You read the defense. You had to to make this shot. I only dreamed of this while i waited long legged and clumsy. You made it happen this day. you scored a goal from half field halani and your mother never forgot this.  How was this possible? DO TELL? was it sheer will? The defenders were most definately confused and taken out of the game? explain this trick. Your mother beamed on this while never revealing all the preperation it took to do this. I LOVE THIS STORY! GIRL POWER to the NTH. All her strength now falls to you? KICK ANOTHER? for all those still scratching there heads halani kicked a goal from well over half field that was most assureldy found to be legal and well played. your mother smiles down. you were the talk of the field that day. Your mothers daughter. most assuredly.

I remember an espcially hot summer day in the Bay Area. It was probably back in the late 1980's or early 90's. I was home for summer break and there were some workers outside, fixing something or other. Although I said "hello" I didn't think to do anything much more than that, as so many teenagers often might but on the second day of the job my mother gave me some cold drinks and sliced watermelon to take out to them.

Feeling somewhat awkward, I approached these guys and explained that my mom asked me to give this to them. I'll never forget the elation immediately expressed across their faces as they stood under the hot afternoon sun. They smiled and each took big sips of the lemonade my mother made before telling how "amazing" my mother was. One of the guys went on to explain that in so many other places they worked, they were mostly just ignored or left to their own devices. It was her common decency and the recognition she gave them as human beings which resonated so much.

The more that I think about this experience which is forever solidified in my memory, I realise that it wasn't just with one set of people in which my mom gave generously.This was with everyone. Her generousity was not simply about the material but about the soulful. Her soul was deep and I've learned and continue to learn so much from her. 

People genuiney loved and continue to love my mom because she always gave everything she had of her her spirit to each of us.

There first time I recall my mother’s cunning ability teach me courage was at the doctor’s office as a young child. I must have been about five years old or so and required the removal of hardened skin from my hand. The process was only going to take a minute or so but required the doctor to literally freeze a tiny portion of my hand where the strange and unsightly hard skin was, also known as cryotherapy. He explained that it would sting but that it wouldn’t be for long.

Then out of the blue, my mother looked out to the lush green hillsides just inland from the coastline of Honolulu and asked me, “Can you see Aunty Jan’s house?”

“Aunty Jan’s house?” I asked. This didn’t make any sense because I knew my aunt lived in Washington State.

“Yes, it’s over there on the hillside.” She pointed ambiguously into the distance.

“Where?”

She said something like, “The brown house over there.”

The hillside was a tapestry of houses and colours among many of which were brown.

I could feel the pain of the freezing device on my hand and moved in discomfort. As my mom noticed this she began to continue her questioning.

“Look Halani. Look over there.”

“But I am looking over there!”

I was hurting but still trying to work out which house was Aunty Jan’s.

“Follow my finger Halani. She leaned in towards me so that I could follow the outline of her arm, following it to what I thought were the most beautiful brown hands, until I reached the top of her pointer finger with it’s feminine, natural finger nail. As I followed the imaginary line from her hand to the hillside, I could make out a few brown houses scattered among the others.

Before I knew it, the doctor had finished his procedure and was bandaging up my treatment. There were probably a few tears that had to be wiped from eyes as I recall it being very painful, although I was equally distracted my mother’s engaging question and the very nature that the fact that my auntie having a house there just didn’t add up to me.

Later that day, I asked her if she was tricking me so that I wouldn’t feel the pain. She smiled in her knowing way that only a mother can when she looks at her child and gave me a gentle hug.

That’s just one of the wonderful ways I remember my mother.

“Who cares?” My mother always used to say.

She was never indifferent to the opinions of others but nonetheless, she didn’t place a premium on their outlook either when it came to judging who she was and anything she decided to do. Sometimes we knew her to be fearless. Other times we wondered if she was slightly crazy. But either way, she inspired so many of us to follow in her footsteps.

One of the most difficult things I realised just a few days following my other's death was that I would never speak to her again. I searched frantically thorugh my cell phone for any trace of a voice mesage from her but since moving to the UK, it occurred to me that we spoke only via Skype.

My mother used to call at all hours, anytime she felt the desire to talk. There were even times when the phone would ring deep in the night and while I was worried that something bad might have happened, she would just want to talk about life's happenings because she was still awake.

She would often call and if I was unable to answer, she would undoubtedly sign off with her consummate phrase, "Give me jingle."

I used to think it was a funny thing to say. I mean, who says, "give me jingle?" When I think of a jingle, I think of commercials but perhaps there was more to it. I looked up the word jingle and found on dictionary.com the following:

verb (used without object), jingled, jingling.

verb (used with object), jingled, jingling.

noun

Here in the UK, Shrove Tuesday (the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent) is referred to as Pancake Day. My husband suggested he make a big batch of banana pancakes which I'm not sure he's ever done before and this brought a smile to my face.

As I pondered the reason why I love banana pancakes so much, I realized that it has a great deal to do with my mom. As a child, she used to make banana pancakes for me on the weekends. It was a huge treat to have that perfectly cooked, soft layer of batter, so warm and fluffly with large chunks of bananas peeking through. She would slice bananas on topf it, too whenever she had some leftover. It turned into a banana flavoured sponge which soaked up the all melted butter and thick maple syrup. Those wonderful mornings made breakfast feel a lot more like desert which is heaven for any child.

I miss mom's banana pancakes! 

Memories of you and dad came to mind the other day as my daughter and I   were dancing away.  it made me think of this picture of you and dad.  This picture was taken at my brother Siovani & Roxy's wedding in 87 many many moons ago.   Seeing this photo makes me smile as I imagine you both dancing it up right now :)  You use to tell me that a wise man (my dad)told you a long time ago that what ever you decide to do with your life, make sure it makes you happy. (random thoughts of you both)   I love and miss you both very much. 

I have a tranquil wall hanging that once belonged to my mother and now rests within the daylong sunlight that showers through a south-facing window. It’s a reminder that to discover our real purpose in life, one sometimes has to slow everything down. This is especially important in a world that is increasingly teaching us how to speed our lives up in everyway - from communication styles to access to information.

However, the sudden death of my mother is forcing me to do just the opposite. For the first time in my life, I want nothing more than to be still and deliberate about each action I take.

As an only child, I can remember countless times when I would tire of playing by myself and seek some other outward stimulation. Fumbling about in search of new activities, probably moaning to myself simultaneously, I would complain to my mother.

“Maaaaaw-um. I’m bored.”

My mother would calmly reply without looking up from what she was doing, “It’s good to be bored sometimes.”

I would let out a heavy sigh feeling my slight frustration unacknowledged and so would repeat, “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I’m reeeeeeeally bored. There’s nothing to do.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time. But it’s important to be bored sometimes.”

“How can being bored be important?”

“Because it let's you slow down.”

“But I don’t wanna slow down.”

“We all have to slow down sometimes Halani.”

Thirty something years later, these words make more sense than ever.  As a highly energetic child, I didn’t understand the value of just being still. But then again, how could I possibly understand the richness of this wisdom at the ripe age of five?

It’s ironic, but ever since she died it’s as though every life lesson she ever tried to pass on takes on greater significance and in the process of that, brings with it greater clarity than ever before.