Everyone was inside having Sunday brunch.
There was champagne, scrambled eggs, omelets, toast, Portuguese sausage, bacon, sweet bread, buttered biscuits, guava juice, and a cooler filled with water bottles and sodas. I needed a moment to myself outside on the veranda, where I admired the scented awapuhi plants lining the cobblestone driveway leading up to the house. It rained early this morning, so beads of raindrops balance precariously on the tips of the blades of grass on the front lawn while the sun lights the path, making it appear as if a thousand electric lights are shimmering off the surface. A flock of hybrid parrots sits high up in the palm trees, flying from there to the albizia trees on the property next door and down the road to other trees on other properties until they settle on the one big shower tree on Laimi Road. The flock is beautifully silent as they dart left and right in unison, creating a dance that only nature can divine on a morning like this one.Exciting conversations fill the big dining room in the house. It's mostly the grandchildren who have difficulty speaking in a softer tone because they want to garner attention from both the adults and one another. It makes me smile to hear what interests them the most. Soon, they will all be out here, and together, we'll relax with various drinks in our hands, spending this moment. My wife is the first to join me, bringing a plate of eggs, rice, and French toast. Placing her cup of hot coffee on the table before her, she sits beside me and picks from her plate.
"I like this," she says. "This quiet solitude right before the day begins."
"It's nice," I agree. "Too bad there's no way to package and sell THIS moment. We'd make a killing."
"Ooo yeah," she nodded. "Package what people desire most, peace, tranquility. Can you imagine?"
"And it wouldn't matter who you are or where you're from; everybody wants that kind of freedom," I said. "That peace of mind,"
Our mutual marketing scheme was interrupted by the shrill sounds of our little grandchildren running in between us as they filled the big spaces on the couch. Our grown adult children followed, playfully moving their children aside or pretending to sit on them. Some of the little ones wore syrup or ketchup on the sides of their mouths while trying to kiss me and my wife on our cheeks. My wife got some handi-wipes and cleaned them off while I let the other little ones put their food stains on my cheek. They squealed with delight as I feigned, not knowing what just happened.
"It's almost time," our oldest son said, and we all quieted down and waited.
The sun was rising now, and as it did, it hit the sheen of water on the surface of the cobblestone driveway, creating brilliant-colored streaks of light from the gate at the entranceway right up to the veranda where we all sat. The adults gasped while the little ones had their breath taken away. My wife and I held hands, giving one another a knowing smile. With the natural light provided by the elements, we also had the honor of seeing the spirits of all who dwelled on this same property long ago, if just for a few seconds.
"One day," my wife whispered to our grandchildren as she pointed to the spirits, "that will be us, and when the time of your parents comes, that will be them, and years later, that will be all of you."
"And your children and their children," I added. "We will all be a part of this land."
Once the brief display was over, we took a moment to appreciate what we'd all just seen. As naturally as breathing, we all sat closer and put our arms around each other.
"But not for a while, right, Mom? Right, Dad?" Our oldest daughter asked.
"Not for a long while," their mother confirmed.
"A long while," I agreed.
It was a beautiful morning, part of a long-standing ritual in our household that kept us close to our beginnings so we'd never forget where we'd come from and where we were headed.
Beautiful
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