Dispatch From The Islands

Part Deaux

It is a few minutes after sunrise on Sunday, 1 December, and I am up before the others in my party, or at least the others that were not involved in the early morning transport of one of the previously mentioned college students to the airport. The silence and solitude are wonderful, and I can sit at my tablet writing this post without fear of being judged for watching yet another Hallmark Christmas movie. Caught one of my faves last night, “A Crown for Christmas”, which features some of the best things about the oeuvre. These include faux royalty, simpatico male and female leads, beautiful scenery, and useful/contributing bit players (the castle Butler and the King’s daughter being two of note.)

Home Base

This trip caused some minor anxiety, as it extended through two separate Monday mornings creating author anxiety that the relentless pursuit of relaxation would leave little or no time for scribbling. Quite the opposite is true, especially if the braying of co-travelers is ignored when one takes to the keyboard. A pin has been placed in this learning, one marking the prospects for the longer-term…that a more languid daily life might actually be amenable to writing. More as this situation develops.

We are ensconsed in a lovely, single-storey, well-appointed spot on the beach, with four bedrooms appended to a large open living room/kitchen/another living room design. It is well-equipped, and for those meals where we cooked, has been more than sufficient. There is however, unanimity that the pillows provided on the beds are unsatisfactory. You may ask what makes for an unsatisfactory pillow, and that would be a legitimate question. However, I don’t wish to deal with it. My supporting evidence is that seven people of various shapes and sizes and preferences agreed wholeheartedly on this point, which represents a satisfactory data set.

This of course led to my lying (laying?) in bed this morning fitully attempting to find just the right angle of just the right portion of this instrument of the Spanish Inquisition to enable another half hour or so of sleep, but the conscious understanding of just how bad the pillow is acted like a torch inserted into a 1200 lb. D-Type Marine Boiler and soon my mind was far too active for further sleep. The first subject encountered was the memory of the soft, down-filled lovelies adorning the bed at home, and how only a few short days from now I will press my head deeply into their virtues.

For some reason, my addled mind moved next to the recurring sensation I’ve had on this trip of “missing” my car. A good bit of this is likely the result of my cowardly avoidance of any driving while here. As discussed in the previous post, the Bahamas has (have?) yet to throw off the shackles of British Colonialism, as they continue to drive on the wrong side of the road from the wrong side of the car. That most of the cars imported onto this island are after-market Japanese models is not only interesting, but quaint as one is often greeted with a soothing voice upon entry talking in Japanese. Be that as it may, none of the various vehicles in which I have been conveyed during my trips to this daily example of Deathrace 2000 is equipped with high beams that are anywhere NEAR the luminosity of the delights of my sublime chariot at home, making the aforementioned drive on the wrong side of the (unlit, unmarked, cratered) road that much more life-threatening. This low T light scheme is not replicated universally, as half the cars coming at you at night look like the blazing lights of the Cambodian Playboy stage show in Apocalypse Now (Director’s Cut) (how bout that for a deep pull?).

Meanwhile, my car sits in my driveway waiting for me, a car whose status I am able to monitor from hundreds of miles away through the beauty of the interwebs. Connected to the power grid through its charging cable and to the internet through its—well whatever it is that connects it to the internet (router?)—she will automatically make a brief request of the charging system to occasionally top back off to 80% charge (or as the case may be, to upgrade the car’s computer program) a transaction of which I am made aware (by my choice). I find myself occasionally activating the car’s app on my phone to monitor what the temperature is in my front yard, and I pity my pre-historic ancestors who could not call upon this same wizardry. The number and depth of Bahamian potholes—not to mention the sketchy (two power failures Friday) nature of its grid, make me pessimistic about the future of EV’s here. EV’s are VERY HEAVY (mine is 4600 lbs) and potholes are one of the most commonly discussed hazards of owning one.

The removal of political podcasts from my phone as been an important step in moving into this next year of lubricating change in how I interact with the world around me. One of the great things about the Commentary podcast during the age of Trump has been its pretty solid distaste for and rejection of much of the trappings of his movement, calling balls and strikes on policy accomplishments and positions while not indulging in the more debased parts. This approach seemed to go out the window in the recent election, as their desire not to have Kamala Harris be President seemed to wipe out much of the civil/moderate capital the podcasters built up.

I went through a bout of this sort of media rejection after the 2012 election. During that year, when I was hyper-political and working hard to elect a good man, I spent most of my time listening to news and political commentary on satellite radio. When that good man lost, I sought alternative forms of entertainment, and I settled on sports radio. It was mindless, there were interesting conversations with accomplished and expert commenters (I don’t like the word “commentators”—it sounds a lot like “orientate”, which is a word I also detest) that I liked to follow. Unfortunately, this was also the time in which online sports betting was exploding, and what was once a forum for arguing whether MJ or LeBron was King, turned into a non-stop bookie information service. So I walked away from that too.

My approach to sports oddly seems to pattern my emerging approach to politics. For years, I have been lukewarm to professional sports but really pretty interested in college sports, especially the Men’s Basketball and Football teams of my beloved UVA. This all reached its apogee with the 2019 Basketball National Championship, an event I like to say is the best thing that ever happened to me that I had nothing to do with. But now even that interest is slipping away, as the Plato’s Cave form of college sports and the reality of college sports diverge. Revenue making college sports are on the road to ruin, soon to become appendages of the professional sports they serve as farm systems for. That road leads to total disinterest on my part.

The malformed reality of modern American politics represents a similar departure from form, and while it is clear that this evolution is quite popular with some, it is not my cup of tea. Occasional clips from the weekend’s college football games drive this same point home—that my distancing from it is unrepresentative of its wild popularity. It is my lot for the remainder of my years to fill time with pusuits other than watching professional sports of all levels and gobbling up news and information so that I might be clever and informed if I happen onto a converstation that day.

I need to become more comfortable with not being clever. Not being informed. Not having an opinion. There is no shame if that morning’s Malaysian ferry capsize escaped my attention. I am not diminished if I lack a view (or fail to express it) on the fitness of some reprobate to serve in government.

During yesterday’s morning run, I was seized with an idea for an essay I will likely subject you to built around Federalist 10. I wish I could lay out in detail the process map of that decision made while negotiating the hills and vegetation of an abandoned U.S. Navy base, but it would not reflect well upon the efficiency of my mind. Not sure when I will get round to it, but I imagine it won’t be long.

We have two full days left on this delightful trip. My main effort will be devoted to ensuring as much of the food purchased to service my picayune dining preferences is consumed, there to provide me with yet another virtue boost whilst the savages I live with perform last minute dumps of the various “take-home” boxes that have accumulated in our refrigerator.

My inamorata has already reserved the little house next door for a return visit in late January, and I have set aside a couple of days to join her. I’m already looking forward to it.