Today in Island Living:

Hidden Treasures and Tribulations

 

 

After a stormy day, the night was quiet and cool - the first night blankets didn't seem like an exercise in idiocy to me. They still were, I discovered at 3a, but at least they were LESS sweaty and idiotic. I awoke in the morning to the smell of coffee and a home unnecessarily prepared for disaster - and thankfully so. 

 

As breakfast was prepared, I helped arrange the house back to it's normal state - moving furniture and resetting bamboo blinds above the windows to let the breeze and sun back in. On the blinds we discovered a gecko egg - discovered by accidental squashing, ick. I, of course, was impressed and interested in it and began asking questions - geckos are one of my favorite things about island life. Eager to please, as ususal, the Smallest Roommate dragged me and my coffee mug to the master bath to show off the two hatched gecko eggs nestled in the strike plate of the door in the photo above. Such interesting things lurk all around! I suspect there is an entire gecko society operating above our heads and around the corners at all times over here. Council meetings, HOAs, commuter roads - just a few scenarios they might discuss while shimmying around on the overhead beams.

 

Housing discussions aren't just for geckos. The space that's been offered to me requires a bit of fixing up to make it really comfortable - and there is quite a bit of back and forth about what is necessary and what isn't needed or wanted. A roof needs repair, but it's worth it to do the whole roof at once instead of in increments and extend it over the lanai that is being debated as an option but you'd need to raise the roofline several inches to move the doors to the other side of the building and they might look wierd next to the windows and the stove needs to be taken out and there is a tiny fridge and do we want to close that alcove in the kitchen and move it to the other side as a closet and how does it all fit together and the shower needs to be grouted but they tiled it wrong inthefirstplaceandnowtheroofneedsto... As I'm still on the fence about my long term plans and island living it's hard for me to weigh in on what should be done. Where do you set a boundry when the lines are blurry? It's not a place I own - but I'll be contributing to the finances to make repairs and improvements happen - but it's really for the owners to decide what they do and don't want to have done to their property. HOW DOES THIS WORK?! I'm just going to head in with an attitude of abundance and let the world fall around me as it will. I've never been failed when I actually try to do something. Avoiding issues? Terrible results. So I'm going to try to reach towards the day remembering there isn't a wrong way to live. Choosing quiet isn't a bad thing. Waiting to know more isn't a bad thing. Uncertainty is uncomfortable but definitely not fatal.

 

This morning when I began this I thought I'd move here for sure. At this moment, sitting in the dark listening to the insects outside creak and chirp, head spinning with container shipping quotes and pet quarentines and money matters - I don't know. I'll start thinking about it again in the morning. 

 

Today (tonight) in island living we cry ourselves to sleep, wishing for answers and stability and a cat to purr with his face pushing into ours. I miss you so much, little cat face in my cozy little nest in the city I know with the friends I love. I miss you a lot.

 

Moving and Grooving

 

 

I feel compelled to mention early on in it's life that this blog is not my fault. I place the niggling brain worm of a idea directly and completely on a friend of mine. "Write" he said. "It'll be good for you" he said. I took a sip of my whiskey and agreed with him - then promptly ignored his advice. He's a smart guy - I don't think he's steered me wrong yet. So I changed my mind and started writing.

 

I moved from one family home to another last night. That's the view into the living room from the front porch. It was beginning to rain, and the heat and humidity had me beat. Sticky and tired I listened to my uncle and his sister, my aunt, pass the time on the phone while I snapped a picture. After the call ended, a quiet "are you still awake out there?" prompted an introduction to The Mills Brothers and their harmonies before bed. 

 

So here I am, welcomed again into a home with no questions asked. Encouraged and greeted and pounced upon by an enthusiastic five-year-old. Informed gaily while eating together at the family table "we have breakfast, lunch, and dinner here - three meals a day. And very good food too!" Discussion of roof repairs and grocery bills have replaced what shows have been through town (hint: in a place this small, it's the guy playing acoustic sets at the weekly farmer's market) or what new bacon-themed bars are opening soon or who was wasted last night at what time.

 

It's different - and I like it, mostly. I'm homesick, and I miss my cat. I miss quiet days and watching tv to fall asleep. I miss wanting blankets and my laundry routine and the neighborhood I finally became a regular in. That's okay though - I've given myself permission to stay if I love it. I've given myself permission to leave after a few months, too, despite the five year old's persistant attempt to extract promises of "living here forever." It's nice to be wanted. 

 

Today in island living, we formed a band that's sure to be a hit with the preschool set  (Hawi Town Rockers won out over Mary and the Miniatures and Rainy Day Band) and started writing a hit song (working title: It's Raining, That's Boring), and had a mid-morning meltdown of unexpected ferocity from two of three kids. The hatches are mostly battened down, the cushions on the lanai have been brought in, and the fraud I discovered on my bank account this morning has been filed. Another day, another hurricane.

 

You've Got to Start Somewhere

 

 

This is where I started 12 days ago. This is a window seat on a flight from San Francisco, CA to Kailua-Kona, HI. I took a borrowed backpack as a carryon with enough clothes to get by for a week without laundry, my laptop, and a ukulele. I threw up while waiting to deplane.

 

The apartment I left is still filled with my stuff - furniture, clothes, books, art supplies, heavy kitchenware - the kind of things you acquire when you you think you'll stay in a place for a very long time. There is a tv bought in response to a break up - expensive, fancy, internet connected. A half-finished faux-bearskin rug made from black t-shirts. My grandfather's handmade drafting table, scarred with cuts from it's time in my father's darkroom and now functioning as the cat's favored observation deck. Musical instruments crowd art on the walls, which in turn crowd knitting projects pinned up and never finished. I walked out of that apartment on a Tuesday afternoon, very nearly in the center of San Francisco, a city that's been my home for my entire adult life, and now? Now I live in a town that had under 11oo residents at the last census. 

 

In short, life got really fucking wierd really fucking quickly. Here I am, because you've got to start somewhere.

 

Lucky me, I've got a head start on this. I've got an incredibly generous family that's welcomed me with open arms (you ever hang out with a 5 year old that loves you? IT IS AWESOME.) and a real soft landing. I haven't yet walked into a restaurant here - nor a bar. I've been to multiple birthday parties for the 6 and under set, and I've not yet woken up after 6.30a. I've gotten to know two of my mom's brothers better in under 2 weeks than I've ever known them in 30 years. I can't remember being so happy and so homesick in my life.

 

So today in island living? Today we remember how to breathe.