Sunday, March 24, 2013

The Oak Bay Welcoming Wagon


Sister Jan flew in for her spring visit last week, and we decided to go to Victoria to check out the digs at Bee and Peter's new home in Oak Bay.  And what a charmer it is - a beautiful 1930's Tudor-style cottage tucked away on a quiet, hilly street, quite close to the ocean.  The kids have been incredibly busy combining two households  into one, as well as moving Peter's office from one end of Victoria to the other.  And just because fate wasn't done taxing them, Bee also needed moved her office into a new location as well.  Their minds had been bursting with configurations, measurements, color swatches, decorating hints, and wondering whether or not the beds would make it up a very narrow and steep flight of stairs (they did, but only thanks to the mover's expertise and extra-strength hernia belts).

As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount of planning to combine two households, and even more culling out.  This is inevitiably followed by the fun of a shopping spree, and so it passed that on the same day that Jan and I were to arrive, so was all the new furniture.

Bee tore around with great excitement and waited for the delivery truck, which finally showed up in the mid afternoon.  The two guys that were in charge seemed to be in a great hurry to unload and get moving, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone.   And so when the beautiful new couch presented a logistical problem to maneuver into the living room, they proposed to simply leave it sitting in the hall, so Bee could deal with it on her own.  All thousand pounds or so.  Then the fridge was hastily tucked into the garage (one look at the staircase and it was pronounced impossible to move it into the downstairs area).   The other bookcases and entertainment centre were simply missing in action.  They didn't know where they were.  Not their job.   Maybe phone Sears and find out where they are, they suggested helpfully.  And then Mr. Sweaty Panic said he thought his truck might be leaking diesel, and he wanted to get going, and fast.  So he did.  Leaving Mr. Perplexed Swamper behind, scratching his head in Bee's living room.  "I guess I'll go and take a bus home", he finally concluded.

Not long after this, Jan and I arrived and we were just lifting our first glass of wine and beginning our tour of the house when suddenly, Bee looked out the window and noted the entire Oak Bay Fire Department was out there on the street, including their beheamoth of a fire truck which somehow got maneuvered down the tiny little road.   Half a dozen firemen were busy dumping bag after bag of kitty litter on what seemed to be a river of diesel fuel, which was cascading down the road.  Several concerned neighbours looked on.   There were a few fingers pointed directly at the house, and we hurriedly ducked away from the window.  The fire chief knocked shortly after that, and Bee gave him the details of the dastardly delivery company and their stinky trucks.  Her cheeks were blazing as she apologized to a rather surly chief, who obviously had better things to do than supervise his crew spread kitty litter from one end of the street to the other. 

It was a relief when they were gone, and when Peter came home we entertained him with the story.  Bee had already called Sears, who had called the delivery company, who had called Bee back to apologize and and assure her that it would never ever happen again and they would send their very, very best, academy award-winning driver and swamper the next day, as soon as Sears found the missing pieces.   Which they did. True to their word, they telephoned in the morning and gave us the head's up that the new delivery was imminent.

Two fellows, obviously well primed on the recent circumstances,  arrived with ingratiating smiles and efficient muscles and managed to deliver the rest of the goods without much of a hitch.  We were all grateful for their expertise and when they left, we decided to celebrate with a much deserved walk  and a bit of a driving tour along beautiful Dallas Road.

We arrived home a few hours later and as we rounded the corner our hearts sunk into our boots.  Because there was the fire department again.  With all the guys.  And even more bags of kitty litter.  And also the Town of Oak Bay truck was there, with an official man in a hazard vest, who seemed to be directing the operation.  The neighbours were out in full, all looking sourly at the house.  Turns out that truck #2 had the same digestive problems as truck #1 and spilled its guts all over the existing kitty litter, as well as adding a whole lot more.

We skulked into the house after Bee again spoke to the chief (different chief, much nicer this time).  And once again we waited and watched guiltily as all those big beefy guys tore open bags of more kitty litter and raked them here, there and everywhere, under the stinging and resentful eyes of the neighbours.

Rain arrived that night, transforming the remaining litter and diesel into an interesting substance that resembled porridge and barfed-up dog food.

Bee and Peter continue to use the lower access road to return home, preferably under cover of night.  Welcome to Oak Bay, neighbour!

Thursday, January 31, 2013

HOAPILI BEACH and THE KING'S HIGHWAY

Yesterday morning, for fun, I went to the moon. The part of the moon that is devoid of air or vegetation and consists of razor sharp beds of lava next to steep cliffs and the occasional blow hole. The views were outstanding, but fleeting, as it was not wise to take your eyes off the trail for a second. Images of a tricompartmental ankle fracture were greatly enhanced by the knowledge that we were far from help of any sort, including any kind of cell signal. We plodded, scrambled, grunted and bravely picked our way through this barren and alien landscape, pausing to sip water and trying to sight out the tiny white rocks that were meant to mark safe passage through the craters. After a few false starts and more than one observation that we were probably lost, someone remarked that probably the locals rerouted the white rocks to enjoy the sight of watching sweaty, frustrated haoles try and find their way out.



This is what hot and tired looks like

On some hikes in life, there is a mid-way point where you know that turning back is no longer feasible, but the thought of going forward is equally daunting. That's where I found myself, and that's where my family rescued me when they realized that the weakest link was about to lose it. With the helpful and strong hands of my brother and my husband, and the encouragement and inspiration of my daughter and Peter, we at last slid down the final cliff and arrived at pretty little Hoapili Beach - a crescent-shaped oasis that somehow escaped the lava flow some 250 years ago. Dave immediately stripped out of his soaking wet clothes and dove into the water, while the rest of us sat on rocks and allowed strength and stability to return to our aching limbs. And for my pulse rate to drop to under 200.

 

The return trip, on the King's Highway, seemed effortless in comparison. This ancient lava road still commanded careful placement of our feet, but no leaps of faith or alpine scaling or bungie jumping was required, no Hail Mary's, not a single Ativan. It was hot, made hotter by the reflection of the sun off the black lava beds, and by the time we sighted the parking lot some 90 minutes later, we were all propelled by a single powerful image - a 20 ounce, ice-rimmed, golden mug of beer.

 

Believe me when I tell you, that refreshing and restorative reward was almost (ALMOST) worth the effort required to earn it.

Lisa and Peter, triumphant

 

Today is being spent nursing my wounds (scraped calf and bruised ego) but tonight - the long-waiting luau at the Grand Wailea. Bring on those grass skirts and Mai Tai's, and hold the lava cake, please!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, January 27, 2013

From 10,000 feet to sea level

 

From the top of the House of Sun, Haleakala

Aloha! Yesterday was a perfect day to travel up-country, beginning with a thrilling trip up Haleakala. We were treated with a very rare, 100% visibility day, and although the temperatures were bracing (about 50F at the top, with bracing winds), the view made everything worthwhile. This was followed by a leisurely tour of Kula and the Ulupalakula Ranch/Winery, and we finished off the day watching the young, brave and foolhardy tackle the huge waves at Hookipa.

Protea, a "Fred Flintstone" flower that grows beautifully in Kula

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lisa and Peter at the Tedeschi Winery

Wild windsurfing at Hookipa
Sun shines on sugar cane at the end of a perfect day

 

Friday, January 25, 2013

Maui No Ka Oi

Somehow life hit the fast-forward button through Christmas, which was followed by two weeks of an impressive respiratory virus. The January doldrums, all 19 days of them, stuttered along and then suddenly, blessedly, I came to under a palm tree. Maui is like a dream that you never want to wake up from. It is day six, eight to go (but who's counting) and the conch shell has just introduced the sunset. The birds have finally stopped their shrill comments and the breeze cradles the perfume of plumeria, white ginger and gardenia. Oh, and barbecue ribs, ahi and coconut oil.

The Mister has two great games of golf under the belt, and Bee and I have walked over 50 km thus far - our goal being a minimum of 10 km daily. This is not such a hardship when performed in paradise and in such fine company. Tomorrow our threesome becomes a foursome when Lisa's fella Peter arrives, and we will return to the airport at Kahului to welcome him with a traditional lei greeting, and then cruise to Lahaina for exploring, shopping, drinks and dinner. Cyclops the Canon will be busy over the next week, and I promise more frequent photo updates now that I have such a bounty to draw on.

I just have to solve a few logistical upload issues with the photographs, so please bear with me!