It is a drop dead gorgeous day out. Robin's egg blue skies, with an occasional cloud floating by. The wind gently blowing the trees, and the birds are singing. It is 80 or 81 out now, at 2PM, Molokai time.

New Year's Day we went down to Coffees of Hawaii to hear Hawaiian music performed by a group of older people, kapunas. However, I don't think any of them were my age or older. Haoles are non-Hawaiian, and two or three were haoles, and the others were of native Hawaiian blood. I love this music. Much of which has been handed down and is over 700 years old or more. Two of the men did a wonderful hula while the group played and sang. There were guitars, ukuleles, drums and a ladder like instrument, that was used like a xylophone. The audience filled up the lanai and overflowed onto the steps and picnic tables in the parking lot. They will be doing this every Sunday here. And have done so for years, occasionally changing musicians. Their only hiatus was December. There is a free will offering which is divided up for four non-profits on island, one of which is the Habitat affiliate. I think Phillips and Glick would love it here. While I was there, John brought me over to meet Gaellen Quinn, who is the writer of THE LAST ALOHA. That was a thrill for me, and we had a nice chat. She lives here on island, and said she hoped that she and I could talk more about the book, and my thoughts on it. She added that she would share some incidents that happened to her when she was writing it. I am looking forward to seeing her again.

The geckos here are call MO O MO's. Long O. They are called laughing geckos because when they "talk" it sounds like laughing. People like them in their homes, because they eat the flies and mosquitoes and other insects. John told me that in the morning all the insects here have been eaten by them. They are light pink and very small. We sat one night and watched one devour a mosquito that had landed near it on the wall.

The chicken relocation has been going quite well. Today a small rooster was captured and relocated. A total of four have been put in the same area. There are now two hens and 5 or 6 roosters left. Poseidon will stay, as will one hen which I have named Neptune. The rest will be relocated. Artie says that the hen will probably hatch 10 or 11 chicks in the spring. Artie comforts the bagged hen or rooster on her lap as they take them up the hill to a park like setting and release them.

Will, my nephew, has been here for two nights, after the team went back. He flies out tomorrow morning. Along with the construction supervisor and the home owner's dad and brother, he has been putting up the rafters for the roof. I went over today to take a picture of the house, with the rafters up, to add to the pictures the team has been taking. These homes are built with love. Owners of Habitat homes here always show up to assist in any way they can either with physical labor or with food for the workers.

Family, Ohana, is very important here. It reminds me of Virginia, and the families and extended families I know and am a part of. Having never had that kind of interaction with aunts, uncles and cousins (and never knowing my grandparents), I am blessed and grateful that I am part of several extended families on the mainland, and here on Molokai. Don't get me wrong. I have a great brother and sister, and we love each other, and see each other as frequently as we can. Dick lives in Iowa, Marty in San Diego, and I am now wandering the world. And we do attempt to have family reunions, but not as often as I would like to see them. And because everyone is so far apart from each other - Virginia, Massachusetts, New York, Connecticut, Wisconsin, Iowa, Colorado, California, Washington - it is hard to get everyone to come together, even every five years or so. Here on Molokai, families get together on a weekly basis either at someone's home or on the beach. And families are multi-generational many times. I just love it! I have often wished that my own children all lived in close proximity to one another, so we could get together more often.

As the sun is getting lower in the sky, the two parrots next door are talking less. They are African Greys. I don't think that I have written about them. They talk, whistle, wolf whistle, say Hello, sound exactly like a truck backing up, and their owner told us that she had irritated one of them, and when she came close to it, he said "Feed Me, Bitch!" I am always whistling back to them when I am out on the west lanai.

Tonight is the dark of the moon, and John has set up the fire pit. They have gone to yoga, and I stayed here with Will, just to talk and laugh. We will have dinner, and then go out and enjoy the fire, the darkness, and the stars, which are beautiful here. And get bitten to death by mosquitoes, a small price to pay, for such beauty.

Life is good.
Adieu, Adios, Mahalo!

I love you all,
Sally