A Tale Of New Cities

Y’know, it’s one thing when you yourself pull stakes and move to Honolulu.  But it’s quite another when someone else decides to throw in with you.  Really makes you think.  Like, here we are, planting ourselves on a rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.  What have we got to look forward to?  I started a list …

Mangoes.  Goes where?  I mean, c’mon.  I just got here, and you want me to leave already?  You call this hospitality?!?

No, I haven’t eaten one.  I ain’t even touchin‘  ’em.  The mango tree belongs to the poison ivy family, for crying out loud.  Yes it does.  For me to eat a mango, it would really be a rash act.

Papaya.  Now, I’m glad to see that the Great State of Hawai’i thinks good thoughts about fatherhood.  But I don’t see how that’s going to get us very far, unless they’ve got some mamaya hidden away someplace.  Look, Jesus of Nazareth may have walked on the water and risen from the dead.  But he didn’t give birth to no kids.

The myna.  The starlings of Hawai’i.  (Actually, starlings and mynas are close relatives on the family tree of birds.)  They’re everywhere, and they’re usually in your face, begging for handouts.  Or overhead, letting you know how they feel about not getting any.  Makes you wonder what would have happened if they’d imported the majah birds instead of the myna ones.

Or maybe, it was the Irish who brought the myna to Hawai’i, thinking that they’d stand in for the leprechauns which would have been hanging out in the forests and caves if the Polynesians hadn’t gotten here first, Neil.  I’ve been a myna for a heart of gold …

Hibiscus.  The rose of Paradise.  Lovely flowers, found in the hairdos of all the pretty girls – and some of the guys.  Man, don’t go there!  Trouble is, they’re all on tall plants, trees and shrubs and stuff.  That leaves a hole in the horticulture, dude, a lacuna in the landscaping.  Some enterprising botanist needs to invent discover a hibiscus that grows small and flat, so it can serve as a groundcover, perennially festooned with those lovely flowers.  Which the owner of a needy hairdo can simply reach down and get.

Of course, some snarky people would insist that any such plant be called a lobiscus.  I’m not naming names …

Aloha.  So low you can’t hear it.  I guess we’re not amused.  Proof positive that Hawai’i has a royal family.  Patterned after the British nobility, no less.  Victoria …

What was that you said about the airport, Quilly?  Hello?  Hello?!?  Sigh.  Oh well.  Plan B.  Taxi!

O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2007 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

My Sisters: Laurel & Hardy

Jackie, my sister who blogs, and Caryl, my sister who doesn’t blog, are a great comedy team.  Fun to watch, but somewhat difficult to interact with. Picture me watching this conversation like a tennis match ….

Jackie:  Caryl, you’re over-watering.  Everywhere I dug in the garden, the holes filled up with water.

Caryl: I only water for a half an hour every day.

Jackie:  That’s too much.  Turn off two days and only water every third day.

Caryl: you fix it.  Make it water for 15 minutes every day.

Jackie: to get strong roots you need to water deep, but not too often.  Turn off two days and only water every third day.

Caryl:  Okay.  You can program the timer.  But I still need it to water for 15 minutes every day in my flower garden, so don’t change number 5.

Jackie: Okay, don’t change number 5 and everything else is every third day.

Caryl: number five has to run every day.

Jackie: yes.  And everything else?

Caryl: fifteen minutes every day.

Jackie: you want me to go program all the sprinklers for fifteen minutes every day except number 5?

Caryl: No.

Jackie:  Okay.  What do you want?

Caryl:  I want everything programmed for 15 minutes every day, except number five.

I cracked up laughing.

Jackie (to me):  It’s okay.  We do this all the time. We’ll get it sorted out.

Me: Just go program the sprinklers however you think is best.

Jackie said:  I should, then she can just yell at me when she doesn’t like it.

Caryl:  Yes.  Do that and I will yell at you later to fix it right.

Jackie:  Okay.  Fifteen minutes every day, except number five?

Caryl: No.  You said I shouldn’t water every day.

Jackie:  Okay.  Then what do you want?

Caryl: fifteen minutes every day, except number five.

Jackie: All righty then! (and she gets up and goes outside.)

What a Trip

I left Roy, Utah at 9 a.m. yesterday morning.  For awhile it looked as though I wasn’t leaving at all.  I asked the motel desk clerk for directions to the nearest north bound freeway on ramp, and she didn’t know where the freeway was.  Instead I got directions to a gas station.

I could see the freeway on ramp from the gas station.  I asked which lane I needed to be in when I pulled out — neither.  It was a one way street and first I had to circle the block. 

Finally I hit the freeway — to contstruction woes.  Traffic was bumper to bumper, 70 miles an hour, with dump trucks and orange cones and tractors rolling in and out … somewhat freaky.  And in the mess I missed my exit and didn’t realize it until I was quite a ways past.

I stopped to ask for directions and was told to keep going, I’d make it just fine … which was tue, but it took me about 300 miles out of my way!  I drove through West Yellowstone Park though.  That was pretty.

I made it to my sisters about 10 p,m, last night.  I have had about 6 hours sleep and was just called to breakfast …

Halfway

 I didn’t get all of my packing done last night.  I worked until I was so punch drunk I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing.  I finally decided — with some prompting from OC (on the phone) – to get some sleep and hit it fresh in the morning.  I slept.  No, I over slept . So I came charging from my room ready to do battle … and for some reason I had left the vacuum cleaner right at the end of the hallway.  I whacked it with my little toe and neatly — okay, bloodily — removed the toenail.  Not a good start.

I finished packing in very good time. Then I went to the post office to mail several of the boxes to my sister – and the line stretched from breakfast to lunch.  Finally, packages mailed, I charged home to pack the car.  I figured that would take a lifetime, but the neighbor guy came over and did it in minutes.  After the car was packed I showered, put on clean clothes, turned in my keys, and hit the open road.  It was 1 p.m. — much later then I had planned to leave.

I made up a bit of time in the vast flatness that is Arizona.  The road is straight from horizon the horizon, so I just stepped down on the gas pedal.  There was another fellow in an even bigger hurry than I.  I was going 90 m.p.h. and he shot past me like I was standing still.  His haste made me rethink mine and I slowed down.  Even so, I passed him a couple of miles later and he was standing still — he’d stopped to look at some pretty blue flashing lights. 

 Right now I am in a motel just outside Salt Lake City, Utah — halfway to Spokane.  It was a long drive — 7.5 hours — and much of the route was being repaved, so we were routed to single file lines rolling too slow.  For a goodly portion of the drive into Salt Lake we actually traveled on the shoulder of the road.  Mile after mile — over an hour — of driving on the “wake up” strip.  My hands tingled from all the vibration in the steering wheel — and we won’t even talk about the noise …..   Driving in Salt Lake itself is actually a joy.  Even during rush hour the 10 lane freeway doesn’t get crowded.  The drivers were very courteous, too.  It was almost surreal.

After I checked into the motel — even before I unpacked the car –I went down the block to Applebee’s and had my only bite of food in almost 9 hours.  I ordered a steak, and ate like a vacuum cleaner.  I am not certain I didn’t munch the napkin.

Now I’m going to bed.

Good-nighzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………

Sage Advice

After church yesterday one of the little old blue-haired ladies grasped my arm and said, “Hey now, what’s this I hear about you running off to Hawaii with some strange man none of us have ever met? Whatever happened to that trumpet playing fellow? He seemed like a nice enough guy.”

I answered angelically, “The trumpet playing fellow is who I am running off to Hawaii with.”

She took her hand from my arm and tried to stand up taller. “Well hear now,” She demanded, “You just be careful. He could be an ax-murderer, you know. ”

I responded, “I’ve known him for awhile now and I think I can safely say he has no plans to murder any axes.”

She shook her head. “Just you be careful. You never know these things until it’s too late.”