Love me some affogato, this one from the pop-up restaurant Plancha in Manoa.
The other day I was talking with a few friends who are parents — and the subject of spanking came up.
One said she spanks. It’s her way of disciplining her three-year-old. Nothing hard, nothing violent. Just a swift pat on her child’s backside and that’s it.
This sparked a heated debate about the virtues — or lack thereof — of this seemingly old-school technique.
One of my other friends decided to avoid spanking — she just uses the threat of it — on her two kids. “I don’t see the point of getting physical with my kids,” she said, matter-of-factly. “There’s really no need.”
I was the only single, childless one in the conversation — so I stayed completely out of it. I mean, what do I know about raising kids?
But it was interesting how heated this topic can get, especially online. Google “spanking” — and another appropriate keywords like “parenting” or “kids,” otherwise you’ll get an interesting selection of, ahem, other sites — and you’ll find wildly varying opinions on the subjects.
Some believe it’s an effective discipline tool; others say it’s flat-out child abuse. I even read an article in Time from 2009 that pointed to research showing kids who got spanked may have lower IQs.
Most of us can tell stories about getting spanked — or dirty lickings — as a kid. Some of us have been struck by belts, sticks, even rubber slippers.
I can’t say these were my fondest memories of childhood — but I don’t think they’ve scarred me for life, either.
It seems parents these days — or at least the ones I know — are hesitant to spank their children. What changed with our generation? Are we the “victims” of spanking and don’t want to “victimize” our own kids? Have we been spooked by lawsuits, child protective services, jail time, episodes of “Oprah” and now avoid any physical contact with anyone, including our kids? Or are we just more educated, more patient, more involved with our children that spanking has become a last-resort option?
What’s your take on this?
What’s better than chocolate-covered macadamia nuts?
To me, not much.
Then I heard that Hawaiian Host was unveiling a new, limited edition confection starting today.
The Macadamia Truffles is a labor of love — five years in the making — and truly a masterful creation by Joyce Gepitulan, product innovation technician. (What a job, right?) She figured out a way to blend creamy macadamia butter grounded from roasted macadamia nuts with dark chocolate — then insert that into the company’s famous milk chocolate.
We had to see this for ourselves.
So we got a special tour — the factory isn’t open to the public — of the 65,000-square-foot Hawaiian Host facility in Iwilei with Gepitulan and company president Keith Sakamoto.
We learned some interesting things along the way, too, like Hawaiian Host candies are shipped to 24 countries including India, that the company uses macadamia nuts grown on more than 300 independent farms in Hawaii (mostly on the Big Island), and that founder Mamoru Takitani started this business selling chocolate out of his station wagon.
Boy, has this company come a long way!
Here’s our behind-the-scenes tour of the facility and how it makes these tasty truffles:
Macadamia Truffles, $5.99 per box, available through Christmas at your favorite retailer
I may not like haunted houses, but I can tell you ghost stories to keep you up at night.
Stories about my first trip to Molokai when I was a kid and I swore there were people — or spirits — swarming around me. Stories about seeing Pele dancing in the spewing lava on a geology trip to the Big Island. Stories about dead cats clawing at my legs, voices in my ears, shadows in my windows, scratch marks that I can’t explain and a dress hanging in my doorway.
Who needs haunted houses!
For most of my life, I’ve come to understand, I’ve been plagued by spirits. I would see people no one could see, smell things no one else could smell. It’s hard to explain.
One of my visitors was turned into a character in Lois Ann Yamanaka’s book, “Behold the Many: A Novel.” (She thanks me in the acknowledgements for letting her borrow him for this story.)
I don’t like to talk about this, this, whatever it is, a gift, an affliction. I’d rather keep the doors shut so nothing gets in. People who know understand what I mean.
But the more I share these stories, the more I realize how many people have their own personal stories. About dead grandparents visiting them. About unexplainable messages left on dollar bills or in books. About hearing things — usually crying babies or laughing women — in public restrooms around Hawaii.
These stories send shivers up my own spine, too.
So in the spirit — no pun intended — of Halloween, I thought it would be cool to share our stories.
I want to know what’s your scariest personal ghost story. Where were you? What happened? And what do you make of it now?
Scare me!
