I've learned a few things since moving to Hawaii. One is that my dog, Doc, loves tropical fruit. He enjoys bananas but goes positively bananas over papaya. He can smell it the moment I cut one open from the opposite end of the house and comes prancing in to see if he can score a taste. What a big goofball.
Why is it that we can go bananas, but we never go apples or grapes or oranges. We go cookoo for cocoa puffs, but I think that's different....
I've also learned that, when it rains in the tropics, it's just too warm for a raincoat. Walking three dogs requires both hands, so an umbrella is out of the question. I've been pondering the idea of a hands-free umbrella. I know I would have a use for one, so maybe others would too. Until then, I'll just get wet.
I learned recently too that my old, reliable Purple Trooper is on it's last legs and won't we worth transporting to Hawaii. That's not something I learned because I'm in Hawaii. It's just something I learned in general. Anyway, I guess it's time for a new vehicle. That is exciting, I'll admit. Still, I love my old truck, scratches, dog hair and all.
I learned that Sunday is the best day to swim at the Sparky Kawamoto pool. There were maybe two other people there with me yesterday and much of my swim was spent in the pool by myself. A 50 meter, Olympic-sized pool was all mine, complete with a lifeguard on duty. The great thing about starting a swim fitness regimen in a new town is that nobody know me here. So I am in no way self conscious about pouring my beached whale of a body into a suit and going to a public pool. I don't care what these people think. Some of them are just as fat as I. In Gunnison, land of the hard-bodies, extreme sports capital of the globe, even the senior citizens are buff. So there was no way I was going to the college pool there and risk being seen by someone I know. No way. OK maybe in a full body wet suit....
My shoulders are a bit sore. I haven't swum (is that right? Here we go again... swim, swam, swum?) serious laps like this since college. Before that it was junior high. You can tell how long ago that was by the fact that I went to a junior high, not a middle school.
I've learned that you should be careful what you wish for. It might come true. In Gunnison, a dry place where water is scarce and people sometimes feud over what's theirs or their neighbors, folks, including me, often wish and even pray for enough moisture to keep the hay meadows green, the household spigots flowing, the rafts running on swollen rivers and the fish cool and happy. Some years those wishes come true in gunny. Other years, the prayers go unanswered. So I've moved to the rainforest where there seems, right now at least, to be way too much of that particular good thing. That said, the cracks in my finger tips have all healed since moving here. My nose rarely bleeds. My lips aren't always chapped. The crows feet are a little less defined and obvious. Here, I never have to water my lawn. Nobody in my neighborhood even owns a sprinkler. It's wet, to say the least. And cloudy and grey. My towel does not dry in a few hours after I've used it out of the shower. A few days, maybe, but not a few hours. Algae grows on the driveway and on the side of the house. Tiny heating elements are required in closets to keep them dry enough to prevent clothes from molding. We keep a dehumidifier in the office to protect the computer equipment. It sucks 50 pints of water out of the air in a tiny, 8x10 room every two days or so. In Gunnison, we occasionally used a humidifier to put moisture into the air.
And yet, some things are the same. My neighbors have cattle. They never have to put up hay to feed them in the winter. There's always plenty of grass for grazing. No public land allotments or putting up bales or piles for the winter. No winter at all, really. Of course, you'd never know it to see the locals here. They're wearing overcoats and sweaters and sometimes even hats whenever the temperature dips below about 72 degrees.
Those are all the musings I have in me today. Until next time, aloha.
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