This is the week-end many on St. Croix have been waiting for for months. Pointe Dance Academy is putting on its production of the Nutcracker Suite Ballet. It’s always a beautiful show and this year for the first time in a long time, my daughter will grace the stage with her presence. She’s a fabulous dancer who makes it look like such an effortless and natural thing to be doing. Even though we have seen the callouses on her feet and her black toenail. Dancing on pointe is not for the faint of heart.

The first time I watched the show without her in it, I cried. I cry when she’s in it, too, so she’s damned if she does and if she doesn’t perform in it. But the production is always so well done, so professional.

The women who have run the school for 14+ years are sisters and were once Las Vegas showgirls. They are top-notch teachers of the Cecchetti method and have become Polestar Certified Pilates instructors as well. We are missing Heidi this year, as she is in England with her husband, Terry. Terry, who has also performed many times in the Nutcracker, has been diagnosed with cancer and will be treated in his native country. We wish them both the best.

Sonja has been going crazy without her sister, but has pulled the show together magnificently, with help from Hildegard and Nicole and many of the dancers’ mothers. Michael and I will be running the bar for all three performances like we did last year. We shopped on Friday for sodas, snacks, and adult beverages to keep everyone energized bofore, during and after each show. This year we have asked Amanda and Carsten to help us, along with Chris and John who have been involved for years.

One night down, two to go……

Poor Michael. He has been so very supportive of me this year. I cannot believe how sick I’ve been over the course of the year. It’s really strange, because I’ve always been so healthy. And Monday I felt better than I had in years.

I spent Tuesday night in the hospital, though. I’d had to cancel my afternoon appointment with one of my favorite clients. I actually thought I was having a heart attack. After lunch on Tuesday (lunch consisted of a big bowl of organic oatmeal, a little bit of organic chocolate and some coffee), I started feeling strange. I’d gone to work in the morning and had felt a little “off”, but attributed it to the fact that the coffee I drank in the morning had a little caffeine in it, and we usually drink organic decaf. But Tuesday afternoon, the anxiety of the morning intensified and I started getting a tightness in my chest. It felt like heartburn. I’d felt like this occasionally in the past, but it had never been this severe.

I started thinking about what the say about women and heart attacks and I didn’t want to be another statistic. I had been lying down to try to nap a bit before my appointment when Michael called. He thought I’d be out doing errands and wanted to see if the answering machine message could be heard through his speakerphone option on his cell phone. He was waiting for his 2pm massage client and decided to check on this, since he’s been having problems with his phone not ringing.

I got up after his call, thinking that moving around might help me feel better. It didn’t. I was feeling light-headed and my arms were tingling. I wanted to call someone to ask for help, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone. I called my client to tell her I wasn’t feeling well enough to drive over there. I couldn’t ask for help. I’m too young to be having a heart attack. I’d just eaten oatmeal – good for the heart. I called Heike to maybe ask for help. I had a message for her anyway about a potential job. I told her I was feeling lousy. She said that this flu-like thing was going around and I probably needed to drink more water and rest.

I felt so awful. I didn’t know what to do. Call 911? Then I’d have to move all the dogs. Michael was in session. I called and left a voicemail message. I looked at the clock. It would be another 20 minutes until he was done. Then he had another one lined up. I didn’t think I could make it. 10 minutes later I called Heike back to see if she could come. She said she would. I called Michael back to tell him. Then he called and I said Heike was coming, but wouldn’t be here for another 30 minutes or so and I needed to get to the hospital soon. He said he’d come right away. I called Heike again and told her he was on his way. She said she’d come anyway, and I told her we would be at the hospital by the time she could get here.

I got some stuff together to keep myself warm in the hospital and waited, feeling not a bit better as time went on. Michael arrived we started toward the hospital. We got stuck in Hovensa traffic. The refinery was changing shifts. Our horn doesn’t work. My hands were going completely numb and spasming. They were stuck in a strange position like I was having a stroke or something. Michael wanted to call the ER to let them know we were on our way. We have a small phone book in the car, but my hands weren’t working right. I got one of them to pick up the book and painstakingly turn some pages. I finally found the ER number. Michael called and when we arrived, we went right in. A nurse hooked me up to the EKG machine. She was cussing it out, calling the machine “this stupid thing” (not very comforting). I guess the stupid thing told her my heart was okay. Then I had to vomit. I made a lot of noise. I usually puke pretty quietly, but for some reason had to really work at this and noise had to come out, too. I wished they’d give me something to help get this stuff out of my body. Ipecac or something.

They made me drink some chalky stuff to calm my digestive system. It was awful. They decided to send me in for x-rays. They put me in a wheelchair that didn’t have any foot rests. It was weird being pushed around with my legs sticking out because there was nothing to rest them on. I started laughing and the nurse asked me what I was laughing at. I told her I felt pretty goofy and didn’t she think it was comical? She’d told me that most of the wheelchairs didn’t have foot rests. They’d just gotten a bunch of new ones, but the footrests always disappear. Strange.

The x-rays showed nothing blocking my intestines. I got back to the ER with Michael and hurled some more. The pain was not really being relieved. For hours the pain remained. They took blood and hooked me up to an IV. I was thirsty and they wouldn’t give me any water. I was screaming from the pain. Trying to move in contorted positions to help alleviate it. They weren’t doing anything to stop the pain. Poor Michael had to sit helplessly watching me writhe and cry in pain. It came in waves. I started thinking that my body was going into a false labor since it was the day that I was supposed to give birth to our baby.

I felt bad for everyone. I could imagine being in another room in the ER hearing these awful noises coming out of ours. But I couldn’t help it. Finally, much much later, they got the results of the blood tests, but the pharmacy was closed and they’d have to wait until morning to give me what I needed.They gave me some drugs to help me relax and then finally morphine to put me out. Michael was finally able, after 10 pm to go home and have some dinner. The doctor said the blood test indicated a phosphorus deficiency, which is highly unusual, since phosphorus is in everything we eat. I still don’t get it. Food poisoning? I ate what everyone else ate the night before at Diane’s. Oatmeal and poisonous chocolate? Whatever…..

I slept soundly until nurse Nancy came in to take my vitals at 4 am. I felt so much better. She came back at 6 am and had me go to the bathroom. Then she had me call Michael to tell him I felt better and would probably be able to go home soon. He got to the hospital around 8:30. The doctor had just been by and said he’d be back to discharge me after he saw someone in ICU. Cool! I’d be out soon. I’d get back home and get cleaned up in time to bring Meredith to the airport at 11am. The doctor said he’d rather I just rest for the day. I said, “okay”, not at all meaning it.

The doctor didn’t get back to me until just after I sent Michael out to get Meredith. It was 11:20. I was a basket case. He and the nurses were saying, “I bet you’re in a hurry to get out of here.” I said, “Not any more, my ride just left and I don’t know when he’ll be back”. I was sooo pissed. I was comfortable on the hospital bed and now I’d have to go out into the waiting room for who knew how long. A little after noon, Michael came back for me. He had gotten Meredith safely to the airport in time. We went to Plaza for some appropriate foods for me to eat. Potassium-rich foods…to help with my phosphorus levels???Whatever.

I fell asleep at 8 last night and only got up once to go to the bathroom before 7 am. Now I feel like I got hit by a truck. Still light-headed but my torso is sore from the exertion of throwing up and I’m really bloated for some reason. I feel like the Pillsbury dough boy again. Any day now it would be nice to get back to normal health and stay that way.

(Note from Michael: Sorry, I didn’t have my camera with me, so no graphic pics of Terry heaving into little blue plastic bags, or wheeling around on a footrest-less wheelchair with her legs sticking out You’ll have to use your imagination)

After weeks of engine swapping, tweaking, scrambling for parts, plugging leaks, and general trouble shooting, the Orange Rover, AKA The Great Pumpkin, is finally on the road again. Terry and I went for a little spin around the neighborhood, then I headed over the hill to the hardware store. Yeah

The Great Pumpkin Rides Again!
Tip: Click play, then pause for a sec to let it buffer a little, then play again. Otherwise it’ll play a little choppy the first time.

Thanks to Dave and Michelle for all their help getting this thing going!

It was a dark and stormy night. And I’m not just making that up. St. Vincent doesn’t have a lot of light pollution. And it had rained earlier in the evening. After a half-hour drive along the winding narrow roads, we were dropped off by Robert, on a dark sand beach. He told us the two guys running down the street toward us were the water taxi operators.

Okay, we were cool with that since we had read reviews about the “rustic” situation we were entering. And having lived in the Caribbean for as many years as we have, we are probably more comfortable than most with local customs and dialects. Still, we knew this was going to be an adventure.

I had been traveling all day with my rain jacket around my waist, not knowing exactly what to expect in unfamiliar airports, but expecting to be cold at some point. It’s a perfect, lightweight jacket (a gift from my ever thoughtful husband ) and would be appropriate in any circumstance. I was glad to have it around my waist, since the seats on the boat might be wet and we did not know how long the “ferry” ride would be.

Tourist Smugglers of Buccament Bay

The water taxi was a 15 foot dinghy with a pirate insignia on the front. The guys brought it close enough to us on the beach so that we didn’t get too wet when we boarded. Again, we expected this, so wore appropriate footwear (crocs), and I’d rolled up my jeans while waiting for them to bring the boat in. The guys hauled our small suitcase and other bags into the boat and helped us get on board. We felt like we were being smuggled off to who knows where. We weren’t 20 yards offshore when it started raining. My raincoat was tied tightly around my waist, and I wanted to put it on to keep dry, but the driver was going pretty fast and I had to hold on for dear life. Michael mentioned the fact that our sunglasses were still on our heads so I took mine off and hung them on my shirt. He actually put his on his face. We couldn’t see anything anyway. It began to pour. It was a tropical deluge. The more it rained, the faster the boat flew through the turbulent sea. The rain stung our faces and my eyes and I couldn’t imagine how those guys could see where they were taking us. We could have been going to Venezuela for all I knew. We were laughing hysterically, getting soaked to the bone and not knowing how long the ride would last. It was raining so hard I had to gasp for air.

Fortunately, the wet, bumpy ride lasted only about 5 minutes. Up ahead, we could barely see the faint lights powered by the 12 volt electrical system at Petit Byahaut. Sid (the manager) and James (a staffperson) were on the beach with flashlights directing our taxi guys away from the rocks surrounding the landing area. What a trip! We had arrived! In my haste to give the guys a tip as I disembarked, I lost my sunglasses. I was halfway up the path to the restaurant when I realized it and told Sid and Michael that they were probably on the beach or being pounded to bits in the rough surf. Sid searched with his flashlight along the beach and then called the boat guys back. With much difficult maneuvering, they were able to bring the boat back to shore and hand off my shades to Sid. It was a miracle. I had only had them for a couple of days and was convinced that I’d never see them again.

We got to the restaurant at around 10 pm. Dinner is generally served between 7 and 8. Michelle, Sid’s wife, welcomed us graciously and asked if we were hungry. We were famished after waiting so much longer in the Antigua airport than we’d expected to. She sent James to show us to our room, so we could change into dry clothes. He lead us up a dark wet trail of uneven stone steps, up, and up, and up… even James said it was a steep climb. Finally we reached our “Lookout” perch, dried off and changed for dinner.

They started us off with a fabulous callaloo soup. Our main course was kingfish in a tangy fruit sauce with fried potato cakes and steamed carrots and christophene. Our wine was Travento Cabernet-Malbec. It was good, but a little heavy with the fish. Dessert was a delicious guava-passionfruit mousse.

We sat and chatted with Michelle and Sid for a while before heading back up to the room. Still running on adrenaline, we weren’t quite ready to sleep, so we read and sipped a bit of rum until we finally fell into a deep slumber.

We wandered a bit after our snack and found a store that sold only alcohol and cigarettes. No water or anything soft. Always ready to compare “their rum” to “ours”, we bought two mini bottles of English Harbour Pure Antiguan Rum. We would try it later in our official “rum tasting”.

On the way out of the store, I noticed a carton of cigarettes. The brand was Davidoff. The carton was a rich-looking burgundy color with gold lettering. At the bottom of the front of the carton in the same gold lettering it said “Smokers Die Younger”. It wasn’t even in small print! But then, look at the name. Someone was going to be “offed”, and it wasn’t only David. They were clearly giving a potential buyer the message, whereas, in ‘merica, all of that warning stuff is in small print so no one sees it. In ‘merica, selling is what it’s all about. If you can’t read the small print, you’re obviously expendable.

Our flight was finally announced and it was maxed out! An earlier flight had been cancelled due to “operational difficulties”, which we were told by another passenger meant there weren’t enough people booked on it to warrent flying an aircraft, so those passengers would be transferred to our flight, and they would eventually get to where they were going, but at least they’d be on a plane. We encountered a bunch of Brits who apparently had been delayed for hours awaiting their flight(s) either to or from the islands. There were cheers of excitement when it was finally their turn to board.

The Antigua airport is cool because it has an observation deck so you can watch all the arrivals and departures if you so desire (if you’re not getting a relaxing massage or something), but it was dark by the time we left, so we couldn’t really see much.

We could see even less when we got to St. Vincent. We had no idea how large or small the airport was. It was really dark. But our landing was smooth and we got through customs quickly and exited the airport among the taxi drivers who directed us immediately to Robert, our personal taxi driver. Robert would carry us to the water taxi which would take us directly to Petit Byahaut.

We’re back from our vacation, but the good folks working hard to get The Pickled Greek up and going are exhausted, so the not-quite-yet-open Greek is now closed for vacation.

They did get the outside looking nice though. The shutters are done, the building is painted, an alarm has been installed, generator and AC should be coming soon.

Well, ours started off on a stressful note. I had been trying not to be my usual insane, anxiety ridden self in preparation for this departure. So I chilled, took my time reminded myself and Michael frequently about what still needed to be done. We had plenty of time…..NOT. We left the house in plenty of time, but had neglected one of the most important things…. changing the answering machine message. We were about 3/4 of a mile up the road when I remembered. Michael asked if I wanted to go back and I said “yes”, but there was no place to turn around right away, so I said “okay, forget it”. I’ve been trying not to be anal about things like that. I was filled with angst, dying inside, however, and Michael said he’d try to change the message remotely. We had to stop at a store and I went inside while he called the machine. He figured out how to change the message and, voila! my hero came through again! I breathed a HUGE sigh of relief. Now I could enjoy our trip.

We arrived at the airport at exactly the right time, but as we checked in, they told us our plane was running 30 minutes behind schedule. We went in through TSA and they made us empty our water bottles. Inside there was not even a water fountain. No water for sale. Nothing to drink. We waited in there for almost two hours, thirsting while children cried and whined, one in particular, we had nicknamed “the shrieker” carried on while his mother ignored him.

We finally boarded and took off around 2pm. An hour late. We had expected a 4 hour layover in Antigua and thought we might be able to explore a bit of the island, but by the time we got there, our layover had shrunk to about two hours. Or so we thought. We were hungry, but thought we’d be leaving soon, so we grabbed a quick snack at the airport bar. Our bill for two white-bread sandwiches with processed cheese, lettuce and slimy deli turkey and 2 Wadadli beers was $54 EC. Yikes! The sammys were $18 EC each and the beers $9! Good thing they took US dollars. It actually came to $21 in ‘merican money. Good thing the beers were good!

A sign in the stairwell said “Enjoy a massage here!” What? Right there? In the middle of the stairwell? But there was a little cubicle upstairs with a massage chair. That was it. No person, just a chair….

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