Tuesday, June 21

Today we have a planned visit from our birthmother. She's coming to spend some time with Grace and to show Claire some more handicraft stuff. I'd asked that her brother join us, so we can swap e-mail addresses and such. Other than these few things, the day is open for adventure.

We start with a pretty normal breakfast in the restaurant. Not that anything else was abnormal, but just that breakfast in the restaurant has become a common and regular thing to do. A little coffee, some carbs or protein or both. Often we'll have pancakes, sometimes the island special, or other times the French toast. Today I broke out of pattern and chose the fried egg sandwich. The gals had pancakes, but were denied bacon, as they were out. It seemed, however, they weren't out after all, and when the other food was delivered, they added bacon to their orders.

We returned to the room to wait for our guests. They arrived about an hour later than we expected, but we chalked this up to either a misunderstanding, or just “island time.” Our birthmother arrived with her brother, Junior, and one of his friends, Charlie. The gals gathered on the sofas and mom took Grace to coo a bit. I explained to the boys that all I wanted from them was a quick e-mail exchange, which we did, and then said that if they didn't want to stay they didn't have to, but they were welcome to join us. They wanted to stay, so they huddled together on one of the sofas, too.

Small talk didn't really warm them up, but the gals got going, started pouring out handicraft-making stuff and starting right away making with the teachings and such. I dished out sodas to everyone who wanted any, and tended to Grace as needed. The boys took a turn or two cooing with Grace, too. Occasionally they'd interject where gestures and our limited language skills failed.

The gals showed me a little bit about how the tools worked. She had with her a big chunk of coral with which she'd find a spot that a shell would fit snugly, and she'd use a pointed little screwdriver, which had been sharpened a bit, to hammer through a little hole. Through the little hole would be strung some of the palm fronds they were weaving with, and they'd be secured to the other weaved bits as necessary to make the desired pattern.

After about an hour I suggested maybe the boys and I could head to the restaurant and grab a couple to-go pizzas. They shrugged agreement, and followed. I ordered two large pizzas, knowing we'd not finish them, but would instead send the extra home with them. I let Junior choose the toppings. While we waited for them to bake, we sat outside the restaurant, on the patio. I queried Junior about simple things, trying to break the ice. He confirmed the weather was the same every day; sometimes raining, sometimes not, sometimes raining hard. They start school about 8AM and go until 3PM, just like in the U.S. School runs from August to May, more or less like ours do, too. They play basketball, and if they weren't sitting around with us, would probably just sit around somewhere else, so it wasn't so bad to be with us.

I asked about the nightlife. He confirmed that people were busy during the day, and it was hot, so they gathered more at night. He and his pals would just wander around, horse-playing, maybe trying to find some basketball or something. Or they drink coffee. Sometimes until 3AM.

The pizzas were done so we returned to the room. The gals had spread out more stuff and had done a bit of weaving. The other adopting mother had also joined in, and everyone was having a swell time. Claire was getting comments that she was getting good at it, but it was obvious that our birthmother was much faster and better at it. Practice, and all that. We ate some pizza, and chatted a little more. The other adopting mother took a bit of pizza 'cause I all but taunted her into it, and then took her nap-needing boy back to their room. We finished ours and returned to the lounging and weaving lessons, and Grace tending. Well, Grace was sleeping, as is her usual afternoon event.

After a bit the boys asked if it would be OK to swim in the pool. We thought that'd be fine. They asked then if they could bring a couple more guys, and we said that'd be fine, too. They took the left-over pizza and left to fetch their buddies.

Our birthmother lamented, through pantomime, that the point had dulled and gestured for a sharpening stone. Of course, I didn't have one here (I think I have one at home, for sharpening the hatchet we have for our rare camping trips and tree-trimming needs). Seeing that it would stop their productivity and possibly hamper their planned fun, I stepped out to trot to the hardware store across the street to fetch one.

The store had a few, so I got one. While I was there I poked my head in and gave one of the guys from the beach a “how-do.” We chatted for a few minutes, and he lamented again about his short supply. I commented how they'd had just about everything we'd needed and expected a hardware store to have, and he said while he was glad to hear it, that we were in the minority, as many customers were having to go elsewhere or without. Even two weeks later his containers were apparently still on their tour of the Pacific.

I returned to the room, thinking I'd probably not get there before the boys were back. They weren't there before me, but they returned after a short wait with another brother, and Charlie's brother, also named Junior. The gals had had a little language trouble and couldn't work out that they needed some fishing line. The gals decided to run for that while

I took the boys down to the pool, and said I wasn't the swimming type, but that I'd just hide in the shade to avoid getting sunburnt. After a short while, I went to the restaurant and got a pitcher of iced tea to also avoid total dehydration. Another group had taken my spot in the shade, so I sat under the little palm trees that line the edge of the pool deck. The boys joined me long enough to rip the tops of the soda cans they'd brought from the room and share some of the iced tea. After a while they declared they were done swimming. As we walked away from the pool, Junior said they'd be back after running home to change into dry clothes. They went their way and I returned the empty pitcher to the restaurant.

I returned to the room and waited with the gals, who had made a bit of jewelry. They gave me a little bit of a fashion show, and showed me a little bit more of how it's done. I was impressed at the consistent turns of the fronds. I picked up a scrap and pulled and twisted at it. It's about the consistency of a strip of wax paper, or maybe a waxy bit of wrapping ribbon. It's pulled from palm leaves, and oven-baked to dry, leaving only the very end flat, and curling the rest over itself, so that from the end it kind of makes a letter-B shape. It's easy to unfurl, making it flat again, but curls over when let go. This curvy bit is treated like a string (or whatever a more proper weaving term would be), and woven (or braided) with others. The way they're woven together flattens the curls, and that's reinforced with some taps of the hammer on the floor.

The boys returned and took turns cooing with a woken Grace. Everyone was much more comfortable, so a bit more banter went on. They also took turns flipping the television channels around.

After what seemed like a very long day with weaving lessons, everyone started losing a little steam. We suggested dinner in the restaurant, and everyone accepted. The day had grown from our initial three visitors to five, four of which were teenage boys. The other adopting mother also joined us, with her son, of course.

We grabbed a couple tables in the restaurant, which was mostly empty. It was pasta buffet night, but no one was interested. We ordered a bunch of stuff off the menu. We tried to get the boys to order whatever they wanted (thinking we probably wouldn't have to steer them away from the $30 steak), but they tried to get us to pick something for them. In the end, they all ordered, but had been coached by our birthmother. Claire got a salad, I got a cheeseburger, and everyone else got a plate of chicken wings and rice. The left-overs were again ear-marked for taking back to the others, and I made the offer to get another order or two, if that'd help, so they ordered another one and put the left-overs in with them.

Well, there was some confusion about that. That was the suggestion made to the waitress, but she kept leaving the left-overs on the table. Eventually they got one of the other waitresses to take them into the kitchen. Our waitress eventually returned with a take-out box in a bag, and when asked (more than once) if that was the fresh order and left-overs, she said yes. There was evidently still doubt, even after double-checking in the box, but in the end it was accepted as enough chicken and rice in the box.

While we were waiting for the take-out and left-overs to be worked out, we also ordered dishes of ice cream. Before this, the other mother had left, with her tired son just starting his pre-bedtime fussing. Our birthmother got the waitress to get everyone else's in to-go cups, but mine came in a regular dish. The boys finished theirs before the take-out was delivered, but I think there's a bit more in the to-go cups, so perhaps that was her reasoning. Maybe she just thought they'd get the take-out faster and would make their way also with ice cream to share.

While we were eating our ice cream, we learned the boys were running out of time as they had basketball practice right about then. We also learned they had a game the next day, just down the street from the hotel. They seemed both embarrassed and proud that we were interested in coming to watch, if that was something people could do. You know, that kind of modest “what, watch me?” combination that kids get when they want you to, but also want to look like they don't want you to make a fuss. We agreed that Grace and weather permitting, we'd probably head down and cheer loudly.

Take-out finally delivered, ice cream gone, and basketball date complete, we said our “see ya”s and went to our different destinations. It was a tiring day, and Grace, who had fallen asleep during dinner, slept through a diaper and wardrobe change. I poked my nose in on e-mail for a moment, but we all turned in pretty much right away after dinner.