So, Saturday. We tend to avoid "the" places to be on any given day, which means we don't do Gwen's on Sundays, or Smokey's on Saturdays, or any other place when live music is on the menu. Not because we don't like people (we do. at least most of 'em), and not because we don't like music (we do. at least most of it), but because my beloved DH has difficulty hearing. Live music tends to put a cramp on any conversation we might wish to have, and as we actually still really like each other, and like knowing what the other has to say, we avoid live music venues for the most part. Thus, we decided to spend our last Saturday on the island at Elodia's for a quiet but beautiful beach day.
|A sweet, abandoned church, not the one mentioned below|
Sobering thought, that. As it turns out, Carole arrived at Elodia's early and tuned the radio in to the live broadcast of the funeral, so we listened to the preacher (normally in an Anglican church, I'd say "priest," but his booming and lilting cadence was pure preacher) conduct the service with unshed tears in our eyes. We didn't know the young man who was murdered, nor did we know the circumstances surrounding the crime, but I defy anybody to sit there in that singularly beautiful place and not be moved. The juxtaposition of such a hateful crime with the peace that we've come to associate with Anguilla was sobering. I didn't know most of the hymns that were sung, but I joined in with Carole, sotto voce, on the first verse and chorus of It Is Well With My Soul, and again for a surprisingly cheerful rendition of I'll Fly Away. That is, when I could sing around the lump in my throat.
|I'm using this photo for transitional purposes....|
|Saying goodbye to Carole|
|The lantern next to our table|
|One of the lounge/seating areas at SandBar|
|Our sunset at SandBar|