Mom

What we have here today, is a failure to communicate.
(This quote is attributed to either to Lyndon Johnson or that guy from Smokey and the Bandit.)

I find that mind reading is a valuable skill for married people. Unfortunately, it's a skill I have yet to master fully. I do have occasional moments of glory, when the other half will refer to a thing or a location in the vaguest of terms and I actually know what he means. Today, however, was not one of those times.
We were traveling to Hilo for some light shopping and to take some cash out at the ATM. "Take out a couple hundred," says Ron.
We arrive at Safeway and walk through the door together. At this point, he blurts, "There's your thing." He does not point or nod in any particular direction.
"My thing?" I ask. I look around. I see lots of things.
He is immediately exasperated. I hear the big, 'why me?' sigh.
"Right there," he points to the ATM, sounding not just a little irritated.
"Oh, I see. I'm supposed to know that 'my thing' is the ATM machine," I say. At least, that's what "my thing" is today.
On the way home, I explain that saying, "There's the ATM," is no more difficult to say than, "there's your thing."
"You really need to work on your communication skills," I say.
Later, we're driving up our road when he points at a red barn and says, "Isn't that where the guy lives who bought that tiny house up the road from us?"
"What tiny house?" I ask. Our neighborhood is full of tiny houses. Again, I hear the sigh.
"The tiny house with no bathroom in it, a block up from our house."
"We don't have blocks on our street. What are you taking about?" I say.
"The tiny house that's set back from the road?" He says, sort of mock question-like.
I am still at a loss. "Who told you about this?" I ask.
"You did!" he replies. At this point, I can't help myself. I start laughing hysterically.
We drive up to the "tiny house" which is, in fact, a storage shed alone on a lot. It all comes back to me then. I think I did tell him that the guy who lives in the barn bought the shed. I don't remember how I came by this information. I think it was at least six months ago, so why this knowledge popped into his head today is a mystery.
"That's not a house," I say.
"Then what is it?" he asks.
"A shed," I say.
"Why is that not a house?" he says.
"Because it's a shed," I say.
Now, thankfully, he is laughing too.

Ukulele lesson #4 tonight had us learning something new. That's because yours truly actually asked a question. The instructor was making the rounds, asking people if they were having trouble with any chords or chord changes in particular. Then, we played a song together. At the end, as he does with every song we play, the instructor whipped out a fancy little three-chord finale. He again asked, "Any questions?" I raised my had.
"Yes?" he said.
"Can you teach us that little ditty you play at the ends of songs?"
He smiled. The other students were nodding their heads.
"Sure!" he said.
So, he did. Now, if I can master E minor, I'll be stummin' like a pro. OK that's probably an exaggeration. I'll be stummin' like an advanced beginner. How's that?

Tomorrow night at this time I'll be in the air en-route to Honolulu. Then, I head across the sea on the red eye to my dentist in Encino. Yes, I live in a hovel in the rainforest, but I go to a dentist in L.A. He is, in fact, a dentist to the stars. How's that for prioritizing? It kind of reminds me of a guy who lived in my apartment building while I was going to school in California. I was a poor, starving college student, so it goes without saying that the apartments were less than plush. Most residents drove old beaters or econo-clunkers. Most, but not all. There was one guy who wore fancy suits and drove a brand, spankin' new red Corvette.

After the dentist, I hop onto another plane, then onward to the mile high city where I'll crash for the night. Next morning, I'll wind my way through the Rockies to Gunnison. The task at hand will be to winterize the cabin, visit some old friends and, with any luck, absorb some vitamin D. After all the rain we've been having here, the bones are feeling downright squishy. Then, it's back to California for some wine tasting and silliness. I can't wait.

Ron will remain in Hawaii, working feverishly and taking care of the furry ones. He'll be exhausted by the time I return.

I am completely and utterly out of wine here in the hovel, except for two bottles of 1999 Sunstone Eros. I've been told that those bottles are now worth about $100 each, or more. So I am saving them for a special occasion. Tonight, therefore, I am enjoying an ice cold Dos Equis.
The coqui patrol was suppose to pay us a visit at 7 p.m. tonight. We have a frog. One itty-bitty, obnoxiously loud frog. So does our neighbor. The coqui guys even called to remind us that they would be here. It's 7:55. They're not here yet. It is Hawaii, however, so I guess technically they're not late yet. Oops. I spoke too soon. They're here. See? Right on time.
A hui hou. Aloha!