Extreme Doors Off Helicopter Ride On Maui

24 Aug 2012 6 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections, USA: Travelling Outside California, vacation

You probably cannot get a better-unobstructed view from a helicopter ride than flying with the doors off.  Why choose this kind of experience?  You decide that once and for all, you are going to take a chance, get your adrenalin rushing, and give yourself a memory for a lifetime. After all, one comes to realize that you do fold into yourself as you age and become a bag of memories. Unless you continue to add to your bag, you will become a limited memory bank.  When considering a helicopter ride, you make the decision to do it and then you decide; doors on or off.  So it is your first helicopter ride, you don’t know if doors off or on will be your bet?  But, I considered something extreme for me, why not if it is offered? There is very little you have to do except sit there and let it all happen. The two-way talking headsets serve talking back and forth, but they also protect you a bit from the wind and noise.

The flight begins and you are holding your camera, where the handles are also draped on your neck, but still you are too afraid to move. Will the wind grab the camera, sweep you off of your seat; will it blow you to bits? No, actually you make friends with the wind and the elements that come your way.  Still, you feel a type of pain; maybe I’d better call it discomfort at being exposed.

Soon you are working the camera, talking photos because you know you will not remember each of the individual sights and you come to realize weeks later that all you do remember of the sights are in your photos.  What you do remember are sensations of wind, your calculated breathing, the pilot saying something every once in awhile, other passengers asking questions, and when you realize you are doing this doors off thing, it is time to return to the air field and land.

Folks, there are NO spirits up there. There is nothing up there but air and your entering into it causing the wind.  All that we are, all that we want to be, all that we have, all that we need, all that we dream, all that we understand, all that we hope, all that we believe is down there. Down on the ground called earth is our life, unless you are a NASA scientist or an astronaut and then this would be another realm for discussion.  Maybe I sound a little negative, but I am not. I am just saying it was over in a flash of wind, memory, discomfort and the marveled fact that I learned why early fliers wore caps.  You cannot, and I mean cannot comb your hair after a flight in the brutal air. Wind tangled hair is the single most challenge of the encounter and the most lingered memory.

So that you can experience a bit of the doors off flight, with a view from above, here are a few photos, which only hope to capture the beauty of the land below. It was more than a bird’s eye view, it was more than you get on your own physical means, it was more than fun, it was more than a theme park ride, it was unlike what you expected, but not what you thought it would be…soaring, idyllic, tranquil, relaxing, otherworldly, perhaps mystical. Sometimes expectations and inexperience get onto our path of reasoning.

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HAWAIIAN MAGIC

14 Aug 2012 5 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections, travel, USA: Travelling Outside California, vacation

Sometimes there are magic moments in time where everything works like a charm, works simultaneously with the spirits, works so to speak seamlessly in your favor. When you are counting on other people to make this happen, it is what I call the ultimate leap of faith. And so it was…

With the help of Glenda at Frosch, Will at Ohana Fun, NCL where the staff is the ultimate with kind attention, and our own great wits, we sailed off literally into the sunset.  The Hawaiian vacation planned for 15 members of our family included a stay on Waikiki and a cruise circling many of the Hawaiian Islands in July 2012.  When I tell you that everyone was on time for all of the excursions, all of the sit down dinners and meetings, and all had an enchanted and magical time, believe me.

Our special moments included a Pacific Cove Luau filled with food, activities pertaining to Hawaiian life and dancing. We had a moving experience in Pearl Harbor visiting the War Memorials and museums, remembering the attack of December 7, 1941. When you are there, if you close your eyes and breathe deeply, you can still hear and smell the horror and you receive an understanding of the valor of our brave hero’s, many who gave and many who saved lives.

Our next top was Maui where we experienced The Road To Hana, an extensive day trip where you drive around Maui seeing and stopping at all the sights. Maui is green and lush, right?  Soon you realize that it is not green all the way around and that during the latter part of the day, on the other side of the island we were driving on unpaved, bumpy roads in a desert wasteland where no rain comes to help match the other side’s verdant terrain.

As we explored the Volcanoes of Hawaii we visited Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, the rim of Kilauea, watched the earth spew steam, walked on lava, crawled through a lava tube, ran through the rain and spent a beautiful day in and on Hawaiian soil. We will remember Macadamia nuts and Kona Coffee, remember Kui Kui Nuts, hand painted Long Boo Necklaces and bracelets, and remember the beautiful harbor of Kona where you had to be tendered into the town.  I met a local lady in Kona with two little children. We were sitting under the town tree. She seemed to want to talk about worldly things and I told her to start thinking out of the box. She told me she and her entire family had never been off that island. I wonder what she thinks I meant by thinking out of the box. I wonder myself.

On Kauai, we visited the Waimea Canyon and grabbed a float on the Waialua River on our way to see the Fern Grotto. On the way to and from, we learned a few Hula dancing steps, which turned into dances. The day was perfectly serene.

Our lovely specialty sit down dinners are now legendary. A very distinct level of communication happened over those tables we inhabited. Huge decisions, ideas, thoughts, philosophies and deals were made and I do believe no amount of money or urging could have pulled off this positive and productive interaction between our family members.

We will remember the majestic waterfalls and the rainbows where the pots of gold landed right at your feet. We will remember the huge valleys, canyons, volcanoes, mini geysers,  lava, flowers, and fresh fruit.

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A special treat we will remember is sailing the Na Pali coastline of Kauai, which is a true wonder of the world full of exquisite sights of beauty as well sporting a multitude of rainbows with perfect gradations of colors and their pots of gold just out of reach.

We will remember that Hawaii does not grow sugar cane and pineapples for export anymore. The worldwide competition became too great, but the history, scenic beauty and the people of these islands are well worth the visit.  Yes, Virginia, you can still find sugar cane and pineapples grown in Hawaii for local consumption on the islands. Here is a photo for proof of pineapples in Hawaii and two photos of the closed sugar cane production site.

We will long remember the fresh island air and the energy we extracted from it. We will remember the tranquil, refreshing atmosphere and the exploring of the natural beauty to gain its restorative powers. We will remember working and being together.

Please stay tuned for our Extreme Doors Off Helicopter ride and photos; an astounding experience.

My Uncle Max Levin

10 Aug 2012 Leave a comment

by Sheila Clapkin in Family Activities, Family History, Growing Up, Reflections Tags: , , ,

My Uncle Max Arnold Levin was born on February 12, 1927 and died July 24, 2012 in Millbrae California at age 85. Max was born to my Grandmother Dora and My Grandfather Joseph Levin in San Francisco. He was known as one of the twins.  He was a true sports fan and was loyal to the S.F. Giants, 49ers and a Warrior fan for his entire life.

I knew little about his life and his growing up years. I was not even born for some of it and then, he lived in San Francisco and I lived in Los Angeles.  I would visit my family in San Francisco and got to know Uncle Max.  It wasn’t until I was grown did I really understand my Uncle Max’s talents. He was quiet until he spoke and when he spoke everyone within range heard his booming statements. He thought for a long time before he made a statement.  Everyone did not agree with him all of the time, but all of the time he was right. I realized that those that did not agree did not understand his well thought out truths.

My Uncle Max had many bosses in his life that told him what to do and he did it.  When he got to be his own boss, he was happy and satisfied that he did a wonderful job.  Now that he was the boss, he made decisions he had made all of his life, but this time he made them and carried them out to fruition in his own time and in his own way, the right way.

Later in his life, a painter put a paintbrush into my Uncle Max’s hands. He dipped and stroked the paper with great and true abandonment.  His works of art dripped and strode across the page.

He created masterpieces with remnants of his life story. They were the simple truths of his reality. They told of his struggles and his gradual coming through to the light. They are few, but they are brilliant statements he alone could have made. They stand unaided in all of their beauty. The artist born in my Uncle Max marked him and enlightened the world.

When Uncle Max told you some thing, it was something he had been thinking about for a long time.  If he asked you something he wanted to know the truth. If he was quiet, he was thinking. He was always thinking and then sharing. Uncle Max was a caring man, but he didn’t care if you believed him or understood him, but if he liked you, he wanted you to like him.

When Uncle Max’s parents became ill one by one, he took great care of them. He made promises to them that he carried out to the letter until the day he died. He was a man who if he made a promise, always followed through.  Knowing this about my Uncle Max has led me never, ever if possible to make a promise for fear I might not keep it.  Uncle Max never worried because he had always kept his promises and knew he always would. He was so diligent, conscientious and attentive to all of his tasks.

The tradition in the Levin family was to keep in touch. The two business locations were in different cities, San Francisco and Los Angeles.  A designated person, family member and manager in one city would call a designated person, family member and manager in the other city on a certain day, at a certain time every week, week in and week out. When the managers and family members began to die off, the tradition continued, but the designees changed. Uncle Max, the last of the tradition called my father Martin, every week until Martin died, and I called Uncle Max until he could speak no more and soon died.

My Uncle Max was a successful businessman and enjoyed the fruits of his labor.  He was generous, big hearted and a loving man. If he loved you, he wanted you to love him back and we all did. We love you dear Uncle Max and thank you for being our Uncle Max!!!

You really do not want to know about my 5 1/2 hour experience at the DMV, but I am going to tell you anyway.

10 Aug 2012 2 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Customer Sevice, Day Trips, Entertaining, Life Events, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Even though it is 107 degrees in the shade, even though the lines, nine of them are out of the door and spill into the nearly filled parking lot, even though I had an appointment, even though I began to sob and lean deeply into my cane and even though I dragged my ass from window to window for over 5 hours, there was no escape.  There was no escape from the lines with only one person helping the deluge of people, there was no escape from the many and varied languages spoken at high volumes all around you, there was no escape from the heat, there was no water and the lines to the bathrooms equaled the ones you are waiting in to have your picture taken. It was the kind of terror I experienced when I was nine months pregnant and I realized that I had to do this, it was my baby, I had to have it; and this time as well, there was no other way out if I wanted to participate as a driver in my state, in my country. I and I alone had to navigate this maze.

Without further ado, I did pass my test missing only one.  No I am no winner, I studied beyond the bell. I knew every question backwards and even the ones stated in their tricky manner, except the one where I may have made an error on being polite. Nope, you can’t even be polite, just legal.

I paid $31.00 for my license renewal, but would gladly pay $100 if it would gain enough revenue to open one more line for photos, one more line for information, one more line for appointments, one more line to get and take the driving written test, one more line to correct the test and another line to take the driving test. There are nine or ten booths to take your money, and your vision test, which takes minutes, but only one line for each of the other services.  Imagine the crowds descending from the open easy booths to the funneling; huddling crushes of one line for each of the other the services.

Several much younger and stronger folks just sat down or lay down in line.  I used a chair with a handicapped sign on the back and pulled it around for a while.  I am waiting in another type of line for a partial knee replacement.  If I had known the extreme physical challenge of the DMV experience, I would have come in a wheel chair and had someone wheel me through the process. It would not have cut down the time because no one will let you in line for handicapped, everyone in that building waiting in line was in pain and felt sorrowfully handicapped. Dragging the chair did help me through the ordeal.

When I had waited in all of the lines and all of my tasks were done, they put all of my collected information into a computer at the end of the last line.  Mine would not go through.  Everyone before me had theirs go through. I began to melt down. The gentleman was very apologetic, but nonetheless, I had to go back to window 1 and start over.  That is when I opened up the floodgates and melted down to jelly.   I was assisted through the second time at the head of the lines. I can’t wait to see my second photo after 5 and 1/2 hours in a sweatbox. Of course, by the time I got to my car at the end of the long, long parking lot, I was proud of my accomplishment at the DMV facility because I was still alive, barely. It takes several days to get over an experience like this at any age.

There is no one to listen, but I do believe that you might be interested to know that the written test is given in every language imaginable, and people walking out of the DMV that day passed their written driving exam, but will they be able to read merge, and end of divided highway?

Since I realized that all of my immediate America was in this building, huddled together for a common and individual cause, I looked around and drank deeply of ethnicity. They all acted very nice and accommodating to each other. People who didn’t even know each other, and some that did, helped each other and took turns standing in line for one another while the other rested in some chairs provided. When there were no chairs, they just slumped into the wall and ultimately the floor. I thought I was the only one suffering so greatly, but as I looked around at these faces, they were all commonly suffering for the same singular goal; the right to drive in California, in the United States of America. The young, the old, those in the middle of the road and all those in between had pain and standing for long periods of time hurt, plus the whole experience was daunting and painful. It was good to know I was not alone.

A good observation to report is that all of the people working for the DMV behind the counters, with the floods of people staring at them from the other side, never ever lost their cheerful, high spirited approach to their job and the people they served that day.

Spit N Whittle Bench In Fayetteville, Tennessee

05 Aug 2012 Leave a comment

by Sheila Clapkin in USA: Travelling Outside California Tags: , , , , ,

Many towns have a Spit and Whittle bench where old timers meet and reminisce, tell stories about what they remember from times long ago.  The bench is a place that means much to some and so little to others.  You have noticed that the bench is empty this early afternoon because the regulars are having lunch at O”Houllians. The building housing O”Houllians used to be a family owned grocery called Moore’s Grocery where all you had to do was call Mr. Sprat Moore…tell him what you needed and he would have it delivered to your house by a wonderful man called Tom. Tom would even put your order on the kitchen counter for you.  Those were the days!

The Spit and Whittle Bench is a good place to catch up on world affairs, and share different perspectives on the same events. It made a big impression on me. The Spit part comes from the fact that chewing tobacco became popular in the 1800’s and early 1900’s. Many of the old timers chewed, therefore spit. Chewing tobacco was a way to get nicotine, a drug in tobacco when processed and used makes some people feel mildly euphoric, another words, a feel good drug. So, chewing and spitting was practiced on the bench.  Now whittling is something to occupy your hands while your mind is working at great speeds or slowed down according to each whittler. The process of whittling is actually carving little by little a piece of wood into a shape you have created in your mind. So spitting and whittling are a great body and mind process men used while they occupied the Spit N Whittle Bench.

When I first saw the Spit N Whittle bench, I got the meaning right away, but kept calling it a Piss N Whittle Bench.  Why I wondered could I not get the name right during months of pondering?  I probably liked the P word best and kept it rolling around in my head as the P word and then, the S world was too far back to readily retrieve it.  Now I have it back.  The Spit and Whittle bench is the best idea ever, and if used properly could be responsible for everything from Government affairs to household and domestic affairs being solved right there on the bench.  My feeling is, if you sit with the folks on a bench, chew, spit, whittle and while away the hours you can come up with some mighty healing solutions or solve minuscule grievances, as well as adding the most complicated conclusions to age old concepts.  So, I am purporting that all households, blocks, cities, businesses, schools, and international affairs from here on be conducted on a Spit N Whittle Bench. You’ll get an appreciation of others in a non-judgmental way and perhaps proceed purposefully towards a happy ending and progress at a much more rapid pace and in a more worthwhile manner.

I have included a photograph of the Spit N Whittle Bench on the corner of the Court House Lawn in Fayetteville, Tennessee where I first made my acquaintance with this form of communication concept while visiting the lovely Higgins family.

Thank you Liz for the photo!!!