It is my last month in the Henderson House.

I have the stomach flu.  There's quite a storm outside.

The power is off.   David is off.   Here I sit  --

watching the waves and wind

fascinated by the enormous power unleashed

Mother Nature in her glory.


I am unable to grasp how I feel about leaving

this lovely home on the water

with  her  five green dancing palms.

Three very good years have been spent here.

Years of love and maturation.

Nancy  -  growing up at last.


It was in this home that I got a divorce,

not only from Bud but from that part of my life.

I went through the sadness of losing

not only  a son but a grandson here.   I also learned

what it is like to truly live with another person,

to actually be in a relationship


It was during years in this home that I ascertained

needed lessons about sailing and living on the water.

David and I would go out on ANTARES on weekends,

sailing and playing, but having a home to return to.

Now I won't have that.  ANTARES will be my home

Am I really ready for this?


Discovering myself  during these past three years

I find that I am prepared for the unknown.

Being such a security freak, I have to console myself

that life can change at any minute  by choice.

If I don't like living on a boat, I can move back into a house,

but it will never be just like this one.


For watching the evening sunsets has calmed me

and looking out over the sea as I sit at my computer

has let me know the value of nature and fresh air.

I have snorkeled my reef, in front of the palms

at least three times a week for three years.

I will always miss that, for I always have wanted to do

just these things. And I am growing to the age

where change isn't as desirable as it used to be.







In the 60's and 70's

I used to love to listen

to Loggins and Messina.


Huddled in the white wool afghan

 knitting ten, pearling eight,

looking out of glassed walls

in our house on Lovers Lane.


Soft harmonies filling the room

along with smoke and the smell of burning pine

I would listen and dream,

dream and listen.


Years later, in the Caribbean,

I was angry with my current lover

and in such a state, moved into

the most posh hotel on the island.

Even if just for a weekend


Friday night, I wanted to dance.

Going into Cruz Bay to a place they called World Headquarters,

drinking and grooving with everyone there

until a gorgeous man, a few years younger than I

asked me to dance. I had felt his eyes all night.


By then the band had finished.

The early am brought a DJ until dawn.

I was asked what I wanted to hear

and responded "Loggins and Messina".


We danced, drank, kissed and danced some more.

He insisted on taking me home.

I consented, but for some reason, long forgotten now,

would not let him stay.


In the morning I awoke

still in my clothes and a bit  hungover.

Opening the patio door, I saw a card

"I truly enjoyed the night.  Call me.  I'm at Caneel Bay"

signed Jimmy Messina


I didn't call, going back to my lover instead

and never really thought much about it until today.

Turning on the radio I smiled.

"Thinking of You" was playing

Messina's music and memories filled the air.






The rich man counts his gold, hidden among uncashed checks and  bonds.

His estates know no boundaries.  His wife only designer clothes.

escorted in his jets, chauffeured in his limo, caufed, massaged, and beat

into believing the importance of his existence.


The white collared man counts his options hidden between refinanced homes and

luxury, but unpaid for, vacations.  

His home is tastefully furnished.  His wife has her own career.

driving in opulent BMWs and flying first class, he jogs and golfs his way into existence

believing, that as an American white male, he can accomplish the world.


The middle class man saves his pennies, mortgages his home and owes VISA  and Mastercard his next year's pay.

drinking his beer he bowls for the answers, his flabby pot belly equaling his wife's over made face and underdreamed dreams.  

He flies super economy if he flies at all and only takes vacations toDisney World or to visit family.  

His greatest fear is a heart attack while fucking.


The lower class man works hard and is proud to work.  He takes home little and his wife is left with few possessions.  

His children take over his place in the labor market, being unable to afford

to attend college.  

They marry and have children, turn to TV and the eternal cycle begins again.  

They have choices but they can't see them


The man on the street lives at the mercy of others.  

We support him, whether in prisons, in hospitals, in shelters or on welfare.  

These are the children of no dreams and no way out.  

We see their faces on the TV news.  

They fill our hearts with fear lest we end up as they are.


Welcome to the modern world -


 1988 - St. John


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Rape


I thought, as I looked upon your face this morning,

bathed in sunlight peeping through jalousies,

that now I understand the need behind rape.

Every man wants what you now have,

a woman  in love with him

walking beside him,  believing and caring for him as I do you.


For how unnatural it is not to be loved.

It is far easier to give than to withhold.

Our world has created a monster, seeing the norm as being totally separate,                 not knowing or needing to know the completeness of love.

Is it any wonder that man takes by force

that which he needs but can never attain?



Frenchman's Cay   March 22, 1994





























Dave and I lived at the Henderson House from August 1991 until August of 1994.  We had Antares, our 37' CSY moored  in front of the house in Sopers Hole (although not seen here - it would be towards your left)  Dave was the General Manager of Frenchman Cay Shipyard which is where the masts are in the distance.  If you look very carefully in the water you will see a white ball.  That was the bouy from which our dingy was brought ashore by a super pulley system that Dave rigged from the palm tree direcly in front.  We would tie to the pulley and come ashore and then pull our dingy back out into the water thus alleviating any chance of robbery or knocking against the shell beach.  Rather brilliant I thought.  We have many wonderful memories of fantastic days in this house.  Especially the early mornings when we would awaken to the swaying of palms and the chatter of morning doves.  We would then take our coffee out onto the deck and watch the early morning ferries as they brought guests to our island.


 Those were lovely carefree days  - a warm refuge from the recent low points in our lives we had just lived endured -  Dave losing his beloved Villa de Coop, his gorgeous sloop that he had so painstakingly restored  during a horrible gale at sea  and my losing my beloved brother, Jim, to AIDS in Manhattan - both events in 1989 before we met in the British Virgin Islands.

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