Life on Oahu

     Didn't ever think I'd write that title back in the early years of my life. But then, I'm a little like Winnie the Pooh who was a bear of little brain. Also have to say that the reason I don't write all that often has to do with my fishing blog which doesn't spend a lot of time on fishin'. Little brain again. Not able to do two things at once.
     Don't remember for sure whether it was the first or second night that Lois noticed the little critters. But she did. Bein' like Winnie the Pooh I kinda hoped they were little pink pigs and they'd be my friend. But they weren't and didn't seem all that friendly. Neither of us had ever seen cockroaches before seein' as how we were from the northland. Guess we have 'em here. But bein' from frugal stock, both our growin' up thermostats never got set much higher than sixty in wintertime. Roaches seem to like it warm all year around. Like in Hawaii. In paradise they come free with the admission price.
     So we sat there and stared at 'em. And they stared back. Guess they weren't used to white people. Besides the roaches, we shared our apartment building with a variety of Asian people. A lot of people lived in that tiny building. Doubt any of 'em had less money than us. Also doubt they could scrape up enough cash to live across the canal in Waikiki. But she was mostly a quiet, respectful place to live. Our first home together. We were very happy.
     It's a funny thing about roaches that they're tolerable. Hard to like, but tolerable. They also get you to buy a variety of products that are supposed to kill them. Most don't. And the ones that really do cause genetic defects or at least cancer. Neither of which were to be taken seriously by a couple of people in their early twenties like the two of us.
     Ridin' the bus to Schofield sucked. An hour each way. Add that to a twelve hour duty day and we didn't have much time together. So, a car was first in line of things to buy. Came even before a mattress. By the way, at first our furniture consisted of a small portable TV, bed linens and a box. Yup, that was it. It was us, the floor and the roaches.
     Shoppin' on foot for a car in a city of three hundred thousand was something I hadn't given enough thought. That's an understatement. Feet just don't move far and fast enough. Don't remember why but I knew the general whereabouts of a few dealers. They didn't seem all that far away. Turned out they weren't but more than three miles as the seagull flies.
     The first few didn't have squat in our price range. Finally one did. And it was a Buick, a small Buick. Six years old and looked older. Figurin' beauty was only skin deep I took a fancy to it. Also there was the matter of Ward and Wally Cleaver. You know, the Cleavers of Leave It to Beaver. Seemed Wally wanted to buy a car from Lumpy. It looked pretty, went vroom vroom and even had oversized dice hangin' from the rear view mirror. Ward, Wally's dad, looked it over and said something to the effect of, "Whatta you got, your head up your ass or something? The car's a total pile of shit."
     So they go off car shoppin'. Find an old beater that looks to be ready for the crusher. Ward checks it over. Turns out it's as mechanically sound as the American dollar back in 1958. Wally buys the car for a song and lives happily ever after.
     So that's what I'm thinkin' as I look at the Buick. Didn't look near as bad as Wally's pride and joy. But I knew in my heart of hearts it was still a gem. Shoulda listened to what was below that heart that was jumpin' up and down yellin', "It's Lumpy's car! It's Lumpy's car!"
     But I was all hot to be done with car buyin' and figured the Buick would last us. After all, how many miles could you put on a car in ten months when it's only ninety miles around the whole island? Answer was nearly twenty thousand. But I didn't have a clue, eh.
     So I walked home and got Lois. No way was I gonna buy anything without her approval.
     We returned. Kicked tires. She was skeptical even though Lois came from a Buick family.
     In the meantime someone had traded in a Ford Falcon convertible. Same age. Less miles. Needed a brake job and woulda cost a hundred fifty bucks more. And it was a stick. Lois didn't as yet drive a stick. The man said they'd do a brake job on the car and it'd be ready in a day or two. Oh me, oh my.
     Can't say for sure what made up my mind. Lois was leanin' toward the Ford. I bought the Buick. Probably shoulda bought the Ford.
     Over the months the Buick slowly fell apart. Tires, starter, battery. She liked to over heat. But mostly it ran. Got me to work and us to the beach. 'Til the last coupla months. But that's a story I'll get to when the time comes.