The Kaona of Rain

It rained last night. 

I can't verify it, but in my head it's only rained twice on hula night. The first time it rained, Kumu gathered everyone and spoke about how we had turned the ritual of hula into a routine. That we had become lazy and needed to remember why we dance. We needed to remember to be present, both physically and mentally or spiritually. That class stayed with me. I think about it frequently.

Like I said, it was raining that night. The rain was washing away the malaise our class was experiencing as a whole, giving us a new chance to reconnect with hula, and each other in class; a clean puka to dance in.

That was the last time it rained on hula night, until last night.

It poured on the way to hula. I knew it meant something. Just like last time, it was a sign, an `ōuli if you will. Something was being washed away, making room for something new.

We're getting ready for a Ho'ike Nui 'Elua. 

Four years ago at this time we were preparing for Ho'ike Nui `Ekahi. It was an amazing experience to dance with so many of my hula brothers and sisters. But most of the time I was really disappointed in myself. I was in the back rows for most of the pieces we danced. I knew it was because I wasn't giving my hula dancing the respect it deserved. I wasn't practicing enough. I was getting by. I was disappointed not with the spot that Kumu had given me, but rather because I knew I wasn't doing my best. I knew I could do better but I wasn't doing it.

Last night's rain reminded me to dance harder, practice more. Last night's rain reminded me that I feel great when I dance well. I feel great when I practice. Dancing doesn't come naturally to me. I know that I struggle with learning a dance. I know I'm stronger at memorizing chants and pules than I am at picking up a new dance. But when I do get it, when I do nail that particular move, my dancing changes. I'm happier. I'm more confident. I don't throw anyone off.

It took the rain to remind me that I can do this. I just have to do it.

Ritual Rain in Kapalakiko

I know this to be true: It never rains on hula night.
Don't ask me how. Just take me at my word. I know a lot of strange things and that which I don't know is rarely filled in with inaccuracies; hyperbole for sure, but never lies.


It may rain day of. It may rain after I get home. It may even rain during class, but it's never rained going to class or coming home - until last Wednesday.

As I was driving to class in the rain I thought 'this has got to be a sign.' Turns out it was.

Last class Kumu talked about (and I'm paraphrasing, not using his words exactly) that we've kind of found ourselves in a hula rut. Week after week we follow the same pattern; we go to class, warm up, dance, have table time, dance and then we go home. We have become lazy about showing up on time. We aren't fully present while in class.

What was once ritual has become routine.

I totally agree. Sometimes I miss class because I have a legitimate reason - I'm away for work or Hubby has a deadline on a story he has to get out and can't watch the kiddies. Sometimes I don't have a good excuse and just feel like playing hooky or watching The Middle. Sometimes my absence falls into a gray area of legitimate. I spend so much time at work and sometimes have overnight trips that I feel guilty for not spending enough time with my kids. Hubby says it's fine and I should go to class, but sometimes I just can't tear myself away from my babies.

Missing class hurts. It hurts me because I miss out on a night of practice, a night of instruction, a night of spending time with a great group of people I wouldn't ever have gotten to know were it not for hula. Not going to class hurts the rest of the class as well. I notice when people are missing. I'm sad when people leave. We need to be able to feed off of each other and dance as one. We can't do that when parts of us are missing. Going to class to learn from Kumu doesn't just make us better dancers. It makes us stronger as a class.

It's something I've come to count on. It's something I've come to crave. There's an intangible "something" I miss when I'm not in class.

Last Wednesday's rain washed away the routine and gave us the opportunity to start anew.

Going forward I'm excited to be able to say "it never rains on hula night, except for that one time . . . . "

On Marrying Hula

I'm always surprised at the hula steps that come easy to me and the ones that give me grief.

Some moves I get right away. When I attempt them and conquer them I think 'wow, that sounded hard and I pulled it off. yay me.'

Then there are other moves that sound easy, that seemingly everyone in class, but me figures out and executes perfectly. Both dances we are learning in class this month (and next) have both kinds of moves.

My right 'ami is stronger than my left 'ami, but there is this one part in the current kahiko we are learning where my arm movements and my right 'ami don't sync, but strangely, when it's time to do the left 'ami, I do it just fine. My arm movements and my left 'ami work just fine together. Go figure.

In the 'auana we're learning, in one part we go from two right kawelu to two 'uwehe. Easy peasy, right? When I get to that part I get all  hmmm, what's the word? The only thing I can think of is 'tongue-tied' which isn't the right phrase, but I think you get my point.

Last night at hula I think Kumu got a tiny bit frustrated. Although the class was following his instructions, we weren't really doing what he wanted. He finally stopped class and said "Will you marry Hula?"

When I got home I started thinking about that phrase. "Will you marry Hula?"

I can think of a lot of idioms that mirror the same sentiment. I don't know who said it but everyone has either used or heard the phrase "jumping in with both feet." People have made quotes based on the same sentiment. Robert Mondavi said "Whatever you do, pour yourself into it." MC Hammer said "Either work hard or you might as well quit." There's even a bible verse (Colossians 3:23) that says "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart."

I understood what Kumu meant when he said "Will you marry Hula?"

The hard part is putting it into practice. I think 99% of the people in my class agree that hula class is not like other dance classes.  Is not an exercise class. We are not there to tone our booties, we are there to feed our souls.  Sure, after a night of learning a new kahiko that is full of nothing but 'uwehe we go home with tingling hamstrings and wake up the next morning reaching for the ibuprofen to calm down those sore muscles, only to emerge stronger and more able to endure another night of 'uwhe, 'ami, 'oniu, kaholo and hela. But physical strength is only a byproduct of class. It is not the intent.

We are there to learn an art form, absorb the culture and perpetuate a lifestyle. We wear our hearts on our collective sleeve, showing each other (and sometimes an audience) our emotions, our confidence, and while we're learning the hula, our insecurities.
Hula deserves and needs a wife; someone to take care of it, someone to learn its stories and be willing to retell them.

Captured Knowledge

Last night in place of hula class I attended a lecture, that my halau hosted of course, by noted linguist and Hawaiian language professor Puakea Nogelmeier.

I was so tired this evening. I was coming off of a short business trip; a short, but a bit of a tiring trip. I wanted to go to see Kumu Puakea speak. I knew, as a member of my halau, it was my responsibility to go listen to the man speak. I wanted to. I'd been looking forward to it since I heard about it a few weeks earlier. It was Puakea Nogelmeier, c'mon. I'd be crazy not to go see him speak. Tonight, though, I was tired. I dragged my booty the school to see him. I'm so glad I didn't talk myself out of it. I would have been regretting it for the longest time if I hadn't gone, forever even.

At first when he was speaking I typed notes into my blackberry. Thinking that people would mistake me for tweeting the presentation, screwing around on facebook, or just not paying any attention, I stopped. I didn't want anyone to think I was being disrespectful.

During his presentation, Kumu Puakea spoke about his history, his last 40 years in Hawaii, what brought him there and why he stayed. The stories he told captured the sentiment of other experiences I heard about from other people. Hawaii captures you. There's something about it that draws one it. Its power pulls you in like a receding wave and only to be knocked over the head with another.

I think I could sum up the evening with the over-riding theme that knowledge is the most valuable thing that can be shared, and it's our responsibility to share what we have. Once shared, it isn't forgotten (you may run the chance of it being misinterpreted, however). Giving knowledge is not like giving away a material item. When I share something with someone, what I've shared is still mine. I haven't lost it. In fact, I've made it more real by experiencing it again in its retelling.

It's like a cup that never empties, yet never gets too full for more.

So, in the spirit of what I learned from Kumu Puakea last night I'm starting a new feature on my blog. I don't know what I'm going to call it yet, but I'd like to start writing a recap of what I did at hula the night before. I have a week to think about the type of things I should include. I'm sure you don't want to read "first we watched the class before us dance the last 10 minutes of their class time, then we got into our pukas, then we warmed up, then we danced some stuff, then we sat down and talked, then we danced some more, then we went home" and I'm sure my Kumu wouldn't appreciate explaining all the dances step by stem "the first verse is kaholo right, kaholo left, two 'uwehe . . . " I imagine recaps will be more personal, "I finally nailed that one move that's been giving me grief the last few weeks" or "we learned some concept or another that kept me up last night and I just have to share it."

The more I write, the better I get at expressing myself and making myself understood. Maybe writing about hula will help me be a better dancer.

We'll see how it turns out.

Hula knew?: The Kaona of my Hula Siblings.

In May of 2004, on the first night of hula class with Na Lei Hulu, Kumu said something that I think about often. I don't remember his exact words but he said, to a packed room that is now maybe a quarter of the size it was then, that if we stick it out, if we stay dancing with this group of people, we will become great friends with some of them, and the rest, although we may not be super close, we will feel a great connection to.
When one dances hula, one dances with the music, not to the music, and definitely not at the music. When we dance hula we will be, at least when class is in session, wearing our emotions on our sleeves. Doing this at least once a week for the last 6 years, one can't help but feel a connection to other people in the class. And it's true, there are some people in the class I have become great friends with, and I do feel a great connection with the rest of them.
Even with this connection I don't really know some of the people I dance with. I know their names. I know their pa'u. I know them by their skill. I may know if they are married or have kids. I may know where they live or what they do for a living. The fact remains, however, there are things about some of my hula siblings about which I know nothing, or at least not a whole lot.
Case in point, my hula sister Sue. I really like Sue. She's nice. She's fun to talk to. She's a beautiful dancer. I wish I knew her better. The other day I came across her website, and I have to say, I was totally blown away. You need to check out her site. She paints the most beautiful pictures of flowers, seeds, roots, shells, leaves, etc. They are so amazing and beautiful. My favorite is on this page. It's the one in the right hand column, third one down. You should check it out.

School - Hawaiian and Wine, but not Hawaiian Wine.

Life is getting busier but that's OK. My sister J says that if you need help with getting something done ask someone who is busy because busy people know how to get stuff done.

Courtesy of my employer I'm enrolled in the WSET Level 2 Intermediate Certificate in Wines and Spirits. I'm pretty excited about it. Classes start tomorrow. A few cool things about it. #1 - work is paying for it, #2 - the classes occur during business hours so I get paid to go and #3 - it gives me more wine knowledge and opens the door up to being able to take more classes about wine. Think of it, one day I'll have an MW (master of wine) at the end of my name -- not, but the classes are still fantastic and a great opportunity and quite possibly it'll get me out of my current position at work. Not that I don't like my job, because I do, and I like my bosses a lot. They treat me well. It's just that I have more inside of me than "really-freaking-great admin". It would be nice not to be an admin.

Also, if you remember my last blog, my Kumu suggested na haumana of his class take Hawaiian language lessons. I've enrolled in the Ahapunaleo Niuolahiki language courses. I'll start with level 1 and see where it takes me. I think I'll do OK. I have always found it easy to remember words and phrases, a lot easier than remembering dance moves, that's for sure.

I'll be blogging about both. I'm excited about the prospect of writing my first blog in Hawaiian. OOH, better yet, my first blog about wine in Hawaiian - just don't make me drink Hawaiian wine, icky.

Busy Andrea.

Teachers don’t correct you unless they think there is value in it, at least that’s what I’m choosing to believe in this case.

I have referred to it before. I knew it would happen again. It happened last week. Hula just got a little bit harder. At class last week, Kumu spent most of the class going over fundamentals. Were we sinking into `aiha`a low enough? Were we placing our feet flat on the ground for hela? Did our knees pop out just the right amount, in the right direction and at the right time when we did `uwehe? Were our hips moving correctly as we practiced our `ami? And lastly, the `oniu. The move I have not mastered. I knew it wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t know it needed that much work. Kumu corrected me. (He not only corrected me, he came up behind me, put his hands on my hips and moved them to the beat of the drum in the hopes that I would catch on and be able to do it myself. I’m not pleased that I don’t do a good ‘oniu, but am confident that I will soon. I’ve been practicing and practicing.) `Oniu is such a great move. When I become the master of the `oniu my hula dancing will totally benefit.
Another thing Kumu did was talk to us about learning the Hawaiian language. He said that there is a growing wave of halaus in Hawai`i where the haumana speak Hawaiian. Kumu is going to be incorporating more and more Hawaiian into the class in instruction and in general conversation. I can see his point on this one. We recite Hawaiian words, sing songs in Hawaiian. We know words here and there, but to put it all together, to know the meaning of the phrases, and not just the meaning of certain words will definitely make us better dancers. I know I can use all the help I can get. (Speaking of help . . . .There’s a woman from the Thursday class named N. One night after practice for the show she came up to me and told me that she could tell by looking at my face how much I love hula and how hard I’m trying but there were a few simple things I could do, a few things I should be mindful of that would improve my dancing. I took her advice. After the show at the Palace of Fine Arts she came up to me and told me what I great job I did. I told her thank you and it was because it was her advice that helped me. She graciously said that it wasn’t her advice. She just handed me some tools, it was up to me to use them. Sound familiar?)
So, now that classes have once again, officially gotten a little bit harder, a little bit more involved. Our kuleana has gotten stronger. (Kuleana is the principle that one has the responsibility, the right, the obligation and the privilege to do something or take care of something. In hula, it is my kuleana to dance to the best of my ability, always try harder, go to class every week, practice, learn and respect what I’m taught.)
I wonder who will decide that this particular building block in our hula education is the straw that broke the camel’s back? I don’t want anyone to leave. I love my hula brothers and sisters. As hula gets harder and harder and more is expected of us it is going to get harder and harder so see people leave. I know it will happen. I’m just not looking forward to it. The longer we dance together the more we become one in our dancing; sort of like putting a drops of water into a glass. The droplets disappear and come together as something bigger.

Cause and Effect - a hard lesson learned at Hula

Yesterday was an odd mix of stuff and I'm certainly feeling it today.

I had a pretty long day. Showed up for work about an hour earlier than usual so I could do my regular work stuff, for in place of my regular work stuff I had to set up for two little receptions happening back to back. It was pretty easy, just time consuming. During the first reception for which I was preparing my boss asked me how long I could stay. I told him I had to be at class by a particular time. Some guy from the the company we were hosting at the reception asked me what the class was. I told him hula.
Now folks, I get lots of different reactions from people when they first learn I dance hula. Most of them, though a little bit annoying aren't malicious. They just don't really understand it so they do "pretend hula" and sing Tiny Bubbles or something. Most of the time I just say "yeah, something like that" or, depending on what diplomacy calls for, or if I actually care about the person I'm talking to I take the time to explain to them what it is I try to do every week in class. I find that the longer I dance hula the fewer people I tell that I dance hula, so as time goes on, fewer and fewer people know about this passion of mine.
Anyhow, last night this tool from the company we were hosting laughed at me. He looked me in the face and laughed at me. He said "oh, that's the best thing I've heard all week. Hula dancing. that's too funny". I didn't know how to react to that. I can't say I was offended because he was just some ignorant suit that I'll never see again, but laughing at me? It was odd. He came from a company that does business with my company. He had never met me and he laughs in my face? Didn't he read any books about business manners and how you should just smile and say something fake-sincere and noncommittal like "oh, that must be very interesting"?

The second reception was fine. No problems and when I got to work today most of the clean up had already been taken care of.

I left halfway through the second reception and hauled bootie to class. Got there with enough time to grab a bumble bar, which I love and an apple before class.

Class was 3 hours long last night. There wasn't a whole lot of dancing involved. It was mostly finding out where our lines were, getting those last minute fittings for our dresses, practicing entering and exiting the stage, etc., in preparation for our show in October. I found the whole process interesting; to see a part of Kumu we don't normally get to see. We see Kumu the teacher, but we don't see Kumu the producer very often.

Last week I left class not at all happy with where I was put in the lines for a few of the dances. I'm not questioning Kumu and his judgement. I walked away unhappy with myself. I thought I was a better dancer than I guess I actually am. I know I'm not the best dancer in the class. I know I'm not "first row" material, but I thought I was at least 3rd or 4th. I would have been happy with 5th. Again, I'm not questioning his judgement. If I deserve to be in the 8th row, then that's where I go. It's his show, his school. He has standards and even though I thought I was meeting them, apparently I wasn't. (There is one dance, however, where I totally deserve to be in the last row, possibly behind a bunch of scenery. I have to get on the stick for that one)

Lesson learned. . . . . . almost.

Hula last night was another story, mostly.
I was really surprised, in a good way, to learn my place in line for a few of the other dances. I will make sure I don't let Kumu and my Hula brothers and sisters down. What surprised me and kinda got me all in a funk again was this one particular dance. Kumu was letting everyone who was doing this particular hula where their spots were. He didn't call me. Out of all the dances I know, I thought that this was my strongest. I thought I was a shoe-in for this one. In this hula one has to sit on one's knees. Not everyone in the class is physically able to do this. I am. When he asked for those who he didn't call who could kneel he made us all sit in a line and dance in front of everyone, to try-out for the remaining spaces.

I don't know how to explain this right, I don't think. I'm mad at myself for having to try out for this hula. I thought I was good enough to get picked; not good enough for the few dances that some of my hula brothers and sisters are doing apart from the group dances, but good enough to not have to prove myself to fill an empty spot at the last minute. I tried out and I got in. Yay.

When I got home I was tired and my brain hurt. I stayed up too late watching bad TV and drinking icky wine. I had a hard time getting to sleep and had weird hula dreams I woke up not remembering.

Last night Kumu said something interesting that has been bumping around my brain all day.
"If you think you've got this dance down, try harder." I guess that's the lesson I should take from this experience. It's not enough to love what I'm doing. The love of dance isn't going to make me a better hula dancer. It won't hurt, but it won't put me in the 3rd row. Always strive to do better. I wonder how many other people left feeling similarly.



If you think you've got this dance down, try harder. Lesson Learned.

Weed out the Riff-Raff, with Aloha of course.

Maybe it's all in my head, but this time I don't think it is.

When I started taken hula from Kumu Patrick at Na Lei Hulu, there were about 160 people in my class. Now we are down to about 50, give or take a few.

Every once in a while, maybe about every 8 months something happens and I look around and notice that someone I used to see all the time isn't there anymore. I think "oh, where's xxxx?" and then I realize that that person hasn't been around in quite some time. Sometimes people send out an email to the group stating their intentions to leave the halau. Sometimes they just disappear.

I notice that this happens right after or during a particular event. When we moved from just working on the basic hula movements to learning our first kahiko it got a tiny bit harder and people dropped out. When we moved from kahiko to chanting, then to chanting solo in front of the class, people dropped out. When we started our first 'auana, people dropped out and so on, and so on, and so on.

The biggest exodus was right after ho'ike and Kumu joined the two classes into one big class. Three years later our class is half the size it was at ho'ike.

It's getting harder again. We're preparing for a show that will take place in October. I wonder who will drop out when the dancing becomes more intense and Kumu is harder on us to do our best. I wonder how many people will leave right after the October show.

As we prepare for our huaka'i that takes place in 2 years, I wonder how many of my hula brothers and sisters will still be with me.

It's as though Kumu is thinking "ok, I want to take you all with me, but I want you to be sure you want to be here too. here are the tools. it's up to you to use them."

In a way, it's a good life lesson. "Here are the tools. It's up to you to use them."