Famous Last Words

Aloha!

It means hello and good bye. But it’s more than that. The ‘ha’ in ‘Aloha’ also means the breath of life.

I lead a charmed life. Like everyone else, I’ve had my share of the proverbial heartbreaks and hardships. This year in particular, it seemed like more than usual and why is it that bad things always seem to come in threes?

First, after three long years of law school, I found myself deferred and adrift for seven months. And while I was certainly one of the lucky ones to have a job, when so many smarter, more capable classmates didn’t, the realization of the hold a law firm actually has over you was evident when that firm asked our first year class to go away for awhile. And again, we were lucky enough to be sent away with a stipend. I really will be working for one of the classier firms around. Like many others in my position, I tried to fill up the time with pro bono activities and working, although as a Sam Adams tour guide, could we really call that work? More a labor of love. For the love of beer, if you will. But still I floundered. I wanted to be working and practicing law just like everybody else. Instead I felt cut off and aimless.

Second, and it hadn’t happened in a long time so it was probably good for me, but I let a guy get the better of me. At the very least I (re)learned two important things: the first being that sometimes it’s the nice guy who deals you the worst blow, behaves like an utter jackass, and kicks you when you’re down. Twice. The second being there are some things that time and distance just can’t fix. And for everything else there’s Mastercard.

Lastly, it was a difficult year for the Martin family clan. One of its founding members had a frightening health scare in the fall and this knocked all of us for a loop. Fortunately, while that issue eventually was resolved, we were not so fortunate with my grandmother, who passed away at the end of January. I mean no disparagement to my other three grandparents, but my grandmother in particular had a lasting influence on the person I became. She was one of my first role models, one of those people who went to college when so little was expected out of women. A leader of her union and a proactive member of many clubs, she taught me to be a doer and a leader (and to sing in the bathroom, because who really cares anyway?). But most importantly, my grandmother was described by all who knew her as ‘colorful.’ She had the driest of wits and a killer sense of timing. Think about it, ‘colorful’ is just an old-fashioned term for snark (similar to saying ‘dapper’ then when nowadays we mean ‘metrosexual.” Different lingo, same concept). All that snark in me had to come from somewhere, right? I think we know the origin. Man oh man, sweet Lauretta, she will be missed.

All in all, while not a great end to last year into this year, it could have been a lot worse and somehow it all came right. I took some of my stipend and earnings from Sam Adams, and I spent the last five weeks in Hawaii relearning her historically rich culture, exploring the island, and making some life adjustments. And that’s why I’ll sit here and tell you with the biggest, goofiest grin on my face that I lead a charmed life.

Hawaii was the breath of life I needed. I did things I’d never done before and may never do again. I swam with sharks and rode up in the clouds in a helicopter. I went on a sunset cruise for my birthday and tramped around the island in the dark with nothing but a flashlight on a ghost tour and defied state parks and recreation law and carried a pearl around in my mouth. I ate BBQ abalone (file that under “stuff to never put in your mouth”) and sunbathed topless (wait, I definitely did that before and will again). I survived a tsunami. I blogged, I snarked, I gave myself a fat lip juggling poi balls and I finished my book. Not my Hawaii book, no no. That would have been too easy, I came up blank there. Go figure. I just didn’t have a chick lit book in me right now. Instead my inner geek reared its goofy little head and I wrote an urban fantasy fiction novel involving Norse mythology AND law students. Yup, let it sink in. Maybe this is what She meant when She said I’d finish it now, and if you don’t know who She is, go back and read the back blogs.

So when I say my very last night in Waikiki was clearly going to be a bittersweet one, I meant it. On one hand, I was bummed out to be leaving (let’s face it) a tropical paradise, on the other hand, I was eager to get home, start work, settle into a routine.

I decided early on that I wanted to spend my last night doing something that summed up my entire experience there. So I settled on Germaine’s Luau. There would be food, fire dancers, poi balls, intoxicating island beverages, dancing, one last sunset. And yes, it’s a little bit hokey (if you’re being a snob about it), but Germaine’s prides themselves on being a luau for ‘Ohana’ (family) and the escorts (not that kind of escort), make you feel like Ohana.

For instance, our escort, Cousin Jerry, was clearly the Dad of our good-looking Ohana.

He was one part good natured rogue, two parts true Hawaiian gentleman. Chew on that. He inquired protectively about the beaus in my life to make sure they were suitable. He called me little wahine. Once upon a time, Jerry was in a little film called “Blue Hawaiian,” perhaps you’ve heard of it? No? Maybe it’s star, Elvis? Jerry was the little beach boy in brown shorts. When he was older, his parents took him to Vegas to see the King. Not only did the King remember Jerry, but the man from Memphis put Jerry and his whole family up front for the show, paid for their time in Vegas, and hung out with them afterwards. Jerry was a gentleman and a scholar, a true Hawaiian.

And absolutely nasty at the hula.

Did I also mention that as a legend of Germaine’s, Jerry had unrestricted access to drink tickets? So instead of the usual three drink maximum, Snarky had (in no particular order) unlimited access to Mai Tais, Blue Hawaiians, Pina Coladas, Lava Flows. And she made good use of this access. Enough said, mahalo.

Here was my last sunset on the beach of Germaine’s. What a stunner. Palm trees, sand, beach, waves, all bathed in pink and purples and a slight sea breeze.

This was my last pig cooked in an underground oven (Imu) with river stones (unless someone has a backyard and are feeling adventurous. Call me. And here’s my last luau plate: lomi lomi salmon, chicken long rice, kalua pig, poi, and Hawaiian wedding cake. (And yes, mom, that’s my big tiki drink just behind it).

And here’s my last fire dancer. I saw him dance last year. Yes, I have a thing for fire knife dancers. Here’s what it is: THEY JUGGLE FREAKING FIRE. In less than a week, I will disappear into an office with questionable lighting and I will push paper around for the rest of my existence, bother my favorite Marmot for coffee breaks, work out in the tiny gym in the basement and these guys will still rise every morning, throw on a manly grass skirt, grease up, and JUGGLE FREAKING FIRE.

It all comes back to fire. My first memory of Waikiki when I first landed her last year was this: oh my, the entire place is lit by torch fire. That can’t be a good thing. Island or not. So from me to you, please enjoy the fire dance. I certainly did.

So over the course of the evening, I did what I always did one last time, I befriended strangers and found myself adopted into our Ohana by two little old ladies from Texas. Here is what I now know about little old ladies from Texas: They will drink you under the table each and every time, Mai Tai for Mai Tai. And they carry guns. This is a great argument for why one should never mess with Texas.

I’m kidding. Mostly.

So after gorging on the best food on the planet, I settled in for the show one last time…

First, a welcoming by our playful host and hostess.

Then the part where they pull up three suckers, dress them up in coconut bras and set them loose.

The rhythmic tribute to Pele.

The warriors from Aoterroa.

And their women with their poi balls (stupid poi balls, stupid fat lip)

The Hawaiian wedding dance, strangely beautiful and so unlike the touristy trap weddings actually staged on the island.

The Tahitian rump shakers (in yoga pants) and their female counterparts (not in yoga pants, can we say double standard?)

And then it was time for th

at special time of the evening. Germaine’s always ends their luau with the singing of “Aloha Oe.” Farewell to thee. A good bye song composed by Hawaii’s most beloved queen which always gets Snarky a little misty eyed.

Aloha ʻoe, aloha ʻoe

(Farewell to you, farewell to you).

E ke onaona noho i ka lipo

(The charming one who dwells in the shaded bowers. One fond embrace, one fond embrace)

A hoʻi aʻe au

(Ere I depart Until we meet again. Until we meet again)

That night I returned back to Waikiki where I ended that last night underneath the stars in my old, familiar places.

All good things come to an end. That’s what made them good in the first place. This was the end. I woke up at five the next morning, unable to sleep. It was raining in Waikiki, a rarity. Funny enough, this happened last year on the day I left. Obviously, I took this as karmic significance. Waikiki was clearly going to miss me. That’s why she sent me a rainbow.

Aren’t you jealous?

Jealous yet?

Wait, really? It was a perfectly defined arch!

And what’s with the hand thing, Snarky?

(I survived a tsunami -- everything is alright)

(And I have beach sexy hair -- everything is alright)

(And this is me in a Kayak for 1 -- everything is alright)

(And I carried a pearl in my mouth -- everything is still alright)

Enough already...oh just one more




(And this is me surviving the shark cage -- everything is alright)

This is the shaka, the universal symbol for the Aloha spirit, their ‘hang loose’ symbol. For Hawaiians, it means, everything is alright. What a great mantra. Here we use a hand symbol, most frequently traffic. That symbol does not mean everything is alright.

But what a great thing to remember: Everything is alright.

And for me, after what felt like one of the rougher patches of my snark existence in a long time, everything is finally alright again. In 48 hours, I’m finally going to be an attorney. A real, honest to goodness, billing (hopefully), working attorney with absolutely no free time.

And you know what else? When I first got home, I saw my parents, my wonderful, hilarious parents and quasi-wonderful kid brother (you’re not quite all the way wonderful yet, g ive it a few years) and I thought: I love these guys. We have good times together. With them around, I feel like I can pretty much do anything and I’ll always have two people in my corner (okay, so maybe my mom wouldn’t go over the ledge at Spouting Horn, but I’m pretty sure she’d have stood in front of an oncoming tsunami for me).

And after seeing my parents, my totally baller Wilmer friends, who know how to throw a dinner party, threw one down for the March babies and were thoughtful enough to include me. If that weren’t an awesome enough homecoming, on Sunday, the poker crew gathered for a Hawaiian-themed poker night at my place. Seriously, good times. Like my bff Mike says, it’s the best twenty bucks you can spend. There’s no one I’d rather sit around and lose money (and dignity) to. What could beat an evening of the hottest game in town? How bout, the two devastatingly lovely glitter bandits of last year’s shenanigans in Hawaii and three years of law school emailing me to set up drinks for next week? And maybe I've, uh, met someone worth gushing over (don't even think of getting a big head about it, mahalo). So yes, I feel like the luckiest kid on the planet to get to have these kind of people around me. Really, no snark. I mean that. Attorneys shouldn’t get to have it all. But maybe I do :)

It happens to everyone, sometimes things just pile up and we lose sight of the things that make us happy. And sometimes, sometimes, if you lead a charmed life, you get to go to Hawaii, pull your head out of your (well you know) and get yourself right again. I think I'll take my cue from the Hawaiians here. Everything is alright. It’s not perfect. That’s what we have snark for. Everything is as it should be.

And I still got this sweet tan.

So for those of you who read, commented, or otherwise enjoyed this blog:

Mahalo nui loa and Aloha ʻoe, A hoʻi aʻe au.