Mele Kalikamaka

Well, this hasn’t been a spectacular year for writing and publishing here. Let’s get 2022 off to a good start with this preview of an eventual Buddhist fiction series. Huh–Buddhist fiction? Hey, Christian fiction is a big genre, let’s fill the gap for Buddhists, neh? [May be a while coming, but there are lots of drafts and notes filed away]. 

Try this on for holiday fun!

Mele Kalikamaka

The weather forecast nailed it this time. A Nor’easter. A foot had fallen by nightfall, covering trees and shrubs in a heavy white blanket. Retired, Phil had no reason to venture out. Kelly had stocked up on supplies ahead of time. The generator would kick in if power went out in their home far off the beaten path.

They had their usual light dinner, half a sandwich with some chips and apple slices. In honor of the snow, they added a glass of merlot. Went well enough with the news. Political news that could otherwise be good—the bad guy lost, though he didn’t believe it. Painful for him; more so for the rest of us.

“More news or Blu-ray?” she asked.

“I’ve had enough of the real pain,” Phil sighed, “let’s watch the faux pain, the Murray family Scrooged. No need for White Christmas—we got our snow already.”

“Yes, we watched Crosby and Clooney last year anyway, dear. Let’s do Scrooged and laugh at Bill Murray getting scared, slugged, and coming round in the end.”

“Sounds good to me, Kelly,” Phil nodded, chuckling.

Halfway through the movie, they paused for sips of bourbon-laced eggnog and a few pfeffernusse. Just the thing for a holiday snow. It helped them along for bedtime. Forget the snow, Phil thought to himself. So he did—in a way.

Phil woke up disoriented. Well, he thought he did, in an unfamiliar bed. He left Kelly sleeping as he found his way to a strange bathroom. As he walked toward a kitchen a few more feet down the hall, he remembered. It’s cousin Bob’s place in Hilo. He’d visited once, while on a scuba trip. Bob wasn’t to be found, but the coffee maker was. I need some coffee and I need it now, Phil thought.

He took the coffee out a sliding back door into the lush garden of a backyard. “This is way better than snow!” he said out loud, emptying the cup. He rinsed it out and left it in the sink, on his way to a knock at the front door.

“Uh, can I help you? Phil asked of the stranger.

“Hey Phil, how the hell are you?” the blue-eyed café au lait man said.

“Do I know you?”

“Sgt. Cox—Bearcat, Vietnam. I left six months before you did.”

“That was fifty years ago—fifty-three years ago! What are you doing here in Hawaii? What am I doing here? I don’t even live here!” A puzzled Phil shook his head. Soon, the shaking spread to his limbs—his whole body. “And why don’t you look 50 years older?”

“Hey man, relax. Just here to visit you. Give you some tips before the end, one way or another.”

“The end—you mean my death? I’m healthy; take of myself,” Phil slumped into an uncomfortable papasan chair—the kind he hated.

“No, nothing like that. Just a little karmic tune-up. I was a Buddhist just like you are.”


“Oh yeah, got mistaken for some other brother on a street in New Jersey—twenty some years ago. Guy that held up a convenience store. There’s systemic racism and there’s karma,” Cox did a little bow, Asian style.

“Sorry to hear that. But why are you here? We barely knew one another.”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t want someone close to you, visiting from the grave or the urn. Too much emotion.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“So, here’s the deal. You just watched Scrooged. You know about ghosts past, present and future. No strangers in this dream. Past, but no future. You got one more past visitor and then some folks from the present. Like people you have encountered at a doctor’s office, store or wherever.”

“Ah, a dream. Took me long enough to figure that out. Thought I’d smoked some of that weed that’s sold today. Those joints in the hard pack Paxtons in Nam were strong but what’s around now is too much for me.”

“You don’t need it anyway, right?”

“No, not really. I gave it up 40 years but tried it a couple times last year. So, what’s next with this dream cycle?”

“Let’s go visit West. Just a short trip down the street—more or less.”

“West? The surfer that always talked about grabbing a beer from the turtle hull?”

“His surfing days are gone now. He runs a shop south of San Diego, does board waxing and stuff. He gave up the booze after he got married to the woman of his dreams—dreams that he didn’t know he had.”

“How do we get to California?”

“No worries—this is a dream. Just think of the blue Pacific and a new you. Oh, and borrow that bird of paradise from the garden out back. I’ll whisk you right there.”

Phil woke up for real before arriving in Southern California. What a dream! Must tell Kelly about this one. But it would have to wait. She still had the covers up to her chin against the cold. Fifteen minutes before the furnace kicked in per the thermostat settings.

Phil headed to the glassed-in back porch to check the snowfall, coffee cup in hand from the auto brewer. Whoa—another foot! He almost yelled aloud before recalling the sleeping Kelly. Need a little rum in this coffee and a hot roll before I do the sutra reading. Phil thought to himself. He watched the winter birds attacking the feeder as he downed his own continental breakfast. Just a little more coffee—and some rum, to warm the innards, he thought.

With a short night’s sleep and rummy coffee, Phil nodded off to find Cox wagging a finger at him. “Look, Phil, let’s skip West. You need to get serious here. Let me reintroduce you to Fred, the imaging guy at the hospital. He can tune you up better than West or I could anyway.”

Phil sat up straight. Looking around, he saw no snow and no birds. Just a green walled room with a huge machine filling most of the space and an aging gray-haired guy in scrubs.

“Hey, Phil—remember me? I did a nuclear imaging test on you last year. And a few other tests over the past three years.”

“Uh yeah, sure. The guy that talks my ear off every time I come in here. Don’t get me wrong, it’s all entertaining and keeps me from being nervous.”

“No problem, Phil. It’s all good. So are you, for that matter. Still not seeing any problems on all those tests.”

“Well, that IS the problem. My primary doctor still isn’t finding anything to account for the mental—and sometimes physical fatigue. Blood tests, scans, nothing.”

“That’s right Phil. You know what that means you need to do—change it yourself. We’re talking karma. No Ebenezer Scrooge moments for you. It’s time for human revolution. Snap out of it, my friend.”

“Well, you got a point there, Fred.” In a blink, Fred faded away.

“Phil, what are you doing out here in porch, napping?” Kelly squeezed his shoulder as she gave him a kiss. It’s a sunny new day. Wake up and smell the coffee—but better skip the rum. I can smell it on your breath. No way to start the morning, honey.”

“I had a very strange dream. Given the encounters, probably right about the morning start. No alcohol before sutra is what Cox would tell me, I’m sure.”

“Who is Cox?”

“Uh, well—a Sergeant I knew for six months in Vietnam long ago. A ghost now—in the dream offering encouragement in the practice, OK, guidance to be clear.”

“Seriously? Quite a dream, Phil!”

“Oh yes. I’ll tell you all about it after we do the sutra. You get things set up and we can get to it in a few minutes after I get another shot of caffeine to clear my head.”

WATWB for November 2021

We Are the World Blogfest

Yes, this is supposed to be good news to take our minds off the bad. This is mostly true–neither good nor bad but with a tiny bit of fictional speculation that has a bit of good within. 

We followed the truck for miles, from Hatch along NM-26 to NM-27. Every hundred yards or so we’d see a red chile in the road. Hatch, New Mexico is the chile capital of the world. Some loose pods in the back, blowing from the uncovered load we supposed. The distributor’s loss. Gains for the ravens or crows—or spicy sustenance for a hungry lizard. No pain for them, unlike non-human mammals. Many folks like the burn.

Red or green? That’s what the order taker asks. A New Mexico thing–green chile cheeseburgers a menu staple. Chile relleno with the whole pod. Onions the size of Florida oranges, the giant ones. Ristras hang from porches—decorative on some, awaiting grinding into powder on others.

Barrels outside grocery stores roast the peppers each fall. Roadside vendors sell burlap bags filled with the red heat, cooked cooking as is for one dish or another. Chili—con carne for me, rather than the peppers. Still up for Kung Pao or General Tso’s Chicken—not much demand in the Southwest for those. Not quite an acclimated New Mexican foodie—yet.

Those unspoken observations ran through my mind on the trip enroute to Silver City. Then I saw the Mexican Jay. Just like the ones at home. Were they picky or kindly—knocking seed off our feeder? The other birds and the chipmunks scarf it up off the wall below. The chiles weren’t blown off, the jay was tossing them from the truck. Generous jay or?

WATWB for October 2021–Bojo, Istanbul’s favorite dog

We Are the World Blogfest

Ok, by now you must know that I am a dog lover. I’ve had two during my adult life. This story, from far away, struck a chord–how people can get along with unknown animals in their midst. See the full story on CNN.

Dog lounging on subway train
CNN photos/Getty images

It’s a story about a stray dog in Istanbul. A dog that gets on subway trains, trams and ferries. He knows where to go to get on. He has a tag in one ear that proves he is neutered and vaccinated. He enjoys the rides and has celebrity status. Municipal authorities have checked him out and Okayed his travels. The story from CNN has lots of pictures of him going here and there. You should check it out–even if you’re not a dog fan. Of course, you may already have seen it–the story has already appeared all over the world.

WATWB for September

We Are the World Blogfest

Just a week late for the last Friday of September, but here’s some good news for those who follow the We Are the World Blogfest. 

From comes this story of canine lifeguards. Yes, they rescue people in the water–off the coast of Italy.

The canine lifeguards assisted in rescuing a group of 14 people – from three families – who were struggling with high waves and winds in Sperlonga, which is located halfway in-between Rome and Naples, according to CNN.

The group, which included eight children, were trying to get back to shore after their inflatables and dinghies began to capsize, Roberto Gasbarri from the Italian rescue dog school (SICS) told CNN. SICS routinely patrols 30 Italian beaches with over 300 units that contain one dog and one trainer.

Not surprisingly, Newfoundlands make the best water rescue dogs but any breed over 30 kg is acceptable for training.

For more on the story, go here

That Song Stuck in His Head

A bit of humor to get through the end of the week. 


“I’ve got this song stuck in my head. I can’t get it out,” he said.

“I know. I can hear you subvocalizing it. But it’s one you like, isn’t it?” She said.

“Yes, but I don’t want to be replaying it while I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to hit the pause button and listen to it again in the morning.”

“Yeah, that would do it. But this is my head–not an MP3 player. I don’t have a pause button.”

“Oh sure you do, honey. It’s somewhere right between your ears!”

July 2021 WATWB–Making Others Happy Makes You Happy

We Are the World Blogfest

I’ve been a member of the SGI-USA lay Buddhist organization for 44 years. The August discussion topic in the group is “Practicing for oneself and for others.” It’s an  integral part of being a Bodhisattva—the stepping stone to Buddhahood. As it happens, an example taken from the Greater Good Magazine works well for the July WATWB topic.

“Making others happy is more meaningful for people than just socializing with them or doing something to improve our own happiness.

“When we aim to make others happier, we feel connected to them … which is important for us.”

– Milla Titova, lead researcher of the study “Happiness Comes From Trying to Make Others Feel Good, Rather Than Oneself.” (

In the study, college students reported on their happiness and on their sense of autonomy, competence, and connection to others—all what researchers consider “basic psychological needs” for well-being. Then they were randomly tasked to do something to either make themselves happier, make another person happier, or socialize. (Assigning one group to socialize helped determine if seeking happiness for another had an effect above and beyond simply being in someone’s presence.)

Later that day, after doing their tasks, participants reported what they did, and then filled out their happiness and needs questionnaires again. Those who’d done something to make another person feel better were much happier themselves than participants in the other groups, and their greater happiness was tied to a stronger feeling of connection to that person.

Seems like the Greater Good site might be a good source for the WATWB!

Another Mashup, Jill Meets Sam–Sort of

Where have I been? Another story, another time. Back now–on a more regular basis.

Let’s get colorful. We will do more mashups as often as we can. This time it’s Waiting for Westmoreland (WFW) and The Vacation of My Life.

The tenth anniversary edition of WFW, a memoir of a 20th century Candide, came out in 2017. Vacation is a work in progress. It’s a sci-fi psychological mystery/thriller—or something else we will define further when it comes out. 

Waiting for Westmoreland–excerpted, condensed and revised snippets

Hey pope, pass the dope,” a common refrain I heard in Nam. I started smoking marijuana there. Amazing stuff. But I stopped when back in the US. One year at Ft Knox to go before leaving the Army.

Strait-laced Gloria was unchanged in 1968. Drinking was evil, she said. Grass would never do, even after leaving the military. But I had grown. Illusions about America were shattered. I had thoughts, not carried out, of killing a psychotic drunk, MSgt Seagram—the bane of my existence in Nam.

 Five days out from the army, came my first march, the Vietnam Mortarium Day, October 15, 1969.

. . . .

March 1970 I finally started college. . .. Week one, Jill, a pixie- faced natural blond started hitting on me. She said, during between-class coffee-fueled dialogues, “Dave and I have an understanding, he doesn’t mind if I go out with other men.”

I was trying to reclaim my ideals, not corrupt them further. She was as married as me. But she casually showed me a model portfolio, including an array of classic nudes. 

On April 30th the court entered my divorce decree from Gloria. That same day, with Jill in tow, I tossed my wedding ring into the Mississippi River from the bridge joining the East and West Bank campuses of the University of Minnesota. The ring a Vietnamese woman had pointed to, while giving me a lesson in morality, two years before.  

 Jill and I went to a Neil Diamond concert two weeks later. I picked her up at her home. [S]he waved goodbye to her husband, leaning down at the doorway to get a look at behind the wheel. It would be 2:30 a.m. before I brought her home. While the agreement with Dave did not extend to sleepovers, apparently it didn’t preclude wild sex.

Life was good. It had never been so good. Five years later, when I first heard the Brian Ferry song, “Love is the drug,” Jill immediately came to mind. She was an addiction. It left me in a state of withdrawal when I didn’t get my fix.  I surrendered control of my heart and my life to Jill, playing by her rules.


At summer’s end, October, Jill gave me the news, over coffee at Coffman Union. “It’s over,” she said.“What do you mean, over?”

“I’m leaving Dave.”

“So,” I began, optimistically “Does that mean you’ll be spending more time with me?”

“No. It means I need space to consider what I really want, what I really need.”

“OK. So where does that leave us?”

“There is no us. There is you and there is me. If I continued seeing you now, it would remind me of Dave. It just wouldn’t work.”

“So, you’re leaving him and me.”

“Yes. We’ve had some great times together, which I will always treasure, but all good things must end. This is the end.”


“Don’t worry, John, there will be other women after me,” she said as she stood up to walk away.

I sat in shock at the table. I had put too much of myself into our relationship. Jill had left me bleeding raw, ripping away the tendrils of heart and soul I had foolishly attached to her. Jim Morrison’s voice ran through my head, singing the Doors slow dirge, “The End.”


The Vacation of My Life—opening pages

Sam left the building in a daze. How could I have done that? How could I forget all that? I’ve got to call Melanie, maybe she knows something. Plopping down on a transit bench, he speed-dialed her. If anybody knew him, she did.


Melanie picked up on the third ring, “Sam, why are you calling me again? I told you it’s over—now stop calling me!” she said, hissing into the phone as she clicked off.No, no—not Melanie too! Sam immediately redialed.

Surprisingly, she answered again, “Call me again and I will get a restraining order!” Melanie screamed.

“Wait, don’t hang up—please. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. But I don’t know what I did. I just went to my office and found out I got fired. They said I did some crazy stuff; stuff that didn’t make sense. I don’t remember any of it.”

“What—are you kidding? Are you trying to say you have amnesia, or is this some kind of line?”

“No, it’s not some kind of line. I woke up late this morning; my alarm didn’t go off. I couldn’t find my building pass. When I got to work and asked for a temporary ID, the guard at the desk couldn’t find me in the employee directory. He put me through to Bob Jackson. He said they fired me on the spot at a staff meeting after I called the CEO an idiot and urinated all over the agenda. It’s crazy! Why would I do something like that? I remember summarizing the Gibson contract at the last meeting. It comes up for renewal in July.”

“Sam, this is August.”

“What! No, it can’t be. I— I don’t understand,” Sam sucked in air.

“What you did at the staff meeting isn’t any crazier than your Fourth of July stunt. I suppose you don’t remember that either?”

“No; wait—I’m still trying to get a grip on what day it is.”

“It’s Tuesday, August 4, 2015, Sam. A month after you offered the woman next to us at the fireworks $50 to help me launch your ‘trouser rocket.’ You said it would shoot off higher and brighter than any of the ones at the show,” Melanie said.

“No—no, I didn’t!” Sam gasped.

“Yes, yes you did. After she slapped you, I dragged you out of there and back to your car. I insisted you take me home immediately. When we got to my door, you actually had the nerve to want to come up. You said you would have to settle for just one booster to blast off!” Melanie snarled.

“I’m feeling sick.”

“Good. I hope you puke. I called you the next day, expecting an apology. Instead, you just laughed. Look, I’m at work—I don’t have time for this. Like I said, it’s over. You want a synopsis, look for the letter I sent you three weeks ago. Don’t call me again,” she said, hanging up.

May WATWB–Hero Rat Retires

We Are the World Blogfest

Late again, but here’s an interesting good news story with a twist–not a person but a rat doing good things, with the aid of human handlers. As most of you know, with all the conflicts around the world over the last century, a dangerous thing left behind is land mines. In this case, it’s Cambodia from the war in Vietnam and/or conflicts within the country itself during other years some decades ago.

From NPR (and many other news outlets that have picked up the story) comes this report:

A heroic rat named Magawa has been working for five years in Cambodia, sniffing out dozens of land mines. He is believed to have saved lives.

Now, the animal is about to embark on a well-deserved retirement.

“Although still in good health, he has reached a retirement age and is clearly starting to slow down,” the nonprofit APOPO said Thursday. “It is time.”

A rat on a line, clearing a mine field
Magawa is shown here working to detect land mines, a job the animal has done for five years.

According to the report, “Even among his skilled cohorts working in Cambodia, Magawa is a standout sniffer: In four years he has helped to clear more than 2.4 million square feet of land. In the process, he has found 71 land mines and 38 items of unexploded ordnance.” For that success, he won and award. Now he can retire and enjoy a life of food and play.

Because of their light weight, the rats don’t trigger the mines–which works out well for parties concerned.

WATWB for April

We Are the World Blogfest

Three days past Friday, April 30th, but better late than never. The last Friday of the month is when these good and nonpolitical news posts are supposed to appear on the blogs of those who participate in the We Are the World Blogfest.

A different sort of good news—about one aspect of living in small town America. Not only the sense of community but a surprising range of essential services, assuming you pick the right location.

We knew that medical care would be something we needed as we aged. Silver City, New Mexico has more and better care now than when we moved here ten years ago. A week ago Saturday, my heartbeat was erratic for two hours that morning. That was the third episode in two years. This time, however, I had a thumb drive-sized device implanted under the skin over my heart. It records data and uploads it to the servicer and then the doctor’s office.

Surprising that I could get this newer technology here in a town of less than 10,000 people. More surprising, Gila Cardiology has a care coordinator who forwards her calls to home on the weekend!  Do you get that in big cities? She walked me through options; in the end, I waited it out rather than heading for the ER. Like before, the palpitations stopped on their own. On Monday a week ago, she called me at 8 AM, confirming that I have occasional AFib. The office sent in a prescription for one of the newer drugs that prevent clots.

As they say on the infomercials: But wait, there’s more! A few years ago, our eye doctor called in a prescription on a Saturday based on a smart phone image she sent him.  Our small town also has a celebrity surgeon who’s a pioneer GERD specialist, an excellent podiatrist in his early 40s, a skilled orthopedist, a choice of physical/occupational therapists and more. My wife and I have seen or been treated by all these doctors.

Note that this is considered a medically underserved area. Our wonderful primary care doctor is continually striving to recruit young residents to intern here, hoping they’ll stay beyond the time the federal government program requires for a deal that pays off medical school loans. There’s a solid regional hospital. Alternative medical care—including acupuncture or acupressure, herbalists and more can be found in Silver. Beyond that, yoga and other Eastern disciplines. Not to mention a variety of spiritual groups for healing mind or body.

Maybe this sounds like a promo for Silver City. Sort of, but I’ll do that in a post on another blog, Views from Eagle Peak, soon. In the meantime, if you’re fully vaccinated and looking for somewhere to travel, you can find out more about Silver City here.

Whatever Happened to That Coming Book?

Huh! What coming book?

Here’s the promo from Eagle Peak Annual. A multi-genre collection of fiction from flash through micro and short. Verse. Non-fiction observations and more. Just the thing for a quick read–or a longer one when you have time.

Alas, it’s STILL a work in progress. Everyone knows stuff happens. It keeps happening, too. So, let’s forget projections. It will be out when it’s done–how’s that?

The good news: it keeps growing. The longer it takes to complete, the bigger it gets. More flash and micro fiction. AND one story that had been planned as a standard-length short piece has grown into a novelette. Hey, more for the money! At least 50,000 words–from stories less than 100 words all the way to 15,000.

Meanwhile, here’s a few fresh snippets. Words newly strung together just for this post. Eventually, the paragraphs below may be part of a time travel book coming later this decade. 

You’ve seen posts featuring Derek here before. He’s back, from an actual dream the author had some time in the past. See, time travel!

It started with a dream, a very detailed one in full color. A place Derek had never been but clearly must go, given the content. A task he must do. He wore black khaki slacks, a maroon cotton turtleneck and an off-white sport coat with tufts of grayish/black fabric running through the material. He saw a multilevel building of large grayish stone blocks before finding himself in an upper level. It looked to be at least 3,000 square feet with large metal fire doors, painted fire engine red, hung on overhead tracks.  Relics were stored there, in bags or sacks. He overheard discussions about selling them on the black market. Objects like those in his backpack. Things he might give away in time—the right time, but never sell. Phoenician amulets, classical Greek coins like an Attic drachma or Celtic bracelets. He might have a Martian flight insignia too—not a present-day memento, of course. Risky to carry them everywhere in eternity. Still, they came in handy as anchors. Timeline adjustments didn’t always take.

Wide awake, Derek replayed the nighttime experience, moving in time and space to the site. He exited to an aging fire escape, its open ribbed steps covered in multiple coats of black paint. He trod the metal stairway down and around the outer walls. One floor down, he passed a small alcove with a window. He saw a wooden object on a table next to the glass. A peg an inch and ½ square and eight inches long, wrapped tightly with bare wire. The windings were spaced perhaps a quarter inch apart, covering a third or less of the wood. Not an effective armature—possibly a primitive cultural token or something manufactured to sell as one. The weathered wood had the look of artifice.

One more turn took him from the employee parking lot to the public spaces. Through a ho hum double glass door, Derek entered a much more inviting area—a small museum/retail site with artifacts are displayed under and atop a glass counter. Legal sales were made there, it appeared. Items with legitimate provenance given the descriptions. Not until then did he notice the red coveralls that he carried on a hanger. I must work here. It’s my uniform. Must have forgotten that. Derek thought. He hated those dreams with missing details—especially when needed for a time trip.

A woman greeted him with a grin. “Hey Derek, how’s it going? Love that jacket—you trying to impress the ladies?” Must be a coworker—Tina, yes, that’s her name.

“Hah! Just one of my style preferences, Tina.” He shrugged and did a quick spin for her.

“Good enough, guy. No need to be stuck in the past; that’s what we sell here,” she laughed.

“You got it, Tina. By the way, do you know what happened with those skeletal remains and a spear I turned in?”

“No worries, Derek; the processing crew are handling it. Maybe you’ll see the stuff on display next week,” Tina’s eyes darted left and right before answering with a smile. Perhaps she wasn’t sure, just placating him.


Continue reading