I spent almost 40 years working in an office with the accompanying uniform: suit, white or blue shirt, tie and black shoes.  It got to the point that, when “dress down Fridays” were introduced, I still wore a suit most days as it was just easier.

Getting up in the morning was a ritual of showering, often shaving (when I didn’t have a beard), dress and out of the house within 30 minutes.  Tea or coffee was something to have when I got to work although, with the advent of cup holders in cars and insulated, non spill mugs, the luxury of tea on the way to work was bliss!

Of course I don’t do work any more, well not the paid kind.  I do far more physical exercise these days, either my weekly support of ECHO Bonaire, the local parrot conservation organisation in building fences as part of a reforestation project or my own local deforestation project.  Basically, with the successful rainy season, the trees on my plot have blossomed, branched and gone crazy.  So I have begun to cut them back, thinning out and carting the resultant bio mass off to the local landfill.  In the last couple of weeks, I think I have trucked over 1.5 tonnes of branches and stumps.

So these days, I get out of bed, have a cup of tea and contemplate what I will do for the day.  At this point, I am unshaved, un-showered and probably, if waking at home, clad only in a sarong.  I see little point in having a morning shower if I am about to go and sweat buckets.  Especially, if I am working at home, alone.  As for shaving, that is a difficult issue.  My girlfriend likes a stubbly face, not bearded and not clean shaven.  Maintaining the appropriate amount of stubble is not as easy as you think, unless you make the error of going clean shaven every few days.  That, however will bring a reproach and critical comment.

What really complicates matters is that my mirrors are pretty unused.  I am not vain, I just know I am damn good looking and I don’t need to waste time in confirming this.  However, the mirror by the front door is very useful.  When exiting the house, I often notice that my hair is sticking out all over the place.  That is so easily solved: nope not a hairbrush, just add a baseball cap.  My favourite being the light brown Swamp Air from the Okavango Delta in Botswana.

My clothing is simplified these days.  There are work shorts and t shirts and fancy dress up shorts and t shirts.  After a while, the latter become the former and over the years I foresee that I will only have the former. At the moment, I am just in the work shorts having done some topless cooking.  Also it is quite humid, having been overcast all day, so it is cooler than wearing a t shirt.

So I think you get the idea.  The uniform has gone, the last time I wore long trousers and socks with shoes, discounting the occasions when I wear anti prickly pear long trousers and cactus kicking boots, was in November.  My main shoe preference is a pair of flip flops; I currently own 5 pairs and select them by proximity rather than colour or style.  My current pair are from a local Chinese supermarket for less than $10 and look like they may last more than 3 months.

I think the choice of clothing is so much reflected in my personality and attitudes these days.  I represent me and not my employer.  I am a retired man, committed to living a happy life which consists of being with friends or gardening, DIY, sailing or voluntary hard labour.  I don’t sweat the small stuff.  Oh boy, I really used to have a short fuse, worried about everything and lived on anti acid tablets and painkillers.  Now indigestion is rare, I still worry but at a different level.  I am often late, no longer punctual, I find I have little time available as I am so busy doing nothing.

I fundamentally disagree with Ralph Waldo Emerson who said “Being perfectly well-dressed gives one a tranquility that no religion can bestow.”  I bet he never wore t shirts, shorts and flip flops in the 1860s.  Its weird that he was a leader of the transcendentalism movement which propounded that being critical of their contemporary society for its unthinking conformity, and urged that each person find, in Emerson’s words, “an original relation to the universe”.  Yet he urged being perfectly well dressed which is only measured in the eyes of others.  I think I am doing a better job than him!

I am more drawn to a quote by a fashion editor, G. Bruce Boyer, who I have never heard of!!!  His quote, “The style of studied nonchalance is the psychological triumph of grace over order.”  Perhaps I don’t study nonchalance, perhaps I am not graceful, but I think he gets me about right.  Oh yeah, I am missing style as well!

Well quite honestly, I don’t give a damn, I haven’t got time to worry about that.  I am too busy doing nothing!  Well, after that reflection, I think I may put a t shirt on as my girl friend is due around to try out my tortilla.  And pour a beer and drink it from the bottle!

You can learn so much, even at my older age.  It can just be very surprising where you learn it from and how you learn it.

I have, over the last year and a bit, had my confidence badly hit, suffered quite some depression,  found my way and the enjoyment of life. But one thing that has always escaped me has been confidence and belief in myself.

This may appear laughable to many of my friends and acquaintances as they probably have seen me as loud and self confident.  As I discovered, through years of personality tests to improve/gain management skills, I am an introvert who hides his inadequacies through bluff and bluster.  Internally, especially when working, this led  to significant stress in leading a team and making decisions.  In hindsight, I feel confident enough to say I did a fair job.

Privately I have very little self belief and self worth.  I agreed with a close friend recently that I have come to always try to help everyone, sometimes letting people take advantage of me, only reacting when it starts to hurt.  That largely is a fine attitude as I believe in people, the innate goodness of friends and acquaintances.  So I seldom suffer and I coast blissfully along. Perhaps one day I will place my trust too foolishly.

But I think I am actually scared of life, it has hurt me too often.  I can be scared of missing a plane or train, should I ring a front door bell if people are not expecting me, … all sort of trivia.  I try to plan to make sure the unexpected does not happen so I can deal with it.  But with almost every event, a dinner invitation, a meeting, more serious events like replying to a legal letter, I over react.  I over think and become preoccupied.

For the more serious matters, this is good: for the less critical, sometimes I become blasé and then turn up late.  This is crazy!  Mr Punctuality, never late, who turns up always too early for planes and trains is now late.  Perhaps, I am trying to kick back and not always be the one waiting.

So I should look at a watch and manage my time better.  Easy!  But the self confidence thing is harder.  Tonight I realised I have a new Guru!  My blind cat.

I was sitting on my roof terrace,  before midnight reflecting upon some issues, when I heard a scratching noise. Yup, it was the blind cat, who had crossed between the house and apartment (some 10 metres and two sets of steps) found the staircase and the settee I was sitting on and started to sharpen her claws.  Then she jumped up onto the back of the settee and sat smelling the good information carried down to her by the trade winds.

I have realised that I would be still sitting on my patio in a blind panic, fearful of walking out into the dark, never mind climb to heights and then jump onto a ledge. Yet the blind cat, of little brain but incredible appetite, could do this and then sit with a posture of bliss and happiness to smell/discover what was happening in the street upwind.

In such times of political uncertainty, continuing legal wrangles and personal development, perhaps we should listen to a blind cat.  To have the confidence to start, to feel your way forward, to take a tumble and recover but especially to still understand the beauty around you, even if it is just the smell of beauty.

However, licking your bum should remain as an option.

I’m actually talking about that physical paved walkway that borders the seafront here at Kralendijk, or more precisely at Playa Abou.  I am not talking about going for a walk in a French fashion.  The only problem is that the promenade is not actually called that.  It’s called Kaya J.N.E. Craane.  So who the hell was he?

The Promenade

I did lots of research on the internet and came up with nothing!  So the web may have the information buried away, possibly better accessible in Dutch or Papiamento, neither of which are my strengths, but I couldn’t find it.  So I asked my local friend who has been here for a long time.  Craane was a local boat builder, nicknamed Kachi.  Its nice that the road is named after him but it could have been called Promenade J.N.E. Craane rather than just Kaya like most of the other streets.  I think he would have been more special.

Anyway, why am I talking about this road?  Mainly because I have started to adapt to a more island life style.  Instead of driving quickly to get anywhere, you should divert your journey, just to drive really slowly down the seafront as often as possible.  Today I felt I really it had it cracked as the bicycle in front of me at the start of the promenade, was parked under a tree at the south end waiting for me to catch up.  Previously I would have been fuming as it is difficult to overtake.  I also proudly looked in my mirror and found that I had acquired a convoy of 5 cars behind me, not complaining, just keeping station.

So what’s to see on the promenade?  Sadly, as it is such desirable land, it has very few older houses inhabited by island born people.  There are 1 or 2 left, becoming dwarfed by Apartment blocks (only 3 stories tall here but that is high).  Sadly, the older houses which were always in the family, perhaps of lesser means, now attract high property taxes due to their location.  So the temptation for developers to make a fast buck is being encouraged by a taxation system that drives families to sell.

My friend, of the local knowledge, used to live in an older house on the seafront, before the promenade was built.  It looked so different and so simple a way of life back then (25 years or so ago).  I still find the island very calming and peaceful but it must have been so different.  The number of cars on the island has massively increased and providing a beautiful seaside road just encourages us to drive down it, albeit slowly.

During the day, there is always some traffic, most I am sure just taking in the sights as I have learnt to do.  But come the evening, it gets congested!  Whole families will pile in their cars and just cruise along the seafront.  But then we have the loud ones!  These are either souped up drag motor bikes, quad bikes doing a wheelie or just bloody annoying scooters (mainly on 1 wheel) screaming along like a demented hair dryer.  Whatever, the type or form of transport, they share the common ideal of wanting to see and be seen on the seafront.  So for a couple of hours around sunset, it busy and noisy, especially at the south end.

So reserving a seafront table at the few promenade restaurants can be a mixed blessing.  You can watch a beautiful sunset but have difficulty in sharing words with your companions.  Luckily, the wind is mostly offshore, so traffic fumes and burnt rubber are quickly whisked away, giving the pedestrians a whiff of your expensive dinner.

The promenade has a good walkway along the front, only broken by a few slipways to launch the local small fishing vessels or dinghies from the Regatta.  All sorts of people can be found here.  Especially in the morning and evenings, local women will often walk in pairs trying to combat the evils of good living.  There are also those more determined, and often a lot skinnier, who will pound up and down the seafront in the latest lycra.  There are tourists, especially when we have a cruise ship parked at the south end, who will be dressed in socks, sandals, big hat and sunscreen, carrying cameras.  Then there are longer term residents, probably winter birds, walking hand in hand just loving the moment and the view.

Apart from the sunset madness, it is almost always very tranquil.  This is the sheltered side of the island and the yachts, both resident and touring, are anchored close inshore.  These, together with the local fishing boats, make a beautiful scene.  But on odd occasions, especially in the wake of a hurricane or tropical depression, we can get a wind reversal or a surge coming from the North or West.  Suddenly the waves will crash on the seafront, the yachts and fishermen leave their moorings and seek shelter in the marinas or behind Klein Bonaire, our baby island just over 1 km offshore.

Most times, people take action in good time.  On a few occasions, people will get caught, a boat will come ashore and get damaged.  We had 2 such episodes recently.  Hurricane Matthew brought seas from the North but only damaged the expensive houses!   Then a tropical depression, with a full moon and high tides, just a few weeks later, brought a vigorous but short lived set of waves more or less onto the promenade.  This was less expected and a few boats got damaged.

Of course, excitement on the promenade drew crowds.  It may have been only 08:00 in the morning but there were queues of traffic lining up to see the sights.  Everyone who has  been here for a few years immediately starts drawing comparisons to Hurricane Lenny (1999) or Tropical Storm Omar (2008) and the amount of damaged caused by them.  Omar, I understand, was particularly troublesome as it formed to the North West of us, spun around, coming south and closer to us, before powering off to the North East.  This is the complete reverse of normal behaviour.  So our normally sheltered side was fully exposed.

So what does the promenade offer me.  I used to eat in the seafront restaurants but not for some time.  I drink every Friday night at Canti Awa (beside the water), I have more recently been fortunate to go sailing on a friend’s yacht, moored just offshore.  The skipper, lives at the seafront, and opposite his house the promenade makes a bend to accommodate a tree.  This is a special tree, festooned with old flip flops, bottle openers etc, shading a couple of tables, where Yellow Man, our skipper, and his friends hangout at the end of the day.  We normally join him to help empty our cool boxes after an afternoon or evening on the yacht.  So the promenade is also my embarkation point.

But most of all, it is the road to drive very slowly along, waving to people, taking in the beauty of the sea, looking to see if anything has changed.  And then counting cars in the rear view mirror!!

This is not about my divorce!  However, I must admit that the word was mentioned by a few friends in connection with my divorce and that set me thinking.   But since our separation I never felt trapped by my marriage but more by my thoughts, fears and those pesky voices!

The song that keeps coming to my mind in relation to Freedom is Janis Joplin’s  “Me and Bobby McGee”.  I looked up the words and, sadly, I don’t think they tell me much! “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose”. Or do they?

The types of Freedom that come to mind are many and varied.  They range from the thoughts in my head that were spinning there as Rusty rattled down the road,  “I don’t have to wear a seatbelt on this island” and “I can drink and drive legally”.  Whilst those of the Health and Safety Brigade would take issue with these freedoms, and I don’t blame them, I was more concerned that Rusty has no cupholders to put my beer bottle in when I drive.  Being a manual car, you have to remember to keep the beer in the gear change hand as turning a corner  with beer in the other hand can lead to spillage.

Okay, that was facetious but had to be said!  The greater freedoms are those coming with being retired and living on this island.  I no longer have the responsibility to go to work to earn a wage to support my future.  Of course, at various stages in my life that included supporting a partner and my children.   So there was a significant loss of independence and putting your nose to the millstone, sucking up the bad times and dealing with it.

Working became such an integral part of my life that I think I lost the ability to actively live my life except in the context of a working week, weekends and holiday days off.  I didn’t really have any other hobbies or pastimes to focus upon, just work.  I remember one holiday where I was passed my  itinerary as the plane left Frankfurt.  My only involvement to that point in the trip to Thailand was selecting a hire car model.

So now I am retired, I have an income and I can do what I want with my days.  But I am not that well prepared to occupy myself and feel satisfied with my use of time.  I often feel frustrated that I have wasted the day doing so little.  But am I being fair to myself?  What’s wrong with putting something off until tomorrow.  As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, why not?

The island offers so many opportunities to exercise my freedom!  The active side – in my case done at a very relaxed pace – of swimming, scuba, a little sailing, exploring the Park and the differing landscapes I feel should be done with more enthusiasm.  I should be exhausted and tired each day by the time I go to bed as there is so much to do.  Perhaps, I am exercising a freedom in being lethargic and lazy?

I could actively invest myself more in my friends, arranging to see them more often, hosting more events at home, writing more letters or mails or even blogs?  But  I have become single minded, often focusing on one issue and letting others slide.  When people reach out to me, I embrace their offer. Should I reach out more, being free to use my time as I wish with little restraints.  I think so and I should work on this.

But going back to not working.  There is so much more that comes with this if you are financially secure.  When working, you count the days when you are free.  Most aren’t.  Your calendar when you look at it is blocked by working days with occasional days off.  I don’t think I have truly realised, yet, that I own my life now.  My calendar is 99% mine with little blocked on it.  I have given up the idea of planning (well, I’m trying hard) and life should just go with the flow.  This is probably a good idea as it means I am less likely to forget things if I don’t have things to forget.

A tragic example is that one night, as I was digging through the fridge to see what to cook that night, my phone rang and some very good friends said “We will meet you at the restaurant at 19:00.”  They were taking me out to dinner that night to say thanks for looking after their house in their absence on holiday and I had forgotten!!

So I have money (enough), I have all the time in the world, I have friends and loved ones and I have the freedom of choice to combine these into a perfect life.  What I need is to make sure that I use these blessings in the best possible way and enjoy everything.  So many others have either not made it this far, are still trapped with little choices as they don’t have the magic ingredients yet or will never have them.

But perhaps my biggest freedom of all is that I feel happy in myself.  For some months, I was very black and despondent.  As I recovered, I feared for my future, still basing it upon certain models and standards of life.    However, once you start to appreciate the things that really matter, friends and loved ones, you realise you can find happiness with a lot less baggage.

So, Janis, my Dear (and she has been so important in the last 45+ plus years), I beg to differ.  I am happy to lose so much and yet still be able to enjoy my freedom.  But I cannot lose my time, my friends and loved ones and still be free!

Its been a while since I have contributed anything original to the virtual world.  I guess I have been trying to understand the physical, real world more. Whilst this is another stage of moving on, it is also a world that confuses me and I don’t find easy to deal with.  So many issues, most not about me but our world and the different way I comprehend it compared to the majority of others as counted in polls and referendums.  I was going to write referenda, in tribute to John Lewis, my first Latin Teacher, but I am informed that Referendum in Latin has no plural!

In reverse order, I will deal with the embarrassment first.  I am British born, of English heritage, middle class.  The classic Englishman.  But my father, through his job which involved living around the world, my education of boarding schools sharing with like treated individuals from differing nations and backgrounds and my career, which included working in Africa for a small number of years, 20 years in the heart of the City of London as a public servant and then about 20 years working for the European ideal, puts me in another bracket.

To be clear, I left England – not Britain as I have seldom travelled in the other constituent nations in recent years – in 1991.  In the years since, I have become more and more bemused about the way Britain has gone forward with rows over sausages, straightness of bananas etc, appearing as major headlines in the daily newspapers.  I will not even mention the Euro debate!! I am a committed European Federalist.  I also married a German, which for many years was a great idea and made me very happy.  Suffice to say the Brexit result both sickens and saddens me.  I am sad about the path that Britain intends to take and sickened by the underlying xenophobia which led to the result.  I can see no other reason!

Enough.  OK, I did not mention we lost to Iceland.  The football team continues to be as well managed as our political world, promises much, delivers little!  Here I have a defence.  The Rugby team just stuffed the Australians at home 3-0 and the Cricket team has convincingly defeated Sri Lanka.  So all is not lost.

Absence from FB.  Well I did get carried away reposting Remain material to all my friends, with one notable exception, who probably all voted Remain.  So that was useless.  Otherwise, I have either suffered from a lack of motivation or been too busy to find a quiet time to assemble my thoughts.

I generally live each day on a solitary basis.  This is something I have become used to and I do the daily chores.  Most friends are younger and have to work and so they are busy.  But until my future is clear, I am not engaging on major projects.  This leaves me plenty of time to prevaricate and to postpone jobs.  I can now stretch out  3 simple tasks over 2 days.  Soon I will be down to a task per day.

So the days are quieter and not so motivated.  A lot of my friends have been or are abroad and off island.  So I lack playmates.  But last week was mega!  I was booked every evening in the company of friends and neighbours.  I was even one of the last to leave the bar , different bars, on two nights in a row.

So whilst a lot of friends are away, those still here are stepping up to the mark and bringing fun and enjoyment.  I should post about the Food festival on Saturday and then the live band afterwards.  I took a video on my iPhone, sadly the sound quality is crap.  But a band of 4 made up of a doctor, a chef, Doctor Bass – the size of him – and a lady who put her life and soul into the music, they were brilliant.  She was especially spectacular!

Then after the food festival and the live band, I was kidnapped by aliens.  Apparently they finished playing at 12:00 and I got home  at 02:45.  That was a great night!

So, life is different.  I am more self centred, balanced, a bit bored in the day time but  I worry about Britain, less about myself.  So a great step forward. I will promise to do better and post more often but not about Brexit or football.

I’ve been thinking of writing something completely different, mulling it over in my mind, discussing with the voices, but it’s not ready yet.  I have always found I cannot write on demand, rather it suddenly just feels ready and so I write it.  Most often, it is then what I want to say and it comes out OK.

The piece I had in my mind is to try and explain myself and where I am. Not pleading for sympathy but being more positive in trying to say why I write, where I want to go and from where I start.   But that needs a little more thought.

Today I have been a little more motivated and have acheived a little progress in the garden. With our ongoing drought, there are lots of dry leaves, which do not rot, instead blowing and crackling across the white gravel covered garden.  They form piles against any obstruction and, of course, I take notice.  Then the voices and I feel guilty about not being motivated enough to tidy up.  But today, I cleaned up a large, burst sack of leaves with my sucker, powered up the blower and blasted the gravel clear, finally packing a large sack of leaves ready for the landfill.

So I have done some stuff, in temperatures of 34C (with a Real Feel of over 40C).  I feel a little tired today from the exercise which is good.  Also taking advantage of a cool down in teh pool was bliss.  Otherwise a very Sunday feel, just hanging around the house and not being over active.

So after a light dinner and a few hours of Netflix, I prepared for bed.   On the  way, I passed by my roof terrace.  Despite having given up my glasses, apart from driving, the view is great, the stars and street lights are perhaps not such sharp points but more of a fuzzy dazzle, but I can see them individually.  Especially, the stars which seem to drift around the sky until your brain understands that it is the clouds scudding across and the stars are still.

Silhouetted against the stars and clouds, I watched a nightjar hunting, twitching in flight, not smooth in one direction but readjusting for any new possible targets that it can pick out against the night sky.  The breeze on the roof is so refreshing, I was lying there thinking about moving a bed up there to sleep in the fresh breeze, devoid of mosquitoes.  I was just troubled should it rain! Or a strong gust would leave my bed linen hanging from a tree.

The experience is complemented by the sound of the wind in the trees, the rustle, like waves kissing a beach, of the palm fronds, the dogs, near and far, yipping, coughing, barking and grunting, the defiant bray of a wild donkey and strangely the cocks crowing!  It is just past midnight and they have hours to wait until dawn.

And then there is Trouble.  My cat is quite attached to me, particularly when food is involved.  But everytime  I visit the roof terrace, she follows me.  She seems to appreciate the moment as well as she will curl up next me and demand to be stroked.  So the companionship of my cat, the sights, the sounds and the feel of the breeze on my skin (yes I am topless!)  works better than any tranquiliser.  I feel ready to pass the hours in bed, dreaming of sleeping on the roof!

Quite magical!

For all those people who know me.  I am moderately arrogant, confident, I hope friendly, occasionally argumentative, especially when drink has been taken.  Probably a good and helpful, loyal friend. This is how I think  that others perceive me.

One of my nieces posted something a while ago about being frightened inside when everyone else thinks you are a confident person.  That really resonated with me because that is me. How do I know?

Two years ago, I spent 14 weeks visiting the dentist to have my back teeth repaired as I grind them at night. I had basically destroyed all my molars and the reconstruction was lengthy and painful. That was enough to grind my teeth as I am petrified of the dentist. That is a physical sign of my inner weakness.

I have always been a person who becomes very tense and short tempered of challenges that lie ahead.  These could be as simple as a party where I do not know anyone or it could be the sleepness night before I had to give an awkward appraisal or annual report.  I find recently that even the process of renewing my residency permit requires me to buckle down, focus and commit. This is just to leave the house.  Once I get there, I have often spent so much time in thought and preparation that it goes well.  I drive home full of endorphins, buzzing, saying to myself, be proud.

I have inner Voices and we talk a lot.  Entering a room of strangers, a business meeting where I had to chair or perform, we talked a lot.  They still keep talking. Sometimes we talk in unison, building up the ego, often, so very often, especially in a quiet moment, they remind me of my fears, my doubts, keep me worried. In my career, they would be the ones affected by alcohol and lead me astray!

Since I retired I have become a lot calmer.  I felt once I moved here, to my rock under the sun, that stress was no longer a problem. I had to reduce my heart medication as it was too powerful.  We all know what happened next!  The meds are back at full strength but I am coping OK.

But the Voices!  I live in a beautiful place but the Voices!  I have seen people in a comtemplative mood, just staring at the view, or at someone and they appear fully absorbed.  I truly wish that I could just zone out and find their apparent peace.

Recently I was with friends on their roof terrace and we watched a truly beautiful sunset.  My camera like part of my brain, snapped the image, generated endorphins, brought a smile to my face, a comment to my tongue and then woke up those little bastards!  “Is this the last good one you will see?”.  “The Flat in Frankfurt has no view”.  “Can you afford to ship your belongings?”  “Will anyone understand your lousy German?”

This is not a new thing.  My life has always been like that.  But the Voices and I were busy with a job which I immersed myself in.  The Voices are experts in Project Management and sundry other skills.  However, I think they are Crack addicts, they never sleep, they need no rest. They have no retirement age.

I can dull the Voices with Computer Games, watching a film, good conversation with friends but they are always just behind that door.  At the moment, they are on my shoulder, helping me write this blog. But we are working in harmony towards a goal.

What do I wish? I wish the Voices could find the beauty of life around me.  The sunsets, the lovely friends I have, the quiet moments to enjoy a book together. Maybe we could find a partner for our life and they could tell me how lucky I am.  To start with, they could just be a little more supportive and tell me what a beautiful day it is and tomorrow will be better.

Until then, if I look a little occupied or distracted, the Voices and I are still arguing!

I have lived in many countries; I first left the country of my birth at 6 months old.  Not counting repeat visits, I have lived in 6 countries yet I have always embraced each one as being my home.  This does not mean I placed them above my country of birth, just equal.  However, in my memories, I love many more than my passport country. These new countries were my home countries although I was always a foreigner in their eyes.

I define home as that magical moment when the plane comes onto final approach, the anticipation of being back in your house and soon your bed, where everything is familiar and in its proper place, that is home.  It is where your pet lives, it is where the alarm clock lives when your arm stretches out unknowingly in the morning, groping blindly but finding.  It is where your tea caddy and kettle can operate on automatic as you stumble blindly in the morning.

That reminds me of a friend who moved house, and also sleep walked.  For the first week, he got up left the bedroom, and peed on the corridor wall, just where the toilet used to be.  After a week, his wife retrained him by staying awake and guiding him to the proper place.  Who said men can’t be trained.

Anyway, that’s not my point.  I live on a small rock under the sun.  I live here with my cat. My last final approach to the island was with the knowledge my partner was leaving me.  I had hardly slept for a week, I had marathon running thoughts and dreams that I could persuade her to stay.  But I was still coming home, not to the warm welcome that I allude to above.  But the kettle, cat and alarm clock are still here.  So little relief and comfort met me.

As time has moved on, the sense of coming home has been one of the most painful.  This is not long distance travel and return but just a visit to the local pub or restaurant.  If you have a partner, you may (or really should) know that feeling.  That feeling of anticipation of seeing that person, hoping they will forgive you, yet again for being late, they will be receptive to your recounting of tales of great deeds, the latest gossip, you trying to remember to give them space to tell their day to you.

Of course, if you are travelling home with your partner, there is that opportunity to return together, to have that last drink and discuss, share, bitch  about the evening.  Something shared, something which unites you as a couple against the raging world outside.  Something I thought we had done so well for so many years. Perhaps not enough.

Now, I live alone.  I am OK but I miss so many of those things that make it a home.  I can cook pretty damn well, so having a meal on the table is not important.  I always got up to make the tea, so the alarm clock, tea caddy and kettle are covered.  So is the cat, ready to escort her to her food bowl, first thing in the morning and again at the front gate as I returned tonight from my dinner and drinks.

What do I miss?  A smile, a kiss, the warmth of someone who has missed you who wants to talk to you and listen. That building anticipation of the last few hundred metres before you park the car.  That frustration of trying to get all your belongings out of the car, to get to the front door in one go without having to break your return into pieces by doing repeat journeys and so spoil your arrival. So many other things.

Sadly, I live in limbo.  I hope that I will stay in this house.  It feels right but there is a bargain.  I look after my home and it will look after me.  Until, I know for sure it is mine, where the cat and I can live out our days, I have doubts about our relationship.  I lack the energy and motivation to commit.  I look critically at some peeling paint and promise that I will look after you when you are mine.  I keep you tidy and I find you a place a refuge.  On bad days, I count the hours from leaving bed until I can next get back in, quasi legitimately, for an hour of nothing.

So to make it my home?  I need that long term relationship. probably not just with the building.  I can paint and fill the cracks.  But I guess to come home, there has to be something to come home to?  More than the cat, tea caddy and kettle.  So perhaps to find home, I need to go out more often.

What brought this one on?  It is her birthday today and so she is in my thoughts.

I understand that Bonaire has not had a proper rainy season for over 2 years now, longer than I have been here.  It certainly was very dry and dusty when I arrived in September 2014 and we had some reasonable rain in November of that year, luckily after the containers had been unpacked and the belongings moved under cover.  But it dried up fairly quickly in the following months.

The previous winter (rainy season) had been very dry and it had been a long dry summer.  This year, the rains have failed more than last year.  We have had only one real day of rain since Christmas Day!  That may sound like bliss to those of you in Western Europe who frequently comment on the deluges including the recent Storm Katie.  But here things are suffering, plants and trees not doing well and it must be tough on the donkeys!  Sadly it will get tougher until the autumn rains come.

Here a lot of the vegetation is very hardened to the dry conditions.  Some of the trees will actually flower first and then put out leaves.  The idea being that they will try to reproduce, possibly at their own cost, before they try to survive and grow.  So one rain shower at the right time of the year and suddenly some trees will blossom for a few days and go back to being bare again.  I wonder how many time they can do that without jeopardising their survival?

Plants in gardens are a lot more fortunate as the owners will provide a limited amount of irrigation – water is expensive here.  Living alone means I do not produce much sewage for my septic tank which in turn provides grey water which I feed to the plants.  So I am using the mains for 5 days a week, 30 minutes at a time, distributed via hosepipes and thin feeders to drip nozzles at each plant.  This small amount of water. distributed across 1,000 sq. metres of garden has amazing results.

The challenge will be to extend the irrigation to the other 1,000 sq. metres of my plot, without spending incredible amounts on clean irrigation water. I have a separate septic tank system for that plot but as the apartment is not in full usage, it only generates occasional waterings. I have made a start using a sprinkler for occasional short watering but I need to harness everything, including the overspill from cleaning the pool filter (or my flooding the pool!).

So, if I am to save my garden, perhaps you should think about visiting me and having frequent showers and flushes of the loo!  I will be fitting Pay as You Go meters on the toilet and shower doors to help supplement my water bills (I will contact Ryan Air to see if they still have some left after they were refused permission to install them on their planes – reputedly!)

The pictures below are of most of the flowering trees and shrubs currently blooming my garden.  Some of the smaller plants have been overlooked/not included.

From top left, we have the Bougainvillea, the Frangipani, Oleander, Geiger Tree, Cossie (Acacia Tortuosa) and the Chinkswood or Watakeli (Bourreria succulenta).

or Acacia

Chinkswood.

I have been called a number of things in my life, few complimentary.  However, Facebook took it to a new level when the debate sunk to as whether I was a “Slut” or a “Whore”! To recap for those who missed the debate, a Slut is someone who posts too much and a Whore is one who accepts any invitation to be a friend – even if they haven’t met them.

On the whole, being a FB Slut has been fine.  I have been happy in that, for the majority of cases, I have posted original comment rather than being a serial reposter.  When I do repost, I like to think that I have put some thought into play before I hit that Share button.   There is either something original, to me, or quirky about the subject that makes me want to share the post.   If I like a post, it gets a click on the Like button.  There has to be some thought about why do I need to interrupt peoples lives’ by hitting that Share button.

Leaving that aside, as a Slut, recently I have been very chaste.  With all my guests staying at Kas Chibichibi, I have not had much time for original thought and also I find that my guests are stealing my headlines!  I may put a different slant on what they may have posted but, unless you are an analyst, how often do you pick up a newspaper to read a different slant about the news.

I have also not had so many minutes of undisturbed peace to be a Slut. Being a good Slut demands some forethought and mental preparation. It is not all gay abandon and here I use the word gay in its more traditional form.  The origin of this forethought is a little cloudy. Perhaps this post comes from the original thought that is liberated by the 3rd or 4th bottle of Polarcita?

It is easy being a FB Slut as there are so many addicts craving input.  So all you have to do is put out!  Even FB has recognised this as recently it has dared to interrupt my musings by saying “You are writing a long of piece of stuff so why don’t I format it like a Blog?”

I tried once before to write a blog but hardly ever anyone read it and I was inconsistent in my inputs.  I will remain erratic in my postings but perhaps I can attempt to merge my more consistent audience of FB with the great unknown and less faithful blog readers?  This is really just some blurb to accompany a giant leap in technology by linking my unsuccessful Blog to my more appreciative friends on FB.

If it fails, no-one will read this.  If it works, I will have been outed!  Yes I am not really a Slut.  Deep down I am really a Blogger!