We woke up today to a 43-degree morning here in New England (that's 6.1 degrees celsius to all of you Bonairean friends). It has been a notably gray, cold spring since our arrival back home in March after our first long stay at Villa Salentein. It has been so gray and cold that the little desert rose we planted in a decorative pot (see photo, left) and placed out front of our New Hampshire porch to remind us of Bonaire has sprouted neither one leaf nor one flower in a month. We don't blame it.
Though we New Englanders are a hearty lot who are used to uncooperative and downright heartless weather (and who are not supposed to complain about it), Ben and I are estimating we have seen the sun for all of about seven days since we got home in mid-March. Today I sadly rifled through my pant drawer until I found the leggings with the warm fleece inner liner, jacked the car seat heater up to its highest setting, started a fire in the woodstove, and did a few jumping jacks to get some blood pumping in my otherwise reptilian body. This all naturally leads to wistful thoughts of Bonaire and Villa Salentein: sitting on the open-air patio sipping a sundowner at sunset (and yes, the sundowner sipping comes to mind first); taking a long swim-snorkel south toward Crown Ridge; warm evening walks around the neighborhood; diving (diving!!) whenever the spirit moves us; dinners at Mezze or Rum Runners; snuggling with the cats and dogs at the shelter; yoga on the patio.
Clearly, it is time to discover what Bonaire is like in the summer, since winter is persisting here at the bitter (cold) end of the New England spring.