Hang Loose
by
Agnes Wall
It was winter in Winnipeg, so Isaac Giesbrecht was out clearing the walks. Icy blizzards blew mountains of snow into streets and lanes and no sane man dared climb into his car and go somewhere. The old Ford wouldn't start anyway. Temperatures and wind-chill factors became more and more like horror stories instead of weather reports. The mercury hid down below in the thermometer and wouldn't venture up until well past Ground Hog Day.
My friend Giesbrecht had had enough. He decided he and the Missus were going to find a place where it was warm. They booked a flight and flew to Honolulu, Hawaii, away from ice and snow shovels.
They had barely landed when Giesbrecht noticed a young woman and a young man walking toward them, each carrying an armful of wreaths made of tropical flowers. Before they knew what had happened, the Hawaiian had hung a lei over Eva Giesbrecht's head and kissed her cheek.
"Just what is the meaning of this?" asked Isaac reaching for his cane. Before he could act, the girl put a lei over his head and kissed him too. It almost made him a little dizzy.
"Welcome, cousins," said the two.
"Cousins? Exactly how are we related?" Giesbrecht was always fascinated by family history.
"In Hawaii we are all cousins," they said. "Hang loose!"
"Hang loose?" This was really puzzling to my friend. "How do you hang loose?"
"It won't take you long to find out," they answered as they walked away to greet other new arrivals and bewilder them with their leis and their kisses.
Isaac watched them go. "We're not familiar with this country. Maybe it's the custom to bring a gift to the native people here. You should have let me take some farmer sausage from Penner's store in North Kildonan like I wanted to. It was on sale and everything. I could have hung one ring around the girl's neck."
The islands of Hawaii are beautiful and warm. People hardly need coats and wear short sleeves all year round. The sky is blue and so is the ocean. On the beaches, the Giesbrecht's saw many tourists. Short and tall, fat and skinny, old and young, all parading about in bathing suits. And sure enough, this hung loose and that hung loose. Giesbrecht couldn't stop staring at one girl, very well endowed and wearing the skimpiest of bikinis. "Stop staring, Isaac, or you'll go blind," his wife warned him.
They hadn't been there long when Isaac noticed that his Eva had changed. She didn't walk two steps behind him any longer. She had bought a mumu and wore a flower in her hair. She hardly ever spoke Low German even if it was quite acceptable in Hawaii. That and Japanese. He wanted her to cook some decent Mennonite food like borscht and cheese perogies, but she said, "I haven't time for that. I have to hang loose."
"You're hanging far too loose already," grumbled her husband.
Yet in time he, too, learned to hang loose. He threw away his cane and waded into the sea right up to his belly button.
"Next year we'll do this again," he thought. "We'll come here to our cousins and hang loose. To heck with Winnipeg winters!"