Post #27: Rewire

I step out on to the patio after my first night at the Moonraker and I let my eyes adjust to the brightest sunlight I've ever experienced. I can't say "seen," because first of all, it's so bright you need to shut your eyes. You feel the sunlight, immediately warm on your skin, and then hotter and hotter as the seconds pass. And this will sound crazy, but the sunlight reveals aromas. Everything around me is warmed in the sun's rays, so plants and animals don't hide shyly like in the woodlands of the American northeast. Plants shed their leaves and pollen and excretions and dews. Animals leave their hair and waste and drool on the soft, tufted grass and trees. The picnic tables are spotted with the drillings of insects. My feet are tickled by the occasional passing gecko.

Roo lazily makes his way out onto the grass and flops down in the heat. There are other dogs onsite here - permanent residents named Bella and Rex. Their attitude toward Roo is initially stand-offish: lots of low-fi woofing and sniffing, the advance/retreat dance of play-fighting, warning growls if someone's territory is too far upon encroached. I stretch my arms up into the sunlight and contemplate breakfast.

Meals at the Moonraker, and on Barbados, are going to require far more thought than back at home. Because Barbados is in lockdown, they've instituted some restrictive hours for the grocery stores. The supermarkets are open from 8AM to 4PM, Monday through Friday. I arrived on a Saturday, which necessitated sending Steve a grocery list prior to my arrival. He was able to get some provisions, but the box of food I received was not what I was expecting. And so begins the re-wiring of my American brain and its impulses and desires.

Even in a pandemic, I was very lucky to be in the city of Manchester, New Hampshire (and I promise you, that's the first time that sentence has ever been written). Manchester considers itself a city, and I suppose that's true in the minds of people who grew up in a state with a single area code. That being the case, they have all the amenities and features of a big city, but with none of the crowds. Grocery stores are regularly stocked. Restaurants have scaled back to limited hours, but are mostly open. Gyms are still open. Spin studios are still booking classes. Manchester sports a few more masks than it would have otherwise but largely, life keeps humming. If you want a hot pizza at your door, it can be done in under an hour. And so even in the horror age of Coronavirus, I was still warmly blanketed in American convenience.

Upon arrival at the Moonraker, I receive, in a small cardboard box:

1 jar peanut butter, 6oz

1 tin of butter, 6oz

4 chicken breasts

Loaf of bread

Bajan guava jam

2 apples

1 grapefruit

2 oranges

1lb bag of white rice

1 bag of dog food

12 eggs

I have one aluminum stock pot in which to cook. I have one pan. I have a spatula and nothing else. The propane-powered stove looks at me impassively.

"Ready when you are."

Dinner the previous evening was an eye-opener. The pot that I have to cook in is not meant for rice - not for one person, anyway. The water here is also thick with calcium. The rice I ate the previous night was chalky, but calories are calories when you're hungry. I managed to cook the chicken all the way through, but I have no seasonings. I pulled apart some chicken and shredded it as best I could with a fork: this is for Roo. I mix it in with his dry food to entice him to eat. He sniffs at the offering, but remains reluctant. It isn't until he sees me dig in that he does the same. He finishes his bowl faster than it takes to read this sentence.

I pick at my food, trying to stretch out the meal. I take a long breath after each bite. I chew more slowly. I don't know when I can expect another trip to the grocery so this needs to last. The two halves of my brain begin to fight one another, and I'm reminded of that quote about reason being a slave to passion. Reason is attempting to win out, but Passion has held the mic for so long that he is more seasoned with his sermon, more persuasive in his prose. Reason is trying its level best, but Passion has had the run of my brain for oh so very long. This necessitates a bit of rewiring.

I begin to consider a single apple an extravagance. A slice of bread smeared with guava jam serves as dessert. I am trying to re-teach my brain how to think about food. I am trying to short-circuit the impulse to satisfy myself whenever it occurs to me. I look from item to item on my shelf and plan about when they'll be consumed. I become more aware of times between feedings, and how much longer I'll need to stretch them now. It also makes me reconsider how frequently I would grab for snacks back home, and how much worse that problem became once covid-19 trapped us all under glass.

I finish my stretch in the morning sunlight and look down at Roo. And because my body says so this time, not the hands of the clock, I ask him if he's hungry.

His eyes smile a yes.