Three-Quarters of a Century… Already?
Thank you to everyone who showered me with birthday wishes. Somehow, I’ve managed to make it to the three‑quarter‑century mark. Seventy‑five. It looks ancient on paper, but honestly? Other than a few arthritic grumbles, I feel pretty darn good for an “old babe.”
What really gets me every year is how many people take the time to reach out. For 364 days, I wander around thinking I’m just living my quiet little life. Then my birthday rolls in—usually accompanied by a nor’easter—and suddenly my inbox explodes like I’m George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life. I never realize how many lives I’ve brushed up against until that one day when everyone pops out of the woodwork. It’s humbling, heartwarming, and a little overwhelming in the best way.
Enter Hawaii, Stage Left
This year, even Hawaii decided to join the celebration. And if you’ve been following this space for any length of time, you already know I can wax poetic about Hawaii until someone gently pries the keyboard from my hands. Especially when it comes to my favorite diva of the Pacific: Kilauea.
My very first trip to the islands was to the Big Island, and I spent a full day exploring Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park. I drove Chain of Craters Road, peered into the caldera from Volcano House, and saw my first plume of vog where lava met the sea. Kilauea was quiet that trip—too quiet—but I was hooked. I wanted to see an eruption with my own eyes.
Chasing the Elusive Eruption
Since then, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve returned to Hawaii. Oahu? Check. Pearl Harbor? Absolutely. Maui? More times than I can count. The Big Island? A repeat favorite. Kauai? Not yet—but hey, I may be 75, but I’m not done adventuring.
Volcanoes National Park is always on my itinerary, and I’ve had some close calls. One year, Kilauea started huffing and puffing while I was on a park tour. Rangers and visitors lined up at the observatory, watching the lava lake glow as darkness fell. Little fountains teased us from the caldera. The excitement was electric.
And then—because this is my life—nothing big happened. My tour bus rolled away, Kilauea still grumbling but holding back. The next day, I flew home… and she blew her top while I was somewhere over the Pacific. I watched the eruption on the news, muttering “Really?” at the screen.
A Fiery Birthday Gift
Which brings me to this year. My birthday. My big 75. And what does Pele do? She sends me a present.
Episode 42 of Kilauea’s eruption began at 1:50 p.m. HST—on my birthday. High lava fountains shot into the sky, with bursts reaching 1,000 to 1,200 feet from the north vent and 800 to 1,000 feet from the south vent. A full‑blown, fiery celebration in my honor.
I may not have been there in person, but it’s the thought that counts. And honestly? As birthday surprises go, a volcanic eruption is hard to top.
What a spectacular way to kick off my next lap around the sun.




























