This past spring, I learned there would be a Mindful Making Retreat about an hour away from me, co-taught by Katrina Rodabaugh and Meg McElwee. I’ve made a number of Meg’s patterns this spring and summer and have been gradually embracing the idea of slowing my sewing down and making it more of a practice than a drive.
That has been a process. My typical M.O. is to bring all my other responsibilities to a halt, let my children run feral, and whip up a top or a pair of shorts as quickly as possible.
We were drawing close to the end of our trip. After a day at Seven Mile Beach and Stingray City, we went to the little beach where we’d been going for our morning sea baths to watch the sunset together our last night on the island.
We both brought our reading material, and it was sublime.
I started several times to write about Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church, by Rachel Held Evans. I believe it belongs in its own post, even though I’ve already mentioned it in several other posts in passing.
But while I kept starting the post, I couldn’t get past the first few lines.
The second to last day of our trip, we went to Seven Mile Beach. It is THE tourist destination on Grand Cayman, a long stretch of pristine sand reaching down into impossibly clear turquoise water that grades into ever deeper shades of teal as you look out towards the horizon.
While most of the land just above the beach is owned by hotels, the entire length of the beach is public access with various parking spots and paths to the water in between the hotels.
After a few days on Grand Cayman, I was starting to get a feel for the place. It was very civilized, but it felt a bit forced. I’d seen only one other interracial couple since we’d been there. Portraits of the Queen and Prince Charles hung at the airport. I’d made a joke about tea time one day only to have one of the Chaplain’s friends casually mention meeting someone for tea the next day.
