The time zone difference is harder than I anticipated. Mornings are my most productive time. I'm up with the sun, if not just before, as most of my friends and family are well into their morning routine. I slow up around lunchtime, brain ready for a break. By then, those that I would like to call are at the end of their work day, most likely prepping dinner. Perhaps juggling some kiddos. I hate to interrupt the delicate balance that can be that time of day. I get back into work and before I know it late afternoon has arrived. Now it's bedtime or after back on the mainland. Oi. All the chances missed. I try again the next day. I'll figure this one out, but it's gonna take some more time.
My official job title is German Shepherd Entertainer. Or Kong Thrower. I just write on the side. When Miss Monster lets me.
It is often assumed that staring into space means I'm not doing anything. Not usually true. Sometimes staring into space is when I'm doing my best work. Parts of my brain that were formerly atrophied are coming back to life. Also, I don't think as fast as I used to. Putting together complex parts of a project can take longer and therefore require more time in "the zone". The actual typing of words isn't that hard. It's pulling those words out of...thin air....that can take time. To be fair, sometimes I'm not doing anything. Hard for anyone else to know the difference without interrupting.
My feet miss shoes sometimes. And a desk chair. With the epic increase in amount of standing, combined with the change to flip-flops (here called slippers) as daily wear, my feet hurt almost all the time. But my calves are starting to look much better.
Talk story is a thing. I kept hearing this phrase, talk story, when I arrived. It's just another way of saying chew the fat. Shoot the breeze. If a local would like to chat a bit with a friend, both cars blocking their respective lanes on the Hana Highway, you will wait. You will not wait impatiently. You will occupy yourself with something during this socially granted waiting period, like praying you don't get rear-ended by on-coming traffic. You will not gesture. You will certainly not honk your horn. Also, if someone opens the door for one of these chats with you, take the opportunity. You might learn something. There are some amazing people here with fascinating stories.
Old Dog still has game. It doesn't happen often, but on occasion I'll catch him in a play bow pointed at Miss Monster. He'll bop around the yard after her, Miss Monster in a slow trot checking every so often to be sure he's still in hot pursuit. Then they'll switch. Old Dog will gallop about, tongue lolling, while my youngest gives "wild chase" without ever actually taking the single bound she would need to overtake my little guy. I keep a close eye to be sure he doesn't overextend himself and she doesn't get too rambunctious. The change in climate has done wonders for his joints. It has also made grooming a daily necessity. One missed day and these two practically create a new puppy with the amount of hair that sheds.
Costco is a necessary evil. In my previous life, I didn't bother with bulk buying. I didn't find the price difference as handy, it was just the two of us after all. Now that I have 75% less space to store anything, bulk buying is essential. For example, gas prices right now are running anywhere between $3.09 - $3.14/gal. Except at Costco. Gas there has been around $.70 cheaper than anywhere else. Yes, you read that right. Seventy cents cheaper. Sometimes more. So, we sit, five cars deep at least, waiting on our turn at the pump. Brussels sprouts will cost us $7 or $8 dollars for a dozen at the Haiku Market. I can get quadruple the quantity for the same price at Costco. The problem is, however, Costco is a nightmare. Always. Overloaded carts crammed down not-quite-big-enough aisles. Miserable, but essential, this trek to discount land haunts my nightmares. We do it, but we do it as strategically as possible.
We could not have done this as smokers. It was one of the first things we gave up to fulfill our island dream. Well, Husband succeeded first. I struggled a bit longer. But we did it to do this. And for our health, of course. Cigarettes are a whopping $10 a pack. With our pack (sometimes pack and a half) a day habit, we would have needed an additional $450 or so dollars a month in the budget. Plus, cigarette smokers here are almost non-existent. Very grateful to have kicked that habit.