I just found a Roy's restaurant gift card in a purse I hardly use that hangs on the back of my desk chair. A pink lotus flower blossoms in one corner of the card. The words “Hawaiian Fusion Cuisine” reverse out of a stripe of green above Roy’s signature restaurant logo. Over the years, something sticky had adhered to the front of the card; it stuck to my thumb. I turned the card over. A series of other restaurant logos decorated the back—seven other restaurant concepts at which the card would be accepted. None of them operated on Kaua’i. In tiny print, I read, “For balance inquiry, please call 1-800-242-5353. For location information visit www.roysrestaurant.com.
This card turned out to be way better than finding a $20 in an old pair of jeans.
I vaguely remember my husband's employer giving him the card as a thank you a couple years (or so) ago for a job well done. A nice gesture, sure, but I wasn't surprised. My husband always does a job well.
Take the backyard. I call it the fern grotto, because it's lined with boulders that are dripping with ferns. Last week, my husband decided to plow up the backyard of its weeds and put in grass. (Don't gasp; it's not that big.)
He spent last Thursday afternoon online searching for the best garden tiller. (After I showed him some important elements on the computer--like where the space bar, enter key and period reside on the keyboard. Hey, he's a plumbing master, not a webmaster.) Three hours of web surfing later, the hubs identified his preferred garden tiller and a back-up, because when you live on Kauai, you know your first choice of anything--red peppers for veggie lasagne, chai at Small Town Coffee, or a Honda garden tiller--might not be available. In fact, if it is, you are genuinely surprised.
Then, he spent last Friday searching retail outlets for the necessary garden tiller. (He tells me he’ll put in a garden next, as justification for the purchase.) He tried Home Depot. They didn’t carry #1 or #2. He tried Kawamura's. They had one—not the preferred or the backup—but, still, the hubs was interested. He was diligent. He asked the salesman a few questions. The salesman was friendly, helpful, even. He offered to fire up the tiller and put it to work. He yanked the starter once, twice and the little motor on the garden tiller let out a big, puff of smoke. Through a blue haze, my husband said, "No, thank you."
So, he drove to Gaspro. He went to Sears. To be fair, a couple places offered to special order just what my husband wanted, but that would take 3 to 4 weeks and require a special delivery charge, and my husband was geared up for grass now. At the end of the day, Friday, my husband returned home with a garden tiller. It wasn't his first choice. It wasn't his second. But he had a garden tiller.