Golden eyes

"Can I describe your eyes?"
"What was that?"
"Your eyes, I'd like to describe your eyes, for the interview." The blogger was serious so Bea reined an impulse to be flippant.

Lola Akiona was a hugely popular Hawaii blogger, and radio personality. When Beatrix posted "Blunt pulls plug!" Lola was the first to PM with the message, "Can we talk?" It was the first of many curious comments and emails. Beatrix replied to each of the queries, but it was Lola's reputation and culturally sensitive interview with Moe Palani, a Hawaiian sovereignty leader, that left an indelible mark. The women were doing a few preliminary questions using Skype before recording the podcast.

"Bea?" Lola paused. "Do you mind that I call you that on the interview?" She was being respectful. Beatrix appreciated that. There was probably a twenty years difference between them. Bea took her time with this, and finally nodded, "Sure."

"Bea, the question about your eyes comes from a comment from one of my readers. She said, "Beatrix Blunt has the most incredible golden eyes. Sparks! Sparklers that melt light." Beatrix was quiet again. "It's a disturbing description. I've never heard that. But do any of us average Joes known what our eyes look like? We're busy looking out. Like from the eyes of the hurricane it's calm back here while the chaos of the huli churns. My eyes are brown. Light brown." For a moment Beatrix looked through those light brown eyes, and saw them. In their places, She saw the golden eyes of her Uncle, Moon, and he was not alone. "I believe your reader may be an answer to my silent, till now, prayer," The people were gathering, Beatrix was glad.

Lola pursued, "What prayer is that?" Beatrix had agreed to be candid, she was retiring from active on-line presence after a decade of authoring her eclectic blog that was part politics, generous philosophizing, and honest disclosure of a life with physical limitations.

"I'd like to answer that question in the interview," Beatrix replied. "Like we agreed, when you run this through your production and editing magic, I get the first listen before you air, and have a say about content."

"Exactly. The contract names you, and Leslie as co-producers."

"Good," Beatrix looked up from the screen and searched the room. Les was seated just off camera, nervous as a cat but ready with Bea's mask and oxygen.

Bea called to Crook, "Come on boy we're going to make history."  Tic, Tack and Toe looked on from their positions on the couch. Crook leaped into Bea's lap then turned to catch Les's eyes. Leslie Mills gave the blonde their special variety of thumbs up --a hand gesture-- equivalent to Crook's ears when in comforting position. The dog nestled in.

A young Filipina assigned to apprentice the project adjusted the microphone. "You ready Aunty?" she asked.

"Let's proceed, dive in and open up this day to them." The young woman lit with awareness. There was a connection. Bea discovered the apprentice was from Renton, "Where the minority is the majority." Her words! That cracked the older woman up, "I remember when Renton was pure Red-neck. Makes an old lady think there's still time to see things change."

The apprentice did a sound check, and listened to the reception on the Hawaii-end. "We good?" Lola and her crew made a couple adjustments. "Ready when you are," Lola said. "We'll make the switch to audio. Counting down from ten. When we're there. Thumbs go up. Okay?"

"Whenever you need to stop, for whatever reason, Aunty, just say the word. Remember, you have a hui to make this right. We lined up for this assignment. I got lucky." Her voice dropped subtly, "I feel the buzz ... and ... expect the doors to be open to the greater Lahui." The young woman kissed Beatrix's cheek, and squeezed her hand gently. There was that golden glow of eyes. Crook licked the young woman's arm.

"Nine, eight, seven, six ..."

What happened? (click here)

Signatures

Crook knew exactly what his job was. Rescue and comfort. The last human he lived with showed him what it felt like to be removed from danger. It was also the first time he heard the Voice,"You're damaged, but not dead." It was Big Dog and she was speaking directly to Crook's heart. Somehow not being dead meant something. The small blonde dog remembered the Original Instructions and the voice of the canine Alpha mother, the goddess of all dogs. Crook nestled against Bea's soft belly. The stainless steel snake was cold. Crook heard the steady hiss and recognized it as comfort, "We're in the same business."

The three black-and-whites were asleep, mostly. The oldest of them was likethis with Big Dog. Tic was her name, she encouraged Crook, "You're on Blondie. This is not a battle worthy of her waning strength. The pursuit of fires, not a good idea!" There was great emphasis on the not a good idea. Crook's Yoda-perfect ears perked, his head cocked in the direction of the backseat. Dogs don't purr but that didn't stop the blonde from stealing tools that did the job. A small low rumble easily mistaken for a hunger pang kicked in. Tic smiled, "Keeper." She settled back onto the sheepskin.

The regulator set at "3" streamed compressed oxygen into Bea's nostrils. Her lungs quieted. Les drove the 525 stretch observing the speed limits. there was no ferry backup. Two vehicles a white Prius and an old gray Chevy pickup were ahead of them. Bea lifted the ceramic mask, "Honey, ask 'em what the round trip fare will cost."

"Hi," Les smiled at the cute young brunette. "How much for a round-trip for two seniors?"

"Twenty-one, fifty-six."

"Let's pass," said Bea from behind her mask.

Les had to be sure she was hearing right, "Pass?"

"Yup!" Crook pushed his paws up to size up his environment. Island living meant there would be people telling his people how much to get them off or on. He was a very quick study with a memory that retained detail. He kept alert.

"Guess we're taking a rain check," Les said. "Can I turn around?"

"Sure take the bus lane and pull around in front of the parked cars. No boat yet, so no problem."

Les felt a wet tongue on her wrist. Crook was lapping at her hand, eyes in full upright position. "I have a feeling you had something to do with this." The blonde's ears switched, one remains fully extended, the other did an angle thing that would be a familiar signature move, to be repeated often.

"Where to?" Les asked once she had the old station wagon heading up island.

"Let's go home, I could use a little nap."


There's more ....

Oso crazy

"It's 44.3 miles, and 1 hour and 25 minutes away, once we get to the ferry terminal." Les had the map on her iphone. Bea was driving with one hand around a large decaf latte extra hot. The decaf version of beans was probably more of an illusion than anything, but it made her think she was less addicted.

"How much money do you have?" Between them the pair had been known to split a small pizza with their dogs. If a road trip was to happen the three black and whites, and the recently rescued pooch of yet-to-be-determined ancestry would have to be fed.

Les opened her wallet, "Twenty bucks, and a credit card with high interest rates." Bea calculated quickly. Did they really need to get much closer to the burns to make a difference? Somehow she just had to see for herself how crazy people had gotten. Oso. Two years ago a disastrous landslide. People dead. Now, a logging fire has hundreds of acres burning. Her lungs had been burning for days before Les had read the article in the Slog.

"Shit!" It made sense, and it was insane. Bea pulled the old Subaru into the parking lot. "I need the mask, and oxygen. Honey, let's trade places 'kay." The dogs in back shuffled and resettled as Bea reached for a full tank of O2 and spun the regulator into place. The tanks lay on the floor behind the front seat, Tic, Tac and Toe knew Bea's routine and each lapped at the woman's face reassuringly. The new one with unknown ancestry was not about to be set down. Les held onto the scruffy blonde with seriously magical ears.

"You get the tank, and mask and I'll hold this one till you're set." Beatrix Blunt did as she was told. Though she was without a doubt a force to be recognized with, it was Les that was her everyday strength. They leaned into each other. That made faith last a lot longer.

"I want to get some pictures," Bea finally said once the mask was dosing her with oxygen. Nestled into the crook of her left arm the blonde newbie went to his bliss spot, asleep within moments. "Then I'll write the story, and the letters. We don't need to get too close."

"The road'll be closed off." Les was into practical now.

"I don't wanna kill myself doing this, but I do want to get the pictures of smoke myself. It's that important. Really, who the fuck is going to stop this trajectory?"

They looked at each other, and hollered, "Beatrix Blunt!" That got a rise out of the blonde.

"I think we need to name her Crook," Bea said from behind her ceramic mask. Crook nestled. It was a motion of agreement. The name would stick.

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