Makapuu and Other Human Foibles

You know something about who you are when you hike the Makapuu Lighthouse Trail with your family on a scorching hot day with only two containers of water.

Let me start off by saying that I recently took one of those online personality tests and it pegged me as ISFJ or "nurturer." You know, like Kim Kardashian. No lie, she was my celebrity comp. Because, yeah, I have always thought me and Kim Kardashian have a lot in common, like...we are both humans who were born on the planet Earth and one day we will both die and stuff. Also, Mother Teresa, she was another of my celebrity comps.  Um-kay.

Anyway, anyone who saw me on the Makapuu hike that day knows in no uncertain terms that the personality test was flawed and I am definitely not a "nurturer." I wanted no part of sharing the water, with Husband and children. They had to pry it out of my fingers.

The Makapuu Trail is beautiful in a way that is impossible to describe or even show in pictures. Breaktaking. Literally. It takes away your breath. Sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean Pacific Ocean (I can't seem to get used to the fact that I'm not an East Coast girl anymore), rolling hills strewn with rocks, side trails that lead to cooling tidal pools.

And no fresh water.

Or bathrooms. (Except for the one I invented behind the big rock.)

It's completely open to the hot sun with no reprieve. Here in Hawaii, we seek out shade like animals, hunker down in it until the scorching part of the day has passed and we can venture once more into the world. Shade is all. When you're this close to the equator, you have no choice but to love the shadows. (Hmm, there's a metaphor in there, but I don't know if this is the place for it.)

If it had just been me, I would have started the hike at 7:00 in the morning and been done before the hot part of the day, but Husband and children can be difficult to wrestle into the car and we didn't get going until 1:00. Big mistake. And then I had to share the water. Terrible fate.

We eventually made it up the steep incline, rationing out sips from the Hydro Flask (I know Second Son took more than his share, I just know it!), complaining bitterly about the heat, sharing hats, so that everyone got a chance for some personal shade.

And then when we finally got to the top, overwhelmed by our sense of togetherness, I started singing (to myself, thankfully): Started from the bottom now we're here. Started from the bottom now my whole team's here...

Clearly time to introduce the kids to some new music, it's starting to rub-off on me...

But still, a great hike for the whole family. Just bring plenty of water for yourself and a little extra in case you run into me.

We Eat Spam-alot

Life on Hawaii is busy. Fear of missing out on something totally gnarly keeps us on the move. All that moving must be fueled and when you live on Hawaii, there's only one way to fuel it.

I buy three cans of Spam every week whether I need it or not.

Ha! Just kidding! I always need it.

One great thing about living in Hawaii is that it's O-K to like Spam. Let that sink in for a minute. It's alright, no one will judge you, it's likely no one will even notice. I'm sorry, but that's freedom itself right there.

We enjoy Spam several ways in my family, but my favorite is the good ole fashioned I'm-12-years-old-and-just-got-home-from-school-and-want-some-canned-meat way, i.e. fried up on some tasty white bread with a squirt of mustard.

We recently spent a busy morning at the beach riding SUPs and had a soccer game in the afternoon. In between all that, we had to eat, so I busted out my trusty Spam.

It looks truly disgusting straight from the can. And smells horrible. I have to stomach my way through this part.

Oh God! So gross!

I slice it up pretty thin 'cause that's how we roll in Hollie's Hale.

I'm about to vomit here.

And I throw it in my handy cast iron skillet that I use so much, I keep it stovetop.

Still fighting regurgitation, this looks so gross to me.

Brown it up nice and good.

Okay, looking yum.

Take white bread (the kind we used to eat in 1987, remember that?), squirt on some mustard, and throw on the beautiful brown Spam.

Heaven.

Serve with a side of Maui-style chips ('cause they're delicious) and some sweet tea ('cause Husband's from North Carolina), and get ready for the kids to beg for seconds and thirds and fourths...truly that good.

You're welcome, internet. You are welcome.

Flat Island or Bust

So there's this thing I like to do--stand-up paddleboarding (or SUP). I am, admittedly, not too great at it. But being mediocre at something has never stopped me before. In fact, I've lived quite the mediocre life and I'm cool with that. When amazingly good things really start happening for me, that's when I get all antsy and neurotic and a little bit insane. Middle-of-the-road mediocrity is the only place I can breathe properly.

SUP is a great thing to do in Hawaii which has, no lie, the best food on the planet that is in no way, shape, or form healthy to eat. I need some way to burn off that Kalua pork and I like to be in the water. Match made in Pacific island heaven.

The first thing you need to SUP is a ginormous board. The bigger the board, the more stable, i.e. easier, it is. Husband moved me to Hawaii with our three kids back in June and then took off for seventy days to "do his job." Whatevs. I deserved something pretty terrific for keeping the kids alive while he was gone and I'm not a fan of jewelry, so he did what any good husband would do--bought me a ginormous SUP board, along with a smaller one for himself so he can surf waves on it.

We decided to go to Kailua on the Windward side of Oahu and paddle out to Flat Island on our new boards. Flat Island is a bird sanctuary and I've been watching people paddle out there for months now, sick with envy that they got to see the birds. I wanted to see the birds too, dammit!

I did some research before we left and read that this SUP trip from Kailua Beach to Flat Island was great for beginners. What I forgot was that Hawaii's idea for Beginner is what Mainlanders would refer to as Intermediate/Advanced. Hawaii's idea for Advanced, btw, is something that has a good chance of leading to your untimely demise.

Flat Island looks super-close from the shore, like...right there. How hard could it be to paddle out to it? We happened to pick a windy day with waves that were way choppier than any I had experienced before while on a SUP and started out towards the island. I paddled and paddled my little heart out. I paddled until my arms were limp. I looked back after about thirty minutes and I was barely off shore!

Husband loved this day, because he's pretty good at SUP (and everything else in life) and it gave him a perfect opportunity to spend the entire day at his favorite hobby: telling me what to do. As hobbies go, it's relatively harmless and this time, much appreciated by myself. He gave me a few tips and then took off to ride the waves that break around Flat Island.

Show off.

It's right there. We'll be there in no time!

I eventually made it to Flat Island too, battling a headwind the whole way, dropping to my knees several times in fatigue. I parked the SUP on the beach and walked around the rim of the small island, the sharp rock formations stabbing my bare feet, bringing a Hawaiian saying that I recently coined to mind: You can have a full life or pretty feet. You can't have both. I saw a few birds and said, "Oh. Birds." I watched husband wipe-out on a wave. I walked to the far side of the island and looked East. I've lived near the Atlantic Ocean for much of my life. I like to stand on a shore and look East. East feels like me. East feels like home. I watched that horizon stretch into the distance, broken up only by the Mokes, pondered the fact that I was blessed to have the opportunity to appreciate such a thing and then paddled back, the wind pushing me forward.

Hawaii and Babies...Sort of the Same

Moving to Hawaii is horrible in the same way that having a baby is horrible (stay with me here). They follow the same stages:

Excitement at the news.
Planning.
Giggling.
Obsessive Googling.
Ridiculous happiness.
Fear.
Panic.
What the hell was I thinking?
I change my mind.
This is the worst decision I ever made.
I should never be allowed to make decisions ever again.
I was right! It's horrible!
I want my old life back.
Okay, it could be worse.
Oh. That was nice.
Aw.
Sigh.
I love this new life.

Maybe all big life changes are like that to a certain extent, but the main thing babies and Hawaii have in common is that I was unable to talk about the horribleness (it's a word) of it all. Because it's true, moving to Hawaii is winning the lottery, and by doing so I gave up my right to ever complain about anything for the rest of my natural life.

Fair enough. I probably complained too much anyway.

I've been on the island for about four months and it has revealed a lot to me in its subtle waves. The island likes to be subtle like that...or maybe I just like to read too much into things. Point being, happiness and contentment in life are not dependent on where you live. Hawaii isn't Disney World. It's a real place with real people who deal with real issues. Problems that I brought with me in my flawed being did not disappear into the ether the moment the plane touched down in Honolulu, I just have a prettier place to struggle.

So, if you're feeling like Hawaii is perfect just remember...I have to get up at 6:30 in the morning to watch NFL football and it takes me an hour to drive the five miles to the soccer field and I miss my mom.... It's not where you live your life, it's how you live it.