To kill time yesterday while my car was being inspected, I walked to town for a nice lunch at Aloha Luigi, then down to the bayfront to pick up some mints at the candy store strong enough to kill the garlic from my ceasar wrap. Back at Midas, I was told I needed new back break shoes. Mine were cracked. I saw the cracks for myself. So while they fitted the Focus for those, I strolled over to Starbucks, right next door. There I sat reading my classmates' manuscripts and enjoying a slightly sweetened iced coffee when the woman sitting next to me leaned over, tapped me on the arm and asked, "Excuse me. How do you spell heritage?" Really? Is this years-long Hawaii experiment just one big cosmic joke, a bad dream from which I will never awaken and during which I will be asked to spell simple, everyday words wherever I seek solace? I spelled the word.
Thankfully, this lady turned out to be different from the man at the library (please refer to a previous blog for that story). For one thing, she did not ask for dozens of additional words. For another, she was a she. It was a coffee shop, after all, not the hallowed halls of la biblioteca where quiet is both revered and expected. We talked about art, about poi, about breadfruit, about the merits and overuse of noni. She was lovely and interesting. I couldn't help but notice the copy of Natalie Goldberg's Wild Mind on her table. Below that was Writing the Natural Way by Gabriele Lusser Rico. Everyone's a writer these days. We chatted about that a bit, too.
Today it was back to town for another pound of coffee, some dog food, cat food, burritos for lunch and a prescription for some nose spray my allergy doctor thinks I need. I'm not so sure. Stuff tastes nasty when it runs down the back of my throat.
I'm packed and ready to fly away. Tomorrow night I'll land in beautiful San Diego. After some much needed underwear shopping at the Jockey outlet, my friend Gail and I will head north for a fun-filled weekend in L.A., with the coup d' gras a trip to the dentist. My dentist is in Encino. My orthopeodist is in Colorado. I'll see her the next day. My gynocologist is in Honolulu. Years ago, I had a gyno named Dr. Ira ( I don't remember his last name) in L.A. He had pictures of Farrah Faucet and Ryan O'Neill on his walls. Seems Farrah and I had something in common. The same kindly Jewish grandpa doctor did our pap smears. He delivered her baby. I really liked Dr. Ira.
I told my mom about my visit to L.A. I said I had requested a hike, followed by dinner at Los Toros.
She asked, "Is that as good as Las Flies?" I took her there once when she came to visit me in The Valley eons ago.
I said, "That is Las Flies." That was our old nickname for the place. It's grown since those days but the food is still the same. Same owners. They still pour an extra shot of tequilla into the glasses when you buy a pitcher. Only difference: now it's huge with valet parking. Love Las Flies. Tacos al carbon. I order the same thing every time. Hmmmm... the carnitas rock, too.
A hui hou. Aloha!
Thankfully, this lady turned out to be different from the man at the library (please refer to a previous blog for that story). For one thing, she did not ask for dozens of additional words. For another, she was a she. It was a coffee shop, after all, not the hallowed halls of la biblioteca where quiet is both revered and expected. We talked about art, about poi, about breadfruit, about the merits and overuse of noni. She was lovely and interesting. I couldn't help but notice the copy of Natalie Goldberg's Wild Mind on her table. Below that was Writing the Natural Way by Gabriele Lusser Rico. Everyone's a writer these days. We chatted about that a bit, too.
Today it was back to town for another pound of coffee, some dog food, cat food, burritos for lunch and a prescription for some nose spray my allergy doctor thinks I need. I'm not so sure. Stuff tastes nasty when it runs down the back of my throat.
I'm packed and ready to fly away. Tomorrow night I'll land in beautiful San Diego. After some much needed underwear shopping at the Jockey outlet, my friend Gail and I will head north for a fun-filled weekend in L.A., with the coup d' gras a trip to the dentist. My dentist is in Encino. My orthopeodist is in Colorado. I'll see her the next day. My gynocologist is in Honolulu. Years ago, I had a gyno named Dr. Ira ( I don't remember his last name) in L.A. He had pictures of Farrah Faucet and Ryan O'Neill on his walls. Seems Farrah and I had something in common. The same kindly Jewish grandpa doctor did our pap smears. He delivered her baby. I really liked Dr. Ira.
I told my mom about my visit to L.A. I said I had requested a hike, followed by dinner at Los Toros.
She asked, "Is that as good as Las Flies?" I took her there once when she came to visit me in The Valley eons ago.
I said, "That is Las Flies." That was our old nickname for the place. It's grown since those days but the food is still the same. Same owners. They still pour an extra shot of tequilla into the glasses when you buy a pitcher. Only difference: now it's huge with valet parking. Love Las Flies. Tacos al carbon. I order the same thing every time. Hmmmm... the carnitas rock, too.
A hui hou. Aloha!
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