Hawaii, episode 1. In which we surf and turf.

Here I am waiting to check out a book at the 1,900 year-old library at Ephesus in Turkey.

Mari and I enjoyed a 2013 summer vacation visit to Turkey as part of a Mediterranean cruise that also included a meanderingly overwhelming exploration of the overwhelmingly meandering Grand Bazaar in Istanbul.

The remnants of a kilogram of tea leaves in our kitchen coffee/tea drawer attest to my unchecked enthusiasm and lack of communication and negotiation skills in overseas marketplaces. I do enjoy my tea!

Here we are inside the colorfully bustling Grand Bazaar (not to be confused with the Grand Bazaar NYC Sunday flea) and below I am trying to decide whether or not it would be ironic to actually purchase Turkish delight in Turkey. I did, of course, and the pistachio-packed treats remain forever stuck in my memory, if not in my sweet tooth.

I may follow up on our Mediterranean adventure in a future blog series, so I'll return now from my current reverie and get back to the library at hand.

Mari thought I should have a picture in front of the world's oldest library hanging in my library office at McAllen Memorial High School (not quite 50 years old and nary a Corinthian-capped column in sight) and indeed the 4x6 reprint tacked on my bulletin board brought me happy solace when I chanced a glance in the midst of typical library tumult or otherwise techie tedium. Now contained (buried) within a few remaining boxes of former classroom and office decor and memorabilia, that Walgreens-printed photograph and the memory of that awesomely adventurous but blistering July afternoon remain forever treasured.

Now that I'm officially retired, I should probably start going through

those boxes that have been sitting in the dining room all summer.

Tomorrow would have marked the beginning of 48 years of waking up and "going to school." Forty-eight years. Granted, most of us get some much needed assistance with the thirteen K-12 years that once seemed fairly endless (at least by teenage standards). My five college years (again, thanks to my major college major change halfway through my Junior/third year) brought with them some freedom and independence as well as a lot of choices and decisions (and a bit of indecision). At the beginning of my career in education there was some overlap with five summer sessions spent in graduate school and then (after 20 years if you recall) a bit more overlap with almost two years of library science study.

Waking up and going to school has been the essence of my daily routine since I first stepped foot in Ms. Einloth's kindergarten classroom at St. Teresa's in the town formerly known as North Tarrytown on September 20, 1971 and dared hang my hoodie alongside Karen Weaver's jacket.

My routine has finally changed.

I can finally wake up after 6:30 AM on a weekday and finally go to the freakin' bathroom when I freakin' feel like it!

Woo Hoo!

The routine of retirement will soon make itself known to me, but first up is my report on how I spent my summer vacation (always hated that assignment).

Between return visits to the far western and eastern reaches of these (mostly) united states, Mari enjoyed bingeing the bloody and bawdy dramatic throes of Westeros thrones whilst artfully creating jewelry and toying with baubles and beads during said 67 binge hours in her jewelry studio (the desk where she usually grades Psychology essays the remaining nine months of the year). I settled myself into new (novels) and old (Turner Classic films) comforts as well as cooking up comfort foods and perfecting my practically perfect meatloaf recipe.

There was also some trip planning, of course, and a long post-retirement travel wish list has emerged (as well as a fall NYC itinerary not for the faint of heart).

Before we get there, or any where, here we are this past summer, as promised, from flea to flea-ing flea.

The five thousand plus miles between the fleamarket locations in these two photos quickly melt away when your collector's gaze captures past objects and forgotten memories.

Mari and I also had the unusual "it's a small world" experience of finding a Stockholm souvenir left behind (but not forgotten) last summer, but then sighting it again amongst both Honolulu and Woolwich (Maine) bric-a-brac.

The two-dollar Swedish souvenir Dalahäst (painted wooden horse) traversed the Pacific yet another leg to its new (third-hand) tropical home with us.

Before I get too far ahead and put the cart before the Swedish horse, let us begin at the front end of summer and a relaxing return to a favorite location and a favorite flea in America's most recent united state.

Mari and I had never given much thought to a Hawaiian vacation until an unexpected opportunity came Mari's way "way back" in 2004. Representing a curriculum committee for the American Psychological Association as its outgoing president, Mari was offered the opportunity to attend the APA annual convention which just happened to be in Honolulu.  Would she like to bring her spouse?

Hey! That's me!

Over the years, I have had the opportunity to "tag along" with Mari on weekends to Washington/DC, Manhattan, and Las Vegas, but a week in Honolulu was a dream (I didn't even know I had) come true. So, our first visit to Hawaii was partially subsidized by Mari's work on the Teachers of Psychology in Secondary Schools (TOPSS) committee and consisted mostly of a week in Waikiki as well as a day tour to the North Shore of Oahu and our first ever visit to the Aloha Stadium Swap Meet.

Six years later, we celebrated our 20th anniversary and the beginning of my career as a school librarian with a return to Honolulu (and Aloha Stadium, of course) and a (first ever for us) cruise to four of the Hawaiian islands aboard NCL's Pride of America.

Fast forward another eight years to this summer and we celebrated our 28th anniversary and my retirement from education with another return (mahalo American Airlines miles!) to Honolulu (and Aloha Stadium, of course).

I look forward to sharing with you tales of the aloha spirit that have beckoned us back and back again. Of course, there will be postcard-perfect photos and favorite fleamarket finds along the way.

Not to worry lobster lovers. A myriad of Maine adventures will be waiting for us when we return from the Pacific, although my souvenir box of taffy is likely to be long gone.