Wednesday

My heart is beating fast, staring at the phone, hoping it will ring. A feeling I can't quite place. I am waiting for a woman to call me back, to see if I can afford to have her clean my house twice a month.

Mother's Day

The brightest light.

Not the bands of gold in aqua water on my Mother's Day wave, not the glare of Kona sun on white coral.

My daughter, driving by me in her daddy's truck, her body straining at her seat belt as she waves and smiles, an explosion of happy, the whole smile for me.

I surrender.

I am Mommy.

"Mommy, the look smaller..."

Three weeks after the Easter Bunny gave the milk to the chickens. No more boobs. Butt getting bigger. Where is justice.

Cinco De Mayo

Back on the street.

I spent all morning on the tour I stole from my one-day gig as concierge at the mothership resort. I have spent maybe 20 hours on email with these honeymooners, wobbling out at night when Kaikea has finally fallen asleep, since I don't have email at work. I take some pleasure in setting up the dream vacation, so have enjoyed it, but I have had to be careful to answer every question, type out detailed itineraries, anticipate any problems, so the guy who usually works that resort (and thinks he owns it, the smug little rodent) doesn't sniff out my antics. It turns out we're not allowed to bring tours with us when we leave the mothership, no matter how much work we've done. I didn't know, though I suppose I suspected, which is why I have worked so hard to keep him loyal to me. May 5 and he is my only tour, he's mine, mine, mine!

(Kaikea and I have been reading a new book, the Mine-o-saur, about a desperate looking little dinaosaur who snatches all the toys from the other dinosaurs and rants, "Mine, mine, mine!" until he discovers the other dinos, like the Whos in Who-ville, find joy in playing ring-around-the-rosy with only each other, no toys at all. The moral of the story, of course is that friends are the most important toy, and that to have them, we must share. I am teaching the greedy rodent how to share. I already know how.)

Anyway, the danger of not having people in front of you is surprises. Like finding out the groom is a strapping bear of a man, 6'4" and 285 pounds, and the honeymooners' Hawaiian dream of horseback riding has been squashed by our vendors' weight limit of 230. You would think that Hawaii, land of the mighty Polynesians, home of the 8-foot tall King Kamehameha (with, I assume, corresponding weight), where enormity is both beautiful and common, would have some mighty horses on staff, but perhaps real Hawaiians shy away from large land animals. Luckily my esteemed colleauge, the Class Act, was able to steer me to a company we do not contract wtih, perhaps run by Samoans, where the weight limit is a more civilized 300 pounds.

And even more luckily, the honeymooners did not want a helicopter ride.

So here I am, trying for number 2 for the month after blanking I don't know how many shifts in a row. I have exhausted the orthodox approaches, like helpful warm-up chat, asking leading questions of passersby ("Where are you viisiting from?" "What activites are you planning to do while you're here?" as opposed to "Hey guys, how you doing?" or "Can I help you?"), open body language, looking busy... I have even flashed a little leg. Nothing.

I am ignoring the monster-slayer in the next booth, a Barbie beauty with a killer close.

I have tried many spiritual paths in my life, and in the last seven months of this job I have revisited them all. Distilling dogma to action, I mix and match: supplication, visualization, chanting, begging, demanding, cajoling, creating, surrendering, loving, hating. I try them all now.

Twenty more minutes. Barbie walks by. She has 3 more tours.

Inner peace. "I am worthy." Sisterly love. "I am worthy." Bounty. "I am worthy."

The gods are with me. A Japanese couple cannot resist the luau. To do this I call the Japanese OPC and she does all the work. I get the credit.

Balance.

Now if only I knew what had worked.