Oh to be there.
Hawaii and the breeze wandering through the palm trees. Winter to spend and spring back home in New York. Cuba maybe next year but not this. No, someone’s cousin stationed at Pearl Harbor and dinner following dinner along with gin and tonics that never end.
Ballroom to dance in upstairs and men in white uniforms everywhere. Waiters with their trays, men mowing the lawn and gentlemen to dine and dance with.
A treat. Many places just as pretty but this one the old Haleiwa Hotel with memories of honeymooning from before the war. Flying boat over from Los Angeles faster than the old steamers were and just as exciting. The lobby different what with no desk clerk but the same potted palms set around and fans overhead.
A joy. Picture of the place colored up in the old days lying on a table and somehow sneaking into one’s handbag. . . not nice but what can one do . . . not there forever and the husband gone three years later. . .something to keep in the jewelry box where no one ever dies.
