Honolulu Lite
JUST got back from the first true vacation my family has had together in about four years, even though it was only three days on the Big Island. Doing nothin’ takes
getting used toBy "real" I mean we didn't take a cellular phone, didn't check voice-mail messages, didn't check e-mail, didn't cook, didn't do dishes, didn't drive a car, didn't wear a watch, didn't set an alarm, didn't do laundry, didn't carry keys and didn't do all those other things real life entails.
You don't realize how many things there are NOT to do until you force yourself to stop doing them. And the first thing to do after you stop doing them is to stop thinking about doing them, which is easier said than done, considering how much momentum doing them has built up over the years.
When you suddenly stop doing things cold turkey, you get sort of jittery, sort of dazed, like you've just walked away from a car crash and it hasn't sunk in yet that you're OK.
The best way to deal with this, once safely ensconced at a luxury hotel where transportation is no longer an issue, is to have several cocktails, preferably ones in large, flamboyant glasses with large pieces of fruit hanging on the rim, shaded by little paper umbrellas.
After a few days, with a little practice, you learn that you are actually pretty good at not doing things. In fact, not doing stuff is a great way to live.
Alas, it costs heaps of money to not do things. You'd be surprised how much money you can spend not doing anything, especially if you are not doing it in a lushly landscaped hotel with little boats and trains to shuttle you between various points on the property where blenders continuously whirl, orchids practically rain from the sky and any denomination of American currency less than a $10 bill is considered something on the level of a discarded piece of Kleenex or gum wrapper.
So, after three days we were forced back into the world of doing things, such as checking e-mail, where I found 50 messages, many of them telling me that penguins are not to be found in the Northern Hemisphere.
It's an odd thing to return from the land of saunas and rich desserts and be told that penguins do not exist in the Northern Hemisphere. It took me awhile to realize the messages referred to a column I had left behind before I quit doing things. In that whimsical column, I related an exclusive interview I had had with a Red Footed Booby who had inadvertently accompanied a yacht from Hawaii to Alaska. Several readers were upset that the bird, in relating his experiences in the cold north, told me he had seen penguins in Alaska. They insisted I correct the record.
It is with some frustration that I now have to point out to these readers that I did not actually talk to a Red Footed Booby. That there are people out there who will write letters and send e-mail regarding obviously fictional conversations between humor columnists and sea fowl is a tad depressing. (Nevertheless, I'm sure the weekly anti-establishment newspaper will soon expose my duplicity.)
I don't know how to explain that you should never believe what a Red Footed Booby might say in print, especially regarding penguins. They are a notoriously irresponsible species. The mere fact that we are here discussing it makes me long for foamy drinks in large flamboyant glasses with chunks of fruit on the rims being shaded by little paper umbrellas.
Charles Memminger, winner of
National Society of Newspaper Columnists
awards in 1994 and 1992, writes "Honolulu Lite"
Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Write to him at the Honolulu Star-Bulletin,
P.O. Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802
or send E-mail to charley@nomayo.com or
71224.113@compuserve.com.
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