Hau`oli Lā Hānau

In highschool, I was never that girl that could pass for an eighteen year old. I was a slim jim. A stick. A duffle of bones. A slender fragile fire cracker that barely slipped into a pair of size zeros. My seven brothers called me rat salad, why my inability to gain weight had any relation with a rodent, just proves that my brothers were complete idiots. I embraced my slender being with the usual insecurities of a teenager. How I enjoyed being a squeamish teen. Needless to say, I was never that teenager blessed with the opulence of beauty and body.

As a teenager in angst, I didn't have anything in common with my childhood girlfriends. They smoked menthol cigarettes hoping to capture maturity. Meanwhile, lapped on goops of gob on their eyes and held spell binding conversations that encompassed popularity, boys, and cars in that order. They were always in a hurry to find love, get hitched, and have babies, usually not in that order. As most females were in a rush to grow up, I strayed in a different direction. Me, I was the runt of the group, sure I had the usual crush, but I wasn't boy crazy. I had a flare for fashion, I sewed all my clothes. I was a half pipe skater loaded and sponsored with a fury for punk rock and new wave. Mostly, I adored poetry and literature. I was a whopping nerd. Certainly, I day dreamed of being legally eighteen and how divine it would be to be free from the nagging rules of my parents, but other than that, I was in no haste.


A whole decade has swooshed by and I’ve experienced the good, the bad, and the ugly. My seven brothers still call me rat salad, but that’s because they’re still idiots. I can’t really tell you what happened to my girlfriends back in Hawaii. Sometimes -upon visit- their names are woven in small town gossip. For the most part, I am still the same person. Not so slim. I am still that firecracker, thus I haven’t seen a size zero in ages. A victim to fashion, no time to sew. I have no guts for skating and no ear for punk rock. Although, I am poetry and my experience is literature.

It’s a few minutes till midnight and I’ll be a year older; thirty six to be precise. I sit up in bed and to my left Shane snores a chainsaw symphony. At the foot of the bed, Chloe is curled up in a snow colored shag. In the corner of the room, Hunter’s softly rests in his little cove. Our bedroom opens into a vast view of the bay which is well lit by the moon and the city lights. A brew of emotions bubbles and it will take an army and the marines to hold back this bliss. Me, I’ve never been so rich in love. I’ve a beautiful family. A wonderful home. It looks like I’ve finally landed! Anchors down! Now I understand what all the rush was all about. Sigh.

This is Shellie sipping champagne and noshing on caviar dreams back to you Bob at the studio!