Dear Friends,
At the hula competition today I was like a bee among tropical flowers. I didn’t exactly belong, but I was getting something out of it. All the other women had flowers in their hair. The men wore flowered shirts. Baby strollers were shaded by flowered shawls. Food carts outside sold Spam and shave ice. I felt too tall, thin, and drab. But nobody cared, and soon neither did I. They closed the doors, told us not to take videos. Little girls came on stage, six or eight in a group, swaying the hula in full skirts and flouncy blouses, chanting, not singing, in their own language, in the way of Hawai'ians from before the Europeans sailed in. There were no ukuleles, just sticks keeping time and other rhythmic instruments. It was haunting. I stayed for three groups. There were many more, plus adult solos (men too). Lots of performers were from California and some were from Hawai’i as well. I’m glad I went.
Love,
k
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