Of all ailments to come down with in Bermuda, leave it to me to acquire PINK eye! Ha ha ha! After several days of looking into the mirror, thinking that I really needed more sleep... and hearing from my host at Salt Kettle that I looked like "I had a terrible hangover," I headed to the Walk-In Clinic for advice.
Conjunctivitis in both eyes. Could it be from crying tears of grief, and having no tissues? Could it be from the salty railings on the freighter? Could it be from the cats I encounter everywhere, and love to pet? Or something in the air that Florence blew in?
I hear that when the wind comes from the East in Bermuda, people tend to come down with ailments. Who knows?! Regardless, I now have 3 bottles of eye drops ready to go, and hope to soon have the whites of my eyes back.
The past few days have been interesting here, with the Lowe siblings on holiday. Pinch- hitting for them is Jane's dear friend, Mary. Mary, originally from Bristol, England, is Incredibly charming- with the perfect amount of British wit. She and I have had fun together- enjoying the amusements that accompany life in this legendary guest house.
Salt Kettle is somewhat akin to a small college that has alumni spanning over many decades; they all return at different times, and meet fellow alums with different memories of the place, and different histories with the late Madame Hazel Lowe. Back in May, I was fortunate to be amongst a group of ladies who all had great synergy, and enjoyed each others' fellowship- socializing together daily.
Naturally, like all of the guests who have visited prior, we each have our favorite rooms in the house. I have deemed the "solo room" mine; it has splashy tropical colors, and bed sheets that look like Liberty of London. However, this time around, I have run into a guest who believes that "my room" is "his room." It amuses me.
Mind you, if this weren't such a tight-knit property, there would be no sense of entitlement (even though the latter is largely in jest!)
There are elements of communal life here, that provide daily entertainment. Sharing a kitchen and refrigerator with other guests means having respect, and not using other peoples' groceries; we all learned that lesson in college, thankfully. One key question arises, daily- who will make the coffee?
Owning a guest house is very hard work. It is like being the conductor of an orchestra, with rotating musicians and new pieces of music.
Not only do you have to do a lot of physical housework in extreme heat; you also need to keep your guests content- even when they are dissimilar from one another. You must be accessible and approachable, without being intrusive- striking the perfect balance. This is a unique art form that the Lowe siblings learned from their mum at a young age.
At last, the threatening storms in the area seem to have passed. This morning, as I watched CNN, Hurricane Florence was due to thrash the coast back home.
At times like this, it seems frivolous to post photos of my island experiences on Facebook, or to write a blog about my experiences- all of which are mundane, compared to what is happening on the mainland. Incidentally, before I left Grotto Bay, I had the privilege to encounter a NOAA Hurricane Hunter, named Brian. He was headed out to fly dead into this storm- in order to provide all of us with accurate forecasts. What a wake up call.
Every day, I learn more about Bermuda's kinship with the United States; Bermudians have empathy for our lives, our politics and our weather.
Yesterday, a store clerk and I discussed the impending storm. Her mind raced to Hurricane Fabian; the last storm to cause serious devastation here. She shared that she could not help but watch the news of Florence approaching the East Coast of the U.S. It could have been Bermuda, scrambling to prepare.
Mary had told me that several policemen died when Hurricane Fabian hit Bermuda in 2003. Apparently, they were attempting to cross the causeway to St. George's (against meteorological advice); waves overtook them, and they were washed out to sea. She also recalled pillows from living room furniture floating outside of homes.
Since I have been here, I have keyed in on the connectedness between the U.S. and Bermuda; most locals here speak of our country as if it is a great investment. Any talk of our current leader leads to astonishment here, since morality and civility are inherent to this culture.
I have had several people offer their opinions about our political woes, and ask what I think, in return. I have not yet met a fan of our President; in fact, one cab driver asked me if Obama could be re-elected. "Maybe Michelle?", I said.
When Tuesday came, it was the first year, since 2001, that I was not been in New York on 9-11. When I awoke, and turned on the TV news, the prospects of the looming hurricane devastation, and solemnity of the annual 9-11 service were incredibly sobering. I began my day, wondering if Bermudians would be present "with us" on 9-11, or just witness the date on the calendar.
I was due to check out of Grotto Bay that day. My friend Larry came to pick me up- a true pleasure to see a familiar face. We traveled back to Paget, stopping for provisions to fill the frig at Salt Kettle.
When I arrived, Mary offered a very British, "Welcome home!" Immediately, I was invited into the kitchen for a cool drink and a chat. Per typical Bermudian hospitality, she invited me to an evening concert that night at Warwick Academy- a memorial tribute to an alumna of the school (Rhondelle Tankard) whom had lost her life on 9-11 (and all of those who perished with her.)
Having never personally been a part of a 9-11 memorial tribute, I was grateful for the opportunity to attend, and to witness the reverence with which September 11, 2001 is regarded, in other places in the world.
Although I was not in a land geographically distant from home, I was in a different culture- one seeded by England- yet closer to our shores, than those of Great Britain.
Many in America do not know where Bermuda is located, nor that it remains a British Overseas Territory. With regard to America's next door neighbors, Bermuda is actually our closest neighbor to the East Coast, mileage-wise. We tend to think strictly of Canada and Mexico as our neighbors, due to shared borders. With regard to Bermuda, an ocean may separate us- but not spiritually.
Mary and I entered the school auditorium to see the aisle lit with candles. As we made our way to our seats, she introduced me to everyone whom she knew. There is a level of social decorum here that Americans should tap into more often- making sure that newcomers are properly introduced.
Looking at the evening's program, I anticipated tears. Each performance was by an individual student or small group of students- all uniformly dressed in black- or black and white. There was song, poetry, guitar music, jazz music- all of it powerful in its own right. The evening began with a young lady belting out a solo of "God Bless America." It gave me chills.
The mature and compassionate students that organized this memorial benefit concert were spurred to action after witnessing the horror at the National September 11 Memorial and Museum in lower Manhattan.
As the students perused the halls of photos of deceased victims, they recognized an alumna of their school- in her Warwick Academy uniform. The impact hit home with an added layer of emotion. Three Bermudians had lost their lives that fateful day.
Listening to a young lady perform "Hallelujah", I was riveted. Fellow classmates marched silently on to the stage, to flock her sides- each holding a lit pillar candle. As the mother of Rhondelle Tankard sat in the audience, students recited poetry that they had written themselves. The words could have been written by Americans; the solidarity was so resonant. It gave me incredible pause.
I felt so privileged to have been at this concert, which is expected to become an annual event. Proceeds will benefit a memorial music scholarship. It is my personal hope that the ticket price be raised. They charged only $5. per person.
Mary has been such a blessing to my stay, from when I arrived. Not only because she has run the guest house in a meticulous fashion, but because she is so knowledgable, funny and nurturing. She has amused me with truths about Bermuda that I cannot print, taken me out at night-for the sake of catching a breeze from the car window- and informed me of the "key" locations that Bermudians go, when desperate to enjoy air conditioning.
I was particularly interested to learn from her that Shark Oil can predict weather, and that ants run in circles before hurricanes!
Last night, on the spur of the moment, Mary and I ventured to The Ice Queen- an extremely popular takeout place, where 24 different flavors of soft-serve are made (!) Pitifully, the ice cream machine was broken; thus, none of the flavors were on the evening menu...
Rather than give up, Mary drove us into town to Tiger Mart (the equivalent of 7-11), where we got ice cream, prior to touring Spanish Point and the North Shore of the island, while listening to the whistling frogs.
At last, I know where "the dump" is, and the island's incinerator! The underbelly of this paradise has been revealed- where Bermuda's real trash lies...
This morning was Mary's last morning at the guest house. She advised that I might try saline solution for my eyes. I said, "Yes! Good idea! I will go to the pharmacy to get some..." "Oh no! Make it from scratch. I have the recipe", she said.
As it turns out, several days ago, the Lowes' orange kitten (Trigger) had suffered from an eye ailment- a squinty eye. Mary was able to quickly cure him with a home remedy.
Not a half hour later, Mary showed up at my door with the recipe for homemade saline solution, along with a British tea cup for mixing. If it could cure Trigger, it could certainly help me.
I have met few people in my life like Mary. She is an encyclopedia of knowledge, teaching me British slang words- such as 'paralytic' (this is what happens when one drinks too much rum)!
This morning, the Lowe sisters returned to Salt Kettle from Gocek, Turkey, via England. What a treat it is, to see them again!
To my surprise (!), Suzie brought me a gift from Harrods- a shiny black patent tote! I was so excited! "Look! It says 'Harrods'! I love it!"
She replied, with her characteristic wit, "I knew you would love it, being such a label-whore!"
With an accent like Audrey Hepburn, I would forgive her this once, for calling me a whore (eek!) She tends to keep me in stitches with her unabashed wit, after all... Needless to say, I had never heard that expression before!
After an informal 'staff meeting' regarding the happenings at Salt Kettle, Jane took me out to lunch at Divots- a casual restaurant located at the Belmont Hills Golf Club. We had a wonderful time catching up, and toasting our reunion with a new drink (new to both of us) called the "South Shore"; it is minty and goes down very easily. Jane had a warm asparagus salad. I had a crunchy chicken salad. The time passed quickly, as it does when you are with friends.
I have only a few more days here in Bermuda, and hope to make the best of every single minute. I know how lucky I am- to be able to come to a place that nurtures my soul whole heartedly- especially when times at home are threatening in a variety of ways.
The shores of Bermuda seem far from the mainland, when you are here; I feel a world away.
Yet, to Bermudians, our shores are always close. When we suffer, they suffer.
Residents here are deeply in tune to the wickedness of Mother Nature. Because their homes are built of stone, they do not face the same types of destruction that we do, during hurricanes.
Yet Bermudians are acutely aware that our country will fall prey to Florence, and that it could have just as readily impacted them. My mom used to recite the quote,"There, but for the grace of God, go I." It certainly rings true right now.
Although the skies here are not foreboding in Bermuda, Florence has not left our radar.
Conjunctivitis in both eyes. Could it be from crying tears of grief, and having no tissues? Could it be from the salty railings on the freighter? Could it be from the cats I encounter everywhere, and love to pet? Or something in the air that Florence blew in? I hear that when the wind comes from the East in Bermuda, people tend to come down with ailments. Who knows?! Regardless, I now have 3 bottles of eye drops ready to go, and hope to soon have the whites of my eyes back.
The past few days have been interesting here, with the Lowe siblings on holiday. Pinch- hitting for them is Jane's dear friend, Mary. Mary, originally from Bristol, England, is Incredibly charming- with the perfect amount of British wit. She and I have had fun together- enjoying the amusements that accompany life in this legendary guest house.
Salt Kettle is somewhat akin to a small college that has alumni spanning over many decades; they all return at different times, and meet fellow alums with different memories of the place, and different histories with the late Madame Hazel Lowe. Back in May, I was fortunate to be amongst a group of ladies who all had great synergy, and enjoyed each others' fellowship- socializing together daily.
Naturally, like all of the guests who have visited prior, we each have our favorite rooms in the house. I have deemed the "solo room" mine; it has splashy tropical colors, and bed sheets that look like Liberty of London. However, this time around, I have run into a guest who believes that "my room" is "his room." It amuses me.
Mind you, if this weren't such a tight-knit property, there would be no sense of entitlement (even though the latter is largely in jest!)
There are elements of communal life here, that provide daily entertainment. Sharing a kitchen and refrigerator with other guests means having respect, and not using other peoples' groceries; we all learned that lesson in college, thankfully. One key question arises, daily- who will make the coffee?
Owning a guest house is very hard work. It is like being the conductor of an orchestra, with rotating musicians and new pieces of music.
Not only do you have to do a lot of physical housework in extreme heat; you also need to keep your guests content- even when they are dissimilar from one another. You must be accessible and approachable, without being intrusive- striking the perfect balance. This is a unique art form that the Lowe siblings learned from their mum at a young age.
At last, the threatening storms in the area seem to have passed. This morning, as I watched CNN, Hurricane Florence was due to thrash the coast back home. At times like this, it seems frivolous to post photos of my island experiences on Facebook, or to write a blog about my experiences- all of which are mundane, compared to what is happening on the mainland. Incidentally, before I left Grotto Bay, I had the privilege to encounter a NOAA Hurricane Hunter, named Brian. He was headed out to fly dead into this storm- in order to provide all of us with accurate forecasts. What a wake up call.
Every day, I learn more about Bermuda's kinship with the United States; Bermudians have empathy for our lives, our politics and our weather.
Yesterday, a store clerk and I discussed the impending storm. Her mind raced to Hurricane Fabian; the last storm to cause serious devastation here. She shared that she could not help but watch the news of Florence approaching the East Coast of the U.S. It could have been Bermuda, scrambling to prepare.
Mary had told me that several policemen died when Hurricane Fabian hit Bermuda in 2003. Apparently, they were attempting to cross the causeway to St. George's (against meteorological advice); waves overtook them, and they were washed out to sea. She also recalled pillows from living room furniture floating outside of homes.
Since I have been here, I have keyed in on the connectedness between the U.S. and Bermuda; most locals here speak of our country as if it is a great investment. Any talk of our current leader leads to astonishment here, since morality and civility are inherent to this culture.
When Tuesday came, it was the first year, since 2001, that I was not been in New York on 9-11. When I awoke, and turned on the TV news, the prospects of the looming hurricane devastation, and solemnity of the annual 9-11 service were incredibly sobering. I began my day, wondering if Bermudians would be present "with us" on 9-11, or just witness the date on the calendar.
I was due to check out of Grotto Bay that day. My friend Larry came to pick me up- a true pleasure to see a familiar face. We traveled back to Paget, stopping for provisions to fill the frig at Salt Kettle.
Having never personally been a part of a 9-11 memorial tribute, I was grateful for the opportunity to attend, and to witness the reverence with which September 11, 2001 is regarded, in other places in the world. Although I was not in a land geographically distant from home, I was in a different culture- one seeded by England- yet closer to our shores, than those of Great Britain.
Many in America do not know where Bermuda is located, nor that it remains a British Overseas Territory. With regard to America's next door neighbors, Bermuda is actually our closest neighbor to the East Coast, mileage-wise. We tend to think strictly of Canada and Mexico as our neighbors, due to shared borders. With regard to Bermuda, an ocean may separate us- but not spiritually.
Mary and I entered the school auditorium to see the aisle lit with candles. As we made our way to our seats, she introduced me to everyone whom she knew. There is a level of social decorum here that Americans should tap into more often- making sure that newcomers are properly introduced.
Looking at the evening's program, I anticipated tears. Each performance was by an individual student or small group of students- all uniformly dressed in black- or black and white. There was song, poetry, guitar music, jazz music- all of it powerful in its own right. The evening began with a young lady belting out a solo of "God Bless America." It gave me chills.
The mature and compassionate students that organized this memorial benefit concert were spurred to action after witnessing the horror at the National September 11 Memorial and Museum in lower Manhattan. As the students perused the halls of photos of deceased victims, they recognized an alumna of their school- in her Warwick Academy uniform. The impact hit home with an added layer of emotion. Three Bermudians had lost their lives that fateful day.
Listening to a young lady perform "Hallelujah", I was riveted. Fellow classmates marched silently on to the stage, to flock her sides- each holding a lit pillar candle. As the mother of Rhondelle Tankard sat in the audience, students recited poetry that they had written themselves. The words could have been written by Americans; the solidarity was so resonant. It gave me incredible pause.
I felt so privileged to have been at this concert, which is expected to become an annual event. Proceeds will benefit a memorial music scholarship. It is my personal hope that the ticket price be raised. They charged only $5. per person.
Mary has been such a blessing to my stay, from when I arrived. Not only because she has run the guest house in a meticulous fashion, but because she is so knowledgable, funny and nurturing. She has amused me with truths about Bermuda that I cannot print, taken me out at night-for the sake of catching a breeze from the car window- and informed me of the "key" locations that Bermudians go, when desperate to enjoy air conditioning. I was particularly interested to learn from her that Shark Oil can predict weather, and that ants run in circles before hurricanes!
Last night, on the spur of the moment, Mary and I ventured to The Ice Queen- an extremely popular takeout place, where 24 different flavors of soft-serve are made (!) Pitifully, the ice cream machine was broken; thus, none of the flavors were on the evening menu... Rather than give up, Mary drove us into town to Tiger Mart (the equivalent of 7-11), where we got ice cream, prior to touring Spanish Point and the North Shore of the island, while listening to the whistling frogs.
At last, I know where "the dump" is, and the island's incinerator! The underbelly of this paradise has been revealed- where Bermuda's real trash lies...
This morning was Mary's last morning at the guest house. She advised that I might try saline solution for my eyes. I said, "Yes! Good idea! I will go to the pharmacy to get some..." "Oh no! Make it from scratch. I have the recipe", she said.
As it turns out, several days ago, the Lowes' orange kitten (Trigger) had suffered from an eye ailment- a squinty eye. Mary was able to quickly cure him with a home remedy.
Not a half hour later, Mary showed up at my door with the recipe for homemade saline solution, along with a British tea cup for mixing. If it could cure Trigger, it could certainly help me.
I have met few people in my life like Mary. She is an encyclopedia of knowledge, teaching me British slang words- such as 'paralytic' (this is what happens when one drinks too much rum)!
This morning, the Lowe sisters returned to Salt Kettle from Gocek, Turkey, via England. What a treat it is, to see them again!
To my surprise (!), Suzie brought me a gift from Harrods- a shiny black patent tote! I was so excited! "Look! It says 'Harrods'! I love it!"
She replied, with her characteristic wit, "I knew you would love it, being such a label-whore!"
With an accent like Audrey Hepburn, I would forgive her this once, for calling me a whore (eek!) She tends to keep me in stitches with her unabashed wit, after all... Needless to say, I had never heard that expression before!
After an informal 'staff meeting' regarding the happenings at Salt Kettle, Jane took me out to lunch at Divots- a casual restaurant located at the Belmont Hills Golf Club. We had a wonderful time catching up, and toasting our reunion with a new drink (new to both of us) called the "South Shore"; it is minty and goes down very easily. Jane had a warm asparagus salad. I had a crunchy chicken salad. The time passed quickly, as it does when you are with friends.
The shores of Bermuda seem far from the mainland, when you are here; I feel a world away.
Yet, to Bermudians, our shores are always close. When we suffer, they suffer.
Residents here are deeply in tune to the wickedness of Mother Nature. Because their homes are built of stone, they do not face the same types of destruction that we do, during hurricanes.
Yet Bermudians are acutely aware that our country will fall prey to Florence, and that it could have just as readily impacted them. My mom used to recite the quote,"There, but for the grace of God, go I." It certainly rings true right now.
Although the skies here are not foreboding in Bermuda, Florence has not left our radar.
My goodness Daisy. Are you sure paralytic is slang?
ReplyDeleteThank you for your kind words.
Let's just say that we use that word differently back home!
ReplyDelete