where i’d like to be right now……………………………outside…………………………….
enjoying the peace, quiet and warmth…………of croatia………….hugmamma.
Had brunch with my daughter at Amerigo’s on Sunday. Our waitress was a pretty blonde with a broad smile. We made small talk when she checked to see if everything was to our liking. We were both surprised to learn that we had a Maui connection. She’d just returned from visiting her brother who lives on the island, and I explained that I’d been born there. As usually happens when I mention that fact, her face brightened and her body relaxed as if we were in the islands. The server, in her late 20’s or early 30’s, said her brother is a wind surfer and has been a Maui “kamaaina” (stranger turned local), for 17 years. He loves the lifestyle, and she wished she were back with him, enjoying the surf and tropical sun.
I was sincerely happy to learn that someone loved my island birthplace, enough to make it his home for more than a decade. Chatting with the waitress brought back fond memories of picnicking at Hookipa Beach Park, now a wind surfing mecca. I shared them with my daughter who has only visited Maui once in her 24 years. Perhaps we’re due for another trip home.
Growing up in a household with no disposable income, weekend picnics at the beach were very special. Sundays were when we packed the trunk with brown paper sacks full of lunch fixings, like fried chicken, white rice, potato salad, chips and strawberry and orange soda pops. Piling into the car, my mom, brother, sister, and me, would drive to beaches an hour or so from our home in Wailuku.
Although not my favorite, Hookipa Beach Park managed to stir my imagination. Hiking a long, steep, hilly path down the rocky cliff-side, carrying bags while bracing against high winds, was not fun. And the blue, green ocean always seemed colder than elsewhere. Fighting to keep a toe hold in the sand while being pulled by an occasional rip tide, struggling to stand as huge waves crashed on top of me, and tripping over rocks along the sea floor, did not compare to wading in the calm, sandy, warm waters of Kalama Beach Park in Kihei.
We would often seek shelter from the whipping winds in a water cave, carved into the base of a cliff. At low-tide, the sandy cove was a child’s dream. Lying face up on the clean, washed sand, I imagined myself a Hawaiian princess of old. Pretending that our family was fleeing from those who’d overtaken our royal palace, we sought shelter in caves along Maui’s coastline. There we’d remain until the tides returned, swelling our hideout with sea water once more. Somewhere on the horizon of my pre-adolescent mind was a handsome, “hapa-hauole” (part-Hawaiian, part-Caucasian) prince, my knight-in-shining armor…
Awakened rudely by the hollers of my siblings because the water was edging its way up the sand, I knew it meant we were leaving. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! It was always worse climbing back up the craggy cliffs, bellies full, bodies lazy, wet sand covering legs and arms. But worst of all, the end of another Sunday, meant a return to school, homework, and endless chores. It seemed forever until the following weekend and the next picnic.
why can’t sunday, follow sunday?…hugmamma.