As you have been made painfully aware, the traveling circus was on the road for a delightful visit with family on the lovely island of O’ahu in the distant mid-Pacific. The visit was, by turns, tranquil and high-energy.
The family rental is around the corner from some new low-rise condos, cheerfully advertised as “Two Bedrooms From the Low $800,000s!”
It is a pretty amazing juxtaposition of new and continuing wealth, and I will never be able to live in lovely Kailua- or anywhere on O’ahu, for that matter.
One of the places I always enjoyed the most was the historic Ford Island neighborhood of Nob Hill, were we drove to see the outside of the old Flag Officer quarters at the northern end of the island within the island’s largest harbor. I had only been inside once, and Vice Admiral Ken Moranville informed me that the place sat atop an old gun battery, and he was sorry he didn’t have time to show it to me.
That last full day we had was a wild drive across the Island, starting west up the spectacular near-vertical face of the Ko’olau mountains, and then heading north on the H2 before it peters out in the cane and pineapple fields leading to the North Shore and the site of the old Jameson’s By-the-Sea. I was there last year, soaking in the atmosphere of Haleiwa town and the old comfortable bar just across the bridge as I have, periodically, of the last thirty-odd years.
It was with sadness that I learned later of the passing of the institution. Developer D.G. “Andy” Anderson is the developer who decided the termites had eaten enough of his old restaurant and spent $2.5 million to upgrade it to the Haleiwa Beach House. The new emphasis is on seafood- not surprising, since Andy owned John Dominus, the premier restaurant downtown for years and years before it folded.
(Stairs to the bar at the Haleiwa Beach House, which is closed with Crime Scene Tape until they fix the septic system, a useful thing in a fine dining establishment).
There is a cool bar upstairs in the new structure, but it was closed due to the fact that the sewage system that was quite acceptable for Jameson’s couldn’t handle the new volume, and the health department shut it down.
Andy may be the only Republican left on the island, but we enjoyed a drink in the small bar downstairs and sampled the calamari with admiration.
We decided to forge on to Kaena Point from there, past the Polo Grounds and Dillingham Air Park before we got to the End of the Road. That is a special place, which I mentioned the other day when I was still actually there in the islands, and the perspiration glowed on my naked torso as I pounded on the keys, preparing some remarks for a meeting with the Government as my last official act on the island.
The meeting was, not surprisingly, held in Building 77 on Ford Island, conveniently located on the way to Honolulu International and the two-jet segment back to the East Coast. I last worked in the very same building, and sat in that very conference room on the second deck thirty years ago, almost to the day. It was a little surreal.
Then the modest drive through the Pearl Harbor complex and under the elevated freeway on Nimitz Blvd to the airport, which pointedly is NOT the Arthur Godfrey Terminal anymore. Apparently, time has not been kind to his playing of the ukulele.
Then came the hard part, saying good-bye again to all that emotion and the good time just being together.
The flights, taken together, were a little easier than they were on the way west. The first leg left at around 1400, brilliant sunshine and light winds, and it was a real full-sized Boeing: their 777 wide-body model that features big seats and plenty of leg-room.
We arrived at SFO with plenty of time to make the connection to the smaller jet to Washington, which would hurtle through the night skies to Dulles.
I had plenty of charge on the iPad to read all the way, but two drinks later in the darkness I found myself blinking out the window at the rising dawn over Loudoun County, Virginia, turning onto final approach at IAD.
Once I found where my glasses had got off to, I marveled at the occurrence. I can never sleep on airplanes, and I had been completely dead to the world for almost four hours.
So, bag collected and an easy cab ride into pre-rush hour Arlington, it was mission complete, and unpacking as though the whole thing had been just a dream.
I meant to tell you about that yesterday, but predictably, things got away from me.
Lessons-learned? I don’t do twelve hours in the air as well as I used to, but I can deal with it, if the inceptive is right, as it was on this jaunt across the Pacific.
The jet lag is a bitch, though. I fell asleep watching the news when I got back from Front Page last night, rose an hour or so later and wandered back to bed. I slept like a log- right through to 0130.
I cursed when I saw the time, and tossed and turned until around 0400, when I slipped into an incredibly vivid dream which featured some intensely realistic visions of driving a rental car across terrifyingly steep roads and narrow bridges by the Big Lake. Then being in a Canadian Visitor’s Center with a goose, a ceiling-fan blade and a Standard Poodle puppy. Also present was a retired Vice Admiral of my acquaintance, and a family member I had recently seen at close range.
I have no idea what it meant. I mean, really. “Ceiling fans? Standard Poodles?” I don’t even like that breed that much.
But that said, I think I will be going back next summer to celebrate the commencement of full Social Security, and the official entry into my dotage. I intend to have exactly the same amount of fun for that one, so let the family beware.
Aloha!
We will see what we come up with for The Daily going forward- goodness knows there is some truly appalling things we are going to have to pointedly ignore.
Vic
Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com