Sea Turtles and Other Sundry Items

I realize that you are halfway through your lunch but I, being in Hawaii, have just woken up. I’ve woken later each day as jetlag wears off and so this morning I woke to a pale light filtering through the window.  But on the first morning, when I woke in the still dark, this is the scene that greeted me on our balcony.  A full moon over the ocean. I know that I’m given to grand exclamations but this was awe-inspiring. 

 

And a comment about mornings in Hawaii.  This is a land of early-rising folk and I know this is not simply a host of people on jetlag.  Every morning when I wake, no matter how early, I see kayakers out on the ocean, runners on the trail below, people enjoying the view from their lanais at barely 6:00 a.m.  I am reminded of my memorable three weeks on Kauai at my aunt’s house after I graduated college.  Each morning, no matter how late we’d been out the night before, my cousin, his stepdad and I would head off to beautiful Lumahai beach where I swam and they surfed.  A fantastic way to start the day, I think.  

When I left you yesterday, we were resting midday at the house. Not long after that we decided to head out to Kahalu’u Beach Park, known for great snorkeling and only a few minutes from our condo.  Though crowded, the snorkeling didn’t disappoint.  Almost immediately upon dipping my head in the water, I was treated to yellow tangs, moorish idols, racoon butterfly fish and more.  And imagine our surprise when, just in front of our feet in the water, we became acquainted with the guy below.  

The other sites we became acquainted with were decidedly human.  Seated not far from us on the beach was a group of Italian triathletes.  How, you might ask, was I so sure that they were Italian?  Couldn’t I have mistaken their accents?  Perhaps. But I could not, indeed no one could mistake the ‘Italia’ emblazoned across the flanks of one young man.  Each of them, and there were four, was clad in the tiny swimsuit favored by Europeans and each of them was a tribute to Michelangelo himself. Shaved down, as most triathletes are, these men were as smooth as marble and sculpted with lean muscle. There was not a hint of imperfection, not a whisper of a hastily consumed ice cream cone or the indiscretion of a few beers.  I tried not to stare (it was hard) and though I envied their beautiful bodies, I imagine the blood, sweat and tears that went into their creation. And all I wanted was to offer them a cheeseburger, a milkshake and a hammock. 

Aloha and mahalo.

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