Sometimes my mind rambles, like my mouth. Here are a few completely random observations after living here for two months.
Food, Water and the Lack of a Decent Taco Truck
Hawaiians carry around HydroFlasks like Seattleites carry latte cups. They’re so popular here, they launch new colors in Hawai’i and then roll it out to the rest of the US.
This island could use an authentic taco truck or Mexican restaurant. Hawai’i is notorious for less than stellar Mexican food. The trade off? There’s fresh poi and poke around the corner.
Milk isn’t $10/gallon. It’s only $5.49. That’s still painful. I’m glad Kahea is the only milk drinker in the house.
Water straight from the tap isn’t cold like it is Washington, but you can drink it without a filter.
If you see someone selling poi mochi at an event, buy it right away. Every time I wait, it’s sold out.
Don’t go into a Walmart in Hawai’i unless you are patient. Very patient. It has to be one of the busiest in the country.
I love Waimanalo Beach, but I want to know why there are so many pieces of blue plastic in the sand and where it comes from.
I don’t mind geckos, but I wish they were litter box trained or at least had the decency to poop outside and not on my kitchen counters. I’m currently in love with Clorox Disinfecting Wipes.
I practice my Pidgin accent on the checkers at the grocery store and people at the swap meet when Ric’s not around. Either I’m doing ok, or they’re laughing at me when I walk away.
Country music is gaining in popularity in Hawai’i, but there’s still only one country music station.
I hear roosters in the morning and I wonder if someone is raising chickens for meat/eggs or raising roosters for cock fights.
The first time we went to church, the Guest Speaker was the pastor from Ric’s church in Kaua’i and then we found out that the Campus Pastor used to be the pastor at the New Hope in Shoreline (WA). We took that as a sign that we had found our home church.
When I was a kid in Los Angeles, you could ride in the back of a pickup truck. You can do that here if all the seats are taken in the cab and you’re over 13.
Hawaiians rule at backing in big trucks into impossibly small parking spaces.
I’ve accidentally turned into the US Pacific Fleet Commanders Headquarters several times. Once you turn in, you need an escort to get out. It’s slightly embarrassing.
I cry in the car during my commute at least once a week. Either because I’m completely frustrated by traffic or that I can’t make a left turn in town, or because I’m homesick.
There’s no parking here. None. That makes me cry, too.
Tears due to traffic frustration and homesickness aside, I look mauka at 6 PM for my daily rainbow or up at the clouds rolling by at night and I know that my roots will grow deep into the red dirt. I just need time.