A couple of weeks ago we headed Hilo side to cat sit for a night and make use of our friends' projector and movie screen. You know, a get away from our get away. The only notable happening during our stay was the exceptional stealth displayed by the resident cat, Chongo. A cat of many names (5 to be exact), the "Houdini" should have clued me in, But alas, it did not. An outdoor cat most of the year, our friend asked us to keep him locked up inside during their absence. Easy enough, I thought. In the morning I opened the backdoor to check the yard for a pepper plant to add spice to breakfast. Chongo, who had sauntered off into a different room burst out the door between my legs without me hearing as much as a step in his approach. Of course I felt bad and once I got myself off the ground I dashed down the stairs to where he'd been standing. His apparent confusion at the ease of his escape allowed me time to scoop him up and toss him back into the kitchen. Candace laughed at me, lost her smile and told me not to let it happen again. Ok. The cat didn't fool me again for a good 30 minutes. The front porch is the perfect place for breakfast and coffee. I held the cat (mistake #1) while The C brought our goods out onto the porch. As she passed through the door with the coffee, Chongo began writhing and clawing my arms acting like he wanted to head away from the door. So I tossed him that way. He hit the ground facing back at the door, legs in motion mid-air. By the time I knew what was happening, he'd shouldered the screen door open and disappeared. This time he didn't stick around. Candace didn't smile when she reprimanded me; her look strongly hinted that I find the cat before sitting to eat. I found him, but grabbing him didn't happen. I chased him over the fence, across the street, in circles around the car (turns out hide n seek is his fave game) until collapsing in a pile of panting sweat at the bottom of the steps. By now the frown had become gales of laughter and breakfast opened to me. As the bread sopped up the last of the food, Candace called Chongo. He reappeared and ran up into her lap. I cried a little.
Later in the day our thoughts turned to the holidays (this took place pre-Xmas) and decoration creation. Following The C's lead from 2 years ago, we made wreaths. Surprisingly easy, especially when you have a creative partner to fix yours up to look vaguely wreath-shaped. How did we make them, you may ask? It all began with a stop-over off Saddle Road on our drive up to Mauna Kea for another sunset viewing. The task couldn't have been simpler: get cuttings from plants that would look good on a wreath and put them into a plastic sack. Avoiding lava tubes and pointy plants added a bit of danger, but we persevered and filled our sacks.
To round out our adventure, once more the Civic labored up the steep road to the Mauna Kea ranger station. This time our arrival preceded sunset and with plenty of time to spare we'd climbed up a nearby hill with dinner and a couple of Coronas. The hill top wind shelter provided a perfect place to hunker down out of the chill wind and eat our food, toasting our good life with the Coronas. For a good while the hill top was ours. As the sun sank lower and lower people began to arrive. Loud talking people. People whose awareness of those around them seemed not to exist. A family with 3 kids arrived. The mother stood in front of us and continually screamed at her kids, finally forcing them to sit beside her and not have any fun or do any exploring. Sad, but at least she stopped yelling quite as loudly. All five of them plunked down in front of us on rocks (blocking our view) without so much as a "hello". Dad tried to get a picture and kept telling the kids to move over, more, still more, so that we would not be in it. Still no acknowledgement of our presence. By the parents. The 2 older boys both said hello and apologized when they walked in front of us. Eventually we moved down the way so that we could see the view. Amazing, really, the lack of awareness. And it's not because of the kids and the exhaustion of parenthood. There was just no concern about anyone else. Why does it still amaze and frustrate me to see this sort of thing so often? It continued later with many folks down in the dark parking lot around the telescopes the rangers set up, but I don't feel like recounting that. Instead, some pictures!
To round out our adventure, once more the Civic labored up the steep road to the Mauna Kea ranger station. This time our arrival preceded sunset and with plenty of time to spare we'd climbed up a nearby hill with dinner and a couple of Coronas. The hill top wind shelter provided a perfect place to hunker down out of the chill wind and eat our food, toasting our good life with the Coronas. For a good while the hill top was ours. As the sun sank lower and lower people began to arrive. Loud talking people. People whose awareness of those around them seemed not to exist. A family with 3 kids arrived. The mother stood in front of us and continually screamed at her kids, finally forcing them to sit beside her and not have any fun or do any exploring. Sad, but at least she stopped yelling quite as loudly. All five of them plunked down in front of us on rocks (blocking our view) without so much as a "hello". Dad tried to get a picture and kept telling the kids to move over, more, still more, so that we would not be in it. Still no acknowledgement of our presence. By the parents. The 2 older boys both said hello and apologized when they walked in front of us. Eventually we moved down the way so that we could see the view. Amazing, really, the lack of awareness. And it's not because of the kids and the exhaustion of parenthood. There was just no concern about anyone else. Why does it still amaze and frustrate me to see this sort of thing so often? It continued later with many folks down in the dark parking lot around the telescopes the rangers set up, but I don't feel like recounting that. Instead, some pictures!
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