Idealism...Bought & Paid For

Me, back in the boho days of the 70's

I'm an idealist.  An idealist in the way that only the child of pragmatists can afford to be. 

In the same way our parents' prosperity was bought & paid for with the unfathomable-by-today's -standards toil & even blood of their parents, the luxury of outrage I enjoy today is the direct result of the practical application of my parents' talents to the non-glamorous workaday world they inherited.  When their parents strove to reach the benchmark of providing a better way of life for their kids, I don't think they wanted them to stray too far from the norm, to be dissatisfied with the status quo, or to constantly question authority.

By the time my parents had me, I think that may have been exactly what they pictured for my future.  They did what was expected so I could afford not to.

So every time the comfortable blanket of ennui engulfs me & I think this is comfortable--this is enough, I'm going to try to confound my own expectations.  To get up & change what I see that is wrong, to question what I'm fed, & to try to leave this place better than when I found it, in as many little & big ways as I can. 

It isn't enough, but it is something.

In an emergency please break glass

 I've been in ignoring my true love lately. Not the man. Not the Mu. The other one that Annie Lennox sang about – broken glass. The  Facebook nag has been carping pointedly at me  regarding my neglected page.

    

Despite no ships in the summer, random orders and trunk sales have kept the little engine that could huffing right along.  But outside all my windows, in every direction the lush lure of endless green insists, and I am drawn outside, a cartoon character floating on a pie-scented breeze.
 The breeze is actually snake plant-scented. Factoid: stateside sansiveria typically lives in a pot in your house and adapts well to most light conditions. Here on St. Croix it is a weed growing unchecked and ubiquitous as  dense underbrush. It acts as background music, and despite a persistent stand of it behind one of my mangoes, dividing my neighbor's turf from mine, I never really give it a thought. Not until I'm back there in the evening looking for the Space Station or enjoying the stars and I'm suddenly hit by the cloying scent.  With a bloom stalk of wheat colored frothy florettes, our snake plant, like Glenn Close, refuses to be ignored.
 Inside, my house reeks (in a good way) of ripening pineapples, outside sansiveria--both so sweet you almost need to prick your finger and check your levels.

 

They are fair competition for the very bold cooking aromas of roasted garlic and Sriracha/chipotle-laden black beans, or lemongrass/peppermint tea and strong coffee I put up in big batches and chill.  Short version: it is so smelly-happy up in here.

   

 

But back to the Green. For now, it appears in the big Monopoly board of global warming we've inexplicably landed on Community Chest recently.  Surprisingly steady rains during what should be our dry season have kept the bushwhackers (men with tools, not drinks) humming in my neighborhood long after the season when they would normally be visiting family or playing cricket, dominoes or pool.
 Nearly every time I leave or enter my house I'm compelled to pass sentence on aggressive vines, yanking foe  and redirecting friend. Foe being wedelia,  also known as Cruzan kudzu. It is a cute little Shasta daisy looking thing that shares traits with "The Bad Seed," i.e. adorably innocent appearance masking murdetous intent.

   

Friend being Thunbergia, with its big periwinkle or white blooms that harbor fat fuzzy bees, hummingbirds or bananaquits, all hard at work on their missions. Primary is to suck sap, while incidentally pollinating.

My trick mangoes, the Keitts are coming in so heavily they are breaking branches. The trick is telling when they are ripe, as the big buggers stay green & only change from matte to shiny when ready.  Another sure way to tell is when the pearly-eyed thrashers 'check' by drilling a hole to reveal the beautiful, albeit beak- ruined, sunrise-hued flesh inside.
As mangoes go, the Keitts are longer, duller, more somber than their carnival-colored compatriots. The leaves are even a much darker tone.  In contrast, the earlier season Kensingtons were jolly, rounded, beautifully blushy and prolific this year.  And the cute little Julie bridged the gap, looking like a fat umbrella full of purple-to-orange ornaments.
 We are winding down to the end of this perfectly-paced pineapple season, with the last six of this year's 30 still to come in. I am a broken pineapple record – every year I proclaim the best ever. I really believe that this year (but then I do every year). I've made way too much pineapple/banana,
coconut milk-based ice cream. Sorry, I  almost kept a straight face when I used "too much" and "ice cream" together.  This week my favorite evening snack is a few wasabi almonds and pineapple chunks together in a bowl with a drizzle of balsamic reduction. Tonight I'll be making a "community shout-out sambal," with Grantley Samuel's cucumbers, Theodore Williams' fresh mint, and my pineapple chunks and key lime juice. It takes a village…
I'll be back at my sea glass soon enough, with renewed energy & (no doubt) inspiring visions of green. Until then I wish you a juicy, wild, inspiringly out-of-control summer.

When a 'stay-cation' is too big

To celebrate my previously belabored 25th island anniversary, I'm choosing to do exactly what I want, & possibly not what you'd expect. I did not go to the beach, or to one of the great local restaurants, bars, galleries, or shops.
I turned off the DVD player & Netflix, grabbed Mu & an iced lemongrass/peppermint tea, & spent the entire weekend in the back yard. I pulled vines & trimmed dead leaves off the palms & bananas, knocked down jack Spaniard nests & unearthed a bunch of lovely surprises.
Under miles of happily yellow-blooming wedelia vine I found all those Guzmania bromeliads I got the last 2 years when Home Depot left them for dead & knocked down the price are blooming again. Juicy, bright & fresh, & just showing off for each other since no one without X-ray technology could have seen them.

  

     

I also found Soursop Wars are in full swing again, with their gushy, overripe bombs dropping all over, loudly & unexpectedly. I filled a pail with their squishy selves & dumped them in the compost to do some last measure of good.

The never ending parade of fruit is at it behind the scenes too. Turns out the very-much-missed when fallow key lime tree is again full of fat little green marbles & my days of lamenting the poor excuses in the stores are almost over. The Surinam cherry is covered in little white blooms too.  And there is a huge bloom pod on either a plantain or a banana down below the porch. Major plant nerd excitement either way.

    

  

  

And in the non-edible category, the surprise winner is the bullhorn orchid. Blooming so high up in the African tulip tree & nearly obscured by neighboring Flamboyant limbs covered in their red-orange petal confetti, staring was required to see the prize. Not a bad thing to be unable to see beauty obscured by gorgeousness.

  

As for beauty, Mu is demanding I think about dinner (as in mine becoming hers), so I'll leave you to look for your summer surprises. May they be wonderful!

Still Crazy

On this day twenty-five years ago I moved from Maryland to St Croix.

I wasn't alone.

It wasn't my idea.  

I was not convinced.

This many years later & I don't even like to imagine the road not traveled. Between the sand in my car & the homegrown pineapple juice in my blood, St Croix & I are one. So by way of celebration here are some fun fraction factoids:

I have lived on this island 1/4 of the time it has been under the US flag. 

In 5 years, when I turn 60 I will have lived here half my life. 

I have lived with Mu almost half the time I've been on island. 

I have lived in the little house I bought almost 1/3 of my life here. 

And finally, my fave:  from the original half dozen pineapple plants I found growing here when I bought, I have harvested a couple hundred pineapples, four of which I cleaned & sliced today.

So how was that for curtailing sentimental mush?  

P.S.  I love you for life, my island home!

Lucky in Love...

You know the saying. 'Unlucky in love, lucky in location.'
Ok. Just made that up...and I lied.
I've been so lucky in love, my whole life...& in such unpredictable ways. The second bit is true, though, so to meld this holiday with that November one, I'll say 'Happy Valentines Giving Day,' or perhaps 'Happy Love-Giving!!'

It may not look exactly like you thought it would, but it is absolutely there. It exists, both available & abundant.

And here's some from me!

The Many Mini Miracles of a Mumuland Christmas

Just before 11pm last night I was on my porch, testing zip ties to determine if they would be too loud at that hour. Satisfied the zip of each tie wouldn't wake neighbors, I set about just one of many odd holiday traditions in & around Mumuland, my little house.

This year instead of driving stakes into the ground, I zip-tied them to each of my fence posts so the row of red metal poinsettia pinwheels is a foot above the top of the fence, more visible than last year's ground-based system.

 After I finished with the 10 pinwheels, I stood back to admire their addition to the 4 insanely LED-lit tomato cage Christmas trees & the 6 1/2' live tree on the porch, & realized with the other lights & ornaments I plan to add tonight, I've officially jumped over the 'Crazy Christmas Lady' line with both feet.
I was outside my fence, trying to get the neighbors' perspective of the spectacle

when I saw freshly shaven Mu bounding through the yard like a deranged spring rabbit. She was zooming downhill inside the confines of the fence & I thought 'cat,' but turning my view to the area where I'd just finished the poinsettias, I saw something else bounding downhill, outside the fence & exactly where I was just fooling with pinwheels.  In motion I can't tell a buck from a doe, but I do know it was the biggest deer I had seen on this island. Mu was so startled she forgot to bark, & I just stood there, grinning idiotically with no one to show & tell, much like when I wave at the passing International Space Station.
Wishing you a season of wonder & surprising joy!

Have Yourself A Pavlovian Little Christmas

In the immortal words of Zuzu, 'Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings'...or a crab waves his big crabby claw, or a turtle gets its shell...or a

Jumbie kicks like a Rockette, or a lobstah rocks out, or a peacock shimmies its butt feathers...or a flamingo dances like a

flamenco, or Mu sighs, rolls her eyes, & dreams of a quiet nap space devoid of the incessant jingling currently going on at our house.
If she had thumbs, she'd surely be speed-dialing the SPCA & lodging a 'bell-borne complaint of abuse.'
After majoring in psychology (behavior modification among other things) in college & designing & making funny ornaments for a good bit of my adult life, I'm starting to believe the two seemingly unrelated things are merging in my weird little sea glass world in the guise of paired stimuli. Pavlov's bell-rings-inciting dog-plunging-head-in-food-bowl experiments are a little different in Mumuland.

1. Jingle bell sounds
2.  Mu huffs exhaustedly
3. I am compelled to start one of my West Wing DVDs
(I retrieve jingle bell from under sofa, where Mu wagged it)
4. Slurp of iced coffee
5. Twist, twist, twist
(I retrieve beads from under sofa, where Mu wagged them)
Twist, twist, clip, clip, clamp
6.  Voila!  An ornament appears.
7.  Mu demands I throw Mutu, her legs-of-unequal-lengths toy tiger.  The short leg issue is due to a stuffing-leaking, hand-sewing surgery incident on Mutu when Mu was a pup. It was traumatic, & she doesn't like to speak of it, so we choose to ignore Mutu's physical challenges).  Mu demands I throw Mutu 57 or 58 more times & chase her around the house before she'll settle & allow me to-
8.  Repeat.