Color Vision

As I sat at my kitchen table yesterday morning, I thought of my new friend, Leonora who would soon be leaving Bermuda for home- after forty(40) visits to the island. We met at Salt Kettle, back in May. Bless her heart, she still rides a moped after all these years. How I marvel at this! She marvels at my capacity to stop and smell the flowers (That's what happens when you are afraid of road rash...) 

Leonora has also commented on my blog "selfies", taken to prove that I am actually the one who is living this story. Leonora went so far as to replicate one of my selfies on Facebook this weekend- in front of a Bermuda moongate, complete with hat, shades and lipstick! It warmed my heart.

I have to laugh because I never took selfies, out of necessity before. But, this year has been one of solo travel for me- something that I have done quite a bit, but not usually for 'leisure' or the sake of being deliberately creative. 

I was beyond delighted to hear that the 'hip and happening' Jet Blue crew led Leonora's fellow travelers in singing "Happy Birthday" to her, as she traveled to Bermuda. Honestly, who could be more deserving? I personally think that Leonora belongs on a Bermuda postage stamp, after all of these years of loyalty. No disrespect, but Harry and Meghan are already on Bermuda postage stamps... Either that, or maybe a free plane ticket once a year?

I wish that I had been on that plane with Leonora. These are the moments in life that lift us up- especially during times of grief, something that she and I share in common. The best of humanity can come at us in the most unlikely of places, and fill our souls with hope.

Sipping my coffee, I perused Facebook and saw that Leonora was understandably reluctant to return to the cold Northeast. Having just returned from a chilly autumn stroll, I felt her "pain" and her affinity for balmy breezes. 

Lately, it seems that the true cold is not so much in our air stateside, but rather in our culture. It is no doubt that we head to Bermuda for warmth- a metaphor for many things.

During my last stint on the island, I gave much thought to the healing properties of Bermuda- those that have had such a pivotal impact on my grieving heart this year.

While some people who read my blog may think that I have been spending time idly on an extended vacation (or trying to escape reality) merely because I have been on a lovely island, this is not the case. In the most therapeutic sense, Bermuda has enabled me to look ahead- to look at beauty, to look at colors, to envision possibilities- even dreams. 

To immerse myself in my immediate surroundings is to heal- taking the time to have coffee with a scruffy heron, for example, and counting how many feathers are out of place on Herry's head, as he awaits a treat of fish.

Recent 'near-misses' by several storms have also made for natural entertainment-watching birds of all sizes take flight over Salt Kettle Bay- wondering if they had a destination in mind- or were equally fine, winding up wherever the winds would take them. 

I have especially loved walking on The Railway Trail, remarking at big pink and green leaves that line the way. They are called "Match Me if You Can"- because no two are alike. This is the beauty of having a Bermudian friend nearby. Jane is my living, breathing version of Alexa!

It is no wonder that experts preach 'mindfulness' these days. So many of us are caught up in the past and the future simultaneously, rather than focusing on right now.

Lately, I hear "So, what are you going to do, now?" There is somehow a need to rush past today. Despite the number of hours that I cared for my mother, and the emotional toll that such things take, most people do not understand that I am in a recovery process- not on a vacation. There is no vacation from grief. 

If only money and solace grew on trees...

Thankfully, while in Bermuda, I witness daily 'joie de vivre' regardless of what is on the schedule. My friends invite me to join them for coffee, for lunch, for cocktails, or even just an outing to a fab thrift shop called "The Barn"- a bargain hunter's bonanza, located across the way from a very large turquoise psychiatric hospital. 

It was at The Barn that I purchased a Soft-Coated Wheaten Terrier mug (an ode to my childhood dog, Finn) and a pretty necklace of colored beads (likely made by a child).

Putting the necklace on at once(apparently with the price sticker still on), my friends and I headed to town for what would be errands and an impromptu lunch at the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club. Along the way, John, Jane, Alex and I went into a highly refined shop in Hamilton to look at Hungarian china. This is one of those stores in which you had better not touch a thing! Even the adults.

The sales lady approached me with enthusiasm. "Oh! I loooooove your necklace!", she said. I got that tingly feeling that a fashionista gets, when she has gotten something fabulous for a song. I had purchased my work of art with a two dollar bill, featuring a Blue Bird.

My new necklace became an instant status symbol for me. It was not about the cost at all; it was about the colorful beads.

The more time that I spend at home, after being in Bermuda, the more I notice how terribly black and white our culture is becoming, and what we are missing out on, culturally. 

I cannot turn on the news in the morning- for more than a few brief minutes- because the polarization in our society is so epidemic. We are all about black or white, right or wrong, good or bad. There is no grey. There is no compromise. There certainly is no color- aside from red or blue.

What makes our society lose sight of so many nuances? We would be wise to take a lesson from Bermuda's Gombeys.


When last in Bermuda, I was intent to learn more about the iconic Gombeys. These are the highly recognizable dancers, who perform in spectacular dress at many of Bermuda's important rituals and events. 

Why not buy a VIP ticket to attend the Annual Bermuda Gombey Showcase at the Bermuda Botanical Gardens? A Hamptons girl relishes the opportunity to be a VIP anywhere for forty dollars.That aside, my rationale was to try and get a bird's eye look at a revered tradition.

Sitting in the bleachers, watching the dancers, I sipped a Rum Swizzle, courtesy of The Bermuda Tourism Authority. Two seats over, sat a Gombey historian- just my luck!

Interestingly, the Gombey tradition is based upon revelry during times of slavery. Slaves, who would want to dance, could only do so in disguise- especially given that they were prone to mock their masters. So evolved the exquisite costumes providing utter anonymity.

Gombey costumes are unmistakably vibrant and flashy, complete with painted masks and headdresses featuring peacock feathers. They dance to whistles and drums, following the rhythm of their leader.

During the entertainment showcase, which featured the presence of many food and drink vendors, I took a walk to watch some young Gombeys painting a mural, and others getting ready to perform. 

I was lucky to be introduced by one island entrepreneur (Allison Smith of Confections cookie fame) to a next generation entrepreneur, named Ashley, wearing a daisy wreath in her hair. She made me a Frozen Ginger Cucumber Lemonade that was superb.

During my stroll, I caught sight of three young boys 'goofing around' in partial costume and snapped a photo. Immediately, one of the young men said, "Excuse me, Ma'am. You will need to delete that photograph." I inquired, "How come?" "Because we do not have our masks on. We are not allowed to be seen without our masks." He was dead serious. 

Given the climate at home now- where ugliness and division can readily obscure peacefulness in our daily lives, I was highly intrigued by the modern role that Gombeys play in Bermuda's diverse culture. Bermudians of all ethnic backgrounds (as witnessed at this event) came to celebrate a legacy of artistry, despite its origins in culturally divisive times.

Even the youngsters, who are growing up in an evolved society, seek to carry out this tradition with masks in place- being able to distinguish the past from the present, with integrity and pride, and without threat of violence. Their dance tells a compelling story- one that is a culturally historic thread.

I talked with a Gombey-mom, and was privileged to see the handiwork on the elaborate costumes of her sons. She described the different types of fringe involved for the various tribes, and the different color palettes used.

I told her that I worried for the kids wearing such heavy costumes in the heat, here in Bermuda, but she shared that they do not wear them for very long. Plus, the hats (which appear to be quite heavy!) are very lightly constructed- always with feathers.

When I left the event, I considered the solidarity of Bermudians- perhaps a byproduct of having a population of 60,000 people co-existing on a rock (or collection thereof) that comprise a land mass smaller than my native East End community. 

Although Bermuda has the motherland of England above her (as a British Overseas Territory), the island largely self-governs with alternating political parties at play- just like here. Yet, what a difference- to the naked eye, anyway. 

There is palpable civility in Bermuda. This is nothing new, yet it has become increasingly obvious, each time that my mind darts back and forth across The Atlantic.

Lately, it seems that the warmth and neighborliness that we seek in our lives, here at home, must be instigated intentionally by each of us. Even in my small village, we can live in complete anonymity with neighbors on all sides. 

One day, while I was on the ferry in Bermuda, I contemplated the aspects of the place that are magnetic to me- color being paramount. I wondered, to myself, how Bermuda would change, if everything colorful lost its beauty...even the Parrot Fish. 


Let's say that all of the buildings in Bermuda were white or grey. The water was opaque. The sand was brown. There were no flowers. There were no clouds floating by. Would the culture be as warm? Does color set the stage?

On a given day, a Bermudian wakes up and sees Kiskadees with bright yellow breasts, hibiscus flowers in pink, red, yellow and white, turquoise water, lush green vegetation, and spectacular watercolor clouds. 


Driving anywhere at all, one passes punchy, bright-hued buildings that pop! You inevitably wonder what each place is- because your eyes are besieged with architectural eye candy. How exquisite, to see color- everyday, everywhere. I am certain that it permeates the soul. 

Back in New York now, I am outdoors everyday, looking for the colors in my daily life. In addition to Blue Jays and Cardinals, who symbolize visits from above, there is anticipation of the leaves on the trees changing color. So far, I have found one yellow tree around the block, that is my morning beacon. When the sun bleeds through, the leaves look like stained glass. I plan to stop and stare at this tree everyday- while the beauty lasts- certain that the owners of the home, where it lives, are looking at me, wondering 'What is the big deal?!'

As a country, we can steer our minds away from black and white, if we try hard enough. 

There is a reason why humans were blessed with color vision.

In the meantime, on a much smaller scale, if I am going to go through Bermuda-withdrawal (ugh!), it might as well be during Fall foliage season. 

Art Credit: 
Excerpts of BIG BOLD BERMUDA mural by British Artist, Elliott Wilson.

Full mural is on display at The Bermuda National Gallery. Go see it!