Notes on returning to the places of my youth

This is a photo of the moon setting over the Nu'uanu Pali this morning. Can't see the mountain because of the clouds, but the moon was so full, and the morning was so balmy ...

Last couple of nights, after getting Mom to bed, I went to sit outside in the back yard and watch the clouds, the stars, the palm trees clattering in the trade winds, and listen to the pounding waves at the beach a couple of blocks away (sounds like distant jets.) And it came over me that this place is a land apart.

Put aside for a moment that Hawaii is in fact the most remote place in the world by virtue of its position in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Instead, think of this: It's 11 p.m., 78 degrees, there's a 10-15 mph trade wind going, a full moon is lighting up big, pouffy white clouds (yes, white, even at night) and casting shadows of the coconut trees and bougainvillea on the lawn. There is no smog, so the stars are brilliant and the air tastes fresh. And the whole ambience causes my young adult life - all its joy, angst, love, despair, the beginnings of independenc and of belonging - to flood back into my memory.

I used to do a lot at night - walk the dogs, enjoy romantic tete-a-tetes with my beaus, walk home from choir practice, (Did I ever mention that I saw the Easter Rabbit? As I walked to Midnight Mass one year, he hopped across the road in front of me - he's brown.) When I lived on Molokai, I used to go night fishing with the science teacher from the high school and.several of his students. They would wade knee-deep in the ocean carrying flashlights to look for octopus and crabs, put them in a big 5-gallon bucket, then take them to the high school around 11 p.m. and dump them in the salt-water aquarium for use in class the next day.

It's hard, living in Sacramento, to imagine the relationship an islander has with his island. It's much more than just talking about the weather, or noting that there are more visitors staying in Kailua now. It's more like a familial thing - he is in tune with the wind, the tides, the seasons, the neighbors. They all "speak" to him and he understands the message without knowing how he knows. Even the songs, which mention over and over the "palm trees swaying" , the "surf at Waikiki", the fragrance of the trees, ferns, and flowers, the gentle rains and the winds swirling around the mountain tops, the waterfalls - speak of this relationship between the islander and his island.

So, as I lie on the deck chair watching the clouds roll in and play hide and seek with the moon, feeling the trade winds on my bare arms and legs, and listening to the trees and surf, I feel homesick. Funny - I never thought I'd feel homesick for the place where I am currently; I think of homesickness as a longing for a place I used to be. I think I'm homesick for the island in me.

Mom had a good day today. She's still slow with the walker, but you can see in her expression that she's here in the present. Her progress has not been linear, but, on balance, I'd say she is improving, and could stay at home with a full-time aide. We're meeting on Saturday with someone who may be able to match her and Mary with a caregiver and get them started before I have to return home.