Sleepless in Paradise

A little something I wrote the second week we were in Hawaii:

Things that keep me from sleeping in Hawaii:

• Roosters. There is almost a cult about roosters in Oahu. Like the sacred cows of India, the roosters are free to wander at will, and they don't crow at dawn like normal roosters. They crow at midnight. And two a.m. and four a.m. and more or less constantly after that. I am an animal lover, but there's a particular rooster below my balcony that I want to punt into the next county.
• Dogs. Like roosters, these are ubiquitous. They are generally left chained outside, though many wander free, and they bark and fizz whenever you walk gingerly past. Each yard has anywhere from two to seven dogs in it, mostly bulldog and terrier mixes.
• Sirens. There is only one main road, and it links the health centre and the surfing beaches. Enough said.
• Cleaning ladies. They are cheerful, noisy at 7 a.m., and they took six hours to clean the next-door 500-square-foot apartment, oblivious to the needs of jet-lagged neighbours. I tried to think kindly toward them and reminded myself that they were at work while I was not.
• The ocean. Lulling, then booming, like the sound of a storm. At home in Canada, there are no waves, but a strong wind in the trees sounds similar. So in Hawaii, when I hear the rush and pulse of the waves, my brain thinks it's the wind in the trees, and I go to the window expecting to see a storm. But it's a clear, sunny, windless day.
• The food. The food here is lovely, but I'm not quite used to eating so much fruit. I'm grateful we have modern toilets and not the paint trays Italians favour.
• The impeachment trial. When it's too hot to go out, we watch hours of the trial on TV, and at night I'm pursued by confused dreams. What if they remove him from office? What if they don't? What must the world be thinking as we air our dirty laundry before the nations? If it's a foregone conclusion, why are we bothering going through any of this?
• The realization. We've been living harmoniously in just over 500-square-feet for two weeks, and we've never felt the need for more space or used the dishwasher even once. We don't need as much as we think we do. I lie awake designing a minimalist home I'll likely never build. But what if I could?
• The guilt. I'm lazing in the sun while my son is shoveling snow and my dog languishes in the kennel.
• The dread. I return in a few days to -22 and two feet of snow.
• The glee. How can I sleep when Hawaii is out there?