I heard you recently had a pretty good snowfall up there. Down here, it’s a constant 85 degrees, sunny with a light breeze and not a drop of rain or a flake of snow in the forecast.
I hear the government isn’t working too well up there. Down here, they have a new Prime Minister—the alliterative Mia Motley—and everyone thinks she’s doing a fabulous job. She’s tackling big problems like debt relief and little problems like making sure the trash gets picked up in a timely fashion. Everyone down here loves her. Imagine that: loving your elected leader!
Up there, I gather it’s a monochromatic time of year, back-to-back days of black and white photographs tinted with a few subtle shades of grey. Pretty enough with a covering of snow, but down here, it’s year-round full-on technicolor. There are a thousand hues of blue and green in the sea and sky. Moreover, down here, flowers run riot and have exotic names like hibiscus, bougainvillea, and (my wife’s favorite) frangipani. There are as many varieties of palm trees as there are waves lapping on the shore. Houses are pink, green, periwinkle, orange—every town is a fruit salad of color that rouses the senses and makes each street a wondrous kaleidoscope you want to explore.
It smells good down here: curry, spices, fresh fish on the grill, lime, herbs. It doesn’t take long to get dressed down here: a bathing suit, a tee shirt, and flip-flops are all you need. Folks are friendly down here: they always smile and say, “Good morning;” they politely toot their horn to thank you if you pull over to let their speeding car pass you a narrow street; at a restaurant, the stock answer to almost every inquiry and special request is “No problem!” What a concept!
Rum is king down here; always has been. All that cane! You can have some in a punch, with tonic, or just neat. For that matter, you can wander down to a cozy little rum shack on the beach, stick your toes in the sand, and sip a concoction while listening to the whisper of the surf or watching the sun dip into the sea, coloring the clouds from below, billows of red and gold in the evening sky. It’s how life should be but just can’t be: too good to be true.
And that’s the rub: for as sweet and lovely and comfortable as life is down here, I know mine is up there. The grandkids are up there. Our friends are up there. Our house with its friendly little porch is up there. All of those faces and places are up there while we are (at least for a few more days) down here.
Because life doesn’t stop up there when we’re down here. Will the pipes freeze? Who’s going to shovel our walk? Did I remember to pay that bill? Little thoughts, little worries. And then this happened: we got word yesterday that the leader of the band fell and fractured her hip; she’s 94 and she’ll need surgery, and suddenly it’s impossibly hard not to be up there while we’re down here.
All the more reason, I say with no regret:
I’ll be right back.
Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer with homes in Chestertown and Bethesda. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy magazine. “A Place to Stand,” a book of photographs and essays about Landon School, was published by the Chester River Press in 2015. A collection of his essays titled “Musing Right Along” was published in May 2017; a second volume of Musings entitled “I’ll Be Right Back” will be released in June 2018. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com
[…] Down Here by Jamie Kirkpatrick Author jamiewkPosted on January 15, 2019Categories Musings […]