That pretty much sums it up. I could go on, I suppose, and actually I might. The day started with breakfast out, at a splendid little diner with a lot of activity. The eggs and corned beef hash provided a nice base for the commute over the Ko’olau Mountains. On the Windward Side of the island, the steep pitch of the mountains has caused the bountiful rains to etch razor-sharp creases down through the greenery.

“Do you ever get used to the wild beauty of the place?” I asked. “I mean it is incredible.”

“Nope. That is why I wanted to live over here,” answered my son. “I never get tired of the commute to work in the morning. Or evening, depending on what shift I am on.”

Traffic was moderate going up to the tunnels on the H3 expressway, and then down the Halawa Valley to the Pearl Harbor complex. It is always emotional to be back, and although I still resent the bridge they have constructed to Ford Island and the new NOAA complex and the additional housing, there is still a sense of timelessness about the place that is quite extraordinary.

We visited the tomb of the USS Utah, and circled around the bookends of the Arizona Memorial and the impressive gray flanks of the Missouri after we did a quick tour of the Pacific Aviation Museum and a quick view of the murals hanging from the girders of the roof, on loan from the Fish & Wildlife Service reservation that is Midway Atoll these days.

Then we drove over to the no ka oi Pearl Harbor Shipyard, and Building #1, where Station HYPO, or the Fleet Radio Unit Pacific (FRUPAC) had done their code-breaking.

It is a lot easier once you know where everything is, and there is a crying need to restore and recognize the significance of what happened in that basement.

The back across the mountains to the North Shore and MCAH Kaneohe for a Commissary run, and back to the apartment after a stop at the Credit Union and a reconnoiter of the restaurant where we had reservations that evening: Buzz’s Original Steakhouse in Lanakai. It was about .8 miles by the odometer, and we decided to walk, after putting away the groceries, watching the Golden State Warriors beat up LeBron James and his flagging band from Cleveland in game four of the NBA finals, with a relaxing brace of Vic Specials.

When it came time, I enjoyed the walk down to the lagoon across from the restaurant. I don’t walk as well as I used to, but walking along the path with the joggers and Japanese tourists on beach cruiser bicycles made me realize how much I missed this languid pace of life and the raw green beauty of it all.

At the lagoon, we looked across at Buzz’s porch and saw exactly the scene from a print that hung in the house all the years the boys were growing up.

Dinner, accompanied by fierce rum drinks and started with a fresh artichoke, was just as good as any I remember, with local rib-eye steaks and heaping salad bar. Sated, we discovered that one of my son’s pals was in the neighborhood, and would be delighted to give us a ride home, which my aching knees gratefully accepted.

Safe at hone once more, we swapped tales of island life, current and past, until after midnight, and the birthday was in the rear-view. Our guest departed, vowing to show us a really down-scale local hangout on the morrow, and eventually bed beckoned.

In bed, with the fan blowing the cool humid air over my skin, I looked up in the darkness and smiled.

It had been the best damn birthday, ever.

For all those who sent greetings, my thanks. You all made it a special day. A very special day.

Copyright 2016 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com