No broken egg no omelet.
No rain no bow.
Taken from our patio.
And so we traveled to the southeast side of the island today in search of the sun. We found it briefly at a beach in Wailea where we’ve been before.
While soaking in some rays we overheard the woman next to us talking on her cell phone complaining to a merchant on the mainland somewhere that the custom bracelet they made for her, the one she picked up just prior to coming to Hawaii (last Friday), the one she wore for the first time in the sun yesterday, is discoloring badly. Like it started with the gold coming off the clasp, and it’s getting worse, it looks terrible, I can’t wear it with any of my other jewelry, I mean it looks just awful, and I’m not sure why this is happening and, well, obviously I’m here and you’re there and there’s nothing to be done about it RIGHT NOW, so I’m just calling you to let you know how unhappy I am about this.
The woman was begging a stereotype: tall, slender, raven hair, preternaturally tanned, Gucci this Cartier that. When the clouds thickened she and her silver-haired husband quickly up and left leaving the towels, beach chairs and umbrella for the hotel help to clean up. Maybe that’s not too unusual behavior on the beach of a five star hotel where the rooms can run upwards of $1000/night, but it just smacked of the kind of privilege you want to throttle.
We packed it in shortly thereafter convinced the sun had lost the battle, went shopping for sandals for Happy Wife, ate chicken wings and drank Mai Tais. Duh.
Back at our condo I got a call from the neighbor that the septic problem was merely a clogged filter screen on the lift station pump. He hosed it off and replaced it, and now our house sitter is once again flushing with impunity.
RKN. I can recall a number of afternoons on the beaches of Oahu when a mauka shower would break loose from the mountain tops and sweep over the beach, dropping a torrent of rain.
Invariably, these mauka showers would send the tourists scrambling back into their hotels, or their cars. Ten minutes later, the shower would have swept out to sea. The sun would break back out, and the beaches would be populated only by those who had just sat out the mauka shower, either in the water, or, simply sitting on the beach allowing the rain to wash over them. The tourists in large part would not return to the beach until the next day. I always thought that was funny.
Glad to hear that your house sitter is flushing with impunity.
Yeah, we’re veteran enough to ride out the maukas, the sky yesterday was more ominous, had a foreboding meanness to it, a sort of “Leave Now” meanness.