I go for a run. More on how much I don't like running later. I am trying to love it and have it love me - the way a mother is with a difficult child. I see the ocean all along the side of me and all of the world is quiet except for its angry roar. There are  low crumbling stone walls with bouganvallia climbing all over them. 

I get back to our beach house and no one is up. I am sitting by our pool and I am trying to find the best way to use this perfect dose of time. It is a challenge to make sure we remember the very finest moments of life. And use them up. A man with rasta hair piled high and stuffed into a hat -as tall as the cat in a hat's- surprises me with a "morning, doll. I have lobster" No one greets me in North Toronto this way. I think it might be love. Why do all men not come bearing lobster ?

The two beautiful women arrive by 9 to make us our breakfast- Johnnie Cakes, fried eggs, an embarrassment of fresh fruit, freshly squeezed orange juice. Oh my. I am on holiday.

 When I am on holiday I am baffled by how much time is left over when we don't cook or work. 

I like my  life and find it hard to wander away from it. But when I do, it is a gift because I return to it looking at everything from a completely different perspective. 

The three women in the house have a very serious meeting. It is about eating. There are meals to be planned. We can have whatever we want. Just name it. 

If I don't return you know where I am.