Working out with younger people is not enough of a reason to want to find yoga for old people in Sacramento. Because I honestly do not mind pierced navels, flat stomachs and bright happy faces, all smug and innocent; no, no, no, all of that is perfectly OK with me. What I do mind is exhaustion and my inability to strike certain poses.
My quest since returning from my winter vacation in Hawaii is to find comparable classes of yoga for old people in Sacramento. The place I’ve been going to in Holualoa has created a class that is absolutely perfect for me. Just completely lucked out with this class. At the end, I feel the burn and stretch, and I’m generally panting. Even though it is not exactly a fast-paced class. And the instructor doesn’t just call out the names of poses, he explains precisely how to get oneself into those poses.
Beware of the turkey terrorists roaming the streets in Kona this morning. Although it is does not really qualify for Wordless Wednesday because I do have words for this blog and it is not Wednesday. Reminds me of the theme song for The Monkees: Here we come, walking down the street. (Hey, sing along now.) We get the funniest looks from, everyone we meet.
I hate these guys. Not The Monkees. The turkey terrorists in Kona. There used to be 7 of them, a big gang. Nobody stops them. Don’t think we are allowed to shoot them but any other means are OK. I brought up that question at the last HOA meeting I attended, what are we gonna do about the turkey terrorists in Kona? Someone suggested a bow and arrow.
How many pairs of shoes are too many pairs of shoes? For me, it’s when I have no more room on my closet floor or handy side ladders to house shoes. It’s also the one accessory item, except for maybe jewelry or a designer bag, that you can buy despite weight fluctuations. So if the shoes are cute, they tend to end up in my closet. Either through buying them online because I make the mistake of thinking I know the brand so they will work and they don’t, or in person. Even in person is no guarantee that I will ever wear the shoes again.
I get sucked up into the lust for the shoe.
My husband doesn’t understand how anybody could own that many pairs of shoes. He owns a brown pair and a black pair. But I just get started with basic brown or black. You’ve got to own a pair of flats in each color, followed by medium heels, high heels, open toe, pump, boots, casual sandals, dress sandals, and that’s 8 pair right there, and times two colors is 16 pairs of shoes. If you mix it up with patent leather, versus leather, or suede or fabric, well, you can see where this takes you down a rabbit hole.
There is always that special dress that totally deserves its own pair of shoes. The type of shoes you wouldn’t wear with anything else because nothing else is like that special dress.
And then one day you’re walking across the parking lot at, say, the Sacramento Board of Realtors, strutting in your Sarah Jessica Parker 4-inch heels, when something odd happens. You realize you can’t really walk. Yes, you seem to be hitting toe first but the heel is not following like it should. Slowing down doesn’t help. Nor does averting eyes from the cellphone. Instead, you find yourself prancing around like a 3 year-old wearing her mother’s heels. What happened?
For me, thankfully my team member Barbara can wear the same size. Because a pair of Jimmy Choos that I purchased a few months back didn’t let me make it from the house to the garage. I could not walk in those heels. I don’t know how Barbara can do it, but more power to her. Maybe I’m just coming to my senses when I embrace a desire to reduce possessions, which led me to conclude that I own too many pairs of shoes.
Time for serious shit. Last weekend, I combed through my closet and removed the pairs of shoes we will donate this year to a nonprofit. These appear to number 39 pair. Some of these shoes I’ve worn only once. At least they will go to a good cause, and some other lucky female can benefit from a Sacramento Realtor‘s wild spending sprees on shoes.
Very few people have a good feeling about the DMV, much less the Kona DMV. However, from what I read about the long lines and problems lately at the DMV in Sacramento, I am much happier going to Kona DMV. You should know, too, that if you ship a car to Kona, whether it is from a neighboring island like my vehicle or from the mainland, you need to eventually register it in Kona.
The upside is the Big Island has the cheapest rates. It costs almost $300 to register my car in Maui, but in Kona, it is only $175.
Silly me, I thought Hawaii was its own state so it wouldn’t matter which county I registered the car in but it does. The dealer in Maui had the car inspected in Honolulu. That vehicle inspection is worthless in Hawaii County. Owners need to have the vehicle inspected again, even if the existing inspection has not expired.
I discovered all of this shortly after arriving at the Kona DMV. The deal is you line up outside. Granted, you’re covered overhead, but it is still HOT, little air circulation. Because everybody is in the same proverbial boiling pot, there was much conversation in line. Hey, I yelled out, do you guys remember the DMV sloths in that movie Zootopia? High fives.
At one time, the “greeter” was stationed outside but when I met her, she seemed like a relatively intelligent individual, which is why she is stationed inside the air-conditioned building, I imagine.
After you stand in line for 30 minutes (to an hour), you get a ticket number. I did not realize that after buying a car in Hawaii that I would have to go to the Kona DMV in person to register it again. Assuming your paperwork is in order. My paperwork was not in order because I had a registration from Maui. I also had a renewal notice and a perfectly valid vehicle inspection certificate from Honolulu. The greeter gave me directions to the Vehicle Inspection place down the street.
Of course, I cannot follow directions. Especially when they are given as take a left and after a driveway take another left and go two blocks from the end before you turn right. All I hear is it’s by Costco. So naturally I turned into the wrong driveway. As a person who is not afraid to ask for directions, I accosted the fellow in the sign shop.
He pointed me to a Subaru mechanic shop a few doors down. What the hey, I say to myself, I own a Subaru, how lucky is that? Turned out that was not the Vehicle Inspection place. But they could do it for their own customers. Not only did they give me a vehicle inspection, but they gave me the phone number of the senior inspector at the Kona DMV so he could sign off on it as I entered the crosswalk.
See? My life is now back to normal, and the fairies or angels or whatever forces of nature tend to continually sprinkle goodness in my path, well, they have returned. Not like a few days ago when everything went wrong because life threw curveballs at me. One after the other. Which was so weird and unusual.
The inspector gave me a ticket number so I could begin my wait. A really nice thing about the Kona DMV is there is a sandwich store between the waiting area and the parking lot. The guy who runs the store is blind so, since he doesn’t pay sales tax, he doesn’t ask his customers to pay it, either.
When I sat down in the waiting area, which you can see in the above photo, I gobbled my sandwich. Shortly, a young Asian girl toting a Coach bag, dressed in designers, dripping bling attached to her Apple Watch and presenting a perfect purple and pink manicure spoke to me. She wanted to know if all of the road tests had been canceled.
She had no ticket for entrance and did not want to stand in the line. I encouraged to just walk in the door. You can do it, nobody will say anything, I said. Just open the door and go in. Approach the greeter to deliver your quick question. I am such a troublemaker, always looking to find a way to buck the system. Most people are sheep. My methods only work because people are sheep. Can’t have everybody being a rebel.
She didn’t want to do it. It was disrespectful to all the people waiting in the line that she did not want to wait in.
The woman across from us also pitched in. You can’t sit there and do nothing, she admonished. Either go in the door or stand in the line. Sitting here is pointless.
Just before they called my name, at the 90-minute mark, the young girl bravely stood up, took a deep breath, smoothed her hair and marched in the door. She emerged two seconds later with a big smile on her face. Question answered. Road tests were not canceled. And this is what you have to do in Hawaii to get answers.
As I finished putting the finishing touches on my open houses for Sunday, Linda presented me with the opportunity to hang out a bit at Kona Haven Coffee and then go to the dog park. It is called Central Bark Dog Park, and is sponsored by the Kona Humane Society, among other donors.
Now you may find this difficult to believe, but this Sacramento Realtor has never been to a dog park. Hey, I don’t have a dog. Why would I ever go to a dog park? But I was up for an adventure. The tiling guy was at our house in Hawaii working away, so he didn’t need me. We already discussed wrapping the tile corners and the focal point.
Which leads me to a funny story about my dead brother. He tiled my sister’s bath, and it was obvious to me that he used the wrong focal point when tiling. When I asked my sister why he chose the corner he chose, she said he picked it because that’s what you look at while on the John.
What a doofus.
So, yes, I was game for going to the Central Bark Dog Park in Kona. They have benches donated to the space, chairs for tired people, and a place to chat. It’s just like hanging out at Kona Haven Coffee without the coffee service.
Is this little guinea pig dog the cutest dog ever?? He is 5 years old, if I recall correctly. Not a baby, in other words. The black chihuahua is Mel’s dog, and his name is Cowboy. There was a time, Mel said, that she could carry Cowboy in one hand to introduce him to people. As a busy Realtor, I don’t have time for dogs, but it doesn’t mean I can’t go to Central Bark Dog Park and hang out.
This dog park in Kona is located by Hawaii County Water Department in Keauhou Mauka. As for the Humane Society in Kona, I had never been there, either. Later in the afternoon Linda and I went to Reflections Glass to order a glass wall for my shower. Along the way, I stopped at the Kailua Kona transfer station at Kealakehe to get rid of boxes the contractors left at my house.
The Hawaii Island Humane Society is located up the road to the Kealakehe transfer station. Hey, I said, why don’t we stop at the Humane Society? Linda wasn’t overly excited. She had been there before and found the personnel a bit off standish.
Well, they ignored us when we walked in. One woman was talking with a couple, and the other was glued to her computer. Nobody said welcome, or come in. Nothing.
We went into the room where the cats are, and every single cat was lying in a cage sprawled out, some of which were severely overcrowded, very hot. Paws hanging out the wires. There was no AC in that room. Just a few fans. Those poor cats. The woman at the front desk ignored us again as we walked out the door.
You would think every person who walked in that door at the Hawaii Island Humane Society in Kailua-Kona would be greeted and issued an invitation. Either to:
- Adopt, or
Oh, man, if only I ran the world.