An Island Dinner Party Gone Wrong

An Island Dinner Party Gone Wrong

Back when my husband and I first got married, we lived on a somewhat small and very sparsely populated island in the southern Bahamas. All the Bahamian locals were friendly and welcoming. A lot of them remain good friends today that I still keep in touch with. We were asked to dinner often and while it was always delicious, it was always “local”: Jamaican curry goat, fish and grits, and all the lobster a girl could dream of (steamed, boiled, grilled, baked, sautéed). Lobster was plentiful there because everyone, including me, speared it themselves.

lobster lunch_WWLOR

But these dinners were always out of my comfort zone as well. As fun as they were, they were never quite “comfortable”. I had to explain over and over again why, because of my suburban Atlanta upbringing, I didn’t mind one bit giving up the eyeballs out of my fish to someone more excited about the treat. Or why I wasn’t “finishing” my chicken by sucking every last bit of gristle and tendon off and even removing the marrow from the bone. Or that I really would rather let the home’s resident nine-year-old finish my Vita Malt (I could never figure out exactly what the thick, warm, heavily-malted beverage was good with). No one was ever rude about my finicky nature and I wouldn’t give up the years I lived among those friends for anything, but due to my polite Southern upbringing (you finish what the host serves you, say thank you, and possibly take another helping), I always left feeling like I had been somewhat rude for leaving the fins of the fish on my plate. And no one likes to constantly leave dinner parties feeling rude.

Toward the end of our time on that island, a couple from Key West moved in a few dirt roads down from ours. They had spent many many years of their life living on their sailboat and decided it was time to settle down (for at least half the year) and build a permanent structure they could spend winters in. It was so nice to have people moving in near us because our home was so remote. Maybe 3-4 other people lived out on our long road in our sparsely populated settlement. Multiple days could go by without another car driving down our road. So here we were, with new potential friends right in the “neighborhood.” They invited us over one night for a little dinner party, and the thought was so comforting and familiar (steak fajitas! margaritas! guacamole!) that I could barely stand the wait. When you live and eat outside of your comfort zone for long stretches at a time, the thought of a brief encounter with the familiar really lifts your spirits. They even invited us to bring my dog over instead of leaving her home alone. New friends (not easy to come by in such a small place). Familiar food. An evening I had no way of failing at.

You see where this is going, don’t you…

On the highly anticipated evening of our little gathering, Seth and I loaded ourselves, our appetizer contribution, a bottle of wine, and my dog, Saylor, up into our truck for the 1/2 mile dirt road drive to their place. Once there, Saylor bounded out of the truck and tore furiously around the yard. Because I didn’t have a fence at our house, she didn’t get a lot of free time outside. I decided to let her run while I carried the appetizer inside. About three minutes later, I came out and called her name. Nothing. I wandered down the driveway a bit a called again. Nothing. Annoyed that she might have run into the dense island bush surrounding their yard, I called louder. Then I wandered out into the road, and there she was. I could see her shape lit up under a lonely street lamp on the little dirt road, not moving, lying on her side. None of us had heard the car. Maybe one, two at most, would drive down our road in a day’s time. But in the three minutes I had carried our appetizer inside for our glorious, long-anticipated dinner party (steak! on our island! completely unheard of!) with our new potential friends, someone had driven by and hit her without stopping.

island dirt road_WWLOR

I stood in the road, crying, and yelled for Seth. He came out with our new friends following behind him. They were now confronted with us: two people they had just met for a total of ten minutes, invited into their home, now standing and crying in the road with my dead dog lying ten feet away. (Clarification: I was distraught. Saylor, named after a very dear friend, had been my dog prior to marriage and Seth’s arrival on the island. She had kept me company as I lived there alone for a few years. Seth didn’t have much of a problem holding himself together.) There were no vets on our island. One would come from a bigger island once every few months. If you had a dog you needed spayed or neutered, he’d do it for you then. In your driveway. Or on a back patio table. So there was nowhere to take her. I was so thankful that we were able to determine that she was, in fact, dead because on that island when you had an animal that was suffering, the only option was to call a police officer and have them shoot it. You think having your dog hit by a car can ruin a dinner party? Imagine having the police come over to shoot it in the head. That’s pretty much the definition of party foul. But fortunately, that wasn’t necessary.

Our new friends offered to help us bury her. So with our fajitas and fresh guac waiting inside, we loaded my dead dog into the truck and drove her home as I continued to cry. Seth and our brand new friends took turns and dug a big hole in our side yard, wrapped her up in an empty dog food bag (as a deterrent to other dogs thinking they’d dig her up), covered her with rocks (also a deterrent), and buried her. They even brought a palm tree to plant on top of her (another deterrent – though this was a long way from home where my family buried hamsters wrapped up in pretty cloth and planted azaleas on top of them). After burying our dog, our new potential friends said something along the lines of, “Well, we still have fajitas…”

Remember when I said I was so excited about this dinner party because I knew it would be comfortable and familiar? Almost like I was home again? That there was no way I could mess it up? No fish heads to leave on my plate? Or bits of a goat’s leg bone chips to spit out? Well, yeah, having my dog die and then allowing practical strangers to help us bury her within the first 30 minutes of our dinner party topped all of those. So I drank margaritas and cried all the way through the next few hours. And they made sure my glass stayed full.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the night, but we must have made a good impression because we’re still friends with this couple today. (Meaning, Seth must have made a good impression because I lost count of my margaritas and the tears only increased per drink.) We went beaching with them. They gave us plants for our yard and helped me learn about gardening. We exchanged recipes that were possible with the limited ingredients available on island. When we needed it months later, they helped us out with some of the moving process as we prepared to move our life to another island. But, I can’t say I remember being invited to any other dinner parties at their house.

Be Warned – The Island Wants You Dead

Be Warned – The Island Wants You Dead

Caribbean islands are beautiful. Inspiring. Breathtaking. But all of that becomes secondary and quickly fades away when you realize one thing: they want to kill you. Yes, you heard me correctly. The islands are out to get you. Hurricanes. Mudslides. Flash floods. Sharks. Tropical diseases. High surf advisories. It’s like looming death wrapped up with a sparkly 82-degree-and-breezy bow. Last summer, our island attacked us with dual force. Here’s how it went down…

After some lovely time spent outdoors enjoying the beauty that is the Caribbean, my husband, Seth, got hit hard with dengue fever. It’s one of those wonderfully fun tropical diseases passed on by mosquitoes that ranges from “Hate-your-Life-and-the-Fact-that-you’re-Alive-for-a-Week” to “Kill You” levels. Fortunately, the strain he caught was in the former category.

Dengue hits you with a whole firestorm of symptoms that you never realized could go together. It’s basically every terrible thing about the full-blown flu, plus,on top of that, everything hurts – your bones, your back, even your eyes. Don’t try to look side to side without turning your head. Trust me. Oh, how your eyes hurt. Oh, yeah – and there’s a rash. A full-body red, itchy rash. Then there’s vomiting, dehydration, and the inability to keep food down. All from a mosquito bite. And if you think you have dengue, whatever you do, do not take ibuprofen no matter how much your cramping and aching muscles call out for relief. There is some bizarre stuff going on inside of you right now and ibuprofen can apparently make your red blood cells explode or something similarly scientific. Take Tylenol. That’s it. Tylenol and sleep until it all goes away.

So here I am, home on a summer day and Seth is fortunately in the middle of a marathon nap back in the bedroom. Falling asleep isn’t easy when you have dengue because you’re in so much pain, so the relief of sleeping and not feeling that pain for a few hours is glorious. And that’s when it happened. My internal monologue went something like this:

What is that? A truck?

That’s a really loud truck.

Why hasn’t it passed by yet?

Wait – is this an earthquake?

Crap, it’s an earthquake.

Wow, it’s still going.

This is a really long one.

Maybe I should go outside.

Yeah, I’m going to go outside now.

 

– *Stops*  halfway between the living room and front door –

 

Wait…do I wake Seth up?

Our house could slide down the side of the mountain and he’d die.

But – he’s finally napping and getting some dengue relief.

If he’s still napping through this, then that means he’s really out.

Which is more likely to kill him – the earthquake or the dengue?

 

And then it stopped.

Yep, that’s me. Emergency responder to the rescue.

In actuality, we get earthquakes here pretty regularly. In fact, there were three in quick succession just this morning. Usually you barely notice them, or don’t even feel them at all. Sometimes they’re bad enough to loosen rocks that fall down the mountain onto the road. The one we got during Seth’s bout with dengue was the longest enduring earthquake that I’ve ever experienced here. Obviously, long enough for me to have an entire conversation in my head. Yet what it all boiled down to for me was – which was going to inflict the most pain and suffering on Seth? I went with the dengue (or “The Dengus” as a friend’s child calls it).

In the earthquake vs. Dengue Fever scenario, I was right. Me – 1, Island – 0. But it’s just a matter of time. This island has it out for us, I’m sure of it. For you. For everyone. Throwing death blows at every turn. I mean, beauty without adventure is pretty boring, don’t you think? Where’s the fun in that?

It’s Just Like Whole Foods. Without the Meat.

It’s Just Like Whole Foods. Without the Meat.

On a recent hunt for a local source of essential oils (that did not involve a folding table and a Rasta guy outside of Kmart) several people asked if I’d been to the natural foods store. Yes, of course I’d been there. No, not the orange one between Pueblo and Thai Pro Nails, they’d say. The one across from the post office. The one I thought was a sketchy convenience store that I joked about being people’s source for illegal drugs. I mostly thought that because I judge books by their covers, and this cover had bars on all the doors and four open signs hanging up, lest you think the building is condemned. I also thought you could buy drugs there because over the door in uneven, sticky letters it said “DRUG MART”. I mean, when you go the extra effort of labeling yourself that way, what else is a girl to think?

drug mart post pic_WWLOR

But on the hunt for essential oils to make my homemade cleaning supplies smell like a spa day, I decided to branch out. To Drug Mart I went. Inside I was confronted with mismatched shelving, missing tiles in the linoleum floor, Five-Hour Energy, and lottery tickets. Suspicions confirmed. But wait. No. A closer look at the mismatched shelving showed rows of natural vitamins and supplements (the legal health food kind). Unexpected. Turning the corner of the long, L-shaped interior, there was organic, unbleached flour and grains. Completely unexpected. And then in the very back, right under a wall of weave, were three shelves of Mrs. Meyer’s cleaning supplies. Score. There was even an eleven-ish year old boy following me around, I’m pretty sure to make sure I didn’t steal anything. But he did also continue to ask if I needed help, so maybe he was just being overly helpful.

drug part post pic 2_WWLOR

I only know of one other place on St Thomas where Mrs. Meyer’s is available. So, in spite of the small boy following me around to make sure I didn’t slip any basil-scented floor cleaner into my purse, I took my time smelling up the goods and settled on a geranium candle to make washing dishes not such a terrible chore. At the register, the very nice owner told me my candle was buy one get one free. Drug Mart even does promotions! I complimented his store and told him I’d never been in before. He asked me if I knew what Whole Foods was. “We’re just like Whole Foods. Without the meat.”

When I left I noticed that above the DRUG MART stickers there was actually a natural foods sign. I guess I had just always been too distracted by the bars to notice it. Drug Mart, I like you and your island ways. I will be back.

drug mart post pic 3_WWLOR

Things People Do With Horses

Things People Do With Horses

I did it. This Christmas I entered the modern age of smartphones. Personally, I miss the time when I could exist with a phone that only made phone calls. Living on an island helped me to exist in that world a little bit longer than I think I could in the regular universe. But at some point in the last year, the regular universe found me and group texts sent from certain smartphones began being sent as data. And suddenly my PTWJAP (phone-that-was-just-a-phone) couldn’t receive them. This meant I was regularly having to text my boss with super professional requests like, “Can you resend that? It didn’t come through for some reason.” Which is professional-ish when it happens once in awhile, perhaps. But sending it every two out of three texts? Okay, fine. I’ll get a grown-up phone with a grown-up data plan. But I get a phone case that glows in the dark. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.

Here’s the good news that comes with my new smartphone. Pictures. All the time. Pictures of the cheese I’m eating. Pictures of my dog doing things way cuter than other people’s dogs do. Pictures of my baby nephew stolen from my sister’s Facebook page. And, here’s the one you’ll like (unless I lost you at PTWJAP), pictures of bizarre island happenings. Previously, I could only photograph them when I happened to have my camera with me and handy. Not anymore.

Here are three moments with horses that I could have captured for you if I’d upgraded to a smartphone earlier. Because at the time I only owned a PTWJAP, you get to experience the events through my hand-drawn illustrations instead:

Here is a horse being led down the road by its car-driving owner. I was fortunate enough to get stuck behind this duo in Bovoni near the race track.

horse post pic 2_Melissa_WWLOR

And here is a horse waiting for the VITRAN bus. Or at least that’s what I assume he was doing. I’m not sure why else a horse would just be hanging out alone at a bus stop.

horse post pic 1_Melissa_WWLOR

And here is horse traveling via truck bed. Just passing time while his chauffeur pumps some gas. You may be outraged, but remember – he’s just happy to have a ride so that he doesn’t have to wait for the bus like his lame-O horse cousin. My guess is that he’s going to reach his destination and jump out of the truck at the corner of the Tutu intersection, inconveniently causing the person behind him to miss the light. But that’s just a guess.

horse post pic 3_Melissa_WWLOR

Of course, now that I have my new smartphone I’m sure people will start to be very responsible with their horses, leaving me with no interesting horse picture opportunities. But never fear, there will surely still be many events to document from the local iguanas, chickens, feral cats, tourists…

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