Alas, this reflection is difficult. Take a guess at what I’m thinking right now. You don’t need to. You’re thinking the same thing perhaps. Is there more I can do? Does it matter anyway? If I read a post, or repost it, or write a post and post it, that’s doing something, isn’t it? I went to two bloody marches already. Are there any more seats on the one way to Portugal? I have no spin, no wisdom, no silver lining to offer. No insights from the homeless woman with a beard. It’s all been said better anyway. My Facebook feed is chock-full of warnings and historical references. If you aren’t tuning into all that, you may have at least noticed that your cleaning lady or gardener are not coming to work.
Can we set all of that aside and get a fresh start on Thursday? Perhaps I should do what I never do and tell you what is happening with me and the family. Here goes:
I’m doing great. I really am. The house did not burn down, so right there how fortunate am I. I helped a friend mount his play at the Edinburgh Fringe. I helped another on the verge of homelessness file for social security. I housed a displaced Eaton Fire victim for months, and helped a Palisades fire friend with his inventory. Five members of my family joined me in Scotland. And the only people I personally know who have been nabbed by ICE agents are co-workers of friends. All my peeps are safe. Nell is positioned to graduate college in 4 months and 7 days with a BFA from a celebrated performing arts institution. Sam (now Samantha) is making a living in New York as a lighting technician Off-Broadway, while playing keyboards in a band and composing. At the risk of turning my luck, let me say that I am feeling pretty good these days. Not exactly happy, but when I stop to think about it, I feel alright. A new job in house with Amazon Studios (so much for giving up my Prime account as a new years resolution). It’s little quiet – dare I say lonely– working from my house, but, man, best office view ever. Two theatre projects on the horizon, and more if I get my shit together with 2 scripts. Unfortunately, the dog is withering, but it’s natural and he’s so sweet. I’m battening down the hatches for the torrents of rain headed our way. New roof, new gutters, and finally fixed that crack in the foundation that brought water into the basement. I planted a native garden last week (bucket list). And did someone say retirement in a couple of years? There is uncertainty, but for the most part I am safe.
the view from my home office (kitchen table)
I’m actually on windward Oahu as I write this. We decided to take a break from Santa Fe this time and be with the Hawaii cousins. Excellent move. I found this little resort with a view of the bay where I am enjoying the sounds of birds, rain falling, and undaunted kayakers in the water below. Fresh water coming down from the mountains meets the ocean in this quiet bay, with mostly local residents surrounding.
view from our room-different moments
Yesterday (Christmas Day) we hiked Kahana Valley, barely making a dent in the enormous natural reserve that is probably not what most folks think of when they think of Oahu. It goes way, way back and, bedraggled and mosquito bitten, we never did reach our destination, a legendary ice pond, but we were content to explore this spectacular jungle in between 2 mountains, just a mile and a half from Leslie’s place.
My favorite is still just to rest on my paddle board, on the glistening water a block from her house. The water is my color, aquamarine. There are no tourists at her beach. The expanse of color seems to goes on forever. Back at the house, the mountains jut out of the farm behind her lot. It’s spectacular. At night it’s mountains and stars. We walked on the beach in the dark on Christmas night, laughing and wasted. It’s my 15th trip to Kaaawa since my cousins moved here in 1988. In between the beach and the house is a sea of chickens and feral cats; it’s country and funky and beautiful and chill. On Christmas eve we celebrated Leslie’s birthday with our own private chef (a friend) and pigged out and partied with 9 members of our family (sorry neighbors!). On Christmas, we feasted on prime rib, asparagus, artichokes, smashed potatoes, homemade rosemary focaccia, fresh caught mahi-mahi, and fresh baked taro-coconut shortbread (thank you Nell).
Nell and I in the Kahana Valley; North Shore Rainbow; Kaaawa Beach Park facing East.
Still trying to drown out the noise of Rob Reiner’s death 11 days prior. Wasn’t he just in my living room screen the other evening in Spinal Tap II: The End Continues (produced by Michelle Reiner R.I.P.). In the opening sequence, he leans on a bunch of folding chairs, domino style, and quickly recovers. I remember thinking “what a goofball that man is. Thank god.” The world was a better place with the Reiners and my heart breaks thinking about it.
Filmmaker Rob Reiner as filmmaker Marty Dibergi in sequel to This is Spinal Tap
Here is one passing that may have gotten lost among the latest tragic headlines: the death of playwright Tom Stoppard (The Real Thing, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead). Stoppard wrote a favorite of mine, Arcadia, which I saw the original production of in NY– a brilliant piece of writing about a teen girl who discovers the mathematical calculation for the end of the world. A couple of years ago, my friends Kiki & David Gindler took me to see Stoppard’s last play on Broadway, Leopoldstadt. Although they had seen it before they picked it for me and took me as their guest.
It opens on a Christmas celebration in 1899. In Act I, an affluent, assimilated Jewish family is decorating the tree and celebrating with their enormous family, including gentile relations in Vienna. It’s impossible to follow the number of family members and who they are to each other. To help track it, there was a family tree in the playbill, charting it out, or even making it more confusing. The point is that there are a lot of them, discussing culture, art and music. They are set. By contrast, in the last scene of the play is 1955 and there are only 3 of them left: Rosa, who evaded the Holocaust by way of New York City; Nathan, a boy in Act I, now an adult Auschwitz survivor; and Leo who knows nothing of his family’s history, or that they all perished. Leo is Tom Stoppard. And I guess Stoppard, who did not write about being Jewish till Leopoldstadt, his last work, left us forever but with an important message: don’t be complacent.
I think about us all and how we have spent our lives learning about what could be, if we let it. And what we might have done if it had been us. About a year ago, my neighbor came over and laid on my couch, weeping. I let her do it. After a while, I said “I have to get back to work now.” I am still not clear what she was afraid of. For what it’s worth, she is white.
I think about my dad and his folks and how they got ready in just a few days, old people, babies and all, and how nobody helped or stood up.
I think we all know what to do.
So let us take a moment to consider 2026 and what is before us and get ready to perhaps be uncomfortable. The consequences are dire. If you are thinking what I’ve been thinking there are no good options. But complacency is not one.
With warm Aloha,
Cyndy Fujikawa December 2025
Climbing the mountain in Leslie’s backyard. Nell in the background walking into an obsured World War II bunker.
P-Nut gallery notes.... 