I don't mean that it a self-deprecating way. I mean that earnestly.
After all, I am a daughter of two teachers and a novice writing teacher myself. I grew up with my father, pointer and thumb fingers poised, sincerely asking me to question my own intent -- this transcended writing, of course, and bled into my actions and interactions with others. Moreover, I can't even give you an educated guess as to how many times I scribbled in the margins of a student's paper: "What is your intent here?"
Sure, perhaps a stroll around the neighborhood with Hobbes or a car ride home or an NPR segment prompts initial ideas; small brain children that could develop into something worth publishing for god-knows who reads this blog. But most often, my original purpose trickles through the hollow words of a tangential story, some back information I have to explain first before my intended point can be made. Alas, I slip into a tangential abyss and embarrassingly enough, even I cannot remember the path back up to my original thoughts. Or maybe the path is too far. The writing merely a personal exercise, abandoned and incomplete.
As such, I heed warning to you now. I'm not sure if this particular entry has a meaningful point, beyond, of course, the shallow attempt to articular life as I know it (or think I know it).
If I could slip today into a film, it would play back for you in a romanticized glow fraying the edges of the scene...
Lately, I have been yearning for life back on the East coast. I want a Main Street. I want quaint shops in old buildings. I want coffee in a porcelain mug and a bookstore filled with musty, old books. I want to park in one spot for free and walk to different businesses to take care of my errands. I want un-chained restaurants. I want.. I want... I want.
So this morning, I woke with the intent to placate my wants. I wasn't going to find exactly want I needed, but I had an adventurous idea:
Early this morning, I set off for 'town' (as the locals call it), otherwise known as the city, proper, of Honolulu. I had an agenda. I wanted a spiced chai latte and breakfast at this picturesque cafe, and I wanted to peruse the shelves of a bookstore, which I agreed would be Barnes and Noble because there is no small business competitor.
I called a couple of friends from Honolulu, and they met me at this cafe. It's brilliant and quaint, a nook in the middle of a great city that is famous for its excessive tourism and with a Starbucks literally every 150 yards. It's the kind of cafe where the menu is chalked on a blackboard in bubbly girlish handwriting, cramped together and hard to read.
I ordered scrambled eggs and cheese on a bagel and a spiced chai latte. Like a true cafe, they serve their lattes in unnecessarily large coffee cups with cinnamon sprinkled on the surface for presentation. Delectable. Conversation was great. I love my friends down here. But I couldn't help but envy the woman at the table next to us. She sipped her tea and slowly picking at her omelet. We, the table next to her (or anyone for that matter), did not exist. With her terrier on her lap, she methodically turned the pages of her novel. Her party of two (oh, come on, animals are absolutely considered part of the 'party') made me wish Hobbes could endured the 45 minute drive and sit quietly on my lap as I ate breakfast and read my book (oh yeah right!).
Breakfast ended, and we parted ways. I met up with another friend of mine and we walked a good fifteen minutes to Honolulu's Barnes and Noble bookstore. Of course a B&N doesn't smell musty or have books with tattered spines or faded green covers. Their 'classic' books are in a section called 'books for school' and despite the vast variety of genre, era and style, they all display covers identical in color, font and background pattern. But a bookstore is a bookstore, and I have the desperate desire to be surrounded by books.
With much restraint, I decided to only buy five books. I purchased another copy of The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) for my mentor at the college as a thank you for her advisement and guidance. I purchased The Descendants (Kaui Hart Hemmings), and a book (of which I cannot recall the title at the moment) by Elin Hilderbrand (please don't ask me why I remember the author and not the title). Then, I unintentionally wandered into the children's section wherein I decided to make two unplanned purchases. First, I found a book called Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site. Given Nick's profession alone, this book is an absolute necessity for our unborn children. However, Nick and I are far, far, far, FAR from wanting children. So I purchased the book for our little Millie babies <3. It's a children's best seller, and our favorite Cortland boys will love the tractors and excavators in the story. Lastly, I purchased a book called Harris and Me by Gary Paulsen. I have never read this book. It's a "young readers" book, and I have a vivid memory of Dad and Luka laying in Luka's bed, in hysterics while reading this novel. It's probably higher on my list than the Hilderbrand novel.
I don't remember much of the rest of my afternoon except that I shifted from a beach chair in the backyard to my lanai and finally to my couch. I am almost halfway through The Descendants and I cannot put the story down - well, except of course to compose this possible purpose-lacking post. I highly recommend this novel!
Hobbes and I did venture for a walk around dusk to watch the sun set and this infamous 'super moon' ascend into the night sky. We perched on a knoll overlooking the pond on the 18th-hole of the golf course. The sun quietly sank, and its trail of pinks and oranges puddle in the nape of the sky as the blanket of night tucked itself around the island. The moon was indeed magnificent. The trade winds made the night air very cool, even slightly chilled. Hobbes hunkered on my lap and we watched the light off the moon's face glitter across the water.
I'm not sure why I want to write about the on-goings of this May day; perhaps I simply wanted to play with my sentences in an effort to capture the snapshots of the romanticism of the cafe, the bookstore and the hushed sunset juxtaposed to the vociferous moon. Maybe I'm just engaging in a writing exercise for my own pleasure, to archive a day in Hawaii in my twenties.
Without relinquishing my efforts or censoring my thoughts, I present to you my postulations for today. :)
