Because of Gene, who has shamelessly admitted that he "reads me," I will discuss my profile photo --- (it's relevant, because Gene is a newspaper photographer who seems to enjoy imitating me in my most ebullient and effervescent (like champagne?) moments). And this photo was taken at a precise moment in time when I wanted to let out a yelp of joy ... "OOOoooooooo" in Gene-imitating-Val parlance.... because I was sitting under my favorite bit of flora in all of Waikiki --- "the" banyan tree.

Oh there are many banyan trees in this world --- all wonderful, tentacled creatures who drop their arms downward into Earth, to form these great meandering cages of limbs and space.

Last summer in Hawaii, I actually met another banyan --- the second largest in the world I'm told, which inhabits the city square in Lahaina, on the island of Maui. And responding to that little girl who still secretly lives within me, I climbed up the limbs of that old banyan to a perch best reserved for birds. I could see turquoise sea, and royal blue sky and just below me I could see islanders weaving decorative bowls and animal-like sculptures from palms. From my crow's nest I could see young and old, strolling through Lahaina's bustling streets. I could see tour busses wheeling into town and others taking their human cargo back to hotels or ships. I could see the aged resting under the mighty umbrella of shade cast by this tree, and the young lovers, stealing a lingering kiss in the shadows it creates.

All of these undercurrents of life, found within the reach of a single tree.

Still, this banyan cannot compete with "the" banyan --- the one I am sitting under in my profile photo. If you think I chose that picture because I am one of those "girlie girls" who likes pink, well, you would only be partially correct. The star of the photo is the tree. It may not be the largest banyan, but it is, to me, the sweetest. It is rooted to Earth right in the middle of the patio courtyard behind the Moana Surfrider Hotel, Waikiki's first hotel, right on Kalakaua Avenue.

What you cannot see in this photo, which was taken in July 2007, is the flock of white lovebirds flitting from branch to branch in the higher reaches... and the sweet lilt of their song. You cannot hear the music from a Hawaiian slack guitar, just a few feet away from where I am sitting, at sunset. And you cannot see the sensual rhythmics of a hula dancer as she passes beneath the branches and captivates with her body language

Look a few feet farther past this venerable tree and you will see the white sands of Waikiki caressed by the lapping waves of the Pacific. And cast your eyes farther still, and there will be surfers skimming across the surface of the ocean and outriggers flying along the crest of a wave.

And still..... there is so much you do not see.

There are all the ladies who come to high tea in an afternoon ritual, and all the brides who come to be photographed in hopes of capturing a singular day in their lives under the glorious natural canopy. And so it has been for more than a hundred years. The Moana Banyan tree was planted in 1904, a transplanted botanical specimen. At the time of its planting, a hole was dug, and a dead mongoose was thrown in to act as fertilizer! Today it spans more than 150-feet across and 75 feet in height, and it is listed on Hawaii’s Rare and Exceptional Tree list, giving it protection under state law.

It wasn't always happy times under the banyan, though. On Dec. 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked nearby Pearl Harbor, throwing the United States into World War II. And the Moana (which, by the way, means "ocean") was forced to put barbed wire along her beach and welcome primarily military personnel to her core. Rooms could be had, during those turbulent times, for 75 cents a night!

But the war ended and the banyan continued to flourish --- thanks to that old mongoose, I guess. So many people have shared precious and fleeting moments of life under this tree. Joe DiMaggio, Shirley Temple, Frank Sinatra, Will Rogers, Amelia Earhart, George Burns, Lucille Ball ... they were all there. I was told last summer by a hotel employee that Arthur Godfrey sat under this tree on occasion to broadcast the glories of Hawaii via his vintage radio show to the mainland. On and on it goes...

So I, too, have had the pleasure to place myself squarely under that banyan tree, and to stare up at a camera, and "Smile!" I ask you, how could I do anything else?

Gee, I wish I knew who's out there reading the thoughts that I sprinkle onto this little acre of cyber-real estate!

A few of you have come forward and made yourself known. And one person even called me on a telephone! -- yes, some people still do communicate by voice -- making the venture all the more joyful.

I told her this blog entry would be for her....

And so I venture down memory lane to a past trip-- well, an adventure any way, in one of the greatest conglomerations of humanity in the world -- New York City.

This story takes place in the 1970s and I am still in college in Wilkes Barre, Pa., and still finding small ways to break outside of my little world. My roommate, the aforementioned Deborah (I called her Debs, and she was the owner of that original pink suitcase), and I were always conspiring to meet people from other countries and experience something beyond the walls of our dormitory. Sometimes that meant a three block walk to the Sterling Hotel to see if anyone interesting was in the lobby. Then we would hightail it all the way to Scranton --- wow, how exotic! -- by bus. Ah yes, the wonderful and expansive world of Martz busses opened up before our young eyes.

So... it wasn't too long before two impressionable art students realized that if we skipped a few meals and saved a few dollars, we could hop a Martz bus and ride all the way to Mecca itself --- The Big Apple.

Debs and I thought that a trip to New York City could result in two possibilities: a) we would be "discovered" by producers for an upcoming Broadway show or, at very least, a movie..... or b) we would meet someone interesting to propel us into some new life venture.

So, on a St. Patty's Day weekend, Debs and I rode the bus through the tunnels and right into New York's Port Authority. No matter that we had NO MONEY to spend -- we had our return tickets in Debs' purse, and that was all we really thought we needed.

Of course, everyone and his brother was in the city for parades and the wearin' of the green. But Debs and I, tying to look "sophisticated," arrived that day in our Sunday best. Debs had on her little pink jumper and I wore a pink floral print dress, -- with ruffles!!! Oh, I remember it precisely! What were we thinking?? We looked like two country bumpkins who had just fallen off the cabbage wagon!

But in our minds, we were quite glamorous and ready for any possibility.

First we made our way down to the pier where an Italian cruise ship was preparing to sail. Since we had no food budget, we decided we would board the ship (there were almost no security checks in those days) and partake of what we supposed would be mountains of bon voyage canapes sitting here and there. Then we would simply take our leave before the ship sailed.

Actually, it wasn't a bad plan because not only were we entreated to join sailing passengers in their revelry (and their hors d'oeuvres), but we were discovered by Italian lounge stewards who were only too happy to slip us a glass of champagne or two --- or three or four -- on the sly.
"Why you don't-a stay on-a board..." said one accented staff member. He said we could sail with the ship, then simply alert the crew and they would allow us to ride the pilot boat back to New York harbor.......Hmmmmmmm......... it sounded like an adventure ......... but.....

We weren't quite that risky and so we left the ship amidst veils of confettii and the strains of "Anchors Away" playing on deck. The ship slipped away from its berth and we wandered back into the city for our next enticing moment.

We didn't have long to wait because the St. Patrick's Day parade was underway and there were revelers in the streets --- some of whom were young men from Manhattan College.
"Party tonight!" was echoing here, there and everywhere... and so Debs and I followed the incantation and ended up in the Hotel Edison where multiple floors were given over to St. Patty's celebrants.

We took off our coats to show off our lovely, glamorous dresses --- (Yes! you can LAUGH here!) -- and we left our belongings in the first room as we checked out the activities in adjacent areas. It seemed to us that there was nothing but semi-drunken college boys in blue jeans in this place, and that was certainly of no interest to two such "sophisticated women" in pink dresses.
Time to leave, we determined.

But when we went to get our belongings, only our coats remained. Deb's purse was gone (we never ever considered the idea of thievery in New York City!) and so were our return tickets to Wilkes-Barre. We started crying on the spot!

One young man saw these two damsels in distress and upon hearing our sad story he extracted $7 in crumpled one-dollar bills from his jeans pocket and told us maybe this would help. It wouldn't get us back to Wilkes Barre, but it would be enough for cab fare to the bus station. So we took the cash , along with his name and address and the promise that we would pay back every penny. and headed to Port Authority.

Once we got to the bus station we could only do one thing: Beg. NOT for money! But we begged the kindly ticket seller to give us "leftover" bus tickets... "Surely there must be some..."

It didn't work quite like that, he said. If we wanted tickets, we would have to earn them.
So there we sat, in our sophisticated, pink ruffles, selling tickets at Port Authority on that blustery March night. Of course, we considered it quite an adventure, even though Jerry-the- ticket-guy was hardly the sort of exotic person we had expected to meet.

But before the last bus rolled out of NYC for Pennsylvania, two young women had "earned" their fares and were both nestled into big cushy seats on a midnight Martz express.
And if you are wondering, YES, we did repay every penny of that young man's kindness. We sent him $10! A nice profit for a boy in jeans from two such "worldly women."

Mary, this was for you! :-)