Waiting for election is like passing a kidney stone

In four short days, all of this will be over. Those ubiquitous political signs will no longer ugly-up every fence, wall, and slow moving animal in our fine State. The snarky campaign ads (paid for without the express consent of any candidate) by vaguely named organizations will no longer clutter the TV landscape. Most importantly, those sign wavers will take their “wave-point-shaka-repeat” routines off our city’s busiest medians and intersections.

I’ve seen all sorts of sign waving folks this political season, ranging from the hyper-enthusiastic to the uber-apathetic. There was the multi-tasker who texted with one hand, steadied the sign with his elbow, and half-assed waved with his other hand. Never once did he look up. There was the guy who didn’t actually wear the candidate’s requisite white T-shirt. No, he simply draped the shirt over his torso signifying either his fear of commitment to the candidate or his rebellion against this sign waving punishment. Then there was the cute, elderly Asian couple who stood at one of the busiest intersections in Kaneohe every morning and evening, rain or shine. I surmised they were doing this for their grandson, the candidate who proudly proclaimed his Japanese middle name and Filipino surname on every one of his signs. His strategy? Target your racial demographics and then let Baachan and Jiisan do the grunt work.

Amid all the posturing and prognosticating, the best political commentary I ever heard came from my son Alex a few years ago. We were driving past a large banner touting a Republican candidate, when my then-five year old said to me, “Look Mommy! Jerry Coffee is rated R!" Indeed, politics in this town is sometimes for mature audiences only.

Aloha, Mikey

WHEN YOU WORK with someone for nearly two decades, it’s hard to imagine him not being in the office anymore. When our Legislative and Regulatory Affairs Manager Michael Leach announced his retirement a few months ago, I immediately assumed the Cleopatra persona and became “Queen of Denial”. No way! Michael is not going anywhere! What are we going to do without him?

Michael Leach was hired by the Hawaii Credit Union League in late 1990, just a few months after I came on board. In the beginning, Michael was a conundrum to me—so intelligent, so insightful, yet so confusing that at times I had to take a break from his lengthy musing just to decipher the message. Some of us would jokingly tell Michael to “land the plane!” when his spoken thoughts would endlessly “circle the airport”.

He was such a good sport and took it all in stride. We all loved his self-deprecating humor. Recently I overheard him take the blame for something that wasn’t his fault. I gently chided him for bearing this unfounded guilt, to which he quipped, “I’m a Catholic and a male—I can’t help it!” I nearly fell off my chair laughing. That was just so Michael!

My favorite Michael story happened over a decade ago when he showed up at the office with three very tiny kittens. The mama cat abandoned the kittens and Michael, hearing their faint cries, came to their rescue. I vividly remember my co-workers taking turns bottle feeding those little kittens in Michael’s office. Of course, the cats became a part of Michael’s family. More recently, Michael stopped his car on a busy street to rescue a kitten in danger of becoming road kill. That cat, too, is now part of Michael’s household.

As head of the Hawaii Credit Union League’s governmental affairs effort, Michael could navigate the often murky waters of the political arena, whether it was at the state Capitol or in our nation’s Capitol. His analytical mind could make sense of convoluted legislation and his diplomacy allowed him to deal with myriad egos and personalities. Like a good shepherd, Michael took excellent care of the Hawaii credit union representatives who made the annual trek to Washington D.C. for the CUNA Governmental Affairs Conference (GAC). When I made my first visit to D.C. for the 2008 CUNA GAC, I felt very secure knowing I could just follow Michael around unfamiliar airports and the D.C. metro system and get to our destination safely.

Those of us who knew Michael personally saw a devoted husband, son, nephew, and friend. For a time, Michael took care of his elderly aunt and uncle—taking them to doctor appointments and on trips to the mainland to visit relatives. In recent years, Michael has spent his time outside of the office caring for his ailing mother, which was a big part of his decision to retire. Though intellectually we knew caring for his mom full-time was the right thing to do, we selfishly wanted to keep him here.

League staff, along with retired staff and friends celebrated Michael’s 60th birthday on July 20 with a birthday/retirement office party. After gorging ourselves on a wonderful array of mostly homemade dishes, I expected Michael to “circle the airport” with a long farewell speech. It wasn’t that I minded so much, but I didn’t want to end up a teary-eyed mess with raccoon eyes and a red nose. To my surprise, Michael kept it brief with a simple, heartfelt thank-you to everyone. I think it then dawned on all of us that, after nearly 20 years, Michael finally “landed the plane” and was about to embark on a whole new journey. He will surely be missed.

Middle aged skin care requires scientific acumen

I recently observed my 49th birthday. Since I ventured over to the dark side of 45, I stopped celebrating birthdays. And quite honestly, I often forget when my birthday comes and goes.

This year, I spent 16 hours of my birthday traveling from Corning, New York back home to Honolulu. I hoped that passing through three time zones would reverse the signs of aging, but life can be so unkind.

At my age, something as basic as taking care of my skin has become a challenge. Twenty-five years ago, I merely washed my face and was ready to go. Now I have a cleansing ritual that involves corrective serums, antioxidant rich moisturizers, and assorted concoctions that fight the aging effects of "free radicals". I'm not sure what "free radicals" are, but I'm told they are bad and must be stopped at all cost! And that cost usually means $50 for 1.5 ounces of age-defying night cream.

It takes a Ph.D in chemistry to understand how to keep my skin evenly toned, appropriately lifted, and dewy fresh. A recent column in Oprah magazine offered up this advice to those of us seeking youthful skin.

"Don't apply a retinoid in the morning; the sun will deactivate it. And don't use a glycolic acid serum or moisturizer at the same time you're using a hydroquinone lightening cream, vitamin C serum, or retinoid, because the glycolic acid will deactivate them."

Huh? All of this makes me tired. It makes me want to take a nap. Naps are now one of my best friends. But that's a whole other issue altogether.

Body shaping jeans boast miracle making transformation! Yeah, right.

It irks me that creators of "slimming jeans" want you to believe you will look a full size smaller just by wearing these manufactured miracle makers. Duh-uh!

One such brand claims its "tummy control panel" will smooth and flatten your problem belly area. News flash: If you displace 10 pounds of belly fat using an industrial strength spandex/denim blend, that fat has to go somewhere else. Most likely it will push that load upward, giving you a less-than-attractive third chin. Not a good look on anyone, I'm afraid. And then there are those jeans that claim to give your butt an added lift. I'm sorry, but my ass was not meant to hang over my waistband like an overflowing ice cream cone. I give kudos to one body-shaping jeans brand, though. These jeans simply repositioned the side seams giving the illusion of narrower hips. I appreciate the honesty here, though not the $100 price tag.

What really bothers me is the ads for these jeans feature skinny models. Hello? A size zero woman does not need a power mesh panty to smooth problem areas. Let's see a plus size gal wearing these jeans for a little truth in advertising, shall we? Of course that will never happen. Nobody wants to see a 200 pound woman with a faux third chin and butt overflowing her waistband. She may look like a the Michelin Man after a week-long binge, but at least her $100 jeans will look fabulous.

Job Performance Evaluation Anxiety Rears Its Ugly Head

Every year as we approach the summer a dark, yet familiar dread hangs over the CUBE Farm. The fiscal year is coming to an end and I and my fellow CUBE dwellers know what that means: Job Performance Evaluations! (Insert ominous music here.)

I have nothing against job performance evaluations, but we have such a convoluted evaluation process in our organization. The first part of the torture includes a self-evaluation. It takes me half a day to rate my specific job duties and include a justification with each "above average" rating I give myself. And quite honestly, I can be very well above average at times. (Insert smirk here.) Then I have to compare it to last years's rating and do a mini essay on what I have accomplished and what needs improvement. Oh, and I did I mention that, despite all of the effort, there are no raises in the forecast due to budgetary constraints that will continue well into the next century?

If there was no blood shed over the year, I can honestly give myself a good job performance evaluation. I mean, I had ample reason to maim and mutilate over the last 12 months, but restrained myself admirably.

Most of the performance evaluation questions cause involuntary eye rolling. For example: "What are the employee’s strongest qualifications?" My Inner Wise Ass wants to scream, "I've lasted 20 years in this joint! I deserve a freaking medal!" Another question asks: "What experience should the employee gain to be more qualified for increased responsibilities? I have to fight the temptation to answer: "The ability to read minds and pull miracles out of thin air." Yet another lame-oh question on self evaluation: What progress was made on personal growth objectives? My smarty butt answer: "None. Wanted to grow vertically, but ended up with uncontrolled horizontal growth."

I vote for a simpler job performance evaluation. Let's just say I was a great employee and deserve a double digit raise. Oh wait, I work for a nonprofit. Never mind.

Laughter brings healing to overburdened Ubermom

I just got through laughing hysterically with my kids. The past few weeks (or even months) in Kingdom of Parenthood, have been very rough. So it was great to be laughing hysterically with my kids rather than screaming hysterically at them.

Having a nearly 14-year old son and a 10-going-on 20-year old daughter sometimes sucks the very life out of me. Bad hair days and bad attitudes nearly every day leave me breathless and wondering what happened to the sweet little babies I carried around many moons ago. Just this past week I've been burdened by once stellar grades going down the toilet as 14 is now distracted by a girlfriend and social media overload. And speaking of toilets, 10 finds it necessary to use mine since her commode is "too stinky" to use. It doesn't compute that one of her jobs is to clean the bathroom. To quote one of her favorite retorts, "HELLO?!"

But tonight God gave me a sweet gift that brought bright rays of sunshine to the darkness of recent days. My gracious Lord and Savior revealed to me and reminded me of the love He has given our family. And it all started with some silly comment 14 said that sent 10 and me into fits of uncontrollable laughter. It didn't really matter what we were laughing about, we laughed so hard and so loud and so long and it was absolutely energizing. The silliness lasted maybe 15 or 20 minutes, but it was like manna refreshing my soul. My son even recorded some of this zaniness on his cell phone and saved it as his ring tone. For a few wonderful minutes, there was none of 14's sullen mood, none of 10's defiance - it was just joyous, raucous laughter.

I'm sure the moodiness and rebellion will return again. And I'm just as guilty of PMS induced behavior, no matter what time of the month. But for tonight, my heart is content knowing that the love God has given this family will not be shaken by the storms of life. A family that laughs together loves together.

Teen angst hits the heart and the soul of Ubermom

Lately I've been crying myself to sleep thinking about the sweet natured little boy who used to be my son. "He's such a good baby!" was the comment I heard most about my son when he was an infant. "He's so easy going" was another. Loving, affectionate, generous with hugs and outbursts of "I love you", my boy, though not perfect, was usually a joy to have around.

In the past year, someone stole my sweet baby boy and replaced him with a tall, sullen, and at times rude young man. Sometimes this lanky figure dressed all in black looks somewhat familiar, though it's hard to tell since he insists on wearing his hair over his eyes. Instead of a cheerful "Hi Mommy!" I'm lucky to get a grunt in passing. Excited monologues detailing his day at school have been replaced with monosyllabic answers, grudgingly shared only if I am persistent. There are those rare occasions when my son actually feels like chatting and we can share a laugh like old times. He inherited a great sense of humor and I love when it breaks through the pervasive teen angst. But a few hours later, the door is slammed before I can enter his room to say goodnight and my heart sinks again.

Remembering my own abhorrent behavior as a teen, I can't help but feel this phase in my life is some sort of cosmic retribution. Or as my mom often tells me, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Really comforting, mom.

Has anyone developed a cure for teenage attitude? I am ready to make my bulk purchase order. Pills, liquid, blunt force trauma - I'll take any form. Seriously. Anyone?