We were eager to embrace old friends, indulge in parasol bedecked drinks, and sleep long and deep, mesmerized by the melodic loop of waves crashing on the delicate beach below our window.
Jim, always an advocate of the barbless hook, has been effortlessly trolling the bay beside our hotel, reeling in Grunts, Baby Snapper, and Permit.
Magnificent yachts take turns berthing in the quiet cove off our room, casting toy sized motor boats off the side for exploration and a meal ashore before hoisting anchor and wandering on.
Tonight we drove to the Viceroy, a hip, bustling hotel more South Beach than Robinson Crusoe style Anguilla.
People searched our faces as we entered this chic, white-washed monument, eager for the titilation of a celebrity visitation.
Anguilla is rejuvenating because it pares us down to salt washed hair, bare feet, and skin burnished by sunshine and peace.
After dinner we wandered down to the water’s edge where a spotlight highlighted tarpon hungerily spooning their dinner off the surface of the ocean.
A lone fisherman attempted to cast a flyline out to snag one of these beautiful creatures.
Alas a wayward barbed hook snagged my dear Jim in the back.
This bizarre incident led to the fulfullment of a life long dream for my composer husband –
lo and behold, who should come to bring my husband cheer but Sir Paul McCartney.
My son and his girlfriend caught a glimpse of him passing through the lobby, while we fretfully awaited a physician.
They sought him out at the bar, pleading with him to come meet his biggest fan, now wounded, and needing a cure that Sir Paul had a special ability to deliver.
And he came!
One of the greatest stars of our era, Sir Paul hurried to Jim’s side, insisted upon viewing the barb puncturing Jim’s spine, was tender, sincere and adorable.
And Jim at long last having this wish fulfilled bravely joined the local physician in the managers office / surgical room for a fish barb extraction.
What a bizarre evening.