Aloha and goodbye.

That has a nice ring to it.

Everything I own is breaking or has broken. I forgot that is one of the idiosyncracies of moving. The universe obliges you in sweet ways and reminds you it's a new beginning. Leave the old ways behind.

Necklaces unlash and lose their beads in public places. The cross around my neck, merely 3 months old, drops off as I bend down. Car parts, wine glasses, pencil sharpeners, cameras: breaking, breaking, broken. Not my heart though. My heart is doing its job. Saying goodbye to jobs and colleagues, friends and family. Aloha and goodbye. Quickening in anticipation, memorizing what it loves right now.

Sometimes falling feels like flying. I'm free-falling into Colorado, a state I have never lived in before. A state that holds no family tombstones or childhood memories, reflected in no spider-webbed photos or stories told at Thanksgiving. A state that only holds my future in its hands. I dare not look backwards lest I become a pillar of salt.

Hawaii has been home to me for 14 years: after 10 years you are considered kamaain'a. The locals grudgingly accept you. I've been wedded here (twice). My son was born here on the island of Kauai on an early July day. He was heralded in after much breathing and contractions on the way to Wilcox hospital. When I arrived at the hospital they exclaimed rather irritably: "You're ready to give birth!"

"Why else would I be here?" I gasped?

I started a new career here. Worked for many bosses. Saw many sunsets and swam at many beaches. Entertained friends and family in Waikiki. 14 Christmases and Thanksgivings in the tropics.

Aloha and goodbye. When I'm gone will my actions here remain? Like an old movie reel of Clark Gable which still plays on TNT, will tourists walk by me at Queens beach and see me with my son at various ages? At the Elks club? At the zoo? Will fellow joggers nod their heads at my ghostly self as I continue to walk around Kapiolani Park, week after week. listening to my chattering elementary school child fill me in on his day? Will my colleagues from Kaiser and Tripler Medical Center catch glimpses of me turning corners or washing my hands in restrooms and turning to smile at them? Am I not imprinted into this tropical island like Elvis? Won't there always be somebody who swears they just saw me?

Sometimes falling feels like flying. I'm soaring into Colorado the land of the Rocky Mountains. The Centennial State, home of the Four Corners. Where there are railroads and tractors, the Continental Divide and snow. Colorado has the lowest obesity rate in the nation. Well that's good news. I'll remember that when I'm burning calories trying to suck in the ever evasive oxygen.

Aloha oceans and islands, volcanoes and polynesia. Goodbye trade winds and pidgin and the state with the longest life spans for its residents. I'm swapping out the state bird of the Nene for the Lark Bunting: a goose for a migrant bird. Seems fitting.

Aloha.

And goodbye.