Spring Break in Hawaii

This seems to be my year for short, fun-packed vacations. My tan has not faded from our Spring Break visit to Hawaii and neither have my memories. It was a vacation and a mini-family reunion all wrapped up together like lau lau in a ti leaf.

               My brother Bob and his wife Kathleen flew in from Maui. They had us cracking up constantly. My sister and her husband Bruce cooked a delicious meal for all eleven of us, and helped me add to my teapot collection at their favorite antique store. Mom and Dad led the two-van caravan for the around-the-island tour that included stops to be awed by high surf at Sunset Beach and Waimea Bay, to see Dole’s pineapple fields, and check out where LOST was filmed. Before our trip to the Bishop Museum, my Dad reviewed our extensive family genealogy with us, giving us clues to look for at the museum and helping the kids get back in touch with our Hawaiian culture.

We also got back in touch with the warm Pacific Ocean spending many hours boogie boarding at the same beach where my brother learned to body surf, and where my father saw a barracuda latch onto a body surfing classmate’s calf during his boyhood days. John and the kids also surfed at Waikiki while I soaked up the sun and a Chi Chi, too relaxed to bother to walk a few feet to watch the St. Patrick’s Day parade march down Kalakaua Avenue.

We savored the almost endless list of special local treats we crave from Hawaii: malasadas, Chantilly cake, saimin, crispy gau gee on cake noodles, mixed plate lunches, green tea ice cream, and shave ice. My son and his girlfriend managed to catch the bus to a luau at the last minute after being stuck in an excruciating, traffic jam on H-1, part of everyday life in Honolulu. We all got to giggle while holding onto our clothes and hair at the Pali Lookout, and take in the spectacular view of the Windward side between gusts.

We re-lived family memories that covered a century, so many relatives, so many places infused with significant family history. We caught up on what aunties, uncles and cousins are doing now, and learned about some serious family health problems. The absence of some of the things I used to always do when I visited made me a little sad. None of my grandparents are alive, and a favorite auntie and uncle have passed away. No more calling out “Hui!” as we climbed the steps to visit them anymore. I missed them. My grandparents’ beach house in Hauula where my parents honeymooned, and where later my mom, brother, sister and I lived when my father was in Vietnam is gone. The mango and avocado trees at my house had to be cut down. The missing reminded me that time passes, and that the Hawaii I grew up in is gone.

John and I pointed out to the kids our first tiny, cramped apartment in a rough neighborhood where we spent a lot of time circling the nearby blocks in search of a parking space because we were too poor to pay for one at the apartment. The sagging family-owned store, built in the 1930s, that we’d walk to to pick up some bread or eggs was still there, jammed between other apartment buildings. We showed them the bike-lane that John rode his 10-speed bike, and later his mo-ped on, to get to the University of Hawaii. Then we pointed out the high-rise building that we ended up in, on the sixth floor, with a parking space, a block from the Ala Wai canal with a view of Diamond Head. There’s no way they could appreciate what an accomplishment that was for us.

But back to the present. Even though there were lots of funny moments, including my mother substituting a wooden calabash on her head for a hat, I think I accidentally provided the funniest vacation moment. It happened at the Dole Pineapple Center. After our long ride, we got in line to buy soft-serve pineapple ice cream cones, to be exact, four waffle cones. The girl behind the counter, obviously very experienced, deftly handed all four cones into one of John’s hands. Four cones in one hand! It made me really nervous!

While my family and other customers looked on, I anxiously tried to be helpful by taking two of the cones. John, sure that he had all four cones under control, apparently wanted me to take only one. Looking like two lumberjacks on either side of a saw, we pulled back and forth. After a few urgent tugs, I managed to pry two cones away from his unwilling hand.

Oh no! One started to topple! I wasn’t about to let it hit the floor! So, I lunged, and bent backwards like I was doing the limbo. The now empty cone remained in my right hand. The ice cream plopped, cold and sticky, onto my right boob.

So, I did the only thing I could do. I shot an accusing look at John, like it was his fault. He boomeranged that look right back at me. My daughter shook her head, called us immature, and took the intact cone from my left hand. My brother snickered, “Nice catch!” I started laughing as I took the empty cone, and scooped the ice cream off my chest back into the waffle cone where it belonged. There was no argument over which cone was mine. I swabbed my t-shirt and hair off with a napkin, and ate my doubly refreshing pineapple ice cream cone surrounded by laughter. My new family nickname is “Pineapple Boob.”

Six days full of family, fun, food, Hawaiian beaches and sunshine flew by. It wasn’t easy getting on the plane to come back to Washington, leaving so much behind. It never is. But I know that we’ll go back again. And I can still smell the fragrant ginger, plumeria, and tuberose leis scattered throughout my home here.

Laura Keolanui Stark is still thinking of more things she wishes they’d done in Hawaii. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.