(Perched on the lush coastline of Ocho Rios, Jamaica—this glamorous all-inclusive resort seduces with sweeping water views, a wide sandy beach and its very own namesake island. Discover the delights of snorkeling among the reefs or windsurfing on the waves. Enjoy a game of tennis, a round of golf or a tranquil afternoon on a lounge chair by the sea. The million-dollar kitchen and organic herb gardens serve as inspiration for our award-winning chefs to create the finest farm-to-table cuisine on the island. Or get married. Photo Couples Resorts.) 

Oh, I was going to write another one of those re-tread stories of ancient ships, and the days when men were iron and the boats were wood, but I am going to have to put that aside for a moment. I am sure it will wait, since the ship in question seems not to be in jeopardy like the rest of them, and there is something much more transient that makes my head light and my heart swell.

I had ventured out to physical therapy and a stop at the Apple Store to hand over my old laptop and see if it could be salvaged. The Genius (who is the whiz-kid in the Apple organization that comes up with the names?) who served me was nice enough, and he fiddled with box and announced they would have to keep it.

“Where do you send it?” I asked. “Guondong province?”

“No,” he said. “We do it all right here.”

I surprised, since it did not seem readily apparent that they did anything here. Have you been to one of the Apple stores lately? There are only people in blue shirts and no visible merchandise to sell. There are just little devices perched on sterile Lucite mounts around the periphery of the room with worshippers tapping on them.

Before I could leave, I had to sign a release on the iPad associated with my Genius that said I released them from harm if they accidentally mirrored the contents of my hard drive and sold the contents to Russian or Chinese hackers- I was not sure which, it was in fine print and I couldn’t tell- and then wobbled back to the Bluesmobile in the garage across the plaza.

I thought about stopping at Willow, and then decided to cool my jets and go home. I was puttering in the kitchen. I had about given up on cooking for the last 45 days, but my creative juices are starting to flow again, and there is all that empty space in the reefer that had been filled up with unidentified containers of left-overs, and some frozen items that dated back as far as the first Bush Administration.

Then the phone went off, and I was pleasantly surprised to see it was my older son, from whom I had not heard much since the funeral last month.

He called to announce that he and his bride had eloped last week and been married in a cool romantic ceremony on the lovely of Jamaica. Actually, to avoid any problems with overseas records, they had been previously joined civilly (one man and one woman) here in Virginia.

I told him that was a smart thing, since if he ever winds up running for the Senate, his opponents would doubtless attempt to portray him as being married (and probably been born) in a foreign country.

He nodded gravely, a married man grappling with the myriad of possibilities and new certainties.

I presume this means there will be grandchildren coming along presently.

There is so much at which to marvel this morning. So many impossible things to believe before breakfast. To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.

I heard that somewhere. Seems true.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com