It's strange that this room won't be mine anymore. With the exception of my parents' house, this is the longest that I've ever lived anywhere. This tiny room has been a sanctuary for so long. I'll just have to find a new one in Hawaii. It seems that Hawaii should be full of sanctuaries.I scoffed at this so much after I moved here. I was not (and still am not) the type to find solace in the beach. There's the Temple, to be sure, but four hours on a bus is a little much to seek sanctuary there more than once a month. I had given up hope until I found this place.
The Old Mission House caught my eye when I was waiting for the bus one day. What struck me was that apart from the palm trees on the grounds, it did not look like it belonged in Hawaii. It looked like it could have been in New England, or even Virginia.
|Look at that steep roof to keep the snow off.|
I went inside today on a free tour courtesy of the Smithsonian.* It was nice to be inside; it reminded me of all of the old houses and museums in Boston (and the Northeast in general). The grounds are lovely and there's a very nice church with a (sadly) rather dilapidated cemetery nearby. I can't say for certain that I've found a sanctuary yet, but it is comforting to have found a kindred spirit in another Boston transplant in Hawaii, even if it is made of stones.
*It was a free pass for two people, so of course, I went alone.