Like Mother, Like Dog-ghter

Let's track this blog two entries prior when I depicted my firs true outting in ocean water. Remember? Alright, with that frame of reference, let me start my story...


Despite the snarky comments from all you Central New Yorkers current smothered in the first snowfall of the season, every day in Hawaii isn't always synonymous with one's typical "paradise standards". As a baseline, let's define "paradise standards":


Paradise Standards: (n) The weather and/or climate whereby vacationers (out-of-towners), usually from cooler climates, typically project onto any hot vacation location (caribbean, south pacific, etc). IE: Sunshine, cool breeze, salty air, very few clouds, no rain, gorgeous.


While Hawaii most often follows this ideal, this past week has not exactly maintained standard. It's been cloudy, Rainy, on occasion. Breezy and occasionally chilly enough to put a pair of socks on; maybe even a t-shirt. 


So this morning, I awoke to similar non-paradise-standard conditions, and made the decision to run errands rather than try to enjoy the peaks of sunshine. Subsequently, by pure murphy's law, as soon as I plunged into my errand run, the sun busted through the clouds and it was a gorgeous, Hawaiian day, again. [see definition above]


I rushed home take advantage of the day, and the first step was to take Rosalie on a long walk. Today, I even thought, I will attempt to bring Miss Rosalie to the beach. As I fed her lunch and picked up the house, I talked up our big adventure to the beach. I  told her it was a long walk but that she would love it. 
[Let's be honest, there's nobody else to talk to in the house so Rosalie is frequently subjected to conversation]
 Dogs aren't allowed at the lagoons, which is probably a good thing. So instead, we were going to need to make it all the way passed Lagoon 1 into "You are now exiting Ko Olina property. You might die. We're not responsible. Mahalo!" territory. 


It was ok. Hobbes was going to be with me. We could dream up all the terrible sea monsters in the lagoon once we arrived.... that is, if she made it that far. 


[STARMER TANGENT]
For those of you who know our little Rosalie, you know that she very well has quite the saucy attitude. And for any of you who have walked her, or watched me walk her, or walked with me while I've walked her, you know that when Ro is done with her walk, she's done with her walk. When Ro doesn't want to go 'that way' anymore, she will dig her heals into the ground and stare at you like: "You no in charge. I in charge" (shout out to my little t-man<3).


You all know what I'm talking about?


Ok , so coercing Miss Bella to walk the 1.5 miles to the non-Ko Olina lagoon was going to be difficult. But I packed a water bottle and a tennis ball to play with in pure optimism. 


We didn't even get to the end of our driveway. Naturally, Rosalie just wanted to do her business and go back inside. 


So I resorted to the backup plan: I would throw her in the car and drive to the Ko Olina market. It would omit about a mile off the trip and perhaps, if she were in a different surrounding, I could trick her into continuing to walk (since she wouldn't know which way was home).


[Jump cut] After the car ride, the parking, the reconfiguring of the leash, a little more business and some human distractions, Hobbes and I made it to the edge of Ko Olina property, alone and unafraid. This time, the lagoon was 100% human-less. I set Rosalie down in the sand where she proceeded to walk on it like she had duct tape stuck to her paws. She stepped, shook the sand out of her front paw, stepped, shook the sand out of her back paw, stepped, shook her paw again. She did this repeatedly, not moving very far or fast in any particular direction. Then, the poor thing, shook her front paw one last time, then licked it and pulled in a mouthful of sand, to which she immediately coughed and gagged a little bit. 


So I picked her up, and brought her closer to the water. The waves were clam and I thought she might like the experience of the salt water tickling her legs, plus the sand was much firmer near the shoreline and the water might wash off her body.


Naturally, as I set her down next to the water, a larger wave push itself onto the beach, to which Rosalie ran, with her tail between her legs, up onto the beach again. She sat down, which had to feel uncomfortable, because then she jumped up again and chased her tail. When I grabbed her, she was covered in sand and looking at me with a scorn that could melt any pet parent.


I don't like to feel messy. She doesn't like to feel messy. Our beach excursion lasted all of two minutes before I let Rosalie off her leash, and she darted toward the Ko Olina property with a get-me-the-fuck-home look on her face. 


When we reached the property again, Rosalie collapsed on the grass, panting with grains of sand in her mouth, on her tongue, in her hair...


She drank directly from my water bottle.... and crushed it, and then I ended up carrying her back to the car. 


Needless the say, the final photo in the collection below depicts how my little girl felt for the entirety of the afternoon and evening. 


I can only image what our little Hobbes must have thought about this experience....


Me ke aloha :)
M.

The Hellacious Project

As a footnote to the previous entry: Nick pointed out that I am a living, breathing, married-to-him version of a 'Calvin and Hobbes' comic. Rosalie, we concluded, is the cuter, innocent substitute for the sardonic Hobbes. 

And so the story of the hellacious project...

Nick left for Korea for a training exercise, and being a newly wedder for only 10 days prior to his departure, we discussed the prospect of household projects I could undertake to pass the time. Then, when he returns, it will be as if I waved my wand and transformed the apartment-once-bachelor-pad into our first home together. Clearly, the whole Harry Potter notion of magically transfiguring the house caused a scuffle between my logic and my will to please (and my disgust for huge messes).

Mere hours after my wonderful husband kissed me goodbye, I trekked to Honolulu for a little inspiration. Project #1: a home office.

Nick and I scouted prospective desk hopefuls last week, but failed to commit to a decision. After a week of thinking about our need for an office area, I had a desk in mind for purchase. It was simple. Black (for our Kage). It was small, but it was in our price range, and perfect for the room size. When I arrived at the home goods store in Honolulu, the desk was not only in stock, but also on sale. Obviously it was meant for a Reisweber purchase.

I paid for a desk, a decorative book shelf and a chair with a smile on my face and alas, sealed my fate of the worst 36 future hours thus far in paradise.

It all started with the infamous island wait time. Between purchasing the furniture and picking it up at the warehouse, I ran to the grocery store for some essentials: chicken, eggs, yogurts, fruit, salad ingredients, salmon, and (a girl’s best friend) some Ben & Jerry’s. Do you see the commonality? As soon as I packed the truck with my groceries, I hurried to the home goods warehouse to pick up the furniture. I already had a 25-minute drive home, so it was imperative that I snag the furniture and get my groceries to my refrigerator.

Upon arriving at the warehouse, protocol dictates that I present my receipt to the receptionist, and then wait by my car for someone to deliver my items on a dolly.

27 f*#&ing minutes later...

The  eggs. The ice cream. The seconds ticked and entangled with my inner fury as I scrutinized a group of workers huddle, chatting, ‘hangin’loose bruddah’ [insert hang loose hand wave with pinkie and thumb].

Then, Honolulu rush hour traffic, which, in case you were wondering, occurs from 3p.m.-5p.m. Because in Hawaii, folks, your day ends in the middle of the afternoon. Glenn! They would think you are crazy working until six or seven!

So an hour and a half after leaving the grocery store, I busted through my front door and stuffed my freezer with all my goods. No greetings to Rosalie. No stopping to get the mail. I darted toward the fridge and literally shoved all the groceries—still in bags—inside the cool climate. It didn’t matter; surely I was destined for food poisoning from heat-spoiled chicken and eggs.

I returned to the refrigerator, pulled the milk out, and dumped it down the drain.

Motivated that I was now home, I pulled up my hair and began this project!

I strutted to the truck with my best “I’m the worlds greatest wife” attitude, and began hauling the furniture out of the truck bed. The chair, psh-that was light. The bookshelf was a little heavier but I’ve been attending beach boot camp so I was fine. And then, the desk. I could not even pull (or push) the box out of the truck bed.

I called a neighbor, who brought her husband over to lift the box. Even he could not lift it on his own. So the three of attempted to bring it into the house. From the driveway to the front entrance of our home is approximately 15 yards. We rested twice. Perhaps this was the final sign of STOP, of which I ignorantly ignored.

Kady and Dave asked if they could be of any help, but I waved them home in cocky assurance that I would finish this project before midnight.

Ha.

Rosalie and I ripped open the desk box first. Pieces upon unexplainably, repulsively small pieces [see photo below]. I couldn’t even find comfort in the deepest of breaths. But I reminded myself that Nick and I found ease and simplicity in the directions to the dining room table, the end tables, the coffee table and the bar stools, all of which we purchased from the same store. So I moved ahead with Project 1.

It took me about 10 minutes to unload the box onto the floor of the soon-to-be office. Buried at the bottom of the box, under the biggest part of the table, which was also the heaviest (the desk top), I discovered the directions packet.

Packet.

“39 Easy Steps to Putting Your Desk Together”. Must have hammer, flat head screwdriver, and Phillips head screwdriver, not included.

39 steps + tools.

Given that I had endured traffic, a bad neighbor previously in the morning (prior to the occurrence of this project), and all on top of saying goodbye to my husband as he left the country 10 days after our wedding, these words just propelled the most aggressive of migraines.

So I made it to Step 7 before I quit for the night. “Why Mia (you must be itching to say) only step 7? You’re much more motivated than that!”

Sure, I suppose I am. But in those seven steps, I managed to screw two pieces of wood together backwards, attach one leg onto the desk upside down, I lost two nails, skipped a step on accident because the fan blew the page over and stubbed my toe on the desk top. The toe stubbing was the evening’s white flag.

For those of you who know me well, you know that I have never [never ever, ever!] even stopped in the middle of  a project for a “break”. It’s simply not my modus operandi. Nevertheless, I left my mess. The room looked heinous, like a room at a frat house. Kage would have been so ashamed, but my migraine was pulsing, and it was time to close the door and pretend I lived in a one-bedroom apartment.

The morning came too soon, and the migraine lingered slightly, perhaps because my mind was cognizant of the disaster awaiting me in the spare bedroom.

Day 2 of the hellacious project mirrored that of Day 1. I repeated steps, swore a lot, cursed my father for his bad putting-shit-together genes, and then I was spitefully thankful Nick was not home to witness my cataclysm. Around noon, I admitted that I clearly attempted to tackle a project far beyond my skill level, but the room was such a mess and the desk, such in pieces that I needed to trek on. I felt like I was on mile 7 of a marathon, out of breath, cramping, and ready to puke with absolutely no physical option of stopping and I wasn’t even half way there yet.

Once I familiarized myself with all the parts, screws, nails and tool lingo (thanks Google), I pieced together the framework of the desk fairly quickly. Progress! Finally. But perhaps the biggest flop of Day 2 was the drawers.

They should have been the easiest part. All I had to do was slide the pieces together using the built-in tracks. Laugh it up, Chuckles, but this was the hardest part. I swear to you, they didn’t fit together. Ok, ok, never mind that the parts weren’t properly labeled. Every other piece had a sticker with a corresponding letter on it. Some pieces even had a letter stamped to the unfinished wood part. But the draw pieces? Nothing. Naturally they were the only pieces left, but the directions still differentiated the ‘left’ side and the ‘right’ side of the drawer walls, therefore, in my very loud opinion, the parts should have been labeled.

So I attempted the first drawer. And the directions indicated that the “parts should easily slide together”. No. The parts did not easily slide together. It was a severe struggle. It was war. I pushed. I pulled. I used the wall. I used my legs. I hammered a little bit. Then, in my last ditch effort before I said: “fuck it Nick, your desk is not going to have drawers,” I stood up on the wood slab while holding the desk and I tried to use my body weight to “SLIDE” the wood parts so easily into place.

It budged! Just a small amount. But progress was progress at this point, and I wasn’t going to belittle it one bit. So I bounced a little and it slide down a little further!

My confidence soared and I bounced a few times consecutively.

And SNAP. A top corner piece of the wood splintered and we (me and the wood) fell to the ground.

How did I find myself in such shambles. The room was a mess. The drawers were not cooperating with the directions. It had been a solid 29 hours of this project and now, in my unconventional efforts of putting together the drawers, I broke it. Epic fail. I threw the flag. Ideas and solutions lay dead on the floor of my mind. The war was over. I lost.

But then, in what alludes to the poetic faith of a Greek myth, I found a lone penny lying on the floor. For those who know me, know my connection with pennies and my grandfather. That penny was my spark, my ignition to build up endurance one last time…

So a little gorilla glue and a few more repetitive mistakes (see aforementioned list) later, the desk stood in marvelous glory in our new office. The drawers don’t open, and one drawer (the gorilla glue drawer) doesn’t even close all the way. But the desk stands beautiful, sturdy and the top of the desk is functional. It is from where I am writing this story.

Nicholas, honey, if you’re reading this, just admire the desk for is aesthetic value. We’ll work on the drawers when you get home <3

Thank you, Dad, for all your anti-building genes. F you. Mahalo!

And to tie up the story, I also built a bookshelf stand and a chair. After that god-awful desk, the other two seemed easier, but it still took me 3 days to complete the room. Pictures are below.

Love to all! Hobbes and I are off to watch the sunset on the beach :)

Me ke aloha,

M.

Our very first newly-wedder adventure

Sunday - 16 Oct 2011
[Right after Nick's bills lost to the giants and as my patriots were kicking the snot out of the cowgirls....]


Nick and I ventured to our backyard lagoons for a self-inflicted snorkeling excursion. Now, let's be honest, I'm more of a see-the-bottom & it-has-to-have-chlorine kind of swimmer, but for the sake of our marriage, I decided to at least try to endure the salty waters of the pacific. 
The first attempt was an epic flop. Nick was very patient, as always, but I wasn't loving the fish swimming between my legs, and I didn't much like the swirls of sand and low visibility under water. What if a shark jumped the twenty foot rocks of the protected Disney lagoons and pulled me under water just as a giant squid sucked up Nick like he was tiny krill? Never mind that as soon as I put on the suffocating sea goggles and the snorkel, it was like I was breathing through a coffee stirrer.
Needless to say I didn't even get my hair wet. 


Now, why Nick didn't just give up on me right there is a mystery and perhaps, for this story, a blessing as well. He suggested, instead, that we venture to a smaller lagoon just west of Ko Olina property. Naturally, my nerves gasped in unison and simultaneously fainted when I read the sign at the end of a ghetto-looking, sandy, loose-rock path.: "You are now exiting Ko Olina property. Enter at your own risk. Mahalo!" 


[Starmer tangent] : It's amazing how cheery and "hang loose" even the most noxious of signs can sound when the infamous, hawaiian "Mahalo!" is added to the end of it (Mahalo means 'thank you'). Examples:

• Enter at your own risk. Mahalo!
• If you pass this point, we're not responsible if you die a painful, jellyfish death. Mahalo!
• If you fall on these rocks, we warned you ahead of time so you can't sue us. Mahalo!
• F*ck you. Mahalo!

Anyway, we entered at our own risk only to find a serene, nearly human-less lagoon on the other side. For this particular day, the sun was peaking behind clouds and the wind skidded off the ocean, prickling the hairs on our arms. When my toes reached the shoreline, I realized the water was far warmer than the air. I weighed my options carefully (getting eaten by a shark/giant squid vs. being wet and cold on the beach), and decided to risk my life in the most shallow part of the lagoon for the comfort of warmth. 
Nick, again, was patient and loving. He helped me adjust my snorkel equipment and instructed that I watch for sea turtles in this particular lagoon. He swam ahead of me and I held onto his feet for full protection. Naturally, instead, I was looking for jelly fish and unidentified sea creatures who could attack at a moment's notice (and not for turtles).
At one point, I bustled my courage and swam away from Nick deeper into the lagoon. Schools of Finding Nemo types of fish darted around the rocks at the bottom. I glanced back at Nick to give him the "Hey! I'm doing it!" thumbs up, when I spotted a slimy-looking snail-ish water creature sucking on a rock. I cupped my hands and pushed myself through the water toward Nick, when I realized the current I created launched this slug-like sea creature (capable of mass destruction, I just know it) right at me. I screamed under water, which is obviously discouraged, and I inhaled copious amounts straight to the bowls of my lungs. That, I vowed, was it. I was ready to go shower and nap and swear off Hawaii oceans of all kinds.


Nick and I began to swim back to the edge of the lagoon when a little girl on the beach pointed about 10 yards in front of us. Nick and I stood up to look (you obviously can guess what I imagined she was pointing at), only to find two giant sea turtles gracefully swimming in the shallow waters. Nick and I swam out to the turtles and followed them underwater for about 10 minutes. They were so relaxed and so willing to co-exist with anything and everything, to include me and Nick and our funny-looking snorkel faces. 
Now, let's discuss the demeanor of a sea turtle. Disney and Pixar set some pretty unrealistic expectations about fairy tales and good hair days, but the easiest way to describe the behavior of these turtles is to equate them directly to Crush, the sea turtle from Finding Nemo. If these turtles had a voice, they would have spoken like a true, Hawaii surfer stereotype. They probably would have looked at Nick and said: "Sup, brah?".


On Day 5 in our new, island home, it was an experience to be treasured.
Perhaps when you all come visit we shall go find these sea turtles together. Deke-- get your impersonation ready! 


Until next time...
Me ke aloha
M.

So-- I'll try this whole 'blogging thing'...

Ann Curry does it on assignment. Courtney did it in Brussels. I suppose blogging is simply another dangling appendage of twenty-first century social media. It's a way to share foreign experiences with our friends, families, and followers who are across time-zones, be that of the international or inter-regional variety. It's a way to say-- "Hey Mom! I'm over here doing [insert adventurous activity here], but because we're six hours apart, you're [circle one] /working/sleeping/at the gym/ so I can't call you right now and tell you about it.


So-- I'll try this whole 'blogging thing' for all your folks on the East Coast. If nothing else, Nick and I can keep you up on our South Pacific jaunt. 


Enjoy the posts and Mahalo (thanks!) for reading!


Me ke aloha,
M.