Pineapples Are My Latest Vice
I am wondrously, gloriously tan, although not as tan as I have been on past Hawai’i vacations. Growing up in Los Angeles gives you a permanent semi-tan; living in New York makes you pale and pasty. I look better when I’ve got some colour in my skin, otherwise I am the exact shade of sour milk.
As gorgeous as Maui was, I am extremely grateful to be home. I need a holiday from my vacation, primarily because I had little or no time to myself in Los Angeles. My introverted heart was going spare. But now I am nestled in the comforts of my own bed, trying desperately to catch up on both sleep and errands. Sleep is winning out, even though I need to go grocery shopping, deposit some checks, find a full-time job in publishing (anyone, anyone?), stock up on items from The Body Shop, and finish revising my novel. (I was very good and actually did a lot of work while I was in Los Angeles.) Sleep might be winning over being productive, but internet and books to read are competing for first place.
I might have mentioned before that my brother and I had a little agreement over our holidays: he wouldn’t bring his video games to Maui if I didn’t bring any books. It wasn’t such a big deal at first; we keep ridiculously active on Jones Family Vacations. There was more nonstop hiking through rainforests, swimming in clear blue waters, sunrise volcano walks, snorkeling with sea turtles, sportfishing, yoga on the beach, and restaurant-eating than you could shake a stick at. But on the last night—at a luau—both my brother and I caved. I stole his copy of THE ABSOLUTELY TRUE DIARY OF A PART-TIME INDIAN and he played Brick on my mother’s Blackberry as we waited for the kahlua pua to finish cooking.
