Once, winter 1980-1, I went to Hawaii with a couple other women--a
friend and our joint accountant. It rained--pelted and poured--for the first
five days.
I wrote a storm of post cards saying: “Help! I am being held
hostage by an angry rain god on Kauai. Send umbrellas and sun.”
After five or six days, it stopped and we went golfing. I messed
up a whole lot of turf on the first hole, and never succeeded in hitting a golf
ball. Finally, I stomped off verbally abusing the sport.
Next, we went to a volcano, which seemed like a non-event: nothing
but a big ole hole in the ground. I was pig-ignorant about seismic geology. I
saw a Public TV doc on the Kilouah volcano last weekend. Now, if I had seen
that before I went. . .
My comrades made tennis and golf dates with old rich farts we met
evenings in bars. The rich, old farts came onto them and the busboys and
waiters came onto me. Nothing like a Democratic Socialist mouth to turn off a
rich old fart.
The flowers were like nothing I’d ever seen, likewise ficus right in the ground, not a pot. I discovered something else on the
beach. While they tennis-ed and golfed, I ran down the beach. Two or three miles
(once upon a time I could run that far) one day seeing nothing but turtles and
seaweed. Now, I know why we are trying to overpopulate the earth. I was
freaked by the time I got back to civilization.
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