When I was a child, in Guadeloupe, December 1st marked the beginning of a time of guaranteed pleasures. All I had to do was sit comfortably on the backseat of Mama's car while she was driving through the countryside and my ears would receive a full feast. All over the island—as early as I can remember—people had been organizing Christmas parties (Chanté Nwèl) where they shared seasonal specialties and formed informal choirs to sing the local, traditional carols. Driving with the windows down would allow the wind to share with us the songs it had been carrying on its back, in a succession of fade-ins and fade-outs; building anticipation for the parties we too were to attend during the season. Walking around in any community meant that, as you passed a kitchen window, you would hear the clanking of spoons and ladles on big cast iron pots filled with white yams, stewed pigeon peas or the most flavorful fried pork ragout—with the subtle, rounding touch of a bay rum tree leaf. If you were lucky, you would catch the process of boudin[1] making. If luckier, you would not miss the mixing of spices—women would chop Caribbean chives, parsley, garlic, fresh thyme and chili and fried it all very slowly, until all the aromas were released and danced in the air. I was particularly fond of Christmas decorations, especially the lights. People would hang garlands upon garlands on filaos[2] wherever they could find them. Sometimes, we did wish for snow—It was all over television. Could you really blame us? However, the contrast of winter themed decorations on a lush, green background was always a win. The colorful and vibrant illuminations of December rivaled poetically with the plainly beautiful lights for our Dead, just the month before. It was a time of milder weather, when the aggression of the heat had retreated and allowed the trade winds to hug our skins like fluffy cotton shawls. Sure… all of that was wonderful. But my true source of happiness was to be found on Saturday afternoons when we went deep in the countryside to visit my grandparents. They lived in a small, very traditional, wooden Guadeloupean house surrounded by an entire community of people committed to life in togetherness. “Manman[3], can we go get them now?” Oh, my mother knew what I was referring to. I had not stopped blabbering about it on the entire trip to Nana and Grandpa. Of course, she said yes. Asking was just a formality anyway; it was merely so she would know where to look if we had to go. I would grab my little sister's hand and we would run down the tuft road to first say hello to our great-aunt, Nana's sister. In her home, the radio was always playing biguine[4]. It was quite dark inside as the house was surrounded by fruit trees, which protected it from the hardest bites of the sun. “Hello, Aunt Lena.” A step or two of the biguine to mimic the old people's ways and make my great-aunt laugh and it was time to go. We would then rush back to Nana's house and say hello to Ma' Nò, on the other side of the road. Year-round, she had fat pomegranates hanging from a slim and short tree and she would always give us one to share. “Thank you, Ma' Nò!” Then we would run along the side of her house, pushing the tall grass, jumping over a tiny little stream to find ourselves on a small country road; and just 50 feet down stood heaven in the form of a jujube tree. The sight of the first leaf indicated the start of the hunt for the perfect fruits. I wanted them as soon as they had turned yellow—not completely—a bit of green was particularly desirable. This was the promise of sweetness, juice and just the right amount of tartness. Imagine sinking your teeth… Careful! Not too fast, not too hard. It is quite easy to hurt oneself. The stone in the middle is hard as a rock. Instead, allow your teeth to pierce the crisp skin and to feel the Granny Smith-like crispiness underneath, together with the first drops of sweet juice. Close your eyes—it only intensifies the experience. Bite off a piece of crunchy flesh and enjoy the transition of the texture, from a crackling sweet and sour battle to a mucilaginous puree with the taste of what happens when an apple tree has fallen in love with the tropical sun and founded a family of fun-size fruits of heaven. An occasional really yellow one was a special treasure—a burst of sweetness, less firmness, more chew; even more perfect when it preceded a barely ripe, mostly green one that would make saliva rush to your mouth with its amazing sharpness. Paradise, I say. Pleasure in abundance! If we were lucky, and not trapped in a hungry trance, we would bring a fistful back to the house so that others could partake in the deliciousness, the precious gift of nature that was sirèt[5] season. ----- [1] traditionally a blood sausage [2] horsetail she-oak [3] Mommy [4] 19th century music from Guadeloupe and Martinique [5] jujube

A few months after Mabel's 16th birthday, her parents died in a tragic accident and now a blind Mabel was a ward of Aunty Kay. In her absence, Mabel would fall prey to her cousins' incessant bullying and tricks. One day, they had put peanut butter in Mabel's favourite sneakers. A fuming Mabel rushed into Troy's room and delivered a stinging slap with the one sneaker in hand to his face. I told you she was a blind psychopath Troy shouted. Sensing Mabel's distress, the guy introduced himself as Leo but an embarrassed Mabel scurried away. For the next few months, whenever Troy had his friends over, Leo and Mabel would secretly meet in the kitchen. He was 18, fascinated with cars and her first crush. Reality rudely intruded on their secret meeting spot by Troy whose shouts brought his sisters rushing in. An angry Adele, who was liked Leo viciously slapped Mabel d as she let loose angry words and barbs at Mabel's ploys. Mabel, immensely hurt rushed to the safety of her small room. After what seemed like hours, the door creaked open and Leo called out. Mabel flung her pillow at him and told him to go. Leo persisted and pressed a soft kiss to her lips telling her that she was a breath of fresh air in this hell-hole. He continued to caress her neck and shoulders. Kisses turned heated, caresses became more frantic and clothes discarded as Mabel's heart and innocence were offered up and consumed in the lusty atmosphere. In the dawn, after kissing a clinging Mabel, Leo left. Mabel blurted out her love when her cousins barged into her room unannounced. Troy and Adele laughed as they boasted of the bet Leo was a part of or else he would never look at a blind nerd. In the coming weeks, Leo was MIA! One Saturday after dinner, Mabel overheard Aunty Kay on the phone talking about the Johns moving to another state. This hurt Mabel to the quick who vouched to never fall for such a ploy! In the 5 years since that fateful day, Mabel blossomed into an intelligent, caring and capable young woman. Despite her disability, she successfully pursued her passion of cooking with the upcoming release of her first cookbook. That heart wrenching summer with Leo was pivotal for Mabel. Lost in her happy thoughts, she nearly missed her beeping phone signalling that her publicist and best friend, Maria had arrived to give her a lift to the venue but then encountered a slowly deflating tire. Luckily, the service guy Zack, was nearby to pick up the call. With both ladies safely ensconced in the truck, and their vehicle in tow, they made their way to the garage. Mabel smiled as she overheard Maria flirting with Zack. Before long, they arrived at the garage. The door creaked open signalling someone's entrance. After a shuffling of papers, a masculine voice called out Maria's name. Mabel froze in disbelief as her friend went about her business. She could never forget that husky baritone. It was LEO! As Maria concluded her paperwork and payments she hollered to Mabel which grabbed Leo's eagle gaze. The air was tight with tension as Leo stumbled over Mabel's name. As Mabel hurriedly nudged her friend to go ahead, a strong, calloused hand grabbed Mabel's wrist. Mabel was having not of that and delivered a stinging slap to an unshaven but hewn jaw. She was overwhelmed by repressed hurt. Maria tried to calm the situation down with the ladies hurriedly escaping after a few attempts. Zack met a stunned Leo standing in the same position, weary lines on his face. After some consideration, he held up a business card with a naughty smirk. Mabel refused to talk on her way back to the hotel but lying in bed that night, her memories came to the forefront. After a sleepless night she called Maria to confirm her schedule. A barrage of questions of Mabel's well-being were fired by Maria, which Mabel answered quietly. Seven o' clock sharp, the doorbell rang with a sombre trip to the restaurant. When the meals arrived, a frizzle of awareness ran up Mabel's spine. A voice which haunted her dreams announced Leo's presence. Crossing her hands across her chest, Mabel sat back without a word. As soon as Leo broached the topic of the first time they had made love, Mabel lost it and flung her plate of spaghetti at him. He made light of the attack and pleaded that he was threatened by Adele the morning after their sweet night. She had maliciously filmed them entwined asleep and would share a copy with the entire school. He had stayed away to protect Mabel's reputation. Troy had lied to the Coach which got him kicked off the team. His dad had gotten a job transfer out of state which was a clean break. Leo continuously professed his love whilst raining kisses along Mabel's face, hands and wrists. She softly returned her love enveloped in those strong arms that were imprinted in her memory forever and a day.

They say love can make you do strange and peculiar things. Others say it's exhilarating. But my husband, Will, and I think of ourselves as much too practical when it comes to life's important matters, such as love. And then we took a vacation to Belize. We read, researched, and planned. But only a few hours into our itinerary, we had to abandon it. As darkness snuck up on us, rain poured, and a windshield wiper on our tiny rental car didn't work. We dodged dogs and people moseying along the highway. The highway had no lights. Will suggested a place to spend the night but I countered, remembering reading about Hopkins Village. Little did we know, it would take us a white-knuckling, breath-holding 45-minutes to maneuver the four miles of unpaved, crater-filled so-called road. “Are you sure there is a village at the end of this?” Will asked. No, I wasn't. I panicked silently, wondering what I had gotten us into and hoping I hadn't made the entire situation worse. This situation being our vacation. I thought about shouting “We should've gone to Costa Rico!” but refrained. When the village's twinkling lights emerged ahead, I managed to breath. As we approached, the rain began to let up. The sea was straight ahead, and we arrived just in time to watch the full moon rising over the Caribbean. It was magical. So magical, it didn't seem real but more like an Elvis Presley movie set. The restaurant had thatch roofs, waves softly lapping, and this amazing moon emerging from the sea. And that was our very first night! Listening to the faint drumming sounds over a meal of fresh fish, the rain turned to a slow mist, melting the stress we had brought with us. And then we did something strange, peculiar, and exhilarating. We vowed to move to this little fishing village in Central America. In reality, there would be several more trips, extensive planning, and a five-year plan. But really, it was that first night, with the tropical breeze, delicious food, rum-drinks, and rain-soaked hair, that we fell in love with a place. We gazed at that moon and each other until our eyes succumbed to sleep. We wanted salt air, tropical moonrises, and authentic living. We wanted to fall asleep to the waves of the Caribbean Sea rather than the planes of Love Field. We wanted to ride on beach cruisers instead of sitting in traffic. We wanted beach walks not side walks. We wanted slow and relaxed instead of frantic and frazzled. We wanted Belize. Belize is a small little country about the size of New Hampshire with an abundance of nature—both sea and mountains. The rural country boasts of no fast-food or big box stores and it probably has more chickens than people. This developing country has much the romance of the wild west, complete with chaos, dangers, and take matters into your own hands' kind of place. And what an adventure it was! We decided to “go west,” buying and building. We planned to live in a little wooden cabana--Belize's version of a mobile home-- while building our dream beach house. We were so full of optimism. We embraced our setbacks and challenges with unabashed enthusiasm. No bed? We will sleep in a hammock. Can't find parts for the bathroom door? No problem. We will hang a hammock up for privacy like some hippies from the sixties. It could be months before any of furniture is ready? We'll reminisce our younger days—crates for nightstands…concrete blocks and boards for dressers. Four months later, we took delivery of bespoke tropical hardwood furniture. We took our time, we went slow, and soaked it all in. If we weren't blessed enough, it turned out the oldest bed and breakfast, our favorite vacation spot, with Lucy, our favorite beach dog, may be for sale. We'd known Lucy, the Irish wolfhound mixed with something much smaller, over the years and enjoyed our walks together to our favorite beach hang out. She trotted the two blocks to our place frequently. Some mornings we'd open our front door only to discover Lucy laid across it like a welcome mat. Lucy reminded us of our first dog—smart and funny. Will and I day-dreamed of Lucy and the inn being ours. We talked of importing expensive mattresses and soaps…of expanding the verandas and having romantic double showers. We drank dark rum. We strolled along the beach. We made love without worrying about rushing off to work. We were happy in this magical, quirky, little village. And, I could say “the end.” But it may not be fair to finish the story like that without also including that it may have been a rash decision to purchase a bed and breakfast to get a puppy dog. I could also add that we didn't do things the way they've always been done, upset the status quo, and made a whole bunch of people angry. No doubt, there were twists, turns, and stumbling blocks on our adventure. But even so, our goal of adventure-seeking was reached in record time.