You remember
swimming in the bath-tub warm water at the Ponds and the little fishes that
nibbled at your feet. You gave a lot to that relationship. You were committed,
and then one day you realized you didn’t love her anymore. It was time to
leave.
Pele, that great
goddess of the volcano, jerked us around that last day, but we did it. We made
it off the island, and like the pioneers of old, we moved to California.
Fascinating
isn’t it how thoughts roll in like surf against lava rock? Here I am a couple
of years off the island and I still can’t help but envy the way a good storm
gets everyone’s attention. The storms of Hawaii rolled up against our house and
onto the shore of my memory. I remember the rain pouring off the roof and
splashing into the funnel that ferried it into the water tank of our catchment
system.
We had been
having drought conditions so water was a priority. The rains came at last, but
we were losing half the water as it splashed out of the rain gutter into the
funnel that was askew from its down pipe. That pipe carried the water
underground and into the above ground storage tank. I wanted to catch every
drop, so I climbed the ladder to straighten the catchment funnel. Warm water
rained on me and splashed off the gutter wetting me comfortably to the skin.
Next I moved
over to the second tank to make sure it was getting its fair share from the
opposite side of the roof. The only trouble was my cell phone was in my bra,
and it took the same dousing as I did. Its reaction? It refused to work.
Technology
helper to the rescue. “Take the phone apart,” he said, “put it in a plastic bag
along with some rice, and then leave it for twenty-four hours.”
The next day, we
were good to go—or to talk. That phone worked perfectly until we moved to
California where I bought a new one. Rather a shame after if served me so well.
So what happens
when a love affair is over?