I did far too much on Tuesday, and crashed into my own physical limit. Hitting the wall hasn’t been fun, but it has been educational.
First, early Tuesday morning, I walked to the park to watch the sunrise.
Later in the morning, we got ourselves to the Blaisdell Concert Hall where the Native Hawaiian Convention was set to honor the 50th anniversary of the January 1976 landing on Kahoolawe, a protest against the Navy’s bombing of the island. It has widely been considered one of the key sparks of the Hawaiian Renaissance of the 1970s. At least five of the participants in that first protest landing have died. Molokai’s Walter Ritte and I were the only ones to appear in person.
It really wasn’t a strenuous outing. It just required walking around the concert hall a bit to get back stage where we then waited around for more than an hour for our moment before the audience.
I felt bad about not staying afterward to mingle with the audience, but given the risk of infection while undergoing chemo, and the advice to avoid crowds where you could easily pick up a cold, flu, or worse, I decided, once again, that discretion was the better part of valor as a matter of self protection. So we slipped out of the building and hailed an Uber to the ride home.
At this point, I should have cut the day short.
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