Chapter 6/THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME!

On my initial tour of Samoa, at a cocoa plantation.

"ISLAND DREAM"

Chapter 6

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME!

Hassie Gaugau

I was up early, the next morning.  Now that I was a "typical tourist," with my trusty camera in hand, it was time to begin "touristing."  Rain had fallen during the night and the plants and flowers outdid themselves.

Seated cross-legged, on the lanai, of one of the small fales, native women strung hibiscus blossoms onto palm fronds.  These flower sish-ke-bobs were stuck into any potted plant that didn't furnish blooms of it's own.  The women smiled and greeted me just as the breakfast "bells" sounded.

In the dining room, I was seated with a woman from Michigan.  "I teach anthropology, at the University of Guam," she introduced herself.

Two men were seated with us and they too were world travelers, which left me, and my limited globe trotting experience, with a twinge of inferiority.  Their conversation was interesting and they even included me, so my twinge passed.

The tour was to leave "promptly at nine," the sign had plainly stated, but I had time for a short walk into town.  I felt like a different woman as I strolled under the canopy of trees.  No longer the tired, dejected, disenchanted adventurer, now I was the happy, wide eyed, vacationer.  Everywhere I turned there was a picture to be snapped.  The policeman, in his starched blue uniform with a form fitting shirt and "skirt" instead of trousers, and a bobbie style white helmet; a little old man in his black "skirt" (lavalava,) white shirt, and tie and clutching a briefcase while he walked barefoot; a bright-eyed young girl who ran after me crying, "buy buutful necklace lady?"

I wandered further than I realized and after looking at my watch had to hurry to make the nine o'clock departure.  But as I arrived the driver and tour guide had just pulled the bus to a stop.

"Hello and welcome aboard Samoa Scenic.  I'm Anna, your tour director," she said.  "And this is Mailagi' your driver."

She had a list and as she met and greeted each new comer, she checked off our names.  Promptly at "nine twenty" the bus pulled away.

We passed through town, each of us "rubbernecking" at all of the unusual sights.  Anna pointed out stores and advised us about shopping courtesies but as we left the stores behind she looked toward the ocean.  "Joe, look over there, those are Samoa's weapons against outside invasions."  

We all turned in that direction and saw four small cannons, pointed out to sea.  She continued to address one of us by name every time that there was a point of interest or a joke to pass along, but she never referred to her list again.  She entertained us with stories and jokes all around the area.

"Over there is our House Of Parliament," she said.  "It was designed by Peace Corps Volunteers from America.  Next to that are the tombs of our former kings."

The stone monuments gleamed in the sunlight as we tried to see and take pictures of everything.  Shower trees rained their multicolored blossoms on top of the bus as we drove into a cocoa plantation.

"Mailagi' will bring some cocoa fruit for you to sample," she announced.  "I'd venture to guess that you would never imagine the taste."

He brought pods that looked like small green footballs.  With a swift blow, against a rock, the pod split and there were pulp covered beans clustered inside.  He passed the treat around.

"This is delicious!"  Each of us sucked the sweet-tart nourishment from the beans.  "I can't believe that this is where cocoa comes from.  There's no hint of a chocolate taste."

That was not our only new taste.  We were treated to the mellow apple flavor of the cashew fruit, the bitter purple of the fresh roasted cocoa.  The fragrances were out of this world.  Not only cocoa and coffee, but toasted coconut filled the air with lusciousness.  Anna showed us trees that gave everything from kapok, for pillows, to bark for medicine.

"So you see," she said, "before the papalagi came, we already had everything that we needed."

I didn't know for sure, but I thought I detected a little resentment in her voice.  Not that I blamed her.  It must have been the same in America before the white man came.

But soon, the road began to climb and Anna's jokes returned.  We crossed crystal streams and ducked under magnificent banyan trees.  The road curved into a wondrous sight.

"This is called "the road of loving heart," she said.  "The mansion, that you see, in the distance is now the official residence of our Head of State, but it was the home of the "Tusitala," the teller of tales, Robert Louis Stevenson.  These teak trees, that line the road were planted by Samoans, out of the great love that they had for him.  He is buried atop Mt Vaea, that you see beyond the house."

What I wouldn't give to live here in a house like that, I thought as I craned my neck to see as much as possible.

The little bus labored valiantly as we continued to climb.  We left behind the houses of rich merchants, bankers, and the "afakasi" (half cast,) again, Anna seemed a little peevish.  We wound our way into the rain forest.  Giant tree ferns drooped with moisture from last night's rain.  We had climbed above the humidity and heat and the cold air was invigorating.

Strained almost to the limit, the little bus finally crested the mountain and we started down.  In the distance the ocean of the island's far side shimmered.  Mailagi' put the bus into low gear to slow our decent and I guess, keep us from hurtling down the mountain.

"The marines didn't have time to waste grading the ascent or decent," Anna laughed, "they just needed to get from one side of the island to the other."

Suddenly we pulled off the road and stopped.  "You can get off here," she pointed toward a railing about fifty yards from the bus.

We mumbled to ourselves and each other as we stepped onto the rutted ground.  "What could possibly be here to look at?"

Just before I reached the railing, the sun broke through low hanging clouds and a sliver of sunlight pointed directly to the reason.  My breath caught, and I could hear the same thing happening to my traveling companions.  There, across the valley was the most spectacular waterfall that I could ever have imagined.  Lush jungle seemed to hold it tightly bound while a lacy veil of water plunged a thousand feet into a barely visible pool.

"I can't believe it!"  Isn't that the most beautiful sight that you've ever seen?"  "This was worth the whole trip!" were comments heard all around.  Anna and Maliagi' just smiled at each other and motioned us back toward the bus.

Cameras clicked and whirred until we could break ourselves away to walk reverently back to our ride.

"Okay ladies, remember on our way up we passed a fabric factory and I promised that we'd stop there on the way back, well gentlemen, get your wallets ready, we'll be there soon."

The reverence was broken and chatter about purchases began.

Beautifully designed fabrics rolled through the screening process.  Yards of material, every color under the rainbow spun past.  Dresses, sarongs, shirts, skirts, table cloths, and napkins were for sale, made from the patterned yardage.  While the others tried on, and pondered over what purchases to make, I made a quick choice of a few yards for a lavalavas to use as swimsuit coverups and went back to the bus.

Anna and Mailagi' waited patiently for their charges.  "That didn't take you long," she smiled as I climbed aboard.

"I wanted to talk to you," I said.  "I have fallen in love with this place.  How would a foreigner, such as myself, buy land and live here?"

"No outsider can own land in Samoa," they answered in unison.

They must have seen my crestfallen look, because Anna laughed and asked, "Are you married?"

"No."

"Well that's your answer." she said.  "Marry a Samoan, that's how you can stay and have some land too."

"You're kidding!"

"No, as a matter of fact, Mailagi' here owns land and he's not married," she smiled mischievously.

"You got money?" Mailagi' asked.

"A little."

"You got the money, I got the time," he sang the old song with a crooked smile that lit his face.

  The others finally returned, and we all oohed and awed over each others' purchases.  But now the tour was finished and we arrived back at the hotel barely in time for lunch.  Everyone talked, laughed, and shared their favorite moments of the tour while they enjoyed another delicious meal. I, however, hardly noticed the food or paid any attention to their banter.  My mind lingered on that intoxicating crooked smile.  So he was interested in me because I had a little money, was he?  Well we'd see about that.

That afternoon, I sat by the pool and thought, "if I can come out a little every day, then maybe my white skin might get a little tan before I return to Oklahoma."  Unfortunately though I was too restless to stay in one place long enough for the sun to do it's job.  So after another wonderful shower I changed and went to the hotel gift shop.  Tee shirts for the girls, maybe they would wear these, even if "mom" did pick them out.  A few post cards for family and friends and a beautifully designed sarong for me to wear to the fia fia (celebration) that evening.  But suddenly fatigue swept over me so I struggled back to my room.

The oscillating fan moved the breeze across the bed.  No need for the AC,  just the coolness that crept through the louvered windows, was enough.  After a short nap I showered yet again, and dressed in my new sarong.  Make up was almost a thing of the past, only mascara and blush, when I had tried anything more, the humidity and heat had literally melted it so that it tended to slide right off my face.  Just outside, I plucked an unknown bloom from a tree, and placed it behind my left ear.  I had learned that behind that ear meant that I was available, and behind the right ear meant that I was taken.  What a wonderful subtle way to "advertise."

The gardens were glorious with the night blooming flowers giving off their heavenly scents.  As I walked toward the big fale the katydids started their serenade, almost as if given a downbeat by some giant bug conductor.  The sounds, the smells, and the grandeur of the big fale brought magic to the night.  As is one of my faults or virtues, whichever way you look at it, I was early.  Only a few others were scattered across the great open room.  I chose a seat right on the front row and sat twisting and turning trying to see everything and everyone.  The artwork of the fale was intriguing.  Giant tree trunks polished to a deep mahogany gloss supported humongous log beams.  Native carvings danced up, down, and across the structure.  Palm branches had been braided around some of the smaller posts, with brilliant flowers splashed everywhere.

At last other guest began to file in.  Two young women, from Hawaii sat on one side of me and a girl from Australia, on the other.  Soon the building was filled to capacity in anticipation of a great show.

The Aussie, Bev, was acquainted with many of the staff,  from the hotel and was currently dating one of the young men.  She had vacationed in Samoa for several years.

"Bev, do you know any of these beautiful men that are closer to my age?" I asked, a little sheepishly.

"As a matter of fact there is a very handsome man who usually dances at these shows.  He's in his fifties, I think.  He has quite a reputation though, two or three American wives, a New Zealander and  several Samoan mistresses."

"Sounds interesting, will he dance tonight?"

"No, he has a plantation east of town and I heard that he hurt his leg last week." 

"I sure would ------- 

The lights dimmed and my voice was drowned out by chants, shouts, and music from the rear of the fale.  Flames flickered inside half coconut shells and were carried by young singers as they made their way to the stage.  Goosebumps hopped up and down my arms as I sat entranced with the sights and sounds.  I flashed through one roll of film, reloaded and began again, as I tried to record every minute.

When one song finished, a young man jumped from the stage and ran up the aisle.  Seated, at the rear of the fale, in a highbacked wicker chair was Aggie herself.  The young dancer helped her to her feet and with applause all around she walked, painfully toward the front, on arthritic legs and feet.  But once, on the stage, the eighty two year old did a dance that any twenty year old would have envied.  This was her traditional "Samoan Siva."  By the time she finished everyone was on their feet in a resounding ovation.

This thunderous applause was joined by an infectious drum cadence.  Two young men drew our attention outside, by the pool, where they twirled fire knives in a rousing finale.

WHAT A SHOW!

As everyone was coming down from such a spectacle we realized that mountains of sumptuous food had been laid out on tables outside the fale.  The young people, who just moments before had entertained us on stage, now waited to serve the non-ending banquet.

Pineapple; salads; entire roast pigs; fish; ham; chicken; curry; raw fish; pork and Samoan sweet and sour; and dishes that I couldn't even have guessed.  There were fresh, whole, cold, coconuts to drink and the inevitable ice cream with pink wafer.

Almost ashamed of my mounded plate I was beckoned by two of the ladies from the tour.  As I sat down, we looked at each others' plates and laughed.  We all had wanted to try everything and it showed.  While we ate, three of the server/musicians tuned their guitars and ukuleles and began to play and sing beautiful, unfamiliar, Samoan music.

A more perfect evening, I had never seen, a more perfect day, I had never had, A more beautiful dream come true, I had certainly never known.

 

 

DREAM VACATION, Chapter 5

 

        "ISLAND DREAM"

                 Chapter 5

          DREAM VACATION

              Hassie Gaugau
 

(Aggie Grey's Hotel, as it was, when I arrived in 1979.)

The register was an old fashioned log book.  No request for a charge card, no demand for a deposit, just sign your name and address.

"Mrs. Lunkle," the desk clerk tried to pronounce my name.  "Welcome to Aggie's, our doorman will show you to your room."

She didn't even seem to notice my disheveled, unclean appearance.

"Mrs. Lunke, they are still serving luncheon, in the dining room.  If you'll hurry back, I'll make sure that they wait for you."

"Thank you so much." maybe she did notice something, my starved look.

The doorman, his flop flops slapping down the stairs, led the way.  We passed through a lovely open-air bar into a vivid garden.  Exotic blooms nestled among stately old palm trees.  The sidewalk wound around small enclosed versions of "fales" and passed motel type rooms on the side.

"This room, misses," the doorman opened the door and carried my bags inside.

I tried, as in Pago, to tip.

"No, no, misses, my job, thank you."

He bowed and left.  I was alone.  The room was spotless.  The shiny linoleum floor invited my miserable feet to walk naked across their coolness.  A wall mounted fan whirred silently chasing the warm stale air out the open louvered windows.  I wanted to throw myself across the bed and sleep forever, but my stomach, that had only had tea and cookies for more than two days, rebelled.  LUNCH!  They're serving lunch, GO!

There were still a few guests in the dining room.  When I entered, a handsome young man bowed and led me to a table where a few guests were still seated.  I had hardly lowered myself into the chair when other young men arrived with water, lemonade, salad, and bread.  The others, at the table, introduced themselves and I guess they noticed my startled look.

"This is the way Aggie's serves," one gentleman, with a British accent said.  "There are no menus.  The same meal is served to everyone.  You'll love it."

Right away I was besieged with platters, bowls, and trays of delicious looking food.  There was hardly time to eat because of accepting or declining the offered fare.

The diners continued to talk and even included me in the conversations.  How wonderful to be able to understand and converse in my own language.  They had already finished their meals, but out of politeness, they remained until I was ready to leave.  There was no check, the meal was included in the price of the room.

"See you at dinner.  Good day." everyone went their separate ways.

Many of them were in Samoa on work assignments, and returned to their jobs.  I seemed to be the only one going back to my room.  Once inside, I closed the colorful drapes and stripped.  In the bathroom, oversized fluffy towels waited beside the shower.  I turned on the water and tried to adjust the temperature.  Cold water, then hot, but no warm, who cared?  It was water, it was a shower.  I stepped in.  As if by magic the stream warmed and caressed by tired aching body.  Relief, but not for my tired aching mind.  Tears began to mingle with the flow, and I started to sob so hard that I could hardly breath.

"I just want to go home.  I want Don to hold me and tell me that everything will be okay.  I want to see my girls.  Why did you think that you were Nellie Forbush?  You're just a mother who has a business to run.  You're plain and ordinary.  Why don't you go home where you belong?"  Self pity consumed me.

At last I stopped the shower, dried, and wrapped myself in one of the soft pink towels.  The fan driven air tingled my body and I almost felt better, but just couldn't let go of the self pity.  I flopped across the bed and continued to cry until I fell into an exhausted sleep.

Food, clean body, and sleep, one or all three gave me the strength to try one more time.  I dressed and walked out into the glorious gardens.  The path led to an Olympic sized pool with a palm tree, on a small island, right in the middle of the pool.  An oversized fale loomed to one side.

People swam, sunned, and enjoyed drinks.  English was spoken, with different accents, and everyone seemed to be having a great time.  I even heard music coming from somewhere.

You can do this, I thought.  Don't give up a dream that you've had for so long.  Look at all the beauty around you.  Are you going to give all this up just because you ran into a few rough days?

"Eleni, Eleni," the musical notes called me to find where they came from.

I followed the sounds of singing and clapping and soon found a group of young people who appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.  They looked at me and smiled.  Their leader, the handsome young man from the dining room, turned and introduced himself.

"Hello, Misses Lunkley, I'm Dominic.  We're rehearsing for the Fia Fia that we'll have tomorrow night."

"Fia Fia."

"Yes, in Hawaii, they say luau.  All of the staff, here at Aggie's perform.  Are you coming?"

"Of course," my mind was made up.  "Of course, I wouldn't miss it.  Go ahead, If it's okay I'd love to watch you practice."

Fia Fia, that reminded me of Fia.  I had made the right decision.  I wasn't an adventurer, I was a tourist and I was going to rejoice in every minute of it.

"Thank you for letting me stay," I told the group as they started to break up, "You're great, I'll be there tomorrow night."

Happy, revitalized and determined, I strolled back to my room, through the enchanted gardens.  Inside, I sorted through my bags and hung things in the closet.  There was a light bulb inside, not for light but to keep the moisture at bay.  Also an ironing board was attached to the wall, with a family sized iron shelved the the side.  A brochure, on the coffee table gave information about the hotel and pointed out that guests were expected to "dress for dinner."  Most of my clothes were very casual, what exactly did "dress for dinner" mean?  I took out a favorite skirt and blouse that needed the iron and ironing board, but they should fill the requirement.

Another shower was just too inviting to pass up.  Now to dry and curl my hair.  I had thought ahead and brought an electrical converter, BUT when I tried the plug, nothing fit.  Evidently this one was European, even if the box plainly stated INTERNATIONAL.  Now what?  I hung my head down to my knees and brushed upside down, then flipped back and looked into the mirror.  Amazing, who needed a dryer and curling iron anyway?

A light smattering of make-up and I was actually pleased, with what I saw, looking back at me.  Why did I feel so good about myself, all of a sudden?  What had happened to me?

I walked back up the steps and into the lobby.  There was a bulletin board propped under the staircase that led upstairs.  "Tour cocoa plantations, the house of parliament, see waterfalls, and the home of Robert Louis Stevenson.  Sign up at the front desk.  Our tour will leave promptly at 9:00 AM.

"Is this where I sign up?" I asked.

"Yes Misses Lunkley," the same desk clerk said.  "Are you feeling better now?"

She had noticed, she had known how I felt when I checked in.  "Why yes I am, thank you, ah what is your name?"

"Annie, and you're welcome."

"How much is the tour, Annie," I opened my purse, paid the nine tala (Samoan dollars) and she entered my name on the list.

As I turned from Annie, a sound that I had never heard before reached into my heart.  Just a few feet away, some of the staff that I had seen before, beat a cadence on wooden "bells" and drums.

"Those are the dinner "bells," Annie smiled and nodded toward them.

"Well, I'm ready, if it's as good as lunch, I can hardly wait."

I quickly joined the line that had formed , and we gave our room number to the young lady, at the dining room entrance.

"Misses Lunkley, just follow me," Dominic offered his arm.

I accepted his help, as he led me to a small table, occupied by a couple who had already started on their salad.

"Hello, we're the Masterson's from Australia."

"I'm glad to meet you, I'm Mildred, from America.  This is a great idea, being seated with others, don't you think?"

The parade of food started.  Between hearing about the "station" that the couple owned in the out-back, and nodding yes or no to the offered delicacies, the meal passed quickly.

"It was so nice to meet you, hope to see you again," the Mastersons noted as the left.

"Misses Lunkley," Dominic was at my side.  "Cake and coffee are being served on the veranda."

"Thank you Dominic, the meal was delicious."

I had eaten too much to even think about coffee, let alone cake, so I walked down into the gardens.  Others strolled and nodded as we met.  I was alone again, but this time I wasn't going to let it get to me.  And it didn't.  I found a comfortable wicker chair with  fluffy chincz pillows to sink into and listened to three musicians strum their guitars and ukeleles as they sang in falsetto harmony.

Soon however, the relaxation gave way to fatigue that overpowered the enjoyment and I longed for that great bed that awaited me, back in my room.  Once enclosed in my sanctuary  with all the comforts that I had been lacking for days, I marveled at the difference.  The pain and frustration of the days and nights before, the thrills and excitement of this day and night culminated into the realization that my DREAM VACATION had truly begun! 

 

 

"ISLAND DREAM"

Hassie Mildred Gaugau

Chapter 4

  "DRAMAMINE, QUICK!"

 

(This isn't the ANTONIO but is the closest that I could find that looks like it, only the Antonio wasn't anywhere near this nice.)

There were numerous flights everyday between the two Samoa's.  But nnnnooo!  We had to go by boat.  We'd sent a telegram to Fia's parents, informing them of our arrival in Western Samoa at eight PM.  That would be seven hours travel time.  The flight would have taken only thirty minutes.  But, this was an adventure, I reminded myself.

We brought snacks and soft drinks, since there would be nothing available on board the tiny "tub."  I still doubted my sanity but took a Dramamine and prepared myself for the challenge.

On board, there were no chairs or benches, no place to sit except on the slanted deck.  The Samoan fellow passengers were great!  When they saw that we had no blankets or pillows they shared.  As our trip began, I was filled with excitement.  The view was breathtaking.  An extinct volcanic crater had created one of the most perfect harbors in the entire South Pacific.  We passed sleek modern fishing boats, yachts, and small dug out canoes.

"This is great!" I told Fia.  "It's absolutely beautiful.  Thank you for insisting that we travel this way."

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"My Dramamine must be working, because I feel fantastic!  I just can't believe that this is happening to me."

BUT!  I hadn't realized that we were not yet out into the open ocean.  An hour later as we pushed out of the protected harbor, into the "real" sea, I realized that I had been happy a little too soon.  The waves dashed us backward, then shoved the tiny craft forward.  We rolled, dipped and pitched down through the trough and plowed up the next wave.  MORE DRAMAMINE QUICK!!!  All I could do was lie as flat as possible on the deck and pray that the seven hour trip would be over before I died!

The Samoans laughed, played cards, and ate the snacks that I had bought.  I couldn't even watch them eat.  When I did raise my head to see where we were, there was nothing but water.  Water on all sides and as we plunged into the waves, water over us.  

But when Nature called, I had no choice, I had to get up.  I stumbled to the back of the boat (whatever you call the back, at this point who cared.)  As careful as possible I tried not to trip or stumble over the other prostrate passengers.  The "restroom, one only" was nothing more than an outhouse with two holes cut into a crude bench.  These holes opened directly over the ocean.  The door swung back and forth.  I couldn't get it latched and really didn't care.  I sat on the bench while the door concealed and exposed me and had my butt washed clean at the same time.

As the waves tossed our tiny craft like a piece of driftwood, I literally crawled back to my allotted spot and collapsed onto my borrowed blanket and pillow.  After almost six hours of misery, darkness had fallen.  Surely we were close to our destination, after all, seven hours was supposed to be the travel time.  From another pill and the fact that our trip was almost over, I finally fell asleep.

I was awakened by overwhelming silence!  There was no pounding, throbbing, or any engine noise at all.  It was quiet.  "Too Quiet" as an old movie dialog would say.  The engine had stopped.

"Fia, what's happening?"

"They're working on the motor," she answered.  "It just stopped awhile ago." 

Panic began to chew at my feet and work upward.  Now you've done it!  No one knows that you are on this dilapidated piece of litter called a boat.  You'll just vanish from the face of the earth.  Your girls will never know what happened to their wayward mother.

Just before hysteria took over, I saw lights blinking in the distance.  "Fia, that's Western Samoa, isn't it?  We're almost there aren't we?"

"Yes, but we still have a long way before we reach Apia.  That's just the east end of Upolu."

But it was land, maybe we could swim.  SWIM?  Who was I trying to kid?  I was no swimmer, even if there was only fifty yards, I couldn't make it.

Clatter, clatter, bang thump, roar, the engine fired to life among load cheers from everyone.   Then a moan, just as loud, as the encouraging sound died.  Two or three more attempts and finally it held.  We started to move again.  This happened several times as the old diesel, tired out from the battle of the waves, stopped and started.  All the Dramamine that I had taken took a toll and brought me to a point of not caring.

I had dreamed of the South Pacific for years.  Dreamed of being Nellie Forbush.  Well, now I was here, and maybe I'd be here forever, never to be heard of again.  With the engines dead, there was no longer even the light from the engine room.  I couldn't see my watch to know how long we'd been floating aimlessly, in the dark.  The only positive note was that the ocean seemed to have calmed.

The smell of diesel was so strong that I wondered how flammable it was when several people lit their cigarettes.  But then there was a strong roar and the old engine bellowed to life.  This time we actually moved.  Our pace was fast enough that I could see some of the twinkling lights were actually left behind.  Soon people started to stir.  They checked boxes, suitcases, packages, and children.

"What's happening now?" I asked.

"We're almost there." Fia said as she too prepared to dock.  I shared her excitement.  After almost two years away she would see her parents soon.  I watched as she strained to see them.  But there was no one there, not even dock workers.  When the tug nudged us up alongside the pier, the only life we saw was the customs officials who stood slowly, stretched, and yawned.  We were three and one half hours late.  Ten and one half hours to travel eighty miles.

These customs officials were as through as the ones in Pago Pago.  They looked through everything that Fia and the other travelers had and just stared at me as if I were crazy, which, in a way, I agreed.  She didn't seem to be concerned that her parents weren't there, she just asked around, then announced that we would spend the night with another of her "friends."  He had left his pick up at the wharf while doing business in American Samoa.  We loaded Fia's boxes, cases, and bundles into the back and then climbed in with them.

"Tired, hungry, sleepy, and away from home, and nobody cares for me."  My grandmother had chanted that "sayin'" to tease us kids when we became cranky.  Now that's exactly how I felt, not necessarily cranky, but certainly tired, hungry, sleepy, and defiantly away from home with the feeling that certainly nobody cared for me.   But I tried to be excited.  Tried to welcome the new experience.  We passed the guard gate where there was no guard.  The little pick up continued along the deserted street that hugged the harbor.  A golden glow from the street lights lent a haunting effect to the mist that hung over the docks and the entire city.  We circled around a clock tower just as it struck the hour.  MIDNIGHT!  Not only had our trip taken forever, but the customs officials had delayed us for another two hours.

"We're here!" Fia announced as we stopped in front of a little store, all closed and dark.  "We'll unload, you go on in, just walk across those planks to that house back there."

Oh boy!  Things had gone from bad to worse, and now beyond worse.  The "house" looked as if it had been made from old refrigerator crates.  I walked across the wobbly planks and up some make shift steps into the opening that served as a door.  

Everything was spotless!

The floor had been scrubbed so much that it was faded and worn smooth.  Bright pieces of material were draped across boxes and trunks.  There were no partitions, just one big room.  An arthritic, gnarled, old woman awakened from her sleep, cheerfully stirred around and made tea for us.  Fia's friend had brought bags of cookies from Pago Pago.  Since visitors were in her home, the old lady now prepared a treat, no matter if it was, by now, one o'clock in the morning.

An equally gnarled old man who had been asleep in one corner, on the floor, his head resting on a wooden "pillow" awoke and now joined the festivities.

"They are very honored to have you in their home," Fia translated.  "He is eighty two years old and wants to know if you are married."

The old fellow gave me a snaggle toothed smile as he sat cross-legged on a mat, spread on the floor.  Since there were no chairs I too sat on the mat, but with great difficulty.  How in the world did he do it?  Eighty two and still able to twist his legs under himself.   Of course maybe he had sat that way for so long he might not be able to sit any other way.

He and I were served first.  Tea and Pago cookies.  The old lady, Fia, her friend, and a grandson of the couple waited and watched to see that we wanted for nothing.

"Fia, I can't eat all these cookies."

"That's okay," she said, you're not expected to, just leave what you don't want and we'll finish them."

"Thank you so much for the lovely tea and cookies, I appreciate it so much, but I'm very tired."

Fia translated while she took my plate and finished the cookies.  The old lady scurried around getting a mosquito net, pillow slip, and fine woven mats out of some of the boxes.  She spread the mats over the scrubbed floor.  The net was hung from the rafters and a starched and ironed pillow case was slipped over the pillow.  My "bed" was ready.

"Ah, Fia, I need to go the the bathroom."

She turned to the grandson and spoke, everyone smiled and he stopped eating the leftover cookies, stood, and walked over to a table.  He returned with a flashlight.

"Go with him," she directed.

We went outside through another opening, in the back of the house.  A similar walkway led to a typical outhouse.  Would I ever us a real "bathroom" again?  The young man shined the light all around inside, then, handed the light to me.  He discreetly walked back toward the house, but stayed where I could see him.  After brushing a spider from the seat I looked around for paper, there was none.  Drip dry again, just like the boat, thank goodness I had a roll of paper in my suitcase for the next morning.  (Carol had warned me to be prepared for anything.)

Back inside I crawled under the net, feeling very much like a kid in a playhouse.  The old man was already back asleep, on his wooden pillow.  How could anyone sleep like that?  How could I sleep like that?  But the one bare light bulb was turned out and immediately I went to sleep in "paradise."

Roosters crowed, cocoa boiled, and radios announced, "this is 2AP, Apia, Western Samoa, and I awoke.  I fought my way out from under the netting, fully dressed, having slept that way for two days and two nights, in the same clothes.  YUCK!  And once again I had to make a trip outside, but THIS TIME, I was prepared.  I had TOILET PAPER!

When I returned, everyone seemed busy, including Fia.  Soon the boy came in, from somewhere, with several loaves of unsliced bread and a pound block of real New Zealand butter.  The old woman took a toaster from a shelf, plugged it into the socket, where the light bulb had been, then sat in the middle of the floor.  She sliced the bread and placed two pieces at a time into the toaster.  When those popped up, she handed them to Fia, who put a mound of butter on each piece, and spread it liberally.  Once again, the old man and I were served first.  This time I wasn't so concerned when the plate looked ready to serve the entire family, I knew that I didn't have to eat it all.  My cocoa, was served in one of two "fancy" cups.  The other fancy cup held extra sugar which was also set before me, in case I needed it.  Once again, the old man, through Fia, had a conversation with me.

"He want's to know why a young American lady, like you, is in Samoa, alone?  He says that you should find a nice Samoan man, marry him, and stay in Samoa."

"Tell him that I'd love to, if I can find a man as handsome as he is."

Everyone laughed and I felt that I had said the right thing.  While we continued to talk, I saw that his feet were bound in some sort of rags.  Whether for warmth or just as a covering, I never found out.

After Fia had eaten and helped clear away the dishes, I wasn't allowed to help, she wanted to walk into town and find her parents.  I had changed clothes, behind a sheet, stretched across the room and slipped into some new flop flop sandals.

"This is Thursday, so all the outlying villagers will bring their produce to the market.  My parents are sure to be there."

We walked and walked.  The market, downtown, everywhere, but no parents.  It was hot!  It was humid!  It was dusty!  My body was sweaty, my feet were swollen and blistered from the new flop flops and my nerves were stretched to the breaking point.  Where, in blue blazes, where they?

AT LAST!  At last, she saw her mother, sitting at a picnic table.  A tearful reunion and much happiness was shared before Fia remembered to make introductions.

"They never received our telegram," she explained.  "We'll leave for our village as soon as my father gets here."

Tears.  Involuntary tears began to sting my eyes.  "Fia, I can't go.  There's no way that I can sleep on the floor another night, listen to people speak a language that I don't understand.  I can't go another day without a bath and clean underwear.  I don't want to fight spiders, just to go the the toilet."

I felt terrible about my outburst, but I seemed to have no control over my actions.  I was fed up with being an adventurer.  I just wanted to go back to being a "plain-ol'-camera- around-the-neck-tourist!"

"I'm going to a hotel," I said.

"Please come with us," Fia begged.  "I'm sure you'll enjoy our village."

The tears came faster and I guess they convinced her that I was serious because we loaded into another pick-up and returned to the house to pick up our belongings.

"Mildred, it would be nice for you to leave some money for the family," Fia suggested.  "They were glad to have you, but they're very poor."

I had thought of that, but was afraid that they might be offended by such an offer.

Fia suggested twenty American dollars, which I left with a very happy family.

The only hotel that I had heard of was Aggie Grey's.  I asked to be dropped off there.  I also thought about giving her money, but then remembered, I had already paid for all of our expenses, plus buying some things for her since our arrival so I thanked her for an adventure of a lifetime and they drove away.  I then, turned and walked into the cool shaded hotel and signed the register.

 

 

 

ISLAND DREAM: Chapter 3: "AT LAST"

 

"ISLAND DREAM"

Hassie Mildred Gaugau

         Chapter 3:           AT LAST!

The Rainmaker Hotel

Pago Pago, American Samoa

    

 July 23, 1979!  Twenty one years.  For more than twenty one years South Pacific Islands had been the dream of my heart and soul.  Now, I would actually realize that dream.  How can one express the feelings that almost overwhelm you, when a fantasy, held sacred for that many years, is about to be fulfilled?

The fateful day seemed to take another twenty one years as I anticipated what was ahead.  Vikki and Penny wanted to come with me, but realized that this was "mom's dream."  They drove me to the airport and wished me well.  Their appreciation of my dream however, was not shared by all.  Many friends, relatives, and neighbors felt that my decision to travel halfway around the world, ALONE, was just down right CRAZY!  I had even heard it voiced that, "a woman her age, ought to know better."  Still others came to the airport to wish me well and even envied my "adventurous spirit."

The only part of the trip that worried me was the night to be spent in Los Angeles.  It was uneventful however and even went well the next morning until hurrying through the automatic doors, of the airport terminal, my foot turned, twisted my ankle, and broke the heel of my shoe.  "Oh No!  Don't let this be an omen of things to come, not already!"

But as I dug another pair of shoes from my bag, a little voice came to me, "you are where you are, otherwise you would change."  CHANGE, a little broken heel and a hardly swollen ankle wasn't going to interfere with this change in my life, this dream of a lifetime.

Determined and happy, I found the correct check-in-counter.  The first stop was to be Hawaii, but there was a separate line for those of us who would continue on to Pago Pago, New Zealand, and finally Australia.  As a little girl daddy had taught me to travel light, he didn't want to be one of those men who had to lug three or four bags into the motel every night and back out the next morning.  Consequently there was only one small bag to check and the carry on of a purse and overnight case.

At the gate, I began to wonder if the "ought to know better" people might have been right.  Everyone else was, with someone.  Honeymooners, tour groups, and families filled the waiting area.  Sitting alone, the thought came that I wasn't really lonely, just alone.  I had found out that being alone is better than being WITH someone but still being lonely.  As I watched those around me, happiness filled my heart.  Being alone was better that the dramas that were playing our before me.  Some of the families were arguing, some in the tour group certainly didn't look happy, and some looked to be "on their last leg."  A little silent prayer of thanks settled in my mind.  Thanks for being able to take this trip while still young enough and in good enough health to enjoy everything to the fullest.  Thankful also, to be able to realize what a privilege this really was because looking around at the other passengers, some truly looked as if they wouldn't be able to recognize a good time, if they had one.

"We are boarding flight number one for Honolulu, Hawaii, Pago Pago, American Samoa, and Auckland, New Zealand," the announcement ended all thoughts of being alone.

On the big DC10, my seat was easy to find, by the window.  Slowly we taxied down the runway then up, up, and away, right into the clouds.  But soon we broke through to clear skies and the tiny islands, that hugged the coastline came into view.  surf rolled onto fringes of white beach, "will my island look like that?"

Soon all points of land were out of sight, leaving only the blues of the sky and the ocean.  The hues merged and I felt that right side up or upside down, the scene would be the same.  The usual boredom of a long flight stretched over the five hours.  Drinks; lunch; headsets passed; movie; headsets retrieved; more drinks; warm hand towels; and at last the the final decent into Hawaii.

Those of us who would continue on, had only an hour wait before the call to re-board.  The plane was less than half full, on this last leg, for me.  With my face pressed to the window the sight of the beautiful aquamarine shades of the ocean mingled over the reef and the rain clouds played peek-a-boo with Diamond Head.  Yes, this is truly paradise, on my return there will be time to enjoy this marvelous place.  But right now----next stop-----SAMOA!

Soon, the same scenario, blue skies, blue ocean, and boredom.  I looked around for some way to occupy myself and noticed a young woman, who looked as if she could use some kind of diversion also.

"Excuse me, but I overheard as you talked to someone about Samoa and you pronounced it totally different from whats been told to me.  Could you teach me to say it correctly?"

Her dark eyes lit up and a big even toothed smile broke across her bronzed face.  She moved from her row over to mine.  As she did, she fiddled with what seemed to be hair that had a mind of it's own.  She tugged, twisted, and finally captured it into an crude bun.

"My name is Fia," she stuck a huge comb into the unruly mop.  "I'm on my way home to Western Samoa.  What's your name?"

"So glad to meet you Fia, my name is Mildred."  We shook hands.  "How long have you been away?"

"Oh, I was in America for two years.  My parents sent me to take care of my cousin, but she died last week and now, I'm going home.  Are you going to New Zealand?"

"No, I'm going to stay in American Samoa for a few days then go to Western S a m o a, oh how do you say it?"

"Saa' moa," she pronounced it carefully.  "But you don't want to waste your time in Pago Pago, there's nothing there.  Why don't you come with me?  My father is going to receive his chief's title.  It's a very special occasion."

Our conversation was interrupted with the announcement that we had just crossed the equator.  Certificates were presented and a mini-celebration took place as everyone looked out to see if things had changed. 

 

  (Sorry it's a little crooked and worn after almost 35 years, but it is still very special to me.)

"Are you sure that your family won't mind if I join your ceremony?" I resumed the conversation after determining that there was nothing different after all.

Before we landed Fia had me convinced that I would be welcomed.  Furthermore, she insisted that one night in Pago Pago was more than enough and we should leave as soon as possible for her homeland.

Darkness greeted touchdown.  Very few lights were visible after the landing beacons were turned off.  A strong wind, not the gentle breezes that had soothed me in Hawaii, gusted around me as we walked into the building.  But even with the wind the heat felt was like a giant wet blanket had been thrown over me.

This was the tropics?  What about my dreamland?  Was this what had been my fantasy for so long?  All that greeted me was a hot, sticky, dirty, little island, in the middle of no where.

Inside the terminal was even hotter, stickier, dirtier as we waited for our luggage.  More than an hour passed as box after box, trunk after trunk, and one giant, and I mean humongous suitcase, after another spilled off the crude turntable.  My small bag escaped through the masses early on, but Fia had many of those boxes, trunks, and cases, so we waited and then waited some more. while the customs officials checked each and every one of them.

She seemed to know, at least half of the people there.  One acquaintance, a security guard, arranged for a taxi.  After I caught a glimpse of the dilapidated vehicle, I wasn't so sure that he had done us any favor.  She and the driver, who she seemed to know also, loaded and reloaded until most everything fit, with the trunk tied down.  With Fia's overflow, all around me, and my little cases, on my lap, we clanked, rattled, and bumped off into the darkness.

For what must have been at least thirty minutes (I couldn't see my watch) the only time that I could see anything was when we passed by the strange, little, open houses, called "fales."  Then only a dim light gave evidence that there actually were people around.  Fia and the driver talked continually, while I tried, very hard, not to panic!

Eventually lights became more frequent and we passed what looked like small stores.

"Ah, wasn't that the hotel?"  I looked back at the sign we had just passed as it faded away in the distance.

"We'll go to my uncle's, then the driver will bring you back," Fia informed me.

All that was left for me to do was to pray that Carol's telex had arrived and that there would be a room for me, when, and IF he brought me back.  We traveled through what looked to be somewhat of a real town, then turned onto another very dark road, then we stopped.

"Here's my uncle's phone number," she handed me a small note.  "When you get up, in the morning, call and we'll make the arrangements for Apia."

With all of her "luggage" piled in front of the house, the cabbie and I left without ever seeing anyone greet her.

The driver did deliver me to the hotel, I paid him, Fia's share as well, and trudged inside.  My weariness abated as I took in the vast round lobby.  The entire area was open to the outside.  Huge chandeliers, made entirely of shells, hung from the center of the peaked roof.  Bright floral patterned cushions, on sturdy wicker couches and chairs invited my tired body.  If there was no room for me, I would just sleep on one of those.  But after a while I regained my faculties and walked to the desk.

"My name is Mildred Lunkley, I hope that you have my reservation."

The girl, at the desk, looked at me as if I had asked if she breathed air.  "Of course we do, Misses Lunkley.  How many nights will you be with us?"

I signed the register for one night and the security guard/bellman showed the way to my room.  The smell of mildew greeted me as he opened the door.  He placed my bags on the stand and opened the patio door.  Flower scented ocean air brushed in and swept away the musty odor.  I tried to tip him, as he left, but he only bowed and declined.  What a nice surprise!

Now, I was wide awake and much too excited for bed, also the airplane food had worn off long ago.  I locked up and went back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry Misses Lunkley, but the dining room is already closed for the evening, but our coffee shop, downstairs is still open."

Downstairs, I treated myself to a luscious banana milkshake which I carried with me as I strolled back to the room.  The flavor of the milkshake seemed to be enhanced as I luxuriated in the salty sea breeze that enveloped me.  From my  patio, I couldn't see but could hear the waves pulsing onto the shore, just a few feet away.  Not wanting to but knowing that I must, I reluctantly closed the door and went to bed.

After a restless night, I was up early, my body clock was still on  Oklahoma time.  My first morning in PARADISE!  Clouds covered the volcanic mountain that seemed to make up ninety percent of the island, but even in overcast gloom, the beauty was more than I could ever have imagined.  I walked slowly toward the dining room and savored the splendid scenery at every turn.  Inside, once again the unusual simple grandeur of the architecture astounded me.  The same type of high ceilings as in the lobby were supported by huge columns covered with island carvings.  Curtains crafted from shells danced lightly over the open windows.  The hotel was located on a point of land that jutted out into the harbor.  Giant tankers, cargo ships, and fishing boats were moored alongside yachts and tiny outriggers.  Across the bay the cloud shrouded mountains seemed to pour right down into the water.  As I tried to absorb the wonders that surrounded me, I was suddenly sad.  Sad that I had no one to share this miracle.

"Good morning Misses, may I serve you?"  A bright smile and eagerness that I hadn't seen in many years chased away my melancholy.

"Yes, thank you, I'll have bacon, two eggs, toast, and a big glass of pineapple juice,"  I told the cheerful waitress.  After all this could be my last chance for such a meal since I'm going on an adventure.  No more the average-camera-around-the-neck-tourist for me!  I would be a part of native life.

My breakfast came, the waitress catered to my every need.  She filled and refilled my water and juice glasses as well as my coffee cup.  With her great service, I finally realized that there was hardly anyone else, in the room for her to serve.  How could that be?  An undiscovered Utopia where there were no tourist to spoil things?

After breakfast, I walked slowly, (this was getting to be a pattern because before my walking  pace was hard to keep up with) back to my room and sat on the shaded patio.  A small inlet fronted my side of the hotel.  The sand, the color of toasted marshmallows, held the fingered roots of the palm trees as they reached for the shore.  A little man was at the feathery top of one very tall palm.  He cut the dead fronds and let them flutter to the beach and lava below.

At last I pulled myself back inside and called Fia.  We decided to meet at the village market, which she said was only a short walk from the hotel.

On the way, I was filled with excitement, my dream WAS really coming true.  However, my feet soon let me know that Fia's idea of a short walk and mine differed greatly.  Almost a mile and a half later, there she was, watching for me.

"Now we have to get our tickets for the boat," she greeted me, no hello, how did you sleep, just we have to get tickets "FOR THE BOAT?"  

"THE BOAT?"

"Yes, that is the way island people travel, besides I can't afford to go by plane."

I sank down onto a crude wooden bench and rubbed my swollen feet.  Between new shoes, walking over a mile, and the humidity, my feet resembled clown feet.  

By boat, that seemed to be the plan, no discussion, no alternate, just, "we'll go by boat."

"Come on, we don't have much time."

I struggled to my feet and we walked back to the pier and ticket office.

"He says that you'll have to have a passport or letter of identification," Fia translated for the agent.

"But everything that I read, before coming stated plainly that as long as a visitor was in Western Samoa less than a two weeks, there was no need for a passport.  Why now?"

"Maybe if we were going by plane that would be true, but going by boat, everyone has to have identification."

"Well, what do we do?   All I have is my birth certificate."

Just as she had taken over ever since we started to talk, she took charge and we were off to get the official documents.  My poor aching swollen feet.  But swollen feet, legalities, long lines, nothing stopped a determined Fia.  She knew a person here who knew a person there, who could connect with another somewhere else.  No polite pressures used, we pushed ahead, sneaked behind, bribed, and flirted our way through.  In less than two hours we (Fia) accomplished what I was told later by ones who had gone through the same process, had taken them two to three days.

Now I was legal.  I had my letter, even if it did identify me with black hair and brown eyes, right beside my picture with blond hair and green eyes.

All obstacles seemed to be eliminated and we took a taxi to her uncle's house.  Outside, her aunt sat under a water faucet, fully clothed, doing her laundry.  The water spattered down on her and the clothes.  She would take a bar of soap, scrub the piece of clothing, then with a worn stick, bombard the crap out of the article for a good two minutes.

"What a way to take out your frustrations," I said as Fia went inside.

Here, her uncle was a judge, their house was very nice even though it was one of the open fales and yet his wife sat , on the ground, beating her laundry with a stick.  She hardly missed a beat to say good-by to Fia as the driver loaded the boxes, trunks, and cases, into the cab.

We returned to the hotel and retrieved my things.  When we reached the pier and were actually ready to board, I realized which boat was the "Antonio."

"You've got to be crazy!" surfaced from deep inside me.  "You're really ready to put your life in jeopardy and travel eighty miles, across the ocean, on that TUB?"

Fia and her friends carried our things on board.  My feet wouldn't budge.

"Okay," came from that same deep place inside me,  "This is just another leg of your DREAM VACATION, so get a move on!  Where to from here?"

 

 

ISLAND DREAM, Chapter 2 YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE BECAUSE THAT'S WHERE YOU WANT TO BE, OTHERWISE YOU WOULD CHANGE

ISLAND DREAM

Chapter 2

YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE BECAUSE THAT'S WHERE YOU WANT TO BE, OTHERWISE YOU WOULD CHANGE!

If half my life was over, then I'd better get busy.  I continued to heave giant sighs and blink back stinging tears.  My mother was gone.  I had never known such pain, but I also knew that I had to change.  There just had to be more to life than what I had realized so far.  What was I doing wrong? 

With mother's unexpected death, daddy seemed to realize that he too, might be vulnerable.  He decided to divide the property, that he and mother had accumulated over the years.  He had never been one to make plans or wills.  He had mentioned it a few times, but I always changed the subject, not wanting to think about either of them being mortal.  For years before mother had urged him to make preparations, to take that step.  But now he was, and was uneasy about taking such a big one.

He choose a new young lawyer, just starting his practice.  He was anxious to make a good impression.  Ingeniously, he found ever loose end of the law to cover the transfer.  After all of his work very little of our inheritance went toward taxes.  Plans were put into place for daddy to continue to live in his house and receive a percentage of the farm income.  My sister and her husband would continue to run things, including my portion of the land.  Daddy accepted the transition, but without mother, he seemed to go through the motions of life with very little interest.

"You are a very wealthy woman," the lawyer said on one of my visits.

"What makes you say that?" I asked.  "I certainly don't feel like it."

"But you own over three hundred acres of prime farm land."

"Yeah, but I can't farm it.  My sister and husband won't be able to pay much rent.  There's hardly a farmer, in this whole county that make enough to survive from season to season.  That is not my idea of wealthy."

"Mildred, there will never be any more land made, "he shook his head at me.  "You own three hundred acres, you're rich, take my word for it."

I didn't believe him, but tried to take what he said and use it to my advantage.  I had worked, part time, in a small florist shop for several months.  No florist school or special training, just volunteer work until I was good enough to be  paid.  With that experience and what natural talent I had inherited from mother, I started to search for a place to put my inheritance to work.

The old saying, "Those who have, get" proved to be true.  With the farms as collateral I had no trouble getting a loan for a van and the makings of a small flower shop.  Daddy came from the farm to help build shelves, counters, and worktables.  We used his pickup to bring in supplies.  My daughters joined us and we completed the project together.  It was a great time, three generations worked together toward a single goal.  

Opening day;  My daughter's birthday: the start of, what I hoped would be my new life.  CARDINAL FLOWERS; Twenty by forty feet of space that was just for me.  I was so proud and s-o-o-o scared.  Could I make it?  Did I really know what I was doing?  My worst fear was not being accepted.  The small farm town of just over three thousand  people already had a family owned florist, that had been  passed down from mother to daughter over a period of thirty years.

Determined, I worked hard, made a lot of mistakes, but persevered.   My girls worked alongside me when we did catering for every occasion.  Without them I could never have managed.  After almost three years I had gained a foothold, grew in popularity, and became successful enough that I had to hire full time help.  In place of celebrating, I became depressed.  This was not what I wanted, I wound up in the office doing paper work while the help did the fun things (designing and creating.)  Once again, mother's death began to haunt me, that number "sixty eight" seemed to loom over my head and I wasn't happy or even satisfied.

"Carol, what's wrong with me?"  I talked to my friend who had always been there with advice and help.

"Mildred, I'm going to tell you the truth.  You're wallowing in martyrdom."

"What?  What are you talking about?" I demanded!

"You're always wanting people to feel sorry for you." she looked me straight in the eye and said.  "Look at poor little me, married to an alcoholic.  But do you know that in some ways you're worse than he is."

I was hurt!  Furious!  How could she say such a thing to me?  I thought that she was my friend.  But she didn't stop there.

"Mildred, that's not the worst part, you're raising those girls to be just like you!"

A slap across the face, a two by four to the forehead, would have hurt less than those words.

"You're raising those girls to be just like you."  Then she turned, walked out and slammed the door behind her.

Carol, my neighbor, my friend, my mentor.  It took some time but I finally realized that she really WAS my friend!  She actually loved me enough to put the truth on the line.

With that "rude" awakening, I worked even harder.  But I also decided to go after my dream.  I plastered the shop bathroom with goal pictures.  Then, taking a "slam" for John who had always berated me for my love of "trashy novels," I decided to improve myself in other ways.  I listened to motivational records (before CDs) and I became addicted to Dr. Wayne Dyer's YOUR ERRONEOUS ZONES.   I read, reread, highlighted, underlined and dog-eared the pages.  The book became my "bible."

"YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE BECAUSE THAT'S EXACTLY WHERE YOU WANT TO BE, OTHERWISE YOU WOULD CHANGE."

These words burned into my brain.  I WAS where I was because I MUST want to be there, otherwise, why didn't I change?

Change.  What change did I want?  I had two wonderful daughters, a business of my own, good health, so what else did I need or, for that matter WANT?  A D I V O R C E!  I had tried to do it three years earlier but didn't carry through.  When I thought about it I realized that John must be as unhappy as I or probably more so.  Otherwise why would he drink so much.  We would both be better off, I told myself but when I mustered enough courage to confront him, he startled me.  I had been so wrapped up in the shop, goals, and even seeing other men, that I hadn't paid any attention to him.  He now told me that he had gone to a doctor, received help and was attending AA meetings.

"Mildred, come with me." he said.  Go to Alanon, it'll be good for you and maybe we can work things out."

I tried a few times, but my heart wasn't in it.  My love and any feeling that I had for him had long ago been lost in his bottles.

When he saw that I wasn't going to change my mind he accepted the divorce and settled generously.  Without liquor to cloud our conversations, we talked more than we had in years.

John adjusted and grew, the girls seemed relieved from all the tension and I was free!

Free?  Was I really?

Don, the man I had been seeing pressured me constantly.

"Mildred, now that you are divorced, let's go ahead and get married.  There's no need to wait any longer."

While I held him at bay, we traveled, attended dances, and dreamed "his dream" together.  A log house, a few acres of land, my girls and his son, happy ever after.  We drew up plans, searched magazines and visited log house sites.  He was a strong man physically and mentally.  He made decisions, offered advice, on my business and shielded me from the world.  Someone that I had dreamed of for years.  But then I WOKE UP!  Don had taken over my life, I was NOT FREE!

"Mildred, this is okay now, but once we're married, I'll expect you to do things my way.  The girls too, they'll have to learn to accept my rules, after all Rex does."

WHOA!  A man telling me what to do?  Telling my girls what to do?  Vikki and Penny never liked him (liked being a gross understatement) or his son Rex.  It wasn't because of the divorce, they just didn't like his tactics.  They saw him for what he was, a fortune hunter.  Besides, they wanted their mom to be "independent."

But independent, I wasn't and there was no "fortune" to hunt.  During the first two years, as a "wealthy woman" I had netted a whopping three thousand dollars from the three hundred and twenty acres.  If John hadn't supported the girls so generously, I could never have made it.  Even though the business was getting better, I was not getting better AT business.  I continued to fall behind.

"Daddy, I've got to sell the Yancy place, " I finally had screwed up the courage to break the news to him.

"I figured as much," he sighed deeply.  "You'll  probably go through the rest of the places in a few years.  But I understand, if that's what you think you have to do."

"Daddy, I'm sorry," the words caught in my throat as I knew how much I had disappointed him.  "I won't sell the others, it's just that I'm really having a hard time making a go of the shop, but I just don't want to give up.  Please understand."

I knew that he didn't but the farm sold quickly.  I caught up with my bills, at the shop, and bought a new car.  With the car and the money, Don stepped up his push for marriage.  But my eyes were now closed to his "charms."  I wasn't about to give up my new found freedom or share "the wealth."  But he was fun to be with and a great lover so I clung to him, like holding onto a pair of old comfortable shoes.

While I held on, my dream became more important than ever.  SAMOA!  Carefully I unfolded my yellowed, tattered article.  Palm trees, powder white beaches, happy smiling people, it all called to me from that crumbling piece of  paper.  I searched for more information about this tiny little dot in the middle of the ocean.  One page in and encyclopedia, (no internet) and a small article in a SUNSET GUIDE TO THE SOUTH  PACIFIC was it, nothing more.

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"Carol, could you make arrangements for another trip for me?" (Of course I had forgiven her after I realized what a blessing she had given me, telling me exactly like it was.)

She had planned a trip to Cancun, Mexico for the girls and me.  It had been great, but only whetted my appetite for the "real thing."

"There's nothing on any of my computers about this strange place that you're wanting to visit," she said after several days.

"Try Pago Pago," I said.  "I think that's the capitol or something.  The book says that Samoa is called the "Pearl of the South Seas."  There's got to be some way to get there."

A few days later loud urgent knocking called me to the back door.

"I've got it!" she pushed past me clutching a computer printout.

"You've got what?'

"Samoa!" she waved the papers.  "Continental Airlines has just opened their South Pacific route to Australia.  But on the way, they stop in Pago Pago.  To introduce people to their new route they've got this fantastic fare.  The only catch, it's nonrefundable."

She explained everything.  The entire round trip, from Tulsa, to Los Angeles, to Honolulu, to Pago Pago and back was only five hundred and seventy five dollars.  It was too good to be true.

"BOOK IT!"  I shouted!  "Twenty years of dreaming and I'm about to take the first step!"

But that first step would have to wait.  Just two days later, another phone call.

"Mildred, daddy is in the hospital with  pneumonia," Frances said.  "We had to put him in last night."

"Oh my god, is he going to be all right?"

"He's resting now, but he has been asking for you."

"Penny has to have dental surgery this afternoon, do you think it would be okay for me to stay with her tonight and come, first thing, in the morning, or should I come right now?"

"I'm sure that he'd want you to take care of   Penny.  In the morning will be fine."

"Okay, but call if there's any change and I'll leave immediately."

Penny's surgery was brief and successful.  The next morning I left at five AM.  At exactly nine AM I drove into the parking lot of the hospital.  That was the same two hundred and fifty miles that had taken me so long to drive, four years earlier.

I walked into the room to find tubes and machines hooked up to daddy from every angle and there seemed to be no recognition at all.  But as I choked on the tears that closed off my throat, he finally squeezed my hand in acknowledgment.

"Daddy, I'm here," trying to hold in check the tears that threatened to spill over onto him, I leaned over and kissed his forehead.  "I brought you some honey from Cancun.  You've got to get well so you can taste it.  You know how much you love honey from all over, I hope that this is good."

His fingers tightened around my hand and I chattered on, almost afraid to stop.  If I stopped, he might stop.  Breathing.

Frances went home for some much needed rest while I stayed by his bedside.

"He seems to be resting peacefully," I spoke quietly into the room phone, answering questions from concerned relatives.  "Wait!"  I dropped the phone and ran from the room.  "Nurse!  Nurse!  Come quick! Something's happening!"

His heart monitor had suddenly gone into a straight flat line, emitting an ominous monotone!

Nurses, orderlies, and doctors seemed to stampede from all directions.  They forced me from the room and closed the door.

I paced the hall.  Should I call Frances?  No, she needed her rest.  He'd be all right, this was just a little stutter with his heart.  After all he'd come through a colostomy just after mother died and had been doing great.  Yes!  He'd be fine, no need to bother her.

"Mrs. Lunkley, the young doctor took me by the arm as he came from the room.  

He didn't have to say anything.  I could tell from his face and the nurses and orderlies filed out while he told me anyway.

I broke away and ran into the room.  All of the tubes and machines had been removed.  They were no longer needed.

"Daddy, please don't go.  Please don't go yet.  I want you to be with the girls and me.  Please don't go."

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But I knew that for the last four years he had pined for his lifelong sweetheart.  He had waited until I could get there.  But now he was where he wanted to be, with mother.

Once again, shuddering sighs, stifled sobs, and a terrible aching void was my life.  But this time I knew that they were together and I was almost happy, just thinking of their reunion and happiness at being together, where they belonged.

My dreams hadn't entered my mind since Frances' phone call.  But when I returned home, after a couple of weeks helping to make final arrangements, Carol was there.

"Mildred I'm so sorry about your dad, But I know how much you wanted this trip.  I've been told that if you can get a death certificate to prove why you were unable to use that special ticket, then I'll be able to get a refund."

I listened, without really hearing her, but then I remembered how much Mother and Daddy had loved to travel.  Never outside the mainland, but still were always excited about any trips that I took.  Daddy wouldn't want me to wear black and mourn.  He'd want me to go for it.

"Carol, do you think that you can get another ticket after the refund?"

"I don't know if there will be any fares near that price, but I can try."

"Even if it's only half as good, I still want to go.  Will you check for me?"

That was Tuesday.  Thursday, she called, "If you can leave Monday, I can get the same fare."

Without hesitating, "I'm ready now!"