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be a favorite of mine.
    Maybe a day at the beach would do me good. I could think about my future and what do to do next. I slipped on some flip-flops and went downstairs. Tea and toast with my grandmother didn’t do much to settle my churning stomach.
    “So, Halmoni,” I said. “I met someone you know last night. Mike Hokama.”
    “Not that,” my grandmother said. She jumped up from the table and went and began sorting some herbs on the counter, turning her back to me.
    “He said he wanted to buy your house. I can’t believe how much Maui has changed. I’m glad you don’t want to sell.” I sighed and drank more tea. I got up and took my cup over to the sink. I raised my hand to squeeze my grandmother’s arm, but took a step back instead. Though I could have used a hug, we weren’t a touchy-feely kind of family. “I’m going to the beach for a while,” I told her. I didn’t know if she understood me.
    I went out the back screen door and through the kukui nut trees and found the well-worn path that guided me to the beach, less than a mile away. Outside, the harsh lumens of the sun made my teeth hurt. A powerful master, I could easily imagine worshipping (i.e. fearing) its magical heat and energy. My feet remembered their way down the sandy path toward the ocean. Though it wasn’t one of the most popular beaches in Maui, there really wasn’t a bad beach around.
    I unfurled my blue towel and set up shop. I peeled off my t-shirt and slathered on SPF 45 sunscreen and plunked on a really goofy straw hat that got totally smashed in my backpack. Along with wishing I could sing or paint, looking good in a hat was also right up there. What secret do celebrities know that allows them to plop potato sacks on their head and still look like a million bucks, while I could spend a small fortune on a specially woven guaranteed-not-to-fold/bend/mutilate-in-your-luggage hat and look like I could get a part time job scaring crows. I sat there watching the waves, catching the negative ions in the air, and waited for them to hurry up and do their job and cheer me up.
    I stood up, adjusted my bathing suit and laughed out loud as I remembered a dance my sister and I made up after watching tourists at the beach. A more suggestive version of the Macarena, it involved shifting, tucking and shaking of body parts. I walked to the waves and let the warm water greet me. It had been a long time. Dragging my feet against the shallow waves, I used the water to churn up my heartbeat. It was so soft and soothing, each incoming wave seemed to pull off a stress bubble barnacled to my neck and take it back out to sea. I could feed a pod of Humpback whales with my worries, I thought. I leaned my head back, my face to the sun as a wave crashed into me, and splashed up my body.
    I walked back to my towel and sank down, my feet and legs all sandy. I dug my toes in the sand and smiled. Anticipating a shower was my favorite highlight of enjoying a good day at the beach. I hoped my grandmother had some potato chips. My stomach growled and my hangover would be needing some salty junk food and caffeine pretty soon. The crowds began to gather. Round, white, yellow, brown—tourists from all over the world, happy at the good fortune that led them to this beach on this island. Well, hello, Mr. Speedo. No beach was complete without that guy with the shrink-wrapped packaging. Nestling back on my towel, I propped up on my elbows to enjoy the show. I heard everything from French, to Spanish to Midwestern, “Larrrrrryy, I thought you paaaaacked the sunscreen.”
    The woman’s voice reminded me of my mom. She had been pretty harsh insisting I come to Maui. “She’s your grandmother,” my mom told me, using that voice, the one that makes her bottom teeth jut out. “Your dad and I are back here in Ohio and we aren’t up for the trip. Your dad just had his knee replacement last month and has to go through physical therapy.” She had even more ammo, as I knew