St. John

Sometimes there are days in our lives that we refuse to let go of. Special moments that seep into our brains like liquid memories. They are times we keep going back to in our minds and try to relive, hoping some of that already-spent happiness will escape and fill our hearts once again.

A year ago I was lucky enough to go on the most amazing vacation with my family. Twelve of us boarded that plane to the Virgin Islands with a mixture of excitement and fear. But in my old age I have learned that sometimes you must face a little fear in order to face fabulous.

St. John itself is a patchwork little island with colorful people and open- air restaurants and faded pastel roofs that rise beyond the ocean. It is scattered with old donkeys and wild pigs and chickens that have never found a home. The air there smells of rum and sea water, conch fritters and suntan oil, old-car exhaust and smoky BBQ.

To me, being among all of this felt adventurous, daring, and a little dangerous. But soon even maneuvering the switch backs and curves and wrong-side-of-the-road driving seemed worth the back seat white-knuckles once we reached the beaches.

The beaches of St. John were open and free, not crowded with people or commercial eateries or obnoxious motor boats or cheering volleyball players.

The sand was perfect,almost like a new peach, all soft and pinkish-white. And the water was so clear and blue that there is no Crayola Crayon to describe it...it was translucent, alive, blue-mason-jar-aquamarine-turquoise-tealish-saffire...and breath taking.

It spoke. Begged you to take a plunge to see the ragged coral and tropical fish and glossy shells. Or sometimes it whispered for you to simply splash your toes in the lacy edge where ocean and sand meet in a foamy embrace...

I snorkeled for the first time in my life, simultaneously amazed at the blue fish swimming around me- at the same time wondering if I would drown in this faraway place. In a leopard tankini with no support...

The others spent the afternoons with only the snorkel spout above water, occasionally tossing a flipper or raising their backs to the soft sun - waving proudly that they spotted a lobster or sting ray or a school of yellow fish, bright as lemons.

The sky was always beautiful. Whether it was puffed with cotton clouds threatening rain, or splashed with shadows of lilac and tangerine above a setting sun.

If felt as though this place was the edge of the world...that if you stayed here long enough, you would be young forever...that time would stop and hold you in a perfect halo of happiness...

It felt as though you would never have to go back to responsibility, heavy clothing, or real shoes again.

The house where we stayed was fabulous, thanks to my generous son.

Although many of our favorite moments were days on the beach, the house held its share of good times. Group cooking, card games and swimming...watching the iguanas bask in the tree tops, enjoying rainbows and far off cruise ships and a nap in the big double lounge chair...

One moment that tops off the entire experience is the night we all sat around the outdoor table for home cooked dinner. Blessings were spoken. Candles were lit.  As evening set over us, we all looked at one another with eyes that said " I love you. I thank you. I don't want to go."

Then our laughter spilled out over the balcony, echoed in the valley, and drifted out across the ocean ...forever.