On arriving at Pakala, an often deserted beach on the west side of the island of Kauai, in the late afternoon, we wonder whether the Menehunes (magic little people on Kauai) prepared a driftwood and palm frond shelter for us? Probably surfers or local fishermen had created it, but right now we have this stretch of soft oyster colored beach to ourselves. We place the champagne, strawberries and cream; and paints, glitter and sparkles in this structure's shade while bare breasted, we collect driftwood for our bonfire. On this August eve of the full moon we paint our own breasts, drink champagne, tell boob stories and dance.
A friend, just over forty, after a mastectomy had reconstructive surgery and had a party to welcome her new boob. She painted her boobs. Despite being diagnosed with breast cancer, she chose to celebrate her breasts. This is the inspiration for expanding our weekly wemoon’s writing group to include reading poetry about breasts, writing andsharing our own breasts' stories, painting them and then drinking a toast - and another - and dancing - and rejoicing.
Red triangles, purple lightening flashes, multi-colored dots, waves of pink, yellow, green and spirals of color eventually extend beyond our boobs and onto our tummies. Five woman between the age of forty and sixty-five play like children. We take photos. We put aside our modesty and judgment and revel in the diversity and ability to create an evening that we enjoy.
