MountainMornings

Our family is on the move again. I swear Bob comes from a tribe of nomads, he is only happy in transit. After returning from NJ to see his brother Jeff, we turned around with the Bride and Groom (and the wee ones) to fly back to our favorite island in the French West Indies.

Here it is sunny and warm. We smother ourselves with sunscreen while Bob’s color turns burnt caramel. This is the land of tortoises and tropical wind. Where our friends kiss us hello on both cheeks. We’ve been returning here for over thirty years.

St Barth’s saved me so many years ago, it was a time when I’d lost my compass. We had left my beloved friends in The Berkshires and moved back to NJ. Only I didn’t belong there anymore. I didn’t fit. I couldn’t eat.

But I would joke about it with Great Grandma Ada – see, I’d tell her, I’m Irish because when I’m stressed I don’t want to eat. And she would say she likes to eat when she’s stressed and when she’s not although come to think of it when aren’t we stressed?

I should have seen a therapist. The feedback loop of compliments on my vanishing body only complicated things. But we moved closer to the ocean, and I found another newspaper that wanted to publish my random thoughts.

Then we discovered this island.

Pelicans dive into Gustavia’s harbor and small motorcycles buzz up and down the hills. This morning we set sail on a Catamaran for Columbier. The Love Bug is a mermaid and her brother longs to be a pirate!

We are on the lookout for a cannon and a parrot!