Wading in to the crystal clear water, I scanned the horizon for fins for awhile, then relaxed and looked closer. A school of little translucent fish jumped out of the water a few inches away, shimmering in morning sunlight; not one, but two(!) Bermuda longtails flew overhead not long after. Eventually I forgot recently acquired fears due to delusions shattered in Eleuthera (that big things like sharks and dolphins are way out in really deep water --nowhere near lil ole harmless me!) and paddled and frolicked and swam without a care. The blessings continued at the local market when I picked up breakfast to take back to eat on the verandah. There was a Keurig with a few good dark roast choices *and* Half and Half, and they even had ackee and saltfish on the buffet! The day was shaping up nicely. The trip started atypically; torrential downpours greeted me on arrival, and the plane stayed on the tarmac for some time before the threat of lightning had sufficiently passed and the stairs could be wheeled out for us to disembark. There were other anomalies this time, some sad -- a longtime mainstay, (New)Captains Lounge has departed Reid Street, and some great-- like delicious Thai entrees at Wong's Golden Dragon, discovered right down the road from our digs in St. Georges.
Local fish was even harder to find this year, which made the Thai food even more welcome! Why on earth everywhere you turn, on an island, fish imported from more than halfway around the world (China) is being sold baffles me!
Could it be due to greased palms, er I mean, contract awards by the recently installed PLP, one wonders...
Ads on tvs at the airport exhort Bermudians bound abroad to spend their money locally, heaving with appeals to fund schools and to save jobs for themselves, their neighbors, their families and friends; yet increasingly in the last two years, from the finest restaurants to Mom and Pop shops--even at the St. Georges field for Cupmatch, you're more likely to be buying some soft fish called 'swai' from Asia or other fish from elsewhere, rather than good Bermuda Rockfish. It's a growing pet peeve of mine, but I digress.
Several hours and a couple of airports later, back home, I listen to my son's tales of moving woes, nodding and smiling out of his sight on the phone, hoping that without my saying 'I Told You So', he'll take 'lessons learned' from this experience and next time do what I told him to in the first place! Somewhere, moving is sited as a top stressor, right up there around or before death of spouse or divorce. It's among everyone's least favorite things, I'm sure. His story was replete with mishaps, missed connections and even a flat tire-- and then, surpassing all that, my travel tales and the beautiful morning I had, he says that they got pulled over by the police. Exhausted, frustrated and three trips in, they got harassed and humiliated by a cocky Philly cop trying to antagonize them for nearly 20 minutes, repeatedly asking why they were sweating and shaking (three trips, two people, third floor walk up, hot as -- HELLO?!)
"You got something to be nervous about?"
Of course no one dared say anything similar to my parenthetical, but kept their responses to 'Yes' and 'No'. Thankfully, they lived to tell about it.
Is this not terrorism?
I am one mother of one Black son and this is just one incident. The anguish is consuming. Imagine the collective anguish and rage. It's a wonder -- or something-- that we don't implode.
I'm home again.