Forget pottery or leather, the ninth year is mangos

I thought I'd show you this:

Our landlord gave Brant and I this mango in celebration of our anniversary. She said it came from a beloved mango tree on their farm.

Let's put that one on the list of reasons I love living here; people give mangos for presents!

To satisfy my dear friend Rob, who suggested I blog a little more about Hawaii and a little less about my pathetic life, I'd like to direct your attention to the fact that mangos are not native to Hawaii. And apparently Hawaii mangos are not allowed to be sold on the U.S mainland, due to quarantine rules regarding fruit flies and mango seed weevils.

How sad for you.

Now back to my pathetic life.

I woke up early one day last week and drove to my favorite beach.

It was windy (it is always windy) but the beachcombing was great.

And then LOOK what I found:

No, it is not a piece of poo.

 

I don't know what it is, to tell you the truth. Some sea creature chilling on the beach. Perhaps he lost his shell? Perhaps he doesn't need one? I probed and observed and took pictures of him until a huge wave took him away. 

And then I ate breakfast sitting under a tree further up the beach, and looked at all the seashells I had collected that morning. . I tried real hard to not let the wind blow sand into my yogurt and bananas.

My life will not always be this leisurely. In fact, in less than a month, it will have quite a bit more structure. But for now it's like this.