Gunn Gardenias for Breakfast

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-942704-41-6
Verlag: Robin's Nest Productions, Inc.
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 168 Seiten

When Abby and her 12-year-old daughter leave their home on Maui and set off across the United States on a road trip to Louisiana, Abby is sure that this trip is about Hannah. Abby wants Hannah to receive a blessing from Abby's grandmother and the matriarch of the family. This blessing, she is sure, will fill Hannah with confidence as she heads into the challenging years of adolescence. What Abby doesn't expect, is that in many ways, this trip is about her and her own complicated relationships between the generations of women in her family, including her estranged mother. The sweet scent of Gardenias permeates this engaging look at the intergenerational journey of women, as it also reminds us of another sweet fragrance-forgiveness.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Gunn, Robin Jones

Leseproben

Chapter 1

May Day is Lei Day in Hawai’i.

On the island of Oahu, the outstretched arms on the giant statue of King Kamehameha the Great are looped with hundreds of trailing leis made from delicate, golden ‘ilima flowers. These tiny blossoms resemble the feathers of the now-extinct o’o bird that once were collected and woven into elegant, long capes for the royalty of these islands.

Kamehameha the Great is remembered as a strong warrior who united the Hawaiian Islands. He and his descendants are still honored by the people of Hawaii. Whenever I see his statue draped with those fragrant flowers on May Day, I think of the great lady who stretched out her arms to me long ago, wearing a fragrant gardenia in her white hair. Her name is Charlotte Isabella Burroughs, and she is my grandmother. My Grand Lady.

I was thinking of Grand Lady on May Day this year as I arrived at the elementary school in Lahaina, where we live on the island of Maui. As a long-standing tradition, the students participate in a lei-making contest each May 1. In the eighteen years that I’ve volunteered as one of the judges, I’ve never seen a lei made from gardenias. I thought about how, if I were granted my wish for my daughter, Hannah, to go to Louisiana to meet Grand Lady, I would make a lei from the gardenias that exploded like popcorn on the huge bush by the Big House. I would drape my Grand Lady in fragrant flowers and let her know while she was still living that she was honored by her most enamored descendant.

Entering the cafeteria, I detected the faint scent of fried Spam and steamed white rice lingering in the air. Must be Thursday. Spam and rice every Thursday. With teriyaki sauce.

Two teacher’s aides looked up and smiled when I entered. They were busy placing numbers in front of the leis on the long tables, so I hung back and waited next to the open windows while they completed their task. I was glad for a breath of fresh air. After nearly twenty years on this island, I still had not taken to Spam the way my son and daughter had after their weekly school lunches of the local favorite. I was thinking of corn on the cob dripping with butter and my Uncle Burt’s hickory-smoked ribs smothered in barbecue sauce.

The gentle trade winds tumbled in from the ocean, treating the flattened window slats like welcome mats, wiping their wet feet quickly and asking the startled strands of my long brown hair if they wanted to dance. My hair, as usual, said, “Yes!”

I didn’t try to stop the familiar tousled jazz routine but rather gazed out at the sparkling blue Pacific and felt a rising sense of wild-eyed restlessness. West Maui has to be one of the most beautiful places God ever made. I love it here. Yet sometimes I think I know every inch of this island. I wonder what it would be like to drive and drive and not know where I am. I dream of snow-capped mountains. If I start thinking about how small our island is or how we’re surrounded by all that salt water—miles and miles of nothing but ocean—I can work myself into a respectable panic. I must confess this because, when I made my wish for Hannah to go to Louisiana, I think my rising bout of island fever factored into the wish.

Marilyn, the school principal, entered the cafeteria with several plumeria leis strung over her arm. She offered one to me with a friendly “aloha” and a brush of a kiss across my cheek. I received her greeting and flowers with a warm “mahalo,” reminding myself why I loved to live here. The people, the sweet fragrance, the gentle aloha … yet what was it that was drawing me away from Maui to that place of my childhood memories?

Directing me to the first table by the door, Marilyn said, “The scoring sheets are on the clipboards. Remember, no conferring with the other judges until after you’ve completed your tally.”

I had to smile at the way everyone took this lei contest so seriously. All expressions of art are taken seriously in Lahaina. Young artists have an assortment of talented mentors available to them as well as a variety of contests throughout the year designed to promote their talent. My own Hannah has won the annual Art Night in Lahaina for the best watercolor painting in her age group three years in a row.

Every year for the Lei Day contest Hannah would go over to her friend Pua’s house where the two of them created their leis. That way I never saw Hannah’s work ahead of time and couldn’t be influenced when I did the judging. She takes her art contests seriously, especially when she’s allowed to give her creativity free rein.

I scanned the scoring sheet and remembered the first time I had volunteered to do this. I stood in this same cafeteria and looked out at the ocean through these same slatted windows. That was the first time I saw a humpback whale breech. The beast shot out of the water, made a slight half-turn, and belly flopped with a great, white splash. I gave a cry and pointed out the window. No one else had noticed the spectacle that day. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, but I stood alone in the wonder and felt sure I would never grow tired of this amazing place.

Since then I’ve seen dozens of whales. Maybe hundreds. Tom and I often go sailing in the middle of January and watch the frolicking whales from only a hundred yards away. I have gone swimming with dolphins and sea turtles. I’ve seen more rainbows than I can count. I’ve slept in a hammock under the stars and sauntered through a bamboo forest. I dine regularly on fresh-picked pineapple and sweet papayas that drop from my neighbor’s tree into my front yard. I’ve hiked through a volcano and kissed my husband behind a waterfall. I experience wonders in my daily routine that other women wait a lifetime to experience once.

In the wake of such daily abundance, was I crazy to long for the treasures of the mainland? Why did I crave the sight of fireflies, magnolia blossoms, or a forest thick with pine trees? Why did the thought of Cajun sausage sound so delicious at this moment?

The tall, lanky palm trees outside the cafeteria window rustled their shaggy manes, as if to scold me and to say, “The trees are always greener on the other side of the ocean, you know.”

Yes, I know.

Focusing on the task before me, I examined the first three leis. They were all made from candy, a popular choice with the lower grades. Two were crafted from shells, and one was made from bones.

Chicken neck bones, I think.

I hope!

The budding artists seemed to get more creative each year.

About ten years ago, I was in agreement with the organizers when they decided that the students could use something other than flowers to make their leis. That year one student entered an octopus lei. The dead thing smelled so bad that even after we disposed of it, we had to move all the other entries outside to continue the contest.

No sea creatures this year, I noticed, moving on to the next table. I gave a score of “3” to a vegetable lei featuring radish roses spaced with black olives. The Ninja Turtle figurine lei fastened with rubber bands received a “2,” and I debated over a “2” or a “3” for a lei made with colorful buttons.

My favorite was a lei made from lipstick tubes, bright pink crayons, and magenta bougainvillea. I don’t know why I liked it so much. Perhaps it was the great balance of the bright colors or the added touch of the flowers. I gave that lei the highest score so far.

The final lei came with a clever tag: “U.S. of Lei.” The designer, most likely a fifth- grader looking for extra credit in history, had drilled holes in puzzle pieces of the fifty states and had strung them together. All those states connected as one big whole.

Being dependent on boats and planes here on the islands to go anywhere, I stood there, thinking of how people can travel from one state right into another state without even stepping out of their car.

Cautiously touching the dark-orange puzzle piece shaped like Louisiana, I thought of Grand Lady and whispered my secret wish once again. This time, my words sounded more like a prayer than a wish.

Running my finger up the jagged coastline of the California puzzle piece, I thought of my mother and wondered what it would feel like to be connected once again. Not with my mother. That would take a miracle. But what would it feel like to be connected with the rest of America? My America. I wanted to pick up that U.S. of Lei, drape it triumphantly around my neck, and see what it felt like to have all fifty states circling me.

My cell phone rang. My brother, Jon, who lived in Seattle, was calling.

“Hey, Abby. Glad I caught you. Listen, I have something to talk to you about. We’re going to Europe again this summer. I have a meeting in Brussels, but then Patty and the girls and I are going to Paris and Rome. We’re flying back to Atlanta and driving our new SUV up the East Coast and then home.”

“Wow. Europe and half of the U.S. in one summer.” I checked the tone of my voice.

“Yeah, well, you know. You gotta do it while you can.”

I wanted to bite him the way I did when he was eight and had pulled off my favorite doll’s head.

Handing over my clipboard to Marilyn with a nod that I’d completed my judging, I stepped outside and tried to sound gracious. “I hope you have a great time, Jon.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Abby, because our potential for having a great time might depend on you.”

My brother missed his true calling. He may have made a small fortune working for a high-tech computer corporation for the past twenty years, but he should have been a...