Aloha, to all. I am now officially addicted to Facebook. I resisted for a very long time but once I gave in, it was obvious that Facebook was created for us Moana street brats. I can’t tell the feelings of Ohana I get every time I see another name on there and can now easily keep tabs on peoples lives that I have missed for so long.
I was up in SLC at New Years and spent some time with Jen and Jill Jackson, and Sister Jackson. It was nice to spend time with them. Sister Jackson told me that Ron had written some things about Moana Street and that she’d get them to me. When I get them I will publish them here for all to read and enjoy.
I was going through my Journal the other day and found a few funny stories from childhood. I wonder if children play the way we did back then, so much imagination and down right belief. I was remembering fishing at the drain with Mike Smith, we’d put the white bread in our mouth, no other bread would do, and get it just wet enough. We would take the bread from our mouth and with our fingers form it into a little round ball and placing it just so on the hook. We would then lower the hook on our fishing line down into the drain… Swinging the bated hook back and forth to get just the right momentum we would let it go and watch it soar down the dark drain hole, plop into the murky water. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent with my face pressed against the cool metal grate of that drain waiting for a fish to take my bait. Lets face it Mike Smith was the expert and would always seemed to catch a fish. I always wondered if it was the way he formed his bread ball, or the hooks he used.
I was remembering Kim Fredricks, her 16th birthday I think, her sister came across the street to the Jackson’s and asked if I would come and sing her a song. I knocked on her door and with all her friends standing there giggling sang her an Elvis song. Later I shared an Art Studio space at College with her. She never brought up the singing either I was really bad or she was utterly embarrassed.
I always would say that if the drain could speak the stories it would tell, besides the countless baseballs it consumed, I myself can think of many a conversation or confession that I shared on those drains. I remember sitting with Anne watch the Walkers circle the block in the evening. Mike Jackson and I would rendezvous there, the last time I was in Hawaii we walked over there and sat and talked, even though both of our family no longer lived there. It felt good to just lay there looking up at the coconut tees and the Hawaii stary night.
Thanks all the comments about this blog, hopefull people enjoy it as much as I have writing it. If anyone wants to write or share a story please feel free.