Catching Wind

White windmills line the island’s mountain ridge, small in view, gigantic if you walk up to them.  Ripping wind twirls their blades, demanding energy.  The same wind helps scoot our car toward the marina and blue ocean.  Lazy Daze, our sailboat, arrived here last April.  Apparently we thought we would park it in hurricane force winds known for this marina.  Actually, it is this wind force that makes room available for our boat.  Other mariners are wiser.     

We drive eight miles from home to boat, down the beach town’s main drag, past work-uniformed name-badged people waiting on bus stop benches, past surfers, through a green-blotched, dried-out brown marsh, across the edge of morning’s calm.  Peace prevails until we get to the wind funnel of a marina. 

It is true: we drive in circles on Maui.  I have not yet felt claustrophobic from our distinct land limitations, but sometimes I have the opportunity to release any pent up energy by putting the pedal to the metal (sorry youth, “stepping on the accelerator”) from Las Vegas to Salt Lake City just to validate “I’m free!”  Also, to take advantage of Utah’s liberal, yes I said liberal, speed limits, zipping through endless desert and sagebrush to satisfy my need for no boundaries. 

But, you see on Maui, you can only slightly tap the pedal of a Ferrari or Lambourghini to gain fast upon the rear bumpers of most of the island’s lethargic cars.  The indulgent sports cars most assuredly exist on island, but their utility is in image, and to polish and wax and park miles away from grocery store parking lots.

 

There is a simile of sailing with living somewhere new.  And it doesn’t matter where new is.  For us, it’s Maui.  No matter how comfortable you normally may be around new people or being in new places, you tend to cocoon when uprooting.  You walk into retail stores thinking you have “stranger” tattooed on your forehead.   “How do I fit in?” you say to yourself.  And people sense it.  Assimilation is easier of course when you have an ambassador dog (see last blog post).  But no matter how you smile when walking past a stranger, your mind is still in “changing over the utilities” mode, “leaving friends” mode, and “figuring out new light switches” mode. 

You ask, what has this got to do with sailing?  Well, here you go.  Tom and I intimately know our boat.  Tom is captain, and I am admiral, or at least I pretend to be.  

To prepare to sail, Tom unties all but two ropes that had been anchoring us to the dock, as I flip on the radio, detach the depth gage cover, set out the crank, install the cockpit seat cushions, and remove the main sail cover.  Tom starts the outboard motor.  Fighting the wind, Tom motors in reverse and I control the exit of our boat, pivoting it with the two ropes.  I then jump on and remove the protective bumpers.  We leave the shields of slip and harbor break walls onto ocean swells, out far enough to turn around 180 degrees, directly into the wind to set our sails.  Preparation is rigorous and uncomfortable until this point.  But when the sails are up, we now capture the same energy that moments earlier could have created havoc.

 

This is the point when a new home and sailing merge as a simile.  In sailing, you see, once our sails catch wind, we turn off the motor.  Silence, except for the breeze snapping the sails once, except for “Let It Be” on surround sound, embraces us.  And we suddenly feel open and free as our ship’s rudder suddenly and sturdily cuts through ocean, demanding direction… in solitude.  We invite the elements, the tradewinds, the clouds, the sun, the shore, the tourists on the lookout point, the flying fish, and eventually, soon, the whales.  Each and all sense our welcome.  We accept them.  They accept us.

Three months ago I think I finally unequivocally invited the elements of Maui into my life.  I remember it as the point when I suddenly walked more comfortably, ready for what came my way.  I turned off my boat’s motor and removed my protective bumpers.  And just as silence engulfed me, I caught wind, and freed myself from my cocoon. I found the comfort of home, of once-again routine, of stalwartly and comfortably telling a stranger I am kama aina, a local.  I feel local.  I feel a part of this community.   Others react to this favorably.  I can sense it.  No more stranger tattooed on my forehead. 

Chester Dog, The Ambassador

This story is about getting a dog.  Please bear with me until I get to my point:

A funny thing about humanity is our need to categorize everything. We categorize to divide up society, even sorting people into “nons;” non-drinker, non-Mormon, non-Hawaiian.   The nons are usually unaware of their non-status even though the “are’s” have placed them there.

In Hawaii, we have local categories: Local Hawaiian, Local Filipino, Local Haole [how-lee], Local Asian.  All are nons of the others.  Too, locals can only be classified as local after say ten years of living in Hawaii.  If you have moved here within the last ten years you are called a transplant, politely, and many adjectives not so politely.    

I am okay with this, usually.  On Maui, I am labeled a Haole (a white person), but I have not lived here long enough to be Local Haole yet.  Ask our west neighbor, a Hawaiian family that does not want to say hi to us.

Yet, respect must be given to Hawaiian heritage.  Theirs is a beautiful culture that should not be extinguished, even though progress cannot be avoided. 

A deep frustration with foreigners is very present with Native Hawaiians.  Foreigners have moved in and pushed up the cost of living here to astronomical levels.  We barricade the best beaches with hotels.  Every morning the Fairmont Hotel in Wailea manicures the sand on “its beach.”  Then the resort lines up hooded/view-blocking lounge chairs over a span of 600 feet and serves Pina Coladas to reclined and shaded beach dwellers for a tourist price per night of $600, plus gratuity.  As a token effort, hotels leave a 50-foot beach section for locals on this and many other Maui public beaches otherwise outlined with pools, bars, walkways and tiki torches.

Even though people are, shall we say, categorized on Maui, we get along quite well in island life.  People are simply nice, and most are courteous.  Tourists sense this when visiting here, and it is true.  The spirit of Aloha exudes, flowing rampant on the island. This is due to centuries of wonderful culture.

Yet, a lot goes on behind the scenes and sometimes right up front within all local populations.   For example, for decades, some Local Hawaiians have wanted their previous nation back.  Still do.  I respond to this with "possibly", but before you act, think through the repercussions.

For Hawaii to become an independent nation, economically it will need to find a way to buyout the U.S.’s military might and pay for operating costs of Hawaii military bases.  Or, Hawaii can tell the U.S. to take all its military out of the islands, including military jobs, then hope some crazy dictator doesn’t find the islands a prime acquisition target.  Hawaii will need to find more taxes for education, roads, Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security, unless it chooses not to keep these programs.

If you get Haoles to leave the islands, as some desire, the significantly decreased housing and hotel demand will plummet values. The Great Recession is a mild example of a drop in real estate demand.

Hawaii probably can never return fully to all old customs, to free and open land, to fishing without limits, etc.  The hotels on the beaches bring in millions and millions of tax dollars every year.  Many locals know this.  Many locals depend on this for their living.  But Hawaii can try to prevent more hotels from popping up.  A balance is needed. 

For some, the foreign intrusion is a reason to gripe, with validity.  But can you go back?

So now I get to my very wonderful point: get a dog.  No matter what “local” you are in Hawaii, a dog can be the best bridge to friendship, and a remover of categories. 

Walking a small dog on the beach or on the sidewalk, children of all ethnicities want to pet your dog while you chat about dogs with their parents.  Tourists walk from sometimes 500 feet across the beach to ask if they can pet your dog because they miss their dog at home.   The guy in a hurry in his jacked-up black pickup truck with an “808AllDay” window sticker may not stop if I’m on a bike or jogging, but he will always stop if I need to walk my dog across the street. 

Chester Dog

If you have a dog like our Chester, who has a tendency to walk up to a stranger to be pet (because he thinks that is his role in life), the stranger many times, no matter his or her local status, smiles.  A smile is the best start of a conversation, the best way to get people out of their category and into a chat about where they live, what they do, what kind of dog they have and how old.   In these moments, we forget about clumping each other into defined groups, and we talk about pets, and homes, and Haleakala, and flora, and lack of weather (non-weather, if you will). 

Recently, when I walked into the Kaiser-Permanente Hospital on Maui as my new health care provider, I had to fill out a questionnaire.  I skipped over the part about my ethnicity and marked “other.”  I skipped over the part where I had to mark “never married,” “widowed” or “divorced” and noted “none of your business.” 

The gal entering the information into her computer finally smiled at me when she copied my answers.  And I smiled back.  This is what life should be like.  Meeting one on one as individuals and treating each other with kindness and respect. 

Better yet, get a dog.  A friendly dog simply erases society’s “non” categories here on the islands.   And that’s a good thing.

My Pot of Gold: Eyeballs fixed on iPads

Miles away, the velvet green slopes of West Maui's mountains backdrop a rainbow’s end as it falls out of misty clouds and hits the ground.  As I drive, swathes of yellow, green, blue, purple, red and orange mark my road’s endpoint.

Oddly, the rainbow never moves as I get closer. Two miles, one mile, a quarter mile, and the colorful stripes continue to collide with the same trees, in the exact same spot.  The nearer I get, each rainbow hue grows brighter and wider, like ribbons.  I think if I get out of my car and walk across the field, I could merely touch these multicolored strips.  They’re not going anywhere. I speculate a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow could virtually be found.  

And at this moment, as with so many others, I am stunned once again that I live on Maui. 

And too, I am now strangely solitary as I drive, marking the end of two weeks of visiting family; of chaos, of kids, of sand, of beach, of glorious conversations, of sharing island discoveries with some of our beloved, including four of our children, three grandsons, and a grandpa. 

And in our 1,100 square foot Maui home, every moment had been a movement of people.  Clear logistics were needed for showering in two bathrooms.  The garage was used for personal phone calls.  The master bedroom became Tom’s escape away from the Orr family of cousins squabbling, parents lecturing to not jump off the top bunk onto hard-as-rock actual-rock flooring.  An air mattress conked out so adults and kids rotated sleeping arrangements on the couch. Food overflowed kitchen countertops and swelled our fridge.  

Our clothes washer tumbled and cleaned towels, shorts, socks and swimsuits continually for ten days, prompting it to ask for union wages.  Dryer lint shot out the side of our home onto the patio and its furniture, and sometimes onto our toast, whether we asked for an extra topping or not.

The only place we could let the grandsons knock themselves silly with play was at the beach.  And even then, in all childhood’s seeming invincibility, the boys were repeatedly interrupted by adult warnings not to swim out so far.  Four beach chairs strategically placed on the sand propped a row of adults supervising childhood energy.

(When I use the word “strategically”, I use it with importance.  You see, math is required to perform proper etiquette at the beach.  It’s one of those half-life calculations.  Take the distance from Point A (one group of beach goers) to Point B (the next closest group) and divide it in half to find the politically correct spot to unfold and park a beach chair.  If, say, few people are on the sand, you settle at a calculated distance halfway between.  If the beach has been filling in its halfway points, people plop closer and closer.  If crowded, each new camp can wedge into a tight space without accusation…  How badly I have the urge to one day just set up towels and umbrella three feet from another sun worshipping party, but 120 feet from the next, just to test the human mind.)

For our Maui family visit, nine people fit exactly into two cars, including one in a child car seat. When great-grandpa arrived to join the fun-slash-mayhem for two days he had to rent one more car: the car without sand.

For long durations, young and older sprawled across our large sectional sofa and a reclined lazy-boy chair and a bottom bunk, like flopped dogs taking a siesta in the afternoon’s heat--each person engrossed in a personal electronic device, drooped side by side, but in completely different worlds.

Sometimes I look at this as whiling away, and I think what I would give to have the physical abilities of a ten-, twenty-, or thirty-year-old.  If I could just “not feel” the aches of a sometimes sore back, or delightfully feel the power of youth’s easily exercised and sculpted muscles, I would choose instead to set down my iPad and sprint out the front door to jog six extra miles, or built a taller sand castle, or surf for the first time ever. I would do all these things with glee, with excited agility, and then some. 

Grandsons Paul, Kaden and Josh

But I was young once.  I realize I cannot explain the advantages of youth to youth.

It’s all good, as my son says.  Eyeballs fixed on iPads mean a content family hanging together, and that’s most important.  So I concede and go to use my own personal electronic device and write, like I am now.  All in all, togetherness and contentedness envelope us, even if we have already caught up on stories and have used every last towel in the house. The chaos and calmness of family roared into our quiet Maui life and filled it with vibrancy for twelve whole days.

Now that family has left, our dog has stopped ducking under the bed for intermission.  Our dishwasher now waits days to fill. Bananas, hot dog buns and apples, which had overwhelmed our countertops, give way to now sterile blackish-green granite. 

Our clothes washer rests for its union break. Neatly folded white towels bulge in the hall closet with no plans. Capri-Sun fruit drinks sit in the fridge missing grandkids. So do I.  The sand has been carted out.  Perhaps I should spread some once again on the garage entry floor just to feel family.

And a rainbow is within reach today.  If I choose to walk over to it, I am indifferent about finding a pot of gold, so I’ll turn left instead.  Besides, the gold had already been found these past two weeks.

Worth Paradise

Utah.

Routine. Predictable.

Hooked up to the world,

Seven years static

Meant…

Doggie door,

Sorted bathroom drawer,

Car bay, snow getaway,

CPA,

DirectTV,

Lazy… 

Boy… Recliner.

Popcorn stash,

Butter splash,

Kitchen cache,

Sorted trash.

30-year hairdresser,

System confessor,

Clothes sorted,

Predictability sported,

Grandkids’ toy space,

Ordered key place.

Then we move to Maui…

Dirt, disarray,

Method run astray,

Suitcase living,

Contractor payment giving,

Internet inaccessibility,

Teeth gritty,

Self pity,

Air mattress inflation,

Happiness deflation,

Where’s the TP?

In the debris.

Paperwork potpourri,

Forget the Christmas tree.

Yes we’re near the beach,

Yet routine I beseech.

When will it ever end?

Then

One by one,

WiFi steady,

Kitchen ready,

Jewelry tidy,

Dog here,

Groceries near,

Closets clean,

Mirrors to preen,

Garage path,

Pristine bath,

Walkway placed,

House dirt erased,

Sofa parked,

Dog territory marked.

Calmness inquires,

Chaos expires,

Convenience transpires.

Teal waves gnash,

On black rocks crash,

Volcanoes fume,

Stars Illume,

Palm trees tease,

Ocean breeze,

Never freeze.

My heart’s content,

Breathe in, then vent,

Uproar regime,

Now life, re-seamed,

A sacrifice,

Worth paradise.