Pan and Potter

Here on the island, Mondays are my unofficial library visiting days.

Last Monday, I was perusing the children's book section when I happened across J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan and Wendy. It was a special edition, commemorating the 100th anniversary of the beloved tale. I picked it up, flipped through the pages and was immediately absorbed into the make-believe world of Peter Pan.

I spent the next few days anxiously awaiting the moment it was time to go to bed - as I had self prescribed bedtime as my storytime (otherwise I would have read the short story in one sitting). The moment I opened the book I bravely fought alongside Peter and the Lost Boys as they took on Captain Hook and the pirates. I flew with Wendy, Michael, and John over the Mermaid Lagoon, past Tiger Lilly and the Redskins, and into the treehouse below ground where Tinkerbell strutted in her chambers.

It was with mixed emotions that I turned the last page in this child's tale - for I did not want the adventures to end but at the same time, was keen to prove to myself that I had, and never will, let the child within me die.

The book I brought home from yesterday's visit to the library is both a continuation of my Pan stubbornness to never fully grow-up and a bit of homework. I am currently stretching my imagination to its fullest as I hurriedly turn page after page in the fifth book in the Harry Potter series. I only opened the book yesterday and I'm already on page 626 in the 870 page book.

Yes, I've previously read this book cover to cover, but must refresh my memory of Harry's life in the wizarding world in preparation of book number six to arrive in stores in a matter of days. I've spent the last two days immersed in the tales of Harry, Hermione, and Ron as they battle through their fifth year at Hogwarts and attempt to stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from making a full-fledged return to power.

Even though I already know the outcome, I still turn page after page in apprehension of learning the secrets of the wizarding world and cheering for good to overcome evil. And when I must come face to face with reality (i.e. put the book down), I find myself daydreaming about life through Harry's eyes. That is the true power of our imaginations - when the lines between what is real and what is fictional become blurred.

Why adults do not read lighthearted stories like Pan or Potter on a regular basis is beside me. It is a chance for us grown-ups to escape our daily, routine-filled, stressful lives and experience the full glory of our imaginations. It's also an opportunity for those of us with a little extra time on our hands to revisit the stories told to us as children and playfully attempt to turn back the hands of time.

Wacky Wacky

BY DAY
My preconceived notion of Waikiki was that of a dirty, busy city filled with tourists and the beaches packed with, well, tourists.

What I found after a day spent wandering the streets of this popular Hawaiian city was a bit different.

Yes, there are tourists. Thousands of them. Literally. But the city itself is beautiful , clean, and somehow the tourists add to it's charm rather than distract from it. It may be my soft-spot for big cities, being the city gal I am and all. However, I'm oddly drawn to the city of Waikiki.

My first day in the city was quite an adventure. I meticulously followed the directions my cousin, Mitch, had given me that brought me from my garage in Kapolei to the parking ramp in downtown Waikiki. His advice for me after I parked, "just walk around and see the city." Well, I did just that.

I wandered over to the Hale Koa (one of the many hotels in Waikiki) and held my head high as I pretended to know where I was going and eventually maneuvered my way to the beach. I was greeted with loads of sunbathers and just the man my father warned me about - the pot-bellied, hairy man in a thong. Quite the sight (and a disturbing one at that).

I meandered down the paved path along the beach until the path stopped. Was this it? Less than a mile of beach and a few hotels was all Waikiki had to offer? This couldn't be so.

I called in the experts on the city. Mom and Dad.

After a much needed update on the Twins game from Dad, the phone at navigation central was handed over to my personal mapquest.com. Mom gratefully pulled out her handy map of O'ahu and navigated me down side streets, proudly naming landmarks along the way, until I was smack-dab in the middle of the true, picturesque Waikiki - filled with miles of beaches, shops, and tourists. Thanks Mom!

My plan for the day was to do a bit of sight-seeing during the day and in the evening, meet up with a fellow UWRF alum now turned Waikiki resident, Craig Jones, for a tour of local watering holes.

I spent my afternoon dodging in and out of the throngs of Japanese and haouli (white folks) tourists as I passed the upscale shops of Gucci, Tiffany's, and Prada and the tourist traps of International Market Square while exploring the main drag in Waikiki.

I had just popped into one of the obscure ABC markets (um, just kidding, these little shops are located just about every two feet) to grab a bottle of water and was heading back out on the street walking toward the beach, when I saw a familiar face in the crowd. Now, I only know one person on this island. One. That's it. And I ran into him.

"Craig," I called out as he walked out of 24 Hour Fitness.

We both laughed in awe of our chance meeting. Craig remarked he was just getting out of work early (he works part-time on weekends at 24 Hour Fitness), was going to run a few errands, and then give me a call to see if I wanted to meet earlier for dinner. My answer, in person, was yes. We said our see-ya-laters, and I continued my exploration.

Next stop - da beach.

I removed my slippahs (flip-flops) and buried my toes in the warm, fine sand and aimlessly strolled toward Diamond Head taking in the sights or veering my eyes as needed.

The beach itself is not as expansive as I had imagined, but rather a thin strip of sand that hugs the coast-line on one side and hotels crowd it on the other. At some areas, the beach is a mere ten feet wide...but the length makes up for the shallow width.

I was about ready for a bit of a break and began looking around for a place to rest when I realized I was surrounded on all sides by men. Gay men. Gay men in very skimpy bathing attire. Oi. Instead, I decided to make what I now know to be "Queens Beach" my turn-around point.

BY NIGHT
Dinner time arrived and I met Craig at Roundtable, a local sports pub where I was showered on all sides by TV's turned to ESPN and proudly broadcasting...baseball. Ah, heaven.

After we filled our bellies with pineapple pizza, Craig became my personal tour guide of the city. First stop, his place. Two blocks walk and we were there.

Craig rents a little studio apartment on the ninth floor of one of the numerous high-rise apartment/condo complexes in the city. His place comes complete with a washer/dryer, parking space, full kitchen, bath, and the coveted lanai (porch)...all for $725 (same rent I was paying in St. Paul!). His home also has a roof-top terrace; a must-see for me.

We hopped in the elevator and rode straight to the top. By now, the sun had set, and we were greeted with a view that was beyond breathtaking. 360 degree views of the city from the 29th floor - the mountains, Diamond Head, the ocean, the city lights, it was all there. I could have stayed up there for hours, days even. But the bars were calling.

First stop - a university pub with $5 pitchers away from the tourist-y areas. We met up with a few of Craig's friends, including a fellow Minnesotan named Jen, and started the night out in style (OK, fine, as much style as you can in a dive bar).

When pitcher #2 arrived, I overheard the conversation at the table next to us. One man was bragging about Wisconsin lakes and the great sport of fishing. I couldn't help it - the MN/WI rivalry kicked in, and I budded into their conversation.

"Excuse me, I truly didn't mean to be eavesdropping on your conversation, but did you just say something about Wisconsin lakes?" I asked.

"Why, yes, I did," came the reply.

"Well, I'm from Minnesota..." and you can guess our comments after that.

Minutes later, our two tables had merged and the world became a tad bit smaller. Turns out, one of the locals at the other table went to UMD and ran track with Craig's cousin. Odd. Or in Craig's words, Waikiki truly is "Wacky-Wacky."

Later, we hopped in a cab and decided to sample the bars downtown. We ended up at a bar in The International Market Square (and the name escapes my mind presently) for a few more drinks and dancing.

At this unnamed bar, we encountered a young lady with a mustache who later traded in her thick strand of hair across her face for quite the dance routine, met a group of engineers from Virginia on the island for business, and attempted to soberfy Jen with glass after glass of water and rumpshaking on the dance floor.

What a night. Before we knew it, the clock had struck 3am and our beds were calling.

After tucking Jen and Nikki into a cab, Craig and I walked the three blocks back to his place where he graciously offered me the bottom half of his bed (his bed is made-up of two queen size air mattresses piled on top of one another), and I happily accepted as memories of college days filled my head as I drifted off to sleep.

And that, my friends, is the story of my first day in Wacky-Wacky.

The Dog.

Let me introduce you to the dog.

The dog's name is Zoe.

Zoe is a Jack Russell Terrier (yep, same dog as seen on Frasier).

Everyday this spunky, little four-year old dog wakes me up at 6am on the dot. Everyday.

This morning, for instance, I woke-up to Zoe licking my forehead anxiously urging me to go open the backdoor so she could do her business.

I looked over at the clock, 6:00am. Exactly.

I groggily rolled out of bed as Zoe jumped up and down from the bed to the floor and back again, stopping each time to lick my arms, legs, or any part of my body she could reach.

After I finally got the door open, she darted outside into the backyard. Two seconds later, she was back inside eagerly waiting for the day to begin.

However, I had other plans.

My bed, my nice, warm, comfortable bed was calling my name.

I walked back into my bedroom; Zoe nipping every inch of the way at my heels, begging me to stay up and play.

And that's when it happened.

The forcefield of the sharp corner of the bedframe was too much for my upper-right thigh and with all its might, pulled my fragile flesh into it.

Oh man did that hurt. And, I must admit, the reddish-blue color war-wound that remains sure is a nice.

I crawled back into bed; Zoe pouncing from one corner of the bed to the next, trampling me like roadkill.

Somehow I managed to go back to sleep...that is, until it was breakfast time for the dog and the waking ritual Zoe has so graciously perfected, began again.

The Dog Part Deux.
Zoe eats once a day. And for some odd reason, the chosen time for this once-a-day feeding is 7:15am.

For one-minute out of the day, while Zoe wolfs down her one-third cup of kibble, the world is at peace. One whole minute. Once the bowl is thoroughly licked and every last crumb is entrenched in Zoe's stomach, the dog's energy returns at full force.

She rips from one corner of the house to the next, up and down the steps, in and out of rooms, until finally, she pauses for a moment, looks around, and then begins again.

I just stand in awe and watch. And then I go on with my daily business.

However, Zoe is also quite the master of shadowing. Wherever I go, she goes.

I am quite the independent person and having someone follow me around constantly throughout the day - even if it is a dog - really tries my nerves. Zoe and I have had numerous chats about this subject; one of these days I pray it will sink in, and she will become the independent dog I know is in there somewhere.

We obviously have our moments throughout the day. But once day turns into night and that little ball of fur curls up at the end of my bed, I can't help but love her.

That is, until she starts burrowing under the covers. And that, my friends, is a whole other story.

In the beginning...

At the onset of any new, great adventure, a person usually starts off with a very profound thought.

Well, I am unlike most people.

And therefore, I choose to skip the introductions and delve right into the uncharted territories of blogging (well, for me at least).

I am officially a housesitter. The house happens to come equipped with one dog, two cars, a crib, and a room with a view of the Pacific Ocean. Oh, did I mention that this house is located on the island of O'ahu in Hawai'i?

Sorry, minor detail.

The tales you shall read from here on out are the chronicles of a gal from Minnesota, who decided to sacrifice her life in the land of 10,000 lakes for that of a life filled with white sandy beaches and an abundance of sun.

This oh-so selfless act was done solely in the name of family.

My dear cousin Mitch was in a bit of a quandary. Navy duty had called him east for the summer. His lovely wife, Emily, and brilliant son, Ayden, were to spend two months in Minnesota.

Oh, what were they to do with their house and dog during this young family's extended absence?

Well, my friends, you guessed it.

I stepped up to the plate. I answered their call.

I packed up my life in Minnesota and stored it in all in neatly labeled boxes that now fill the "Hotel Room" at my family's homestead. I braved the day-long flight that took me from Minneapolis/St. Paul to Chicago and then to San Francisco and finally to Honolulu, Hawai'i. I traded in mosquitoes for foot-long centipedes, 10,000+ lakes for the Pacific Ocean, and the Minnesota Twins for...well, I have yet to fill that void.

So here I am. A Scandinavian gal in Hawai'i. Armed with a life supply of SPF30. And ready to tackle the next great chapter in the chronicles of JMC.

Daduhda...