KAUAI PEOPLE-WATCHING, GRATITUDE, RE-SET

We're baaaack.  Our annual Kauai vacation.  Home sweet, warm, sunny, beautiful home.  I haven't looked back at old posts, but I'm sure I've posted a photo like this before.  I never get over how beautiful it is.

I'm sitting on Aupaka Terrace, where coffee and "grab and go" (ridiculously overpriced) breakfast is served, overlooking the pool and beach.  Families on spring break pass by loaded down with pool toys, snorkel gear, backpacks, and towels.  Retired folk amble along often gathering in groups at large tables sharing coffee and conversation, no particular place they need or want to be but right here.  Company employees (this week a group from Google!), dressed in Aloha shirts and sundresses, smile and chat with cell phones in their hands and notebooks tucked under their arms.  Every single head swivels towards this view.  How can we not look and feel so incredibly grateful for our good fortune?

OOOPPPPS!  Not everyone is feeling grateful.  There is a family of four (husband, wife, two middle school-ish aged kiddos) sitting near me and the wife is having an absolute hissy fit!  Teeth clenched, arms waving, voice raised (but I can't make out the words) aiming wrath at her husband who sits slumped, taking it in silence, even when she moves in about 6 inches from his face with a final diatribe.  The daughter sits still as stone, staring outward, the son hunches over a crossword puzzle, not looking up. They've obviously seen this all before.  Such scenes of family strife always make me sad.  My empath goes into hyper-mode and I want to walk over there and save everyone.  But I sit here typing away, trying to tamp down my God Complex.  I can't save them.  Mom and daughter have walked away.  Dad and son sit silently, reading and writing, not talking, not looking up.  And it's only 9:30 a.m.  Long day ahead, methinks.

Hub is out for his morning walk.  I always have good intentions of joining him, but this terrace calls me.  I love the people watching (even if sometimes I have to witness what I just did) and I love the pool view and I love the proximity to the coffee bar and I love that WiFi that allows me to open my computer and scroll through my emails, my FB newsfeed, and my blog.  When he returns we'll head back up to our condo unit for breakfast, then to our chairs near the beach where we'll read, do the NYT crossword, wander to the pool to cool off or hop in the surf (more Hub's thing than mine if there are some good boogie boarding waves).  We may go up again later for lunch, then back down for more of the same until about 5:00 when we pack it in for the day; time to shower, prepare our fish for grilling, eat dinner and switch on the TV or open another book until we get sleepy.  It's a rough life.

Sometimes, even though I love it here, I am ambivalent about coming.  I have to endure flying for one thing, which I've well-documented previously how much I hate.  This time we fought, according to the flight crew, the strongest headwinds they'd ever experienced causing our flight to take nearly 7 hours from Seattle, some of it in "choppy" skies.  I tried not to think about that deep blue enormous Pacific Ocean below us.  I took extra Dramamine, so I was in a drug-induced state of "calm" mostly but still had to meditate and breathe my way out of panic a couple of times.  Also a young couple with a 20 month old son were my seat mates.  In fact the whole plane seemed to be full of toddlers.  Always such happy fliers, they. HaHa

But this time I wasn't ambivalent; I was eager to be here.  Our NW winter/spring has been an interminable marathon of gray skies and rain.  I was starting to wonder if the sun still shone.  (It does!)  Plus, the political landscape since November has kept me under a dark emotional cloud too.  I felt I needed this respite as a reset.  My intention is to find my center again; to get focused, balanced, and reinvigorated about life.  I'll keep you posted.

OMG.  Dad and son just got up from their chairs, exchanged a few words, and Dad reached over and pulled his son (a gangly 14 y/o, I'd say) toward him and gave him a kiss on the side of his head, which I thought was a particularly sweet gesture, given and received between males in public.   The boy smiled and they walked away together.  Saving each other, without me.

At least, that's the view from here....©

THE FRIENDLY SKIES?

Here we are.  Our annual Kauai vacation and it feels like coming home.  It's always worth the dread of the flight -- once I'm on the ground.

I wish I was an eager flier.  I'm not.  Way, way back in the day I used to think it was fun and exciting. But then we weren't herded into packed airplanes with narrow seats, 3 abreast, and absolutely no legroom, feeling like sardines packed into a high class tin.

Also there was that one flight, in 1981, when we flew through a storm with 80 MPH winds on the ground and god knows what kind of craziness in the air, but the 747 (yes, that long ago...) suddenly turned into a roller coaster dipping from side to side and gaining and losing elevation for about an hour until we finally hit the ground (hard) and coasted to a much appreciated stop on the tarmac.  But not before I lost my stomach a few times, utilizing that little "barf bag" in the seat back pocket.   It was one of my life's most miserable and embarrassing episodes and put me off flying ever since.

So, I have a bit of PTSD whenever I arrive at the airport.  I have tried a million ways to calm my pre-flight anxieties over the years and, once on the plane, I have to really WORK at staying calm.  It's quite exhausting, actually.

A few days ago I decided to try some medication therapy.  I always take a Dramamine, but I wondered if a little Xanax would help even more.  I hit the Internet and saw dozens of sites and "chats" about my affliction and how others deal with it.  Meditation (check), deep breathing (check), visualization (check), Dramamine (check), Xanax and the like (maybe?), alcohol (don't do that any more).  Everyone had a "remedy" or at least a way to try to cope.  Some had anxiety way more severe than mine, which unfortunately made me feel better (where's my compassion?).

So, I was prepared yesterday with a recommended cocktail of Dramamine (nausea), Xanax (anxiety), and Pepto Bismol (stomach acid).  I really and truly HATE taking pills/medicine of any kind and especially those that "drug" me.  But I felt I'd do it if I was desperate (it worked on our cruise last summer).  But once I was on the plane, with only Dramamine in me, I decided to see how it went rather than put myself into a possibly unnecessary stupor.

Turns out it was one of the smoothest flights we've ever taken to Hawaii.  I read (new Kindle -- love it!) all the way and there was no turbulence and I didn't get claustrophobic and all was well -- even if the last hour of the flight seemed to take forever.  (By the way, may I recommend Alaska Airlines Boeing 737-800/900 series airplane?  Roomy!!! Plug ins for devices and chargers!!!)

It's unclear to me why the many great flights I've taken cannot seem to compensate for that one really terrible one, but anxiety is a tricky thing and a cruel task master.  I am learning to manage it, if not overcome it.

And thankfully this is the reward for persevering:

At least, that's the (literally!) view from here....©

KAUA'I AGAIN

Aloha!

Back here for our annual Kaua'i respite.  This is my early morning view from the terrace, becoming more and more busy with folks coming down to the coffee bar for caffeine and pastries.   Groups of elder folk (this means anyone obviously older than me) and youngers with little kids (kids younger than school age).  This time of year travel is for those who don't have as many responsibilities and commitments tying them to the mainland, I guess.

We got in on Thursday after a 6 hour flight that was informative regarding the various euphemisms the flight crew employed to describe frequent turbulence… "a few bumps"; " 'chop' over the Pacific; "a little shake".  Hmmmm….. I must have had just the right amount of meds on board because my flight anxiety stayed fairly under control with a little deep breathing; a little visualizing a peaceful scene.  God, I hate flying.

The problem up there was the massive low pressure front still creating 120 MPH winds pushing at our little 737.  That system had created huge swells of Pacific Ocean rushing onto the Islands' north shores creating 40-50 foot waves the day before we flew in.  Yowza!  That's a lot of water hitting the beach!  We saw photos, saw signs at the airport when we landed warning tourists heading north of flooding and closed roads.  We stay on the east side, on a protected bay, that has been calm as a lake.  Just like I like it.

We've been coming here for 15 years.  Flying in just before landing felt like coming home, as we cruised alongside the island landscape that has become so familiar to us.  I love familiarity and a sense of belonging.  Yet….this time I'm feeling antsy.  I'm a little impatient.  I realize I'm feeling like I'd like to see and experience something new.  Hub is a little startled by this admission.  He is usually the one pushing me to move out of my comfort zone and here I am fussing about wanting to branch out in my "adventuring". (This might mean a Marriott on a different island…I haven't completely lost my mind!)

The other thing that seems to be nudging at my consciousness is (as is frequently true), thoughts of my mother.  There was a time when she was about my age I suppose, when she used to say she had always wanted to visit Hawaii.  She said it wistfully, as if this was a dream far beyond her ability to realize, and I suppose for her it must have felt that way.  A northern Illinois farm girl of the Depression years, living a subsistence existence, had thought she had realized the pinnacle of success for having been able to marry, raise a family, build a new home in the suburbs, and come to own her own small beautician business.  Travel that didn't happen in the car on a highway was not in the cards -- or at least in her mind's ability to fathom for herself.

Later, when we started coming here, I suggested she might want to come along.  But she was older then, and not interested in travel anymore, and she turned me down.  She said she just didn't have the same desire to go anymore; just wasn't interested.  I think now I should have ignored her and made her come; should have pushed her a bit.  I wish I had been able to give her the gift of a morning like this…the warm air hugging my skin, the gentle breeze like a loving caress, the soft glow of sunrise over the Pacific promising a day where the visual landscape is a riot of tropical color, where birdcall delights the ear.

I don't know if there is a heaven or anything like it.  The more I think about mortality the more I want to believe there is something pleasant "out there"…I hope for my mom she is in a warm sunny place that is far more beautiful than any Hawaiian Island.

I hope for me, that whatever I find after this mortal life has ended, I can get to that new adventure with a minimum of "chop".

At least, that's the view from here… ©

FEAR OF FLYING

It's a good damn thing I'm the vigilant type.  Otherwise that plane would have gone down.  I'm sure of

it.

Flying the red-eye home from Kaua'i on Friday night, I was on high alert.  Well, nearly every time I fly I try to get my adrenaline level pumped to the max, not so much ready for "fight" as I am for "flight".

I had a most horrific air travel experience 30 years ago and my body likes to remind me of it every time I walk through an airport, get a whiff of jet fuel fumes, or settle into my coach class sardine can-sized seat on any flight.   Friday night was no exception and flying in the pitch dark over thousands of miles of open ocean really gets the old juices flowing.  Throw in a little (nearly constant) light turbulence and we have the makings of a really dramatic plot line.  Have you seen the movie "Flight"?  Uh-huh.

So, right off I tried to project with my white knuckle, racing heart, outwardly calm but inwardly roiling countenance that all was well...or not.  It was hard to tell.  There were "a few bumps" climbing to cruising altitude at 35,000 feet, but it became apparent the bumps up there were about the same as the bumps down lower.  Were these towering thunderclouds previously unknown to aviators anywhere?  Was this a freak weather system of Biblical proportions? Obviously!  Everyone else, however, seemed ignorant of the danger about to befall us -- flight attendants were serving beverages, "Oz, the Great and Powerful" was playing on the movie screen, and a fair number of passengers were settling in for an overnight sleep.  Like sheep to the slaughter.

As for me, well, I was only too aware of the impending plummet from that towering height into the depths of the great Pacific sea, wondering how long it would take -- sort of a gliding loss of altitude or maybe a nosediving jackknife?  Hard to tell.  I was convinced it would be due to engine failure -- or maybe loss of a wing -- since the flight crew arrived far too late to do an adequate pre-flight safety check.  The pilot basically got on the plane with the rest of us!

I wondered how long I could cling to my seat cushion and whether my life vest light really would deploy in the water or whether the battery would be dead (as is true of all my flashlights at home) and everyone but me would be rescued bobbing around out there in the dark.

I wondered if there were any little islands out there, previously unmapped, that might welcome a packed Boeing-737 in distress, but then figured probably not, or if so, then there would be the whole "Lost" "Survivor" thing to contend with after landing.  The Others were most certainly waiting...

I wondered why other people were contentedly reading, messing with computers, chatting or sleeping -- seemingly unaware of the many disasters we'd all already endured.  I mean, really, did I have to do all the work?  Apparently.

I tried to imagine Denzel in the cockpit.  Drunk or not, I'd trust him with my life.  He was so cool and calm in that movie.  But I thought I recalled a 55-ish, graying, slightly paunchy white guy crouching into the cockpit as we boarded.  He looked more like he should be at Gleneagle lining up a 4-foot putt than saving us with any heroic inverted flying maneuvers.

As it turns out, the plane stayed in the air, my seat cushion and life vest were still stowed upon landing, and everyone woke up sort of dazed, but somewhat refreshed from their naps.

No one acknowledged me for doing the heavy lifting of imagining, and meditating away, all the death and destruction scenarios they were too distracted by their own selfish need for a calm flight to help with.  Whatever.  Air travel vigilance is my speciality.  It's a thankless job, but someone has to do it.

At least, that's the view from here....©