Happy Belated Thanksgiving

I'm late with the greetings because it took me a while to find this photo.

This is Bob and his first turkey, Tammy Fay (named because of her long eyelashes). Bob was about 2 when we got Tammy Fay as a poult from the feedstore, so they were raised together. She lived for 11 years. Her last winter was spent in a nest of straw that Bob made, with her food and water right beside her, and a little quilt over her back. She was a very dear bird. She loved little kids because she knew they usually had snacks she could steal from them. She loved baby chicks and would snuggle next to a mama hen and her chicks at night, and help raise the babies. The only time she was stern with the chickens was when they'd fight. She'd grab one by the hackles and give it a toss.

And yes, we do eat turkey for Thanksgiving.

Cold Enough to Make Cats Cuddle

It was cold enough that Gollie came out of the (unheated) back bedroom to warm her fanny on the hearth.


I put a small rug in front of an electric heater in the dining room. George had to kill it first.


Then he and Velcro (who can’t stand him under normal circumstances) cuddled up together on it.


Charley just waited on the back of my chair, hoping for a fire in the stove.

Pigeon Convention

I came home to find that pigeons had flown in and were holding a convention in the corn maze field. There were at least 400 attending.


The Corn Stand has hosted lots of new activities this year, none as successful as this.

It was catered, too. Remember, the corn maze was knocked down by a strong wind? The guys ran a harvester through the field and managed to make silage out of it, but a lot of corn was left in the field.


There was another surprise awaiting me. Lots of tubby doves!


I have never seen more than 2, but I counted 11 at the edge of the pigeon-filled field. I don’t know if they are offspring of the original pair (which would make sense) or out-of-town relatives visiting for the convention.

Airports Drive Me to Drink

Diet Pepsi.

Just so people don’t step off the plane when they get home from Hawaii and experience severe depression, there is the airport experience. Designed to bring us back to reality.

The van driver’s face was the last friendly one we saw before we were sucked into airport hell.

You not only get a regular inspection when you leave Hawaii, the Agricultural Department also screens you and your luggage to make sure you aren’t leaving with anything except the souvenirs you paid for.

I don't understand why. They wouldn’t want more foreign things brought ONTO the island. There are already plenty of invasive plants and animals (humans included). But what is there to take OFF the island? Someone like me would love to have a plastic bag with little shoots to nurture into houseplants at home, but it’s not like I could start a designer chocolate plantation in Cosumne. Or grow taro, even if I wanted to.

All I really wanted to leave the islands with was my relaxed, happy attitude. But that’s not allowed, either.

Our boarding area was a construction zone. The acoustics were so bad, no one could hear the lady make announcements. She’d say “mumble mumble babies mumble.” We’d all turn to each other and ask, “what did she say?”

The old folks with wheelchairs, the first class passengers and the babies were boarded first. They were on the plane for maybe 2 minutes and then they were unloaded. We were told in mumbles over the loudspeaker that there was a mechanical problem with a luggage bin in the passenger compartment. After a very long time, 2 employees carrying HUGE suitcases, and another employee with a dog walked off the plane and we were allowed to start boarding again. One passenger said, “I guess the dog fixed the problem.”

What really happened is someone stuffed suitcases that were too big into the luggage bin and broke the door so it wouldn’t open. The airline had to bring in a bomb-sniffing dog to make sure there was no hanky panky. Sigh.

I saw something amazing while in the waiting area. The lady next to me was talking on one cell phone while she was texting on another.

The flight was uneventful, we were soon home and talking about where to go next.

Squeaking By

It’s 10:43. The van to the airport is due to pick us up at the hotel at 10:45. Where is Bob? Where is Jon? Well, Jon’s with Bob, so the question is still, where is Bob?

I have been waiting at the pick-up area for 30 minutes because I hate being late. Bob has probably been asleep in his room. It’s before noon, after all, still too early to be up and about in Bobland.

Am I concerned? Nope. Since he was 6 years old, Bob has had the ability to pop out of nowhere at the last minute, calm and collected. He didn’t have a watch then. Well, he still doesn’t, he either loses them or breaks them. But I’d tell him to meet me at the car at a certain departure time, and he’d always show up precisely at that time, as if Scotty beamed him in.

At 10:45 Bob and Jon show up. I didn’t even see them coming. At 10:45:30 the driver calls our names. How does he doooo that?

The Beginning of the Last Day

I bet you’re chuckling that a silly person like me can spend a single day actually doing something and a whole week writing about it. Go ahead, I chuckle about that myself.

The Cap’n and I had breakfast together at the hotel buffet on our last morning. I finally got my favorite Hawaiian meal - fresh pineapple and bacon. With a couple of eggs on the side. And sausage. This is all legal on my low carb diet, and I planned the calories into my day.


Breakfast on the patio was a great place to observe people.

I told you a few days ago I had some comments about the Japanese tourists, and I told you how uncomfortable it was at Pearl Harbor. Now you’ll hear the REST of the story.

I love the Japanese tourists. I just finished reading The Tipping Point, and I’ve decided that because there are as many Japanese tourists in Hawaii as there are US mainland tourists, the place maintains a delicate balance. Because of the Japanese tourists, there is a civility that one doesn’t find in San Francisco, for example. A lot of the shopkeepers in Hawaii seem to be Japanese immigrants. After dealing with them, I found myself wishing they were working in Walmart and Home Depot at home. What a treat to have a knowledgeable, friendly, polite person behind the counter. Language is superfluous when the service is so masterful. I felt privileged to be their customer.

I have American friends of Japanese descent, I have friends whose parents came from China and friends whose parents came from Mexico, and relatives who are half Korean. But I’ll tell you what, there’s not much difference between any of us who were born here. With so many Japanese tourists to observe, this is what I saw: there is a difference in demeanor and facial expressions. I’m sure lots of you who have traveled afar already know these things and could detail the differences by country.

The Japanese tourists take measured steps. They maintain a slight space between themselves, which strangely allows them to fit more people in a small space. There is little facial expression, even on the young people whose hair and clothes are very expressive. They’re certainly not dull, just very self-contained.

US mainlanders sprawl. We amble along like we own the sidewalk, and people have to go around us. Sometimes it’s a contest to see who is going to defer, and if someone else has to go around you, you get a look of disgust from them. When we talk, half our communication is iby facial expression. I believe I was able to discern US Japanese from “real” Japanese at a distance just by watching them talk to each other. The real Japanese didn’t have our rubber faces and animated eyebrows. We must look like clowns to them.

There’s so much we all take for granted and assume that our way is the right way. Being a tourist along with people from other cultures is a great way to learn to appreciate the differences.

Story Will Continue...

...after this brief message. I've been sitting at my computer this morning watching the idiot next door.

The property next to mine was inhabited for 60 or more years by the same family who sold it two years ago to someone new. They could have sold it to neighbors, but we weren't even aware it was for sale.

So we have a stranger in our midst. A strange stranger. He just spent the morning cutting down every single tree the previous owner spent his lifetime planting. He's turned the property into a lifeless, desolate place.

I understand his next project will be to sink a new well near mine to irrigate his crop of sod. That's instant lawn, folks. On some of the best farming topsoil in California, he will plant instant lawn for all the instant houses that are thrown up in this county. Houses that barely have enough dirt around them to grow a single tomato plant. Let them eat lawn!!

Now, if I actually get to know this fellow and he turns out to be a decent sort, I'll be the first to let you know. I'm always willing to update my opinions. But right now it looks like I have a front row seat at a poorly-written play.

And now, back to Hawaii. (Well, when I get some more written.)

Mystery Feather

Along the north side of the island, our driver Greg pointed out places where Lost and Jurassic Park filmed, as well as other shows I’ve heard of but never seen. Everyone else on the bus would exclaim, “Oh yes, I remember that scene.”

If I had seen the movie, I still wouldn’t recognize the scenery. When I watch a movie or read a book, my mind is entirely in THAT place and time. I even have trouble recognizing people out of context. I ran into my Uncle Ray and Aunt Sharon at Costco a couple of years ago and thought, “those folks look familiar.”

But there’s one thing I DO recognize when I see it, a chicken feather. In the parking lot on Pali Point, as I stepped off the bus, there it was.

And right at the edge of the jungle, there were the chickens. Jungle fowl, more accurately. Like Zebra doves, they were begging crumbs from the tourists. They were medium-size birds that resembled Old English Game fowl, but with bigger leg bones and very strong wings. They could fly “like a bird” instead of flutter like most chickens I know. Greg said the rain forest is full of them, they don’t have many predators.


There were in excellent condition. Next time you’re at Pali Point, take some snacks for the chickens.

As our bus wound through the rain forest, Greg answered our questions about it. “Do people hunt out here?” “Not much,” he said. “It’s really dangerous. There aren’t any killer animals, but the mountainside is really steep and the shrubbery covers it. You can take one step and fall 200 feet.” Ouch.

We were dropped off at the hotel just before dark. The sun was setting almost exactly where it had come up that morning. I swear it. We said goodbye to our fun driver. (And tipped him handsomely.)

Jon took Bob and I to dinner at Wolfgang’s. It was a very high class place, so we did our best to act like we weren’t from Mayberry. Later, I listened to the music by the pool at the hotel again for a while. The guys went out investigating the night life, I think, but came in early and watched TV until the wee hours. To each his own.

Bird Facts

Yes!!! That bird in the tree at the PCC IS a heron. More precisely, a juvenile Black-Crowned Night Heron. It will change color and get a crown when it grows up. I guess that's when it will get a night life, too. It was the only bird I saw that is actually native to the island, all the others I identified are imports.

For example, the Red CRESTED Brazilian Cardinal. This is what it looks like.

These are my favorites, the Zebra Doves. They are small and extremely tame.


This is the bigger Spotted Dove.


And this is the Common Mynah, which is actually the same as the big ones in India because that's where they came from. They were imported to combat plagues of Army worms. No, this isn't an anti-military thing, Army worms are caterpillars that hatch out en masse every few years and decimate everything in their path.


I got the pictures and information for you on the web and tried to link it to this blog, but it wouldn't work. I think it is a University of Hawaii site. (Dear university people, I'm not trying to plagiarize, thank you for sharing.)

Not all the imported birds previously lived in the tropics. There are, for example, the red cardinals that I associate with winter on the east coast of the mainland. And there are plain old cattle egrets on the north side of the island where (of course) most of the cattle live.

There are not very many different kinds of birds on the islands, nowhere near as many as I can see right at home. You just see large flocks of the same kind of bird. And no seagulls.

It would be fun, I think, to take a birder's tour of the islands. Or I could just take a pocketful of peanuts and see if I could teach the Zebra doves tricks.

Mormon Polynesia

In Samoa, where this fellow comes from, the men grow and hunt the food, cook the food, set the table, and serve it. The women, he says, are very happy.

I’m a pessimist. I couldn’t help wondering, “But who cleans the kitchen?” Maybe with banana-leaf plates and outdoor BBQs it’s not such a big deal. And if the pigs and dogs run around wild, that probably takes care of leftovers. I could be happy with that arrangement.

There’s lots to wonder about at the Polynesian Cultural Center (PCC) on the north side of Oahu. In the bus, Greg told us that the PCC is the biggest tourist draw on the island, that it’s owned and operated by the Mormon church, and that many Polynesians are Mormon.

It’s a fun place and it seems to be a way for students from the Polynesian islands to earn a way through college. Good for them. If you know a down side to all this, don’t tell me, I don’t need to know.

The PCC is a long, narrow park on both sides of a Disneyland-type fake river. There are areas that recreate the buildings and culture of the various Polynesian places: Tonga, Hawaii, New Zealand, Samoa, Tahiti and Fiji. There’s even a new Easter Island exhibit.

Greg schooled us carefully on how to beat the lines at the park. There were 2 huge tour buses unloading when we pulled into the parking lot. He let us off at the gate and said to hurry inside and start walking toward the lunch area, he’d grab our tickets and we’d be first in line before the 300 or so people on the buses ever got themselves organized. This we did, slick as a whistle.

After lunch we watched the people at the Samoan center do things like start a fire with sticks (man, it takes me 6 matches to get the fire going in my wood stove), climb a tree for coconuts, and do all the stuff that’s essential for preparing dinner in Samoa.

Next was the New Zealand exhibit (Aotearoa) inside a replica of a meeting hall. Wow! Cool music, makes you want to get up and dance with them, except they’re throwing big sticks around at the same time. I recorded one of the songs on my iPhone and sent it to Melanie. But not before I accidentally replayed it (very loudly) when we were supposed to be listening to a narrator. Aaack! Breach of etiquette. Bob rolled his eyes big-time, “You are sooooo stupid!” he whispered. Right, like I needed to be told.

This is Jon, me, and Bob in front of the genuine fake Easter Island statues. Greg took our pictures.


This is scenery from a boat trip down the genuine fake river.


Here’s a bird that was hanging out in a tree. It didn’t look like the type of bird that usually perches on limbs, it seemed like a heron.



There were other birds. Mynahs, not the big black ones, but medium-sized ones that are probably just as annoying, but they’re fun to watch. And there was a gray bird with a red head. I asked Greg what it was -- a Red-headed Brazilian Cardinal. Of course when I got home I found out that’s not even on my list of western birds to check off.

The boat traverses the entire length of the park. You disembark at the far end, we discovered, and then have to walk back. My walking makes people nervous. It’s not like I’m going to fall down or anything, it’s just uncoordinated. Greg babysat me all along the riverside trail and found me a prime seat for the afternoon show in the handicapped section. That was fine, except the ladies who monitor it kept glaring at me until one asked if I knew that section was reserved. I stood up and walked a ways for them and was not bothered after that. One lady later said, “Usually people who sit there are in wheelchairs.” She took my picture with this pretty plant.


The big show of the afternoon is an extravaganza of music and dancing on rafts in the “river.” OK, Katherine, you need to take your belly dancing experience and get into a polynesian dancing group. Why? Please observe the next two pictures.



In polynesian dancing, there are lots of guys with no shirts on.

One thing nice about our lunch at the PCC was that everyone on our bus got to sit at the same table. It was our first chance to visit. The people from South Dakota, we discovered, were there to attend a wedding on Maui a few days hence. The bride and groom had decided to take their families on a vacation to Hawaii with them instead of spend money for a big wedding. Neat idea! Do we have anyone in the family who isn’t married yet? Hmmm. Just Bob, I guess. I hope he marries someone who wants to have a wedding in Maui.

Another interesting person on our bus was a mom and her two-year old son, Jack. The mom seemed just past college age. She said she and Jack travel a lot. Jack was a great kid, he enjoyed everything, his requirements were minimal. Sort of like Bob and I, except in reverse.

The Beaches and Beyond

Bob and Jon thought Waikiki Beach, on the leeward side of the island, was too tame. They wanted to ride their rented, genuine styrofoam boogie boards on some bigger waves. I told them they could take a look at the waves on the other side of the island on our bus tour, then come back some day and go for it.

Between Pearl Harbor and the surfing beaches is the Dole plantation area. There are still a few pineapples left, but not for long. By next year, there will be no commercially-grown pineapples anywhere in Hawaii. They will all be grown in the Philippines and elsewhere. On land that was first used for sugar cane, then pineapples, Dole is now planting groves of “designer” coffee and chocolate.

Busdriver Greg grew up in a small town adjacent to the pineapple fields. We enjoyed his personal stories, it added a lot to the trip. He showed us small towns near the northeast side and told us how the people in the area are “vigilantes” who have resisted the county’s attempts to change things, and so far they are successful. The whole island is a single county, by the way.

We stopped at the Dole Plantation store and helped the economy. Several of us bought macadamia nuts. Back in the bus, Greg said, “Eating macadamia nuts has proven to increase reading skills.” I paid close attention, my work involves teaching kids to read, you know. I could be responsible for introducing radical new ideas to our state. Greg continued, “This is because if you eat a lot of them you will sit on the toilet a lot. And you know what people do when they spend a lot of time in the bathroom? Read!”

Bob, who was at least halfway through his recently-purchased package of butterscotch macadamia nuts, carefully folded the bag shut and handed it to me. “Could you keep this in your purse?” he asked. He never has been much of a reader.

The north shore beaches of Oahu are known collectively as the Banzai Pipeline. This time of year the surf there is starting into its wild season. Today, there was a lot of turbulence and no surfers. Greg said it’s because there were strong winds coming onshore. This breaks up the waves. They’re at their classic best when the winds are heading offshore and hold the waves in shape until they break on the beach. We stopped at Sunset Beach, which is where the first picture was taken, and stayed just long enough to get sand in our shoes and lots of wind-tangled knots in our hair. Bob and Jon didn’t say anything about coming back to try the bigger waves.


This second picture was taken at a bonus stop in a residential area right on the north point, where the waves have eaten a hole in the rock. Greg said even in the bad economy any modest-looking home that has a sea view is still fairly expensive. He told us not to buy anything close to the beach, however, because those houses get flooded regularly when the surf is very high.

I doubt anyone on our little bus was planning on buying a house on the beach anyway. Not many surfers in South Dakota. Or Cosumne, for that matter. We were all watching the horizon, keeping an eye out for stray tsunamis and figuring out how long it would take to get to high ground if we saw one.

Flak

I knew I'd catch some flak over my comments about Pearl Harbor, especially from relatives. That's OK. I respect everyone's opinion, I just don't always agree. I've had anti-war sentiments since I was 15 (different war, same sentiments). I think it's interesting that as we age, our outlook on life changes. Sometimes to the polar opposite.

When I hear young people who support whatever issue they're enthusiastic about, I often think "Yep, that's pretty much what I would have said before I became old and wise."

But my opinion about war has never changed, much to my surprise. It has only gotten stronger.

If you're a red-white-and-blue, flag waving person, I have a picture just for you today. The last one I took, as the bus was leaving the parking lot.

Pearl Harbor

We woke up early on Veteran’s Day to catch our tour bus. It was a nice, cozy size - 20 people - and our driver was fun.

We left Waikiki just as the sun came up out of the ocean. I swear it came up almost exactly where it had gone down the night before. My sense of direction is pretty good on the mainland, but the island is a magnetic anomaly or something. Like the House of Mystery.

Our first stop was Pearl Harbor. I’m just going to say this right out -- I don’t like war stuff. I was going to sit happily on the bus while the other people toured the memorial, but the bus driver chased me out.

First we watched the flag being raised. Our bus driver then stood on the podium and briefed us about the rest of the day.

Greg explained the schedule to us and how we could beat it. If we sat on the left side of the auditorium, for example, we’d be first on the boat after the movie. “Sit on the right side of the boat,” he said, “for the best pictures.” If we followed his instructions, and got back to the bus promptly every time, he promised he’d treat us by stopping at a couple of extra spots. What a thing to tell a busload of people from South Dakota and some miscellaneous over-achievers! At every stop we were in our seats right on the minute. Well, except for the one time I was a little late and Jon had to come get me. (Bob was too busy rolling his eyes.)

The facilities at Pearl Harbor are being reconstructed, so there are a lot of high fences to obstruct the view. That’s was OK for me, I didn’t need to see more torpedoes and submarines. These are monuments that list the ships that were sunk.


In the theater, there was a 60-minute film that told some history behind the war. It had lots of shots of the ships being blown up in the harbor. This was in the days before everyone had a cell phone with video capability, you recall, so how did that happen? The Japanese were filming the bombing from their planes.

The whole experience is weird. There you are watching a movie that has clips from superpatriotic times, when the Japanese were clearly the enemy. The park ranger who introduces the movie is a Japanese-American. At any other time or place, I wouldn’t even have noticed this. The fellow is simply a gracious, knowledgeable speaker, and these days only people in turbans stand out as "different." But it was uncomfortable. There were a lot of Japanese tourists in the audience, too. Bob said, “It was awkward, it was like I didn’t want to look at them and maybe make them feel bad.”

From the theater we were loaded onto a boat that went across the small harbor to the memorial that sits on top of the sunken ship Arizona. The movie host had asked us to be respectful and use the occasion to do some self-reflection. I think we all did. Bob did.



As I watched the incredible mixture of people, I remembered something Bob once said: governments can’t manipulate people into war situations as easily anymore because we’re all connected on the internet. We regular people have too much in common to believe the propaganda that we should be enemies. Is that Pollyanna? Here are two Japanese tourists, two mainlanders (one a Mennonite lady from Ohio - I talked to her), and a young man in the military. All deep in thought.


We all pick out the things we want to hear. What I heard was that a lot of regular people on both sides of a war die because they don’t question their leaders. And I have to wonder, why do we put up with that? Is it always going to be this way? After a few years, no one is right or wrong, they’re just dead.

Pearl Harbor put me in a bad mood, but that was just the first stop.

Waikiki Beach

Having Bob and Jon along on this trip was wonderful. They carried my purse when it got too heavy, and they checked in once in a while to make sure everything was OK. I don’t need a full-time babysitter, but it felt good knowing they were never too far away.

After the shopping trip, I went back to the room to unload the booty. The guys were still gone, and so was the Cap’n. I thought I should go to the beach, too, and see if I could take some pictures of Bob and Jon on surfboards or something.

I found the Cap’n just walking along, enjoying the scenery.

I never did find Bob and Jon, but I enjoyed the scenery too. I’d especially like to share the two following pictures with Katherine as proof of why she should have gone with us. K, you could have put that telephoto lens to good use on the beach. Think "hay hauling guy" times 100. The muscles were everywhere.



Honolulu has lots of Japanese tourists. More about them later, but one thing I love about having them around is that if you want a photo of yourself, you can just hand your camera to any Japanese tourist. They know more about my camera than I do, and were always happy to be of assistance. This is a photo a kind Japanese lady took for me on the beach. This is as close to the water as I got. I really like water, I just have no desire to actually go into the ocean.


Between the beach and the hotel I made a couple of new friends. These beautiful birds are 7 year-olds, a brother and sister. Their owner goes up and down the street, letting people hold them and taking pictures for a tip.


Forget about the hunky guys, I wanted my picture with the birds. I’m not usually comfortable around parrots, I prefer chickens and pigeons, but these two were very gentle and agreeable. In this picture, the male parrot is teaching me to squawk.


I felt like I was directly helping the economy when I tipped people. The first couple of people I ran across did pretty well because I’d gone to the ATM before we left Sacramento and all I had was $20 bills. I don’t get to do this tourist stuff much, I’m not very smart about it.

Back at the hotel the guys were taking showers, then they changed clothes and went looking for a drink served in a big pineapple, hopefully decorated with a little umbrella or something gaudy. I went down to the hotel pool and sat in a lounge chair under the stars, listening to the Hawaiian band. The music is a little corny, in the same vein as Mariachi music, but I really like it.

I slept like a baby that night, with the balcony door wide open and a single light blanket on the bed. Note: there are very few insects in Hawaii. At home an open door is an invitation to flies, midges, ants, and all sorts of pests. I saw maybe 2 flies on our trip. No wonder the birds hang around people, looking for handouts. Oh, and I never saw a single seagull either. Maybe this really IS paradise.

Mellowing Out

Jon and Bob headed for the beach without delay. They are both very pale, computer nerds who barely see the light of day when they’re home. They took their pasty bodies and some SPF 450 lotion, and wore sunglasses so they wouldn’t blind each other with the glare. Jon was in charge of beach photos. I haven’t seen any yet. Maybe they were overexposed.

I stayed on the lanai in the shade for a while. Last time I was here it was July, and I swear the air felt exactly the same: about 85°, a gentle warm, soft breeze. The air itself is soft. How does that happen? Lots of positive ions from the waves?

I could see the rooftops below and the bougainvillea plants blooming on them. I guess my plant at home has good instincts, poor thing.

The Cap'n, exhausted from spending the entire plane trip cramped in my purse, decided to take a nap. So I went shopping by myself.


The hotel is right next to the International Market­place. It’s a large area a block deep, with many small shops under a huge banyan tree. The shops all sell the same stuff, and a lot of it is junk, but it’s fun.


There are many expensive shops in this area also, but there’s nothing I need from them. I need junk, preferably small junk that will fit easily in my suitcase. I’m not a great shopper like my friend Debbie. She buys a new suitcase when she gets to her destination so she can fill it with stuff.

I found lots of little souvenirs and a good place to eat dinner. This is what I ordered: Salmon Salad.


It was an outdoor restaurant and there were lots of pigeons and tiny doves padding around on the floor looking for stray tidbits. I love pigeons and doves and planned to feed them the corn that came with the salad. But there was a big sign that said “Do Not Feed the Birds.” I wasn’t bold enough to just ignore the sign, so I cut the corn off the ear and when I was sure no one was looking, casually pushed it down the little hole you see above, in the middle of the table. It didn’t take a pigeon too long to find it.


There was another sign at the restaurant. The spelling wasn’t great, but the food was.

If it's Tuesday, it must be Honolulu!

Many times I’ve herded groups of teenagers to the airport hours too early, making sure we wouldn’t be late for a flight to Louisville. Then I listened to grumbling as we had to sit and wait. The grumblers were usually munching a Cinnabon, though, so the disgusted breath they exhaled with a sigh was pleasant.

Tuesday I had our schedule fine-tuned. We’d get to the airport an hour before the plane took off, enough time to grab a cup of coffee.

There were 2 people behind the Hawaiian Airlines counter when we reached it, and a lady next to them at the Delta counter. She was frowning at us. “I’ll check you in,” she said “you’re late, the plane is already boarded and if you don’t get right up there it will take off without you. Don’t even stop at the restroom!”

Huh?

Well, we rushed up the escalator (right foot first, Bernard) and through the inspection and down to the very end of the concourse to find that they had just BEGUN boarding people. The first-class folks and the old people in wheelchairs, and the babies. We weren’t late at all.

I think the Delta lady just wanted to squawk at someone and she had no customers of her own. I chose Hawaiian Airlines because I hate being pushed around. I guess the HAL people are too mellow to yell at customers themselves.

We had 5 mellow men and one smiling lady attending us on our flight.

I haven’t flown for 3 years. Things are different now. It took forever for everyone else to stow their luggage in the overhead. That’s because Jonathan and I were probably the only ones who checked our luggage, the rest of the people dragged huge suitcases onboard to avoid paying extra for them. What a mess! Some luggage took three people to stuff it into the bulging bin. Bob had a small backpack, and that worked fine.

When we finally got off the ground, the “extra” fees started adding up. They unashamedly charge for almost everything except the bathroom, and I've heard that's coming next. Jon and I had our iPhone earphones, so we were able to watch the movie “Up” for free. (I liked it. The old guy won and there was a bird that reminded me of Rudy.)

The flight took a little more than 5 hours, but it was pleasant. We were met at the airport, where we were officially lei’d and photographed by a charming fellow.


It was past noon, so Bob was awake and cheery. Do we look like proper tourists?

We were helped with our baggage and loaded onto a bus to the hotel. Our bus driver was a hoot. He didn’t read minds or tell fortunes, but he knew everything else. The half-hour ride to the hotel was a course in Hawaiian history and interesting trivia. "There are 1500 homeless people in Honolulu," he said as we passed a city park, "and many of them live here."

We passed the Ala Moana mall. It’s the second largest in the U.S. The biggest is the Mall of the Americas, in the midwest. Santa was already here. I would be, too, if I was Santa. Who'd want to be at the North Pole this time of year?


Debbie, are you out there today? This place is for a professional shopper like you. It looks like you’d have to spend a week in there to see everything. I’d probably have to rent a motorized wheelchair to get around.

Do you know what the state flower of Hawaii is? The bus driver told us: the Yellow Hibiscus.


They’re planted in highway divider boxes. If you love plants, like I do, the islands are a bonanza. The only catch is you can’t take anything with you. No pinching buds or shoots and carrying them home in a plastic bag to propagate. There is a strict agricultural inspection when you fly out. I always have little plastic bags with me, my fingers were itching to pinch. But I didn’t.

Our hotel, the Princess Kaiulani, is older, but very gracious and close to the beach. We had ocean view rooms. This was our view:


Well, actually THIS was our view. Technically you could see the ocean.

Aloha!

I have mostly been a cautious person - make careful plans, save my money, investigate all aspects of anything before I start down a new path. Then I learned that the easiest way to be disappointed is when carefully-made plans go awry. So I try not to do that anymore. Except I do save money so I don't have to be so careful about expense planning.

A couple of weeks ago there was an ad on our online classifieds at work: Condo in Kauai for 10 days from December 20-30. The price was very reasonable. I thought wouldn’t it be fun to rent the condo and then tell all the friends and relatives to come on over if they’d like, for a few days or all of them? Well, I got no takers. Some had no money for a plane ticket, some didn’t want to be away at Christmas, some couldn’t get time off work. All legitimate reasons, but I didn't need to spend 10 days in Kauai by myself.

I still wanted to go to Hawaii, though. Couldn't get it off my mind. One day Jonathan was here. He works four 10-hour days and has Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday off. No one, he said, can do anything on those days.

Bob and I could! I have tons of vacation time and Bob is only working 2 or 3 days a week. So I called our local travel agent - yes, our little “town” of 125 people has a travel agent. Last time we used her Bob was 8 and we were going to Disneyland. I asked her to find us a good deal on 3 days anywhere in the Hawaiian islands. She did and we went.

Gwynessa showed up at game night, the night before we left, with a beautiful carnation lei she’d made. Thank you for the send-off G!


Oh, and of course Cap’n P went with us, too.


Bright and early the next morning we took Bon Voyage pictures. Jan says “Farewell.”


Jon says “Bye bye!”


Bob says, “It’s not even noon yet, why am I up and what’s with these flowers around my neck?”


We left our lovely lei by the front steps, and with Katherine in charge of the animals, away we went.