Honey...

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She works hard for the Honey...

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Akua...

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Today was a Beautiful morning spent at Kamehameha Schools Midkiff Library for the World History Interfaith Conference with the Sophomore class. The students rotated to different stations to hear different religious leaders speak about their personal Faith. Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Baha'i Faith were all represented today. I was Blessed to have been able to participate in all five stations and listen to the expressions of Passion and Spirituality.  Before we commenced, I found myself standing next to a large five-foot by four-foot original painting by the late Master Artist Herb Kane of the Battle of the Nu'uanu Pali. I had always seen the smaller versions but to see the detail up close was awe inspiring and humbling. Herb's research and 'ike were astounding. I absorbed every detail. The faces. The mahiole. The ihe, newa and leiomano weapons. The desperate faces plunging over the cliff in terror. I thought about my namesake, Keawe-Ka'iana-...
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Work Ethic...

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I think a lot of people see a homeless man digging in garbage cans. I see a man who works very hard for the little redemption pennies on each bottle. For survival. Not even minimum wage. He puts many hourly and salary workers, who cruise and slack, and still complain, to shame. Yet they look down on him. I wish I had his work ethic...
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Mothers...

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I stopped by the cemetery to visit my Mother. Her grave is partially under a Beautiful tree so even though it was close to noon, there was a little shade on her headstone and the cloud cover made it somewhat overcast at that spot as well. I talked to her and my Father for awhile. Then I wished my Mother a Happy Mother's Day and placed the white carnation lei onto her gravestone. When I stood back up, a Beautiful warm ray of Sunlight broke through the clouds and the tree canopy, and lit up her name. I stood motionless and emotions welled up inside. It was such a simple, yet profound sign, of her presence and her acknowledgement. But most of all, her Love. I remembered when I was about six years old. My Mother and I were at an airport in between flights somewhere on the continent. Just her and I. We stopped to get something to eat in a small airport cafeteria. I remember we both were ravenous and we both ordered a breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast.  I ended up pouring ...
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