These birds live for sweet nectar, and if you make it easy for them, a bowl of sugar. Their location seems appropriate; a mesmeric island where the good life runs thick. Oddly enough, if you look for their classification online, there is a bit of a debate. Some experts suggest that perhaps the little bird should be ‘split’ into three classifications because they can’t decide where to put it. Curious. I wonder if it feels the need to be classified, or what it might think about being ‘split.’
“How many for dinner?” “Just me,” I said. “Oh yes, just you, always the same, just you,” she said with that big Caribbean grin. It’s interesting to be alone in a place where no one goes to be alone. People come here to be with lovers, or family and friends. They gather, and they laugh, and if not for the small printout of USA Today’s news highlights at the hostess stand, forget that the rest of the world exists. That is not a bad thing. The older I get, the more I like the sound of it.
“Oh, are you dining alone? That’s so sad,” said the woman seated at the table next to me. I quickly quelled her fears for my seemingly sad social existence; “I’m painting for a few weeks in a beautiful place where I am fed like a queen and someone else does my laundry. I am a happy camper – promise.” She seemed relieved. They enjoyed their dinner. I enjoyed mine.
“Dessert, Miss Kelly?” “Ohhh…that ‘sweet nectar’ thing.” I wanted it so badly. “I want to be a Bananaquit,” I thought to myself. “Just go right for the white chocolate mousse, or the bread pudding, or the key lime pie. AND, because I don’t belong to any classification, I could behave erratically and it would be perfectly acceptable. Yes, that could be fun,” I thought. I’m sure there are downsides to the Bananaquit lifestyle – but as I have not fully lived it, I do not yet know what they are.
So, I raise my glass to this hyper little bird that sings boisterously and I toast – “To drinking sweet nectar all day, and not feeling like you might bust – to you, pretty bird, I tip my sun hat.”