Andre the Giant has a Posse

LOS ALAMOS, N.M., Nov. 29, 2015—A week ago we left the tropical paradise of Kauai, Hawaii, a mostly unspoiled refuge for wildlife and people. After giving thanks during this year's holiday at home for all of the marvelous accouterments with which we have been bestowed throughout this strange and wonderful journey that we call "Life," I have returned to this blog to wrap up a few loose ends before I return to the daily activities that comprise my normal existence. In case you weren't certain, that's all just a fancy way for me to say I had a few leftover photographs and memories that needed to be burned here. So let's begin, shall we?

We have your back, Andre—all of us.

Some of you may be wondering, "why the title?" It's a good question. Why indeed? To explain, I need to digress for a moment.

For those of you unfamiliar with a visit to the Hawaiian islands, there's a peculiar phenomenon associated with a traveler's arrival and departure to America's island paradise. It's a long flight each way. The flight to the islands is usually filled with giddy excitement, so it's not that big of a deal, except that you usually get in late in the afternoon or early in the evening, so you essentially lose a day. The return flight generally leaves late in the evening—usually around 10 p.m. Hawaii time or so. It's understood that most people will simply sleep during the bulk of the flight and awake uncomfortably at sunrise just in time for a dairy-rich breakfast and a landing at an airport on the mainland somewhere in the Western United States. As the seasoned lesbians on Cap'n Andy's boat so astutely stated, "if you go to Hawaii for a week, you essentially lose two days."

Wailua Falls is more beautiful than this photo would indicate.

For some people, departure day becomes an unsettling experience. Since check-out times at most hotels and condominiums are 12 hours before airplane departure times, the last day on the island can be a limbo. Travelers are forced to stuff their belongings into the rental car and wander for the day. Last time we were in Hawaii, we enjoyed a day at the beach and a cold shower at beach side before dressing for the flight. This time around, we were fortunate to have gotten agreement from our condominium owner to use the apartment all day until we left to the airport.

This meant we gained an entire day back. Because the heavy rains a couple of days earlier had driven us away from the island waterfalls, we decided to visit them on this sunny day. Our morning started with a visit to the falls. Taxi cabs loaded with excited travelers lined the roads. Their passengers paraded to the edge of the lookout for the compulsory waterfall photo. A man on a motorcycle with no front teeth rode to the lookout. A dirty dog peered out of the man's jacket. As the motorcycle man set up an offering of woven bowls on the wall of the overlook, the dog wandered through the parking lot scratching himself manically. We captured our Kodak Moment in front of Wailua Falls and began exiting the parking lot. We kept a sharp eye out for the wandering dog, who roamed behind vehicles while his owner showed no concern for the canine's well being whatsoever.

The Russian Fort is a pile of rubble, its history is summed
up in a few fading panels nearby.

We returned home for a quick bite to eat. The coral cut on my foot had healed somewhat, but not enough to allow for a carefree dip in the ocean for a final day of snorkeling. We opted to drive to Waimea Canyon, also known as "Hawaii's Grand Canyon." Our travels took us to the west side of the island. There were fewer resorts there and a lot of locals. It was a refreshing change. Things here seemed genuine.

On our way to Waimea, we stopped at the old Russian Fort that survived for a short period of time on Kauai before the Russians were kicked out by the natives. The star-shaped fort was mostly just a shapeless pile of rubble. The interpretive posters were sparse on information. They didn't answer the obvious question: What did the Russians do that pissed of the islanders so much that the Cossacks were banished and their fort destroyed? We never found the answer.

A sculpture at Koloa illustrates the cultures that led to the
success of the Sugar Cane Industry on Kauai.

We passed the island's last sugar cane plantation—an expansive stretch of privately owned land that was off limits. Sugar built the islands, but it also did a fair amount of lasting damage to them. What was great about our trip was seeing that the Hawaiians have taken great pride in their culture and have done much to preserve it. The sticky sweet call of inculturation coming from the Sugar Plantations was largely ignored by a key group of islanders, and these folks have remained steadfast in preserving the old ways. Hawaiian greetings, tikis, and hospitality are more than just good tourism—they are authentic, and something I appreciate every visit.

The clouds began rolling in as we began our dizzying ascent toward the Waimea Canyon overlook. In just two short miles we were already 2,000 feet above the beaches. We captured a quick glimpse of the edge of the canyon. Someone had pasted an homage to Andre the Giant on a guardrail post where we stopped. Hopefully the Hawaiian Culture has a posse as active as Andre the Giant's, and the culture will be remembered long after the islands have been successfully pillaged for economic gains by the Corporate P.T. Barnums of Modern Day. Larry Ellison has purchased an entire island off of Maui that he plans to develop into a luxury playground for the Super Rich, according to one of the island locals we met. Ground-floor rooms without a beach view are rumored to start at $1,000 a night—an order of magnitude higher in price than the current beach-view rooms at the resorts on Kauai.

The Waimea Canyon area from a lookout well below the
canyon lookout.

What this means for the future, I can't say, though the concept of purchasing an island and giving its inhabitants the choice to leave or become "employees" of the plantation master seems repulsive in this day and age. I guess it depends on your perspective. But apparently, Ellison and others out there are longing to leave their modern stamps on the world, like the figures pecked into the lava rock by ancient Polynesians.

Waimea Canyon was socked in by dense fog. We didn't get to see its full splendor, but the miasma gives us an excuse to return some day. Back at the condominium, we enjoyed a cool shower, and we polished off the last of the rum in some fine home-made guava coladas. We ate beans and rice as our final meal on the island, despite knowing that the meal's after effects would be unpleasant to us and others trapped in the confined quarters of an airplane.

Like a good traveler, I slept most of the way back. Caroline was not so fortunate; she enjoyed only a few minutes of distracted sleep. The heavy breakfast of milk and milk products was disagreeable, but we ate it anyway. In Phoenix, the flight crew was distracted. Our landing in Albuquerque was smooth. The icy air on our skin was a shocking but welcome contrast to the warm days we had experienced on the island. 

Our view from the lanai at sunset during our
last day on Kauai.

In Albuquerque we picked up our convalescing dog. Had I been able to speak to her, I would have explained that her life is much better than the life of the dog we saw at the waterfall, even though our dog was wearing the Cone of Shame and walking with a limp. Those who know nothing other than their own immediate circumstances lack the value of perspective. Andre the Giant probably didn't know he had fans spread out across the globe, the itchy dog on Kauai probably didn't know that there are other dogs out there who get regular meals and mange treatment, and Larry Ellison probably has no idea that the concept of buying an entire island—just because you can—is patently offensive to the ancestors of those who settled the island in the first place.

Our vacation this year gave us a valuable perspective and and appreciation for all facets of our lives. And in that sense, it was the best vacation we've ever had.

See you on down the road.

Unfinished business

The Menehune Fishpond is an ancient mystery.
Caroline is a beautiful addition to the landscape.

Poipu, Kauai, Hawai'i, Nov. 20, 2015—There are old stories here in Hawai'i about a race of industrious little people who live in the jungles far out of sight of modern civilization. These Menehune, as they are known, are credited with accomplishing remarkable feats during the course of a single night. What they could not complete while the rest of the world was sleeping remained unfinished and abandoned, according to the mythology. These pint-size Polynesians are thought to be descendants of the original inhabitants of the lost continent of Mu. In addition to their remarkable strength and abilities as craftsmen and artisans, they are rumored to possess supernatural powers. At one point, piggy-bank statues of these strong, unibrowed dwarves—who dined on bananas and fish—were handed out to children as a promotion for a local bank. Nowadays, the Menehune are discussed mostly in the context of the 'Alekoko Fishpond, which supposedly was constructed by this lost race of Hawaiian gnomes.

Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge

The celebrated Kauai rains visited us with a vengeance just after I had proclaimed in my last post that we hadn't seen a drop of moisture since our arrival. In some ways the rains were a blessing, because I had received a deep cut from the razor sharp coral on one of my feet the day before. After reading about the potentially serious consequences of a reef cut, we took no shortcuts in attending to the wound. Peroxide, colloidal silver, and some savage bandages, coupled with a strict protocol of keeping the wound dry and protected, have facilitated satisfactory healing so far. Waking up to a downpour, and with the doppler radar showing giant blobs of green over the entire island, a day of sightseeing seemed in order. We decided to head all the way up to the North Shore, though we would come to regret this decision later on.

The hillside is covered with boobies! (All the white specks)

While the Menehune Fishpond was mostly unremarkable in its jungle setting, other visitors were quick to point out that the bluff just beyond it was where George Clooney looked over the island landscape during a pivotal scene in The Descendants. Some say if you look closely during that scene, you can see several Menehune peeking out from the jungle flora. For us, the little people remained as well hidden as the legion of wild pigs that is rumored to cover the island.

Pig meat is a big thing here, but no one really says where it comes from. During our drive past the northern most point on the Hawaiian island chain toward the Na'Pali coast to the west, we passed a house in the Hanalei colony that was decorated with the jawbone of many swine.  Apparently many of the locals hunt the wild pigs for sport or as a source of food, and many of the local restaurants serve pig meat as a barbecue item. Caroline enjoyed a rasher of tasty barbecue swine on her eggs Benedict at the Kountry Kitchen at Kapaa. The restaurant is renowned for its meat items. Given my recent choice to eliminate most meat from my diet, I settled for an omelet. 

This point designates the northern-most
point in the Hawaii archipelago. Moku'ae'ae
Island, uninhabited except for birds, is visible
at the top of the photo.

Several miles up the road we made it to Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge. A defunct lighthouse exists at the bird sanctuary, which is dotted with boobies, Nēnē, Frigate Birds, and Albatross—also known as Gooney Birds due to their ungraceful behavior while landing. The entire point stank of bird droppings, but it was great to see that the Hawaiians were preserving their flora and fauna. Earlier in the week, just before I was laid open by the coral, we came across an endangered Monk Seal on the beach. These animals were nearly hunted to extinction, and now an army of volunteers works diligently to ensure that the animals are unmolested. The Monk Seal had been cordoned off by one of the volunteers on Poipu Beach. Apparently people mistake their lethargy for illness. I guess an encounter with an angry Monk Seal is nothing to see up close, despite their friendly dog-like countenances. 

Earlier in the week we had come across other instances of the Hawaiians working to preserve their culture and their traditions. Just across the street from where we are staying, the Hawaiians have preserved ancient walls of lava as a tribute to Jonah Kuhio Kalanianaole, also known as "Prince Kuhio." The prince was raised in the nearby community of Koloa, and the park paying tribute to his character honors his work in preserving the heritage and strength of the people of Hawai'i. He was elected as Hawaii's first Congressional delegate and served 10 consecutive terms. While in Congress, Prince Kuhio initiated the Hawaiian Homes Commission Act, which provided locations for native Hawaiians to homestead. He served from 1903 until his death in 1922.

A monument to Prince Kuhio, Hawaii's first Congressional
delegate bears testament to the Prince's good works in
a small park near his home community of Koloa.

The road to Ke'e Beach on the Na'Pali coast is narrow and treacherous. The pounding rain didn't help things. We had pondered going to the extremely snooty St. Regis resort on Princeville for an afternoon cocktail and tapas, but the filthy vibe of the filthy rich drove us away. It was a good thing, too. The rains would soon come with a vengeance. On our way back, a pair of traffic accidents literally stopped traffic along the entire northern coast for three hours. We enjoyed local radio, which helped drown out the pounding of the rain and the curses of the motorists who were stopped dead on the only major road connecting the entire northern coastline. As the landscape around us began filling with water, I began to worry about the ability of our compact vehicle to make it through the lower regions of the island if they became flooded. 

A Monk Seal enjoys Poipu Beach along with
the hundreds of tourists sunning themselves.

My paranoia was on track. Kauai is home to Mt. Waialeale, the wettest spot on Earth, which averages 460 inches of rain each year. The mountain was off to our right, and rivers of rainwater were being disgorged from the jungles and into the sea all around us. The pounding rain was relentless and the rental car's windshield wipers did precious little to keep up with the deluge. Being from the desert, the idea of a "dangerous rain" seemed ludicrous, but here we were, right in the middle of one. It was easy to see why cars were crashing into one another and the frustration level of motorists was at its peak.

We inched along a few feet at a time before coming to a halt over and over again for the better part of two hours. During that time we covered about four miles. Both of us needed to pee, so we made a quick decision to detour out of our traffic predicament to find a bathroom. We got back on the highway just a few cars behind where we had started.

A few hours later, in complete darkness and under a driving rain so intense that it was nearly impossible to see, I crept back toward our condominium, staying close to the center of the road, which remained barely above water. Suddenly I understood why so many locals drive huge four-wheel drive vehicles with several inches of lift. 

Despite injury and rain, a good time was had
by all.

Just before our safe return, we passed a local crematory, which was hosting a funeral. The activities had begun earlier in the day while we were leaving. The ceremonies were continuing hours later after sunset. It's hard to imagine that death on such a small, close-knit island is taken for granted, and in some ways the traditions remind us of Native American practices back home. Death touches an entire community—rain or shine.

Strangely enough, while wading through this surreal day, I managed to keep my injured foot dry. Apparently the Menehune had constructed a tiny wall of lava rock around it that repelled the advancing waters.

See you on down the road.

Lessons learned from the Spouting Horn

Poipu, Kauai, Hawai'i, Nov. 18, 2015—There is a natural ebb and flow to life here in Hawai'i. Thanks to the marvels of modern technology, I have downloaded an App onto my phone that tells me when the tides are coming in and going out. I don't understand how all of this fits together, yet, but we have learned enough to stay out of the water at the edges of tidal extremes. During such periods, the waves are fierce and the water is murky. The sharp lava rocks that ring the coastline can punish the flesh of the unwary. For a man such as me who has the grace of a manatee, this is not so bad if I am in the water, but at the horizon of sea and air, I am essentially useless when the big waves are up, and I am tossed like bag of potatoes onto the rocks and raked back out to sea again afterward. The human body can only take so much of this, and I am not eager to test the breaking point.

The Nēnē is Hawai'i's state bird

They have put out a sign at our condominium complex stating that this part of the island has been inundated by parakeets. The birds are larger than the parakeets we are accustomed to in pet shops on the mainland, and they more closely resemble cockatiels. They are a brilliant green with bright orange beaks. When they roost, they unleash a cacophony of bird chatter, and they poop vigorously on the cars in the parking lot, and this apparently is a problem.

According to the notice, the county health department has deemed the poop a health hazard and has instructed the "victims" of parakeet infestations to unceremoniously kill as many of the noisy little bastards as possible. The condominium complex has opted for a different approach—air horns to drive away the flocks at sunset. Personally, I am pleased with this strategy, but not all of the residents agree. Last night, as the birds were congregating, our neighbor lamented their arrival.

"The poop!" he said with disgust.

We have no idea what kind of tree this
is, but they are beautiful and remind us
of home.

The complex's dumpster corral lies just at the edge of the parking area, which has been denuded of branches during the past couple of days to prevent the fugitive birds from roosting. The amount of bird poop seems trivial when compared to the small mountains of garbage produced each night by humans roosting in our condominium complex, but I held my tongue.

"I like the birds," I said.

The man regarded me as if I were bird poop and changed the subject, which reminds me....

Earlier in the day on one of the nearby resort beaches, we came across a large woman sprawled out on her lawn chair enjoying the sun. She had pulled her knees up towards her ears, as if she were about to give birth. Her porcine private parts had overwhelmed the small strip of tropical colored fabric comprising her bikini bottom, and her flesh was oozing out like a sea cucumber emerging from a void in the reef. It was impossible not to stare in awe.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" she chirped.

"Ummm..." was the best I could answer. Suddenly I wished I had an air horn.

Ahoy mates!

The visibility for snorkeling was poor on this day,
but we still had a lot of fun!

We awoke at the crack of dawn to meet Cap'n Andy for a boat ride to the Na'pali coast, which is regarded by many as one of the most beautiful coastlines in the world. Anyone who has seen Jurassic Park or the remake of King Kong has seen the area. It does not disappoint. The surf was incredibly high, so we would be unable to snorkel on the coast, which is located on the northwest tip of Kauai. Cap'n Andy stopped off the southern coast to provide us with an opportunity to get off the boat, but the water was cloudy and visibility was low, so there wasn't much to see. One woman dropped her mask and snorkel in the choppy water, so I dove about 20 feet down to retrieve it. The pressure at that depth was hard on the ears, but I was able to equalize the pressure just enough to avoid crippling pain and a busted ear drum. Another man inhaled a bunch of sea water and Cap'n Andy's crew had to drag him back onto the boat while he coughed and sputtered helplessly. The unfortunate man joined the gaggle of lesbians who had opted to enjoy wine instead of taking the plunge.

Yes, it's a baby dolphin with its mother. It
seems like any kind of baby animal is cute,
well, except for baby parakeets, according
to some people's opinions.

Later during the cruise, Cap'n Andy expertly guided the catamaran over the roiling waters and we enjoyed a good jump or two over some deep troughs between waves at the front of the boat. Two pods of spinner dolphins guided us during part of our journey, and Cap'n Andy's crew prepared a stellar lunch, which was served just in time to stave off the sea sickness. During the ride back in, most people jockeyed to "get their money's worth" of liquor, but we remained satisfied with sobriety. Being from the desert, any ride on a boat is a good one. Cap'n Andy had given us a great day.

The Spouting Horn

Just up the coast is a natural spectacle known as the Spouting Horn. The relentless waves have carved out a hole under a lava shelf that magnifies the action of the waves. At regular intervals, the unsettled ocean spouts through the hole and creates a magnificent fountain that is accompanied by a high-pitched raspy moan reminiscent of a dying man's last breath.

The spouting horn seemed to be a popular destination for the blue-haired visitors to Kauai, which seemed a little creepy to me after listening to its song. Many of these visitors aggressively positioned themselves along the chain link fence overlooking the natural wonder so they could earnestly hold their iPads over the top of the fence to capture the perfect shot. It's strange to watch people taking photos with iPads. I can't help but wonder why these people don't buy cameras? There are plenty of good ones out there, and they aren't even very expensive. They take better photos than an iPad, too, and aren't as cumbersome. But I digress.

I shooed an old man away after he had taken 20 or so shots with his iPad. While Caroline tried her best to capture the perfect sea water eruption, I tried my best to mimic the sound of the Spouting Horn during each geyser event. My seemingly disembodied voice, with its low hollow death rattle, and my open mouth, with its gritted teeth and tongue curled over my lower lip toward the ground—like a tiki statue warning trespassers away from kapu territory—was repulsive to the other visitors, and soon we had the place to ourselves.

There are those who find the Spouting Horn on Kauai
a little bit unsettling.

The Spouting Horn used to have a companion that produced an even more magnificent show. However, about 100 years ago, when sugar cane plantations were introduced to the island, the horn vexed the Sugar Baron because it was depositing salt-water spray on his crops, reducing their productivity. The industrious Sugar Baron used steam-powered muscle to widen the natural hole into a huge square scar that remains to this day as a testament to the greed of Men and the might of Industry. We keep the things we like if they are profitable, but we eradicate the things we don't without batting an eye. To Papa Sugar, the original Spouting Horn was just another parakeet.

Playing Chicken

The Nēnē is the Hawaiian state bird, and Caroline was fortunate enough to see one while I was out getting a massage. As it turns out, the masseuse happened to have come from Santa Fe and had trained our former next-door-neighbor back home in the healing arts as well. It's a small world.

I am not ashamed to say that Kauai is also home to some of the most beautiful cocks I have ever seen. Chickens run wild all over the island. Strangely enough, the locals seems to tolerate them more than they tolerate parakeets. The island is also lousy with feral cats. At nightfall, immense herds of wild felines come slinking out of the jungle and clamber into every dumpster corral. We have seen cars swerving to run over the cats, but we have yet to see a dead one. Dead chickens are everywhere on the highways and shoulders, but no one seems to eat them. And the grocery stores all sell eggs. With so many wild chickens here, I'd figure out a way to locate their nests for a constant supply of fresh eggs if I had more time here. I guess there are several people who are already doing just that. Kauai is one of the most expensive islands in the archipelago.

Before our arrival here, everyone cautioned us about the rain.

If you're looking for cock, there's no better place
than Hawai'i.

"Kauai is a beautiful place to visit as long as it doesn't rain," they told us. So far we haven't had a drop.

There is an ebb and a flow to this place. On one hand there are shoot-to-kill orders for parakeets, but wild chickens seem to enjoy immunity, even though they poop just as much as their wild green cousins. Thankfully, everyone seems to agree that turtles are sacrosanct. And while the Na'Pali coast gets eroded at a staggering rate each year due to the incessant pounding of the surf, the turtles and the Nēnē remain as a constant reminder of the fragility of our world, and how fortunate we are to live in it.

See you on down the road.

Stretch Break

POIPU, HAWAII, Nov. 16, 2015—About four hours into our seven-hour flight into Kauai, we noticed that our flight attendant had disappeared. She had provided impeccable customer

The Hawaiian islands from space

service throughout the flight up until this point, so her absence was unexpected. Figuring it was a good time for a "comfort break," I made my way to the lavatory—an incredibly dilapidated and cramped space that afforded barely enough room for me to slump forward uncomfortably over the sad stainless steel commode. Had I been any fatter, I probably wouldn't have fit into the small space. I wondered whether flight attendants are ever called upon to administer lubricants to the love handles of obese passengers in order to facilitate their entry and exit into the toilet. Figuring that such a thing was, indeed, not out of the realm of possibility, I made a concerted effort to avoid contacting the walls of the water closet, which reeked of the blue chemical enzyme used during the flushing process.

Sunrise from the lanai provides a moment to reflect

A sudden spate of turbulence caused me to bump noisily against the bulkhead. I recoiled involuntarily and checked my sleeves for the telltale stains of the "special lubricant" that would be unceremoniously sprayed upon the corpulent. Luckily, there was no oily residue, and I was able to maintain my aim into the bullseye flap of metal at the center of the bowl below. I re-holstered my junk, inspected myself for any "spoon spots" on the front of my trousers and took an extra moment to thoroughly wash my hands. As I exited, I smiled at the flight attendant, who had resumed her position at the front of the craft.

"Did you need anything?" she asked as I walked by.

"No thank you," I said.

Beauty of this variety can't be found in the Atomic City

Once seated, we noticed the flight attendant was doing subtle leg lifts, doing reps of 10 on one leg and then 10 more on the other. It was a routine she had probably kiped from the pages of Self magazine, under a heading of how to keep your thighs and buttocks firm and toned while working, in just 10 minutes a day!

Good for her, I thought. Everyone needs a stretch break. It just so happened that ours involved a seven hour flight to a place 2,984 miles away.

That last mileage figure is pretty close. We know that because our iPhones told us the distance early on in our flight. We had neglected to switch our devices to Airplane Mode, but thankfully our negligence did not cause our craft to plummet from the skies. Shortly after taking off out of Phoenix, we had asked Siri to provide us with directions to a Kauai restaurant. When Siri protested that she could not fulfill our request, we hurled insults at her disembodied electronic voice. This caught the attention of our friendly flight attendant, who asked us politely to switch our phones to Airplane mode.

Admittedly, we are no experts on these things but
some of the currents we encountered while snorkeling
here in the Pacific were unusually warm—much warmer
than the surrounding water. This was a particularly
interesting way to experience the phenomenon of the
so-called "El Niño" oscillation that forecasters are
saying is a harbinger of a cold, wet winter in North
America. Ironically, at the same time we experienced
these currents, it was snowing back home. Go figure.

In the wake of the hysteria after the attacks on Paris, we were quick to comply, and apparently a good thing, too. Two days later we would learn that a rude, drunken Polish traveler had been taken into federal custody in Boston for unruly behavior aboard an airplane, and that another traveler had finked on passengers they didn't like for apparent "suspicious behavior" during a flight into Washington, DC.

We are living in weird times right now, and The Fear drives the simpleminded toward vengeance and unconscionable behaviors. Presidential candidate Donald Trump has fomented this sentiment and used it to his advantage. He has tapped into a nerve of uncertainty and has duped the fearful into embracing the politics of xenophobia. Our nation is on the verge of madness, and  I firmly believe that everyone could probably take a tip from our flight attendant and take a stretch break before things escalate any further. That's easy for us to say, I suppose. We are in the middle of a stretch break in a tropical paradise.

Our Hawaiian wake-up call, so to speak.

The day after our plane ride, the sunrise outside of our temporary quarters make it hard to believe that there is any strife out there in the world. Yet the freakishly hot currents we encountered intermittently while snorkeling did betray that things are heating up, and perhaps there is something desperately wrong with things in the world right now.

And that creates a peculiarly difficult scenario, doesn't it?

How do you provide the Earth with a "stretch break" that will reinvigorate and rejuvenate our beautiful home planet without disrupting the slap-dash house of cards we have assembled in the name of commerce, supply chains, quality-of-life, Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness? Donald Trump seems to believe we can accomplish this by erecting walls, our President believes it can be done by snooping on our own citizens, Congress believes we can accomplish this task with decreased spending, corporations are banking on increased consumerism, environmentalists think the answer lies in electric vehicles and plastic-bag bans; everyone, it seems, has some sort of solution in mind—as long as it doesn't involve regulating the population or depriving anyone of the luxuries to which they have become accustomed. 

I don't know what the answer is myself, but we will be sure to ponder these things here on this island during our own personal stretch break. If we come up with anything profound, we will surely share it. Otherwise, we likely will take the example of our charming flight attendant and simply disappear into the moment of bliss that we have carved out for ourselves during the course of our otherwise busy lives.

See you on down the road.

Long overdue

SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN, Nov. 15, 2015—This year has been tedious and stress filled. In addition to the sudden shock of being drafted into new duties at work, tragedy swarmed around us this year like a cloud of fruit flies dancing above a freshly cut pineapple. We suffered death and despair at every turn, it seemed, and while my fortunes at work had seemed to soar, my personal life was fraught with setbacks and disappointment on numerous levels. Most of all, I was left reeling by the death of my mother, despite the full expectation of her passing.

The view from the airplane window

Consequently, my adrenal gland spent most of the year pumping my body full of cortisol—the powerful and dangerous hormone released into the system during periods of extreme duress. Since most humans these days suffer no real dangers that would cause a person to fight or flee, modern men in the throes of a cortisol orgy simply balloon up like bratwurst over a hot flame, and I was no exception. I had grown fat and sluggish, my eyes had lost their shine and had become surrounded by dark bags, and I noticed that my hair had become dull and flat. And while Nutrisystem®, Maybelline, and Vidal Sassoon all promise cures for such things, it was not lost on me that each of these things was a sign—and a troubling sign to be sure.

Always travel with whimsy

Many people who become saturated with stress hormone fall prey to sickness, injury, or worse. It is the mind's way of taking the "victim" out of the game so to speak. Being a resilient person, I did not succumb. But in late August,  while looking at an impossible calendar of duties that would keep me more than heavily occupied for the foreseeable future, I had an epiphany: Either take some time off or drop dead. Even though I have a decent life insurance policy, and Caroline would fare okay in the wake of my demise, the thought of checking out before my reservation here on Earth had ended seemed like a cruel waste. I realized after my Mother's death that we only get one shot at this life, so we'd better make it a good one.

We started making plans for a restful vacation that would commence at the end of the stressful string of deliverables that loomed large on the calendar.

The preferred cure for negative thought

Today, sailing above the Pacific in a rickety metal flying machine, we were able to see the fruits of our labor and planning shaping up. At 30,000 feet, a person can really appreciate the wonder of the world. At this altitude, the curvature of the Earth is almost perceptible with the naked eye. The bright blue sky above and the deep-blue sea below is a testament to the wonderful anomaly that Planet Earth is in the cosmos. How we humans can continue to despoil and poison our host terrarium remains a marvel and a mystery to me. It brings me no joy to reiterate that there are far too many of us here, and that the vast majority of us are far too selfish to be good stewards of this world. Even though the sound of the surf below provides us with a metronome that honestly and unapologetically marks the passage of time, most of us feel as if we will be here forever, and that all of our actions during the past 100 years in particular can and will be forgiven without consequence or discomfort.

I, like many others, I'm sure, am beginning to suspect that such an assumption is probably untrue. Meanwhile, the mass media and a drumbeat of wishful thinking has done its best to convince us that electric powered vehicles, good intentions, and Carbon Offsets will certainly overpower the unsustainable system of rampant consumerism we have created for ourselves. And outside of a few sink holes, some weird weather, and the occasional manageable plague now and again, Mother Nature has done little to betray this canard. 

We arrived at a wonderful destination

Lest you think that I must be a real drag to vacation with, please remember that it takes much longer to write down such thoughts than it takes to actually think them. Thankfully for Caroline, most of this negativity was unspoken, drowned out by the drone of the aircraft, and even the unquiet moments were banished in roughly the same amount of time as it took to prepare a nice cocktail in the airplane as we streaked through the sky toward our tropical destination. They say no man is an island, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't visit one. And after spending hours in the air and leaving a giant hypocritical carbon footprint on this fragile ecosystem of ours, I was instantly astounded by the beauty and the heat of Kauai, Hawaii's "Island of Discovery." It seems like a fitting place to heal and ponder the events of the past year, and I intend to take full advantage—hopefully as "sustainably" as we can.

See you on down the road!