted our hearts by singing most of the words to Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance," a little girl's song if there ever was one. Getting Katie and grandma past the dogs was a challenge, but everyone made it into the house in one piece. Gayle and dad were out fetching sushi when we arrived, but they returned soon enough. Grandma Hatae was there, and soon Eathan and Todd and Heidi joined us as well. While the grandmas (or, really, grandma Ozawa) chatted away on the couch, and the younger folk watched "Star Wars Episode I" on DVD, the rest of us gathered around the kitchen to talk story and prepare the afternoon's menu. While a turkey that was easily 30 pounds or more roasted away in the oven, we (mostly Katie) munched on sushi, split up the Chinese noodles, and watched Gayle do her magic with everything from local-style cole slaw to portuguese sausage stuffing. We talked about my half-hearted job search, and the forthcoming baby, and Jen's job and Macy's, and our respective extended families. Katie — who started the day off pretending to be shy, as usual — warmed up to everyone and hugged and talked and observed the wonders of food preparation. Gayle and dad also handed me a little birthday gift: a pair of fancy cotton aloha shirts. Finally the little button on the turkey popped up, and dad was called in for his primary role: turkey retriever and carver. The bird was bigger than Katie, and took quite a bit of maneuvering. Dad must have worked for an hour to get a plateful of meat off of it, and even then there was lots of turkey left to carve. Gayle collected some juices and bones, and cooked up some home-made gravy. It was time to eat, and we did. Katie, who had already sucked down more than her share of sushi, didn't really eat much more, and half an hour later, was passed out on the floor. Jen would jab me and insisted on whisperering for a while, but soon it was clear she was way, way out, and she didn't stir at all while we laughed and talked and while light sabers clashed on TV. Right before it was time to head out to Central O`ahu, Chad and his bride Song wandered in, after a long morning working at the fish market. Song was wearing her hair short now, and everyone complimented it. Chad brought a container of salmon roe-coated poke, and Jen and I cheered. We even packed an impolitely-sized portion of the raw goodness to take with us. Rousing the still-sleeping Katie, we soon said our early goodbyes and climbed into the van to begin Part Two of our Thanksgiving Day. And no, dad and Gayle were kind enough to not send any turkey leftovers with us. During the drive out to mom's, the van was filled with moaning and groaning about being full, and not surprisingly, the first order of business upon our arrival in Mililani was one big family nap. What a sight we must have been for my mom, stumbling in the door to spend a special holiday together only to sprawl out on the living room floor to snore for an hour. Because we'd eaten so well earlier in the afternoon, we planned ahead for an unusually late dinner. So after getting up off the floor, we just hung out and played. Katie pulled out her sidewalk chalk and drew in the garage, then pulled out the hose to wash it away. Then she pointed the hose at the van, which prompted me to wash it. She then ran inside to play on the computer, draw with her markers, and flip through her books. She was incredibly energetic, in fact, and I wore myself out chasing her around (or getting chased). We got to show off our latest trick, too: she'd lie on the floor in front of me, her feet on my feet, then reach up and grab my hands. She'd then "walk up" my legs, until even with, and then above, my waist. Eventually she'd be upside-down, and with a kick, she'd flip over and land on her feet. Ta-da! As night fell, it was time to think dinner, and I took the helm. Knowing we'd be overloaded with turkey, we were having just Cornish game hens and mashed potatoes — stuff I could handle. With a simple salad, and the noodles and poke from dad's, we had more than a decent meal. We topped it off with pumpkin pie (from Star Market, but still yummy) and ice cream. It hit the spot. With two Thanksgiving meals in our bellies and enough leftovers to feed us for a week, we ultimately headed home. I was looking forward to the next day, as I had it off and would be able to spend it with my daughter. Jen, however, was dreading it like the plague. The Day After Thanksgiving. For me, it was an extra day off, a middle peg in a delicious four-day weekend. For Jen, an employee of Hawaii's newest retail nameplate, the morning promised only something akin to entering the Seventh Level of Dante's Inferno. She woke up whimpering, her usually cute face contorted with fear. I didn't have to drag her down to the mall kicking and screaming, but she certainly wasn't in a hurry. And when she jumped out of the van, for whatever reason, she grabbed my bag instead of her purse, and began her day with a fairly useless camera, a bottle of Gatorade and some children's sunscreen (instead of her makeup, new Macy's nametag and money). Not a great start to an already rough day. Fortunately, I figured this out pretty quickly, so I set about finding a parking space so I could run in and switch bags. I knew I wasn't going to find anything convenient today, so instead of circling in frustration, I immediately headed to the most remote corner of the mall parking lot — the Ewa end of the top deck of the new parking structure by Sears, quite litterally at the opposite end of the shopping center from where Jen was working. There, I found lots of space, and I loaded Katie and Jen's purse into the stroller and we set off on our unscheduled hike through the state's biggest retail warzone. The mall was packed. Not surprising, I suppose, but I was still happy to see it. Commercialism run amok, maybe, but this year nicely wrapped in the red, white, and blue cloths of patriotic duty. And, equally heartening, it seemed almost every family was already dragging around one or two Macy's shopping bags. (It doesn't matter that most of Macy's shelves are still 80 percent filled with Liberty House stock — it's all about the bags.) If the shopping center at large was packed, then Macy's was an absolute madhouse. So full were the aisles, it was almost folly that I was trying to get around with a stroller. When I got to the elevators, there was a huge line of strollers, wheelchairs and overworked delivery people, so I ended up braving the escalators instead. Jen's section, like the rest of the store, was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, and after waiting a few minutes by the wrong register, a coworker pointed her out at the front of a very long line at another one. We barely had a second to sort things out, bag-wise, before she was sucked back into the vortex. "That was mommy," I said as we wheeled away. "She will be very tired tonight." The net effect of the morning mix-up, of course, meant that I was once again at a mall on The Day After. Which, against all reason, is exactly where I like to be every year. Like I wrote three years ago, "It's the best show in town for this longtime fan of chaos." I don't even shop — I just watch my fellow citizens at their wackiest. So Katie and I wandered. And watched. Katie was enchanted by all the decorations and lights and the koi ponds, and I admired the way thousands of people squeezed around and bounced against each other. We went into the Disney Store where Katie fondled all the Monsters, Inc. merchandise, and I talked myself out of buying some after getting a glimpse of the store-crossing line at the cash register. Then, for the hell of it, we rode any elevator we could find, stopping for a while on the top floor overlooking Center Stage to see the eye of the storm. Soon, though, the charm faded, and Katie somehow remembered that I'd muttered something about airplanes a few days prior. (I'd made it a point not to talk about them much as of late.) So, at her direction, we headed back to the van — where two cars raced to take my now-valuable space, and fortunately the harried parent won over the balding guy in the Miata. We then headed out to the airport. As regular as our planespotting outings seemed to have become, it had been months since we last made the drive down to the end of Lagoon Drive. August was a busy month. And September — obviously, nothing then, or since. But, even I'd been itching to go back, especially as the winter weather had given us more than a few days of Kona weather (and therefore especially impressive takeoffs and landings). As we turned onto Lagoon Drive, though, the reality of the new world was waiting in the form of cones and armed guards. There was a National Guard checkpoint set up, questioning every driver and searching cars at random. I pulled up behind a FedEx truck and waited. The guard came up and said a courteous "good morning." Then, he asked where I was going. Suddenly aware that "watching airplanes" was probably a bad answer, I said, "To pick up something at FedEx." I immediately felt bad, of course. Katie, fortunately, played along. "FedEx!" she called out in echo. "Do you have your pickup slip?" Um. "No, sorry, I think my wife has it." "It's better if you have your slip," he said, "but that's okay. Can I see your license?" I dug it out. He looked it over. He handed it back. "Okay, have a nice day." "Thanks," I said. And we were through, but I sure felt funny about it. And when we got down to the parking lot at the end of the road — where usually you'd find half a dozen other planespotters, and often one or two other kids — there wasn't anyone there except a Korean woman learning to drive (and park) in a van. As we sat waiting for planes to come, she drove past several times, and tried out parking spaces on both sides of us. We only saw three planes take off and one land (no Kona wind today) before Katie climbed back into her seat. "Ready to go already?" I asked. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go to the park." Perhaps the magic is gone. We came back into town, hit the Manoa McDonald's for lunch, then came home for a nap. When we woke up, to the park we went. The beach park. Instead of going to Magic Island, we ended up hanging out on a stretch of Ala Moana Beach closer to the Kaka`ako end of the park, coincidentally across from the snack bar and its big "Shave Ice!" sign. Suffice it to say, Katie insisted on having her end-of-day treat early, and she kicked off the afternoon with a stained shirt and a bright red tongue. Katie quickly changed into her bathing suit, and went nuts. She splashed in the water, she dug holes in the sand, she had me spin her around and write dozens of words in the sand. (After I'd written "Katie" and then "Mama" and "Daddy" and "Gramma" and "Tutu" at her direction, she then stepped back and pointed as if reading and said, "Katie loves her family!" Awww!) After playing, she'd stop and rest and identify planes in the sky, then go back to playing again. We were there for almost three hours, and had scribbled on or dug up a considerable stretch of beach in that time. We still had a chunk of time to kill before Jen would be released from hell, though, so after polling Katie on what to do next, we found ourselves back at the mall. We walked the whole length of the center twice, including a full all-level tour of Sears (which was much less busy than Macy's was). Then we hung out near center stage and spied on the hardworking photo Santa below, and the preparations for some kind of show. Katie really wanted to take a ride on the Jingle Bell Express — a kiddie train that is piloted up and down the mall — but sadly by that time they only had tickets available for the second-to-last run at 8:40 p.m. I felt bad for every parent that was badgered into buying tickets anyway, knowing that they'd have to hang around for another two hours. Eventually, we caught up with Jen, and she reported, "Not as bad as I thought." Even so, she was too tired or hungry to think about dinner at home, so we ended up back at Manoa Marketplace, this time feasting on Subway sandwiches. I have no idea why, but I instinctively ordered the turkey. The girls passed out almost immediately upon our return home (although Katie is again fighting a stubborn, asthma-esque cough), so I spent the evening fiddling with my novel... Nothing really grew except the overly-detailed outline, though, so I think I'm just going to quit at 10,000 and happily join the ranks of the NaNoWriMo majority this year. (I'll at least enjoy success vicariously through certification.) Not everyone finishes the marathon on their first attempt, right? You just can't quit running. Ultimately, I'm still comfortable calling myself a writer — I'm just pathetically undisciplined.

Comments Hey Ryan... Tell Eathan to get in touch with me! I need him back in my files!!! —Tutu Sue (November 24, 2001 5:21 PM) Do we get to read this incompleted literary masterpiece online? Heheheh. —NemesisVex (November 25, 2001 3:19 AM) Well, from someone who did finish a marathon on the first attempt (and second), I totally agree with that last paragraph. I should try it next year. I've been averaging about 500-600 words an entry lately...guess with a bit of training I could bring it up to 1600 a day...who knows. —Keith (November 28, 2001 9:54 AM) E kala mai! Comments have been disabled due to overwhelming abuse by spammers. Please click through to any of the video hosting services linked above to leave a public response, or feel free to send an e-mail. Mahalo! < November 21 · November · December 18 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008