FAMILY MATTERS
If it's the thought that counts, even that gift may not last

By Ka'ohua Lucas

I'm a relatively simple person. Jewels and baubles are not my cup of tea.

My husband knows that the best gift he can give me is something he has either made or grown himself.

Early Hawaiians had an 'olelo noe'au (wise saying) for someone who gave a gift of anything grown or made by that person: He wahi pa'akai. Translated it means "just a package of salt."

When Valentine's Day rolled around this year, I didn't expect a thing from him.

Except, perhaps, his traditional recycled, red, wilted rose. But I thought I would check anyway.

"Honey," I asked nonchalantly, thumbing through a magazine. "Did you have a chance to order my Valentine's Day gift: The two dozen, long-stemmed red roses tastefully arranged in a Waterford crystal vase?"

"Uh, yeah, right, I did," he said, curled up on the living room floor in front of the television.

The next morning I awoke with a start. Rain pelted the roof of our house.

The red glow from my alarm clock blared 4 a.m.

The garage light was on, and I heard the sound of a shovel, churning up the earth. I tiptoed to the front door and peered outside.

My husband was stooped over a 20-inch flowerpot, pouring chicken manure into it.

"What are you doing at this ungodly hour?" I asked.

As raindrops formed beads on his yellow, rubberized jacket, he dropped the bag of manure and unfolded his arms.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" he grinned.

Neatly planted in four large pots were 'ohi'a lehua seedlings. My favorite of favorites.

As I stood there in awe, he handed me a card. In it, a bill with a message scrawled in his own handwriting: "I give this money to you (as usual) for a spa treatment."

This was something I certainly never expected. How romantic!

However, I didn't have long to bask in that warm, fuzzy glow.

It evaporated the day after Valentine's Day, Saturday morning.

"Honey, I've got to pick up the kalo (taro) this morning," he said. "Got any money?"

"I didn't have a chance to go to the bank," I said.

Silence.

"OK, fork it over," he said, with his left hand's outstretched fingers beckoning me to put a wad of cash in his palm.

"Look. All I've got is the money you gave me for Valentine's Day."

"That'll do. Hand it over."

I slipped the card out of its envelope and retrieved the bill.

"Here you go," I said. "That didn't last very long."

"Hey, at least you got your lehua potted."

That's true. Can't complain.

It certainly is better than a recycled, red, wilted rose.

Reach Ka'ohua Lucas at Family Matters, 'Ohana section, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; fax 525-8055; or at ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com.