Maui Wowie

About two years ago, in the first year or so of my relationship with Peter, my Mom made an unforgettable statement. We were talking about this and that - future plans, upcoming celebrations, and family-related hardy-har-hars. Within our conversation she told me that in two years time she was going to take the whole family to Hawaii for her and my Dad's 35th wedding anniversary. Peter crept into the conversation with excited eyes, Hawaii, amazing! ... my Mom turned to him and said, "If you're still around, you can come too." With sheer embarrassment, my eyes apologetically shifted toward Peter as I firmly stated, "he will be around!"

My parents had their 35th on January 3, Peter is still around, and this past Saturday, my family boarded planes in Pittsburgh, Chicago and Milwaukee to begin a week-long celebration in Maui. We've made it over half-way through our vacation in paradise, and man, am I glad that Peter, lover of the ocean, island adventure, and fish, is more 'around' than ever.  

Maui at this time of year has a very targeted demographic. There are a few honeymooners. There are a few families with small children. (They are those families that pull their children out of school for an extended holiday weekend so they can vacation - those families that I was fiercely jealous of growing up.) But the majority of people here are 55-65 year-old white couples. This is not the place for singles. And while I have always been an independent spirit and one who can easily find solitary fun, this is a place for partner activities. And with each of my family members partnered up, I know I wouldn't have had as much fun or learned as much if Peter, my partner, wasn't around. 

In the water...

Peter isn't just a fisherman, he is a fish. The moment we arrived, he changed into his swimsuit, ran into the Pacific, and fiercely attacked the waves as the sun set. I on the other hand am less fish-like and rather tentative in salt water. I'm good in the pool - My freestyle has been described as graceful, I won several backstroke events at Calvary Camp's annual swim meet, and I actually beat Peter in a breast stroke race the other day. But the ocean is definitely not my natural element. I feel that I have a tremendous disadvantage to the wildlife all around me and that at any moment a creature, whether it be a great white or a sand dollar, will attack, sting, eat, grab, or drown me.

On Monday we went snorkeling. I've snorkeled a couple times in the past, but this snorkeling trip was a little different. The boat parked near a cliff where the water plunged to 250 feet deep. We were told to get off the boat and swim with the fish. Now in the ocean, I'm pretty bad at 5 feet, so 250 feet seemed like the end of the earth. I got in the water with my snorkel, mask and flippers … and panicked. I looked down into the endless deep blue ocean, gagged on about 8 ounces of salt water and panicked again. Peter stuck close by though. He held my hand to get my heart rate down; he cleaned out my snorkel so I didn't continue swallowing sea water; and he made sure I didn't get eaten alive by the giant lobster scaling the sea wall or the big fish that were bound to be in the depths of the water below me.

When I relaxed and opened my eyes, I saw beauty – magical beauty that you can't find on the land: Reefs that grew all the way to the sea floor; fish the colors of the rainbow; my legs as fins that were able to keep pace with the fish for a minute or two. In the end I became more comfortable, less afraid of the unknown. 

On the volcano...

Yesterday we drove 37 miles up the 10,000 foot mountain of Haleakala. Peter drove the distance while I slowly got more nauseated around each turn and level of elevation.

When we neared the summit, Peter made me forget about the pangs I felt in my right ear from the various pops it suffered along the car ride. We ran up the craggy black rocks and started down again into the crater that the volcanic eruption had created thousands of years ago. I looked onto the red earth sprawling out inside the valleys and the black rocks tumbling down the slopes around us. There was a cloud slowly rising up the hill, progressively blocking our pristine view and blowing a fierce chill that I was not appropriately dressed for into my face. I turned to Peter and said, “this feels like the apocalypse - the end of the earth.” He said no, this feels like the beginning.  

True scientist. I guess that was how the Earth started. Without Peter around I only would have seen one perspective, and I would have bolted back into the car to warm up. But Peter showed me that ominous can actually be romantic.

Around the dinner table... 

My family – the group here celebrating my parents’ 35^th wedding anniversary – thinks they are hysterical. (And rightly so, we are pretty funny.) However, the large majority of our comedy is internal in subject matter and theme, incomprehensible to the outsider, and shared before, over and after dinner. The root of our jokes tends to be each other. It occasionally shifts to odd surrounding players - for instance on this vacation, the three inappropriate teenagers at the resort or the natives that wouldn't let our catamaran unload on their beach forcing us to do a D-Day style operation on another rougher beach - but for the most part, we are the butt of our own jokes. The observer might view our comedic hours as a bit harsh, but our thick skins always brush off the humor in good spirit.

Occasionally I need a break from my character within these comedic routines though - I need a moment to remove myself from the banter. Last night, I needed such a break. I needed some reflective, dramatic Lo time, and if Peter weren't around, my time-out would have been seen as antisocial, crabby, and rude. It also probably wouldn't have been that effective. But a break with Peter is restorative - ultimately allowing me to be a wittier contributor, better sport, and more fun sister, daughter and friend the next day. 

 

It's true, I would have had a wonderful time without Peter in Hawaii, and each of my family members would have been there for me when I needed a partner. My Dad would have swum with me over the depths of the ocean (but we probably both would have panicked.) My brother would have been there to race to the top of the volcano with me and assure me that it wasn't the end of the earth. And my Mom or sister would have been there with a serious conversation as I wallowed in my self-imposed time-out from comedy hour. But sometimes there's nothing like Peter as a partner to turn Maui into Maui Wowie.

Lo.