Three Women from Someplace Else

I can’t believe it! My memoir about living in Hawaii has been released!

The back cover copy states:

What happens when a happily married, 40-somthing lands in Honolulu, 4,000+ miles away from her small, rural hometown in Pennsylvania, and befriends three women from countries and cultures that she knows very little about? Her world—life, mind, spirit, perspective—is enlarged and enhanced. The evolution of friendships includes learning about ancient island traditions, the hardships of war and terrorism, modern-day racism, and paradise quirks—all with a healthy dose of realistic humor.  

Her friends: Keiko, an older, very proper Japanese woman who married a GI from Hawaii during the occupation of Tokyo. Haneul left South Korea as a young woman to “live a better life as an American” in Honolulu. Nanialii has royal Hawaiian blood running through her veins and shares the traditions, political maneuvers, sovereignty movements, and cultural wars lived only by the “real locals”—hidden from the comings and goings of those vacationing in paradise.

I’m going to hand-deliver a book to each of my dear friends in O’ahu in March and I hope they are as thrilled as I am about sharing their stories with the world (ok, that may be a stretch), but at least with a scattering of people nationwide.

If you would like a fun, exciting book to read that, of course, has a happy ending, please consider ordering a copy on Amazon (click on the following link). http://www.amazon.com/Three-Someplace-Angela-Rickabaugh-Shears/dp/1450753701/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1297190585&sr=1-1

Thanks so much! Let me know what you think about it.  Aloha!

No Hunting Allowed

At 7am this morning I had the pleasure of watching a deer family traipse around my backyard. A graceful mom, antlered dad, and skittish twin fawns–spots and all. Mom checked out the hanging bird feeder and Dad the bird bath. The fawns were frightened by a passing neighbor’s cat and pranced while white fluffy tails stood at attention.

Maggie Doodle Dog sniffed their footprints (and hopefully nothing else left behind), no doubt wondering what had invaded her territory while she was sleeping.

It pains me to think that hunters may stalk and kill these beautiful animals in a few short weeks. I know all about the so-called good reasons for hunting season, but it still doesn’t ease the pain of knowing that these most innocent creatures will be shot down for really no good reason.

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Aloha Memories

Well, I’m about to enter into that realm where all writers venture with a song in their heart and a cramp in their wrist. I’ve sent out queries to several agents and publishers confident that each one is waiting eagerly at their computer for my email to appear announcing a unique and memorable expose.

I can see them now, each one opening the message and reading the content with such enthusiasm that they can hardly believe their eyes. In unison across the nation they exclaim, “Yes! This is exactly what our agency needs! What a great book! A NYT bestseller for sure! It would make a good movie too…maybe with Reese Witherspoon as the lead!” (Playing the part of yours truly, of course.)

Well, maybe it won’t happen exactly like that, but day dreaming is fun and keeps a person smiling. And I hope I can keep smiling if rejection messages start to pile up in my inbox.

As misery loves company, a quick Internet search shows that I will be in very good company if indeed my memoir is rejected. For instance, the following received their share of “don’t call us we’ll call you” letters: Jack Kerouac, George Orwell, Oscar Wilde, Dr. Seuss, and Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit was turned down so many times that she initially self-published.

Hmmm…now that’s a thought.

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Indo Part III

About the shopping excursion:

So weird when I realized that I hadn’t been outside the complex in SIX days! A “driver” took me the few miles (yet almost an hour) to the “nicest center in the city.” We traveled down streets lined with people living like no where I have ever seen in the States. Not even in the Dominican Republic when I was there a few years ago.

Vendors were lined up right beside each other selling the exact same things food (that looked rotten) and every few feet or so there were metal cages about 24×24 inches with 5-7 puppies in each for sale. So sad.

And then we turned the corner and there were skyscrapers and nice cars and people dressed like out of Vogue. The entrance to the 5-story mall was gated with police posted outside. Inside Gucci, Burberry, Chanel and the like. Very upscale. The higher the level the lower the type of store, ending up with a children’s amusement park at the top complete with a carousel and ferris wheel. Hearing and seeing the little children giggle and having fun was refreshing.

The place was so big that I never did find Starbucks for a strawberries and creme frappuccino. But I did find the most perfect pair of Gucci sunglasses and after trying them on, handed the pretty sales associate the money. “No American dollar. You go money changer,” said the sales lady as she pointed upstairs.  I did so. The “two hundred” that she gave me in change were two coins as light as children’s play money. 

On the trip back, I took pictures of the street people and felt way guilty spending over 1.5 million rupiah, but even as hard as my hostess works to improve their lot, according to her their mindset after generations is acceptance of the way they live. Garbage thrown along every street, except immediate downtown area, and the smell of human waste permeates the air. Much more has to be done than just give them money and clothes and medicine (which she does), in addition their entire way of thinking must change. She is doing her best. I admire her devotion to her people.

I think that every American should visit an undeveloped country at least once–maybe a mandatory high school trip. I guarantee that the nature and nurture of our great nation would change for the better. We are so blessed and so fortunate to live in this country.

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Indo Part II

Dateline: Jakarta, Indonesia, Summer 2010

Every day was overcast, blistery hot and humid, but this was only surmised through condo windows because during my entire 12-day stay, I was outside but once–a trip to the Grand Indonesian Shopping Center (where they again checked vehicles for bombs).

A few days prior though, I wrote to family and friends:

It ‘s pouring buckets, sheets of rain, at least 2 inches in a 1/2 hour and it may rain for hours, I’m told. As if clear skies, a soccer game continues though the field is more mud than grass; grass that hosts a herd of goats every day that no doubt leave somethings behind that are now floating in the ankle-high mud that the players are running through. And remember, this is all taking place in the middle of the country’s capitol city.

Between interviewing, writing, and researching, I’m eating in the formal dining area of the complex where the dishes are equal to any Western 5-star restaurant. I’ve limited myself to one or two a day because they are SO delicious, and I don’t want to have to buy another seat on the flight back because I’m 50 pounds heavier.

Spinach ravioli in an orange colored creamy sauce, not sure what it was other than very tasty! Ceasar salad last night–baby cos lettuce, shaved parmesan, garlic croutons and basil Caesar dressing. Even though anchovies have a face and I’m known here as “Angela who eat no meat–nothing with face,” I ate it anyway–delicious. Yummy creamed spinach and cauliflower.

And Ike (an amazing chef who came from Sydney, Australia, where she served Mel Gibson, et. al, her fanstastic creations) made me a special “chef’s pie” with a delicate pastry surrounding peas, carrots, zucinni, dressed in some kind of fabulous light sauce. Perfect penne pasta another night. Dessert always, Panna cotta to die for, which I did 3 times! Gee, I think I used up all the adjectives I could think of describing her meals, and still didn’t do them justice!

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Sarah in Hershey

Sarah Palin

What a thoroughly enjoyable evening I had at the Hershey Lodge on Friday, August 27, 2010! Well, right up until I pulled out of the parking lot to head home–but more about that later.

I, along with 1100 people (including 10 Amish men and women!), attended the annual fundraiser for the Pennsylvania Family Institute, where Sarah Palin was the keynote speaker. PA Family is an organization that fights for pro-family, pro-life, anti-gambling, pro-school choice issues.

After a standing ovation when introduced, Govenor Palin flashed that now-famous smile, which immediately put the room into a friend-to-friend atmosphere. It was like listening to someone we had known for years, talking about all the things she (and we) love–family, God, country.

She told us about the 8 episodes she and her family taped this summer for the Discovery Channel in the remote regions of Alaska. “What do you do when you sit around a campfire?” she asked. “Eat Smores!” Said she gained 10 pounds eating smores this summer–each with a Hershey bar, of course.

She said that her family is not unlike many families in the United States. “But maybe one difference is that you don’t have mooseburgers on Sunday nights for dinner.” She hoped that people could “take comfort” knowing that her family has faced situations similar to many–welcoming a Down Syndrome child, seeing a son march off to war, handling a pregnancy under less-than-ideal circumstances. “Families are the building blocks of society. Government can’t replace a strong, united family.”

She had a special story about each of her children; Willow was with her that evening–the one and only member of her “entourage” when asked by the desk clerk where the rest of “her people” were.

She said that their son Trig inspires a special love. Before he was born she asked God to give her eyes to see Trig’s perfection. I’ll always remember the story she told about Trig’s morning routine. “Each morning he pulls himself up in his crib. Rubs his little eyes. Looks around, and then he applauds!” She said he stands there and claps and smiles and claps some more. “Wow, if he can start out each day like that, so can we,” she said. “Trig puts life into perspective. He teaches us…every child has something to contribute.”

She told us about the time when she was waiting to go on stage to debate with VP candidate Joe Biden and was looking around for someone to pray with. “That’s what Christians do–we pray!” She didn’t see anyone she thought would want to join her…until she saw her daughter Piper. “Piper, we need to pray for the Lord’s wisdom and grace,” she told her. and then explained about the debate and why it was important for her to win. “Piper, pray that God would speak through me.” Then as only a child’s pure heart would respond, “But that would be cheating!” The crowd of friends laughed with her at the beauty of the honest remark.

Daughter Bristol, whose pregnancy caused and continues to cause the media to shamefully trash her, came to her mother recently to say that, “They are going to say and write things the way they want to no matter what we do, so we might as well do what’s right, do what we’re called to do.” Sarah said, “I am so proud of her for realizing that. She knows we have each other’s backs.” I couldn’t help but feel so sad that a family has to come to such a realization because of the hatefulness of some.

When asked what she would like history to remember her for, “That Todd and I raised a soldier, a combat vet.” When asked how she chooses which candidates to support, “The ones who stand for the Constitution…”

“We don’t need a title or office to fight for what’s right,” she said. “Let’s usher in an agenda of life and pro-family in this country. A government that governs less, governs best.”

She spoke for almost an hour, including our (like Trig’s) applause. Everyone left with a smile on their faces and a patriotic spring in our steps.

Then I when I pulled up to the stop sign to turn left. On my right were four creepy looking people dressed in dark colors. Two were holding large posters of Jesus Christ holding up the “bad” finger. Words at the top, “Repfudiate this!” What? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I didn’t want to see what I was seeing. What? Why?

Before I could stop myself, I pushed the button and the passenger’s side window went down, “That is so hateful, so mean!” I told them. They shouted back, “Yea, well, Jesus is going to destroy with fire!” I put the window up and drove away shaking my head in total disbelief.

All the way home all I could think about was how Sarah and Willow would feel if they saw them, the poster, the hate.

Not the ending I thought the night would have, but a realistic one. I pray daily now for safety, peace, and grace for her family and all families facing hateful people and less-than-ideal circumstances.

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Discoveries–Indonesia and Back

Overall I had a fun adventure filled with lots of interesting discoveries–many good, some weird, and others very disturbing. Now the nitty gritty:

After 2 flights totaling 20+ hours in the air and a 7-hour layover in Doha, Qatar (think Saudi Arabia!), airport (where I discovered that people there don’t routinely use toilet paper, instead, they spray themselves with a hose attached to the wall behind the commode–which eventually makes flooded floors–yuck) I made it to Jakarta, Indonesia. Flight arrived late, customs took longer than expected, baggage took almost an hour to appear on the conveyor belt, which meant the person sent to pick me up left, which meant I was wondering around the airport looking for someone, anyone holding a card up with my name on it. Nope.

After getting blank stares rather than responses to my questions, I decided to pick the most reliable-looking taxi service and gave the driver the return address label I had stuffed into my purse from a letter my hostess sent to me. He look confused. Yikes. He asked his (assumed) boss and showed him the address. The boss shrugged his shoulders (a universal I-have-no-idea gesture). Yikes.

“We go,” the driver said. “I can’t ride in the back seat, I get sick,” I said walking toward the front door to get in. The driver’s eyes got HUGE and he shook his head a little. As I opened the front door to get in, I saw a steering wheel where the passenger’s seat should have been. Ha! No wonder he was worried–he thought I wanted to drive! I laughed, he laughed. We went on our way. I tried to make small talk but he just smiled and nodded, probably thinking, “Geez lady, just shut up and let me drive,” which I did.

By then it was about 8 o’clock at night (7 in the morning back home). We drove and drove in the dark with motorcycles, scooters, and other small odd-shaped vehicles whizzing by us with NO regard to the faded lines on the road. One of the scariest things I saw that evening was a barely held-together old dirty motorcycle with a man weaving at the speed of light in and out between bumper to bumper cars and busses and trucks with a Muslim woman on the back holding a little baby in one arm and holding on to the driver for dear life with the other.

After an hour without a word between us, the driver pulled off to a deserted looking side road. He got out, walked around the car and showed a policeman the by-now crumpled address label. The policeman pointed and they talked and then we were on our way again. We turned down a very narrow 1-vehicle-wide dirt road with tin 3-sided shanties jammed together not an inch from the road, each with barefoot people, children, babies, and cats overflowing from them. The smell was that of raw sewage. “No worry,” he said. “Yes, worry!” I said.

After a few minutes of shock, overwhelming pity and sorrow for the people living in such conditions, we turned onto a paved road at the end of which was the condo/business/church/restaurant/apartment complex that was the vision of my hostess. Before the large gates were opened, guards checked under, over, in, and around the car–for bombs.

Pulling up to the grand marble entrance with 20-foot glass doors, several people came quickly to the car, “Angela?” “You Angela?” Then big smiles. I looked at the driver who was pointing to the trip box showing 6 figures. “You take Amercian dollars?” Again his eyes got HUGE and he shook his head slightly. One of my welcomers took care of the taxi cost. Whew. Discovered that 1 rupiah is worth about .000112 US dollars. I brought back just one piece of currency, a 100,000 bill worth 11 US dollars.

More to come… 

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Parties and Parting

Granddaughter Izabella’s #4 birthday celebration was a big success in spite of the 95-degree sunny, hot, and humid day. The barnyard cake with cupcake animals were a big hit with the dozen children scurrying around as if it was a cool autumn day–their frequent trips through the sprinkler no doubt keeping them energetic as the adults wilted simultaneously throughout the festivities, which included Chicken Limbo and Pin the Chicky in the Barnyard.

I miss Izabella and her twin sisters, Lucia and Scarlett, already. The house is quiet again, well, except for the whirl of the washing machine, whooshing of the vacuum, and tramping up and down the stairs a million times a day thinking of more things to pack for my trip to Jakarta on Wednesday. Geez, every time I think of Indonesia, my mind goes to the world map where I see China at the top then beneath Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia, then Australia at the bottom.

Darrell is sure all the clothes spread out in the guest room won’t fit into my huge orange suitcase. I always overpack, but this time I think I have exactly what I need for this business trip. On the kitchen counter is a list of very important instructions for “Mr. Man” and “Maggie”–he is to water flowers on certain days, she is to keep him company while “The Mrs.” is away. I’ll miss them both terribly.  

No doubt this will be my last blog for a while, can’t imagine I’ll have much time to social write while working on this exciting project for an amazing woman who is making a positive difference in her part of the world–and beyond.

Catch ya on the flip side…

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No Bomb Shelter?

Because I’m in front of a computer screen all day reading, writing and/or editing, I look forward to a couple of hours of “big screen” viewing before going to bed. Favorites include The Closer, Monk, Cake Boss, Murder She Wrote, 18 and Counting, and sometimes I throw in a HGTV show. Mostly fluff and stuff and always happy endings.

Last night I watched House Hunters International and was intrigued that the person looking for her first place was a pretty Jewish young woman looking for a home in Israel where her mother and sister live. First the realtor showed her a new place in Tel Aviv that featured a bomb shelter, “which is very important.” The next place also included a bomb shelter. But the older building in Jaffa did not have a bomb shelter.

Every time “bomb shelter” was mentioned, my heart skipped a beat. It is hard for me to imagine living daily with the fear that our home could be destroyed by a terrorist’s bombing. In fact, I still shudder thinking about what happened on 9-11-2001 to all those innocent people here in the United States.

Oddly, I am familiar with bomb shelters, well, A bomb shelter, as our previous home on Big Spring Heights was constructed back in the 1960s with a bomb shelter in the basement–complete with an aerial map of the United States covering the entire basement ceiling. Comforting in a creepy way.

My family and I never really thought we’d be running in terror to cower in the corner of the shelter to escape an exploding house above us. This young woman may have to. 

No fluff and stuff last evening, but a haunting of life elsewhere…

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A Life Worth Living

Islamic terrorists recently killed 74 innocent people. I wrote a quote from Benjamin Franklin in my Facebook–this is the kind of life worth writing about:

 

Prayer Service Held For Del. Man Killed In Uganda

WILMINGTON, Del. (CBS 3) ―Todd Quinones

A prayer service was held Wednesday evening for a Delaware native who was one of 74 people killed by explosions in the African country of Uganda.

The service was held at the Bethel Baptist Church in Delaware as family and friends gathered to remember Nate Henn.

Henn was on a rugby field watching the World Cup final Sunday in Kampala with some of the children he’d gone to help when he was hit by shrapnel from one of the blasts.

Henn, 25, had spent the last year traveling to campuses and churches to raise money and seek volunteers for work in Uganda. Henn raised thousands of dollars for children’s education and went to the country to meet the children, the aid group said.

The children called Henn “Oteka,” or the strong one, and they “fell in love with Nate’s wit, strength, character and steadfast friendship,” San Diego-based group that helps child soldiers said on its website.

Henn’s former youth pastor, the Rev. Andrew Hudson, said Henn was a gentle, sincere young man with deep compassion for those in distress.

The pastor from Chelten Baptist Church in Dresher, Pa., said Henn knew that traveling in Africa could be dangerous. “Nate was willing to take that risk in order to provide hope and healing for precious children who were finding themselves in very difficult situations,” Hudson said.

Adding to their grief, a small plane carrying Henn’s youngest brother crashed Monday at an airport in Chapel Hill. Kyle Henn suffered minor injuries, a second passenger was critically injured and the pilot, Tom Pitts of Wilmington, died.

Kyle Henn attended Wednesday’s service and spoke about his brother.

“His life ended too early, but we look at the few years God gave him on this earth and we are humble that he was used in such a powerful way,” Kyle said.

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