Somewhere under the rainbow . .


Since I’m posting a series of beach pictures, let me introduce you to Roxy, who is visiting Honolulu with Bill, a family friend of ours.  As you see, she is just as fascinated with the rainbow over the water as are the grown-ups.  I word it that way because it’s easy to group Roxy with the children, although she is quite mature..  I will be posting pictures of other places Roxy went, and I think it will make you want to visit Hawaii.  Perhaps Roxy could be your guide.     (Photo by Bill Smith)


From Sea to Shining Sea


Time out from a series of Hawaii shores to show one of Florida.  This is a picture of my husband Gene, taken a few years ago.  Totally unplanned, I found three reasons to name this photo “The Wave.”


Swell Pictures of the Pacific

Ocean Crashing

I could have gone to the north shore yesterday to see the unusual high swells, but I didn’t go.  My daughter went and brought home 30 photos she had taken of this unusual event.  So hard to choose one.  All of them show 50 foot swells.  Awesome and almost impossible to capture the depth in a photo.

Ocean Tremendous

There is no way to capture the awesomeness of the Pacific Ocean.

No way.

Her Sea World


Reviewing pictures I have taken on my beach walks, I come across this . . . a picture that  haunts me, because there is at least one story here and I don’t know which one it is.

I wish I had stepped back, because in front of this wahine is the ocean,   She is sitting there alone with nothing between her and the water.


Someone has brought her here in the wheelchair.  And they have left her here.  For the afternoon, or to fetch her a drink of water?    Perhaps her doctor has prescribed sunshine and sea breezes.  Perhaps she asked to be alone for a while with her memories.  Or was she left  to give her caretaker a rest?

She came prepared.  There is a blanket to put over her lap if the sun goes under and the breeze is sharp.  There is a towel, but something tells me she is not going swimming.  What is that on the table . . a hand seine for catching fish?  Not here, I think.  Or is that a tennis racquet covered with a baseball cap?  Perhaps these things belong to her companion..

At first I thought this was a sad picture.  It certainly could be.  But now I think it is just the opposite.  This lovely lady  has arisen early, bathed and put on her favorite muumuu.  Someone came for her, someone who loves her and brought her flowers.  Someone who followed her wishes, recognizing her need and respecting her judgment.  Loved her enough to leave her alone in her sea world, one that no one else can know.

I understand.

A Short Story by Doris Markland

thB5X1VK83                          The Gate

I don’t remember how I got here or what the entire plan was.  But it was arranged for people to meet me at the gate and, you know, fill me in on how to act, what to say and not say, and how things are done here.  I lived with them for a while and they showed by example how to have a good life here, as well as sharing the rules that would keep me out of trouble.  They were good people.  In a few years they were gone, but I had found my way, made new friends, and in time I had a mate and children of my own . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wait . . . wait . . .they are not my own, never were . . . I remember now . . .they are the ones I was sent to meet at the gate . . . . . .

A Kindred Soul

Chinese beach girl 2

Recently I posted a story about me, as a child, standing alone and singing my heart out from atop a snowdrift.

One day, a few years ago, as I walked along the ocean in Waikiki, I came upon an oriental girl, sitting on the seawall, strumming her ukulele and singing her heart out to the ocean. . . or, perhaps, to the universe.   She turned to smile at me and then turned back.  It was a moment of oneness.



Repairing my Sportsman Ship

Okay.  Some important games may be coming up soon.   One, in particular, I will watch so that I can see the annual show of amazing advertisements.

I know.  I’m a dud.  I know nothing about sports, have very little interest in them, and have never understood why people get so excited about the art of getting a ball from here to there.  There are such easier ways.

This goes way back.  In grade school I was the last one chosen for any team in any sport.  I made the girls’ basketball team because they needed numbers, but I was replaced as soon as someone new moved into town.  I passed a college tennis course (for credit) because I could memorize the scoring rules.  I passed a required swim class because I could make it from one side of the pool to the other. I tried golf and found I couldn’t even beat myself.

It was never comforting to see how easily other people did these things.  I wasn’t jealous, I simply didn’t care. And I was a lousy fan in the stands because I just couldn’t  bring myself to really care who won the damn game.

Still, I want you to know what a good sport I am.

When this picture was taken last fall it was appropriate.  I did fall.  Just before the picture was taken I had decided to join my two great grandsons in a bowling game.  I hadn’t bowled for many years, and then only a few times.  I rented the shoes, put them on and lined up.  When it was my turn I picked up the ball, inserted my thumb and fingers, turned, tripped over the little step-up, and fell flat . .on the floor . . on the ball.  It was crushing a few ribs and a few fingers.  (Took weeks to heal the ribs, and one thumb joint is still confused.)

Still ., . .this picture was taken a few minutes later.  I had just scored a strike.

I could moan later.

Am I a good sport or what?

1441434_631247140259761_71064591_n[1]   P. S.  But you should see me bowl, play tennis and golf and   baseball on my Wii.  right in the middle of my living room. I’m not getting younger . . but I am getting better.     And notice I do wear a button to push if I’ve “fallen and I can’t get up.”     Darn kids again.

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