Monday, June 11, 2007

stressy bessy

Our things are being packed and shipped next Thursday. Thursday.... as in, 3 days. As in, I am starting to try and cope with the fact that we are MOVING from our first HOME -- moving from MAUI to IDAHO.

My heart catches every now and then, and I find myself reminiscing about MAUI. All the things I won't see in Idaho. A sampling:

shakas ~ locals ~ jacaranda blossoms ~ palm fronds ~ mr. lanky who buys his dinners from down to earth and nightly walks the streets of makawao town at the same time we do ~ greeting with a cheek-kiss ~ haleakala waldorf school, where i became me and liked who i became ~ my home ~ the olinda pine forests ~ the maui humane society ~ the interior of the ogg airport ~ windsurfers like brilliant winged bugs at hookipa ~ my subabru ~ shoes off at the front door (i feel i won't be able to break this habit on the mainland) ~ a sea in a thousand shades of blue ~ warmth, 24/7/365 ~ foreign surfer hippies ~ "perfect beach" ~ judging what the weather may be like 30 miles away ~ papayas and mangoes ~ lilikoi everything: dressing, mousse, lotion, margaritas, and fresh off the vine ~ the running priest who either blows you a kiss or pretends to box you ~ clancy and mikey ~ night-blooming jasmine ~ whale season ~ spinner dolphins leaping ~ mana foods ~ ono grinds ~ talking story ~ the random plucks and strums of transient ukuleles ~ a lei for all occasions: hello, goodbye, i love you, congratulations, happy birthday...

The house is in shambles. John's dad ("Grandpa Dave") is visiting and I feel like a horrible hostess. I am preoccupied and distant. I look around and all I see are projects and piles. And twice I've forgotten to get his coffee ready in the morning.

Last night Grandpa Dave treated us to a delicious night out at Ruth's Chris. (Four words: filet sizzling in butter.) It was so nice, and I thought I was planning smart by making the reservations at an early 6:00, hoping Luciya would sleep through the majority of dinner and go to bed relatively close to the scheduled time I have been trying to enforce.


Who had a cranky baby and a stormy storm-out of the restaurant? The hostess actually shut the front door so Luciya's wails wouldn't disturb the clientele as I desperatley tried to nurse her on a bench in front of the restaurant. She did fall to sleep eventually, and the meal was delicious, but I couldn't help but become flustered and frustrated for a while there, especially with a $150 bottle of Silver Oak and fresh berries and cream waiting for me at the table.

Grandpa Dave is wonderful with Luciya, pleasant and jolly and attentive, and I am grateful for his presence as I am trying to finish writing 100 student reports, pack up the two giant suitcases Luciya and I will be living out of, and attempting to keep a normal and happy facade.

Not that I'm unhappy. I'm happy! Just a bit amazed. And overwhelmed. And a bit scared.

But then I see this.

And this.

And this.

And the idea of saying aloha to my island home seems more okay. Everything seems more okay. Because we are blessed beyond measure with this dazzling ray of sunshine every single day.

"Aloha" means both hello and goodbye. It is also used to symbolize love. And so I carry its intentions with me. And in 10 days, I'll be saying Aloha to Boise!


Elaine said...

Well, we have Silver Oak here in Idaho, and we also have Red Neck Beer, and hog calling contests, and square dance hootennannies, and tractor pulls, so load up yer dog in yer pick up truck and amble on over. We ain't got many surfers, but we do have a bunch of funny kin folk who can't wait to hug your neck and slobber on some kisses of welcome.