Travel day: back to Hawaii. I woke up before the alarm went off after a good night's sleep. Will I be glad to be home? I had someone to look forward to on each leg of the trip. I thought Damon's place would be tough because I had never been there without Mike. But that was fine. Maybe home will be fine, too.
Some say the first year is the worst. So far, so good. I'm having a reasonably easy time of it. But some say the third year is the worst. I can believe that the third year will be the worst for me. I'm still so blended with Mike; I don't feel his absence fully.
My back felt just fine. I showered and packed, and then ----- oh, boy, right back to square one. Damon was already up and had his coffee brewing when I got upstairs. We talked for a while, and then Cylin came down to say goodbye. August, Damon's 16-year-old son, is turning out to be a lovely boy. He's taller than his dad already, mostly legs in the tradition of his paternal grandmother. His mom has to order special pants for him. He is excellent at taking care of himself while being kind and considerate of others. Can't think of a better result of child-raising. Congratulations to Damon and Cylin.
Damon had ordered a limousine service to take me to LAX. The driver took all the back routes to avoid rush hour traffic; we weren't on the freeways once. We went through several LA neighborhoods. We went through Koreatown, where friends of Damon lived. I understand now why there was some discomfort with that situation. It's not supposed to be dangerous, but it sure isn't lovely either. It's quite a contrast to Beverly Hills, where we went on Saturday to go to Bloomingdales and get that outrageous Chinse food.
As we drove along, I tried to determine the difference. Why was Koreatown so unattractive, downright grubby, while Beverly Hills was so Beverly Hills. As we drove along, I saw other neighborhoods with small shops side by side that didn't look as bad. Koreatown was festooned with printed signs advertising this and that. Another point was the lack of paint. The more attractive places' exteriors were painted with some sense of design: two colors, a few decorative details, and the signs in 3-D lettering with a distinctive font. I had to say the differences between an attractive neighborhood and Koreatown were small design differences. The difference between the shopping area in Beverly Hills and anywhere else is a quantum leap of all those qualities.
When we arrived at the airport, I had to make it into the terminal on my own. I was right at the Hawaiian service desk. I said, "I need a wheelchair." Sitting, thank God, seems to be all right, but walking . . . I sat in a handicapped seat. Some clerk leaned over a counter and asked me for my ID. She took care of getting my boarding pass.
Once I was in the wheelchair, my first stop was the bathroom. Then, the attendant wheeled me to the gate. I wanted my computer from my briefcase. I turned to ask him, but he was gone. Someone else helped me. I sat there and typed. I was the second one on the plane.
I busied myself with my blog until I was updated. I couldn't post the ones I had finished because I couldn't run them through Grammarly or send them out. When I finished what I could do, I tried to watch a movie. They had Crazy Rich Asians available. I wanted to see that.
I couldn't get my computer working because I hadn't downloaded some input thing. I had been told I could do that on the plane once I opened it up when in the air. No. "Who told you that?" the flight attendant asked when I asked for help. "The man who checked me in at the gate." "He didn't know what he was talking about." Winds up, no one does. Everyone knows what to do with phone and tablet apps, but not with computers. Okay, so I take out my phone. But I can't find where to plug in the headphones. The iPhone has a special plug; it does not take the garden variety of headphones. Oh, well. Back to typing, I worked on the book and read more of Bobos in Paradise and whatever I had on my Kindle.
After sitting all that time, my back felt good enough for me to make it down the ramp. My hands were free because the guy sitting next to me was kind enough to bring down my suitcase and briefcase. I started crying when I exited the plane; I was so happy to be back in Kona. The island, yes, I mean the land, gets a hold of you and doesn't let go. I could feel my contact with this rock called the Big Island. I stopped at the foot of the ramp, waiting for the wheelchair to arrive. My back hurt so much that I had to bend over. As passengers disembarked, several asked me if I was okay.
I had to wait for quite a while before the chair arrived. Then, the attendant wheeled me off the tarmac into the waiting area. He dropped me there, saying he had to get a wheelchair for someone else. Another wait. When he returned, he had another old lady in a chair; he pushed both of us to the baggage claim area. The other lady had six suitcases checked; I had none. I called Judy, who was waiting in the cell parking lot, to come get me.
I am so glad it was Judy who picked me up. We share an overtly loving relationship; there's a warmth between us. I don't mean that others don't love me, but Judy and I are alike in our willingness to show affection and appreciation.
My back – OMG! Scott had left me a note that the linens were in the dryer. Judy got them out and made the bed. If not, I would have been sleeping on a bare mattress. I persuaded her to take some food out of my freezer before it went bad and take it; I wasn't doing anything with it.
I made myself some dinner and finished up Bobos in Paradise. Then I took to the sofa on the lanai and watched the last episodes of City Homicide. There is a fifth season, but it's not on Amazon yet. Kathrin came home around 8 pm. She had gone to Hilo for a week to visit some friends. She told me about some of her adventures. Then I had to go to bed. It was 9:30 pm, which was 12:30 on the West Coast, where I had been for the last two weeks.
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