For all of you who love the goat meat, forgive me for my denigrating it in my post last night. My experience with goat meat happened only once and on Aruba, as a matter of fact, and the tiny ribs of the beast reminded me way too painfully of our puppy (at that time) Pearl. I believe the goat and the dog might have been about the same size and I missed Pearl and her little puppy body with the shiny brindle coat covering her little puppy ribs.
I can't bear to eat lamb either, and this is just the way it is. I am as big a hypocrite as anyone on this earth and I know it but we all have our little quirks and goat and lamb are two of mine.
And yes, meanwhile I eat Bambi. And her mother.
I still say that the Dutch Caribbean is an oxymoron and I seriously doubt you will be able to convince me otherwise. For that, I will not apologize.
I have had my walk and have a few things to do around here before I go to George's celebration of life. They are not calling it a funeral although it is being held at a funeral home. One must do these things and George would certainly want us all to have a good as time as possible, I suppose. How can one know? He himself certainly seemed to have as a life goal the enjoyment of every moment possible. I did not know until I read his obituary today that he had been part of the Peace Corps for two years and also had his doctorate in mathematics. I knew him mostly as being funny and sweet and saving my ass on stage on more than one occasion.
Here we go. Celebrating life even in the face of its ending.