For my last morning I had fresh cold papaya and a last cup of coffee from the farm, got a lau lau plate (pork in taro leaves and the eternal macaroni salad) to take to the terminal, and made it on fumes to the Tesoro north of town to fill up before returning the rental car. I admit strongly considering not going home after they wouldn’t let my tropical smoothie through the agriculture screening. Furthermore, I found unexpectedly widespread support for my idea in the gate agents, most of whom had also just happened not to leave one time and are still living in paradise. I will for months be comparing everything to Hawaii, which will annoy everyone else but will be gift enough for myself. I ran out of book on the flight home and had to make a list of all the things I am disappointed not to have done this time, so I can have a to-do list for when I come back: (1) Surf. (2) See turtles. (3) Get bitten by a centipede. (4) Swim in the champagne pond / freshwater queens bath. (5) Stay forever.
The long tails of disaster harshed my chill as soon as I got back to work, but by that time I had conditioned my hair (oh, Deity, finally. The salt!) and had along afternoon with Sean
buying books doing nothing in downtown Berkeley so I will try not to be too hysterical about it…ha, ha! What I mean is, I will try and be calm and reasonable starting presently, because I haven’t been as of yet. Relatedly, my dad points out that he was seventeen before he realized that “bloodygermans” was two words. Right? Right.