My passenger side front tire has a leaky valve stem. I’ve been aware of the problem for months, but haven’t made time to visit the tire shop.
I say “made time” on purpose. There are usually a few open slots in my calendar, but not for this. It “can” and therefore “has” been delayed. I just drop in at the Mobil station every two weeks for a refill.
Our local Goodyear is often crowded, sometimes with other procrastinators in need of alignment, replacement, or flat repair. Cars pulling to the left with tires balding and blinking low pressure lights are driving all over the island like mine, in need of attention. We choose to give our attention to many other things first. Perhaps we avoid gathering in that lobby, waiting for our names to be called.
Tires are like a lot of other things in life: easy to ignore until something goes wrong. This is one of several projects I have ignored. Thankfully, I’m taking time off this month. Maybe I’ll see you at the tire shop today…or tomorrow.
It’s a familiar rumble. “The sound of freedom,” some have called it. But it still sends us rushing to the windows. What kind of jets? How many? Which way are they going?
On this occasion I couldn’t identify the type, but there were three, and they were headed north (I assume) to Anderson Air Force Base.
I was near the touchline at my daughter’s soccer match with a camera and telephoto lens. I noticed their formation as I raised the lens barrel from the field to the sky. They passed quickly, but I pressed the shutter in time.
We’re thankful for every pilot and member of the ground crew. They are preparing for battle, but working every day to keep the peace. The people of Guam have not overlooked their work and sacrifice.
If the sights and sounds of freedom are common in your area, remember the people behind them. They are worthy of honor.
I won’t forget this day at the top of Mount Lamlam. It was the day I experienced my first cloud inversion on Guam. Usually visible on opposite sides of the summit, the Pacific Ocean and Fena Reservoir were obscured during this phenomenon by clouds. Fearing they would soon pass, I quickly pointed my camera in several directions and pressed the shutter.
The flag resting above a concrete slab at the mountain’s highest point was sun-faded and wind-torn, but still vibrant. Its isolation in the mist was a reminder of our isolation in the Pacific. We are America’s tiniest island outpost, 7,100 miles from its nearest mainland coast. Our territory is often called “the tip of the spear” because we endure the sun and wind of threats from the east. But we are also the place where America’s day, gleaming with freedom and prosperity, begins.
A cloud inversion, also known as a temperature inversion, occurs when a layer of warmer air traps cooler air near the ground, preventing it from rising. This phenomenon can lead to fog or clouds being trapped at lower altitudes, creating beautiful landscapes when viewed from higher elevations.
There is limited data providing evidence on the frequency of cloud inversions in southern Guam. I had a long discussion with ChatGPT (via Duck.ai) on this matter. In eleven years of exploration on this island, I have never seen conditions of this sort. Others on the mountain at the time made similar comments. We were likely some of the privileged few at a high enough elevation to observe them.
I’m looking forward to making a return trip, anxious to see how the flag held up in Super Typhoon Bavi. I hope to find it like the rest of Guam, a little rougher around the edges, but still standing strong.
