Thanksgiving 2009

I'm sitting here whilst all about me the women hustle and bustle, putting the feast together.  Madame LaBelle got up early and headed for the kitchen to work her magic there.

I've been thinking about all the people who have come into my life so recently, and how grateful I am to the Spirit of Aloha that they are here, having taken up residence in my heart.  So...to all of you who read this blog, to all of you who have reached out your hands of aloha time and again, mahalo from the Old Man.

'Ohana is a Hawaiian word.  It means, basically, "extended family."  And it's not necessarily the family one was born with.  It's more along the lines of...the family which emerges from one's life circumstances.

So I'm thinking of all of you, and that spirit of gratitude has been washing over me all morning long.

In no particular order....

Jamie, who will be leaving Lift Cafe soon.  We're all gonna miss her, and the Old Man will miss her in particular.  She's one of the Blessed Ones, blessed by great genetics and marvelous gifts of compassion and charisma.  Jamie, Dear Heart, thank you so much for appearing in my life and blessing it with your presence.  The party you organized on my behalf remains a highlight of my time in Austin.

Meagan.  The "Smouldering One."  Why do I call her that?  Because there is this sense of a deep fire burning within her, one which perhaps she's not quite aware of, but a fire of passion and potential.  Dear Meagan, claim your power and get out there on Life's Stage and grab that mike and start dancing.  All that you need will surely come.

Smokie and KB.  My "adopted children."  Smokie made it possible for this blog to happen as the little notebook had a major virus which was eating away at all the programs.  Couldn't even get a browser there until Smokie worked his magic and installed Ubuntu.

He and KB are evolving, growing, into activists.  They are passionate believers and have no problem sharing their convictions with others.  My hope for them is that they follow their bliss (as Joseph Campbell advised) and see where it leads them.

KB is a beautiful young woman blessed with gifts of charisma and compassion.  How interesting that so many of you have those same gifts!  And how blessed I am to have been the recipient of them so many times.  KB, darlin, I luv ya.

Willie.  Now here's a man who's a success in the nuts and bolts of economic life and yet has his cup running over with Aloha.  When I was cold and wet, tired and hungry, Willie welcomed me to Lift Cafe.  He's one of Life's Givers, and my respect for him is enormous.  Thank you so much, Willie.  I consider you a dear friend.

John.  John, too, welcomed me to Lift Cafe.  As the manager, he could easily have told me to take my trip on down the highway, but he didn't.  He's been gracious and generous, and I wish him the very, very best.

Charlie. At only 17 years of age, he's already one of Life's Winners.  Thanks, Charlie, for the sleeping bag.  It has kept me warm when others on the street were tossing and turning from the cold.  Thank you for letting me ride your motorized bike.  Thanks for the cigarettes.  Thanks for being you.  Your life lies ahead of you now, and if you keep on manifesting your beautiful spirit, so many people will be blessed simply for your having passed this way.

Danny with that marvelous voice of his.  Allie I and Allie II.  Dear, sweet Katie.

Kris.  Ah, you da real deal, Bruddah man!  I think if we looked up the  word "aloha" that your picture would surely be there as illustration.  Thank you for the gifts of warmth, lights, food, and friendship.  I stand in awe of you.

Jason.  You made it possible for me to take some wonderful photographs.  The camera was stolen on the Long Ride, but not before I'd taken photographs which will go with me thoughout the rest of my life.  I honor you, Brother Jason.  You're truly an awesome person.

Erin.  You serenaded me.  I don't think anyone has ever done that before, and I felt so blessed and special.  Your talent cries out to emerge.  I want to read your lyrics and watch you blossom.  Thank you, Dear Heart, for your gift of creativity.

Now here are some people from the Street (aside from Smokie and KB) who have enriched my life.  Again in no particular order.

Smiley.  Giver, generous heart, always thinking of others.  Smiley, you're one of Life's Dharma Heros.

Will the Troubadour.  Thank you Will for your songs, your warmth, your acceptance of me as a friend.  "I'll share your pain."

Snail.  Guru of the street, Emperor of the Dumpsters, Survivor of a Rotten Childhood.  Sharer of snipes and smokes and food.  I honor you as a brother and teacher.

Allie.  Beautiful elfin woman-child.  I so enjoy seeing you move through life.  I was saddened by your bicycle accident and ever so grateful it wasn't worse than it was.  Keep on keeping on.

Maggie. Beauty in motion, marvelous fashion sense.

Ingrid.  Terrific songster, writer of fantasic lyrics.  Thank you for sharing them with me.

Cleve.  Down but not out.  Clearing brush for a pittance.  Sharing that pittance with others (including me).  A survivor.  Sleeping in the cold and not complaining too much about it.  Thank you, brother.

Robert.  Hater of being photographed.  Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.  Thank you for being another survivor, for being able to take a cardboard box and make a shelter from it.  I honor you, my brother.

Elwin.  Who shows up in my life from time to time, always in a welcome sense.  You have so much potential.  Learn from your time on the street and become a better person for having endured.

Todd.  You're so much more interesting sober than when you're drinking.

Old Man John.  You and "Mama" have been there for me as friends.  Thank you for that.

And for McDonald's...Wes, the manager.  Wes, you're one of the Good Guys.  You've allowed me to sit out there on your patio and sip away at coffee, and have never been anything other than gracious and welcoming.  How beautiful on the mountain....

This list would be incomplete without a big shout-out to the good folks who operate Mobile Loaves and Fishes.  You have fed us when we were hungry and desperate, clothed us, and let us know that we're of value--not just bums and tramps.  Thank you, Alan.  Thank you, Cora.

Now this is just a partial list.  There are so many who have touched my life, and as memory prompts me, I'll add you to my gratitude list.

But for now, here's wishing you all a wonderful Thanksgiving from Madame LaBelle and myself.

You have made so much of my Quest possible.  Allies, helpers, kokuas, angels of aloha.  That's you.  Thank you for allowing me to share some thoughts and hopes, triumphs and failures with you.  Thanks for being there in the good times and the not-so-good.  You have all been my teachers, in one way or another. 

You have made this Thanksgiving truly blessed for me.

Peace, aloha, 'ohana,

Elijah

Will the Troubadour

Here is Will the Troubadour.

He didn't know that he was a troubadour until I so informed him, but now I think he kind of likes it.

You can find him playing his old guitar there near Sunken Gardens most any day, regardless of weather.  Well, the rain does slow things down.  But the cold?  Nope.  He keeps those fingers flying.

And what is his dream?  How does he frame the narrative of his life?

As a troubadour.  Although he called it something else. Guitar player.  Singer.  Composer of songs.  Strolling musician.

See what I mean?  Troubadour.

He used to have a car which was handy to get around in, sleep in, but it gave up the ghost and left him strolling the mean streets of Austin just as the ancient troubadours used to do.

I like Will.  He has a good voice, writes good music, and is a cheery soul, to boot.  The other day he played a gospel song he wrote in Spanish, and I was pleased to note that I was able to understand every word of it.

Here's to troubadours, both ancient and modern.

And especially to Will.  He's one of Austin's finest.

And should be honored as such.

Peace, aloha, and strolling troubadours,

Elijah

A Dreary Day

When you're on the street, rain is not all that much of a blessing.

In fact, it can be downright depressing.  Especially when the tent managed to leak a bit due to the tarp not being hung precisely right.  From that comes the sleeping bag somewhat wet with no way of drying it.  So the Old Man is looking at a damp one tonight unless the chinchilla blankie can keep us warm enough.

Well, maybe body heat will eventually dry the bag?

The food truck won't be coming to Sunken Gardens this evening.  Nearest will be up S. Lamar near Maudie's--and that's a haul up a long hill. Hmmmm.  Still have some scraps from a couple of days ago, so it's not like it's the end of the world.

But on a wet day where do you go to stay warm and dry?  Lift Cafe has been one of those blessings that just keeps on giving, but I try to be careful about not abusing their hospitality.  Help clean up, put chairs away at closing time, etc.  So there is that.

And the McDonald's here at Barton Springs and S. Lamar.  Sitting here drinking my first cup of coffee of the day--and it's after 5 PM. 

Wes, the manager here, is a super guy, very tolerant and compassionate to the Old Man. And I do appreciate it.  Came in this evening and he said, "Welcome back."  Referring to the Not-so-long-ride-2009.

Ran into one of my followers, Loren, earlier, who had stopped in at Lift to see how I was progressing.  Always a treat to see him.

Dealing with some loss here as Jamie is moving on, leaving Lift Cafe.  And that is not good news for me.  She's one of those drop-dead gorgeous women just as lovely on the inside as the outside.  Big heart.  Compassionate.  Gonna miss her bigtime.

And so the beat goes on.  Haven't seen anyone from the little community that hangs out up by the Springs other than Old Man John (who is actually six years younger than I) who was eating breakfast at Taco Cabana earlier.

Where do they all go on days like this?

Haven't seen Smokie and KB yet.  They were planning to go down to Sixth Street last night and do their weekly hunting.  KB flies a sign which says, "Free Hugs/Tips Accepted" and pulled in about twenty bucks Thursday night.  Great young lady.  Love her to pieces.

She and Smokie are turning into little activists in the service of the Alex Jones paradigm.  True believers.  Smokie tends to get up on his soapbox given half a chance, but he's young and that's how true believers act.  They're both convinced the "New World Order" is in the works, although KB is quick to proclaim, "I hope we're wrong.  I really do!"

Me?  I believe in Aloha.  I have a great lady in Madame LaBelle, and she's an Angel of Aloha for sure. Planning to visit her next Tuesday and close out November with her.

But now the evening begins to come down as soft and gray as an old shawl.  The cars stutter by with their lights on and the horn at the ready.  Hook 'em, Commuters!

Weekend.  No commuters running today, Bub.  Just people moving hither and yon, moving toward goals of the interior.  Where are they going?

On an evening like this John Prine comes to mind.  He wrote:  I hate graveyards and old pawn shops/Cuz they always bring me tears./Can't forgive the way they robbed me/Of my childhood's souveneirs."

You rock, Bruddah Prine.  Sho nuff.

On my second cup of coffee and beginning to feel like a human being again. 

I am becoming quite fond of Willie, the owner of the building Lift Cafe is in.  He's just...the real deal.  A real human being with a real heart and a real mind to go with it.  Great guy.  His compassion is heart-warming, and I wonder:  how did he get it?  What forces have danced with his heart to make him an unspoken evangelist of Aloha?

I need to post this while the battery is still up and the connection is still humming.

You people...you're my tribe.  My 'ohana, extended family.

Peace, aloha, and warm and dry places from the rain,

Elijah

The Not-So-Long-Ride-2009

"There's no fool like an old fool."

And then there's Elijah.

It was the third day into the quest before I even began to have a clue about what was really going on. 

Picture this:  there I am, trudging alongside the highway, with trucks barreling ass by and there's this big whoosh of wind and the sun is beating down and there's the old man, Elijah, just pushing away.  Stopping every few yards to catch his breath.

Somewhere in there we began to see that this ride was not about much of anything other than ego.

Wow.

Pushing and straining up that hill, beginning to see myself reaching still for the corroded ring of geezer-glory.  Yeah, dig on it.

And I had secretly told myself that if I did even one more mile than the Lawrence, KS to Boulder, CO ride back in 19(gulp)73.  Starting to see?

Denial.  Yeah, I can ride 885 miles across hills and mountains and desolate stretches of desert.  You betcha.  Can do geezer here.

So I see that the read antagonist in this mythic quest was not the hills, the narrowness of the highway, my nearly-to-the-bone weariness--none of that.

The real antagonist was my, yeah, ego.

Look at me.

In the Heroic Quest, the Hero is always confronted with antagonists.  His job is to defeat them by wile or might.

In my case, realizing that the hills were no longer what it was all about, I took a piece of cardboard and wrote on it, "Will Pay/$20/Llano"

Long story short, by Mason I was having serious breathing issues.  Oh, yeah, the COPD I've managed to minimize throughout all of this.  I seriously needed an inhaler and had none.  Wheezing, minutes of heaving breathing just to get back to normal.

Mason is over a thousand feet higher than Austin.

Tucson, the former goal, is a thousand feet higher than Mason.

So it was ego.

Angels of Aloha were all around me from the very beginning of this.  The fantasic staff of Lift Cafe, the incredibly generous folk at Bicycle Sport Shop (thanks Kris, Jason, and Josh!), as well as those I met along the way.

Next post I'll try to flesh this thing out.  As it is I've spent the past day just trying to digest and assimilate all that which I learned on this Quest.

And, when all the dust has settled, surely it must be looked on as a kind of comedy of denial of what is so.  No, I cannot ride up mountains anymore.  No, I cannot snap back from exhaustion as I used to.

My warranties are rapidly running out, and that's such a good thing to know, see.  There will be no last long ride.

Somewhere that first day I crossed a line into "...the most strenuous bicycle activity done since 1973."  Gawd.  And there were three days of that, back-to- back.

Pushing up that hill I saw myself driven by pride and arrogance and denial of what is so.  I saw an old man who didn't want to accept that he was...old.

The Real Quest, then, was not about making the long ride to Tucson.  The Real Quest was about acceptance of the way things are.

The Real Quest was about seeing, recognizing the Angels of Aloha as they again and again and again manifested and appeared.

I live in a world which by the day becomes more beautiful and magical.  And I see that the arrogance of that pushing up the long, long hill was what I was there to see and overcome.

I humbly say that my pride did not want to admit defeat to all those of you who have believed in me and supported me in this dream of mine.

But I believe this:  that our relationship, that which exists between you and me, has a kind of magic to it.  I feel it, especially when the Spirit of Truth breaks through all the broadband channels of illusion/delusion we so ardently worship. 

 So.  We move outward.  We follow dreams of substance, dreams of fluff.  Dreams which have a way of becoming incredible teachers.

The Scripture says, "I am found by those who sought me not."

Sometimes the Real Quest is hidden within the Ostensible Quest.  On the third day out, pushing arrogantly up that hill in absolute service to my ego, I began to see that.

It was a difficult thing to see.  And the tiredness of the struggle helped me settle into the ease of acceptance.

In the end, the hills were Angels of Aloha.  They broke me to the point where my eyes began to open.

In the next post I want to write about Randy Garcia, who let me sleep on his couch that last night and drove me all the way to Austin the next day.

An Angel of Aloha.  And guess where he is tonight, even as I write:

Honolulu.

I've asked him to go to Waikiki and photograph "The Wizard Stones of Waikiki" for me.  Many years ago, I was the kahu (keeper) of the stones.  So Randy will be getting pictures for me--and for you.

Stay posted.

Much aloha, joy, and magical reality,

Elijah

Leaving Soon

Soon I will be leaving on the Long Ride 2009.  And I'm planning to document the entire thing on a new blog which will be:  www.thelongride2009.blogspot.com
Hoping you'll all gravitate to that site once I formally declare the ride to be "on."

Planning to leave early next week for all points west, but kinda thinking...Tucson.  That's almost 900 miles away.  Think a 65 year old geezer/wheezer w/ emphysema can make it?  Stay tuned.

Anyone wishing to contribute a bit of cash to the trip should get hopping.  I don't have a bank account, so cash will be the only thing I can accept.  Well, wishes of aloha would be lovely, as well.

Send to:  Elijah Street c/o John Voss/Lift Cafe/215A S. Lamar/Austin, TX 78704.

As I may be leaving as early as this coming Monday, time is a factor.

And for those of you who have already given so much, peace.  Relax.  You've done enough already.

Don't feel under any pressure, Dear Hearts.  If ya wanna then go for it.  If not, don't.

It's all good.

Peace, aloha, and a world of blessings.

Elijah

Todd of the Pedestrian Bridge

This is Todd. He bears a resemblance to Anthony Hopkins, don't you think?

I first met him back in the early part of Walkabout2.  This was in the early days when I'd only recently discovered the Pedestrian Bridge, and I was just delighting in it.

So I was riding the Beast by and there was Todd, along with two or three other street denizens.  I smelled 420 and came to a screeching halt.  Todd was the vehicle for my first encounter with 420 here in Austin.

Now here's the truth:  I didn't like him at all at first.

He seemed...well, grouchy.  Like there was this black cloud fixing to pour down rain on his parade.  His eyes were forever glancing this way and that, lest someone put something over on him or something.

I just plain did not like the man.  He seemed, well, stingy.  Out for number one.  You know the drill.

But here it is Walkabout3 and Todd is now basically sober.  And the transformation is little short of amazing.  He's actually...fun to be around.

He's well read, smart, and fairly generous, considering his circumstances.  The long and the short of it is that I now like the guy.  Consider him a friend.

See what a little sobriety can do for a man?

Peace, Brother Todd.  Blessings, 420, and a world of transformation ahead of you and all of us.

Elijah

Our Tender Forever

Here we have a heartbreaker.  This is a plaque on one of the benches up on the Pedestrian Bridge.  And what a lovely name for what must have been a very, very special little boy.

When I first came across it, the sentiments reached out across time and just grabbed my old heart, wrung it out, and left me standing there breathless in a kind of dazed trance.

A bliss of confusion and loss and comfort all mixed up in a jumble of conflicting emotions.

I don't know the story of Keaton Galileo Willingham.  I know that he was born on the 94th anniversary of the first successful powered flight.  Wilbur and Orville.  And I know that he didn't live long enough to make it to his fourth birthday.

I don't know anything at all except this torrent, this perfect embrace of aloha set in place by parents is still there, reaching out to the passersby.

Our Tender Forever.

It got to me.

Sometime, when you have a free hour or so, walk over the Pedestrian Bridge and seek out little Keaton Galileo.  He's on the south end of the bridge, there on the east side. He's eternal now, so don't fret yourself that he won't be there.  His spirit is very much alive.

Let who he was and who he is touch your heart.

I am so very, very pleased to have this very special little boy as part of our blog.  And I say OUR blog deliberately.  This blog belongs to all of us.

So...on yer feet, soldier!  We gots alohas to delivers to dem folksies out dere!

Keaton Galileo is with me.  And you.

Beauty all around us, right?

Peace, aloha, and the presence of Keaton Galileo Willingham.

Elijah

Waking Up

Waking up.  I come up through levels and layers of slumber to the day, which has been purring right along as I was chainsawing logs.  It's one of those grumble/mutter/snort/cough kinda things.  Daylight?  Yep.  For hooouuuuurs, Dude.

Charlie's sleeping bag is so comfy and I lie there all toasty and think about... getting up.  Which means coming out of the warmth of Charlie's Bag and shaking a leg, getting things going.

Last night before I headed back to camp, I did a long slow ride/walk up Barton Springs, on a hunt for enough snipes for a minimum of one smoke before bed, one upon awakening.  And found enough for--dang!--three.

K-e-w-l.

For anyone rabidly opposed to smoking, may I simply genuflect in your directions and admit you're perfectly right.

But one of the truly great pleasures of the street and of campsites in general for street people is that first smoke in the morning.  You know, the one where your brain cells are acting like they've never met their neighbor before.  All is a kind of gray and fuzzy...DUH.

Hot coffee of course would be the topping on the cake, but I have no way of heating coffee down here.  Won't build a fire and don't have one of those little backpacker stoves.  And, cough, no coffee.  So there.

So there were actually TWO smokes this morning, so I luxuriated there, sitting cross-legged on the bag and pad, peering out through the little half-circle of the opening of the tent.  Yep.  The world is still out there.  No Rapture as yet, unless I was left behind.

And a sudden memory of being in that hypnagogic state earlier and hearing the first birdsong of the morning.  Appreciating it even as I let myself sink back into deep slumber.

Decided to time myself this morning.  From the time I commit to tearing it all down, stashing, and packing up to pushing the bike away towards the world.


And the only way I can handle this without stressing is to make it a sacrament.  The sacred...packing of the bags...loading of the bike...folding the tabernacle.  Slowing everything down so that each movement becomes deliberate.  Not quite as choreographed as the Japanese Tea Ceremony, but definitely moving in that direction.

I have four bags that have to be packed.  The sleeping bag goes in the bag on the handlebars.  Can't afford to lose that.  It's packed in a white garbage bag courtesy of Lift Cafe.  The bag has to stay dry.  That's really, really important, so in the stuffing into the bag there is this moment of recognition of its importance.  It was a gift of Aloha and should be treated as such.

Madame LaBelle's blanket rolls up and goes into left rear pannier, which isn't really a pannier but does yeoman service as such.  Kris's coat goes in there as well, and the bag is swollen like it's about to give birth to puppies.

The right pannier is already packed with netbook, chargers, etc. I bring it in every night because, again, I can't afford to lose them.  They are my connection to you, to this world which goes on spinning whilst I'm in the woods or down that highway headed west.

Backpack takes a couple of items, then goes just behind the seat there on Jason's rack.  Almost done.

Blue insulation pad rolls up and is secured by a couple of homemade bungies.  Bicycle inner tubes cut up.


Last is the half-gallon thermos I found the other day.  Still haven't made up my mind about that one.  Keeper?  See how it works out.  If I come up with a way to have hot coffee in the morning, I may make enough to fill the jug.  Keep me caffeinated throughout the day.

So you may be thinking:  Elijah, what kind of street monk are you?  Always caffeinated or 420ed or pigging out on this or that?  Hmmm?

My answer:  that kind.  Dharma Bum kind.  A mendicant monk of Aloha, flawed, but doing the best he can, given his givens.

Finally, I take down the tent.  It comes down quickly. I pack the poles in the little gray bag, tie it, and place the tarp, folded, atop the tent.  Roll 'em all up together.  Balance on my head as I make my way through the clutching bushes and thickets to my stash spot.  My faith is that they'll still be there tonight.

Then back to the bike.  Unlock, push out.  Check the stopwatch:

Twenty minutes.

Egads.

Peace, aloha, and  the holy sacraments of breaking camp,

Elijah

Smokie and KB's Camp

Here we have KB and Smokie, sitting before their "hermetically sealed" tent from Wal-mart.  They've taken garbage bags and taped and tied them together to form a makeshift tarp, rainfly. 

Odd how our lives touch each other.  Smokie came into my life as my IT guy, trying to get the derned virus out of my computer.  Took Walkabout3 for that to happen, but he got it done. 

Then he and KB needed a new campsite, so I turned them onto where I stay.  They moved a few hundred yards away, and seem to be quite happy there.

"He'd be lost without me, KB told me last night re Smokie.  "He tells me which way to go and I tell him what to do when we get there."  She was reflective a moment.  "Come to think of it," she said, "I'd be lost without him, too."

They are down here at street level, trying to get by.  Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights they go down to Sixth Street to pick up snipes and whatever it is they'll find.  They came back with a phone with unlimited minutes the other day, plus an 8 gig flash drive.  All kinds of things.

Down here, it's almost always some kind of treasure hunt, keeping yr eyes open to whatever the Universe provides.  It's hunting, of a sort.  Going out on the hunt, then sitting around a hot cup of coffee and telling the stories of how it all came down.

They are creating this narrative called Smokie and the KB.  And I can't help but wonder how it's all gonna turn out.

Life is filled with wonderful stories, wonderful characters.  Each moving along with their hangups and tensions and wants and hopes and all of that.

Every now and then an old man with a bike heading out west.

Wonder how that one's gonna turn out?

I've had a fine day.  It's chilly now, and I'm sitting at Lift Cafe hoping for a cup of java before I head down to the Pedestrian Bridge to feed the homeless.  Got a sackful of breakfast tacos John brought, and the food truck didn't come today, so they'll be most welcome.

See how it works?

Much aloha,

Elijah

In A State of Grace

I have been on the edge, the verge of tears for some hours now.  Strange.  In the morning, I was so faint from low blood sugar that I made the ride up to Veggie Heaven.  There I ate, then borrowed a plastic bag and cleaned up the parking lot for them.  My way of saying "Thank you."

On the way I actually asked two people for money, both of whom turned me down.  Compassion Fatigue.  Understandable.  But then I saw that today was a day for me to dance with my own compassion, to have compassion for those whose compassion is somewhat burnt out.

And then the day turned on me and became filled with Grace.

I cleaned the ashtray at the Scientology Building, then rode back down the hill.  Stopped at Mellow Johnnie's and got a decal for my helmet.  Then down to the "Opossum Temple" there on the trail, the north side of the Colorado.

A young lady was kind enough to take my picture seated on the "Voodoo Pew."  It's the same temple I wrote about sometime ago when I spent an hour or so cleaning up the rubbish.

It's mid-afternoon now, and I have yet to check where the food trucks will or won't be.

But all is well.  I'm riding well, conserving energy, brimming with something I suspect is a first-cousin to aloha.

Mmmmmm.

Peace.

Elijah

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Liz: Unsung Hero of Austin

Here is Liz, another jewel in the crown of Austin.  She has been collecting things for the homeless since she was a wee tyke, and once a month she shows up at Barton Springs to pass out her collection to those in need.  I see her rising early in the morning, keeping that sharp eye peeled for anything that'll benefit those of us who are hurting. And been doing it since childhood?  I think that's simply amazing.  What was it that moved her in this direction?  How did the Spirit of Aloha find her at such a young age?  She has shoes, clothing, hygiene items (yep, I really needed that deodorant, folks!), and a terrific sense of humor, a tough little sweetheart with a heart of gold and eyes that have been around the block a time or three.  The Real Deal, Lucille.

What I want to know is this:  why aren't all MY heroes the heroes of Austin in general?  Guess they're just flying under the radar.

But if you ever run into Liz, give her a big hug.

Tell her Elijah sent ya.  And that I take off my hat to her, bow deeply, and just think she's very, very special.

Peace, aloha, and thanks for the comments.

Elijah