Lynn Raye Harris

Friday, when Mike got home from work, I said, “Let’s go to Ala Moana and get something to eat.”

So, he changed out of his uniform and we drove downtown. Traffic was worse going into town than I thought, but we finally reached the mall and found parking right away. The food court is really good, believe it or not. It has the typical mall food court places, but then it also has a wide variety of local stuff, including the Poi Bowl, which has yummy kalua pig. I opted for that while Mike got roast beef and fried rice from another vendor. After we ate, he patiently sat on a bench while I went inside my favorite store.

Williams-Sonoma has atmosphere. I love it. I love the smells and sights, the way the appliances and goodies are arranged. I love the CDs, the olive oils you can taste, the batters and mixes and jars of exotic stuff from other countries. Mike doesn’t like it at all. Getting him inside that place takes an extraordinary act of persuasion. He doesn’t mind sitting on the bench outside, however. This is okay until I want something. And then I either have to go out and talk to him or call him, one cell phone to another across a space of thirty feet or so. Silly.

This time, however, I found a cake pan that was marked down and I wanted it. I didn’t call or go outside, I just bought it. He didn’t care, which is his point anyway. I always want to involve him, but he doesn’t care one way or the other. Why do women do that? Every woman I know does it, though I am sure there are plenty who don’t.

After my extravagant $13 purchase, we went to Dairy Queen and got a shake. Mike said, “Hey, why don’t we go over to the beach and drink these?”

“Okay.”

So we went across the street to the Ala Moana beach park. It’s not in Waikiki, though it’s close. We dragged out the beach chairs we always keep in the Jeep and went to sit on the sand. The sunset was typically beautiful, though the sun is too far to the right to see it set from there this time of year. In winter, you can see it perfectly from the south facing shores. (Here is the point where I tried to upload another picture, but Blogger has ideas of its own these days. I used to be able to put three pictures in a post and now I can only get one in. Piece of shit.)

We sat for a long time, until it was dark and the stars were out. (I took the picture of Venus.) Mike had binoculars and he kicked the chair back and stared up into the sky. In spite of the light pollution from Honolulu, he still manged to find a couple of Messier objects. One was a star cluster, and I believe the other was the Trifid Nebula.

And then I remembered that the Hilton had begun setting off fireworks on Fridays again. At eight o’clock, we turned our chairs toward Waikiki. Not a minute later, the first fireworks went off. It didn’t last long, but it was nice. We packed up after and headed home. Before we reached home, however, we had another adventure. This one involved a big bad highway and a tiny kitten. I’ll blog about that another time, but don’t worry, Admiral Nimitz (Nimmy for short) is doing fine.

Mike thinks I have too many books. I don’t think I have enough. This is only a sample of my messy shelves. In the same room, there are 5 more bookshelves. In another room, I have two more bookshelves. (I also have two boxes of books which have never been opened since the move. It’s all fiction, some classic literature, maybe even duplicates.) Books are my favorite things. I’d rather have books than cable television any day. I am far happier reading, which is funny really because the reason I can no longer watch TV that often is I get restless sitting still for so long. I don’t get restless when I sit and read a book, though. I’m not sure why that is.

What’s on these shelves? The variety is like the library. Romance novels, classic literature, political commentary, how-to, some dummy books, computer books, biographies, poetry, haiku (!), letters, memoirs, etc. I’ve read a lot of it and a lot of it I have good intentions to read. This doesn’t stop me from buying new books, which is where Mike just sort of rolls his eyes and sighs.

But yesterday, instead of buying books, we bought DVDs instead. Mike came home early from work, had a nap (due in part to a 4AM video teleconference), and when he got up I suggested we get out of the house for a while. He wanted to go to Best Buy. So we hopped in the Jeep and headed downtown. Best Buy is new to Honolulu. The first day we went, it was a nightmare. Yesterday, it was practically empty.

We browsed, he made me look at projectors (his next TV), and headed for the DVDs. One of the movies we got was Get Shorty. I’d never seen the movie, though I recently read the book when a friend loaned it to me (a signed copy, no less!). I enjoyed Chili Palmer in the book, couldn’t stop reading, and I enjoyed John Travolta’s interpretation of him. Fun movie, though slightly different than the book.

I haven’t gotten any writing done lately. Been too uptight, too focused on the thesis and other issues. I go through these phases where my novels seem unreal to me, like someone else wrote them and I haven’t a clue where to pick up the thread. I think it’s normal. One morning I’ll wake up and be ready to go again. I hope it’s soon.

I just surfed over to the Honolulu Symphony website and found out that Renee Fleming is coming in March. Oooh, I’m so excited! Mike was, predictably, less enthusiastic when I explained that she was a famous soprano. He’s not exactly an opera fan, though he has agreed to attend one with me this season. I wasn’t always a fan, either. In fact, I’ve only ever been to one opera. I was, regrettably, not enamored at the time. I was 20 years old and I attended a performance of Tchaikovsky’s The Queen of Spades (based on the Alexander Pushkin story).

Though it did capture my attention at one particular point, I was more put out than anything. Here I was sitting in this gorgeous theater in Moscow and listening to people sing in Russian and I was totally clueless to the enormity of that, especially since Moscow was still the capital of the Soviet Union at the time. I’d wanted to see ballet, specifically the Bolshoi, but opera was all that was on the menu then. These were the days when the State told you what you would do and you did it. Our poor tour guide. The entire company of Americans wanted ballet, but instead we were forced to endure an operatic performance.

Man, if I could rewind to that night, I’d be enrapt. There was a point in the performance, like I said, where everyone was suddenly enthralled. A collective gasp went up in the theater when it happened. And it was so skillfully done, the disappearance of one person and appearance of another, that you totally believed it had happened.

Wonder what Renee will sing?

Yesterday, Mike called from work and asked me to come pick him up. He’d gone running with the squadron (unit, platoon, whatever) that morning and gotten sick. For a nearly 40 year old man, my husband is in great shape. The man can out push-up guys nearly half his age. He can run three and a half miles and barely be breathing hard. But yesterday, the cold he’s still getting over refused to allow him to compete on the level he’s accustomed to. He did the run, actually completed it, but then started feeling bad almost immediately. Still, it took him almost three more hours before he admitted defeat and called me.

I didn’t mind the drive. The H1 can be a nightmare at certain times of the day, but 10:30AM is a good time to head toward the center of the island. I completely zoned out as I was heading up the H2 though. Finally, I realized I was passing everyone and slowed down before I got ticketed.

Poor car. It’s built for speed. We used to fly down the Autobahn at 110 mph. I had a hard time adjusting to slower speeds when I first got here. But then some guy plowed into me on the H1 and it was all I could do to get behind the wheel of a car again. He was making a U-turn across traffic so he could get to the shoulder. Neither of us were speeding, thank heavens, or it would have been much worse. Someone would have died.

Took 4 months and a lot of money, but the car was fixed. Natually, he didn’t have insurance. Our insurance had to pick up the whole bill, and we had to pay the deductible. But I felt sorry for the guy. He was a Micronesian immigrant, driving a friend’s van, and the money for repair of my car and the van was close to $25K. I think about him from time to time. I was mad when the accident happened, but I still felt bad for this man. He sat at the wheel of the van, his eyes red with tears, and apologized to me again and again. His family, all seven of them, just stood there and didn’t say anything. No one was hurt though. I had a bruise from the seatbelt tightening down. The airbag deployed, but it was so quick I don’t remember anything about it other than the smell of sulfur.

For a long time, I wished I had a lot of money so I could just pay the bills for us both, so he could take that weight off his mind and not be beaten down by an angry insurance company and the guilt of causing trouble for the friend who was actually liable because it was her van and she was the one without insurance.

Mike says I am too soft-hearted. The guy did something dumb, something illegal. And I said, “But his life shouldn’t be ruined because of a dumb mistake that took all of a few seconds and changed everything for the worse.”

It’s a year later now, and I think about him less. I drive without clenching the wheel and keeping a palm poised over the horn. I change lanes quicker, and I’m not afraid of a burst of speed to get past someone driving slowly or poorly. The insurance company told me they were going after the person who owned the van, but they didn’t expect anything. She could barely speak English, apparently. They had no idea if she had any assets, but they doubted it. And since it’s over a year later and I’ve not gotten a check for the deductible, I imagine she had no money to give. So, she’ll get notices for two years about this big bill, and then it will go on her credit record as a bad debt. And she wasn’t even in the van that day.

Finally, Mike deigns to visit my blog. I have no idea why since I’ve had the darn thing for about two months now. But, he does. What’s he say to me about it? Lessee, he thinks I’m neurotic and need help. Uh, pot, kettle, black, dude. Takes one to know one and all that. And don’t come back if you’re just gonna be critical. (Though he did leave me a sweet note on the tagboard.)

This weekend was a bomb. Mike was home sick on Thursday and Friday, and then I hosted my other writing group on Saturday. That was the bright spot in an otherwise annoying weekend. Michael and Sally came over at 10. I made a pot of Kona and some cinnamon buns and we sat down in the living room to get busy. I read from a short story I’d gotten bogged down in. Michael also had a short story that he’s half finished with, and Sally had the first chapter of a YA novel set in Waikiki.

Michael’s going to the Maui Writers’ Conference in a few days. He’s rooming with a writer from my other group, a lovely African-American woman who doesn’t take one bit of nonsense from anyone. It’s a changed world, isn’t it, when a white man and a black woman who aren’t romantically involved can room together at a writers’ conference and we all think that’s perfectly normal? I love it.

Why do I upload so many pictures of water? Partly, because I am surrounded by it. Probably because it’s a metaphor for my life right now. I’m trying to keep my head above water and typically not doing a good job of it. I need a vacation. I know it looks like I’m living a vacation, but I’m not. Like a woman (who became a friend) told me when I first arrived here, “People don’t realize that just because you live in Hawaii, you haven’t stopped having problems and insecurities.” Living in Hawaii doesn’t make life perfect. You still have problems, but your mainland friends are a lot less sympathetic.

And wow, don’t I sound neurotic today? But it was a stressful weekend. Since I am not allowed to blog about it, no explanations forthcoming. I’ll get over it in a day or two and life will be normal again.

I’m sitting with my critique group in Borders when this book catches my eye. The back cover says, “Stop daydreaming at your desk, ditch the nine to five, say ciao to the rat race–take life by the scruff of the neck and give it a shake!”

Nice thought, I’m thinking. Reading on: “Whether you want to pen a novel, gawp at migrating wildebeest, row the Atlantic or relax on a Goan beach, The Career Break Book is the guide for you!”

They tackle such thoughts as what to do with that pesky mortgage, finances, pets, pension, etc. How to ask the boss for time off (to go to Goa and soak up the sun? To watch wildebeest? To ride the Trans-Mongolian Railway? Uh….), how to take the children out of school for this, and what to do if you don’t ever want to come back. The book is $22. Amazon is cheaper, but the cover is different. Don’t know which is more recent. Also, not surprisingly, no reviews. If you do decide to run off to the tundra and watch polar bears, guess you won’t be too concerned with posting a review on Amazon.com, eh?

It’s a nice thought, but I wonder how often people actually chuck it all and run off to Goa. More likely, they buy the book and spend time dreaming about the possibilities. That’s what I’d do. Guess that’s why I write. I can imagine it all without ever giving up the comforts of home. Want to watch wildebeest? Send a character. Float a felucca down the Nile? Send a character.

I have a split writing personality, a Dr. Jekyll/Mrs. Hyde thing, that insists on manifesting itself with every book. Dr. Jekyll can write at the speed of light. Her drafts are clean, clear, and fast. If left to her own devices, she could write 400 pages in a month or so (she once did 115 in a week, and 350 in a month). I like her a lot.

Mrs. Hyde, however, usually shows up when Dr. Jekyll is on a break. Mrs. Hyde insists that pages written that fast can’t be any good. Mrs. Hyde convinces me to change things, to add things, to subtract things, to entirely rewrite from a new perspective the same scene I just wrote. I don’t like her much at all. In fact, she bogs the book down in endless revision. A book that Dr. Jekyll completed in a couple of months can occupy Mrs. Hyde for a year. She is evil. She must be stopped.

The cold is finally better, thankfully. A lingering cough, but that’s it. Sunday, we awoke late but still made it to church. It was my turn to provide refreshments for coffee hour, but someone forgot to inform me that the parish hall is undergoing serious cleaning and there would be no coffee hour due to lack of space. Glad I bought the coffee cake instead of made it.

Afterwards, hubby and I headed for Sam Snead’s and had a divine Sunday brunch on the lanai. Sam Snead’s is a restaurant in the clubhouse over at the Pearl Harbor Navy golfcourse. I love the omelette bar. I had a crab, shrimp, mushroom, spinach, garlic, cheese omelette. Yum. Mike ordered everything on his. Too funny. I didn’t think there’d be room for the eggs in the pan, but the chef managed it.

We sat outside and watched the golfers putting below us. In the distance, you could see the ocean. Funny how it looks higher than the land you’re sitting on. It looks like it should just spill over the island when you sit and look at it from a distance that isn’t too high above sea level. I think we were at 20 feet above, and that’s because of the lanai.

In spite of the idyllic setting, however, we still managed to have an argument. We don’t argue much after almost 19 years of marriage, but some things still cause it. This one had to do with Mike wanting to withdraw from a class. I was not pleased at this. I think, however, that we’ve solved the problem and he will continue with the class as scheduled.

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t understand this. I have never withdrawn from a class. Never, not once. Lose money or work my ass off to finish? No question which one gets my vote, no matter how hard or how exhausting the work. I never give up when money’s on the line. I am learning to apply this thinking to my fiction writing too. Never give up because money IS on the line. Every day I sit home and write is a day I don’t earn money elsewhere.

I’m not saying money is important to me as a writer. If it was, I wouldn’t be writing. But I’d like an income, something that pays the bills and keeps me in Reef slippahs.

Sunday ended pleasantly enough, though. I didn’t get any writing done, but I did read the Diary of Virginia Woolf, Volume One. It’s amazing how much into her life you can get just by reading those short burst diary entries. Though she certainly had her issues with her own husband, she needed him. In spite of her affair with Vita Sackville-West, I believe she loved Leonard Woolf more than anyone else in her life.

From 2 Nov 1917:

[...] one’s personality seems to echo out across space, when he’s not there to enclose all one’s vibrations. [...] the feeling itself is a strange one–as if marriage were a completing of the instrument, & the sound of one alone penetrates as if it were a violin robbed of its orchestra or piano.

Oh I may get irritated with him, but I need my orchestra too.

I slept in later than I like, but I’ve been doing that with the cold anyway. It’s almost gone, I hope. Hubby and I had coffee, then goofed off on separate computers for a while. Thank heavens for wireless.

And then we got hungry. I don’t know why, but the whole breakfast thing seems to escape us on weekends. We drove down to the Ward Center with the intention of going to D&B’s. Not local, but hey. Except they had a twenty minute wait.

“Let’s go downstairs,” says Mike.

“Buca’s had a line too.”

So we end up going to Wolfgang Puck Express. Not bad at all. After that, a trip to Borders was in order. I bought Prince Joe by Suzanne Brockmann, The Master by Colm Toibin, Lolita by Nabokov, and The Egyptologist by Arthur Phillips. As if I don’t have enough to read.

As we were leaving Borders, I pointed toward Manoa and said, “Look at those houses way up there on the mountain. Where’s the road up?”

“Let’s find out.”

“Okay.”

We found it pretty easily. Go to Makiki and head for Round Top. Takes you up, up, up, twisting and turning until you are high above Honolulu. The place where we stopped isn’t even the top, but there is a lookout point.

A couple of small tour groups came up while we were there. One group was British, another Japanese. “Oooh, aaahhhh,” they said. “Ooooh, wow.”

As we drove down the other side of the mountain, I was in a panic. Every now and then, when we went around a hairpin turn, the setting sun glared off the windshield in such a way that you were absolutely friggin blind.

Great big ropey vines grew down the sides of the mountain, hugging the trees and shading most of the road (thank God). And at the top, I forgot to say, bamboo grows wild. There are actually houses up there, some 2000 feet above Honolulu. They have great big steep driveways, either up or down from the road. Good thing it doesn’t ever snow or get icy here.

We finally made it home and then promptly went back out again. Mike was hungry again and I didn’t feel like cooking. We drove to Pearl Harbor and ate at a dive. On the way home again, we stopped and picked up a bottle of champagne. I don’t know why, but I have a serious hankering for it tonight. I’m usually a red wine gal. I suppose I feel the need to celebrate making it down that mountain in one piece.

Venice, Italy, 2001. Don’t you love how the building looks like it’s about to crumble? We even had a garden. Very unusual. Mom and me.