08-14-2007, 01:22 PM
I bought a house. That was what did it. And not just any house.
The seller was often seen wearing a sarong-also known as a lavalava, may he rest in peace. He wasn't wearing one when he died but some theorize that it came off when he intentionally drove his 2004 Hummer over a cliff off of Beach Road, in lower Hawaiian Paradise Park.
Why don't they call Hawaiian Paradise Park Paradise Hui Hanalike, or something more Hawaiian? Hawaiian Paradise Park is such a corny name. Can we change it??
To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure what led me to this house. I just know that one thing led to another and that I was relentless in my pursuit of "owning" a piece of Hawai'i -- a concept that seems foreign to the very land in question.
I really only vacationed in Hawai'i one time. That was my first time, when I went to Molokai (because dams were bursting on Kauai, my original destination). Every trip I took after that was for the purpose of scouting out a place to call my own. That's because it was love at first sight. When we flew over Diamond Head on our way to Molokai, I gazed out the window over a double rainbow. Looking back, it is all pretty clear: I was seduced. And then I was on a mission, and please get out of my way. Although I came over so many times that Hawaiian Airlines allowed me into the "special lounge" where the coffee is especially bitter, I never came over just for vacation. I was always searching.
One exception might have been the last trip, when I went to the West side and snorkeled and reflected on my next move after my well laid plans went awry on a place I coveted on First Street in HPP. That was the trip when I learned to make lilikoi margaritas, when Ron and Mark saw to it that I had the magic blender, and when two friends of mine came over, saw, bought land, and went home all in the space of two days, right in front of my face, as if to say "This is how it's done".
As for the house, we won't be moving over any time soon. Target date: three years from now. But that could slip. The important thing is I realized my dream -- I closed escrow on a gorgeous home in Hawai'i. (And aren't they all gorgeous, from the tin shack to the mansion, all because of the setting?).
Right now I am still a little stunned. We closed on Friday. While in escrow, on July 21st, Pele started making a major move to the Northeast, for the first time in years. Then we closed. On Monday, I was on the phone with the wife of a handyman in Mountain View, when I heard the sound of glass tinkling and a distant booming. She told me they were having an earthquake. She didn't hang up. The rattling seemed to go on forever, and came right across the phoneline, right under the ocean, right to my house. And then on Tuesday, Flossie, all day long, Flossie --that fizzling florid floozy Flossie.
The house will need to be blessed, of course. And the seller's untimely and sad demise is a reminder that paradise is within us, and if we don't make peace with ourselves and find the aloha within us, no cobalt sea, no robin's egg sky, and no brass dolphins spouting into a blue-tiled pool will save us. Make peace with yourself or with someone tonight.
My search for a Hawaiian home was obsessive, laserlike, and focused. I happened upon a home that was owned by a person who I intuit was a very powerful personality.
The confluence of my almost insane but fundamentally positive yearning and the poignant, powerful polarizing nihilism of the now departed former owner of the house appears to have affected the ocean currents, unsettled Pele, and rattled the entire mountain.
The house is imbued, for better or worse, with the spirit of a person that loved this land, loved the volcano, loved fire, and loved to wear next to nothing. Although his dream went awry, he dreamed big and danced with fire, wearing only a sarong.
And that is why I am calling this........Hale Lavalava.
The seller was often seen wearing a sarong-also known as a lavalava, may he rest in peace. He wasn't wearing one when he died but some theorize that it came off when he intentionally drove his 2004 Hummer over a cliff off of Beach Road, in lower Hawaiian Paradise Park.
Why don't they call Hawaiian Paradise Park Paradise Hui Hanalike, or something more Hawaiian? Hawaiian Paradise Park is such a corny name. Can we change it??
To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure what led me to this house. I just know that one thing led to another and that I was relentless in my pursuit of "owning" a piece of Hawai'i -- a concept that seems foreign to the very land in question.
I really only vacationed in Hawai'i one time. That was my first time, when I went to Molokai (because dams were bursting on Kauai, my original destination). Every trip I took after that was for the purpose of scouting out a place to call my own. That's because it was love at first sight. When we flew over Diamond Head on our way to Molokai, I gazed out the window over a double rainbow. Looking back, it is all pretty clear: I was seduced. And then I was on a mission, and please get out of my way. Although I came over so many times that Hawaiian Airlines allowed me into the "special lounge" where the coffee is especially bitter, I never came over just for vacation. I was always searching.
One exception might have been the last trip, when I went to the West side and snorkeled and reflected on my next move after my well laid plans went awry on a place I coveted on First Street in HPP. That was the trip when I learned to make lilikoi margaritas, when Ron and Mark saw to it that I had the magic blender, and when two friends of mine came over, saw, bought land, and went home all in the space of two days, right in front of my face, as if to say "This is how it's done".
As for the house, we won't be moving over any time soon. Target date: three years from now. But that could slip. The important thing is I realized my dream -- I closed escrow on a gorgeous home in Hawai'i. (And aren't they all gorgeous, from the tin shack to the mansion, all because of the setting?).
Right now I am still a little stunned. We closed on Friday. While in escrow, on July 21st, Pele started making a major move to the Northeast, for the first time in years. Then we closed. On Monday, I was on the phone with the wife of a handyman in Mountain View, when I heard the sound of glass tinkling and a distant booming. She told me they were having an earthquake. She didn't hang up. The rattling seemed to go on forever, and came right across the phoneline, right under the ocean, right to my house. And then on Tuesday, Flossie, all day long, Flossie --that fizzling florid floozy Flossie.
The house will need to be blessed, of course. And the seller's untimely and sad demise is a reminder that paradise is within us, and if we don't make peace with ourselves and find the aloha within us, no cobalt sea, no robin's egg sky, and no brass dolphins spouting into a blue-tiled pool will save us. Make peace with yourself or with someone tonight.
My search for a Hawaiian home was obsessive, laserlike, and focused. I happened upon a home that was owned by a person who I intuit was a very powerful personality.
The confluence of my almost insane but fundamentally positive yearning and the poignant, powerful polarizing nihilism of the now departed former owner of the house appears to have affected the ocean currents, unsettled Pele, and rattled the entire mountain.
The house is imbued, for better or worse, with the spirit of a person that loved this land, loved the volcano, loved fire, and loved to wear next to nothing. Although his dream went awry, he dreamed big and danced with fire, wearing only a sarong.
And that is why I am calling this........Hale Lavalava.
