Day 2 of the Derb family vacation. Haven’t seen much of the islands so far other than the view from our condo balcony, which is absorbing enough for a couple of suburbanites: West across the ocean to Lanai and Molokai.

[Orthographic note: Maps, signposts, guidebooks, and the rest have been taken over by the kinds of pestiferous pedants who want us to write “Mumbai” and “Qu’ran.” Island place-names are now festooned with apostrophes and circumflexes, tildes and cedillas, and Keawe knows what else. I have made my feelings about this sort of thing perfectly clear, and shall not be participating . . . though I hope Bill O’Reilly will not subtract from the gaiety of the nation by ceasing to attempt the glottal stop in (O’Reilly mimicry alert) “Hawai–ghghgh–i.”]

With every vacation comes the decision: Is this to be active or passive? I lean more to the side of active vacations myself, and Mrs. D even more so (“Oh look! — I can take Hula lessons! . . .”) but somehow I don’t feel like doing a damn thing right now other than listen to the surf, and the wind in the palm trees, and the little bird nested somewhere nearby whose call goes kr-kr-kr-kerrrr. I’ll probably feel otherwise when the kids get up and start fighting.

Readers have expressed concern about Toby, left alone for the first time since bonding with us. Being poor as church mice, the Derbs can’t afford the extravagant residential arrangements that plutocrats like the Goldbergs go in for. We are, though, blessed with kind & generous neighbors who are house-sitting, dog-sitting, and dog-walking for us. Many, many thanks to Jim & Pat, Michelle, Brad, Joe, and Gonzo.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go look at the ocean some more. If you want to read something about Hawaii, try Paul Theroux in the NY Times the other day.