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"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
Lewis Carroll

January 15, 2009, we made another trip to St John for our annual St John wedding anniversary celebration and Landowner’s Association meeting. As a rule, we use any excuse to return to St John; full moon party, Calvin Coolidge birthday gala, homeless donkey charity benefit - you name it and we try to use it as an altruistic reason to slide on down to St John. So on Thursday, January 15th, we got up at 4:30, hit the road by 5:15 and arrived at the airport by 6AM. We didn't even break a sweat. We are getting good at this travel thing. Along for the ride came one hard sided suitcase, three shipping boxes all carrying vital villa stuff such as: wooden salad mixing bowl with matching tossing implements and four serving bowls, a box cheese grater to replace the one that we heard grew legs, Pyrex storage bowls with plastic covers, a first rate, snooty pizza cutter (is that a contradiction in terms?), a backgammon game, cards and cribbage board, an oversize quilt to fit an over sized bed, and yet another four-piece place setting of our Dansk Caribe striped china for just in case. We also toted along our personal collection of St John reference books because we felt that St John reference books would do far more good on St John than in a desk drawer located somewhere on the Chesapeake Bay. We also lugged two outdoor area carpets, screws to fix a fan blade, a slab of granite (don’t ask), a beach tent, and a homemade cloth matte for a picture frame that has been languishing in the storeroom since last September. Along with these checked items, we each carried our maximum allowed carry-ons filled with important goodies. The American Airlines counter agent rolled her eyes when she saw us coming. She was, however, civil - even though I imagine those agents are working overtime what with the inauguration in D.C next week. This truly is a perfect time for us to “get out of Dodge”. Did I mention that snow is expected in the D.C. area? Yep, time to go now.

As usual, we ended up in the terminal with the yucky food, but this time, we caught a break. A Fuddruckers has opened up and they have breakfast sandwiches that are actually edible; in fact, they are down right tasty if you don’t mind a little extra fat, cholesterol, salt, MSG and empty calories. Empty calories? I like empty calories particularly if they taste as good as Fuddruckers empty calories and Fuddruckers’ empty calories blow all the others right out of the water! I had a bacon, egg and cheese croissant, but blew off the little preformed hashbrown thingy; got to watch my diet, donchano. So far this day was going just fine.

While hanging around the gate at National I noticed a guy who looked somewhat familiar. The fact that he was wearing a Bluzsapalooza jacket pretty much said that this was Steve Simon hanging out at National Airport. Like us, he was awaiting the plane to Miami. For those of you who are not familiar with Mr. Simon, he was the impetus behind Bluzsapalooza and our very own St John Blues festival. He also plays clarinet in the jazz band, The Jazz Islanders, which plays at the Beach Bar every Sunday afternoon (I wonder what he does on his days off?) So being the shy and retiring guy that I am, I sidled on up to him and introduced myself. Steve, being equally shy and retiring and has never met a stranger, chatted with me like I was a long lost friend. He had recently returned from a Bluzapalooza trip to Iraq and was positively glowing when recalling the appreciative audience and equally appreciative performers coming together under the unified flag of music. Steve obviously loves what he does and the people he does it for and with. I believe that January 15 is in the middle of National Airport Old Home Week, because we also saw Doug and Clare, the former owners of the Donkey Diner stepping onto the Miami bound plane. We were all leaving Washington D.C and heading to St John. I know this is starting to sound like the society section of a newspaper, and well, it kind of is. I mean we did not run into anyone world famous like Kenny, blabbermouth about the wonders and ultimate coolness of St John to the whole blessed world, Chesney. For goodness sake, this is Coral Bay we are talking about, not Peter Bay. This is Coral Bay cool, the funkiest cool; the friendliest kind of cool.

Once in Miami, we again met up with Doug, Clare and Steve and we all hung around the Miami airport together trying to figure out which gate they would send us to next. You see, the original gate they sent us to which was on the opposite side of the airport from where we landed was being used by some other whiney little 757 and they had run out of gates in that terminal (that’s never happened before) so they sent us packing back to a gate 10 kilometers away from this gate to a gate which was 20 feet away from our original arrival gate.. (I‘m exhausted just retelling this part of the story!). We trotted far and long only to end up pretty much back to our starting position. Ya gotta love MIA! At least we were in good company and got some great aerobic exercise in for the day. Now where’s the bar?

Once on the plane, they announced there was a problem with the oil pressure in some doohickey and maintenance would be required. Why do they wait until we are all on the plane to tell us this stuff? Yep 20 thousand people all squished onto a plane that is not running a fan or air-conditioning or any modern convenience of any sort. Hell, they didn’t even have the music playing through the headset jacks. They offer no water (water hell, I want rum) no entertainment, no dancing airline personnel, no off colored jokes, no nothing, just a “sorry folks” for wasting another hour of your paltry, insignificant, vacation time here in lovely MIA! So now we have to call Dependable Car Rental to let them know that we will be late picking up our car. We should get in by five or six and guess what, they close at five. Fortunately they agreed to drop off our car at the airport so we could pick up our keys with the nice people at Tropic Tours at the airport. Once this oil thing was fixed (they had to add some oil to the doohickey and that takes a degree in engineering and an hour of overtime) we were off. Fortunately, there were no more delays as we winged our way to Cyril King.
Once we landed, we figured that we would need a porter to help us with our stuff (three shipping boxes, one hard-sided suitcase, two roller carry-on suitcases, and two backpacks) and it would be his job to haul all our crap out to wherever our car was parked. It cost us two dollars a bag. What a bargain that was considering we were parked half way to Charlotte Amalie. Yeah, we tipped him to help soothe his aching back.

We made the obligatory stop and shop at the K-mart. VIVA told us we needed paper towels, 409 spray cleaner and the ever popular, TP. Being that it was after 6PM, we decided to forgo our usual stop at the Marina Market so we would be sure to make the last car barge. We are anxiously looking forward to seeing our fair lady, Reef Madness and here comes the General II. Yippee! Somehow we managed to get onto the General II without scraping the underside of the little rental car. The Mr. B plays havoc with our small cars if the tide is in, but the General II has less of a rise to her. So far so good; we even unloaded with nary a jolt. What I need now, more than anything else is a celebratory beer. Did you know that they have bottle openers hanging at the counter of the Dolphin Market? How thoughtful! Now we are crossing the eight tuff miles and on the last leg of our very long journey, up the Seagrape Hill road and onto our driveway. We’re here, home sweet home! There waiting for us with a wicked smile flashing across his gnarley face is the new guy, the new RM guest greeter. Reef Madness… I love you…

Behold the Pirate Benito, namesake of Benito Soto Aboal, Reef
Madness greeter and sommelier
extraordinaire.

Friday… Time to get up and greet the day. Time to make coffee, look around and see what has changed, been moved to a new location, broken, but mostly, time to feed the Bananaquits. They could be pretty pissed off by now (or perhaps they have been fed and catered to by our caring Reef Madness guests; they are so hard to ignore.) Things look pretty much the same around here, a few more boats anchored in Coral Bay, couple more ugly gashes in the sides of the hills.

Today will be a get stuff done around the villa day. We brought down some replacement fan blade screws for the one that went missing on a deck fan. Where did it go? How can a fan blade screw just up and go missing? We noticed it went missing when we had to take down all the outdoor fan blades for our very scary friend, Omar. I went to the store in Maryland that carries this model of fan and found what I was looking for – fan blade screws! How lucky is that? I have fetched the ladder and have fan blade screws in hand and shit, the fan blades screws are the wrong size. The guy at the store told me this is what I needed – he promised… Now I will have to take out another screw and take it back home with me. Instead of one faulty fan blade, now I have two. One step forward, two steps back.

OK, what’s next? Move the extra supplies down to the storeroom. We brought down a piece of granite to go between the wall and the stove where currently there is a two inch gaping hole. Maintenance Pete will install the granite. We took a great deal of care getting it down here, taping it between two boards and wrapping it in bubble wrap, then carefully carrying it by hand aboard the plane as carry on luggage. We placed it gently on the floor below our feet on the plane and let no brutish baggage handlers near it. This makes granite replacement piece number two; the first one never made it out of Shady Side before it disintegrated. I never knew granite was so fragile. I guess long skinny granite is quite fragile. Now to get this delicate piece down to the storage room; that would be the room under the villa that requires ropes, pulleys, crampons and Sherpa’s to scale down to. The trip down to the storage room is always an adventure, but even more so when carrying fragile freight; each footfall is placed cautiously to avoid a K2 descent tragedy. As for the rest of our supplies, rather than carrying them down the cliff, we will drop them over the railing. Did I mention that Marcia was an MVP first baseman during the ’75 World Series and as such, she caught all the free falling merchandise flung over the railing with nary a bobble? The granite will still have to be toted. Since this is piece number two (the first piece being a casualty of The Great Transportation War of ’08) even Marcia’s capable and open mothering arms cannot be trusted to this delicate piece of stone. Nope, not piece number two. A Seagrape Hill goat of burden might be helpful right about now. All stuff safely stored; what’s next. More coffee, that’s what.

The flood light in the driveway stays on all the time at night. What’s up with that? Because I am a master electrician and techno-wizard extraordinaire, I put my Brainiac Gray Matter to work and came up with the notion that on windy nights, the sensors are too sensitive and are mistaking wind whipped flora for approaching cars and neer-do-wells. The solution (drum roll please) turn down the sensor sensitivity (it says right here on the light cover “sensor sensitivity”. I’ll just turn it down a bit…) Damn I’m good. Tonight my theory will be tested. Next problem… Oh yeah, we have a broken lock on the storage chest. Better let Marcia handle that one. I don’t want her thinking I am going to do everything around here donchano. Next, a dip in the pool (while Marcia fixes the lock). Have I mentioned how great it is to be here when there are no hurricanes lurking about?

While splashing around the pool, I noticed something odd appearing on the upstairs deck cypress ceiling. Hope that is not mildew I am seeing! No, it’s not. It is…wasps? Yep, we have multiple nests being erected by these industrious little fellows, all upstairs, all just newly started. Wow, I don’t like wasps… They can hurt! So off I go to Lily’s Market to pick up some wasp eradicator (Love City was fresh out of the stuff). As a rule, I do not like eradicating anything. I mean, wasps have a right to exist as much as any other life form (except mosquitoes… they have no rights). However, they have invaded my cypress and that will never do. I mean, a man’s villa is his castle…or a man’s cypress is his home…or a man must do what a man must do (it sounds much better when John Wayne says it). Anyway, it’s them or me…I have spoken! So I buy the jet propelled agent orange, biohazard stuff, guaranteed to kill anything within twenty miles of the spray can. One can’t be too careful donchano. Marcia offered to spray the nests, but no, this is a man’s job. Those guys look like they have no sense of humor and their stingers…wicked bad. So I hide around the corner taking careful aim and plan my exit strategy. If those little guys call for reinforcements, I might have to leap over the railing and dive into the pool for cover. I wonder how long I can hold my breath.

Well, I shot that spray from 200 miles away and hit my target dead on. I drenched those little suckers. I mean if there was not agent orange, biohazard stuff inside that can, they would have drowned anyway. Yep, that should teach the little bastards. Don’t mess with the man and his castle…ah…villa. Now what should I do. Lunch! A man needs his nourishment to keep in fightin’ form donchano! So off we (the little woman and I) went to rustle up some grub.

Just out toward Salt Pond is a little luncheon hole in the wall called The Tourist Trap. We had heard good things about this place from Steve and Vicki. Larry, the owner is yet another one of those Massachusetts transplants who have come to St John in droves. As such, he has put uniquely New England taste treats on his menu such as lobster rolls. Lobster rolls…on St John…what a concept. Eating at The Tourist Trap is like going to that other famous Boston hangout, Cheers, as the minute you sit down, you are treated like you are a Boston Red Sox fan. You are included in the conversations that the other people sitting around (who all hail from Boston) are having. Wait, not true. The young lady serving us was from Pennsylvania. A surly guy named Carl ( yep, Boston) was sitting at a table bantering back and forth with Larry when another Bostonian steps off the passing VI Transit bus and make himself at home, jumping into the verbal fray without missing a beat. What a cast of characters. The food was great, the entertainment, free; what more could we ask for?

After lunch we accomplished our last to do item: frame an African carving so that it can actually be seen hanging on the wall rather than how it now looks (blending into the stone wall like a sniper in camouflage). We made a cloth matte to go inside a frame in which the carving will hang. Hopefully, when this is done, this delicate carving can actually be seen from across the room rather than its current imitation of Where’s Waldo. Well it looks good. I am sure the material will stretch so I will probably have to tighten up the matte on my next trip down. . Oh good. I haven’t been here one full day yet and already I have a chore for our next visit.

Our friends Dara and Andy are on-island. They will be building a villa in the near future thus will be making many more trips down. We are doing everything in our power to scare them off. Actually, they have read our blog and they still are brave enough to forge ahead. Yep…just you guys wait! I have some spare money tourniquets stashed in the store room. That’s a valuable life saver for when you start hemorrhaging money and you start bleeding money before you even break ground! It starts with a trickle and ends months after your bank account flatlines. I hope they write a building blog so I can relive the bad old days through someone else’s eyes. I could get to feel their pain without actually having to feel their pain! They are going to stop by for Happy Hour and then the four of us will head out to dinner. Oh Benito, where’s the blender? Benito is new to this rum punch thing. He is still working on his mango daiquiri recipe. He is getting better (he was taught by the Rumsfeld master himself) and should soon get the whole program down pat. He is quite remarkable seeing as he has to make all those drinks with just one good hand. And carrying a full tray of drinks hobbling on just one good leg…amazing! And his drinks? Amazing as well! Ahhhh… there’s nothing like a late afternoon happy hour gazing out over our Coral Bay vista. Nothing… But eventually the gazing turns to thoughts of grazing so this rum-punched quartet, Dara, Marcia, Andy and I are off to Sweet Plantains for dinner.

We sat at a small table but it was ample for the four of us. Sweet Plantains has a loyal following and fills up most every night. There is no finer food on the island (IMHO). The four of us split the sampler hors d'oeuvres for two. The sampler consists of spring rolls, saltfish cakes and spicy chicken drummettes. That and dinner was plenty. They have different types of curry specials and the ladies opted for the mild coconut curry with scallops while the guys had a heartier curry with beef. Both are served with rice and their delicious namesake, sweet plantains. We were all stuffed, but still managed to find some glutinous room for a most unusual dessert, tapioca pudding with a coffee liquor and heavy cream. The thing about Sweet Plantains is the infusion of flavors that are intricately layered rather than blended. Each dish is complex and visually exciting. We had a great night and Dara and Andy make the perfect dinner companions.

On our return trip to the RM driveway, I anxiously awaited the outcome of my tweaking of the overly sensitive flood lamp sensors. It is pitch dark and we can barely see the sides of the road. We drove in and…the lights would not go on. Hummm, now what. I got out of the car and walked over to the closest lamp and waved my arms up and down. The light came on! That’s a good sign. Perhaps the sensor was made a tad bit too insensitive or set too close or something. I walked over to the second lamp and waved my arms…nothing. I moved closer and waved. Still nothing. I jumped up and down, nothing. I moved closer, leaping up and down, flapping and whirling like a dervish, a vision to frighten off donkeys and give young children nightmares, a madman attempting flight. Nothing. Ratz. I will try my ingenious tweaking again tomorrow in the daylight. Until then, I am full of good food, good wine, good rum and good memories of a grand evening…so goodnight. I’m off to bed.

Today is going to be a “do what the tourists do” day! We enjoy being tourists, going to local touristy places and spotting touristy things overlooked on prior trips. Today is also an East End day. I can’t remember the last time we had lunch at Vie’s but we are overdue. So after a lazy morning (I know, every morning around Reef Madness seems to be a lazy morning) off we head to Vie’s Snack Shack for brunch. Today, Vie is not working the shack. There is a young woman tending the kitchen and serving up Vie’s great West Indian food. Have I mentioned that Vie’s beans and rice are the finest anywhere? There are a few tourists along with many local goats and chickens hanging around the picnic tables provided by Vie. They seem to be looking for hand outs (the goats and chickens – not the tourists) and the chickens are particularly pushy. We ordered the beans and rice and also had the garlic chicken with johnnycake, which is quite good. The food was ready in somewhat quicker than island-time and we sat down to our feast. One particular chicken was very insistent on a free morsel. He kept eyeballing our lunch and damn near jumped into my lap. My god, doesn’t he know what we are eating here? I can’t give him any of this stuff. I mean this is kind of creepy!

I asked the lady behind the counter if they raised these chickens and she said,
“No. We get our chickens from the store like everyone else.”
“Do you use their eggs then?”
“No, the mongooses do.”
So much for that farm fresh fantasy… but that freeloading cannibal chicken, well, he is still just not right…

From Vie’s we headed off to Sloop Jones to have a look around. Sloop Jones is not the kind of place where you drive by and on a whim decide to go in and look around. No, Sloop Jones is a destination and if you don’t know where it is, you won’t find it. It is truly off the beaten path. But there are cryptic signs all about suggesting its whereabouts as you approach it. When you have decided that this must be the place (but can not be entirely sure) you follow a winding path down past several look alike West Indian cottages until you dead end at the funky, colorful Sloop Jones studio. If the building looks colorful on the outside, wait until you get an eye full of the rainbows on steroids inside the shop. There is a plethora of primary colored Tees and tank tops, shorts, shirts, skirts, jackets, signs, bags, linens and curiosities all lovingly designed and hand dyed by the proprietors. The price of these articles reflects the time and skill that goes into each piece. Once we got past the sticker shock we started to have these internal conversations with ourselves, this shirt will last longer than I will! Then comes the hushed husband and wife conversation so the sales lady won’t hear and think that we are cheap (OK we are but…) “Well, we didn’t get each other an anniversary present and this shirt would look great on you and we will always see it and remember this trip and Sloop Jones and the East End and it will last for a very long time and…etc, etc, etc…) So three shirts and three hundred forty dollars later we were the proud but poor owners of some really great Sloop Jones wearable artwork.

After we left Sloop Jones, we went back to Reef Madness to put away our very expensive artwork/clothing and then headed out for our second annual Seagrape Hill Landowners Association meeting. This is our official reason for being on island. Well actually, the really truly, absolutely, undeniably for certain reason we are on island is for our anniversary (at least that’s what Marcia thinks) but as for what Uncle Sam thinks, we are here for the very important Seagrape Hill Landowner’s Association requisite annual meeting. We get to write part of this trip off on our taxes as this is a very important Seagrape Hill civic assembly and we accomplish very important Seagrape Hill civic stuff. The Seagrape Hill Land Owners Association (also know as SHLOA) is meeting at a venue appropriate for this sacred gathering, the horseshoe pit at Skinny Legs. Our motto is: We may be SHLOA, but we drink fasta. We started the meeting with a round of beers and painkillers after which I handed out my very impressive SHLOA annual meeting agenda. We then heard the financial report from our treasurer (Credit Suisse, eat your heart out) followed by the elections. I am proud to announce that for the third year, I will be the very inspiring president of SHLOA. Our motto was in fine form as it took us nearly two hours to get some basic association things accomplished, but we were all able to knock back a four hour liquor quota. The longer we met, the more we drank, the more we drank the more we all agreed on pretty much everything. This is democracy at its finest. I believe that it was pure inspiration to have these mandatory meetings in “the dead of winter”. What a great time to leave the Mid Atlantic (did I mention that it is 6 degrees f. in Maryland?) Heck we have some landowners that live in Alaska! This is a perfect time for a meeting. So among some of the very important stuff that was decided: besides the election of our SHLOA officers was the election of our board of directors, a decision on how much money to collect (very little, this is Coral Bay after all), where the improvements need to take place (everywhere), and who makes the best painkillers on island (there was some disagreement on this one). All in all we had a great time meeting with some fascinating people. Some people full time St Johnians, some full time wannabes, all easy going and Coral Bay laid back.

Since the Seagrape Hill Landowners Association meeting was held during happy hour, of course the happier the hour the more animated the conversations (so who was the all time greatest hitter in baseball). After the SHLOA meeting we moved to seats at the bar at Skinny's and took in the great live music and continued our happiness and more animated conversation with board member Charlie. After three and a half hours of happiness it now is time for dinner. Since we were feeling no pain (oh, is that why they call them painkillers) we decided it would be prudent to forsake the car and stagger over to the Donkey Diner for their Saturday BBQ night and some much needed sustenance. The walk took forever (all 80 yards of it) and the stroll was treacherous considering the speed bumps and our treacherous condition until at last we reached safe harbor at a Donkey Diner wooden dining bench. Yes, let’s sit here, this is perfect!

I love BBQ chicken and ordered it, but my mind’s eye still sees that weird little chicken guy back at Vie’s Snack Shack. Sorry Mr. or Ms. Chicken, but you do taste good. I was never meant to be a vegetarian (but weird chicken guy, you are supposed to be). Dinner was generous and delicious and now it is time to head back to Skinny’s, retrieve our car and mosey on up the precipitous Seagrape road and Reef Madness driveway to home. The good thing is our collective heads have cleared a great deal since our walk over from Skinny’s. Thank you, Mr. Chicken.

This was a full day. We are a pair of tired puppies. Goodnight Mrs. Calabash (Boom)--wherever you are.

Sunday
Today we are going to start out with a big Donkey Diner breakfast before we head to the beach. So we quickly feed the sugar junkies, down a few cups of java, and head out. Breakfast was great as usual. We need to make a quick stop at the market for more sun screen.

Speaking of sun screen, did I mention that I went online and bought a cheap beach tent? Many of St John’s beaches have full sun all day long which is great if you are a sun worshipper, love tans and have rhinoceros skin. My skin is rice paper thin and though I can tan (sort of) my shades of color fall mainly into two color spectrums – various shades of white and various shades of red (and of course there is always that fun itchy stage in between). I forget now how many times I have had the skin doctor carving away at basel cells on various spots across my body. In fact I can’t fit sunglasses properly any more because one ear has been partially sliced off thanks to my love affair with the sun. I need to get more sun on my other ear so they can slice that one down too; then my glasses will be balanced on my Vulcan shaped ears. Anyway I bought the cheap beach tent to use at places where there is no shade. My expectation for this beach tent was very low, just like the price, but not quite low enough. It was a piece of crap (POC). The seams started to tear before I even sat under it. When I sat in the chair, I hit my head on the ceiling. This was not meant for an adult sitting on a beach chair. Perhaps protection for a small child crawling on a blanket was more it’s purpose. I haven’t given up the idea of a beach tent; I have however, raised my standards and will be doing a great deal more product research on this for my next purchase.

We ended up at Francis Bay and went snorkeling around Mary’s Point. We saw many huge turtles lazily grazing on the sea grasses, many with hitchhiking remora fish firmly attached. It has been quite a while since I have seen turtles this big. They were a common sight at Waterlemon Cay for years. It appears as if the big boys have moved on over to Francis. Once again we were swimming through the millions of small silver fish who break formation as we swim through their ranks. They are of one mind as they move together showing off their gold medal synchronized swimming routine. I am always amazed at the enjoyment I get following this florescent crowd and I never grow weary of this heady psychedelic experience.

Since we had a large breakfast, we stayed at Francis through lunch. By four PM and a full day of snorkeling, the hunger pangs were gnawing on our ribs. We decided rather than eating snacks at happy hour, we would eat an early dinner at Shipwreck Landing. Have I mentioned that Shipwreck has the best fish and chips ever? Yeah, so I’ll mention it again. I know what I am having. So off we go back to Reef Madness to wash off some of the salt and sand, find an appropriately silly t-shirt and head on out to Shipwreck.

There was a different band playing at every stop along the Coral Bay corridor, Skinny’s, Island Blues, Aqua Bistro and Shipwreck. There was something for everyone. While driving along the road we got to that spot in the road where all the live music came crashing together to form musical chaos until the car neared a dominate source that trumped the other sounds. As we approached Shipwreck a funky, bluesy sound filled the air. How perfect.

We did not make it to Shipwreck early enough for a good parking spot, but we did manage to get one of the few remaining tables. Just as we sat down, who should stop by our table but Arlene (you remember Arlene, the local lady who graciously took Caitlin under her wing. You remember Caitlin the niece who would not leave St John leaving her aunt and uncle to explain about missing niece to said niece’s ferocious, over protective, surly, mad-dog, aggressive 5’2 mama). We love Arlene. Because of Arlene, we both still have all our body parts. The first thing out of Arlene’s mouth, “So how’s Caitlin doing”. (Yes, Caitlin did finally return to Seattle). Wait a minute, how about how are we doing first! Oh well, Caitlin has that affect on people. She’s a whirlwind spinning into a life, a place in time, a situation…a bar… then just as abruptly, poof, she’s gone. I miss her. Just like her mom, she is one of a kind. Dinner at Shipwreck was, as usual, great. We sat next to some very gregarious people who had no problem chatting with us from one or two tables away. As always, St John brings out the very best in people and there are some very good people in this world. As the evening wore on we felt blessed once again just to be here and share experiences and laughter with total strangers or perhaps friends we are just getting to know. We head back to RM with that unique St John glow that enters our being upon arrival and seems to carry us through long after the Caribbean Ocean fades from sight.

Monday
Today we are tired and we are sleepy. It will be a villa gravity day and I am just fine with that. We have no desire to go anywhere or do anything. Well perhaps we can get a few chores done around the villa, but not much, maybe none; we’ll see. I have to save up my strength for...for…for what? So for most of the day, we read, looked out over Coral Bay, listened to music, jumped in the pool and napped, yep, a whole lot of napping going on. About 3PM the phone rings. It is Stephen and Lewis. They have started happy hour a wee bit early and without us. What the hell, off we go down to Skinny Legs.

Behind the bar at Skinny’s, who should be bartending but Anna Banana! I haven’t seen her in ages. She has now moved forward with her life, with a new partner and a new baby boy. Her son was born the night that Omar was supposed to smash St John. She named the boy Zachariah. Not Zach, not Ziggy, Zachariah! No way are we calling that kid Zachariah. Omar. His name is Omar. I hope that kid grows up with a sense of humor. He is going to need it.

We decided to stay at Skinny’s and have burgers for dinner. It was during our rum soaked conversation with Lewis that I learned that his favorite island is not St John, NO! He prefers Grenada. Grenada??? Isn’t that the island that the U.S. invaded back in the 1980’s? And did you know that the only other nation that went into Grenada with the U.S. was Jamaica? Jamaica? Do they have Rasta soldiers? How does all the hair get under a helmet? What did they use for weapons? Shoulder mounted bongs? Grenada, ha! Well, then, just get your skinny ass off MY island and go hang out in Grenada if you think it is so cool. I did look up some pertinent data and Grenada does look some what cool, OK, very cool; cool looking beaches, rich jungle like hillsides, corals reefs to explore. I wonder if the Jamaicans left a few things behind? Just how many days does it take to sail to Grenada?

Today is Tuesday. Back home it is Inauguration Day. What a great day not to be in Washington DC. I think this inauguration will be madness on an epic scale. Streets are being shut down, crowds are gathering, patrolmen are everywhere. Oh shucky darn, I wish I could be there in the 20 degree weather, but I guess I will have to suffer here in the 80 degree sunshine by the pool.

Today will be a busy day at Reef Madness. The landscaping around our new waterfall will begin. This is the final step in realizing our “vision” of what the pool area is to look like. The rocks stacked up to form a waterfall look nice, but it all needs to be tied in to the rest of the landscape so it does not look so much like a lump of boulders laying on the pool’s edge and that is where Josephine will be working her magic. I will gather up some loose smaller stones to help create a pathway. Reef Madness is built on a pile of rocks. We have a few extra (OK a ton) that we can spare.

Right now we have some potted plants sitting at the edge of the pool. I never liked them there. They looked like we were trying to cover some ugly stuff up with potted plants. We were. These plants will be moved around the deck and will be replaced at the end of the pool by actual landscaping. Oh-oh, Josephine says we have to build up the pool planting area using stone and concrete. OH NO!!! Not stone; not concrete! Does this mean they have to bring in a stone mason? Oooooohhh, I’m having a bad flashback… There goes the budget! So, a crew of guys shows up and starts working. I too am working to try and keep the cost down. Who am I kidding; the cost never goes down. I am probably killing myself loading up these stones and moving them from this location to that location and they will no doubt charge extra for me getting in their way. I’m just trying to help…

While Josephine and CO. are busy building walls and planting stuff, we are going to head for the city and Starfish Market to pick up some meal fixins’. Tomorrow, we are going to fix a meal for Steve and Vicki. Marcia is a bit intimidated cooking for the Chez Shurters after the feast Vicki produced on our last visit. Perhaps if I sneak in a little extra rum at happy hour, any cooking faux pas will seem like creative flair, an intentional bit of gastronomic genius. “Yes, that steak that is black on the outside and cold on the inside is the latest in nouveau blackened steak tartar. It’s all the culinary rage, donchano.” So we packed up an ice chest and headed to Cruz Bay. Since we had an ice chest, we decided we would shop first and then stop in at the Lime Inn to say hi to Rich, the proprietor and have an early dinner.

Now this is a fine plan; a simple, fool proof plan, right? Go to Starfish, go to the Lime Inn…well of course it’s not going to be that simple; what am I thinking!!!! This is the Caribbean; this is St John; the gods haven’t had their chuckle yet. So here is the plan: first I go to the ATM outside of Starfish while Marcia starts the shopping process (sounds good so far). Marcia has her shopping list in hand and all I need is some cash. While she is shopping her little heart out, I confidently walk up to the ATM and insert my card. Immediately an error shows up on the screen. I bet they are out of money since the machine has not been restocked with cash since last Friday; no restocking over the weekend; Monday was Martin Luther King Day and no one works on MLK day, (right?) and Tuesday is Inauguration Day (any excuse will do on St John) so, for sure, this machine is out of cash. RATZ. So while the machine is beeping at me saying take your card, take your card, take your card, a woman, who hangs out at the Market Place and is often times found soliciting locals and tourists alike for financial aid for her addiction, walks up to me and asks for a hand out. Now she was in such bad shape she couldn’t even figure out that no one was getting any money from this machine; she might as well move on…but no…she had me cornered. I turned to talk to her and just as I was telling her that I had no cash, the bank machine decided that it was not going to tell me any more times to take your card, take your card, take your card, and it swallowed it. I think I could hear a belch as my card entered the ATM’s digestive tract. Now both of us were in need of a “fix”. Boy, did this cause me a great deal of distress as I have had my share of involvement with St John banks and let me tell you, take all the hassles found in dealing with various entities on St John and multiply that by ten and that is the frustration level found when dealing with a St John Bank. I know getting my card back will be nothing short of exasperating. Hmmm… What is that sound I hear? That rumbling, raucous, reverberating sound; the sound of laughing deities…

So, minus a debit card, but still with a credit card in hand (and an empty wallet), we slunk away from the Market Place and headed down to the Lime Inn. We charged two dinners of Seafood Pasta and a Caribbean Lobster. Rich was working the podium and greeted us with his usual enthusiasm. He mentioned that business was way down and things were tight. It is the same story we are hearing all over the island. We are in the same position as many other folks. Our retirement 401ks have shrunk to nothing. But we are lucky in a lot of ways. We both have good jobs and make a decent living. OK we do have a HUGE mortgage brought on by building our little dream villa on St John. Our jumbo loan stays the same, while the value of our home diminishes. Still, we are one of the fortunate ones. Other than a mortgage, we have little debt and no dependants requiring assistance and our health is still hanging in there. Even though we don’t have a ton of money, we want to do our small bit for this island’s economy. On this trip we have chosen to eat out nearly every meal, something we have not done in the past. We have also made an attempt to go to a wide variety of places and spread what little we have around the island. No we won’t be buying expensive jewelry (OK maybe an expensive shirt) and no high end wines (pain killers and beer will do quite nicely). So with the exception of our dinner with Steve and Vicki, we will be forgoing the parsimony of grocery store shopping and eating in. We will be bringing back island stuff for our friends and ourselves. Not only do we get to feel arrogantly noble, but we don’t have to eat nouveau blackened steak tartar! Maybe our good karma will come back around to us and we somehow will be able to retire before we are 102.

It is now Wednesday and I am told that the planters should be done today (yeah, when pigs fly). This little landscaping around the pool has somehow grown from throw some rocks and a couple plants around the pool, to: erecting a stone wall to retain the soil and adding even more plants, to: erecting two stone walls, a terrace and even more plants; and now, Josephine wants to plant around the driveway and do some terracing there as well. Ching-ching! How does any one say “no” to Josephine? I have to admit, the area around the driveway could use some of her magic. Right now it looks like a moonscape. When Reef Madness was built, tons and tons of rock were excavated from the building site and most of our planted hillside is surviving in soil hauled in and lovingly placed by Josephine’s crew and beneath it lays rock, tons and tons of rock. No wonder the only things that grow naturally on Seagrape are tamarind and cactus (oh and a sorry looking Mampoo/Turpentine tree).

So the crew shows up and Marcia is giving them some direction while I will head to the big city. I need to get my ATM card out of jail at Scotia Bank and I also need to talk to First Bank about SHLOA business. OMG, two Island banks in one day; someone just shoot me. I am sure I will need some comfort after two trips to two different banks in one day, so a stop in at St John Spice is a must. Ruth, Ron and Vicki will allow me to bleed all over their shop floor. I hate to cry in front of strangers and these guys will understand my emotional meltdown. Perhaps I will need to drown my sorrows in my new favorite local beer, Virgin Islands Summer Ale. Yeah, that and a hot dog should cheer me right up! I also need to get with VIVA and chat about villa stuff. I am exhausted and I haven’t left RM yet.

So I walk into Scotia Bank and tell the lady there about the woe of my swallowed ATM card…and she hands it to me…HANDS IT TO ME! I don’t get it. To do any transaction with the bank, one needs to provide four duplicates of sixteen certified documents (or twenty depending on if it is a Tuesday or Wednesday) a list of all relatives (living or dead), a sworn statement of loyalty to the USA in general and the USVI in particular, a letter from an attorney that attests to ones good character, a pint of 0 negative blood, seven vestal virgins and a “have a nice day” and she just hands me my ATM Card. No photo ID, no proof of ownership, no nothing. Go figure… Well that’s taken care of. Off to First Bank; maybe my luck (luck?) will hold. Where is that guffaw coming from? Do you hear that…?

OK, so I’m on a roll. Off I go to First Bank for a very small change in the account. I need to replace the former SHLOA treasurer’s name with the new treasurer’s name on the bank records. Simple right? So with my confidence at an all time St John high, I march on down to the next bank of the day, saunter up to the desk and state my purpose.

“Good morning, I am Randy Kiser, the President of the Seagrape Hill Landowners Association and I need to change the treasurer’s name on our account.”

“Good morning Mr. Kiser… For that request there are only a few simple requirements: The new treasurer must accompany you here (funny, the old one didn’t have to); you must present a copy of the Seagrape Hill Landowners Association’s 2009 Annual Meeting minutes, stamped of course with the association’s official seal; we need the new treasurer’s official statement of good standing – easily obtained from the USVI government, and please provide the bank with a pint of O negative blood and seven vestal virgins.”

Hell, I only wanted a name change! Maybe I should have asked for an ATM card instead. Ruth… Ron… Vicki…Help! I need a cold one. Make that six! Hey guys, I am sorry about my O negative blood splattered all over your shop floor. Know any virgins? GEEZ...

One of the things that we enjoy doing while on St John is meeting and greeting other off and on islanders at the quasi-regular Virgin-Islands-On-Line Forum gatherings that spontaneously erupt at the Beach Bar on any given Sunday evening. This has become a new St John tradition (is that an oxymoron?). People post on the forum saying “Hey I’m on island next Sunday, anyone one want to get together at the Beach Bar.”

Who are all these people? The typical VIOL Forumite always wants to go to the Beach Bar; it’s genetically marked on their DNA. Beer, Pain Killers, other rum concoctions, Steve Simon Jazz, good food, reasonable (for St John) prices, what more could an escapee from the cruel northern climes ask for?

Here is a sedate Sunday, St John style:

Reef Madness...The Sequel