We recently returned from a trip to Hawaii and getting around there was a small miracle in itself. (Are you surprised I have something to curmudge concerning Hawaii? When, or maybe if, I ever get to Heaven I’m sure I’ll have a few things to correct. “You mean we can have anything we want? Great, more decisions I have to make.”) I asked a local Hawaiian woman, a large flowered moo-moo wearing with a huge smile and hair to match kind of woman, where the local beach was. You wouldn’t think it would be too hard to find a beach on an island, right? Except, the Hawaiian language, to my ignorant ears anyway, sounds as if the Gerber baby invented it.
“We have many beaches. Which one do you want?”
“I’m not sure. Which would you recommend?”
“Well, you could go to Kaopectate Kove. That’s right next to Poopoopkaki Park. But there’s a lot of flooding. Onomatopoeia is popular.”
“That has a nice ring to it. How do I get there?”
“You take Wiamea Highway that way (she points to her left) passed Wianothima, then turn that way (points to right) by Monopoly Piece. Make a right at the rock that looks like Tiki god and a left at Tiki god that looks like rock. Go straight much further until you see Hocuspocus, it’s right next to Hoipolloi, and you’re right there.”
“Can you say that in English?”
“Take Highway 19 and look for the sign.”
“You want to buy some pearls? I have the best prices around.”
“No thanks. I already filled my quota of getting ripped off this trip by staying at a hotel where the hotdogs are fourteen dollars. Maybe next time.”
We finally made it to the beach and it was spectacular. That’s my trip in a coconut shell.
Yesterday was a record 82° here in Boulder, followed by 90MPH winds, a wildfire, and today they are expecting 1-3 inches of snow. Yes, it’s springtime in the Rockies. When we got back home a miracle was waiting for us. Miracles come in all shapes and sizes, of course. Such as my wife passing up a shoe sale, or my sister picking up a check at a restaurant (sorry D.B., but when you do the writing it gives you carte blog to say what you want.). But this was a bona fide ‘face in the toast’ kind of miracle. Our two male finches, Steve and Mark, somehow were able to lay four eggs while we were away. Who says gays can’t have children? Isn’t that just lovely? While my wife and daughter were beside themselves with joy and expectations, I was looking up recipes to make the world’s smallest omelet. “Can we keep them?” my daughter asks. “Of course,” answers my wife. “And why not?” I ask. “It’s not like I enjoy a clean room, or peace and quiet,” I said to deaf ears. I think anyone who has read this blog knows how I feel about pets and all that they entail. So I am less than thrilled. Although, bar-b-que season is upon us. The only problem I see is the little fellers falling through the bars on the grill. The only problem my daughter sees is that we need a new name for Mark, our cross-featherer. Since all this happened while on our trip, I was thinking of naming them after the Hawaiian phrase for happy couple: Martini and Rossi.
Below are a few quick sketches I did while away on away of the local flora and fauna. That’s Fauna on the right.