After a night of discussing hairstyles—in which each grandma gave me their opinion on what I should do with my hair—the magic time of seven o’clock rolls around and we must all prepare for bed unless we want to turn into pumpkins. When I asked why they don’t go to bed this early in Alaska, they told me there must be something about the tropical air that tires them out.
So I watch Grandma do her nightly routine of face washing and cream, then she slides into bed. I lie down under the covers and stare at the ceiling. Eight o’clock bedtime. On vacation. In Hawaii.
Then Midge’s C-pap machine starts up in the room next door and I can hear it because we must keep the adjoining door open. When I suggested closing it on the first night, all three informed me that we couldn’t do that because what
