Weather musings

People frequently ask us if it doesn't rain a lot in Scotland, though I must admit that question has been asked far less often, if at all, since our arrival in Hilo. We were fully prepared, so we thought, to live in Hilo with lots of rain. But there is rain, and then there is RAIN. The average yearly rainfall for our little town of Mountain View is 136 inches a year. The average rainfall for our beloved Dornoch is 40 inches a year. Our last stop in San Clemente had average rainfall of 13.5 inches a year, and prior to that in Pacific Grove it was a little over 20 inches.

So possibly thinking we were prepared for this amount of rain and damp was a bit . . . naive.

Things grow in this climate - the plants, the trees, the flowers. On any given day it is an amazing spectacle to behold. It does make for gorgeous scenery, and the views out the windows and driving to and from town are spectacular. The views indoors, though, rival anything we experienced in what we considered the damp of Pacific Grove. The door to the downstairs spare room quite often has a bit of odd fuzz growing on it. I opened a kitchen drawer one day to find a lovely set of cloth napkins with bits of what might have been penicillin growing on them. We've been advised to strip our bed and leave the mattress open to the air while we are gone to avoid who knows what happening between the sheets. Stan's Merrill's showed up one day with white polka dots on them.

There is always a learning curve when we move someplace new. I have a feeling, though, most of the curve is going to be happening while we are in Scotland. I just hope two tubs of DampRid in the car are going to be enough . . .

Time Flies When it's Raining

Well, here we are, three weeks from going back to our beloved Scotland, our Hideaway in the Highlands, our Home Away From Home, our . . . .

But wait. We are in Hawaii. Our new home base. Car transported and registered, drivers licenses with rainbows on them, all our things (such as they were) out of storage, and voila, Home Sweet Home. And we are leaving? Yep. The gypsy life is alive and well.

So far, for the three months we will have been here by the time we leave, it has been a good move. Me getting laid off and losing our health insurance just prior to moving was a bit unnerving, and has proven to be a bit expensive (the care was superb, insurance or no), but living here has been a wee slice of heaven. The pace of life when one of you is retired and the other unemployed can't help but slow down considerably. Long days on the beach, snorkeling with the most amazing variety of creatures, stopping for fresh vegies at the farmer's market once a week, and watching out the window as the sun lights up the giant whatever tree that is outside the bedroom window. The idea of going back to work full time is not an attractive one (I have found part-time work, so I'm halfway back to reality). There *is* the issue of gas being $4.73 a gallon. But I digress.

To really top off our first few months here our kids had visits planned. We so wanted them to see what it was that drew us here, how pretty the place is, and how different from any place we've lived in just about every way possible. Sadly, moreso for one than the other, they were met with biblical amounts of rain. And clouds. And mud. And more rain. One of them dealt with me being in the hospital, the other with the Crab Episode referred to in the previous, much funnier post. We aren't at all sure we convinced them we aren't crazy.

Today, the day after the second child left for home, it was 86 degrees, blue sky, puffy white clouds, long day on the beach, snorkeling with the most amazing variety of creatures, stopping for fresh vegies at the farmers market, and my tree lit up as if by magic by the rising sun. Nature's version of some kind of a joke, I'm sure. I'm not sure the kids are laughing.

Read at Your Own Risk

Dear Bite Me Fish Market and Restaurant,

I would just like to take this opportunity to thank you for the meal my wife and son and I had in your establishment the other day. It was truly a memorable meal. My son had a fish sandwich that I am sure he did not enjoy as much as I enjoyed my Crab Benedict. The Crab Benedict was a meal that I continued to enjoy for many days after.

The continued enjoyment began that night in our hotel room at Uncle Billy’s Kona Beach Hotel. I woke up in the middle of the night to a violent bowel movement that really made me feel special. From 12 midnight until 3:00 a.m. I painted the toilet bowl every 20 minutes. And then to really put a crowning finish on the night, I began to projectile vomit with a taste like licking the bottom of a crab pot. Nice!

It was a really memorable moment for my son, who had never had the pleasure of seeing his father naked. Boy, did he get a show as he saw a naked, 58-year-old man spewing from both ends, wonderfully backlit by the bathroom light. Hawaiian memories to last a lifetime.

By 8:00 in the morning the tide was stemmed enough to make the 2 hour drive back across the island to the comfort of my own toilet. Regretfully I had to forgo a 36-hole day of golf paid for by my son because the golf carts were not equipped with their own toilets. But because the golf had to be delayed, don’t think the excitement ended. The drive over the Saddle Road, a winding thrill ride, was fantastic. After a stop at a sandwich shop to cleanse my colon one more time, and to very smartly pilfer copious amounts of toilet paper, we headed over the mountain. As we passed through the military training area I felt an all too familiar rumbling in my loins and had to have my dear bride pull over the vehicle so that I could give a convoy of our nations finest a full view of me peeing out my butt. What a special family time as my wife and son got to watch me in all my glory defecate in the full presence of our military. I call it the Bite Me Salute.

We did eventually make it home where I had the grand finale with peeing out my butt and projectile vomiting AT THE SAME TIME. What fun! And all the while tasting stale crab...like fine dining off the bottom of a bait tank.

To show you my appreciation I was going to send you a turd in a box, but since I haven’t been able to make a turd for 4 days I can’t do that. Since I may be the only person around to be able to crap through a screen door, I will have to wait until my next visit to express my gratitude.

Just a helpful suggestion... have the cook pay attention to the miserable shite he puts on the plate instead of trying to hit on the waitress.

Until my next visit... Bon Apetit!.