Today was the big day; The Law School Admissions Test. I don't feel particularly good about it. It was intense. And when I finally returned home from my day in the exam room, I was thoroughly exhausted.
Immediately after the test, I bopped on down to the Hilo Farmers' Market for some sustenance; namely, two musubis and a Thai noodle bento. There are no picnic tables at the Hilo Market, so I perched my okole atop a very low, rock wall facing the bayfront sidewalk. There, I munched, sipped lilikoi-aide and watched people as they strolled by. It occurred to me then that there are lots of people on earth (or at least strolling through downtown Hilo) who have very ugly feet. I must say that there are times when a stroll through Hilo Town makes Venice Beach in California seem like a bastion of normalcy. I saw one chubby young tattooed woman in a spaghetti strapped sundress wearing Uggs. Uggs are tall, fur-lined snow boots worn mostly as apres ski apparel. But there she was. Granted, the weather was a little drizzly. But it was about 82 degrees. Her feet had to be sweltering.
At one point I saw a haole couple approaching. The woman was wearing a full-length house dress, circa 1890, with ruffles around the high neck and long sleeves. It was plaid. She also sported a white bonnet that looked more like it belonged on a matron from Little House on the Prairie than here. Her bearded husband wore a beige smock with a round collar and long hem. It hung down over white trousers. He wore white tennies with velcro closures. But he had removed the Velcro straps that stretch across the arch, leaving a wide space through which you could see his white socks. Just my luck, they chose to sit down beside me.
"It's hard to believe he's gone," said the woman to the man. I made the mistake of looking up. She and I made eye contact. She told me they had frequented a booth at the market and had befriended the man who sold produce there. They had just learned that he recently had a massive heart attack and died.
"We just saw him. How he's gone," she said.
I briefly related my similar experience with my coffee guy down the highway.
I continued to eat and they continued to chat with one another. When I got up, I said, "Sorry about your friend." She replied, "Sorry about yours." They were nice. They sounded like normal people. And yet, there were those outfits. Yes, they were definitely outfits.
Prior to parking my derriere, I had strolled along that very sidewalk. At one point along the way, a baby bottle made a thud and rolled in front of me. I bent to pick it up and return it to the baby to which it belonged. She was adorable, sitting in a stroller beside her mom. The young Hawaiian mom looked at me and grinned, saying, "Tanks!" Mom was cute too, except for the unsettling fact that her two front teeth were completes rotted out. Only black stubs remained.
After finishing my lunch, I walked around the corner looking for a rubbish can in which to drop my napkins and empty cup. Just before I found one, it began to pour. The can lid, and my hands, were wet. So as I grabbed it, it slipped and flipped onto the sidewalk. "Shoot," I said, out loud to no one, scrambling to reach for it to put it back on the can. I heard a man chuckle. I looked up and there he was, standing on the sidewalk smiling. He was an older, Japanese gentleman, wearing a crisp tan shirt and looking quite distinguished with silver hair. "Slippery huh?" he said.
"Yep," I replied. He made me smile. We both held our hands up to the sky to acknowledge the rain.
Back to the LSAT. I was the oldest test taker by at least 20 years. Still, I enjoyed talking story with the youngsters outside the testing room before the test and during the break. They were witty, smart and full of ambition, weighing options, pursuing dreams and planning their futures. I found that inspiring. After all, I'm not dead yet. I still have a future. Why not dream? If my score comes back as pathetically low as I suspect it will, I may just take the test again in February. I won't know for three weeks. Meanwhile, I'll practice my ukulele and pick up extra shifts at the winery. And tonight, I'll finish this glass of wine and hit the hay.
A hui hou. Aloha.
Immediately after the test, I bopped on down to the Hilo Farmers' Market for some sustenance; namely, two musubis and a Thai noodle bento. There are no picnic tables at the Hilo Market, so I perched my okole atop a very low, rock wall facing the bayfront sidewalk. There, I munched, sipped lilikoi-aide and watched people as they strolled by. It occurred to me then that there are lots of people on earth (or at least strolling through downtown Hilo) who have very ugly feet. I must say that there are times when a stroll through Hilo Town makes Venice Beach in California seem like a bastion of normalcy. I saw one chubby young tattooed woman in a spaghetti strapped sundress wearing Uggs. Uggs are tall, fur-lined snow boots worn mostly as apres ski apparel. But there she was. Granted, the weather was a little drizzly. But it was about 82 degrees. Her feet had to be sweltering.
At one point I saw a haole couple approaching. The woman was wearing a full-length house dress, circa 1890, with ruffles around the high neck and long sleeves. It was plaid. She also sported a white bonnet that looked more like it belonged on a matron from Little House on the Prairie than here. Her bearded husband wore a beige smock with a round collar and long hem. It hung down over white trousers. He wore white tennies with velcro closures. But he had removed the Velcro straps that stretch across the arch, leaving a wide space through which you could see his white socks. Just my luck, they chose to sit down beside me.
"It's hard to believe he's gone," said the woman to the man. I made the mistake of looking up. She and I made eye contact. She told me they had frequented a booth at the market and had befriended the man who sold produce there. They had just learned that he recently had a massive heart attack and died.
"We just saw him. How he's gone," she said.
I briefly related my similar experience with my coffee guy down the highway.
I continued to eat and they continued to chat with one another. When I got up, I said, "Sorry about your friend." She replied, "Sorry about yours." They were nice. They sounded like normal people. And yet, there were those outfits. Yes, they were definitely outfits.
Prior to parking my derriere, I had strolled along that very sidewalk. At one point along the way, a baby bottle made a thud and rolled in front of me. I bent to pick it up and return it to the baby to which it belonged. She was adorable, sitting in a stroller beside her mom. The young Hawaiian mom looked at me and grinned, saying, "Tanks!" Mom was cute too, except for the unsettling fact that her two front teeth were completes rotted out. Only black stubs remained.
After finishing my lunch, I walked around the corner looking for a rubbish can in which to drop my napkins and empty cup. Just before I found one, it began to pour. The can lid, and my hands, were wet. So as I grabbed it, it slipped and flipped onto the sidewalk. "Shoot," I said, out loud to no one, scrambling to reach for it to put it back on the can. I heard a man chuckle. I looked up and there he was, standing on the sidewalk smiling. He was an older, Japanese gentleman, wearing a crisp tan shirt and looking quite distinguished with silver hair. "Slippery huh?" he said.
"Yep," I replied. He made me smile. We both held our hands up to the sky to acknowledge the rain.
Back to the LSAT. I was the oldest test taker by at least 20 years. Still, I enjoyed talking story with the youngsters outside the testing room before the test and during the break. They were witty, smart and full of ambition, weighing options, pursuing dreams and planning their futures. I found that inspiring. After all, I'm not dead yet. I still have a future. Why not dream? If my score comes back as pathetically low as I suspect it will, I may just take the test again in February. I won't know for three weeks. Meanwhile, I'll practice my ukulele and pick up extra shifts at the winery. And tonight, I'll finish this glass of wine and hit the hay.
A hui hou. Aloha.
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