St. Croix is hilly. Our friend’s house on a hill overlooks the Caribbean and the beach.
It’s quiet. The only sounds are those of birds, crickets, waves, and silence. And the gardener. On Monday, he wacked the weeds in front of the house and around the pool. It reminded me of my MRIs.
Because of the hilliness, the Ping-Pong table at the beach is not completely level. The tilt made Jonathan dizzy. My head and I, better accustomed to ‘dizzy,’ won the first game. By our second Jonathan, adjusted and tilted, was cutting, slamming, using his top-spin, and winning. But a guy watching our first game, who had never seen us before, commented that I was the better player. Ha! What do outsiders ever know about anyone’s game or marriage?
A tiny iguana crossed my path at the house. Cute! I crossed the path of two not-so-tiny ones at the beach. Yikes! My only previous exposure to an iguana had been at night through Tennessee Williams. And words, Richard Burton, Ava Gardner and what’s up there on celluloid are different.
Among the best parts of the vacation—most vacations–are the decisions. Reduced to easy. Simple. Should we go the beach or stay at the pool? Walk or swim? Scrabble or nap? It depends on our moods. It depends on the moment. It depends on the weed-whacker’s schedule.