After a boring night in a Portland hotel room, a very long plane ride, an enjoyable day in sunny Puerto Rico, and then a shorter plane ride, Eric and I have made it to Grenada, the Isle of Spice. Although the Grenadian man sitting next to me on the plane laughed when the pilot called it that, so maybe the locals don't really call it the Isle of Spice.

We just enjoyed a nice breakfast on Meg's patio, where we can see just a little slice of the blue, blue ocean awaiting us. (Is it still breakfast when you eat it at 11 a.m.? Because we slept in so late, that's what time it was when we finally got out of bed and ate something. I'll just let all you other parents writhe in envy while you think about the glory of sleeping in that late). It's an interesting breakfast, when the guava you're eating probably came straight off one of the many tropical trees outside, and the milk claims to have been produced in "the beautiful Yorkshire dales."

Outside Meg's kitchen window, beautiful flowering plants bloom in planters made of old tires. Birds chirp and twitter away, and last night there was a little gecko running around in here. They are speedy little buggers.

We're getting ready to head to the beach now. Warm ocean waters, here we come.