My thoughts on energy divert to islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean — Hawaii. These islands capture the imagination, particularly for a Midwestern girl like me. I had read Mitchner’s opus when young, cheered and mourned for the natives, and related to the missionaries in ways I wish I could not claim.
My first visit was a long twelve hour journey from Minnesota. I escaped winter and exited the plane to a sunny day with a fine mist in the air. Ah, I could breathe in a way that I could not, in the dry super-heated home from which I came.
The Aloha spirit was also in the air. This was not just the Department of Tourism promoting this spirit. The people were exceptionally friendly and helpful, to the point of offering us the “locals’” discount card at the grocery store.
Who could not fall in love with such a place. In addition I was on my honeymoon. On our last day, we hoped for one last treat — a helicoptor tour of the island. Ah, the time share people dangled this tidbit before our eyes with a 50% discount.
I was raised to be thrifty. We were knowleagable and sophisticated people. We could survive the sales pitch. Ah, naive rubes that we were. The place was a small six story beach front with a long stretch of beach to walk. A whale breached in front as we registered. The salesperson was so laid back we were encouraging him to drink the coffee.
It was the best and worst investment of our life. The market plunged while we traveled home and we lost much more than what we had paid. It was a silly purchase, but it has gotten us to Hawaii more years than not, sharing the second bedroom with friends and family. Hawaii’s sand is definitely in our sandals.