Greetings,

This is a streaming of consciousness of miscellaneous tidbits of my life, in no particular order or design.    

My work and life, up to now, has been very other-directed.  My past writing has been objective with a distinctly scientific bent.  I examine others.

Putting the spotlight on me in this journal is something  unaccustomed.

Today, I'll indulge in yet another exercise in self-absorption, although Socrates would beg to differ.   He seems to think that self-examination makes a life worth living.   

 "The unexamined life is not worth living."
~ Socrates 

My first and middle names  have the same meaning:  Beloved.   Names are words with meanings.  Words  have power.  And indeed, I have been very loved in this life.  Consider twice before naming a child, Cameron.  It means "Crooked Nose."

Click here to check out what your name means.

I love everything purple, except for bruises. Purple sweatshirts, purple wine, purple grapes, purple grape juice, purple Easter eggs, purple eggplants, purple pens and ink, purple hats, purple boas,  purple candles,  purple crayons, purple fonts, purple backgrounds,  purple gifs,  purple fireworks,  amethysts, purple in writing, the book, The Color Purple, purple poetry, and purple poi.  Poi is our staple, our staff of life, so if I even hear a little hint of  "ee-yoo" to poi,  I will personally reach out of your computer screen and tweak your nose.   You don't make fun of our poi, and I won't  tease you about your bland potato, rice, bread, or pasta.  

What's your favorite color?  Click here to check out its psychology.

I'm 5'2", which is average-sized in my homeland of Hawai`i.  Here on the mainland, I am considered euphemistically petite.  Short.   I never think of myself as short.  When I stand next to my hanai (adopted) 5'10" daughter, I think, "Wow, she's tall."

Past shoulder length, my hair is long. With Cher, Jane Seymour and Jacqueline Bisset as rare exceptions, yes, a woman over 40 with long hair is uncommon.  I wear my hair up at work in a chignon, and at home, in a ponytail, braid,  or flowing loose. 

I'm turning into my Grandmother Satsuma; when she freed her silky hair from its hair clasp, it tumbled down in waves past her waist.  At 82, Grandmother's hair  was more black than silver.  So with me.  

My hair is raven black with a few silver threads, these days. My mother, on the other hand, turned hoary in her 30s.  So I don't complain, much.

My eyes are brown.  Dark brown, almost black.  Maybe I'll go bleached blonde one day with blue contacts .  I'll be sure to have more fun.  Just kidding.  

I don't weigh myself.  I think I'm about 10 -15 pounds heavier than I was when I got married (100 lbs in 1974).  Given my druthers, I'd rather be the size 4 I once was then.  I'm now a solid size 6.  My  metabolism is slowing down.  Lately, I've been  tempted to down one of my dog's thyroid pills and see if it will rev things up. 

I've broken one bone in my life.  I broke  my clavicle (collarbone) in a fall from the sofa to the floor as an infant. I have no recall of the incident, but the fall may explain why I am different from my siblings.  

I have a double-jointed pinkie.  I can arch one eyebrow,  wiggle my right ear, and roll my tongue and twist it to the right. I can write up-side-down and mirror-write.  Doing so  came naturally and effortlessly.  Must be that fall.

What stupid human tricks can you do? Click here for some very stupid human tricks. 

As did Mom, my nose and cheeks were sprinkled with freckles as a little girl.   Of course, I hated them then, and tried my best to bleach them out with lemon juice.  They've faded over the years, and now I miss them.  

As did Dad, I had zits as a teen. I had so hoped to inherit my mothers's flawless,  porcelain skin.  Instead,  for awhile there, my skin's texture  resembled that of a Nestle crunch bar.   Ick.  My dad comforted me with:  "One day, you're going to be happy you inherited my oily skin."  Father Knows Best.  At 50, my skin is the clearest and smoothest that  it's ever been.  Better late than never.

I first got my  (brown, tortoise shell) glasses in 9th grade. They were extremely dorky looking.  Myopic, I squinted or used the pinhole trick to avoid wearing them.  I was fitted for contact lenses when I was 23.  It was a liberating, momentous event, and I've worn contacts ever since.   

These days, thanks to a very talented optical dispenser,  I like my glasses just as well as my contacts.  I was fitted with a stylish pair of Seiko titanium  frames from Japan.  With beautiful sculptural lines,  frames have been elevated to a fine art.  

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