Elizabeth Weintraub • Sacramento Short Sale Agent • Land Park

Sadly, this is our last day on the island, and I'm not ready to go home yet. Funny, because we've been here 8 days. You'd think I would have had my fill of island relaxation, but no. Last year, when we spent 4 days in Cabo, I was ready to go home on the last day, even though I thoroughly enjoyed our visit. In reflection, that's probably because I could not see myself actually living in Mexico.

I built a house in Mexico once. Even considered retiring there. But now, not so much. It's a good thing that my ex is saddled with that property, providing the Mexicans haven't shot him yet, but if they did, he would have done something to deserve it.

I am looking forward to going back to work. I haven't answered my cell phone for 8 long days nor listened to voice mail, but that's because I know my associate is handling my stuff. She's already shown a bunch of homes to a buyer for me, fixed a plumbing problem for another client and who knows what else has gone on in my absence; perhaps she has also written an offer or two for me. She sent me an email asking what I put in my purchase contracts, so it's likely.

Fireworks are huge in Hawaii on New Year's Eve. Here is a photo from last night, and a few more from yesterday, including the location where they found the dinosaur eggs in Jurassic Park:

When we go down to breakfast at the Grand Hyatt in Kauai in the morning, I generally wander off to find my sister while my husband signs us in, but yesterday morning, she was missing in action. So, I found myself standing next to my husband at the hostess station when the question was asked, "Do you have a preference?"

Just the question makes me want to have a preference. They wouldn't ask the question unless another person might have a preference, and if somebody else would have a preference, by god, so would I. I looked around the room -- I might prefer to be seated near the koi pond overlooking the lagoon. Then again, another choice was in the sunlight, near the omelet preparation stand. Or, perhaps I would enjoy sitting in a half-circle-round booth toward the back of the room and away from all the noise.

When flying, I prefer an aisle seat, so I don't have to climb over anybody to get out. I like to sit toward the front of the plane and, if all possible, at the bulkhead -- even though there is no place to stick my feet because I'm not tall enough to reach the wall, it beats having my knees crammed up to my neck in a seat over the wing.

As I stood there pondering my preferences, my husband answered, "No, we have no preference." I could have kicked him. My husband's preference is not to have preference. I don't really know why.  He doesn't spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what he could be missing out on and demanding better treatment. He's a straight-forward kind of guy who actually prefers adversity and hates people fussing over him.

He's also very polite. When we were crossing one-lane bridges on the north side of the island, he waited for the appropriate 5 to 7 cars to pass before proceeding. This is a guy who, when we were leaving the plane, let rows of people seated beyond us pass, well, up until the time I, whoops, pushed him into the aisle.

Night before last we dined at Stevenson's Library at the Grand Hyatt. I ordered a California roll with the rice on the inside. Because it's my preference. I like the rice on the inside and not on the outside because it gets all sticky on my fingers on the outside and falls apart when I take a bite. With the rice on the inside, it's much easier to eat.

I had ordered the same California roll several nights earlier in this manner and had no problem. But that particular night, it arrived late and rolled up very tightly. I leaned in to examine it. The rolls seemed very tiny, smaller than usual. Then the waiter brought a bowl of sushi rice and served it on the side. Odd but what the hey. Upon closer scrutiny, I discovered there was no rice inside the California roll at all. It was just crab meat and avocado smushed inside a piece of seaweed.

Which just goes to show that sometimes a preference can be so misunderstood that it almost makes no sense at all to request it.

Here are more photos of Kauai:

With the exception of one, many of my favorite t-shirts are those with nothing on them. I have nothing I need to announce to the world except perhaps "go away," and I haven't found one of those yet. I feel no compulsion to advertise a major corporation: "Look at me, I can afford to wear this designer shirt with a big fat logo on it; you should buy one too." It would be different were I employed at, say, Gucci, but I'm not.

I don't much care for rock concert t-shirts, although I will admit to owning a U2 from a 2005 concert where apparently I was caught up in the moment when I forked over my credit card to pay $40 for a stupid shirt. It's only cotton, for crying out loud, and $40 is too much to pay for a t-shirt.

Still, every time I go on vacation, I buy t-shirts as souvenirs. Not loud, noisy t-shirts imprinted with such boastful messages as those depicting super powers or cartoons (but I do own a South Park t-shirt) or even sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll, but those with the name of a national park, perhaps, embroidered along the hem.

They make up for my favorite all-time t-shirt, which I wear at least once a week. It's gray cotton, imprinted with large, black, block letters on the front that read:

DO I LOOK

LIKE A

PEOPLE PERSON

TO YOU?

I found it one day wandering through Target, of all places. Only $9.99. In hindsight, I should have bought them all. A woman got on the elevator with me yesterday morning, eyed me once over and snorted, "I liked your other shirt better." The shirt I was now wearing had no letters, no pictures, nothing, it was just a plain, gray t-shirt. Sometimes people feel it's necessary to comment on clothing you're not wearing.

Like my sister. She was on her way to brunch yesterday, merrily strolling down the hallway toward the elevators, when she discovered that her dress was on inside out. She looked around. Nobody was coming, so she peeled off her dress just as a woman opened her hotel door, got a glimpse of my sister with the dress over her head and quickly slammed the door again. Can't you hear her? "Harry, you think what you saw at the elevator yesterday was . . ."

Here are photos of the eastern and northern shores of Kauai:

Even though it's two hours earlier in Kauai, it's hard to wake up in the morning. Yesterday, I rolled out of bed, grabbed a cup of coffee and meandered out to the balcony so I wouldn't wake my husband while I posted my blog. It took about 10 minutes to post a few photos, and then I decided I should read the morning newspaper.

Without being fully awake, I opened the hotel room door, stuck a book in it so it wouldn't close on me -- the last thing my husband needed to hear was BRRRR-BEEP if I used my card key -- and wandered into the elevator lobby. Where were they? I wasn't quite awake, but I knew there was a stack of newspapers there somewhere.

I spied them. On the table near the elevator -- where all those people were standing and waiting. EEEkkk. I was dressed in my nightshirt. Oh, well, when you're in these situations, it's best to act like you are the normal person and nothing is weird. So, I grabbed the newspaper from the top of the pile and flashed the group a broad smile, saying, "Good morning, everybody!"

It was then that I realized not only was I dressed in a nightshirt -- and my unbrushed hair, due to the humidity on Kauai, looked like it had been run spun into ringlets and then lit on fire -- but I didn't have my teeth in. No wonder their kids started crying.

Here are more photos of Kauai.

My husband bought these hiking pants at REI that unzip at the knees. That's in case if we're out hiking and it gets too warm, he can rectify the situation. With these unzippable pants' legs, he can remove them and presto chango -- he's in shorts. It seems a bit over the top to me. For one thing,my calves are rarely begging for air -- and if I'd rather wear shorts, it's easier just to put on shorts.

But it was so chilly yesterday on the west side of the island -- an area that is typically arid and warmer than the rest of Kauai -- that my sister pulled those pants legs out of the car trunk and slipped her arms through them, clutching the cuffs to her neck. Here are photos of the western side of Kauai:

My camera does not do the colors justice. In person, they are much more vivid, darker reds, brighter greens and deeper yellows. It was a bit overcast and drizzly.

This is looking down toward the north shore, and I was too cold to stand against the railing shooting photos to wait for the sun to reappear. You might ask how can it be cold in Hawaii; it was probably in the mid 60s, but I was wearing a halter top, and it was drizzling.

These guys are all over the island and are protected. They come in a variety of colors. Some are white with spots, sort of the dalmatians of the rooster world and most likely female. My sister and niece are fascinated by the hens and roosters and have been trying, to no avail, to catch them.

We were driving through the canyon on our way back to the ocean when I spotted this rainbow. It was beginning to rain, but we found a spot to pull over, left my niece and sister in the car, and raced back up the road to shoot this photo. You can also see a waterfall on the left.

Let's get one thing straight, say Hawaiians, shaved ice is NOT a snowcone. This is one of the more popular and well known shaved-ice spots in Kauai at Waimea. The owner is from Minnesota. I had a coconut shaved ice with coconut cream and macadamia-nut ice cream. My husband picked the brightly colored raspberry, orange and lemon shaved ice with tiny bits of raspberries.

We flew from Sacramento to LAX in a mid-sized 70-seat Canadair, and even though we made our flight / seat arrangements months in advance, somehow we ended up in the back row right next to the restroom. But at 6:30 in the morning, you don't much care where you are sitting just as long as you can go back to sleep.

Which is what I was doing and what everybody else six rows in front of me were doing -- snoring, heads drooped, eyes closed, when all of a sudden I was startled awake by this shrieking female voice. Some older woman, and to me that means a woman in her 60s, had come down the aisle, noticed a stranger sitting in a seat who wasn't sleeping, and decided to get to know her better by yakking her fool head off.

I raised my head, opened one eye, nudged my husband and said, "Why can't she SHUT UP?" with plenty of emphasis on the shut-up part. Some people are clueless about others around them.

But the flight was uneventful, we made our connection on time in LAX and landed at Lihue Airport shortly before 1 PM.

Here are photos I thought you would enjoy:

These are the palm trees coming into Poipu, which is on the south side of the island.

One of the many lagoons at the Grand Hyatt Kauai.

Grounds and view of ocean from 6th floor of the Grand Hyatt Kauai.

This is my sister, Margie, my niece, Laura (who is 16) standing behind my husband and me at dinner last night. I look pregnant, but I can assure you that's just the way I am slouching, or perhaps I have stuffed a beach ball under my shirt.

We introduced my niece to the world of seafood. I can't believe that a girl can reach the age of 16 without tasting fish or even shellfish. We fed her bits of giant scallops, bites of grilled swordfish and a few chunks of macadamia nut-encrusted mahi-mahi. Turns out she really likes fish.

Well, must run. It's time for my massage. More photos tomorrow.