A few weeks ago Steve and I felt like we’d totally screwed up our lives by making perhaps the biggest mistake of our lives by moving to an 8-mile long island, so far from everyone and from the civilization we were used to.  We were longing for our old life and all the trappings of house, cars, grocery stores and movie theatres.  I berated myself for the material craving but after living one way for fifty-seven years, it was hard to realize this topsy-turvy existence. Everyone thought we were living in paradise and there’s no disputing, this place is pretty.  But the overriding feeling was that we were stuck in this isolated land.  Trapped in paradise.

Steve’s job was overwhelming.  In fifty-two days he had not had one day off.  His phone rang constantly, emails overflowed and demands grew.  Logistics were insane. It was more than one person could handle and he knew that but was too exhausted to process much beyond the next minute or two. But what could we do?  He needed a job and the prospects of finding another position in hospitality were still slim.  We were only slated to be here for two years and we were counting it down already: one month down, twenty-three to go.

Neither of us are spring chickens though not yet old fogies.  But at this stage in our lives we’d imagined things would be a little bit easier, less demanding, with a little more time to pursue our quieter interests.  In this job, Steve was working like he did when he was in his twenties.  And I was washing dishes in a bathroom sink.  Something seemed very wrong with this picture.

Our bodies were tense, our spirits low.  We were in the rainy season here and when it rains here, it pours.  Mosquitoes were prolific; bites were too.  We really didn’t see how we could ever adapt.  But then suddenly it happened.  The Christmas winds arrived, taking with them the daily rain and the ravaging biting bugs. Rainbows decorated the sky against a backdrop of dazzling blue.  Steve started to see real progress at work.  He was in the process of hiring more staff.  He was getting rave reviews from his boss and guests were very complimentary. I started to enjoy a life without encumbrances. Fresh air filled our lungs; the sunshine lifted our spirits.  The waves were therapeutic; the birds were singing.  It totally reminded me of Allen Sherman’s ‘Camp Grenada’ song:

“Wait a minute, it stopped hailing, guys are swimming, guys are sailing, playing baseball, gee that’s better….mudder, fadder kindly disregard this letter.”

Life is not going to get tremendously easier but we’re trying to ride the waves, take it a day at a time and live it as yet another adventure along the road.  This stop is (a) Camp Grenada.