Peppermint

I’ve a great, and unquenchable love for peppermint.

As a kid, I’d always grab the green and black swirly dinner mints at restaurants, a classmate having told me the red and white ones would make my eyes bleed.

But one fateful night, I accidentally ate one and thus, I was introduced to the wonderful world that is peppermint.

It became quite a problem around Christmas.

My mom would always buy twelve or twenty-four packs of candy canes to hang on the tree.

I believe my sisters were rather peeved when I ate most of them before we could decorate each year.

When I was seven, I got a candy cane corn snake.

And guess what I named her…

I was about nine when someone sent me a tin of peppermint pillow mints straws for Christmas.  They’re truly some of the most magnificent sweets in the world.  I was sitting downstairs at the table, watching a movie and shaving the red and white stripes off the surface of the candy with my teeth when I broke my first bracket on my braces.

I discovered peppermint bark and Burt’s Bees, shortly after.

Needless to say, it’s the only Chapstick I use consistently.

I also stumbled upon Bath & Body Works‘ Holiday Traditions Collection.  My favorite lotion was originally their Vanilla Bean Noel.  But I tried on some Twisted Peppermint and fell in love with the sweet, spicy scent and the way it made my skin tingle and feel so deliciously cold.

Just wearing it made me feel like I’d taken a long shower and left refreshed.

I now have a Twisted Peppermint candle on my bedside table.  I leave it open to scent the room, but I can’t light it because my parents have forbidden my pyrotechnic practices.

I love peppermint because it smells clean and sharp, and like Christmas and snow, and reminds me of being warm while watching dark fall outside.

 

Annabel Lee: Part I

This post is going to be part of a series based on the love story of Edgar Allan Poe‘s poem “Annabel Lee.”

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

Than to love and be loved by me…

The words roll around in my mind, marbles on a marble floor.

I stand alone on a grassy hill, watching the gray clouds reflected in greenish water.  A storm is coming.  The ocean churns and froths beneath my empty stare, bubbling up like pus from a great wound.  But all I can think about is my heart, lying in the tomb.  Cold, lonely, lost.

My Annabel is gone.

Sweet Annabel Lee, my first, my only love.

I had never loved God or His angels.  Even as a boy I was ever skeptical of the mercy and kindness others painted Him with.  But I have never hated those divinities more than I do at this very moment.

Those jealous seraphs killed my beloved, and God Almighty allowed it to happen.  I feel myself shaking with rage and grief.

Closing my eyes, I think back to the day I met Annabel.

I had been playing at the beach, frolicking gaily at the shore just beyond the reach of the waves.  The sky was vivid lapis lazuli, the breeze, light and sweet.  I do not remember the water being particularly warm, but it was clean and clear, refreshing.  The dry sand sparkled white and the wet sand was soft gold, silky and fine.  Gulls cried, their voices carried across the beach by the breeze, breaking sharply in my ear.  Waves rolled, the low, melodious hiss of the surf soothed the birds’ shrill shrieks.

I was perhaps one and ten years.  By my mother’s accounts, I was a handsome boy.  She loved to run her fingers though my wavy blond hair and tousle it gently.  My skin was barely three shades lighter than honey, but still fair and unmarked.  However, what people first noticed were my eyes.  Large and uncannily bright, they were the deep blue of a summer ocean.

I had just scooped up a handful of sand when a shadow fell over my head.  Annoyed that this new obstacle was blocking the sun’s warmth, I looked up.

Probably appearing rather ridiculous, I shielded my eyes with one sandy arm and squinted, opening my mouth and cocking my head to the left.  What I saw slackened my jaw and made my arm drop like a stone.

A girl about my age stood in front of me.  The waves tugged at her long, pale pink dress, twisting it around her ankles, bits of white foam caught in the hem.  Long dark hair, locks of chestnut laced with amber, danced around a heart-shaped face.  Her magnolia white skin held the faintest flush across her cheekbones.  Lips, the dewy fresh color of roses, slightly parted, revealed pearly white teeth.  Luminescent eyes started down at me.  The incredible green of gemstones, they reminded me of my mother’s emeralds or the exotic lumps of jade she kept locked in a special velvet box.  Dark, curling lashes ringed the eyes and cast shadows down on her face like the silhouette of delicate black lace.

She knelt before me and sat with a grace I hadn’t thought a girl her age capable of.

“May I join you?” She asked, her voice soft and clear as a crystal bell.

I could only nod and stare.

She reached down and began digging a little hole, then proceeded to pile up the sand and shape it into a small mound.  Fascinated, I watched as she grabbed handfuls of sand, still dripping with seawater.  She turned her hand so that sandy drops trickled through her slender fingers and fell onto the mound.  The droplets created a strange and intricate castle of frozen tears.

“It is called a drip castle,” she smiled.

Without a word, I picked up a handful of sand and copied her actions, adding my droplets to the growing castle.

Hour after hour we did this, building upon the castle until it was as thick around and as tall as I was.  Only then did we stop to admire our work.

The sun was setting and a pinkish glow had stolen across the water, casting a coral light on everything.   Toward the shore, the color deepened and each wave looked like panes of rose and violet glass shattering against the sand.   Magenta and lavender clouds gathered at the horizon and the sun turned to wavering orange fire as it wobbled at the ocean’s edge.

I looked over at her.  A smear of sand smudged her right cheek and a few flecks dotted her forehead.  Her long hair had tangled in the wind but that only succeeded in making her more beautiful.  The green eyes peered at me, inquisitive, alight and devastatingly lovely.

“I am Annabel Lee,” she said in that musical voice, “what is your name?”

I realized then I hadn’t uttered a single word in all the hours we had spent together.

“Alexander,” I replied.

She nodded and smiled again.  Fluttering her eyelashes shyly, she looked up at me, demure, coy.

“I will see you again, Alexander,” then dashed off, a flash of pale pink satin and chestnut-amber hair.

STAY TUNED FOR THE FOLLOWING INSTALLMENT NEXT WEEK!

Salt

Salt.  NaCl.  Sodium chloride.  Table salt.  Sea salt.  A seasoning.  A preservative.  Once so valuable that soldiers were paid in it.  The reason most foods taste good.  Increases the pain of a stinging cut exponentially.  Makes your tongue dry.  A slightly creepy movie starring Angelina Jolie.

I love salt.  I can tell right away when food is too salty, or more often, not salty enough.

When I was little I used to shake some salt into my hand and eat it.  My mother tells me it’s disgusting, and perhaps it is.  But I do it anyway.

I prefer salty to sweet most days.  If I am presented with a bowl of jell-o or a bowl of white cheddar popcorn, 97% of the time I’ll pick the popcorn.

Salt is a necessity to any meal.  Which brings me to the purpose of this blog post.

How many people have seen one of these?

I’m gonna be presumptuous and assume everyone has seen this at least once in their lives.  Yes? Good.

They’re in restaurants, cafeterias, homes and anywhere else there is food.

Now let me ask you this:  How many times have you palmed the salt shaker?

How many times have you put your hand over the metal part and let your skin touch where the salt comes out?

Oh yeah, admit it. A LOT.

Though I am not proud of it, I confess, I have done it a fair amount.  Not on purpose mind you, but it’s a transgression I can never undo.

Am I making this sound dramatic and biblical?  Good.  That’s the point.

Now, this issue never used to bother me.  “Can you please pass the salt?” is often followed by someone palming the shaker and handing it to the asker.

I started seeing it more and more, often at school and restaurants.  Then I thought to myself.  Where have these people’s hands been???

There and endless possibilities of course.  People sneeze into their hands, they touch public things like bathroom doorknobs and pencil sharpeners (if you still use a graphite sharpenable  pencil that is), playing with questionably clean hair, scratching off dead skin, plopped down in unknown gooey matter, typing on filthy keyboards (it is a  proven fact that toilet seats are cleaner than keyboards because they are sanitized more often).

The unpleasantries go on and on.  Mindful of this new information, I became wary of my beloved public salt.  Now I use it sparingly.

Although, these shakers do not concern me:

They also prevents this:

My point: be mindful of the shaker.  Don’t palm the salt!

The Outrigger Keauhou Beach Resort: Kailua-Kona

Some people go to Hawaii to tan, relax, and drink piña coladas on the beach.

Not my family.  We probably spend equal amounts of time in and out of the water.  Hawaii itself is very important to us.  My parents lived in Haena on Kauai before they adopted me.  The first vacation I remember in Kauai.  My twins sisters learned to swim in Kona and I got my dive certification there, July 2007.

Front of the Outrigger Keauhou Beach Resort, Kailua-Kona

Years ago my mom found this beautiful little hotel  and she and my dad went snorkeling there.  She remembered it and booked us a room at  Outrigger Keauhou Beach Resort in Kailua-Kona, October of 2003.

It’s this GORGEOUS, amazing hotel right on Keauhou Bay.  There is a small snorkeling beach, as well as a little set of stairs that lead directly into the water.  The hotel includes deluxe ocean-view rooms, excellent free daily breakfast for guests, and an incredible seaside restaurant with the most spectacular view of the sunset in all of Hawaii.

View from seaside restaurant at sunset

There are lots of Hawaiian artifacts in the lobby as well as a lovely gift shop and a do-it-yourself laundry room downstairs.

The snorkeling is outrageous.  Keauhou bay is warm and clean and clear.  It is protected so there is an abundance of fish and healthy coral.  Specimens living in the Bay are impressive and lively.

There are tennis courts, a heiau and several hammocks located just to the right of the hotel as well as tide pools and a large grassy area used for events.

Hammock outside the hotel

We have spent many hours climbing on the lava rocks that protect the Bay from tidal surge, looking for fish.  Turtles flock to the hotel and can be seen swimming or sunning themselves at any hour of the day.

Turtle sunning itself in front of the hotel

Turtle swimming in Keauhou Bay

I can’t say enough about the wonderful experiences I’ve had at this place.  It is very reasonably priced and the staff are amicable.  But what makes it so special is its profound connection with nature.  The sound of the waves roll through the rooms and the smell of salt permeates the air.   Sunlight slants through the open lobby, and the warm, tropical breeze flows, uninterrupted, through the elegant green halls.

Hibiscus flower near the tennis courts