A colourful life

Quarantine Letter #59

The neon-brightness of Bougainvillea and Hibiscus are some of the jolts of joy I experience regularly in my colourful life in Barbados; I find their beauty gives me glimmers of hope in this politically messy period. This month, though, I may have taken my general appreciation of colour a little too far. Let me explain:

We recently had a friend visiting from Canada and for me that means far more gallivanting about, lunches here and visits there, including looking for new places. Our quest ten days ago took us on a hot and dusty walk to…well…nowhere! The place I sought had moved and turned out not to be open on this particular day; the other two other spots we stopped at, hoping for a coffee, had taken their customer-service attitude to new depths, i.e., none at all!

So, when pushed, go back to the familiar right? I have safely walked that floor hundreds of times, sometimes barefoot, occasionally shod in something more than a ‘go forward’ (the Bajan term for a flip flop), and fairly often after an afternoon glass of vino or a rum punch. This time, cold-sober, it was not yet noon and I took a full face plant. Straight down, landing on my sunglasses and my right knee. Some gentle person picked me up in one fell swoop, adjusted my wrenched sandals, and gingerly sat me in a chair. Ice in a bag was delivered forthwith and many concerned faces flustered about as I took inventory of body parts.

The bartender wanted to know if a Chardonnay would help. “Do you have any 15-year-old Doorlys?” says I. “No ice, no water, please.”

I’m more of a glass-of-wine-before-dinner person but the rum industry in Barbados has produced some incredible, well-aged rums including the Doorlys in front of me. It soothed the shocks going through my system, warmed me, and tasted wonderful.

We had a solid lunch, took our time getting home on the back roads, and headed straight for the cool water of the pool. A good soak would help. The next few days would be colourful indeed!

It’s now two weeks since I took these shots and I am thankful that the colours have faded although the stiffness and internal shake-up remain. At this stage of life—I’m 74–a major fall like that can result in shattered bones, speed up a slow decline, or lead to or even be indicative of having suffered a stroke. I think I should call myself lucky!

Other than a persistent headache, the only thing this fall broke was my go-go-go inclination and I have spent far more time lolly-gagging rather than gallivanting. It’s not my natural state at all. _________________________________________________________________________

Not that it’s a contest but I’ve reflected that I have outlived so many people that I’ve loved and known well, including a favourite cousin, a high-school best friend, my younger sister, and both husbands. Speaking of whom, this past Sunday a small group of us met at the base of Chalky Mount to honour Doc Burke and send him on his next journey. He loved this spot, was always attentive to the sea’s moods and challenges, and mindful of her dangerous side. We loved bathing in those tidal pools at low tide, sought out and admired the octopi and squid, the sea eggs, the sea anemones, and the speed with which the tide changed.

I took this shot at high tide—definitely not the time to bathe in the sea at this location. Just to the left of the photo centre, you can see eddies forming, where the sea quickly claims whatever or whomever might be there.

The east coast of Barbados is, ostensibly anyway, not open for development. Only five miles south of here are a few small boutique hotels, and a half-dozen restaurants—with the best views and excellent food and drink—and a collection of “Bay Houses” in various states of splendour and repair as well as some brand-new pricey homes that rent for extraordinary prices.

I always see an old man’s head here at Chalky Mount. Many moons ago we hiked here with our kids, not something I am likely to do again. At its base is a colourful outcrop of various kinds of rocks. See next photo.

Worn unevenly by wind, storms, and time, in the rock I always see vertebrae and Martian landscapes.

We were a motley crew of eight on Sunday, no long speeches, no drama, no regrets and no tears. The poetry I brought, though I asked someone else to read it, included a segment from T.S. Eliot’s Burnt Norton and this piece from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters To A Young Poet:

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.”

Bougainvillea in brilliant purple—it matched my face for a few days!

It’ll be spring tomorrow. The equinox occurs at 5:01 AM, then I’ll head north in another week and will begin to poke about in the garden looking for green shoots. Just as my father did and just as his father did.