The North Shore & Waimea Falls

During her planning phase, Ellen found a company that would drive us around the island to see the sights. Renting a car in Hawaii costs almost as much as it does to fly there, so Ellen did some research and found Scott. He is Vietnamese and his real name isn't Scott but he picked the name to prevent people like Chris Union from embarrassing themselves. Scott runs a transportation/tour company of sorts and parked his shiny black SUV outside of our hotel early on Wednesday morning. Scott has a route that he normally takes for folks wanting to visit the North Shore but the Union clan had different ideas. 

So we set out. We asked Scott heaps of questions and each of his answers was more fascinating than the last. We learned that only 52% of people living in hawaii own their homes because a bunch of yankee mainlanders have moved in and pushed the median home price to $950,000. Just to clarify, that's not even a super nice house. That's your run of the mill, 19050's ranch home price. Scott would giggle at our outrage. Scott talked about pineapples, surfers, traffic, shipping, and his childhood in Vietnam. Most notably he told us how they didn't have any money so he and his friends use to play soccer with a grapefruit. "You'd get a few good games out of it," he said. They also tried to play using watermelons but it didn't go well. 

Our first stop was a little beach town where we got coffee and snoballs. Lee got the whole family obsessed with fishing shirts, or shirts made of a waterproof, sunproof material - like a rashguard but thinner and lighter. We scampered across the street to peek into some surf shops. Scott requested a cappuccino and once again, Brett innocently brought two thin bags of coffee beans to a checkout counter and was hit with a $75 bill. He still hasn't learned to check prices first. 

We went on by the Dole Pineapple Plantation where you could see the pineapples growing in the enormous volcanic-soil fields. We made a brief stop at a beach where Scott promised we would see tons of turtles, didn't see a one, and then he dropped us off at Waimea Valley, a botanical garden featuring the Waimea waterfall. The family was surprisingly accepting of a visit to the botanical gardens. Mom and I would surely love it but we can't expect anyone else to want to wander aimlessly through tropical foliage. Au contraire. Everyone was up for it. What with that perfect weather and those exciting plants we don't have at home, a day in the jungle was lovely. I did my best to curb my desire to take picture of every plant. Ellen kept us on a tight schedule-leash, "We're meeting Scott at the car in thirty minutes!" so we hustled to the end of the gardens to see the waterfall. It was surprisingly small and full of swimming tourists. We snapped some quick pictures and then hustled back to the car. 

Next was lunch. Scott dropped us off at a little food truck cluster across from the beach which looked and felt especially Hawaiian. It probably took 45 minutes to get our food and I got a sunburn waiting for it but I think it made it all taste even better. Also, there were roaming chickens enjoying the food truck rodeo so they get added points for cuteness. 

Our last stop of the day was to see Pipeline. It's not prime Pipeline season so the waves weren't a spectacle in themselves but the scene as a whole was very exciting. I imagined the beach filled with thousands of onlookers while surfers from around the world cruise 15 foot waves. Mom got especially excited about it and wants to come back during the appropriate season so she can watch the waves. 

Scott then drove a sleepy Union clan back to Waikiki for naps and snacks. This was the only occasion on the whole trip where Ellen briefly turned on us. It had been a long day and she was done with it. By supper she was back to being cheerful and participating in the conversation. 

Waikiki, Diamond Head & Pearl Harbor

We landed in Honolulu around lunchtime and my excitement levels were off the charts. I love Hawaii. I've been a few times now and there is no place on earth that feels like it. Looks like it, sure, there are a few. But Hawaii has a certain feeling. When I was sixteen I went along with Mom and Dad to the Big Island for a business trip. On one of our days there, we took a treacherous ride down a mountainside (steepest road in the world they say.) (In fact, we had to ride unbuckled with the windows down so that we might be able to leap from the car if they lost control) into a magical valley where there are wild horses and mango trees. There, in the Waipi'o Valley, life suddenly made sense to me. (And subsequently I became a little depressed). 

Point is, I have maintained my awe for the place since that day and will never be convinced there is a more inspiring place on earth. 

Therefore, Monday night, after a brief orientation with our hotel and surroundings, I got real cranky. We all spent our afternoon as the couples we are. Brett and I ventured to a back street and ate a Korean lunch from a hole-in-the-wall restaurant where you order by pointing at a picture and hoping that meat is chicken. Mom and Dad ate at a restaurant near our hotel, and Ellen and Lee ate at The Cheesecake Factory. I was alone in my amusement of the different travel styles of each couple. I did not see my family again that day. Brett and I went to the beach, took naps, and then my mood soured. It's because I was hungry.
"What's everyone doing for dinner?" I texted to our family group chat around 6 pm. My question went unanswered. I waited an hour and finally decided to go on without them. I asked Brett if he was hungry. "A little," he said. 
"Maybe you'll want to eat in another hour. 8ish?" I asked. 
"Sure." So I waited. In the meantime, my family never responded to me. For all I knew, they were at a tiki bar together living it up without me. I sat in our hotel room while Brett watched Youtube videos, and I was mad about it but I didn't say anything. (Choose your battles, kids.) At 8:00 I said, "Alright! You ready to eat?"
"Mmm. I'm not really hungry. I don't think I need dinner," Brett responded without looking up from the screen. All hell broke loose.

"... been waiting two hours! ... didn't come to Hawaii to watch Youtube! ... family won't text me back!!"

I marched across the street to a convenience store and purchased a piece of string cheese and a salad that I ate in a rage on our little balcony. I felt better after I ate and acknowledged that suppertime in Hawaii is midnight at home and maybe dinner didn't seem necessary? 

I found out the next morning that each couple had a similar dinner debacle and we all dined on salads from that convenience store. 

Dad, Ellen, Brett, and I got up extra early to climb Diamond Head, an extinct volcano with some gorgeous views. It's not a tough climb but you do need to pace yourself. In his usual fashion, Dad took on the role as class clown and had us giggling our way up the mountain. 

There were a few overzealous types that were jogging the hike. This seemed entirely unnecessary, what with it being more of an uphill climb than a flat trail, so these folks really tickled Dad. 

"Make way for the jogga!" Dad would shout with a Boston accent, and all the people on the trail would step to the right. Then Dad would giggle. "Make way!" he'd shout again as the jogger dashed by. None of the joggers ever acknowledged his assistance but Dad was quite pleased with himself.

Except for her being real bossy about your schedule, the upside to traveling with Ellen is that she has everything planned out and booked for you before you even know you're going. 

"Ok, we arrive Monday. We have that afternoon to relax. I've gotten Tuesday tickets to Pearl Harbor for Dad, Brett, Mom and Laura. I don't know if Mom and Laura want to go the but the tickets were $7 so I got them. Lee and I aren't interested. We'll use that time for shopping and naps and then we'll all gather for dinner at 6:30. I've got reservations at a local place."

And so we ventured to Pearl Harbor. We stood waiting to take a boat out to the Arizona Memorial and then it was announced that the harbor was "too choppy" to dock at the memorial so they would just be doing a slow drive by. As a veteran cruise ship passenger Mom noted that the waters were certainly calm enough to dock. 

"I've taken tenders through much worse," she declared. The rules were given to us by two Navy dudes. 

"You may not stand up. You may not remove your mask." Forty or so people filed onto the boat and sat on benches not daring to move. 

Petty Officer NoFun said his spiel. "We will be driving by the Arizona Memorial. We will approach from the right. Do not stand up to take pictures. We will arrive from the left on our return. Everyone will have enough time to see it. Please stay seated with your masks covering your nose and mouth. We will take a moment of silence out of respect."

We puttered out into the harbor and then bobbed there a while. Then they spun the boat around in the other direction and we bobbed there too. It was very quiet on the boat. Whether the other guests were disappointed, afraid to get in trouble, or actually taking the the time to mull over the devastation will remain unknown. Dad's feelings however became very apparent when he suddenly blurted, "This tour blows." Mom became nearly hysterical and laughed out loud about this at regular intervals over the next two days.

For Brett and I, afternoons on this trip went to beach lazing. We'd lather up the sunscreen and then sprawl out on those pearly beads of sand. Hawaii has perfect weather. It's hot in the sun, chilly in the shade, and there is always a breeze from the east. For this reason, you can sit on the beach all day without realizing that you've broiled well past medium rare. Brett and I were among hundreds of other pasty mainlanders roasting under a temperate sun. There were so many people on the beach that you just had to accept laying your towel down next to a family of strangers. There was just enough space between people to walk through and any conversation you're having with each other would certainly be heard (if not also participated in) by your sandy neighbors. It sounds awful and if I was at home trying to beach this way, I'd be livid. But here, you accepted it as part of your trip to Hawaii and instead, met your neighboring vacationers and took the family pictures for them and shared drinks and stories. 

On our first beach visit, I convinced Brett that he and I needed pina coladas. So we scampered off towards the pool bar, giggling and pushing each other into the bushes, and we ordered two pina coladas. How wonderfully touristy. Then they gave us the bill. It was $40. Those were the last fruity drinks we had on the whole trip. 

Just as planned, Ellen walked us through the mean sunlit streets of Honolulu to a little restaurant down an alley and up some stairs where we had a tasty (albeit unrecognizable) Hawaiian supper. During this meal, we mostly laughed at Dad and Lee for assorted reasons. Brett sat quietly in the corner of the table consuming all food that was passed his way. As we prepared to leave, Ellen and Lee posed for a photo. 

A Vegas Stopover

Ellen loves Las Vegas. She loves the energy, the luxury, and the oozing riches to be found. I personally abhor the place. It's not the substance abuse, gambling, and naked people that I can't stand. It's the crowds, prices, and incessant dinging and bopping from machines lit by a neon glow. I hate when you're walking along in a mob of people and the person in front of you suddenly stops and you crash into the back of them. I hate being touched by the corners of stranger's shopping bags or their sticky children. I hate when I think I'm talking to Brett but when I turn my head, someone else is there and he's five people back being swallowed by the mass. 
I'm also still mad that a half quesadilla cost me $20. 

The family stopped in Las Vegas for two days on our way to a tropical vacation. We needed to take break from staying home and watching the news. Lee had never been to Vegas, so he and Ellen dropped Olivia off with her grandparents, and they set out a day early to experience the madness. I don't know much about what went on until the rest of us arrived the next day. Mom, Dad, Brett, and I climbed aboard a flight full of drunken partiers and flew to Vegas. We got a car to take us to the hotel and while we sat in the back, musing about the flight, our driver pulled off the main road, parked in a nondescript lot, and then jumped out of the car, heading for the door to back seat. In the time it took me to think, "He's going to kill us," Mom exclaimed, "This is some kind of mob hit!" which only served to confirm my suspicions. He opened the door next to Dad and we all looked at the driver like frightened children. I thought to lunge across Dad's body, to protect him from the bullet, but I was worried I'd embarrass myself. 

"You want anything from the liquor store?" the driver asked a befuddled Dad. Turns out it's part of this company's schtick to get champagne for its dimwitted passengers. 

I've been to Vegas a few times and each visit has felt like a mandated survival mission. Too many sounds and smells and sights. I feel overwhelmed, as well as oddly concerned that someone will stick me with a heroine needle if I pass too close. Brett told me that's preposterous because no one would waste their heroine on a stranger, but it did nothing to soothe my concerns. While we were here, we mostly all just wandered around and then gathered for suppers. We had some great meals, filled with gut-busting hilarity. 

One day, while the gals went for afternoon tea, 

the fellas went for Top Golf. 

Ellen, Dad, and Brett took to a game of Craps while Lee became fixated on a couple across the table. Lee was convinced the woman was a hooker. "I've never seen one in real life!" he declared. Lee really studied her. "Her shoes. They're high but not obvious." I took in his musings. "The nails. What do you think?" There was no real cause to accuse the woman of such an existence. Sure, they didn't really act like a close couple, but they were both dressed nicely, and played a polite few rounds of Craps. Hookers don't have time for that. But before I knew it, Lee had convinced me too and we did our best to watch without staring. We'll never know the truth. 

On our last night, as we walked the strip to a tasty Italian restaurant, we walked by a man that had passed out, face-down on the sidewalk. While my family tried to convince me that he just drank too much and didn't make it back to his hotel, I was certain he was dead. I watched for a rising inhale but never saw one. 
"He's just sleeping. He's in that comfy position!" Mom said. 

My family strolled on past this helpless, sick human to make it to their next hearty meal. Meanwhile I endured mental turmoil, wanting to help such a person or call an ambulance but also not touch him (in case of needles) or experience anything unpleasant. I expressed my concern. 

"Lu, the guy made a lot of bad decisions to get to that place."
"Oh, he'll wake up and go home. Don't worry about him."
"I'm sure he's done this many times."

These are the things my family told me while they slurped down decadent noodles and fish so pristine it need not be cooked. "That's someone's baby," I said in response to my family as they glugged sparkling water and cleansed their palates with fruit. I worried about that guy all night. My family had a great time but that dead man on the sidewalk really ruined my meal.

If you're wondering about that whole deadly virus bit, Covid doesn't come to Vegas. Everyone knows that. There's a bubble of sinful fumes around Vegas that keeps out anything that could change its ways. Folks were supposed to wear masks indoors but only about half did. People were supposed to maintain their six feet of clearance but no one did. We heard lots of people complaining about the masks, and the hand sanitizing stations were nearly ignored. I decided we were all going to come home with covid. 

On Monday morning, we all woke up at 4:00am, shimmied into our duds, and hopped on a plane to Hawaii.

Springtime on Black Pig Farms

 

So many beautiful goodies are blooming. I can tell I'm turning into a real adult because of how thrilled I am by the new life and growth. I don't think I've ever been more attentive to the goodness. Is calling it a miracle too much? How is everyone everywhere not beside themselves about it? Here is a collection of pictures I took of our place over the last two weeks.

We have finally taken control of the dirt patch, that propane tank burial ground. We laid some sod, watered it bunches, and now it's all thick and green. We're real tickled about it. 

And here's my favorite Spring view. Mom calls this lot across the street a "park-like setting" and we look forward to it's azaleas every year.