Years ago I started this quest for the perfect place to alight when my tennies wear out and I decide to settle down. I’ve only been on this planet 71 years so no rush. When I find this ideal beach, we’ll build a shelter from native materials that won’t clutter the ocean when the tsunami claims it or it disintegrates from other natural causes. Driftwood and thatch. Plant fruit trees and garden on higher ground, above the sandy salty soil of the beach.

I wander back through the billions of brain cells I’ve filled with memories since I last reviewed this sunrise/sunset motivation for meandering. Morocco on the south edge of the Mediterranean, top edge of Africa. Torremolenos on the north shore of the Med at the bottom of Spain. Devonport on the north shore of Tasmania. Darwin and Port Douglas, north and east edges of Australia. Dozens of beaches in Mexico and Central America. Six-month stay in Placencia, Belize. And that’s just a sample.

I’ll always remember one magic evening at an overlook on a coast of Australia when I cradled the declining sun in my right hand and the ascending full moon in the other. It was magic.

This year I did find Homer’s perfect sister city _- Esperance, with a sunset/sunrise waterfront in southwest Australia. But it took me three days to get back to Alaska from the closest city, Perth. Too far from home.

Cris, a long time ago when I was boarding a plane for somewhere you said “Why not Hawaii?”

“Too expensive. Real estate outtasite,” I said. Among many other locales in our sister state, I had fallen for the little town of Hawi, Hawaii,(aka The Big Island) on the north coast near the end of the road. Termite-honeycombed roach-raddled old house there cost more than Alice’s Champagne Palace and other choice spots in my home town.

Yes but. Hawaii is a short hop from home, practically next door - about four hours from Anchorage. It takes longer to drive from Homer to Anchorage than to fly from Anchorage to Honolulu. And frequent airfare specials make transportation relatively inexpensive. Right now you can fly roundtrip for $299.

“We could visit you there,” Cristy had added a bit wistfully. There’s definitely that. My Alaska friends and kin could come hang out with me in winter. Reason enough in itself. And Medicare is only good in the U.S. I don’t need it right now, but.

The glowing new day was draping bird-of-paradise rain clouds over the hills of Efate when The Perfect Place swam into focus. Not here.

Beautiful as Vanuatu is, it will never be home to me.

Homer South may very well be founded on the North shore of Oahu, beyond the end of the road. Once upon a travel, I walked that coast, past Mokuleia Beach Park, west of a little harbor town, Haleiwa. I was content to be only a short walk from the last bus stop on that coast and yet beyond the tourist track. The Bus cuts back across the pineapple and sugar cane fields in the heart of the island to Honolulu. Because of The Bus, Oahu is perfect. No need to buy a vehicle. I’ll bet I can even get a senior pass by now.

Yes Cris. The north shore of Oahu may well be “The Place.” We know what it takes to dwell beyond amenities. Solar power. Water well and/or river. Compost toilet. Internet? Wireless or the nearest library. Need something from town? The Bus.

Once in an elevator in Anchorage where I’d made a brief stop after a year of sailing the Pacific, a former coworker from my coifed&highheel days eyed my faded cutoffs and shaggy hair. “Wow, Randi, you’ve really gone native!”

I don’t think he meant it as a compliment but I said, “Thank you very much, Rick,” and gave him a broad sunburst grin.

That’s my goal; to REALLY go native. Merge into perfect harmony with Planet Earth. I figure when it’s time to give my organic stuff back to The Source, I can just float off into the sunrise/sunset, drift to the sandy bottom and become a feast for my fellow creatures who will recycle me.

That’s my ultimate goal.

I’m tempted to e-mail or call my exceedingly patient travel agent and ask her to reroute me through Hawaii on the way home. I may still do that. I mean, Quantas flies right over Honolulu; wouldn’t take much too just drop down and let me off. And it wouldn’t take long to check out the possibilities. I’d still be home in time for the pale greening of Homer’s hills in early May.