MountainMornings

Our time here is almost up, so I thought we’d leave you with a small photo journal. 

We had the best meal of our trip under a Tamarin tree. 



We did a lot of reading. 



We discussed the Importance of Liberte. 



I learned how to take a panorama picture with my phone, not well I might add.  



And I let my son beat me at backgammon oui! Then we saw a Jasper Johns exhibit. Until next year. 



We just missed Carnivale. That day before Lent when all bets are off and seemingly normal people don costumes and parade in the street. On this island I’ve seen Marie Antoinette, a gorilla, a bubble girl dressed in cut-up plastic bottles, and an airplane. 

And thanks to my MIL Ada, I’ve been reminded Purim would be next. A holiday that found Bob once dressed like an Irish fairy and our temple president wearing a Super Jew hero costume! And like Carnevale, there will be tasty sweets to go along with all the whimsy. 

Sometimes the connections between Christianity and Judaism are obvious, like all those eggs at Easter and the egg on the Seder plate. I hadn’t thought about putting on a mask to hide our darker side, that deeper aggressive instinct in us all as a link in our combined culture. We Americans think more of Halloween as that fun space in time, but for the Christian world it’s really Carnevale. 

So it was surprising to read about a similar festival in Japan. Our villa is bulging with books, and I happened to pick up “Geisha, a Life,” by Mineko Iwasaki. It was maybe only two sentences, about Setsubun, a time in February when people dress up in costumes. Now you might think that geisha are always in costume, and you’d be right. At least when they were out at night entertaining their clients. Their exquisite kimonos, reflecting each season, could cost nearly ten thousand dollars each. And no, they are not high class call girls. 

But even the women of the Gion Kobu district would wear something different for Setsubun, they would pick a theme and run with it. 

So it’s a universal condition, the need to play at being someone else in the middle of winter. To try out a different persona and see how it fits. In its way, we are reminded that everything will change. That lawyers can be super heroes and designers can be record players. And some can touch the sky. 



The children have arrived. They bring enthusiasm with them and youth. Our adult children are happy, in love with this island almost as much as we are; with its hills, beaches and rainbows. 

The Rocker was about five when he first tagged along on this journey. I remember him talking to a parrot in a cafe, and kindly accepting the offer of a boogie board from a stranger on the beach. He bounced around in the back of a Mini Moke, until he could steer his own scooter into town. 

At first we thought there was nothing here for him to “do.” Twenty odd years ago, there was no entertainment, no TV, no video games, no mini golf! But before we knew this would be good for our family, we became unplugged here. And we talked. 

People still ask us what we “do” all day long, we simply smile. 

We read books. We play backgammon. And we still swim every day. And we try to read the French daily newspaper. His French teacher would be so proud. Ms Cait, our other daughter, has been practicing her French language skills. There is the food of course. 

But we miss the Bride and her family. Their schedule didn’t allow a vacation in March. I’m hoping the big Nashville freeze is melting away the winter. That crocus are lurking beneath the ice. 

Spring is on the horizon. 



When I was very young I used to dream that I could fly. Almost every night I’d soar beneath the stars on the ceiling of Grand Central Station. When these dreams stopped, I missed that feeling of freedom. Now I think it’s odd that my preteen dreamself was actually trapped in a train station. 

35,000 feet above the earth, Bob and I shared earbuds to watch the movie Birdman on an iPad. It wasn’t always easy to hear the dialogue in one ear with flight attendants serving drinks, but we managed. Michael Keaton played a washed up actor (or maybe a celebrity) performing in a play on Broadway. A play within a play. 

We loved the movie except for one thing. The drums were disconcerting. Every time Keaton, who was famous for playing Birdman a Hollywood super hero, heard that little voice in his head, we’d get the drum roll. Alright already, we get it. He’s a tortured soul, looking for redemption, most likely psychotic since he thinks he can still fly. 

Like his famous former self. Like my early life in dreams. Flying is how Bob relaxes. He will most likely be certified again to land on this little spit of a runway. Turn left at Pain du Sucre, climb a little between two mountains, then dive like a pelican for the airport. It’s tricky business. 

The doves are back cooing at me, they want their croissant. And yesterday we found a turtle in our bathroom. If I could pick my own super power it would have to be flying. 



After weeks of sub-freezing temperatures and frozen water pipes, Bob and I have escaped. We landed on our favorite French island yesterday and today we are slowing down. Two mourning doves gingerly approached our breakfast table, but so far no turtles or iguanas have appeared in this mystical landscape. 

We started coming here in the middle of winter because Bob could never leave the hospital in the summer when new interns arrived to hone their craft.  Leaving a frozen tundra behind quickly became second nature. The antidote to his life in an ER where you never know what to expect next. 

Here we expect to be kissed by the sun, hopefully not burned, to swim in the turquoise sea, and to practice our French. Twenty five years ago when we first came here, we were cut off from civilization. Today we have too much connectivity; wi fi and international CNN at our fingertips. 

But don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for awhile. We have decided to be “paradise pirates” and leave our devices alone. An artist here burned these words in copper and wood to honor the peaceful instincts of this 18th Century band of brothers:

TO WAKE UP AND BE LIKE THE WEATHER, TO BE NO LONGER THE BROKEN HEARTED SERVANTS OF MAD KINGS

I can only wish for you that there is a special place in your lives, a place to disconnect and wake up, if only for a little while.