Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Notes from my Barbados Journal: Part 2

Grrrrrrr.... Insert creative cussing and sourpuss LOLcat here. I am not having a good day health wise. Can't move. Was to go to Bathsheba today to paint, but have postponed til tomorrow. I could just cry.

I sit on the patio hilariously bundled in a blanket (I am freezing!) and half-heartedly watch for
Mick Jagger and entourage, who are apparently in the lounge having lunch before flying off to Mustique. Dad says everyone is ignoring him. (I bet he likes that!)

Next morning:

My fever broke in the night, and I am doing better. Painkillers, check. Off to Bathsheba! I can barely contain my excitement. It is one of my favourite places on Earth. On a par with Lady Agnes MacDonald Tea House at Lake Louise, Alberta.

En route, Banana Flowers! Invasion of the bodysnatcheresque Banana Flowers!!

Bathsheba is on the remote East coast. A rugged terrain that seems like another planet.

These hunks of coral are as big as my garage.

I am in texture heaven!

His bones are coral made…

A psychological portrait of my Father. I wonder what he is thinking?

I found out the hard way that there be jellyfish in these caverns.

Bathsheba, The Round House restaurant, and adjacent St Martin’s Bay: When I shoot in sepia, this relatively untouched part of the island looks just like an old postcard from 1887.

The food at The Round House is authentic and delicious Bajan style: Macaroni Pie with jerk spice, grilled flying fish, and a special grated coconut pie that patrons fight over for the last piece.


Upon awaking, I have a sudden, uncomfortable and disturbing thought about my dear paternal Grandmother and hope she is okay. Two days later on the way to the airport, my Dad tells me she is dying of kidney failure. It could be a matter of hours: she could pass while I am in the air.

Grammy is 94 years old, and an amazing, self-made, intelligent woman. Three time cancer survivor. I get the chance to tell her what she means to me and to say good-bye. I thank her for fostering in me a lifelong love of Siamese Cats. It was her seal point male, “High-liner”, that I fell in love with as a little girl. When my parents asked me what I wanted for a pet when we moved to Canada, I said quite confidently, "a skunk or two Siamese cats!"

I remark that she is kind of “going like a cat”. Curled up in her bed. Not moving much, but at peace with this. Caring relations like Auntie Lynn and some great grandchildren are there to pet her. Dad appreciates that comment and mulls it over. I bet Grammy would roar with glee at it.

But for now, I do not know. I just wonder what he is thinking.

(It's Dad’s.)