Hookers and Strokers

I'm sure I've had pain like this before. I'm sure of it… I just can't remember when. I mean my toes hurt all the way to my ear lobes. The backs of my legs are covered in bruises as if I'd been pole dancing all night. My arms hang from my side like two giant cement blocks that make it difficult to even write. I am feeling muscles in my back expand, contract and convulse to the point that I fear at any moment I will metamorphesize into The Incredible Hulk.
The cause of all this pain?
Don't tell my parents.
I've started hookin'
Hookin' and strokin'.

It's not as bad as it sounds.

Three weeks ago I joined the outrigger canoe paddle team and three times a week I meet with five other ladies and our coach Joshy for run, paddle, hook and stroke.

Given my primordial fear of getting kicked off the team (post trauma from being an exceptionally clumsy adolescent) I have been pushing myself beyond the confines of my previously identified "woosie" self and hence here I sit on a Friday night with aches all the way down to my mitochondria.

If you have ever gazed at the beautiful paddlers out on the ocean, gracefully floating above the water, paddles in sync, moving along effortlessly you would never guess that they are using every muscle they have.

I am learning this, the hard way.
"You are going to have huge arms Casselle but you wont get anywhere unless you use your legs!" our coach Joshy yells at me. "Twist, push it forward, extend, stab and pull, in together, out together, long and hard Gangey, long and hard! Dig! Dig! Dig!"

Don’t even get me started on "changes." Basically your worst nightmare. Pulling yourself out of the water into a moving canoe by "hooking" (hookin') your leg over the rim and throwing the rest of your body over and immediately begin strokin' (paddling). Sound difficult? Well, it is, hence multiple back of leg bruising situation.

Also learned important lesson regarding appropriate clothing for paddling. Unless you want everyone to see your private parts be sure to wear tight fitting swim wear as the force of the water will take anything less clear to your ankles thereby extending the sexual innuendos of hookin' and strokin' pole dancing analogy.

Right now we are at the beginning of our training which means it is only going to get harder, which means… more pain.

If I am going to avoid Popeye arms I will have to figure out what my coach is yelling about regarding the whole twist, pull, dig, stab rigmoral.

He calls us his "Gangey (Gang-e)."
"In together, out together Gangey"
"Good job Gangey"
"Long and hard Gangey."

I've never been part of a "gang" before much less a "Gangey." And I have to admit it feels pretty cool. Especially to be part of a gang of super strong intense beautiful Hawaiian women

This is why I keep going back despite the aches. I keep going back for the Gangey. That and the ocean and the amazing rush you get when you're stroking in sync, you feel the wave underneath you, you catch it and it pushes you forward gracefully onward.

Constant Companion

Here is the picture that I will paint for you:
Me, in pajamas, old man slippers, crazy bed head, sun rising behind me as I go stumbling down the driveway to the main house where I take my morning coffee. Look a little closer and you will see a small white cat following closely at my heels. Her light yellow markings set off the translucent green in her eyes and she begins to tell me all about the previous night's adventures.

Meet Haole, my constant companion, my new best friend, and the only thing to talk to on the west end that is not a figment of my own imagination.

I think Haole must wait in the Kiawe forest for me every morning. I picture her squatting there among the grass and the thorns, those intense eyes of hers watching my cottage door for any movement. Her timing is impeccable. It seems that she knows better than I when I will be waking up.

As she narrates her evening's escapades I go about the morning chores; dumping the compost, checking on the papaya, sweeping, etc. She is up for anything and will not let me perform any of these tasks in isolation. As I boil water for coffee she winds herself in and out of my legs, patiently waiting for the moment when we will sit down (my coffee and journal to my right and she to my left) and take in the morning.

Haole cat is a staple of Paradise. She has adopted Miller Molokai as her own home and will take in any guest as her new owner for the week. This is quite charming I believe and many guests find her to be a highlight of their stay.

The only problem is that Haole believes she is truly an equal member of the place. She helps herself to any food that might be laying about; a bowl of fresh popcorn, a loaf of bread, some marinating shrimp. This then leads to me yelling and making strange noises with which to scare her from the counters. To these sounds she will only glance at me confusedly as if to say: "What is it dearie? Are you having a fit? Come here and share some of this delicious shrimp I found. That will set you right!"

(Haole speaks in a British accent by the way)

There is also one other problem with Haole. She likes to give me presents. These presents come in the form of beautifully colored aviary creatures which she brings into the house and proceeds to tease and torture at my feet before beheading them. Many a morning you could sit outside the glass doors and watch the pandemonium that ensues; me with tears in my eyes, screaming, chasing Haole, Haole chasing bird with feline intensity, bird flying wildly into the walls only to be stunned and recaptured, me finally giving up, sobbing at the true reality of nature, trying not to notice Haole gulping down brightly colored feathers. She looks up at me proudly; "Now that was a jolly good show, mum. I quite enjoyed the part when you tossed the bird into the wall. Shall we have another go?"

One time I was able to save the bird and it found its way into a tree. But a few minutes later Haole brought it back to me in her mouth. She meows incessantly until I look. "Let us do it again!" she says excitedly.

I don't think she is bad cat. I really do think she wants to please me. She stares at me sometimes as if she is pondering what she can do to make me happy. Unfortunately there is much lost in translation between our two worlds. I can so easily miss-perceive her behavior as an act of defiance or cruelty when truly her instinct is good natured. Isn't this true about all our companionships, even inner-species ones? If only we can take the time to have a little understanding for those closest to us. For now, the closest one to me is Haole. Literally and figuratively, she is sitting on my lap as I write this, staring at my fingers typing.
"I do like the part about the bird!" she says. "Speaking of birds…"
Oh Haole!