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2:35 pm - Hawaii - Day 1
 Just
to make you jealous, I take pleasure in informing you that I am typing this
on my hotel balcony overlooking Waikiki Beach and Diamond Head. More about
that later.
Early yesterday morning, in anticipation of my flight to Hawaii, I dropped
Molly Dog off at the home of the  two
women who usually walk her during the day while Beth and I are at work. They are very sweet and I think Molly is
going to enjoy staying with them almost as much as we are going to enjoy
Hawaii.
The weather forecast for our little hamlet in New Jersey yesterday called for
3 to 6 inches of snow arriving sometime between 11:00 AM and 2:00 PM. My
non-stop flight was scheduled to depart at 12:15 PM. My neighbor Tom dropped
me off at the airport the, now customary, 2 1/2 hours ahead of schedule and I
breezed though baggage check-in and the metal detector near the gate. I must
admit that I felt a twinge of disappointment that I was just waved through
after going through the detector while virtually everyone around me was being
stopped and frisked or having their carry-on luggage rifled through. It
occurred to me that as a Muppie Dink wearing a Ralph Lauren Polo jacket,
Dockers, Timberland shirt and toting my Lands End carry-on, I fit no possible
airplane hijacking profile. In my head, however, I still see myself looking
somewhat like Taliban-loving traitor John Walker Lindh -- a look I may have
still been pulling off in the early '70s, but no more. Since I don't act my
age, I really don't see any reason why I should be forced to look it.
At any rate, we beat the snowstorm (I believe I saw the official total as 2.8
inches of the fluffy stuff) and the 10 hour non-stop flight was fairly
uneventful. I did set a personal record by watching four different in-flight
movies, none of which I would recommend. Just so you know, they were Hardball,
Rock Star, Summer Catch and American Outlaws.
The descent into Honolulu was rough as we dropped through some storm clouds.
I'm not a white-knuckler, but I must admit I gripped the seat a little harder
has we hit a down draft and dropped a number of feet more than intended just
before making contact with the ground. A collective "Oooooh"
reverberated through the cabin.
 Meeting
Beth at the baggage terminal, I remarked that Hawaii reminded me to some
extent of Paris. "How so," she inquired. "It's raining,"
I remarked as dryly as possible under the circumstances.
We
took a light snack at the beachfront café of The Royal Hawaiian next door and
damned if I didn't order the Pupu Platter, something I don't think I ever
imagined myself doing. But I'm hooked. I've gone Hawaiian. By the way, The
Royal Hawaiian is a beautifully gracious old hotel painted a tropical pink at
which you should at least have a drink should you ever traverse Waikiki.
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