Sorry to be so smug, but it's January and I am preparing to go to the beach, slathered up in sunscreen, so can you blame me!??! But we did visit some winter. Well, at least it sure felt like winter to us.
I should start with a brief (or not) look back at Christmas 2009 - not to torture the reader, but simply because it only supports my theory that we are the Griswold family (of "Vacation" notoriety) in real life. We took the red-eye from Maui on December 20, 2009. It was clear and beautiful....and I froze immediately. Within 48 hours, I was sick. We were going to be staying at a friend's condo in SD while they were out of the country. Let me rephrase....these lovely people OFFERED their condo to us while they were out of the country. Their place was gorgeous - 1/2 block of of Mission bay, with a bay and ocean view - but we froze even more. These good people are German, and very much minimalists. We are American, and pretty much, maximalists. So, with me sick, and Christmas being in a couple days, and my second grandchild due any minute, we headed to the local doc-in-the-box. I was delighted and relieved to see a woman doctor about my age. Didn't have to explain a thing. She popped me full of antibiotics and I was good to go. But I was still freezing. There was no heat in the place, except for a heater that didn't work very well, so we wandered the house in just about every article of clothing we had.
By Christmas Eve, I was feeling well enough to go to church at The Rock with Kyle, Kristin, Amber, & Jpsh-to-be, then to Kristin's family for a little celebrating and dinner. The plan was for us to go back to the condo for a little bit, after the dinner, so we could get some things together for a couple of days up in Temecula, and pick up Greg on the way. Everything was going smoothly, but by the time we hit the refrigerated condo again, I was feeling less than nifty. My beloved decided to make me a comforting, decongesting cup of Refresh tea. I took off for the bedroom downstairs while he worked on the tea. About ten minutes later, I hear Don making sounds of panic and horror, accompanied by banging and crashing and more unintelligible speech. Seems he had not noticed that our friends' tea kettle was of the electric variety...and had set the rubber-bottomed kettle on the range...on high, of course. I won't bore you with details, but suffice to say we spent a while trying to clear smoke and stench (which meant opening the doors and windows, making it even colder) and clean off the top layers of soot on the cabinets. And we still had to grab Greg and make the hour long journey north. I had to admit, I was kind of chuckling while Don was still horrified. Actually, I was laughing my head off. The damage wasn't that great (we did replace not only the tea kettle but the destroyed burner, and left everything clean as a whistle) and it was HILARIOUS!! Don did not agree.
We left to grab our #2 son, and after we did, we made the decision to surprise the Young Daltons with a Christmas tree (they had moved into their home only a couple of weeks earlier and had focussed on getting moved in before the baby came - a tree didn't even make the short list). We found a tree lot still opened at 9:00 on Christmas Eve!! The only problem was we had a compact car, our two small bags, Greg's duffle, and some Christmas gifts in the trunk, and Greg and his guitar in the back seat. Five minutes later, we were on I-15 north, with Greg, his guitar, and a four-foot Christmas tree in the back seat. By the time we reached Chez K Dalton, it was fairly late and Kristin had gone to bed. Kyle looked at his parents and brother like they were nuts. Well...they are. But we still had a tree to decorate!! Needless to say, the decorations were pretty sparse, but Amber, the-almost-two-year-old would not know the difference.
Christmas morning brought Uncle John to the happy home, and the day's festivizing began. Of course, Amber was delighted with the tiny, half-naked tree. Kristin was just kind of stunned. She was also quite tired of being pregnant. But that was not the only issue of the day: the Chargers were playing Tennessee, K&K didn't have NFL network and EVERYTHING was closed that normally would carry the game. Everything except Pechanga Casino. So, our traditional dinner was at the sports bar & grill inside of Pechanga. There we were, grandparents, a tot, a preggo and her husband, and the uncles. Not quite a Walton Family Christmas, but we were together, having a blast and feeling so blest.
The next few days were an eventful blur. Greg's gift to the Dalton men was...(drum roll).... TATTOOS!! Yes, indeed. No beer stein or sleeve of golf balls from this gift-giver, no sir-ee-bob. Greg had actually researched the Dalton Coat of Arms, gave a small talk about it on Christmas morning (like a true future teacher), and the guys all got their arms tagged- uh, tattooed, the day after Christmas. They wanted Dad to get one, too, but Dad being a bit more advanced in years opted out. I concurred. A couple days later, we celebrated John's birthday up in Temecula. It was a day after his actual birthday - and more importantly, the day after Kristin's due date. SInce she was wildly uncomfortable and they had a little one, we opted for the northward trek again. After returning late that night to the condo/cooler, we flopped into bed....only to be awakened by a text telling us to boogie-oogie to the hospital! Kristin was giving birth in the same hospital in SD in which she had Amber, so we were to meet them, and Grampy would do an about face in their car, taking Amber back home. A few hours later, Joshua Blake Dalton finally arrived! My bug was long gone, so I again had the indescribable blessing and joy to be there. And my precious, beautiful daughter-in-law was amazing! Don had Grampy duty, of course, but he got to hear his son tell him it was a boy, and he heard his grandson's healthy cries. I'm getting misty....
SO, baby arrived and we were still trucking back and forth - with a side trip to Disneyland, a visit with friends in Calabasas, Ca, and family in Vegas - then Don got sick. Nifty. We were still freezing, and now Don was going to sleep upstairs from me, on a very comfortable white sofa. The problem was, we needed an extra blanket. My mom had one - problem solved. Except that it was a vellux wannabe from the Nixon era. And it was red. And it fell apart. No, that's not true. It completely DISINTEGRATED!!! So, I'm downstairs the next morning, hearing my husband make more of those panicked, unintelligible sounds - this time banging madly on the white sofa which now looked like it had some kind of rash. Don did the smart thing and got out our friends' canister vac - which promptly belched out an enormous cloud of dust. A couple of hours later, having found a broom and borrowed a vacuum, the red dandruff was gone.
We had stayed on the mainland for a month and we could not wait to get back home to our Maui! We actually managed to do no more damage for the remainder of the trip, and left the condo looking as clean as when we came - with the addition of a new electric kettle, new burners and spill pans, and a new blanket. But, ummm...our friends kinda haven't spoken to us, since... Understandable
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Hawaiian Steeplechase
We have all heard that life is not a sprint, it's a marathon. Well, I beg to differ. I happen to believe that it is more like a steeplechase - and odd, long distance race that is only seen in outdoor track meets. This event requires its participants to not just run for a few miles around a track, but to jump over what looks like security barriers, placed every so often. But just to keep things really interesting, one of these little fence-like structures has a gigantic puddle behind it, causing these guys to not only jump on and over this fence, but to land with a splat and a splash. If that were not enough, the runners have to continue in shoes that squoosh and shorts that, well...feel like there's been an embarrassing accident. But they persist and persevere. I love these guys.
So, a steeplechase. That is what our life - and I think pretty much all lives -look like. Of course, we happen to be running our race on the most beautiful place on the planet which makes it easier.
We are now in our new little condo - the latest in temporary digs. It's in a lovely resort that was built some time in the seventies or eighties...and it hasn't been updated since then! It's cabinets are that yellowy-cream masonite with the fake wood lip at the top or bottom that serves as a handle. We have the same yellowy-cream color in the formica countertops. The range has one of those digital clocks with the block numbers that flip - when it's working. This one reads a permanent 6:41. Don't know if that's A.M. or P.M. But by far the funniest part of this place is the little microwave that was set on the counter a couple of decades ago. Instead of nice little buttons to push, it has a couple of dials to turn - one to choose between "cook" or "defrost", the other to choose the minutes, 1-25. We discovered that this, like the digital clock, was no longer of much value, when I was heating a cup of coffee, turned the dial to "2" and left while awaiting the "ding" to politely tell me my coffee was now hot. When I heard something other than the gentle chime, I investigated and discovered my coffee boiling like Kilauea lava - and the dial still at "2".
Yup, this place is old. It's closets are little. The bathroom is tiny. And we are happy as two peas in a little pod! I started looking at the last two places we've been in as sort of metaphors for things in life: just because something is pretty on the outside doesn't mean it's not a train wreck inside. In fact, that is how the enemy gets us - seducing us into what looks glam, only to discover that things are not good once you're inside. The ocean front bungalow was that for us. But this little place is just who it is: unglamorous, plain, a little broken down. It has no pretense about itself. And we love it in its humility.
But, back to the steeplechase... we continue to run this race that God has set before us. We can make all those leaps and jumps as long as we let Him power our legs and hearts. It would be easy to give up when our shoes are squooshy or our shorts...damp. At least it's not boring.
I write this now as I watch Don finish up his packing for our trip to California for Christmas! Most of our time will be spent in Temecula with Amber and Josh - and their parents and uncles. I pray that I see many, MANY of you this Holiday season - but for all of my readers, may it be a time filled with blessings that you never expected and joy from surprising places!
So, a steeplechase. That is what our life - and I think pretty much all lives -look like. Of course, we happen to be running our race on the most beautiful place on the planet which makes it easier.
We are now in our new little condo - the latest in temporary digs. It's in a lovely resort that was built some time in the seventies or eighties...and it hasn't been updated since then! It's cabinets are that yellowy-cream masonite with the fake wood lip at the top or bottom that serves as a handle. We have the same yellowy-cream color in the formica countertops. The range has one of those digital clocks with the block numbers that flip - when it's working. This one reads a permanent 6:41. Don't know if that's A.M. or P.M. But by far the funniest part of this place is the little microwave that was set on the counter a couple of decades ago. Instead of nice little buttons to push, it has a couple of dials to turn - one to choose between "cook" or "defrost", the other to choose the minutes, 1-25. We discovered that this, like the digital clock, was no longer of much value, when I was heating a cup of coffee, turned the dial to "2" and left while awaiting the "ding" to politely tell me my coffee was now hot. When I heard something other than the gentle chime, I investigated and discovered my coffee boiling like Kilauea lava - and the dial still at "2".
Yup, this place is old. It's closets are little. The bathroom is tiny. And we are happy as two peas in a little pod! I started looking at the last two places we've been in as sort of metaphors for things in life: just because something is pretty on the outside doesn't mean it's not a train wreck inside. In fact, that is how the enemy gets us - seducing us into what looks glam, only to discover that things are not good once you're inside. The ocean front bungalow was that for us. But this little place is just who it is: unglamorous, plain, a little broken down. It has no pretense about itself. And we love it in its humility.
But, back to the steeplechase... we continue to run this race that God has set before us. We can make all those leaps and jumps as long as we let Him power our legs and hearts. It would be easy to give up when our shoes are squooshy or our shorts...damp. At least it's not boring.
I write this now as I watch Don finish up his packing for our trip to California for Christmas! Most of our time will be spent in Temecula with Amber and Josh - and their parents and uncles. I pray that I see many, MANY of you this Holiday season - but for all of my readers, may it be a time filled with blessings that you never expected and joy from surprising places!
Monday, November 29, 2010
Mango Bombs and Turtle Galas
I have GOT to find a new hobby. Once again, Don and I are packing our stuff and things to move to a different address - at least it isn't stuff and things and furniture. But day after tomorrow, we are out of the oceanfront bungalow and on to a one-bedroom condo about ten minutes north. The great thing is that it is in one of my favorite resorts on the island. The not-so-great is that it is pretty grim and small. But it's clean and pretty cheap, so we're considering ourselves quite blessed. The other great thing is that we're only there until 12/8, when we fly over to the mainland for Christmas!! Yay!! But this moving around thing is getting a bit tiring, and as of this writing, we still don't have a long-term home when we get back here on New Year's Eve. But we trust that the Lord has something for us - but the waiting is always the toughest part.
So, we're leaving our seaside abode. We have had some great times here, culminating with our Thanksgiving where we had a small but hungry mob here. Along with the usual gluttony and gridiron, we played some Maui Bocce ball. Don't bother to look it up - it's our own weird invention. Our version is played with (what else) COCONUTS!! This place has four coconut palms that are extraordinarily generous. A cleanout (not by us but by the good guys that live on the property) of the overgrown banana trees yielded about twenty of the things. We made a little green coconut seed-looking thing our pallino or target ball, and then rolled away. The learning curve was pretty funny to watch. Not only are these "balls" not round, they have the actual hard fruit inside the husk that shift and wobble them even more. It was a hoot!
One of the more dramatic features of this small property is a couple of forty-foot mango trees - one of which is right next to our bungalow, and the upper branches lean over the house. It does much to keep the house cool, but now that the mangos are ripening, and there is no one with a cherry (or mango) picker to go get them, it means that the tree will no occasion drop one of these golden tropical fruits right onto our house. The first time I heard it, Don was at Bible Study and I was home under the weather. I heard a thud, then roll roll roll. I grabbed my cell phone and something with which I could inflict pain, and sat quivering like the courageous adventurer I am, wondering if I should call 911 or just go screaming into the night. Fortunately, I chose a third option: remain frozen in fear until Don got home. It was the next morning when we found the little orangy-yellow bombs in the courtyard in front of our house. Since then, it has become quite a bit of entertainment, as we try to imagine from how far the dropping fruit has fallen based on the decibel of the thud onto the tin roof. Yes, we are astonishingly easy to please.
The past two months, we have enjoyed nightly sunsets over the island of Lana'i, sitting on the deck next by the seawall watching and waving to the sunset dinner cruises as well as a dozen or more turtles that mosey along, enjoying the salad bar that grows on the reef. These floating round-top boulders sometimes drift in, but more often than not, defy the currents, popping a dour looking head up every so often to gulp air.
The colors of sunsets are always remarkable, and the sea turns into an orange and pink liquid mirror. Most evenings, teams of outrigger canoe paddlers will come gliding past, each paddler digging into the water in perfect unison with his fellow watermen, creating a moving piece of Hawaiiana art. Of course, we also enjoy the morning paddlers, which instead of well-trained and perfectly synchronized paddlers has up to four tourists in between the front and back paddler. Not only do they lack the unity of the afore mentioned athletes, but many of them seem to lack coordination altogether. I can identify. Occasionally, there will be somebody - usually someone identifyable as the Dad - who has not just the lack of coordination and strength, but any enthusiasm at all. You can just see in his posture "I'm paying out the wahzoo for the family to visit this place - I'll be danged if I'm gonna paddle these people around the Pacific." Don can really identify.
So, we'll miss these sights. We'll miss going to sleep with the waves, and waking up to the same music. We'll miss watching the moonlight bounce along the shimmering black sea, with bright flashes leaping from ripple to ridge to swell. We've seen a shark swim by TWICE, and have seen spotted eagle rays gather for what could be politely described as group procreation. We even saw a ray break free of the water and glide through the air for a few feet. Maybe somebody goosed him during the orgy - anybody's guess. These things we will miss.
But....we need a home. I, for one, have grown weary of the nomadic life, but I have also watched my husband's faith grow by leaps and bounds. I'm blessed by that and by him every day. In all of this, neither of us have EVER questioned whether or not we should be here. It's tough. In fact, it's the hardest thing we've ever done - except for raising our sons. But somewhere in time, "hard" started to be a bad thing. If it is hard, it must not be meant to be. Well, Praise God that the Pilgrims didn't think that way. Or the Pioneers who moved west. Or the doctors and scientists who sacrifice personal lives in order to extend and improve our lives. Or those in the military and other first responders who stand in harm's way on the frontlines all to protect total strangers. Or Jesus, as He was tortured and brutally murdered as an innocent man, all so He could spend eternity with us who daily let Him down. Nope. Hard is a beautiful thing.
I just need to keep reminding myself of that as I pack and take to the road again.
So, we're leaving our seaside abode. We have had some great times here, culminating with our Thanksgiving where we had a small but hungry mob here. Along with the usual gluttony and gridiron, we played some Maui Bocce ball. Don't bother to look it up - it's our own weird invention. Our version is played with (what else) COCONUTS!! This place has four coconut palms that are extraordinarily generous. A cleanout (not by us but by the good guys that live on the property) of the overgrown banana trees yielded about twenty of the things. We made a little green coconut seed-looking thing our pallino or target ball, and then rolled away. The learning curve was pretty funny to watch. Not only are these "balls" not round, they have the actual hard fruit inside the husk that shift and wobble them even more. It was a hoot!
One of the more dramatic features of this small property is a couple of forty-foot mango trees - one of which is right next to our bungalow, and the upper branches lean over the house. It does much to keep the house cool, but now that the mangos are ripening, and there is no one with a cherry (or mango) picker to go get them, it means that the tree will no occasion drop one of these golden tropical fruits right onto our house. The first time I heard it, Don was at Bible Study and I was home under the weather. I heard a thud, then roll roll roll. I grabbed my cell phone and something with which I could inflict pain, and sat quivering like the courageous adventurer I am, wondering if I should call 911 or just go screaming into the night. Fortunately, I chose a third option: remain frozen in fear until Don got home. It was the next morning when we found the little orangy-yellow bombs in the courtyard in front of our house. Since then, it has become quite a bit of entertainment, as we try to imagine from how far the dropping fruit has fallen based on the decibel of the thud onto the tin roof. Yes, we are astonishingly easy to please.
The past two months, we have enjoyed nightly sunsets over the island of Lana'i, sitting on the deck next by the seawall watching and waving to the sunset dinner cruises as well as a dozen or more turtles that mosey along, enjoying the salad bar that grows on the reef. These floating round-top boulders sometimes drift in, but more often than not, defy the currents, popping a dour looking head up every so often to gulp air.
The colors of sunsets are always remarkable, and the sea turns into an orange and pink liquid mirror. Most evenings, teams of outrigger canoe paddlers will come gliding past, each paddler digging into the water in perfect unison with his fellow watermen, creating a moving piece of Hawaiiana art. Of course, we also enjoy the morning paddlers, which instead of well-trained and perfectly synchronized paddlers has up to four tourists in between the front and back paddler. Not only do they lack the unity of the afore mentioned athletes, but many of them seem to lack coordination altogether. I can identify. Occasionally, there will be somebody - usually someone identifyable as the Dad - who has not just the lack of coordination and strength, but any enthusiasm at all. You can just see in his posture "I'm paying out the wahzoo for the family to visit this place - I'll be danged if I'm gonna paddle these people around the Pacific." Don can really identify.
So, we'll miss these sights. We'll miss going to sleep with the waves, and waking up to the same music. We'll miss watching the moonlight bounce along the shimmering black sea, with bright flashes leaping from ripple to ridge to swell. We've seen a shark swim by TWICE, and have seen spotted eagle rays gather for what could be politely described as group procreation. We even saw a ray break free of the water and glide through the air for a few feet. Maybe somebody goosed him during the orgy - anybody's guess. These things we will miss.
But....we need a home. I, for one, have grown weary of the nomadic life, but I have also watched my husband's faith grow by leaps and bounds. I'm blessed by that and by him every day. In all of this, neither of us have EVER questioned whether or not we should be here. It's tough. In fact, it's the hardest thing we've ever done - except for raising our sons. But somewhere in time, "hard" started to be a bad thing. If it is hard, it must not be meant to be. Well, Praise God that the Pilgrims didn't think that way. Or the Pioneers who moved west. Or the doctors and scientists who sacrifice personal lives in order to extend and improve our lives. Or those in the military and other first responders who stand in harm's way on the frontlines all to protect total strangers. Or Jesus, as He was tortured and brutally murdered as an innocent man, all so He could spend eternity with us who daily let Him down. Nope. Hard is a beautiful thing.
I just need to keep reminding myself of that as I pack and take to the road again.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
BUGGIN'!!
Over the last year, I have waxed poetic about the many lovely and amazing creatures that God made for this island. From the magnificent humpback to the tiniest colorful fish, the stately egret to the little finch - we have been continuously awed by the Creator's imagination.
But then...there's the bugs.
Living in the tropics, one would expect to see all kinds of creepy critters - and those expectations would be met. Oh, there are lovely butterflies and big buzzy bees. But there are also gi-normous snails that look rather like an oversized ping-pong ball wearing a party hat and then painted in swirls of various shades of brown. I found a centipede in the house once, and he was huge at about three inches. Then I saw a Maui friend's posting on Facebook holding - with tongs and gloves - a one-foot centipede taken from her yard. I think it was as big around as mine was long. Going out some evenings or on certain jungle-y walks without a repellant that has near nuclear properties might find you becoming a walking smorgasbord of mosquitos and no-see-ums (yes, that's their real name, and no, I don't know who called "um" that first) and then you can entertain yourself by playing dot-to-dot on your legs and arms or cover each shiny bump with pink calamine and look like something from Dr. Suess.
The ants here are as wide in size and variety as any place I know. There are teeny ones, and I have seen some that our 3/4" with a bee-striped tushy. The ants that grab onto food have the best communication system around. Leave something a wee bit greasy out, and in no time it has the entire colony having a feast. Some of these little ones can bite, which only adds to my itchy-polka-dot joy. The real villains, though, are nasty imports known as fire ants. These little beasties are making their way around the islands and the county will jump on any reported nest. I got to do such reporting. FloJo and I were returning from our morning walk from the coffee shop when she needed to stop and do her little thing at her usual spot - a patch of grass under a keave tree. I'm standing there patiently, when I feel something stinging on the top of my foot. I look down to see three bright red ants chomping on my foot with all the enthusiastic energy of twelve-year-old boys at a pie-eating contest. I knocked them off, but the itch was immediately and intense. I walked back home looking like I was permanently stuck on the right foot verse of the Hokey-Pokey. By the time I got home, it had calmed down, but I still put some anti-itchy stuff on. That evening at church, all that was left were some little pinpoint spots, without any itching. Whew!! Yeah, right. I woke up in the middle of the night with a crazy burning itch that had me looking for anything to stop it - even if it was a power saw. Yikes. It took over two weeks of ice packs and foot elevation to get past the worst of it, and another couple weeks for it to disappear completely. Of course, I learned later that had I gone home and washed my foot with hot water and soap, over 90% of the venom would have washed away. Good to know.
The one insect gang most associated with the tropic and eeeeaaaauuuuuuwwww is, of course, the venerable cockroach. Oh, we got us some beeeauts, here! As any in my family can emphatically vouch, I have dealt with a full-on phobia of all things roachy. I have been known to contemplate moving from a house if I see one of those things in there. When we visited the Big Island with the boys many years ago, we stayed in an oceanfront condo that looked innocent enough by day, but was a veritable cockroach gala by night. And some of these bad boys flew. If we were arriving after dark, my heroic men would surround me on all sides, armed with flashlights, and we all scooted together into the safety of our condo. So, knowing that these guys all resided in the place I loved so much, and knowing that my praying for God to remove all the roaches from Maui would be like asking for a size 6 body or a San Diego team to win a Championship - unlikely to happen. So, I just asked God to make me not afraid. Pretty big order for the Lord, but He's just the guy for it.
So, how has it worked out? For the most part, encounters with these big disgusting-but-durable have been from a safe distance - with a few notable exceptions. There was the time that I was getting ready to go snorkeling, dropped my gear in the garage and one of these big fellas came running out of my bootie (the FOOTWEAR!! He ran under the car and eventually found his way into the house where a visiting Gregory dispatched him. I was a little oogied, but not totally undone. For me, that's big progress. Next time was in our small foyer, when I saw this obese roach strolling along. This time, hubby was my hero. Had this bug been snacking less and working out more, he might have avoided the sandal that came smashing down on him. No real ooginess, this time, just a minor ishy. We saw nothing for many months. It was actually after the house and surrounding areas had been sprayed for bugs. Maybe I should have clarified: "No, we wanted NO bugs!! Not to bring us bugs!!" That night I opened the bottom drawer in our bathroom vanity only to have a BIG one fall on my BARE foot!!!! That was a full on oogie-ishy-bleeeeaaaauuuuuaawww!!! The poor guy was in a state of shock himself, so he stood there waiting for death - to which my hubby obliged. After a few minutes of shudders and shivers, I went about my evening ablutions - but I must admit, every time I opened that drawer after that, I kinda stood to the side... And now this temporary haven. Our landlord said he had it sprayed, but we found out...not so much. A few nights ago, I went to take a bath and looked at our clear shower curtain to see a medium-sized (1 1/2") snuggled between two of the shiny clear folds. This guy did not survive the "round of applause" Don gave him while he was settled in his vinyl cranny. My reaction? Minor disgust, with moderate anxiety. Did the guy have friends!?!? I discovered that it was a big "YES" when, while staggering half-asleep into the kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night, the instep of my foot landed on something...different. Woke me right up. Sure enough, the bug's identical twin was sitting right where my foot had just been. He wasn't squooshed, but he wasn't moving. Might have been a statement about the fragrance of my foot, but I didn't wait to ask. Once again, Hero Husband took care of it. And me? I went right back to sleep. Thanks, Lord!
So, this place is lovely and I am delighted and blessed to live here!! I have learned to coexist with little crawly things. But a Gil Grissom (the passionate entomologist of CSI) I will never be. But if a few squirmy, unattractive, shudder-inspiring bugs are the price we gotta pay to live here, we get the better end of the deal. By far.
But then...there's the bugs.
Living in the tropics, one would expect to see all kinds of creepy critters - and those expectations would be met. Oh, there are lovely butterflies and big buzzy bees. But there are also gi-normous snails that look rather like an oversized ping-pong ball wearing a party hat and then painted in swirls of various shades of brown. I found a centipede in the house once, and he was huge at about three inches. Then I saw a Maui friend's posting on Facebook holding - with tongs and gloves - a one-foot centipede taken from her yard. I think it was as big around as mine was long. Going out some evenings or on certain jungle-y walks without a repellant that has near nuclear properties might find you becoming a walking smorgasbord of mosquitos and no-see-ums (yes, that's their real name, and no, I don't know who called "um" that first) and then you can entertain yourself by playing dot-to-dot on your legs and arms or cover each shiny bump with pink calamine and look like something from Dr. Suess.
The ants here are as wide in size and variety as any place I know. There are teeny ones, and I have seen some that our 3/4" with a bee-striped tushy. The ants that grab onto food have the best communication system around. Leave something a wee bit greasy out, and in no time it has the entire colony having a feast. Some of these little ones can bite, which only adds to my itchy-polka-dot joy. The real villains, though, are nasty imports known as fire ants. These little beasties are making their way around the islands and the county will jump on any reported nest. I got to do such reporting. FloJo and I were returning from our morning walk from the coffee shop when she needed to stop and do her little thing at her usual spot - a patch of grass under a keave tree. I'm standing there patiently, when I feel something stinging on the top of my foot. I look down to see three bright red ants chomping on my foot with all the enthusiastic energy of twelve-year-old boys at a pie-eating contest. I knocked them off, but the itch was immediately and intense. I walked back home looking like I was permanently stuck on the right foot verse of the Hokey-Pokey. By the time I got home, it had calmed down, but I still put some anti-itchy stuff on. That evening at church, all that was left were some little pinpoint spots, without any itching. Whew!! Yeah, right. I woke up in the middle of the night with a crazy burning itch that had me looking for anything to stop it - even if it was a power saw. Yikes. It took over two weeks of ice packs and foot elevation to get past the worst of it, and another couple weeks for it to disappear completely. Of course, I learned later that had I gone home and washed my foot with hot water and soap, over 90% of the venom would have washed away. Good to know.
The one insect gang most associated with the tropic and eeeeaaaauuuuuuwwww is, of course, the venerable cockroach. Oh, we got us some beeeauts, here! As any in my family can emphatically vouch, I have dealt with a full-on phobia of all things roachy. I have been known to contemplate moving from a house if I see one of those things in there. When we visited the Big Island with the boys many years ago, we stayed in an oceanfront condo that looked innocent enough by day, but was a veritable cockroach gala by night. And some of these bad boys flew. If we were arriving after dark, my heroic men would surround me on all sides, armed with flashlights, and we all scooted together into the safety of our condo. So, knowing that these guys all resided in the place I loved so much, and knowing that my praying for God to remove all the roaches from Maui would be like asking for a size 6 body or a San Diego team to win a Championship - unlikely to happen. So, I just asked God to make me not afraid. Pretty big order for the Lord, but He's just the guy for it.
So, how has it worked out? For the most part, encounters with these big disgusting-but-durable have been from a safe distance - with a few notable exceptions. There was the time that I was getting ready to go snorkeling, dropped my gear in the garage and one of these big fellas came running out of my bootie (the FOOTWEAR!! He ran under the car and eventually found his way into the house where a visiting Gregory dispatched him. I was a little oogied, but not totally undone. For me, that's big progress. Next time was in our small foyer, when I saw this obese roach strolling along. This time, hubby was my hero. Had this bug been snacking less and working out more, he might have avoided the sandal that came smashing down on him. No real ooginess, this time, just a minor ishy. We saw nothing for many months. It was actually after the house and surrounding areas had been sprayed for bugs. Maybe I should have clarified: "No, we wanted NO bugs!! Not to bring us bugs!!" That night I opened the bottom drawer in our bathroom vanity only to have a BIG one fall on my BARE foot!!!! That was a full on oogie-ishy-bleeeeaaaauuuuuaawww!!! The poor guy was in a state of shock himself, so he stood there waiting for death - to which my hubby obliged. After a few minutes of shudders and shivers, I went about my evening ablutions - but I must admit, every time I opened that drawer after that, I kinda stood to the side... And now this temporary haven. Our landlord said he had it sprayed, but we found out...not so much. A few nights ago, I went to take a bath and looked at our clear shower curtain to see a medium-sized (1 1/2") snuggled between two of the shiny clear folds. This guy did not survive the "round of applause" Don gave him while he was settled in his vinyl cranny. My reaction? Minor disgust, with moderate anxiety. Did the guy have friends!?!? I discovered that it was a big "YES" when, while staggering half-asleep into the kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night, the instep of my foot landed on something...different. Woke me right up. Sure enough, the bug's identical twin was sitting right where my foot had just been. He wasn't squooshed, but he wasn't moving. Might have been a statement about the fragrance of my foot, but I didn't wait to ask. Once again, Hero Husband took care of it. And me? I went right back to sleep. Thanks, Lord!
So, this place is lovely and I am delighted and blessed to live here!! I have learned to coexist with little crawly things. But a Gil Grissom (the passionate entomologist of CSI) I will never be. But if a few squirmy, unattractive, shudder-inspiring bugs are the price we gotta pay to live here, we get the better end of the deal. By far.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Being Goldilocks
Everyone knows the story of Goldilocks - the entitled little girl with no social skills or respect for boundaries. She seemed hard to please, and was only satisfied when she helped herself to the property of one smaller than her, and even when she settled on chair, porridge, and bed, the satisfaction was fleeting - the chair broke, the porridge bowl emptied, and she was rudely awakened and chased from the comfy bed. Personally, I see things a different way...
I have been known to be a Goldilocks from time to time. In fact, if most of us were being honest about ourselves, we would see those same elements in us. Oh, not the breaking-and-entering element, or help-yourself-to-another's-stuff, but that part of us which is hard to please. There is a sort of innate discontentment, and a realization that satisfying things are not satisfying forever. And that is a good thing.
Don and I are living in a lovely beach bungalow right smack dab next to the ocean. Sometimes, the sound of the surf is so loud, it's hard to hear our conversation. We watch the sunsets over Lanai very evening and see the pink clouds of sunrise every morning. We see turtles, rays, and even a shark once, as they cruise by. It's beyond amazing. Yet... there are issues. SInce it is a vacation rental, it has taken some abuse. The water pressure is low. The kitchen is not fully stocked with cooking stuff. There is not a single window covering - which would not be an issue except that there are two men living on the same property. But most importantly, it's not home. You know, home - that place that makes you just sigh the day's woes right out as you fall into the sofa that has your tush memorized. It's that place that has your artwork on the wall, your dishes in the cupboard, and pictures of your loved ones everywhere. It's where you feel safe, it's where you belong.
I look at this life the same way. The planet is full of so many beautiful things: mountains and plains and rivers and oceans. Creatures that swim, fly, crawl, run, sing, chirp, and are covered with feathers, scales, wrinkled skin, and shimmering fur. There are babies and weddings and symphonies and ballgames. There is so much good with this place. Yet... there are issues. There are tragedies every day. People treat each other badly. There are wars. There is evil. But above all, it just isn't home. We who are Christians know that our Heavenly Father is preparing a place for us that makes this place look (to quote Pastor Miles McPherson) "ghetto". If I find myself too content here, I may stop seeking Him and His kingdom - the same as if we find ourselves too content in this beautiful bungalow, we may not continue to search for a long-term home as we should.
So, I will continue to enjoy all this bungalow - and life - has to offer, but still embrace my inner Goldilocks...
I have been known to be a Goldilocks from time to time. In fact, if most of us were being honest about ourselves, we would see those same elements in us. Oh, not the breaking-and-entering element, or help-yourself-to-another's-stuff, but that part of us which is hard to please. There is a sort of innate discontentment, and a realization that satisfying things are not satisfying forever. And that is a good thing.
Don and I are living in a lovely beach bungalow right smack dab next to the ocean. Sometimes, the sound of the surf is so loud, it's hard to hear our conversation. We watch the sunsets over Lanai very evening and see the pink clouds of sunrise every morning. We see turtles, rays, and even a shark once, as they cruise by. It's beyond amazing. Yet... there are issues. SInce it is a vacation rental, it has taken some abuse. The water pressure is low. The kitchen is not fully stocked with cooking stuff. There is not a single window covering - which would not be an issue except that there are two men living on the same property. But most importantly, it's not home. You know, home - that place that makes you just sigh the day's woes right out as you fall into the sofa that has your tush memorized. It's that place that has your artwork on the wall, your dishes in the cupboard, and pictures of your loved ones everywhere. It's where you feel safe, it's where you belong.
I look at this life the same way. The planet is full of so many beautiful things: mountains and plains and rivers and oceans. Creatures that swim, fly, crawl, run, sing, chirp, and are covered with feathers, scales, wrinkled skin, and shimmering fur. There are babies and weddings and symphonies and ballgames. There is so much good with this place. Yet... there are issues. There are tragedies every day. People treat each other badly. There are wars. There is evil. But above all, it just isn't home. We who are Christians know that our Heavenly Father is preparing a place for us that makes this place look (to quote Pastor Miles McPherson) "ghetto". If I find myself too content here, I may stop seeking Him and His kingdom - the same as if we find ourselves too content in this beautiful bungalow, we may not continue to search for a long-term home as we should.
So, I will continue to enjoy all this bungalow - and life - has to offer, but still embrace my inner Goldilocks...
Monday, November 1, 2010
If you will permit me...
...I would like to speak to those who think that living in Hawaii means retirement, semi-retirement, or just generally a life of leisure (and you know who you are!!)
The number of visitors we have here are testament to the siren call of the beaches and sunsets, and we were happily included in those numbers for many years. But it behooves us (isn't that a great word!?!??!) to remember that people live and work and have to pay bills here. They run the airport, rent the cars, and check you into the hotel room. They clean your room, serve your coffee, sell you souvenirs, clean your golf clubs, rent your snorkel gear, captain your cruise boat, and explain how to use the gear you just rented. Along with the good people who deal directly with visitors, we still have many who clean the parks, teach the kids, take care of the sick, pack groceries, wash cars, preach the Gospel, and yes, even sell real estate. So, before you think again that living here is all mai tais, suntans and lotus blossoms without having to work, please reconsider.
Although, having said that....there is something to be said for having a day off that is a Maui vacation....
The number of visitors we have here are testament to the siren call of the beaches and sunsets, and we were happily included in those numbers for many years. But it behooves us (isn't that a great word!?!??!) to remember that people live and work and have to pay bills here. They run the airport, rent the cars, and check you into the hotel room. They clean your room, serve your coffee, sell you souvenirs, clean your golf clubs, rent your snorkel gear, captain your cruise boat, and explain how to use the gear you just rented. Along with the good people who deal directly with visitors, we still have many who clean the parks, teach the kids, take care of the sick, pack groceries, wash cars, preach the Gospel, and yes, even sell real estate. So, before you think again that living here is all mai tais, suntans and lotus blossoms without having to work, please reconsider.
Although, having said that....there is something to be said for having a day off that is a Maui vacation....
EEEEEE-ticket!!
If you are under forty, you likely have no idea where the term "E-ticket ride" means or came from. No, it has absolutely NOTHING to do with e-tickets for plane rides, baseball games, or movies. It comes from...Disneyland.
In the olden days, Disneyland was not a free-for-all-go-on-every-ride-until-you-drop-from-exhaustion-or-lose-your-cookies amusement park. When you entered the Magic Kingdom, you bought with your admission, a book of tickets for the rides. It was all done by letters A-E. The "A" tickets were those rides that you could take your 96-year-old great-grandmother with the bad ticker on - the carriage ride, a slow walk through Sleeping Beauty's Castle, or perhaps the daring King Arthur's Carousel. "B" tix were those things that you might take your 2-year-old or easily excited relatives from Des Moines on - Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, Casey Junior Circus Train, or the Motorboat Cruise (miniature outboards on a track -you could spin that wheel for days and go nowhere). "C" tickets were pretty awesome in that it began to include rides that the feint of heart (moi) and little kids with their parents could all enjoy and come out smiling at the end (Mad Tea Party being the notable exception) - rides like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, Peter Pan Flight, or my personal favorite, Autopia. "D" tickets were definitely popular - Rocket Ships, Skyway, and still more rides for Granny, the big boats Columbia and Mark Twain. "E" tickets were the primo, popular, gotta-do-'em rides -not all of them thrill rides, but all with an element of WAAAAAAA. Like all things precious, there were fewer of the higher tickets than the lower. In fact, you could see folks bargaining for an "E" ticket with a couple of "C"s and a stack of "A"s. It was quite common to leave at the end of the day with a stack of the lower ones. But the "E" ticket was synonymous with a stomach-lurching, eyeball-popping, sometimes terrifying ride.
This has been our life - particularly in the last couple of months.
Since we learned that we would have to move, with no place to move to, it has been nothing short of the consummate "E" ticket experience. With only a few days left in September, and having no idea where to live, God provided us with this oceanfront bungalow. It's only temporary, however, so we are still searching for a long-term solution. In the meantime, we were still praying for some business for Don. A few days after moving in, someone called wanting to by the convertible. Sold!! While I was sad to see her go, I knew that God had His plan in motion. And I got to bring my jeep here! A few days after that, Don got a business lead which took us to the Big Island. Had we not sold my car, we would not have been able to do that. God is indeed good! So, our week over there turned into nearly two weeks with me doing research on properties and assembling materials for the clients and Don researching everything else and e-mailing the clients before they arrived. He was working nearly 12-14 hours a day! Goodness. Our only nod to touristy stuff was a morning ride on the Atlantis Sub. But the house was found and after some negotiations, the deal was struck!! PRAISE GOD!! More paperwork for Don. Of course, now we wait for escrow to close as Don prepares for his next clients (due in this week), and look for a long-term home. It's still nutty and crazy and full of nerve-wracking lows and breathtaking highs. And while, at times, we wish we could be back on the Main Street Carriage ride, we need to remember...
"E" tickets are the most coveted and desired of all the tickets!!
In the olden days, Disneyland was not a free-for-all-go-on-every-ride-until-you-drop-from-exhaustion-or-lose-your-cookies amusement park. When you entered the Magic Kingdom, you bought with your admission, a book of tickets for the rides. It was all done by letters A-E. The "A" tickets were those rides that you could take your 96-year-old great-grandmother with the bad ticker on - the carriage ride, a slow walk through Sleeping Beauty's Castle, or perhaps the daring King Arthur's Carousel. "B" tix were those things that you might take your 2-year-old or easily excited relatives from Des Moines on - Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, Casey Junior Circus Train, or the Motorboat Cruise (miniature outboards on a track -you could spin that wheel for days and go nowhere). "C" tickets were pretty awesome in that it began to include rides that the feint of heart (moi) and little kids with their parents could all enjoy and come out smiling at the end (Mad Tea Party being the notable exception) - rides like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, Peter Pan Flight, or my personal favorite, Autopia. "D" tickets were definitely popular - Rocket Ships, Skyway, and still more rides for Granny, the big boats Columbia and Mark Twain. "E" tickets were the primo, popular, gotta-do-'em rides -not all of them thrill rides, but all with an element of WAAAAAAA. Like all things precious, there were fewer of the higher tickets than the lower. In fact, you could see folks bargaining for an "E" ticket with a couple of "C"s and a stack of "A"s. It was quite common to leave at the end of the day with a stack of the lower ones. But the "E" ticket was synonymous with a stomach-lurching, eyeball-popping, sometimes terrifying ride.
This has been our life - particularly in the last couple of months.
Since we learned that we would have to move, with no place to move to, it has been nothing short of the consummate "E" ticket experience. With only a few days left in September, and having no idea where to live, God provided us with this oceanfront bungalow. It's only temporary, however, so we are still searching for a long-term solution. In the meantime, we were still praying for some business for Don. A few days after moving in, someone called wanting to by the convertible. Sold!! While I was sad to see her go, I knew that God had His plan in motion. And I got to bring my jeep here! A few days after that, Don got a business lead which took us to the Big Island. Had we not sold my car, we would not have been able to do that. God is indeed good! So, our week over there turned into nearly two weeks with me doing research on properties and assembling materials for the clients and Don researching everything else and e-mailing the clients before they arrived. He was working nearly 12-14 hours a day! Goodness. Our only nod to touristy stuff was a morning ride on the Atlantis Sub. But the house was found and after some negotiations, the deal was struck!! PRAISE GOD!! More paperwork for Don. Of course, now we wait for escrow to close as Don prepares for his next clients (due in this week), and look for a long-term home. It's still nutty and crazy and full of nerve-wracking lows and breathtaking highs. And while, at times, we wish we could be back on the Main Street Carriage ride, we need to remember...
"E" tickets are the most coveted and desired of all the tickets!!
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