No. Calm down. I am not sharing any miraculous/terrifying/disturbing news. I'm just making one of my weird analogies.
If you have ever been pregnant, or are closely associated with a woman who is/has been, you know that the toughest parts are usually the first few months and the slow-moving final weeks. If you were to compress that nine months into five, this would be a good metaphor for our lives. Well...at least in my little mind.
As opposed to being all ecstatic (hopefully!) like when one hears about an impending new life, we were less than delirious with joy when we began this adventure last September after finding out that our lease would not be renewed. It was pretty rough leaving a place that we had called home for a year, and had fallen in love with. Our first temporary spot on the water had its obvious perks, but it had no privacy, things didn't work properly, and there were a few uninvited visitors- ranging from the 2-to-6-legged variety. But we were together, the three of us. When we moved on December 1, we came to this little place. The heart-wrenching part for us was leaving FloJo at a kennel in Upcountry Maui. Of course, she's been having a blast with the owners' kids and her other doggy friends. But I digress. The week we were here before going to the mainland was pretty good - but there were some issues to be sure. But since we were so excited about flying to the mainland to see our loved ones for Christmas, it was easy to overlook the problems.
I can't say that this has continued to be the case.
The warts of this place have gotten bigger and more uncomfortable to deal with - not unlike a pregnancy, but without the cute results. But we do what we can. We got one of those magic foam type mattress toppers since the bed was pretty much rock hard. We have learned to keep an eye on anything that is in the microwave, since this antique's dial for the time doesn't move. At all. We have learned to move around each other in this little space and one bathroom. We've even gotten used to the miniscule clothing storage (who needs big closets when you're on a Hawaiian vacation!?!?) But we can't seem to get past the dark, cave-like feeing of this place. It is in a wing of the building that juts out from the north side of a U-shaped building. Not only does it miss all the sun this time of year, but it is in the shadow of the main building. The results are a dark, rather grim little mood. Our bedroom only has those high up window, because it is on the hallway where tourists and their luggage go clackity-clackity-clackity to their home-away-from-home for the week - and where they leave at 3:00 a.m. to go see the sunrise on Haleakala or return at 2:00 a.m. after indulging in a little nightlife. There is also the hum of the elevators which move happy passengers up and down the building at about, oh, a foot from our headboard...and heads. We even have some kind of fluorescent light droning from....somewhere.
The view of the ocean is only if you're standing on the lanai - not sitting, mind you, only standing. But it has a dynamite view of the alley and loading dock for the resort, and all the accompanying car noises and back-up beep-beeps. It has only the slider on the lanai and a small window in the bedroom in the back, so fresh air is...limited. This is the space in which I write and try to do some business. Considering that my business and my writing all require creativity, and this place is not quite the inspiration-promoting I generally thrive in, I'm not exactly getting tons done. It's not easy, but we do our best.
What offsets all the challenges of this little condo is our proximity to the beach - just down three floors and a beautiful walk through the resort! Don and I have found ourselves getting into some very cool rituals - we go down there most mornings to do our devotional and pray. That is sometimes challenging because it is anything but a quiet place, since it can be quite a thoroughfare of tourists, We'll stay there for a bit and watch whales and just have a beautiful start to our day. In the late afternoon we'll head down for sunset - and another whale show. Before bed, we head down for one last visit with the waves. In all of this, we are driven and compelled to say our praises to God, the inventor of all this beauty.
I have also taken to working down on the beach. There is a lovely young woman who works at the beach/pool activities kiosk that lets me have one of the beach front lounges for free. But don't tell anybody. She doesn't need all you people showing up to ask for a free cabana. Sheesh. Anyway, I'll sit there and make notes and calls and admittedly, seeking creative inspiration from underneath my eyelids. You'd be amazed how that works!
So, back to my pregnancy analogy...or metaphor - take your pick. The last few weeks before the moving, kicking, sleep-robbing beach ball makes his/her noisy, joyful, tear-producing entrance into open air tend to be the most difficult of the average mommy's pregnancy. If we were to extend that to us, we are now in our last three weeks of...gestating. We haven't seen our dog since before December. I haven't seen my paints or laid a brush on canvas since September. But we know that God has already picked the right home for us - He just hasn't told us yet. It's a crazy, exhilarating, stomach-lurching rollercoaster. But God's got our back.
And He still continues to reveal Himself and surprise us. Last week during one of my "workdays" on the beach, I was listening to some Christian music and BarlowGirl came on with "Here's My Life". The quiet opening line is "Once again I've said my good-byes, to those I love most". There was something so powerful, so pointed about this line - and it revealed something to me that blew my socks off and brought my humbly before God. Don and I have always said that what brought us here, is our love for this island, we prayed, and God said "yes." Turns out, I had that backwards. I LOVED my life in San Diego! I loved the weather (except for May-Gray/June-Gloom), the ocean, mountains. We were being blessed by friends in our church and heavily involved in a ministry we loved. And of course, our kids and grandkids who are simply the joy of our existance. As much as I loved Maui, I never wanted to live here. Then God began to change my heart, Don's heart. We became more discontented with the life in San Diego and more in love with the life style and people in Maui. And now, we can't imagine our life anywhere else.
God has chosen us to be here and we are grateful that He has. He knew how hard it would be sometimes. He knew of the trials and challenges. But He blesses us in such a personal way! One particularly rough afternoon was followed by watching a mama humpback and her baby jump over and over again! And just for me (I hope all those other scores of people on the beach appreciated their proximity to me as I was being so blessed, because they got to enjoy the show, too)!
And as crazy as this sounds to any non-believing readers, it's just simply the way it is. And Praise God for that!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Winter (HAHAHAHAHA!!!) Part kolu
Previously on "Denise and Don's Big Adventure - Winter"... Just kidding!! Don't be scared. I'm not going to recap, except to say we were in pouring rain, our awning plastered to the side of the motorhome, and the laundry stranded in the trunk of our rental car. A few days later, we had enough of a break in the rain that we were able to bring laundry in and wrapped presents out - through the front window. Now, that was a sight. This was good because the kids' tree was short on gifts, and on and I were short on clean undies. FIn the meantime, Don had found a repair guy in the area who suggested we call our insurance. yay! He would not be able to fix it in the time we were there (he has since), but he did roll it back up and zip-tied it in place. No joke. Big, strong zip-ties.
The rain was really epic. In fact, there was some pretty serious flooding in So Cal. And HARD rain!! Don and I usually love the sound of rain on our motorhome roof - but this sound was more like being surrounded by about a thousand middle school, rhythmically challenged snare drummers who are jacked up on about a quart of red bull. But it did eventually abate...
We also were all dealing with various mutations and variations of colds and/or stomach bug (hit and run variety). I managed to fight off the worst of my cold, but Don (at this writing) is STILL not rid of it! But as big of a nuisance as it was for us, you can imagine how much fun it was for Kristin with two little ones and rain rain rain. You can visit the mall just so much. Josh was also a little off his feed - sorta. He still managed to eat a pretty good lunch. We know this because a while later, he launched it halfway across the living room. So, now we have Josh crying, Grampy sneezing, coughing and blowing, Kristin taking care of Josh, Kyle and I trying to clean up the toxic spill, and Amber doing her level best to walk in it. And the rain continued. K&K's laundry is out in a little room on the balcony. SInce it was still coming down persians and poodles, Kyle and I just tossed the contaminated towels, rags, and baby blanket out on the balcony. I like to think of it as passive pre-treating, you know...going green....
The real concern was that we had the schedule of a young socialite for the next few days - family gatherings, church services, manic gift opening, and general gluttony - and we didn't know how welcome an entire family of Typhoid Mary's would be. Kristin did end up with a short but nasty bout of the tummy crud, but we were all in fine fettle (exactly what is a fettle and why is it good when it's fine!?!?) by the time the first of the festivities began. Amber really figured out the whole opening-presents-with-my-name-on-them-for-fun-and-profit this year, and by the time it was Christmas morning at Chez K Dalt, she was in a veritable frenzy. Sadly, her daddy was in a different type of frenzy - he got not one, but BOTH bugs. It does not matter how old you are, being sick on Christmas is just wrong. Kyle did his best, but while the rest of us enjoyed a big breakfast in the morning and a big turkey dinner that evening, his Christmas breakfast-lunch-dinner was crackers and Sprite. The efforts to settled his tum-tum met with, shall we say, limited success. ah, well...
The next few days were jam-packed with more stuff, including two more sleep-overs with Amber. She brought her tea set so we could have a tea party, said beverage served with sugar and...cheese. yum. We had another visit to Sea World, then celebrated Uncle John's birthday with Guncle (Uncle Greg), Nana Claire (my mom)...but no Uncle John. He had to work on his birthday, and pretty late at that, so we just had to chowie it up without him. We had a shared and delayed celebration a couple of days later when Josh turned one - a dinner with all the Daltons, tall and small, as well as friend and business partner, Autumn, with her soon-to-be-fiance, Tarkus. Wow. Lotta people. Sadly, that was our last total clan gathering before we headed back to Maui.
Our last day was spent putting the motorhome back in storage, zip-tied awning and all, and have one last afternoon and evening with grandkiddies and their parents. After a minimum of drama getting the coach ready to go, in good shape to be stored, and over to Hemet to its little spot, we had a nice dinner with the K Dalts. We smooched and squooshed the heck out of Amber and Josh, hugged their mom and dad, then off to L.A. to spend the night in a hotel close to LAX, so we had a quick trip for our early flight.
Don and I like to pride ourselves in being smart enough to learn from our mistakes. In this case, we learned from last year's stay at the grimmest Hilton ever to stay at a nice Embassy. This also meant free breakfast. Very cool. Very comfy. I also learned to dress for my destination instead of departure, so I was back in shorts and slippers, ready for travel. But I also had a jacket, so I was being sensible. After a nice night's sleep, we got up - but a bit later than we planned. Not to worry. Still had plenty of time. I was concerned, and thought that since we had the car to return, perhaps we should forgo breakfast, and just get some coffee and a muffin downstairs. No, by gum, Don was determined to have the hot breakfast offered by Embassy. We got our breakfast, and by this time I was getting pretty spazzed - about the passing time but I was also beginning to regret my wardrobe selection as the temperature in Los Angeles was in the low thirties and the large atrium at the hotel was anything but cozy. We finally got out of there and headed for the car rental agency - and time was moving. All this time we had been downing water and coffee - water because we would not be able to take these last three or four bottles of Aquafina onto the plane and coffee, well... because it was free.
We got our car turned in with no drama, and one bus had just left for the airport. Not to worry - another pulled right up. Unfortunately for us - but fortunately for a bunch of others - this generous driver decided to wait for each new person heading for the airport until his bus was full. I know what you're thinking. But the previous bus left with only about four or five folks and there was another bus right behind us for these other people!!! We finally got moving, and by this time we knew we were reeeeally cutting it close. For those of you unfamiliar with LAX, there are about 3,301 terminals, with an equal number of airlines per terminal. The 97 people in the bus with us, I swear were each flying separately as we stopped at every airline and every terminal. Okay. So the math doesn't work. But still. We were the LAST two off the bus after being the first ones on. I realize there is something very Biblical about that, but by this point, we weren't the least little bit interested in scriptural metaphors. Fortunately, the lines to check I weren't long, and we had done the online boarding so all we needed was to check our bags and print our passes. Everything was going nifty - until one of our bags weighed in at 53.4 pounds. Yes, that 3.4 pounds was going to cost us a couple hundred so I had no choice but to redistribute 3.4 pounds - kind of like Price is Right in pounds: higher, lower, lower, higher, oooooh, time is up!! Actually, the guessing wasn't as bad as the contents spilling out onto the airport linoleum. Usually when I pack, all my dainties are neatly folded underneath pants, tops, etc. Usually. But not this time. There for all to see was my undies flying out as my not-even-close-to-calm husband frantically tried to feel his way to 3.4 pounds. I grabbed a pair of shoes and a couple of sweaters, smooshed them into one of the other bags, pushed the dainties back into the larger bag, and all was weighed, tagged, and tossed onto the belt. Don and I breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the security line.
At this point, we were also beginning to do the toity tango as our waters and coffee had pretty much reached the end of their journey through our system. To make matters more interesting, LAX boasts some of the most inefficient and slow security lines we've ever experienced. Now, to be sure, we are anything but jet-setting world travelers, but we have seen enough of security lines to recognize when, just perhaps, things could be better. We were in what looked like a relatively short line, but it was veritable slug in speed. There were only two x-ray machines for the bags, one metal detector, and one rather bored looking TSA agent in front of said detector. Even though t was New Year's Eve, and travel was relatively light, it was still the end of the holiday season and plenty of folks like us were headed home. This was nuts. The line was long enough that there was one of those breaks to allow for traffic to flow through, with a rather grim looking guard to make sure that harried travelers knew that this was not the end of the line - that could be found about 25 people to his right. So, we crawled our way at a slug's pace until we reached the glum guard - and realized that we had neglected to get our boarding passes printed. Yes, really. Sometimes the self-check-in has incompetent people doing the checking-in. Think about it...We told Mr. Guard and he told us that we had better get them. REALLY?!!? We charged over to our ticket agent, but she was busy elsewhere with another agent. At this point, after flashing my undies (in the SUITCASE!!), we weren't concerned about looking like fools. That ship had sailed and was clean over the horizon. So we started waving her down like we were hailing a cab in a rainstorm - and she finally saw us, and helped us get our passes. Back to the line -WHICH HAD NOT MOVED BY A SINGLE PERSON!! The guard let us slide right back in, so now we had passed the break and bean the snakey Disneyland line.
Things were getting hairy. Not only was our departure time getting closer, our toity tango was getting downright manic. A TSA agent came around the lines and asked if anyone had an 8:30 flight. We held up our hands and said that we had and 8:34 departure - to which he replied (not even kidding) "Oh, you're fine. Plenty of time" In what universe is 4 minutes plenty of time to catch a flight at a gate nine miles away?!!? We were also behind a large (about 9 people) family who we heard was going to Mexico City. They had 7 extra minutes. Oh, the luxury of so much extra time. The family reached the front of the line and at this point, about three of them starting giving kisses goodbye to the other six!! And they were some huggy-kissy-smoochy emotional goodbyes!! The agents moved them along, and split them over the two x-rays, so we were still stuck in line. But wait!! They have three more minutes than we do!!! You could also tell that these good people had totally enjoyed their time in SoCal, as every Disney Princess doll, Universal Studios hat, and Sea World stuffed Shamu sort of erupted out of their bags. So we waited...and trotted in place.
Our turn finally came. Remember how I was dressed? (I know. It was many, many paragraphs ago) I quickly slip off my flipflops, put them in the bin with my jacket my jacket, put my camera bag on the belt, and head for the metal detector. This young woman, who had a sort of glazed over expression - until I showed up. She took a double take at my long shorts, tank top, and bare feet and said "Aren't you freezing?" Of course, I am!! Which I told her. In those words. But I told her that this was appropriate for our destination, so she didn't think I was too crazy. Much.
So, now Don and I were now at as much of a sprint as two grandparents with arms full of bags and bladders full of...well, just full. We didn't find our respective potties until the area near our gates. With an agreement to meet at our gate, we reached dashed in. As I exited much more comfortable, I looked for our gate. It was at the faaaaaaaar end of the giant hallway. As a departing traveler, there is a sound that will make your blood run cold and your legs move fast: "Final Boarding for Flight 42, departure for Kahului, Maui. Looking for passengers Dalton, party of two." Oh, lordy lordy lordy. Again, since my dignity had long since vanished, I moved as fast as I could, waving my arms frantically, saying, "It's me! Me! Me!" I made it to the gate - but there was no hubby. I finally see him exit but he isn't moving as fast as he needs to. He doesn't even hear as his name is being called!! He finally sees me waving frantically, and sort of scoots a little faster. But we get there, boarded, carry-ons stored, seat with seat belts fastened and tray tables up.
And then took time to thank God for getting us there on time, for giving us a warm home to return to, and for blessing us with kids and grandkids to miss.
The rain was really epic. In fact, there was some pretty serious flooding in So Cal. And HARD rain!! Don and I usually love the sound of rain on our motorhome roof - but this sound was more like being surrounded by about a thousand middle school, rhythmically challenged snare drummers who are jacked up on about a quart of red bull. But it did eventually abate...
We also were all dealing with various mutations and variations of colds and/or stomach bug (hit and run variety). I managed to fight off the worst of my cold, but Don (at this writing) is STILL not rid of it! But as big of a nuisance as it was for us, you can imagine how much fun it was for Kristin with two little ones and rain rain rain. You can visit the mall just so much. Josh was also a little off his feed - sorta. He still managed to eat a pretty good lunch. We know this because a while later, he launched it halfway across the living room. So, now we have Josh crying, Grampy sneezing, coughing and blowing, Kristin taking care of Josh, Kyle and I trying to clean up the toxic spill, and Amber doing her level best to walk in it. And the rain continued. K&K's laundry is out in a little room on the balcony. SInce it was still coming down persians and poodles, Kyle and I just tossed the contaminated towels, rags, and baby blanket out on the balcony. I like to think of it as passive pre-treating, you know...going green....
The real concern was that we had the schedule of a young socialite for the next few days - family gatherings, church services, manic gift opening, and general gluttony - and we didn't know how welcome an entire family of Typhoid Mary's would be. Kristin did end up with a short but nasty bout of the tummy crud, but we were all in fine fettle (exactly what is a fettle and why is it good when it's fine!?!?) by the time the first of the festivities began. Amber really figured out the whole opening-presents-with-my-name-on-them-for-fun-and-profit this year, and by the time it was Christmas morning at Chez K Dalt, she was in a veritable frenzy. Sadly, her daddy was in a different type of frenzy - he got not one, but BOTH bugs. It does not matter how old you are, being sick on Christmas is just wrong. Kyle did his best, but while the rest of us enjoyed a big breakfast in the morning and a big turkey dinner that evening, his Christmas breakfast-lunch-dinner was crackers and Sprite. The efforts to settled his tum-tum met with, shall we say, limited success. ah, well...
The next few days were jam-packed with more stuff, including two more sleep-overs with Amber. She brought her tea set so we could have a tea party, said beverage served with sugar and...cheese. yum. We had another visit to Sea World, then celebrated Uncle John's birthday with Guncle (Uncle Greg), Nana Claire (my mom)...but no Uncle John. He had to work on his birthday, and pretty late at that, so we just had to chowie it up without him. We had a shared and delayed celebration a couple of days later when Josh turned one - a dinner with all the Daltons, tall and small, as well as friend and business partner, Autumn, with her soon-to-be-fiance, Tarkus. Wow. Lotta people. Sadly, that was our last total clan gathering before we headed back to Maui.
Our last day was spent putting the motorhome back in storage, zip-tied awning and all, and have one last afternoon and evening with grandkiddies and their parents. After a minimum of drama getting the coach ready to go, in good shape to be stored, and over to Hemet to its little spot, we had a nice dinner with the K Dalts. We smooched and squooshed the heck out of Amber and Josh, hugged their mom and dad, then off to L.A. to spend the night in a hotel close to LAX, so we had a quick trip for our early flight.
Don and I like to pride ourselves in being smart enough to learn from our mistakes. In this case, we learned from last year's stay at the grimmest Hilton ever to stay at a nice Embassy. This also meant free breakfast. Very cool. Very comfy. I also learned to dress for my destination instead of departure, so I was back in shorts and slippers, ready for travel. But I also had a jacket, so I was being sensible. After a nice night's sleep, we got up - but a bit later than we planned. Not to worry. Still had plenty of time. I was concerned, and thought that since we had the car to return, perhaps we should forgo breakfast, and just get some coffee and a muffin downstairs. No, by gum, Don was determined to have the hot breakfast offered by Embassy. We got our breakfast, and by this time I was getting pretty spazzed - about the passing time but I was also beginning to regret my wardrobe selection as the temperature in Los Angeles was in the low thirties and the large atrium at the hotel was anything but cozy. We finally got out of there and headed for the car rental agency - and time was moving. All this time we had been downing water and coffee - water because we would not be able to take these last three or four bottles of Aquafina onto the plane and coffee, well... because it was free.
We got our car turned in with no drama, and one bus had just left for the airport. Not to worry - another pulled right up. Unfortunately for us - but fortunately for a bunch of others - this generous driver decided to wait for each new person heading for the airport until his bus was full. I know what you're thinking. But the previous bus left with only about four or five folks and there was another bus right behind us for these other people!!! We finally got moving, and by this time we knew we were reeeeally cutting it close. For those of you unfamiliar with LAX, there are about 3,301 terminals, with an equal number of airlines per terminal. The 97 people in the bus with us, I swear were each flying separately as we stopped at every airline and every terminal. Okay. So the math doesn't work. But still. We were the LAST two off the bus after being the first ones on. I realize there is something very Biblical about that, but by this point, we weren't the least little bit interested in scriptural metaphors. Fortunately, the lines to check I weren't long, and we had done the online boarding so all we needed was to check our bags and print our passes. Everything was going nifty - until one of our bags weighed in at 53.4 pounds. Yes, that 3.4 pounds was going to cost us a couple hundred so I had no choice but to redistribute 3.4 pounds - kind of like Price is Right in pounds: higher, lower, lower, higher, oooooh, time is up!! Actually, the guessing wasn't as bad as the contents spilling out onto the airport linoleum. Usually when I pack, all my dainties are neatly folded underneath pants, tops, etc. Usually. But not this time. There for all to see was my undies flying out as my not-even-close-to-calm husband frantically tried to feel his way to 3.4 pounds. I grabbed a pair of shoes and a couple of sweaters, smooshed them into one of the other bags, pushed the dainties back into the larger bag, and all was weighed, tagged, and tossed onto the belt. Don and I breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the security line.
At this point, we were also beginning to do the toity tango as our waters and coffee had pretty much reached the end of their journey through our system. To make matters more interesting, LAX boasts some of the most inefficient and slow security lines we've ever experienced. Now, to be sure, we are anything but jet-setting world travelers, but we have seen enough of security lines to recognize when, just perhaps, things could be better. We were in what looked like a relatively short line, but it was veritable slug in speed. There were only two x-ray machines for the bags, one metal detector, and one rather bored looking TSA agent in front of said detector. Even though t was New Year's Eve, and travel was relatively light, it was still the end of the holiday season and plenty of folks like us were headed home. This was nuts. The line was long enough that there was one of those breaks to allow for traffic to flow through, with a rather grim looking guard to make sure that harried travelers knew that this was not the end of the line - that could be found about 25 people to his right. So, we crawled our way at a slug's pace until we reached the glum guard - and realized that we had neglected to get our boarding passes printed. Yes, really. Sometimes the self-check-in has incompetent people doing the checking-in. Think about it...We told Mr. Guard and he told us that we had better get them. REALLY?!!? We charged over to our ticket agent, but she was busy elsewhere with another agent. At this point, after flashing my undies (in the SUITCASE!!), we weren't concerned about looking like fools. That ship had sailed and was clean over the horizon. So we started waving her down like we were hailing a cab in a rainstorm - and she finally saw us, and helped us get our passes. Back to the line -WHICH HAD NOT MOVED BY A SINGLE PERSON!! The guard let us slide right back in, so now we had passed the break and bean the snakey Disneyland line.
Things were getting hairy. Not only was our departure time getting closer, our toity tango was getting downright manic. A TSA agent came around the lines and asked if anyone had an 8:30 flight. We held up our hands and said that we had and 8:34 departure - to which he replied (not even kidding) "Oh, you're fine. Plenty of time" In what universe is 4 minutes plenty of time to catch a flight at a gate nine miles away?!!? We were also behind a large (about 9 people) family who we heard was going to Mexico City. They had 7 extra minutes. Oh, the luxury of so much extra time. The family reached the front of the line and at this point, about three of them starting giving kisses goodbye to the other six!! And they were some huggy-kissy-smoochy emotional goodbyes!! The agents moved them along, and split them over the two x-rays, so we were still stuck in line. But wait!! They have three more minutes than we do!!! You could also tell that these good people had totally enjoyed their time in SoCal, as every Disney Princess doll, Universal Studios hat, and Sea World stuffed Shamu sort of erupted out of their bags. So we waited...and trotted in place.
Our turn finally came. Remember how I was dressed? (I know. It was many, many paragraphs ago) I quickly slip off my flipflops, put them in the bin with my jacket my jacket, put my camera bag on the belt, and head for the metal detector. This young woman, who had a sort of glazed over expression - until I showed up. She took a double take at my long shorts, tank top, and bare feet and said "Aren't you freezing?" Of course, I am!! Which I told her. In those words. But I told her that this was appropriate for our destination, so she didn't think I was too crazy. Much.
So, now Don and I were now at as much of a sprint as two grandparents with arms full of bags and bladders full of...well, just full. We didn't find our respective potties until the area near our gates. With an agreement to meet at our gate, we reached dashed in. As I exited much more comfortable, I looked for our gate. It was at the faaaaaaaar end of the giant hallway. As a departing traveler, there is a sound that will make your blood run cold and your legs move fast: "Final Boarding for Flight 42, departure for Kahului, Maui. Looking for passengers Dalton, party of two." Oh, lordy lordy lordy. Again, since my dignity had long since vanished, I moved as fast as I could, waving my arms frantically, saying, "It's me! Me! Me!" I made it to the gate - but there was no hubby. I finally see him exit but he isn't moving as fast as he needs to. He doesn't even hear as his name is being called!! He finally sees me waving frantically, and sort of scoots a little faster. But we get there, boarded, carry-ons stored, seat with seat belts fastened and tray tables up.
And then took time to thank God for getting us there on time, for giving us a warm home to return to, and for blessing us with kids and grandkids to miss.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
"Winter" (chuckle-snort!), Part deux
I guess I should be counting in Hawaiian....but I don't know how.
So, let's move to this past Christmas visit to the mainland, and further evidence that Don and I are the modern day Laurel and Hardy of the travel set.
After last Christmas' lengthy fiasco (with lots of fun and blessings throughout), we made some different choices. Last spring, we moved our motorhome down from Portland to a storage area near Kyle and Kristin's place in Temecula. Pechanga (site of the oh-so-traditional Family Christmas dinner last Christmas) has a beautiful RV park, so that would be our home base. The other thing we opted to do was scoot over there earlier and not stay as long. Well...it was only about five days shorter, but, whatever.
We didn't take the red-eye, but we still arrived pretty late in the evening. Do not ask me what I was thinking when we left warm, lovely Maui, but I was wearing slippers (flipflops) and crop pants. I think I had a sweatshirt or light jacket or something, but it was, to say the least, insufficient. It was about 9:30 by the time we were getting our rental car, but the office was warm and comfy. Unfortunately, there is no valet at car rentals, so we were just told the number of the stall where our car was. We got to our cars designated space, and found there was nothing there but...space. My teeth are chattering by then, and the office building is closed, but Don found someone to go get our car - all the while I stood there guarding our bags, teeth chattering, knees knocking, toes frozen - until our car finally arrived.
The drive from the LAX area to Temecula is more or less a 90-minute drive. Our tummies were still on Maui time, and that fruit and cheese tray on the airplane was a distant memory, so food was very much on our mind. I won't bore you with the gory details, but we were making time on freeways and my husband thought that a Denny's would simply announce itself a mile or so before the appropriate exit. I, however, thought we should, perhaps, look at surface streets, maybe, where there are RESTAURANTS!!! Sooooo....maybe I was just a little hungry and tired and cold and cranky - but that doesn't mean I wasn't right. We arrived in Temecula, still starving, and Don took an exit that had a Jack-in-the-Box. I was desperate at this point, so I was begging him to turn around and go back to Jack. He finally agreed to do a u-turn at the next intersection - which was just across the freeway from our hotel. And thar she blew!! Denny's. By that time, it was about in the low forties, high thirties and the rattling of teeth sounded like castanets played by a flamenco dancer jacked up on half-a-dozen triple espressos as we walked to the front door - but we had warm food and then a warm bed in a warm hotel.
The next day we began our vacation in earnest - seeing grandbabies (and their parents), picked out a Christmas tree, decorating said tree, and just general hanging around. We also picked up the motorhome from storage, but since it was getting a new HD antenna the next day, Don just parked it out front of the hotel. I was still doing a little Christmas shopping, so he decided to relax and have some yummy popcorn. Unfortunately, Don failed to notice that the bag was a mini bag and he set the time for the regular sized bag. By the time I got there, he was opening up all windows in the RV. He pointed to a still smoldering, charred, mini-sized bag of what used to be popcorn resting in the shrubs. I would venture to say that he was making the same panicked sounds he had made almost one year before. And I just cracked up...again. In a bit of a deja vu moment, we had a stench to clear and a blackened microwave to clean. We opened up windows, sprayed febreze, washed out the microwave, and left for the kids' house - Don still muttering, me still laughing...quitely.
The next few days were pretty much bliss. We have now become THOSE people - the grandparenty-types who swoop in and do everything fun! Amber spent the night in the RV with Grammy and Grampy on the eve of our first big adventure: Sea World and ...THE DENTIST!!! Wooo-hoo!! Do we know how to spoil our grandchildren, or what?!!? This first time having a little slumber party with our granddaughter was something we'd been looking forward to since....ummmm...forever. Her mom assured me that Amber loved showers, so I got it nice and warmed up, then plopped my little nakey grandbaby in. Have you seen Jurassic park?? You know the velociraptors that have that ear-piecing shriek as they hunt!?!? Well, that is approximately the sound that emanated from my sweet granddaughter's mouth as the shower streams hit her. After fearing for a moment that I had done something horrible cruel to this child, I realized that she probably liked the handheld shower. Handed her the shower. Crisis ended. We got our girl snuggled in her jammies, read a couple stories, and had to tell her to put her head on the pillow only 2,619 times. In other words, the evening was perfect.
Since it was time for a dental check-up for Don and me, we fit that in on our way to Sea World. This is the same dentist we have had since before Amber's daddy was born, so the dentist and his were really tickled to meet Kyle's progeny. Of course, that meant that Amber needed careful watching while one or the other of us was in the big chair. Grampy went first, so Amber and I sat quietly and read in the waiting room, going in a couple of times to see how Grampy was doing in the big chair (Grampy was verrrry brave!) Then came Grammy's turn for her check-up. As I'm all laid out with the dentist and/or his assistant spelunking in my mouth, I hear our little granddaughter racing up and down the hallways, peering in at me once in a while. AH, well.
Sea World with Amber was a blast! Since it was before the schools were out on break, we pretty much had the run of the place. Amber could go on rides pretty much at will, and as many times in a row as she pleased. This did not work out so well a few weeks later when returned, along with half of San Diego as well as both teams - with their families, boosters and marching bands - that were playing at the Holiday Bowl. But I'm getting ahead of myself. When we left Sea World that afternoon, we had a tired little girl who proclaimed that her favorite thing was the rollercoaster. Of course, she hadn't actually gone on said rollercoaster, but I guess that wasn't an issue since I hadn't been specific enough in my query. A couple of days after that, we did the whole Disneyland trip, with Uncle John coming along. Grampy Don, ever the trouper, drove the motorhome so the gang was all together. Amber finally did get to go on a rollercoaster, but it was just the one in Toon Town. This child is fearless - but not soundless. Grampy, Uncle John, little Josh, and I were hanging out a good couple hundred feet away. Remember that raptor screech I described two paragraphs above?!!? Yeeeeah....that screech. We could hear that over all the crowds and music and rides - but this was a screech and squeal and scream of absolute excitement. Although, I'm not sure that the people on the ride whose ear drums were bleeding appreciated the difference...
A couple of days after Dizzyland, Don and I flew over to Phoenix to take care of some business for his clients/friends, as well as see his family. Somewhere between the Happiest Place on Earth and our first night in our friends' guest bedroom, a bug found its way to Don's head. It found mine the next night. Are you kidding!?!? By the time we got back to Temecula, we were both moderately miserable - but not enough to get in our way of a good time.
While we were gone, the first of what would turn into several days of rain hit, and the Monday after we got back, it was still miserable and mushy. We were going bowling with the K-Dalts, and when we left the motorhome the rain was no more than an annoying drizzle with nary a breath of wind. That changed. We knew that when Don got a call as we were changing into our regular shoes (sadly returning the high-stylin' bowling shoes). The manager of the RV park calling him to say that our awning was now ON TOP of the motorhome! Now, many of you may be unfamiliar with awnings for RV's, but let me assure you - on top of the roof is decidedly not where they belong. The route from bowling to RV Park was not only rainy and blowy, but full of Christmas shoppers trying to get everything done on their lunch hour. Fortunately, I was the one behind the wheel because Don was too busy laying a litter of kitties in the passenger seat. Can't say as I blame him.
As we pulled up to our spot, we could see that the manager did not exaggerate. There it was, plastered on the roof top - and covering the brand new HD antenna. My husband scrambled up the ladder onto the roof, through the rain and the wind and my admonitions to be careful. Threaten a man's electronics, and he is a most valiant and brave knight. Once he got up there, he lifted this extremely heavy swath of wet vinyl and tossed it to the side - much in the same way a petite mother of two can flip over an SUV to save her children. And Don saved the antenna. So this wet, half-ton piece of striped vinyl came over the side, carrying with it - no, not my husband - but the remains of what used to be the frame for the awning. It slapped onto the side of the RV...right over the door. hmmmm... This was a problem. There is a driver's side door, but it Don deemed it too high up for me to get in without risking several broken bones. He climbed up and in, unlocked the door from the inside, then climbed back dow, came over to the awning that was glued to the side of the coach, and pulled it out as far as he could so I could open the door as far as possible. That was about 10-12 inches. My next move was to squeeze in all of me through this opening. Please, as you imagine this....be kind. SO, I was in. Eventually. Keep in mind all of this was happening in a storm where the rain was essentially coming sideways.
After getting wet clothes off and dry clothes on, Don began the process of trying to find someone to repair the awning for less than three body parts and six internal organs. It also occurred to us that we had laundry over at Kyle and Kristin's, which meant that I had to get back out. Out climbed my hubby, and out squoze me as he held out the wet awning in the still pouring rain. A couple hours later, I returned with the laundry - but the rain had not let up one bit, so the clean clothes were essentially going to be held hostage in the trunk of the car until it let up. Too bad we didn't know that it would be three more days until that happened...
This blog is already too long and there is a beach lounge with my name on it. oh, I'm sorry...did I say that - write that, out loud...?!?! Now....I wonder if I have enough sunscreen....??
So, let's move to this past Christmas visit to the mainland, and further evidence that Don and I are the modern day Laurel and Hardy of the travel set.
After last Christmas' lengthy fiasco (with lots of fun and blessings throughout), we made some different choices. Last spring, we moved our motorhome down from Portland to a storage area near Kyle and Kristin's place in Temecula. Pechanga (site of the oh-so-traditional Family Christmas dinner last Christmas) has a beautiful RV park, so that would be our home base. The other thing we opted to do was scoot over there earlier and not stay as long. Well...it was only about five days shorter, but, whatever.
We didn't take the red-eye, but we still arrived pretty late in the evening. Do not ask me what I was thinking when we left warm, lovely Maui, but I was wearing slippers (flipflops) and crop pants. I think I had a sweatshirt or light jacket or something, but it was, to say the least, insufficient. It was about 9:30 by the time we were getting our rental car, but the office was warm and comfy. Unfortunately, there is no valet at car rentals, so we were just told the number of the stall where our car was. We got to our cars designated space, and found there was nothing there but...space. My teeth are chattering by then, and the office building is closed, but Don found someone to go get our car - all the while I stood there guarding our bags, teeth chattering, knees knocking, toes frozen - until our car finally arrived.
The drive from the LAX area to Temecula is more or less a 90-minute drive. Our tummies were still on Maui time, and that fruit and cheese tray on the airplane was a distant memory, so food was very much on our mind. I won't bore you with the gory details, but we were making time on freeways and my husband thought that a Denny's would simply announce itself a mile or so before the appropriate exit. I, however, thought we should, perhaps, look at surface streets, maybe, where there are RESTAURANTS!!! Sooooo....maybe I was just a little hungry and tired and cold and cranky - but that doesn't mean I wasn't right. We arrived in Temecula, still starving, and Don took an exit that had a Jack-in-the-Box. I was desperate at this point, so I was begging him to turn around and go back to Jack. He finally agreed to do a u-turn at the next intersection - which was just across the freeway from our hotel. And thar she blew!! Denny's. By that time, it was about in the low forties, high thirties and the rattling of teeth sounded like castanets played by a flamenco dancer jacked up on half-a-dozen triple espressos as we walked to the front door - but we had warm food and then a warm bed in a warm hotel.
The next day we began our vacation in earnest - seeing grandbabies (and their parents), picked out a Christmas tree, decorating said tree, and just general hanging around. We also picked up the motorhome from storage, but since it was getting a new HD antenna the next day, Don just parked it out front of the hotel. I was still doing a little Christmas shopping, so he decided to relax and have some yummy popcorn. Unfortunately, Don failed to notice that the bag was a mini bag and he set the time for the regular sized bag. By the time I got there, he was opening up all windows in the RV. He pointed to a still smoldering, charred, mini-sized bag of what used to be popcorn resting in the shrubs. I would venture to say that he was making the same panicked sounds he had made almost one year before. And I just cracked up...again. In a bit of a deja vu moment, we had a stench to clear and a blackened microwave to clean. We opened up windows, sprayed febreze, washed out the microwave, and left for the kids' house - Don still muttering, me still laughing...quitely.
The next few days were pretty much bliss. We have now become THOSE people - the grandparenty-types who swoop in and do everything fun! Amber spent the night in the RV with Grammy and Grampy on the eve of our first big adventure: Sea World and ...THE DENTIST!!! Wooo-hoo!! Do we know how to spoil our grandchildren, or what?!!? This first time having a little slumber party with our granddaughter was something we'd been looking forward to since....ummmm...forever. Her mom assured me that Amber loved showers, so I got it nice and warmed up, then plopped my little nakey grandbaby in. Have you seen Jurassic park?? You know the velociraptors that have that ear-piecing shriek as they hunt!?!? Well, that is approximately the sound that emanated from my sweet granddaughter's mouth as the shower streams hit her. After fearing for a moment that I had done something horrible cruel to this child, I realized that she probably liked the handheld shower. Handed her the shower. Crisis ended. We got our girl snuggled in her jammies, read a couple stories, and had to tell her to put her head on the pillow only 2,619 times. In other words, the evening was perfect.
Since it was time for a dental check-up for Don and me, we fit that in on our way to Sea World. This is the same dentist we have had since before Amber's daddy was born, so the dentist and his were really tickled to meet Kyle's progeny. Of course, that meant that Amber needed careful watching while one or the other of us was in the big chair. Grampy went first, so Amber and I sat quietly and read in the waiting room, going in a couple of times to see how Grampy was doing in the big chair (Grampy was verrrry brave!) Then came Grammy's turn for her check-up. As I'm all laid out with the dentist and/or his assistant spelunking in my mouth, I hear our little granddaughter racing up and down the hallways, peering in at me once in a while. AH, well.
Sea World with Amber was a blast! Since it was before the schools were out on break, we pretty much had the run of the place. Amber could go on rides pretty much at will, and as many times in a row as she pleased. This did not work out so well a few weeks later when returned, along with half of San Diego as well as both teams - with their families, boosters and marching bands - that were playing at the Holiday Bowl. But I'm getting ahead of myself. When we left Sea World that afternoon, we had a tired little girl who proclaimed that her favorite thing was the rollercoaster. Of course, she hadn't actually gone on said rollercoaster, but I guess that wasn't an issue since I hadn't been specific enough in my query. A couple of days after that, we did the whole Disneyland trip, with Uncle John coming along. Grampy Don, ever the trouper, drove the motorhome so the gang was all together. Amber finally did get to go on a rollercoaster, but it was just the one in Toon Town. This child is fearless - but not soundless. Grampy, Uncle John, little Josh, and I were hanging out a good couple hundred feet away. Remember that raptor screech I described two paragraphs above?!!? Yeeeeah....that screech. We could hear that over all the crowds and music and rides - but this was a screech and squeal and scream of absolute excitement. Although, I'm not sure that the people on the ride whose ear drums were bleeding appreciated the difference...
A couple of days after Dizzyland, Don and I flew over to Phoenix to take care of some business for his clients/friends, as well as see his family. Somewhere between the Happiest Place on Earth and our first night in our friends' guest bedroom, a bug found its way to Don's head. It found mine the next night. Are you kidding!?!? By the time we got back to Temecula, we were both moderately miserable - but not enough to get in our way of a good time.
While we were gone, the first of what would turn into several days of rain hit, and the Monday after we got back, it was still miserable and mushy. We were going bowling with the K-Dalts, and when we left the motorhome the rain was no more than an annoying drizzle with nary a breath of wind. That changed. We knew that when Don got a call as we were changing into our regular shoes (sadly returning the high-stylin' bowling shoes). The manager of the RV park calling him to say that our awning was now ON TOP of the motorhome! Now, many of you may be unfamiliar with awnings for RV's, but let me assure you - on top of the roof is decidedly not where they belong. The route from bowling to RV Park was not only rainy and blowy, but full of Christmas shoppers trying to get everything done on their lunch hour. Fortunately, I was the one behind the wheel because Don was too busy laying a litter of kitties in the passenger seat. Can't say as I blame him.
As we pulled up to our spot, we could see that the manager did not exaggerate. There it was, plastered on the roof top - and covering the brand new HD antenna. My husband scrambled up the ladder onto the roof, through the rain and the wind and my admonitions to be careful. Threaten a man's electronics, and he is a most valiant and brave knight. Once he got up there, he lifted this extremely heavy swath of wet vinyl and tossed it to the side - much in the same way a petite mother of two can flip over an SUV to save her children. And Don saved the antenna. So this wet, half-ton piece of striped vinyl came over the side, carrying with it - no, not my husband - but the remains of what used to be the frame for the awning. It slapped onto the side of the RV...right over the door. hmmmm... This was a problem. There is a driver's side door, but it Don deemed it too high up for me to get in without risking several broken bones. He climbed up and in, unlocked the door from the inside, then climbed back dow, came over to the awning that was glued to the side of the coach, and pulled it out as far as he could so I could open the door as far as possible. That was about 10-12 inches. My next move was to squeeze in all of me through this opening. Please, as you imagine this....be kind. SO, I was in. Eventually. Keep in mind all of this was happening in a storm where the rain was essentially coming sideways.
After getting wet clothes off and dry clothes on, Don began the process of trying to find someone to repair the awning for less than three body parts and six internal organs. It also occurred to us that we had laundry over at Kyle and Kristin's, which meant that I had to get back out. Out climbed my hubby, and out squoze me as he held out the wet awning in the still pouring rain. A couple hours later, I returned with the laundry - but the rain had not let up one bit, so the clean clothes were essentially going to be held hostage in the trunk of the car until it let up. Too bad we didn't know that it would be three more days until that happened...
This blog is already too long and there is a beach lounge with my name on it. oh, I'm sorry...did I say that - write that, out loud...?!?! Now....I wonder if I have enough sunscreen....??
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
"Winter" (snicker!), Part I
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
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, 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.
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