Delta Flight 1175

I had an interesting flight from Salt Lake to L.A. 

Upon boarding, I see one of my best friends parents sitting in the front row. I stop to talk for a bit, running through a quick 5 minute Q&A session on the latest of their growing family and the constant inconsistencies of mine, before I get herded to the back as the flight attendant was preparing for takeoff. 43F, a window seat, is where I plopped down, surprised that I had the whole row to myself. Hell yes. Nothing is better than a window seat when departing from Salt Lake City. The sky was clear and crystal blue with the Wasatch range, perfectly blanketed in white, in sight...obstacle free.

But the euphoria only lasted seconds as I see an older couple rushing on board and hustling to my side. The man looked warm. Not kind and adorable, but literally warm, hot...not cold. He was dressed in a purple flannel and plaid button up which covered a very high white turtleneck. His mustache was neatly trimmed and highlighted his thinning chin strap. I immediately noticed he was a strong nose breather.  I bet he is a sweat-er. I started sweating just watching him stow his baggage.

His wife, followed closely behind him and looked like she had spent too many years in the direct gaze of the sun. She was prematurely wrinkly, a vision that was an immediate motivation to up my SPF dosage. Her hair was sculpted into a messy half ponytail and rainbows glittered against the cabin ceiling as light reflected off her blingin' jewels, I only imagined they were weighing her hands down tremendously.

Before the two even had their seat belts fastened, the arguing began.

"William! I can't believe that you would say something like that to me! I am not mean, I am not even rude to you and you talk to me like that! After all that bullshit we just went through. You are lucky that I am as patient as I am."

"Oh don't give me that! I needed to send that email. It was my project and you just can't help sticking your nose into my business! You nosy little twit."

Their voices were loud. So loud that I couldn't even hear the announcements over the speaker. I pretended to read my magazine... 

"You spent 4 goddamn hours trying to send that shit. On dial up? Had you sent it from AOL, it would have gone through and that is all I was suggesting. Any person on earth, in fact you ask anyone on this plane and I am positive they would have told you to try AOL. After 4 goddamn hours! And I can't believe your behavior at the party last night. You were not nice to me!"

"Well, I was merely giving you feedback. You wouldn't shut up about your birthday and I know the guests were sick of you. No one will come over anymore if you pull that shit."

"Sick of me! No, they were sick of your negativity!"

"My negativity! Give me one example of my negativity!"

"Ok, how about the time you...."

And so it went for 1 hour. They seemed to have no qualms that they were screaming at each other in the company of a full flight. I wondered if they felt awkward with strangers all up in their business or if this is just how they argue; in public. Often their 'discussion' turned muffled when William would address his not-so-stable wife face-to-face and I couldn't quite make out what they were bantering about. After the first fifteen minutes, I was over the annoyance and had moved onto the intrigue. I wanted to get to the bottom why she was so mad at William. Why was William so annoyed with her behavior? Was she Bipolar? So I slumped a bit and inched my ear closer to the nucleus. 

"Example #2, you wanted examples boy, so I am giving them to you. Example number two is you never acknowledge when you are wrong. You always think you are right which just isn't true."

The heat in her voice was ablaze. Although his was loud, he remained calm and collected. And she just kept going...

"We wasted all day so you could send that slow ass email. Your mother was irate...we were 6 hours late to her house! Imagine how she felt!"

William just stared straight ahead, a blank look in his eyes. I speculated that this was his meditation pose, tuning out the screeching voice.

"Example number 3...You never validate the positive things I suggest. I have good ideas too you know."

William finally clues in...and rebuttals.

"Let me tell you something. You don't let people finish their thoughts. You talk and talk and talk but you never let others pitch in. It is an aspect I can not stand about you. You need to listen when others speak."

I couldn't agree more! Stop cutting him off! I suddenly was on team William. I could sense the hurt in her face, this had struck a nerve. 

"This is the only constructive criticism I have heard William..."

A few moments pass. William reached into the pocket of his seat and pulled out two wrapped chocolate chip cookies. He handed one to his wife and they both stripped the plastic off their treat slowly and silently. I needed to use the bathroom but didn't want to disturb the first moment of peace since boarding so I patiently waited. Then when William popped the last bite into his mouth, I turn to make my move.

"Would you mind terribly if I snuck out?", I said getting my first eye contact with the couple. 

"I wouldn't mind at all," he smiles.

I expected them to stand up and move to the side, like normal people, but they simply shifted their hips and legs to the left. I half chuckled as I assumed they would move no further. Really? But I am old? I wondered if I would ever outgrow this maneuver, stepping over adults, using the armrest and seats as props as if I was in a playground. I glided into the aisle and scooted to the lavatory, luckily without a roundhouse kick to one of their faces.

When I returned, again I expected an attempt to make my re-seat easy, but they remained still. My right leg lifts high into the air as my cowboy boot gently lands in the small crevice aside Williams left leg. I reach my arms forward and in a rock-climb grasp, I grip the plastic knobs that decorate the ceiling. My other leg shortly follows as I stealthily make my way back to the beloved window seat, my knees bundled to my chest. Williams face lights up and asks if I am a real life cowgirl.

I didn't know what to say. Eww William. What a weird question. Suddenly, I no longer cared who won the fight. You are on your own buddy.

And as if my bathroom break had been the consolation they needed, William and the wife whose name was never mentioned (or screamed rather) were carrying on a civil conversation.

"Do you remember where we parked? I hope the keys didn't fall out of my bag,"she grins. 

"Yeah, I think it is in lot B." His fingers now tapping her knee instead clenched tight in a fist.

She hadn't finished eating her cookie and as she nibbled on the corner of it, I saw her break a little piece off and pass it to William, the very man who thinks she talks too much. He took it graciously and even leaned his head into her shoulder.

As I glanced out over the glowing red rock that surfaced the rocky hills of California, I smiled thinking how funny it is to witness the worst and best moments of complete strangers. These people were no doubt strange, and as William tried to carry on more conversation with me, his bizarreness grew. I even smelled something offensive in his breath and a chill covered my skin as his exhales forcefully left his nostrils. But, it made me appreciate how easily they were willing to put the negative and annoying antics behind them. Good idea. I thought. Leave that baggage behind, leave it in the past...at least for the remainder of this flight.

An appropriate perspective, I think, as we fly into a brand new year...

Mele Kalikimaka...

Life is far too short to spend time away from the people you love the most. In good holiday cheer...I unexpectedly crashed the Christmas party.

Surprise Jules!

The siblings didn't even know...

"I'll be hommmme forrrr Chrissstmassssssss...You can count on meeeeeeee"

I hope you are all finding warmth this chilly season. As they say on the island...

Mele Kalikimaka

me ka Hau'oli Makahiki Hou

The Good Life

Life on the island...

I wake up each morning to the sound of birds forcefully chirping in my ear. It is a nice change to that of the annoying alarm clock we all dread. I roll over from my most comfortable side-lying, fetal position and peek one eye open...slowly followed by the other. Rays of sunshine beg to filter through the blinds and I suddenly realize I am being bathed in a pool of golden beams. I gaze outside to see whispers of clouds dance over the hills, sneaking from one side of the island to the other. I take a few deep breaths and watch the trees bend to the rhythm of the trade winds, enthralled that their limber limbs don't snap in half. Both my smile and arms stretch as I race out of bed to greet the sunrise and the fresh morning air.

I sit on the front porch and lace up my no-longer-supportive sneakers promising my knee and ankle joints only a few more miles on these bad boys and then I will replace them. The walk down the hill pales in comparison to the agony that is endured when making the ascent, but nonetheless, it is taxing. I walk down backwards, forward in zigzags, and sometimes I eve

n bear crawl so as not to wear down my joints and plummet face first to my death. It is all worth the struggle because this is where I go... 

Mana Road...for miles and miles

Mana road winds and curves and turns throughout breathtaking country landscape. It is a labyrinth of incredible views that border the mighty Mauna Kea. I could easily forget that I am walking...as I inch my way farther along this half-paved/half-dirt path that leads into a fantastical wonderland. One day, I walked (without a single pause) for four straight hours, fearing that if I turned around prematurely, I would miss out on a sight even more stunning, even more brilliant. I wanted each bend in the road to offer more so that I could open my arms and cradle it. It feels so real as it lays right in front of me...but still fake enough...with its untouchable dignity. Finally, my hips give in and I am forced to make the trek back to civilization. Even the thirst in my throat and the uneven tan lines from my t-shirt can't get me to turn around...it is always the ache in the joints that force the return. The hundreds of roaming cows silently stalk my walk, I am sure they are confused and bedazzled at this bandanna-wearing speed walker they see each morning...

And of course I have the ascent to look forward too.

I stand at the bottom of the hill, level with the stop sign. My body is steady but my head is arched up in order to see the top. If I don't think about the pain, if I muscle through the fatigue, if I breathe in and out in sync with my strides, it really isn't that bad. When I concentrate on the burning in my lungs and the stitch in my side...I notice I slow down. So, without further ado, I jolt light a lightening bolt. I stare at my feet and focus on my breathing. 

Hundreds of seconds pass and I glance at the house I want to buy....

FOR SALE

...and I tell myself that as soon as I can stay working for longer than three months, I will start saving some money to make my first down payment...and I will paint the trim red maybe?

Each day I count my progress in mailboxes. The first green one, the second green one, the third black one, the last gray one, and finally, all at once...the blue house and the fence made of lava that marks the official end. I will defeat this hill in one long stride...even if it takes me all December long. I stumble back into the house and gulp some water as I try to suck more oxygen into my bloodstream. I brew some tea and sit in the African Hut that stands like a palace in the front yard. (I hope Susan and Marius don't mind when I sneak away the blue prints for my new house down the street...it will be a neighborhood of African Huts.)

I have really good friends and one really good cousin so during my month long stint here on the island, I will have three sets of visitors. The first pair...The (soon to be) Fords.  Ashleigh, one of my closest friends from Northwestern...a fellow baby deliverer...and her fiance Ben came for a little post-engagement tropical getaway. Here you see us posing in front of a very weak Rainbow Falls. So weak, that I decided to sit right in front of the trickle that leaked down the mossy cliff. We all need to be honest with ourselves and realize that Ben only asked Ashleigh to marry him to get closer to me...it has never been a secret, we have known it all along. So from the whole Ford gang...Happy Holidays! This is our family photo.

Just moments before this snapshot, the three of us ducked our way into a 25 mile lava tube that stretches across the dormant lava field just north of Hilo....with only one single flashlight. Ashleigh flicked the light off to give us a taste of how it would feel if the batteries were to go dead. Pitch black, stale air blanketed my skin and a chill ran down my spine. Had the light really died on us, I was certain I would never see the sun again. Oh, but it didn't stop us from going further. We wanted to see how far back we could get and were blown away with how incredible lava tubes are. It is a coal colored tomb of  kryptonite.

Just in the mood to climb everything these days...

Much to Ben's dislike, Ashleigh and I had our noses deep into the Twilight series, a four book series that tells a story of vampires and star crossed lovers. For a Mormon author and high school level make-out scenes, it really does have me in a tight head lock. I have been roped! I told myself that I would allow for the guilty pleasure of reading the first one on the long flight over here, but not a second longer. I had intentions of diving right into the plethora of National Geographic magazines that Susan and Marius collect. I even tried to convince myself that studying for the GRE would happen. Butttt, we got lucky and found the second book New Moon on sale for very cheap. So much of our beach scenes looked like this...

Edward...I would love it if you would just bite me already.

A week came and went and The Fords hopped a flight back to snowy Chicago while my good friend Annie was making the exact reverse commute. She was leaving the freezing Midwest heading towards the best vacation of her life.

Annie and I are good friends from my days at DePaul University. We laugh at the same things and enjoy ourselves a good blueberry smoothie, but our ideas of vacations differ greatly. Where as I love to hike down into things, only to be excited about hiking back up, Annie likes to drive to them leisurely. And where Annie thinks nothing would be cooler and sexier than getting a lounging tiger colorfully tattooed onto her left thigh, I couldn't be more frightened with any other activity. So, our worlds of vacations meshed and this is what we came up with.

Playing in tide pools and watching sea turtles glide through the silky water. Forgetting towels at the beach thus drip-drying in the hot sun while observing an obese family from Texas fight over the one shower. One day, we saw this tiny little surfer and I told Annie that I can't wait to have a daughter so that I can make her be cute and make her surf. Annie asks if we can go to a luau and I tell her no because the first (and last) luau I attended was when my Dads' 1918 Knucklehead Harley Davidson was stolen from the cane fields on Oahu. The Mai Thais are weak and they rarely have vegetarian options. "But I want to see Hula Dancers and Flame Throwers," she whines.

Tiny Surfer

I ignore her while I strike up conversation with a very attractive local, who is carrying a long board and a paddle. He explains this hobby of 'paddle boarding' to me (where you stand tall on the floating, elongated plastic and paddle, sort of like the canals of Venice) and my intrigue extends beyond his perfectly sculpted biceps and brown wavy hair. In my head I ponder how he would be a perfect addition to my tiny surfing family and just the essential ingredient for my soon-to-be surfing children. In a bold move that only humid air can induce, I write my number on old receipt and slip it under his windshield wiper. (workin' it...you go girl) I hope that he calls me for a lesson on the open seas. Annie hopes that, on the side of extreme sports, his job includes dressing in hula skirts and tossing balls of fire, so that maybe he could sneak us into one of his weeknight showings.

The clouds part ways and Thursday marks a perfect night for star gazing on top of a world famous Observatory so we head toward the moon. Mauna Kea beckoned for us to reach its peak while the sun slowly disappears into the grasp of the Pacific. This was one hill Annie didn't mind climbing. The reward was worth the later felt butt cramps. 

The rooftop of the Hawaiian Islands

Eventually I broke down. Tis the season I thought. When else would Annie get to see her tribally tattooed men squat while bravely juggling sticks enfuego? To the luau.

We did some research and found one that apparently claimed to be worth the $60. Set on the beautiful Kona shoreline, we stood in line behind old men donning Hawaiian shirts, mid-calf white socks and sandals. I scanned my fellow audience and noticed that we were perhaps the youngest attendees...by at least 20 years. Hope your happy with your stupid Luau Annie. How will we ever drink spiced rum and flirt when these are our options?!

We filed in and were lei-ed with the typical shell necklaces that were more plastic than authentic. We were shuffled towards a man wearing a Santa Hat who snapped a photo awkwardly posing. "People think we are lesbians. Especially because of your yellow dress and short hair," I whisper. We head straight for the 'open bar'. 

Ross, short for Rosbel, was our stout Samoan bartender for the evening. He told us that he would intensify our drinks if we wanted. I quickly slid my dixie cup in his direction knowing that they would have to be a bit stiffer in order for me to make it through the ultra-70's out Japanese M.C. We double-fisted our sweet, pineapple infused cocktails to our table and nestled in next to our retired Tommy Bahama-loving crew. After a long day in the sun, and a bit dehydrated, and pretty hungry, I found myself slurping the sugary drinks at rapid speed. Twenty minutes into the annoying "Alllllllooooooohaaaaaa!", I was slightly drunk. I needed food.

The crowd gathered around the Imu, which is the traditional Hawaiian pig roasting pit. After the slaughtering and slicing, the corps of meat is dumped into a hole, covered in banana leaves, and covered with burning lava rocks. It is left to slowly simmer. Two men in red Ferrari mumus unearthed what would be our dinner. I sat and watched as they unburied the porkster, completely gutted and spread eagle. People clapped and cheered while my stomach churned. At this point I had loosely wrapped my shell necklace around my forehead, Rambo style (maybe the effects of rum?) because I was bothered by the long droopiness of it. Looking nauseous and very grossed out by the pig picture I turned to find a 70-year old man winking and smiling at me. Ugh, luaus suck. I felt the gag reflex nearby. 

But then the flame throwers came out and everything terrible vanished. My eyes wouldn't dare blink in fear that I would miss something amazing. It was mesmerizing. The dancers were graceful and, if just for a second, I stopped thinking about what a waste of money this was. I was happy for a few moments...with my coconut-desert thing and my tropical entertainment.

And as if on cue, when the show was over and the curtain drawn, my stomach felt the effects of the pork that I forced myself to try. It was all crashing down on me; the sugary rum, the faux coconut, the meat that hasn't touching my stomach in years, the lack of water in my system. At first the spasms were light and sporadic, but as we walked to the car, they increased with both intensity and frequency. I knew betttttter, I thought...as I hugged the porcelain throne that night. Annie wasn't feeling so hot either. Luaus = not a good idea.

The views of Mauna Kea brought us back to life though and my love for all things Hawaiian was reinvigorated. I could get used to this.....

A sweet life...

The scene of Sustainability

                                                            

Let me set the scene for you...

The house is a quaint blue cottage nestled in the charming ranch town of Waimea, not too far from Kona, on the Kohala coast of the Big Island. More curvy than coastal, it is a haven of rolling hills and when I stand at the top of the large mound on which this house is perched, I look out to the great Mauna Kea, a dormant volcano that lingers a hefty 13,000 feet above sea level. Atop this mountain lies one of the worlds most respected observatories, where the night sky is aglow with the sight of every star in our galaxy. Long telescopes dart into the abyss, allowing the human eye close contact to such a mysterious unknown. 

The neighbors have close to a dozen horses and wild turkeys are a known nuisance. The mossy greens that decorate the foliage stand stark against the earthy browns that blend well in this environment. Trees speckle the foothills and line the streets and canopy the highway...their classifications range from all types of pine. A perfectly sculpted African hut manifests in the front yard. Decorated with a hint of Christmas, backgrounded with a subtle mini waterfall. A tiny oil lantern adorns the centerpiece of the table, lightly calling for someone (I wonder who?) to sit and drink some wine on its chairs.

Not your average scenery for Hawaii, I know, but stunning nonetheless. I woke to a chill in the air, similar to a damp Seattle. In the mornings, misty dew hovers until the bright pacific sun burns it away. The clouds that drape so elegantly over the hilltops disappear until the late afternoon temperatures draw them magnetically back, creating the feel of a steamy sauna. The sun is intense. It pummels my pale skin, coaxing color into every layer. A burn is inevitable. 

A short drive north will bring you (me) to a trail head that will lead the most beautiful hike I have ever taken...time after time. It remains my favorite after my 25 years on earth. The Waipio valley renowned for breathtaking, lush inlets encompassed by staggering cliffs is blanketed with black sand beaches. It is no joke when it comes to your calf muscles and its steep descent but the pain soon falls inferior to the sight, and it remains in daydreams for eternity. I shall tackle it yet again tomorrow...and numerous times throughout the month of December. It will renew my outdoor deprivation that New York snuck away from me, as quick as a subway car.

Waipio Valley and my new backyard

Of course,,,there are mosquitoes. I already count three bites on my feet.

The dump yard, where all garbage is collected and later sent to a landfill where tourists don't exist, is a quick drive from the house. Today, the yard was full of eager recyclers, queueing to tally up the cost of their recycled goods. A local non-profit collects certain marked bottles and cans and redistributes money to those that take the time to make it a priority. A large hairy man stood to my right as we both waited to sift through our buckets. The scent of aged beer wafted as he dug out what looked like thousands of old Coors bottles. Each time he bent over, his half-smirking butt crack peeked out to say hello. His belly was so big that when he bent over, face first into a sea of stale booze, he needed to lean slightly to his right so that he could reach. His buckets overflowed with glass of every color. The workers weighed him in at somewhere over 100 pounds because he got a whopping $38.92. Marius and I stepped up and received a measly $4.09. 

The drive back from the dump yard revealed multiple million dollar estates dotting the landscape, quite controversial with local land management. For years, Hawaiians have been screwed by the white investor who have been more than eager and willing to pillage their land. I have noticed from my last visit that development has trumped conservation. I was told that there is very little public beach front available...it is all spoiled by the classy and segregating resorts. Marius shared that this island, this particular town of Waimea, has the single highest cent per kilowatt ratio in the country...most likely the world. Meaning, that even though Hawaii sits on a gold mine of geothermal energy, an unbelievable source of renewable power, it does not tap it. The community breeds big time power companies who are unwilling to make the shift to more sustainable outlets.

Back at the house, two garden beds lay in rectangular fashion built by Marius' two hands, growing lettuce, fennel, carrots, beets, spinach and onions.  To the side of them sit three Japanese green tea bushes simply begging me to dry, crush and brew their leaves. And just behind those, is a large black coldrun of compost, peels and scraps of fruits and veggies mixing with the great nitrogen compound to create a unique fertilizing concoction. If the state of Hawaii isn't sustainable,,,Susan and Marius certainly are. 

So, for the next few weeks, I call this home. I will keep the fort tied down and anchored while Susan and Marius adventure around South Africa, crossing my fingers that another beam shattering, wall cracking earthquake doesn't hit while I am here. I have begun what I hope will turn into a marathon of purely enjoyable reading. I decided to kick it off with Twilight, the new 4 book rave starring all things high school. With shame I admit this: I started it yesterday and will finish it before I go to bed tonight....it is that good. I haven't read a book this fast since Roald Dahl's Matilda in the third grade (great read by the way). I am actually so into it, I picture my face as the main heroine having to deal with real life blood suckers. Is there really anything wrong with wanting to get bit by a vampire? I questioned Elizabeth when she said no...and now I am fully in favor.

There is certainly plenty of blood on this island to sustain even the newest local...