My mind is both active and lazy. Nostalgia is thicker than the salt in the air. This is my ninth trip to KoOlina on Oahu. It turns out I've spent more time in this hotel than almost anywhere else except home and the cabin and I guess my mom's house in Iowa. It's one of my places. Happy places. Holy places.
I thought God was mostly in the mountains. I thought Hawaii was for tourists--not lovers of nature and solitude. I didn't know that the ocean and the mountains are just two difference displays of majesty. And here we are on the ninth trip.
Bill and I came alone the first year. And like most parents on a long weekend away from the kids we spent the whole time thinking how we could bring them back and how safe and wonderful it would be to have them swimming in the lagoons and seeing the ocean. Oh--and it turns out Hawaii has mountains too. Who would have thought.
Then we brought the kids and then we brought my mom and then we brought my sister and her family. . . . in the days when we could all fly for free and Marriott points paid for mostly everything.
In 2009 on Calvin and Mary's first trip, during the final decent into Oahu, Calvin turned green and lost an eight hours' flight worth of gummy bears and oreos. My heart sunk. He's got the flu on vacation. But, he looked up from the sickness bag and out the window toward the runway and exclaimed in full voice--I wonder what airline Honolulu is a hub for? All's well that ends well. We got Mary's hair braided and got them suited up and headed for the beach, where Bill took this famous photo:
They swam until dark and we went to get a bite to eat in the restaurant.
Back at the room, we tucked them into bed. They were asleep at hallowed be thy name.
The juxtaposition of years is as remarkable as the juxtaposition of last week to this week. The history books will sit in judgment of the wisdom of the working mom. Each day is a work of art--balancing piano practice, getting lunches made, rides, housework, teaching, practicing, choir and the myriad SAM emails pinging my inbox throughout the day. Try to take care of yourself a little and also be a supportive wife. It takes more hours than are in an average day. Add a couple concerts and extra meetings or heaven forbid an eye doctor appointment and the whole thing implodes upon itself.
My kids are spoiled in many ways. We are here across the ocean. But in many other ways the decisions I have made keep them pretty off center from the middle of the universe. We share our home with the piano kids. Everyday their stuff has to be picked up out of "my office." Everything they want to do has to be planned ahead and in the planner because I can't drop everything and give them a ride during those after school hours. There is no margin for spontaneity. Not everything we do earns money and we do it anyway. Things we do for church and music teacher organizations are just because this is what we do. We give back, sometimes to excess but always something. Mom's main purpose is not to make your life easier. The family is a team all working together to try to make sure everyone gets mostly what they need.
And part of what we need is a break. So here we are across the ocean in my happy place.
When I wake up in the middle of the night worrying about the SAM graduation trophies, this is the pillow I try to imagine my head is resting against. Sometimes it works.
We have routines here. Routines for the day, and routines for the week. I guess I am addicted to routines. Routines make me happy. Routines are holy.
Here's a few more photos and you can see why I'm nostalgic. This place stays the same, but we don't.
Tomorrow is my fiftieth birthday. It just worked out that way. I think we will drive to the north shore and be the Minnesota people on the rugged beach. The lifeguard knows us. He doesn't let us go in the water where the professional surfers are. We will dip our toes safely in the waters edge and hold the hands of the kids even though they are teens now and not likely to be washed away.
It's eighty degrees. It's always eighty degrees. We left Minnesota at fourteen below and I hear a couple feet of snow has fallen.
I wish you were here. Here in my happy place. My holy place.
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