When I was little we were pretty broke. Living in a small duplex on a side road in Kaimuki. One of those old, narrow lanes lined with 1940s era Hawaii cottages, you know, lava rock patio and single wall construction, usually with cement stairs to the front door painted red. The avenue was probably a quaint cut through to Waikiki before H-1 ran over it. Paper thin wood board walls, old asphalt driveway that was more rocks than pavement, on pier and post so when the wind was strong you could feel a breeze through the floor. My mom was at the start of her career at Outrigger hotels and my dad had just left the Office of Hawaiian Affairs to go into private practice. The afternoons here were the best. Late day sun pouring in the Ewa side windows. The street was always quiet then. Safe. The hypnotic stirring of hibiscus leaves as the breeze also carried with it the scent of charcoal grills getting warmed up. The sounds of Leon Russell, Stevie Wonder, or The Rolling Stones spilling out of the old speakers and meandering through the jalousie windows. My moms used Pinto and dads old Celica parked in the driveway but always to the side with enough room for me to play. I don't wish to go back to those days, but I do always try and find them.