Praise the Lord, and pass the dried marlin. While Ben is toiling behind the wheel of a depressingly fuel inefficient U-Haul somewhere near Barstow (seriously, he’s a travel ballad waiting to happen), I feel like I’ve just won the lottery. If the lottery is the perfect house for us, at an unbelievable price, with rental conditions so ideal I would not have let myself hope for them because it would tempt the fates a little too much.
We’ll be renting a three-bedroom house from my father’s childhood friend. It’s his mother’s old house, less than a mile from my parents’, in the subdivision where I spent the better part of my childhood sunbathing and eating peanut-butter-and-guava-jelly sandwiches on the Sasakis’ asphalt driveway after swimming at “Auntie Faith’s pool,” our ersatz country club. Just up the hill is McDonalds, South Kona’s only chain anything, where we would split a large order of fries four ways, dipping each fry in ketchup at least three times before chewing to make the deliciousness last longer. On the same street live: my third grade teacher (who’s also my great-aunt); my sister’s third grade teacher; my fifth grade teacher and her husband, once my elementary school principal; my sixth grade teacher; two of my dad’s classmates (married to each other); and my eleventh grade English teacher.
Luckily, the house is surrounded by every tropical plant you can imagine, including mango, banana & lychee trees. So we won’t have to worry about being on our best Japanese schoolteacher-approved behavior. The house was built in the ‘50s, in a style I shall call Kealakekua Minimalist Modern. It evokes nostalgia for Spam and rice, creamy Jello squares, and tatami house slippers, which I may require all visitors to wear.
And it has an organ, complete with a stack of hymnals and sheet music, so I can keep Ben in line by threatening him with the opening bars of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.” There's a screened-in patio, tons of windows, and a tiled furo tub. The hardwood floors are perfect for tap-dancing, but I will have to limit myself to the carport so I don’t scuff them up and ruin our relationship with the owners.
Does it sound like I’m gloating? I am. The house is, in may ways, exactly what I was picturing for our life here. Once I got past the beachfront cottage fantasy. I was starting to panic as I learned more about the housing market here, and was spinning that into hatred of everyone who has moved to Kona since 1995 (when I left). Now my self-righteous resentment of change can go back to simmering beneath the surface, where it belongs.
We were able to circumvent the demoralizing house-hunting process through a method I will never scoff at again. Yesterday, my dad's pal called to say he was in town for a funeral. I heard him ask, "You know anyone who has a house to rent?" Within half an hour, the friend had talked to his sister, they'd decided to rent it to us, and this morning we picked up the keys.
Now, if I can just find a job on this island. Although with this deal, I can probably afford to work at McDonalds. And I can walk to work!
PS-sorry about the awkward use of pronouns. I am not sure of the protocol for using people's names on this blog, even if it's just first names, and even if no one reads it. Any tips?
2 comments:
Mmmmmmmm...Spam....creamy jello....
Using people's names...mostly up to you. I wouldn't worry to much about a libel lawsuit. You can change the name to protect the innocent when you are spilling something juicy. Otherwise, they are usually people you know and, like Ben, they like to see themselves in print. You can always go into your post and change something if you get a complaint.
Come to think of it, I'm surprised that no one has complained about the mentioning of Spam and Jello. Shaky territory. Turns a lot of stomaches, ya know.
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