We spent our first day and anniversary of 5 years at a deserted beach on the Mokuleia side of Oahu. It lies just past “horses” beach, so named because of the open pastures of red dirt horse country that patiently surrounds the coast side of the road. I observed the other side of the road, Maulka side Hawaiians would say, from my beach walk. It’s sharp toothed cliff faces dripped with lime green tree canopy. The occasional skydiving plane blared in for a landing on a strip below the mountains, breaking the quiet of the ocean’s roar. The sand was white and sinking under my feet ND, of course, the water was first clear, then green, then turquoise, then blue. As I pumped my calves into the thick wet sand, I turned to see two sea turtles, honus, playing in the shoreline. A mama and baby, bobbed and surfed over the reef. They surfaced only once in a while, prompting G to call them shy later on. I walked to the water and the tide brought them towards me. Then I almost got sucked back out and raised my arms for balance, first out to the side like a cross and then up over my head. The honu scattered at the threat I presented. I must have seemed like a pre-historic scarecrow (scarehonu?).
When I first arrived and washed my sins of plane travel in the rolling surf, I floated on my back in that same crucifixion pose and the sand clinked together in my ears like hands running through pearls. Amazingly, later we were on our way to the Wailua Sugar Mill and I saw a front yard garden with several white-sheet scarecrows which looked eerily like church crosses blowing in the wind.
Well, I don’t quite know what to say about all of this. I know what my Christian friends would say, can hear them right now. Know what my Jewish relatives would say too. The pagan in my husband, though, would probably approve. One God, and all. Five years doesn’t seem very long but I am grateful for every minute.
Right now back at Auntie Alish and Uncle Marcello’s, a rooster crows. There is a tropic breeze cutting the afternoon heat perfectly. I am writing outside while Ginger Rain and her cousin, Kailani play idyllicly in a house whose long French-doored front room is just as much outside as it is in. Kailani drumbs a beat with an empty water can and Ginger plucks away on a child’s coconut ukelele.
This day would seem like a dumb cliché if it weren’t so breezily real. There are fresh baked chocolate cookies here. I swear.