There are two ways to approach life. One involves planning and analyzing and taking control of situations. The other involves heading off blindly in pursuit of whatever catches your fancy, assuming things will work themselves out along the way. It goes without saying that my academic, detail-oriented husband favors the first method. Me? Not so much. While I obsessively stake out Things I Must Do (or Eat or See) on vacation, I forget details like operating hours and addresses and maps. Kurt calls it the "La-di-da-di-da method". To his chagrin, my system, which should absolutely not work, manages to work like a charm.
Case in point:
We were returning to Kailua-Kona for our last two nights on the Big Island. I had made reservations (See, I can plan!) at a cute little inn called the Hula Girl. As we arrived in town after dark, Kurt turned to me and asked, "What's the address?" Me: "Um ...." I scrambled through my bag with my plane reservations and lists of Things We Must Do, but there was no address to be found. In my defense, I did print out an email from the Hula Girl. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite the right email and contained no address or directions. Even when I try to be organized, my subconscious thwarts me.
At this point, we were tired from a long day of sightseeing and horseback riding and wanted nothing more than to get out of the car and settled in our room. We tried the number listed at the bottom of the email but got voicemail. While Kurt considered the situation (and looked chagrined), I said, "No worries! We'll just drive until we find it. How hard can it be?"
He stared at me.
"Seriously," I said, "It's yellow. Yellow! No problem. How many yellow houses can there be?"
He stared some more but finally started driving down the nearest major street. As we turned down a residential street, I could tell that he wasn't feeling my plan.
"Ok," I said, "Let's turn around and go to the internet cafe. We can get the address from the website there."
He instantly perked up and headed to the nearest point where he could turn around. As he was driving, he said (half joking, half exasperated), "It could be anywhere! I mean, it could be that house." He pointed at a nearby house.
Wait. That house was yellow. And three stories. And had shutters.
"Turn in!" I yelled. "I think that's it!"
He pulled into the drive, and we both gawked up at the house. Surely, it couldn't be .. and yet ....
A man approached, and I rolled down my window.
"Rebecca?" he asked, smiling. Kurt gaped.
Photo by incurable_hippie