Timeless Experiences

I grew up in a home where being on time was not optional, it was downright mandatory!  My father in particular was punctual to a fault; as a family we would arrive places not only on time but unfashionably early, on more than one occasion greeted by a hostess with curlers still covering her head. I was always painfully early for school, early for sports meets, early – well, early for pretty much everything! Those who knew my family laughingly referred to this trait as “being on Armstrong time”, a phrase I was destined to hear often throughout my childhood.

I moved to Bequia when I was 21, and found myself on an Island where “Armstrong Time” was not a concept people seemed to grasp. My first introduction to West Indian timelessness began in Barbados, where the regional airline scheduled to fly me to St. Vincent was unforgivably late. I had been warned that LIAT stood for Leave Island Any Time and had assumed it was a joke – after all, how could an airline always be late? Hah! The joke was on me.

Shortly after my arrival on Bequia a kind lady invited a few of the high school teachers to her home for “afternoon tea”. We climbed a very steep hill to her house, arriving at 3:00 on the dot. When the lady’s husband informed us that his wife was having a sea bath I assumed we had mis-understood the invitation, perhaps we had come on the wrong day? The good man assured us that we were expected, so we sat down in a tiny living room and waited. And WAITED. Our hostess seemed quite unperturbed when she finally arrived, and we waited yet again while she changed into dry clothes. Thankfully, we were offered some potent rum punch as opposed to the expected tea, a beverage I was more than happy to accept by that point in time!

Many things on Bequia happened on time. The Friendship Rose departed promptly at 6:30 in the morning and the bank opened at 8:00. School began more or less on time unless it rained, and so did church services. Social events, however, were a whole different kettle of fish, as I discovered when I attended my first Whitsuntide race. I had been told the race would begin at 10:00, and was in place well before then. I was, after all, an Armstrong, and hadn’t realized that the race would begin when the sailors were ready and not a minute before. I got a bad sun-burn because of my addiction to being on time, but enjoyed the race once it eventually started. Like the boat races, beach limes could also be timeless experiences; invitations to such picnics did not mean lunch would be ready at 12:00, that’s often when the fire was started in preparation for the boileen or goat-water.  However, a fun day at the beach is always a treat, and the long-awaited food tasted extra sweet to a hungry belly!

I married a Bequia man, a man who sailed happily through life on “Island time”. Mac was ALWAYS late, and it drove me nuts. They say that opposites attract, and when it came to punctuality Mac and I were definitely at odds. I would be dressed for an event an hour early, then wait with steam coming out of my ears for Mac to get ready. We always arrived unforgivably late (at least as far as I was concerned, he simply didn’t care), and I realized that the stress of nagging my husband was putting a strain on our marriage. I eventually decided to meet my husband half-way, and fibbed about invitation times so that we would arrive more or less on time. If we were invited somewhere for 8:00 I told him 7:00, a rather sneaky ruse but it worked. Yeah, I lied to Mac, but at least I didn’t have to nag him so much!

The Pizzeria staff knew my penchant for timeliness, and those who arrived for work consistently late usually didn’t last long as employees. As most of the staff worked shifts, being late for work was not an option without a valid excuse, and for the most part my team got to the Pizzeria on time. I say “for the most part” because Chester (may he Rest in Peace) was always exactly 10 minutes late for work. If his shift began at 11:00 that’s what time Chester left his house, and my staff and I accepted his 10-minute lapse simply because he was Chester. Chester marched to his own drum beat and we loved him. Today I am married to a tug-boat captain named Nik, a man after my own heart when it comes to punctuality!  Nik reminds me SO much of my father when it comes to being on time – he’s usually ready for an event earlier than I, and I’m ALWAYS ready well before necessary. At times I have to hold him back a bit to avoid being unfashionably early, he may not mind getting to the party ahead of time and simply waiting for others to arrive but I do! Nik and I operate on “Armstrong Time”, and our friends have come to accept the fact that we’ll most likely arrive on their door-step well before they are ready. Or, perhaps they have taken a leaf out of my own book, and invite us for 7:00 when they actually want us to arrive at 6:00!