*While everybody’s praying for a Christmas of white, come to think about it that would be alright. As long as it’s sand and not snow on the ground, and everyday our skin gets a little more brown.*
The holiday season is upon us! It doesn’t seem like it, since I have decided to forego autumn and some of winter this year to extend my summer season. While I’ll find it odd to not be with my family this year for Turkey Day, it’s kind of awesome to have Thanksgiving in 85 degree weather!
We have plans to relax for the day (surprise, surprise) and maybe make a trip over to St. John to relax on a beach. While I do not have to work (yes, I got a job! See below for details!), a couple out of the group will have to. Dinner will be at Trevor and Liberty’s, and they are hosting quite a few people. Apparently, Liberty is quite the ambitious chef and has ordered each of us to only bring wine or liquor, though I may have to sneak in a particular dessert or something. Yes, we are having turkey (not mahi mahi), and I still do not eat seafood. I am sure it will be a wonderful holiday with everyone here.
The great thing about being here during the holiday season is I have managed to avoid all encounters with awful Christmas sweaters and sweatshirts. The downside? No Awful Christmas Sweater themed parties. (Or is that an upside as well?) I realize that eventually I am bound to run into someone in some awful Christmas tank top… or bikini.
Also, I have not seen one place of business prematurely decorated for the holiday shopping season. This is so revitalizing to not have a constant reminder to “BUY GIFTS”, “SHOP”, “SPEND ALL OF YOUR HARD-EARNED MONEY IN THIRTY MINUTES”, or “YOUR HOLIDAY WILL BE A DISASTER IF YOU DO NOT BUY EVERY GIFT RIGHT THIS MINUTE (TWO MONTHS IN ADVANCE).” The holidays seem to be celebrated for real reasons, not commercial ones.
I have also managed to avoid hearing horrendous Barbara Streisand carols on repeat since last holiday season. This must be some kind of achievement worthy of a Guinness World Record! (I never understood why she has a Christmas album anyway.) At the least, it’s made me very happy that I do not need to hear the same five songs on repeat done by different artists. It’s uplifting to hear holiday music with steel drums. Kenny Chesney’s “All I Want For Christmas Is A Real Good Tan” is one of the very few holiday albums I actually own and like enough to listen to, because it’s so different and… sun-kissed! Even my Jersey boy Frankie (dare I say it) can get a little bland if you listen to it constantly.
***Yes, it’s true. I have a job… sort of. It’s a quintessential island job if there ever was such a thing. I am cocktail waitressing for nothing but tips up and down Coki Beach. I make my own schedule; I show up around 11 and work until about 3:30. I can take a break whenever to jump in the water and swim if and when I want. It’s just a little extra spending money… enough to pay the bar tabs. And to pay for the flight home for the holidays. Arrival in Atlantic City is set for 11 PM on December 17th, and I will be home for 12 days before returning to the land of fun and sun for ringing in the New Year island style! I’ll be home for Christmas. You can count on me.
*Don’t worry, baby, we’ll celebrate plenty. I’ll buy you some shades and myself a brand new bikini.*
You know you love me,
XOXO
-Island Girl
24 November, 2008
“Nights I Can’t Remember; Friends I’ll Never Forget”
A few years ago, my uncle had the unfortunate and heartbreaking opportunity to write his own eulogy. He came up with a few things on his list that he never got to do that he wished he would have, and expressed his hope to his children and the rest of his family to live out his legacy. This list included everything from buying an extra seat for him at a Phillies game to driving a red convertible on a sunny day. At the end, he left us all with a poignant quote: “In life, we don’t remember the days. We remember the moments.” His quote has been one that resonates in my head, and I am sure it will for the rest of my life.
About a year after his passing, I was food shopping in Wegman’s and came across the little gift and greeting card department. A small, white square magnet caught my eye, and it read:
We do not remember days; we remember moments. –Cesare Pavese
I smiled to myself as I remembered my aunt telling me she once received an anniversary card from my uncle with a beautiful poem handwritten inside, only to later find it was written decades ago by a well-renowned poet. Some people may call it plagiarism (and a big no-no for someone so highly educated); I consider it a quirk of his. Of course, I bought the magnet, and it sticks to the refrigerator at home for everyone to see.
My Uncle Matt seemed to have forgotten the other half of the quote by Signore Pavese. The full statement reads:
We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.
I’ve found myself unable to write about my experiences here. Not because of writer’s block or my busy schedule (or the rum, for that matter), but because the details seem to have been slipping my mind. Garth Brooks explains this in a song he penned entitled “That’s The Way I Remember It:”
Some of our stories fade as we grow older; some get sweeter every time they’re told.
All of these stories are sweet in their telling, and they will, I am sure, become more saccharine and amusing as the years go by and we all recount them. We may be able to piece some nights and days together as bits of the puzzle come back to us, one by one. I will remember something more prominently than anyone of those that live next to me, and I am sure they will remind me of something I may have (sometimes purposely) forgotten.
The days seem to run together here, and there never seems to be a set time each week where everyone reserves the time to let loose. There is never a day like the stereotypical Monday here, where it seems like it’s the most difficult thing in the world just to get out of bed and go to work to start the workweek. Our lives here are not governed by a particular hour or minute, but rather what we are feeling that that moment. We don’t eat lunch at one in the afternoon because it’s one o’clock, but we eat when we are hungry. There are no rules about time to start – or end – a day or night at the bar; it goes without saying that “it’s five o’clock somewhere” was certainly penned in an island like this. We live by moments here; not calculated days.
The funny thing is, as I type my closing statement, “Next Thing On My List” by Toby Keith has just popped up on my iTunes player. I am smiling and giggling slightly as I think to myself that Uncle Matt could have heard this song as he was writing his own eulogy, and decided to "borrow" Toby’s concept for the song. I’ll leave you with the lyrics.
Under an old brass paper weight is my list of things to do today:
Go to the bank and the hardware store, and put a new lock on the cellar door.
I cross them off as I get them done, but when the sun is set
There's still more than a few things left I haven't got to yet.
Like go for a walk, say a little prayer,
Take a deep breath of mountain air,
Put on my glove and play some catch.
It's time that I make time for that.
Wade the shore, cast a line,
Look up an old lost friend of mine,
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss.
Start living...that's the next thing on my list.
It wouldn't change the course of fate if cutting the grass just had to wait.
Cause I've got more important things like pushing my kid on the backyard swing.
I won't break my back for a million bucks I can't take to my grave.
So why put off for tomorrow what I could get done today?
Like go for a walk, say a little prayer,
Take a deep breath of mountain air,
Put on my glove and play some catch.
It's time that I make time for that.
Wade the shore, cast a line,
Look up an old lost friend of mine,
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss.
Start living...that's the next thing on my list.
Raise a little hell, and laugh ‘til it hurts,
Put an extra five in the plate at church,
Call up my folks just to chat.
It’s time that I make time for that.
Stay up late and oversleep,
show her what she means to me.
Catch up on all the things I’ve always missed.
Just start living… that’s the next thing on my list.
You know you love me,
XOXO
-Island Girl
About a year after his passing, I was food shopping in Wegman’s and came across the little gift and greeting card department. A small, white square magnet caught my eye, and it read:
We do not remember days; we remember moments. –Cesare Pavese
I smiled to myself as I remembered my aunt telling me she once received an anniversary card from my uncle with a beautiful poem handwritten inside, only to later find it was written decades ago by a well-renowned poet. Some people may call it plagiarism (and a big no-no for someone so highly educated); I consider it a quirk of his. Of course, I bought the magnet, and it sticks to the refrigerator at home for everyone to see.
My Uncle Matt seemed to have forgotten the other half of the quote by Signore Pavese. The full statement reads:
We do not remember days, we remember moments. The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.
I’ve found myself unable to write about my experiences here. Not because of writer’s block or my busy schedule (or the rum, for that matter), but because the details seem to have been slipping my mind. Garth Brooks explains this in a song he penned entitled “That’s The Way I Remember It:”
Some of our stories fade as we grow older; some get sweeter every time they’re told.
All of these stories are sweet in their telling, and they will, I am sure, become more saccharine and amusing as the years go by and we all recount them. We may be able to piece some nights and days together as bits of the puzzle come back to us, one by one. I will remember something more prominently than anyone of those that live next to me, and I am sure they will remind me of something I may have (sometimes purposely) forgotten.
The days seem to run together here, and there never seems to be a set time each week where everyone reserves the time to let loose. There is never a day like the stereotypical Monday here, where it seems like it’s the most difficult thing in the world just to get out of bed and go to work to start the workweek. Our lives here are not governed by a particular hour or minute, but rather what we are feeling that that moment. We don’t eat lunch at one in the afternoon because it’s one o’clock, but we eat when we are hungry. There are no rules about time to start – or end – a day or night at the bar; it goes without saying that “it’s five o’clock somewhere” was certainly penned in an island like this. We live by moments here; not calculated days.
The funny thing is, as I type my closing statement, “Next Thing On My List” by Toby Keith has just popped up on my iTunes player. I am smiling and giggling slightly as I think to myself that Uncle Matt could have heard this song as he was writing his own eulogy, and decided to "borrow" Toby’s concept for the song. I’ll leave you with the lyrics.
Under an old brass paper weight is my list of things to do today:
Go to the bank and the hardware store, and put a new lock on the cellar door.
I cross them off as I get them done, but when the sun is set
There's still more than a few things left I haven't got to yet.
Like go for a walk, say a little prayer,
Take a deep breath of mountain air,
Put on my glove and play some catch.
It's time that I make time for that.
Wade the shore, cast a line,
Look up an old lost friend of mine,
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss.
Start living...that's the next thing on my list.
It wouldn't change the course of fate if cutting the grass just had to wait.
Cause I've got more important things like pushing my kid on the backyard swing.
I won't break my back for a million bucks I can't take to my grave.
So why put off for tomorrow what I could get done today?
Like go for a walk, say a little prayer,
Take a deep breath of mountain air,
Put on my glove and play some catch.
It's time that I make time for that.
Wade the shore, cast a line,
Look up an old lost friend of mine,
Sit on the porch and give my girl a kiss.
Start living...that's the next thing on my list.
Raise a little hell, and laugh ‘til it hurts,
Put an extra five in the plate at church,
Call up my folks just to chat.
It’s time that I make time for that.
Stay up late and oversleep,
show her what she means to me.
Catch up on all the things I’ve always missed.
Just start living… that’s the next thing on my list.
You know you love me,
XOXO
-Island Girl
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