I'm Back

After a time-out for an emergency appendectomy,  17 days in the hospital, plus three weeks of Home Health Care, I'm now almost 100% recovered and back to having fun again. Not exactly running a marathon, yet, but did a half mile leisurely walk yesterday, besides losing another game of air hockey to Dave, the one with the sharp eyes and reflexes.
This has been another weird December, weather-wise--warm temps, no snow and no ice on the lake. Can't complain, however. Life is good. So what if we had to cancel our December ski trip in Michigan? There is plenty else fun to do.
One year ago we were zooming down the hills. As the saying goes, "If you don't like the Michigan weather, just wait a while. It will change." Yesterday I was out walking. Today's forecast is for a quarter-inch of ice and thirty mph winds. Holy cow!
Mercer Publications has plans for the future. Tonight I'm on the Ron Shaw show for a one hour interview. (8 PM EST. Go to ArtistFirst.com. Click Ron Shaw)
We will be announcing two new short story collections, open for submissions. (For details go to www.MercerPublications.com/AuthorsOnly) Any writers out there? Here's your chance.
Also, we will be publishing our Hawaii blog in storybook form, "Hawaii and Back, With Dave and Dorothy" Vol. 5. As to the possibility of another McBride novel, we are awaiting inspiration.
Thank you, everyone, for your kind thoughts and prayers, cards and visits during my hospitalization and recovery. There is no doubt it pulled me through.

Hawaii: Day 19 Homeward Bound

Day 19

 

Eight o'clock came early for this body, still on Hawaiian time.

No coffee was available, can you believe it? I’ve stayed in lots of hotels and motels, from the cheap to the five star, and never have I stayed in a room with no free coffee-maker. Astonishing! In spite of a room price of $238, we were obliged to pack up, vacate our room and buy their expensive Starbucks coffee in the lobby.

My half-jest to Dave was, “We could have stayed at the Motel 8, been picked up faster, and had free coffee and breakfast.”

Later a fellow passenger told me that they had the “upgrade” which allowed them to take the elevator to another floor to a room where there was free coffee and breakfast. For $238 you don’t get the upgrade—what tha’ heck?

Well…hey… like I said: flexible people equals happy vacationers. Right?

At the terminal we sailed right through check-in and security with more than an hour to spare. This would have been the perfect occasion to use my one annual free-entry pass to the US Airways lounge which I carried with me for the whole trip. Unfortunately it was in my checked bag, already gone into the bowels of the terminal. Sigh. Oh well, the American gate was upgraded with rather comfy seats grouped two to a table. We were fine. I pulled out my paperback book, eager to learn whether the hero and heroine survived the plane crash.

Later: It doesn’t do well to drink too much liquid before and during a flight. Why? So far, two hours into the flight, the captain still has the seat belt sign on, concerned over every little bump. So, he thinks this is turbulence? Ha! Barely causes a ripple in the apple juice glass.

Our flight across America to Chicago was uneventful. I even managed a small nap. Read some more on my novel, and this time, passengers were allowed to use laptops. Yippee. I spent some time editing Ron Shaw’s latest book, The Yellow Bus Boys Go Blue, and writing in this travel journal.

The sprawling Chicago terminal required us to walk rather quickly from the end of Concourse H, through the main terminal, passed many shops of all kinds, to the far end of Concourse G—actually walk, that is. No automatic walkways. I tried to stop at the farmer’s market to buy some food, but Dave urged me onward.

Arriving at Gate 43A, right on schedule, we noted that our plane had not started boarding. And so, rather huffily, I helped myself to my own wallet and left to buy food in the nearest store. Dave was not hungry, or so he insisted. Nevertheless, when I returned with a piece of apple pie and some Skittles for him, he licked it up, pronto. My fare was Greek Yogurt and sliced apples with caramel dip.

On the final leg of our journey, ORD to GRR, we finished off our last three rather crumbled homemade bars that we had carefully hoarded, plus one banana. Our plane landed in Grand Rapids, just a little bit early. After we collected our bags, called the shuttle and picked up our car, we were on the way home by nine o’clock. Lordy, how sweet it was to find our car unblemished and firing up on the first try!

Perhaps Dave was a bit too relaxed and relieved to be safely home, behind the wheel of his own vehicle, because when he pulled into the first available McDonald’s he made the mistake of entering the exit drive. Thank God, the alert driver in the opposing lane reacted quickly and veered away.

“Dave,” I calmly noted, “that’s the exit drive.”

“Oh so it is,” he replied dryly.

“Perhaps you had better pay attention,” I offered.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” he grinned.

After that he paid excellent attention and got us home safely. After unloading the car and carrying in the accumulated boxes, delivered in our absence, one of Dave’s first activities was to raid the ice cream container, awaiting him in the freezer.

Safely home, at last.

Would we change anything about this vacation? Probably not. But, next time, we will not go through San Francisco. It was fun, but once was enough. And, I probably wouldn’t stay at the LAX Marriott. We might try a different hotel, or fly straight through. I found the overnight stay to be a combination of restful and stressful. The hassle of getting luggage and shuttles to and from the airport partially offsets the gain of an overnight rest.

Besides, Dave did not sleep well in the Marriott. He is usually restless before a trip, thinking and ruminating over the next day’s responsibilities.

Now that he is home, he has settled right into Michigan time, off to bed and snuggled down by 11:15 PM, which would be only 5:15 PM in Hawaii, whereas I’m still up at 12:45 AM. My bags are almost all unpacked. I will sleep and sleep well, later.

=₪₴₪₴₪₴₪=

Dear Reader: I hope you have enjoyed this peek into our 19 Day Hawaii vacation. In a few weeks it will be published in paperback and in Ebook form, and featured, along with five other travel books on our web site, www.mercerpublications.com, as well as Amazon.com. Feel free to look those over and check out our other How To books, biographies and Mike McBride novels as well. They make great gifts.

Mahalo

Day 18

 

An easy drive through the lush countryside past the city of Lihue, up the coast, to the Kauai Coast Resort at the Beach Boy, commonly knowns as the Beach Boy. For this one night stay I had booked a studio room. We requested the first floor, but settled for a second floor room, near the stairway. Dave found a “Dave Mercer” parking spot right by the door, and so we had a short walk to our room.

The room was the worst one we have ever had at the Beach Boy. Smaller than some motels, with a teenie bath. This room was badly in need of updating and not too clean, either. All the usual surfaces were clean, but I always notice the dusty corners and behind the furniture, plus mildew on some of the bathroom tile. Nevertheless, we were allowed into our room a couple hours early and so I had nothing to gripe about, did I?

Another Shell member told me that this property was scheduled to be completely renovated, i.e. torn back to the walls. And so, next time we make it to Hawaii, this should be a spanking new place.

 

We had a lanai, with a peek at the ocean surf, overlooking the lawns and gardens. Nice. We had some lunch from our leftover groceries, took our books and headed for the lounge chairs next to the ocean, for the afternoon.

Still undecided about whether or not I wanted to buy a ukulele, I asked Dave to drive me up to the town of Kope’e for a look around.

Next day, we had a bit of time left before our plane’s 2 PM departure. The ukulele store opened at 11 AM, and so we were at the door when they opened.

I explained to the nice man that I was a retired classical guitar teacher who had lost the use of her thumb joint, thus making it necessary to give up the guitar. “Is there a ukulele that would serve as a substitute?” I eyed the large array of ukes, suspended around four walls and stacked on every available surface. “There is simply no store on the mainland with this many ukes.

“Oh, but we supply music stores all over the states,” he insisted.

“Not like this,” I countered, waving my hand. “I’m here and I want to try them out.”

“I know just what you want,” he said, picking up a beautiful model on a nearby counter. “This is one that my son designed. It picks and sounds like a guitar. He strummed a few chords as I nearly swooned.

“Oh my,” I nodded as I bent my ear near the sound hole. “Listen to this, Dave,” I said. To the salesman I asked, “But can you pick it and play melodies, like a guitar.”

“The ukulele is a melody instrument,” he instructed me, as if to a child.

“No-no,” I said. “I mean to play pieces, like a guitar. I don’t want to just strum songs.”

“You’re right. Strumming songs gets boring,” he said as he broke out in a Bach classical guitar piece that I had played many times.

“How much is it?”

I thought I heard him say, “One hundred fifty-nine dollars. Normally it sells for three hundred.”

“Do you have others like this?”

“Yes,” he indicated another uke standing in the next holder.

“Please play that one for me,” I said.

He played a little on the other one.

“I’ll take that one,” I pointed. I picked it up sighted along the neck like a rifleman, and scrutinized it, head to toe, to make sure it was straight and true. “Do you prefer a check or credit card?”

I was confident we could carry-on the instrument, but Dave was a bit concerned about taking the ukulele on the plane. And so, we agreed to have it shipped, adding another thirty dollars to the price, which had, somehow, turned out to be one hundred, ninety-seven dollars, plus the thirty. Oh well…worth every penny, if it works out as hoped. Flexibility, as always.

Happy, and beaming from ear to ear, I left the shop on Dave’s arm, still confident of making the two o’clock flight. As it turned out, our timing was perfect. Luckily we had allowed lots of time, as the lines were long and noisy in the confusion of checking in and going through security. We had planned to check our large bags straight through to Grand Rapids, however, there is a stopover time limit of twelve hours. Anything beyond that prohibits checking them through. We were over the limit by thirty minutes, and so, we would have to collect our bags in LA, and drag all four of them to the hotel for the night. After what seemed like an hour in line, we arrived at our gate as the plane was boarding.

With no time to sit, we walked right on and all the way back to row 33. This time, we had regular seating, no special “comfort” seats were available.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ll never understand why electronic devices are allowed on some flights, but not on others. But, this time, I had to content myself with reading a real book, not a keyboard. Turns out the book was an airplane thriller, complete with a prolonged crash scene, which I read just as we were landing in Los Angeles, CA. As a seasoned traveler, it bothered me not...well…maybe just a little.

Even though the terminal(s) at LAX are huge and sprawling, it seemed to be less confusing than Lihue. Still, there was a long wait at the luggage carousel, and an even longer wait at the Hotel Shuttle station, as bus after bus fumed by. We watched in vain for one with the Marriott logo. Finally a Marriott van coasted by on the outer lane. I waved and shouted, “Over here, Marriott.” The van seemed to be deaf. And then I noted a “Bus Full” flashing sign. “Rats,” I thought.

We began to get acquainted with the tired passengers beside us. “We’re going to Marriott, too,” they said.

That was all I needed to stir me into action. Having made a note of the hotel’s phone number before we left home, I remembered right where it was. Digging my cell phone out of the depths of my bag, I booted it up, dialed the hotel and handed the phone to Dave. How he could hear anything above the din, amazes me, but he managed to convey our distress to the Marriott desk. Snapping the phone closed, he looked up and announced, “They’ll be here in less than ten minutes.”

Sure enough another bus drove up, this one with no insignia, but for a small lighted screen saying “Marriott Lax.” Clearly they had pressed a generic bus into service.

The restaurants were closed, but the bar had food service. We ordered one plate of fish and chips with cole slaw and split it between us. Did I mention, at our age, we never order more than one meal in a restaurant? Serves us perfectly and avoids the doggy-bag routine. We scarfed up every last French fry.

When staying in a motel, I particularly enjoy a warm bath, knowing that I do not have to clean the tub afterward. This tub was nice and clean, too—no dark spots between the tiles. Finally, ensconced in our comfy beds amid soft pillows, I spent another hour answering email.

It’s a rare vacation when I am not compelled to deal with problems and requests having to do with my position as president of two corporations, and this one was no exception. Twice during our time, I received emails requiring my attention. In addition to that, there was the occasional friendly letter from family or friends. I always answer. Thus, it was 1:30 AM local time before I turned out the light, knowing the wake-up call would be at eight. Not too bad.

I was reminded of some sage advice. Before we left home, we ran into our friend Bill H. while standing in line at WalMart. He had wished us a great vacation, but left us with this advice, “Leave all your phones and electronic devices at home.”

“Not easy,” I replied.

“Just do it,” he laughed.

Great advice, Bill!

Hawaii, Kauai Marriott Day 16 & 17

Day 16 & 17

 

For our last two full days, we lazed around the Marriott, reading books, practicing the ukulele and people-watching. I’ve had my fill of semi-naked bodies, thank you very much.

The kids are very entertaining, playing in the surf. Also, it is fun to watch the young people—mostly men—surfboarding. There is a relentless, continual parade of waves, marching across the ocean’s surface in the surfer’s favorite places. I estimate the height at ten to twelve feet, judging by the height of the waves in comparison to the bodies. It is a favorite surfing place, and one can always find surfers out there.

 

The Marriott’s property is strewn with chaise lounges, perfectly suited for observation. Although this is a big hotel with at least six buildings of twenty apartments each, one can always find an empty place to sit. No doubt the place is full to capacity, but it never feels overcrowded. There are three large pools with gardens and three or four small ones, plus the ocean beach.

 

 

On Friday there were some scattered showers, nothing heavy, but just enough to drive everyone inside for a few minutes. Consequently, there was a vacant and free cabana. Dave and I grabbed it and spent the afternoon reading and lounging in solid comfort. When we got hot, we took a dip in the pool. Conversely, when we got chilly, we used the hot pool—not a hot tub, a pool.

In the afternoon, we found lounge chairs in the shade, overlooking the ocean, where we read, napped, and watched the activities.

On Saturday we drove into Poipu to look for the ukulele store. I promised myself if we found it, I might buy one. Cruising slowly through the main street, I could not spot it, and so we went on to the Safe Buy supermarket where we bought two takeout lunches at the deli. There was so much food, that we ate only half, leaving enough for dinner, as well.

Tomorrow we will check out of here and proceed to the Kauai Coast Resort at the Beach Boy, for one night, before we catch our plane to Los Angeles.

 

Day 15 Kauai - Spouting Horn

Days 15

Another smashing day in paradise. CAVU (Ceiling and Visability Unlimited).

This morning we took Poipu Road to the traffic circle and then along the Lawai coastal road toward the Spouting Horn and the Botanical Gardens. We drove past multi-million dollar homes—not huge mansions, just nice homes, fairly close together. The multi part is the location on the Pacific beach.

We came to the entrance marked Botanical Gardens, gleefully finding a shady parking spot and walking down a landscaped entrance past poster billboards explaining the five different gardens and the length of various tours, from one and one-half hours and up.

Self-guided walking tours were available. “Pick up a self-guided tour map at the visitor’s center,” the sign proclaimed. This sounded perfect for an elderly couple. And so, we walked past the gift shop and up the leafy walkway to the visitor’s center, manned by two ladies speaking in some sort of tongue, making no sense. A tour bus was parked next to the building. I searched the counters for the self-guided tour brochure while Dave tried to make sense of the woman’s speech.

Turns out this lovely few acres of garden walkway was merely a tourist trap, designed to sell tours to the real garden which was three miles away. Older, but wiser, Dave and I returned to the car, abandoning our special parking spot and drove on to the viewing end of the road. Here we encountered a securely locked gate which, presumably, prohibited non-paying patrons from entering the gardens.

 

 

 

 

No matter, who needs a tour, anyway? The entire island is a garden—free to all. Just open your eyes. Flexibility.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little rise lead us to many pull-outs that overlooked picture-postcard views of the coast and the “Spouting Horn” which is nothing more than a hole in the black lava rocks through which the surf can spout up. Pretty, and free to see.

 

Speaking of black lava rocks, this is a volcanic island, of course, created from lava, some of which litters the sea bottom. Later in the day, when Dave and I took our snorkeling tour of the Poipu beach area in front of our hotel, we did our best to avoid them as we fell through the churning surf. Getting in and out of the breakers is the biggest challenge. After that one must swim through the swells at great effort as they move you here and there, relentlessly. I suppose that more seasoned swimmers have it figured out, but it was an effort for the two of us. We were equipped with life belts and swim fins, as well as the snorkeling mask and breathing tube. I am the better swimmer and so I always hold Dave’s hand. He has never entirely overcome his fear of water, plus he has this built-in “on-guard” attitude, always in protective mode around his wife.

Soon I realized that we needed to paddle out to where the bulk of the snorkelers were gathered, uncomfortably close to the outer breakers which defined the safe swimming area. We were able to skirt close enough to the edges of this area to see swarms of colorful fish which lived in this rock-strewn area. Aha! Just as we were told, the fish lived among the rocks. How deep was it here? Maybe ten feet, I don’t know. The water was perfectly clear and we could see everything without submerging. Once we saw a sea snake, wiggling along the bottom. Later someone told me this was an eel. Who knows? Who cares? This was fun. We floated along, constantly working our swim fins to avoid being washed ashore by the swells. I soon forgot how much my big toe hurt, as I’m sure Dave forgot his knee pain.

After what seemed like twenty minutes, but was more like an hour, I was ready to quit from the exertion. Getting back through the surf was easier for me than for Dave—still it was challenging. I managed to avoid the sharp rocks by floating in on a wave. Dave struggled, but made it, refusing to admit he was cut up, again.

A brief rest, washing off the sand with a hose, and a dip in the pool was plenty of activity for the day. We returned to our rooms to shower and dress. Dave collapsed in front of the TV and I left for my appointment for the ukulele lesson. The teacher was excellent. She was prepared with a dozen or so instruments all tuned and ready. In no time she had her class singing and strumming along. She didn’t even ask for tips. Amazing. Still I insisted on leaving a five dollar tip. No much, considering. She kindly pushed her personal instrument into my hands, telling me to practice and bring it back in three days when we checked out.

Amazing. She didn’t even know my name.

Kauai Day 14 Wiamea Canyon Drive

Day 14 Wiamea Canyon Drive

Today was one of those rare days when there were no clouds over the wettest place on earth. Somewhere I heard that only happens seven times a year—a perfect day for a drive up the volcano.

We started the day at ten o’clock with the fish-feeding time at the front entrance. There is a lovely water feature in two levels with a waterfall in between, surrounded by lawn and tropical plants. The pond is home to dozens of large Koi fish and many tiny fish fry. I saw no small fish, so I suppose that the fry became part of the diet.

Once a day a few guests, so inclined, gather on the lawn to watch the youngsters feed the fish. At first it was just Dave and I and one other family from California—mother, father and two young sons. I became acquainted with Vickie, the mother, who was a Journalism major and so we had a lot to talk about. They have relatives from Michigan, South Haven and Grand Rapids.

The boys operated their two cameras, one a tiny video camera called a “GoPro,” which could operate underwater. They also have relatives here, in Princeville, lucky for them. We talked about today’s high tech children, lamenting how they are losing the art of cursive and spelling. I hoped to run into them again. Was sorry I didn’t have my business cards with me. Must keep some in my pocket.

 

At about 10:30, we left directly from there for our trip along the southern coast until we turned inland on route 552, having missed our turn at route 550. The coastal drive is interesting, through some open spaces, small towns and ocean views. Nearing route 552 we drove along the “Barking Sands” beaches. I knew we must have missed our turn. On the map 552 is shown as having more twists and turns than 550. Nevertheless we took it, not fearing a bit of mountain driving.

The two lane road was good and well-marked. Occasionally we caught a glimpse of the blue Pacific below. This must have been a favorite route for sight-seeing busses, because we met a half dozen of them, and very few cars.

At last we came to the first visitors’ viewing area where we knew there would be spectacular views of Wiamea Canyone, nicknamed the Grand Canyon of the Pacific. There was a vendor in the lot, selling fruits, snacks and beverages. I declined the public toilets but Dave, being a healthy but elderly gentleman, believes in the motto, “Never pass up an opportunity…” After a few minutes he returned, laughing ruefully, and telling about the open-air urinal at which you had to be careful that your urine didn’t blow back at you.

The wind always blows on Kauai.

There was a steep climb to the viewing area, which was on an incline. Most of the folks were mature, but a few kids let off steam by scrambling up and down like monkeys.

Ever mindful of the dangers of falling, Dave and I always watch our step carefully, while he holds my arm.

Leaving this viewing area, we drove on up to another and another. Dave was tiring of the long drive, ready to go home, but I pressed him onward.

 

I knew there was a campground above us with picnic tables. And so we drove on. For once my memory was right. By now, the air had cooled from the elevation, and so we chose a sunny table for our lunch break. The ever-present wild chickens gathered ‘round hoping for crumbs, in the same way the ants gather at home. They have no fear of humans. These chickens are everywhere on Kauai, quite beautiful.

Back to our drive.

I stated that I would like to turn left and see what was on up the road. On a previous occasion, we had gone no further than the campground.

Dave thought that road only led to the other side of the campground. He was ready to go home. Deciding to say no more, I zipped my lip, thinking he certainly had every right to be getting tired. And so, I was surprised when, upon leaving the parking lot, he turned left. Up the hill we went for another few miles. I began to catch glimpses of ocean through the dense foliage, although I could not swear it was ocean and not merely sky.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crikey! another viewing area. This one looked out over the famous NaPali coast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suddenly no longer the least bit tired, we set off on another walk to gape at more gorgeous views.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m afraid that these pictures do not do justice to the depth perception. But, try to bear in mind that we were looking down about at the ocean below. The Na Pali cliffs rise about 4000 plus feet. The blue that you see is actually the ocean. Notice the clouds hanging on the horizon about at eye level with the camera.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have been fortunate, on previous visits to Kauai to see the cliffs from a catamaran and also, from the hiking trail. Below is a professional picture taken from the trail, to give you another perspective.

Courtesy of Wikipedia Encyclopedia, online. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Much revived, Dave turned left again, determined to hoe to the very end of the road. We were rewarded by another visitor-viewing area of the NaPali cliffs-- some say it is the wettest place on earth-- bathed in sunlight for our benefit on this rare day in September. I wondered how many of the other visitors realized what a gift this was. By tomorrow it will be hidden from view, again.

Here we are looking down 5148 feet, according to the sign.

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The entire trip took almost two and one half hours, even though we covered perhaps only forty miles or so. The speed rarely exceeds 25 mph on the straightaway.

Arriving home, mid-afternoon, we spend the remainder of the day reading and watching TV. I think we are going to try snorkeling tomorrow.

 

 

A