FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Minneapolis, March 29, 2010 – Fifteen leading multiple listing services (MLSs) in the U.S. have formed the MLS Domains Association, a non-profit national association created to obtain, manage and promote the orderly use of the ‘.MLS’ top-level domain (TLD) on the Internet. The Association will apply late in 2010 to the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN) under ICANN’s new gTLD process. If successful, MLSs will be able to obtain domains such as Maine.MLS, Chicago.MLS, etc.
“For years, MLSs and REALTOR® Associations have objected to businesses referring to themselves as ‘MLSs’ in their marketing, when in fact they are not MLSs,” said Bob Bemis, interim President of the Association and CEO of the Arizona Regional Multiple Listing Service. Under United States trademark law, the term “multiple listing service” is generic; MLSs cannot claim exclusive use of it. “Our goal is to create a place, the .MLS top-level domain, where the web sites actually belong to MLSs, not to other types of business,” he said.
The Association’s leaders plan for the .MLS TLD to deliver the following benefits:
- Unique location of MLS data on the Internet. Use and effective marketing of the .MLS TLD only by MLSs will make sites at the .MLS TLD definitive sources of listings.
- Key geographical second-level domains (SLDs) will be available to MLSs. MLSs can obtain common second-level domains (SLDs) on .MLS that have long since been sold on the .COM, .NET, and .ORG TLDs. Domains like Maine.com, Texas.org, Chicago.net, etc., were long ago registered by non-MLS entities. Texas.MLS, Chicago.MLS, and all other location and plain English-word domain names will be available to MLSs as SLDs under .MLS.
- Better search engine ranking for MLS public web sites. According to some search engine optimization experts, sites at .MLS domains may receive higher rankings if consumers search for “MLS” on search engines. For example, a search for “new jersey mls” on Google would likely rank a site at “newjersey.mls” high in the results. Consumers might be more prone to select search results that have .MLS TLDs because consumers may believe they will provide more reliable information.
“The Association looks forward to inviting all MLSs to join,” said Brian Larson, President of Larson/Sobotka Business Advisors, a consulting firm engaged by the founding MLSs to create the business plan for the Association and to guide it through its early operations. “For the next few weeks,” he said, “the current leaders will be working on policies relating to membership, domain registration, and dispute resolution that the Association needs to sort out before opening the doors wide.” Membership in the association will be limited to real estate multiple listing services, including broker-owned services not affiliated with the National Association of REALTORS®, and will be generally available later in April 2010.
MLSs that want more information should visit the Association’s web site at www.MLSDomains.org or email info@MLSDomains.org.
# # #
MLS Domains Association is a non-profit association founded by Arizona Regional Multiple Listing Service, Inc., Austin Board of REALTORS®/ACTRIS (TX), Carolina Multiple Listing Services, Inc. (NC), First Multiple Listing Service, Inc. (GA), Metropolitan Regional Information Systems, Inc. (DC-MD), Midwest Real Estate Data LLC (IL), Multi Regional Multiple Listing Service (CA), Multiple Listing Service, Inc. (WI), My Florida Regional MLS, Realcomp II, Ltd. (MI), REALTOR® Association of Greater Ft. Lauderdale, Regional Multiple Listing Service of Minnesota, Inc., Southern California Multiple Listing Service, TREND MLS (PA-NJ), Triangle Multiple Listing Service (NC).
Larson/Sobotka Business Advisors, LLC, is a Minneapolis-based consulting firm principally serving MLSs and REALTOR® associations with business advice. More at www.MLSTesseract.com.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Leading MLSs Form Association to Seek ‘.MLS’ Top-Level Domain « MLS Domains Association
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Music, music, music–by Gertie’s friend, Miss Lynn « Gertiecranker’s Weblog
Music, music, music–by Gertie’s friend, Miss Lynn
A week ago the earnest Clemson Tigers departed TBay. The last evening they held a 90 minute sing a long in the Methodist meeting house across the alley. Now these students were GOOD,comparatively speaking. In fact, I'd give them a 9 in the "carry a tune" category. They were replaced by 40 earnest Methodist adults from S.Carolina, here to do good works too. The EMAs were the "tech" gang: their major task to assist in the two restoration projects currently underway in South Eleuthera. They were divided into two groups, the more skilled were dispatched to Bannerman Town where restoration of an old building to be used as a community center is almost done save for electrical and plumbing installation. Hence the need for some real skill. Tarpum Bay got mostly the women who wielded paint brushes on the Methodist church and helped in the conga line down at Old Prep passing cement bags up to the few men left in TB who were "browning" or "plastering", the Old Prep walls. These EMAs were full of song, before and after every meal, and again at night. I'd give them an 8. They piled noisily into buses at six a.m. to catch their charter back to SC. Such was the music of the visitors. Because my part of the Old Prep restoration involves taking down the oral history of people, old and young who were connected as students, teachers, headmasters, and parents to Old Prep, I was treated to some of the songs they sang. One man told me how each day began and ended with a hymn. The closing hymn was "Now the Day is Over" He reported with a grin, "Boy! could we sing that fast!" Another lady sang the times tables up to 100 for me. This was how students learned in the days before Royal Readers, the text series that covered everything from arithmetic to geography. During the days before electricity came to TB in the late 50ies, students learned by repetition, recitation, and rote, They wrote on slates, did their homework on pressed brown paper bags and used oil lamps on dark days. My favorite of all the Prep songs I heard was written by one of the headmasters, Mr. Stevenson. The words are wonderful: "If you go to Tarpum Bay any night or any day You will see them all, doin' the Tarpum ball. Every little Tarpum gal has a little Tarpum pal You will see them all, doin' the Tarpum ball. Everyting's bright an breezy Do as you darn well pleazy Why don't you make your way there, Go there, Stay there, Doin' the Tarpum Ball Hoo" Last night Paul, who arrived Tuesday, and I wandered down to the park where, it was advertised, that the homecoming committee would have a festival. There would be live music, and the usual island fare of conch fritters, fried pork chops, ribs, fried fish and sides of mac n cheese, Cole slaw and peas n' rice. This time, in addition to the food, there was a beer tent, similar to the one at the Traverse City Cherry Festival. When we arrived about five, the music was LOUD and recorded, featured was traditional rake and scrape, Bahamian love songs, and Junkanoo music. As we were walking home loaded with styro plates of food we heard "Kumbaya" played as a Junkanoo march: lively and loud. This was followed by a Junkanoo version of "Rock of Ages". Just last Sunday Brother Ian had chosen "Rock of Ages" as one of his hymns. I much prefer the Junkanoo version. In between the singing Methodists and Saturday night festival there are bits and pieces of music which fill the days: Will, the Bible Man aka "God the Fourth", walks up our alley evey morning between 7 and 9 stumming his make shift duct tape guitar and singing/chanting (?)something unintelligible. Then there are the endless choir practices of the Methodists led by their unmusical, but enthusiastic director, Brother Ian. There is a children, a youth and an adult choir. The best by far are the children who are able to drown out Bro. Ian with their energy. Of the three, I'd give the kids the top score of 5. The few teens who have cars, blast their loud music, windows down, as they drive through the streets. No different than teens universally. This morning we were awakened at SIX THIRTY a.m! It was She of the White Robes of last year's Easter week. This time she chose the end of Adelaide Street on the Bay as her podium. There are no houses at the end of Adelaide except for the Conch Shop which doesn't open til noon. But choosing this spot ensured her words, shouted by bull horn up the narrow walls of our street, would wake even those at the opposite end: US!! She shouted many holy and unholy things. I could catch "Repent!, SIN! Redemption! Hallelujah! and BE SAVED IN JESUS!" The preaching lasted long enough to make sure we were fully awake before she and her merry band of six ended with an off key hymn, unrecognizable and unmusical. This is Palm Sunday, and here come the Anglicans in their red and white robes waving their palm fronds and singing, "All Glory Laud and Honor" as they pass by our cottage, circling the block before entering their church. And thus another Holy week begins and the music plays.EMA (Earnest Methodist Adults) hard at work in Tarpum Bay
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Saturday, March 27, 2010
MLS Domains Association
A place on the web, just for MLSs
The purpose of the MLS Domains Association is to obtain the “MLS” top-level domain (TLD) on the Internet and make it available only to real estate multiple listing services (MLSs). This means MLSs, and only MLSs, could get domains like www.Maine.MLS, www.Chicago.MLS, etc.
The Association is focused on doing stuff ‘on the cheap’ for the next few months. Why? Because it needs MLSs around the country to step up and join before it starts burning through cash. If enough MLSs join, the Association will devote substantial funds to its application for the .MLS TLD to the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN). Read about ICANN’s new TLD project. If too few MLSs join, the Association will pack it in and go home.
Our call to action
Think about whether your MLS could or would use an address like www.YourTown.MLS; click on the link below to our survey; and sign up on the right to receive updates from the Association as we prepare to launch our membership drive.
Theme: Vigilance by The Theme Foundry
MLS Domains Association
This means MLSs, and only MLSs, could get domains like www.Maine.MLS, www.Chicago.MLS, etc.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Gertiecranker’s Weblog
Po and Gertie waiting for dinner
It’s 9 AM in Tarpum Bay. The sun shines, the sea is calm, and the bird that lives in the guava tree is singing his melodious and complicated song. “It’s a ‘treasure bird’ “, Kervin tells me. “No,” Brenda says, scornfully. “Kervin, it’s a TRASHER”.
An argument follows: “Brenda, you don’t know nothin’.”
“Kervin, I does know my birds. What do you know, anyway? Nothing but FISH.”
I’m at my computer, so I Google. Nothing for ‘treasure bird’. Nothing for ‘trasher’ either, but Google asks, “Did you mean thrasher?” We look at the photos. Yep — that’s what we meant.
At any rate, the bird’s song is indeed beautiful and despite Google, Kervin probably has the correct description — the bird is indeed a treasure. It’s brightening this perfect March morning as I sit on the deck, watching the sea and the children in their navy and white uniforms heading off to elementary school.
Brenda’s plan for today is to cook a feast, a farewell dinner for me. “You don’t worry, Miss Judith,” she tells me, “you will like everything.”
I know I will: Eleuthera is carbohydrate heaven. She explains the menu: fried red snapper, baked macaroni and cheese, yellow rice, pork chops, slaw, and vegetables. In addition (there’s more???), Lynn is constructing her version of the Coconut Lane Cake we experienced on our trip to Spanish Wells— and that involves a cookie-crumb crust, and mounds of fresh sweet whipped cream.
All of this is an all-day project, of course. Brenda and Kervin are both excellent cooks, but Kervin is critical. He comes by our house about noon to offer suggestions. “Brenda”, he says, “Number One, you is too slow. Number Two, you use too much salt. Number Three,” he examines the mound of finely chopped vegetables, “You chop too big. Number Four…” He tapers off, sensing the mutinous gaze of the three women in the room. “I be back later.”
‘Later’, of course, does not mean dinner hour for Kervin. At 5:30 we are all assembled — the grandchildren, Brenda, Lynn and I. But no Kervin. “He fixing the car,” Po explains.
And so we gather for the feast…and it is indeed wonderful. Brenda gives me an elegant necklace with a red coral pendant and black beads, and we cry a little: I won’t be back again until next year.
Kervin interrupts any sentimentality with his explosive entrance. He’s followed close behind by his grown son, Calvin, and Calvin is followed by Brenda’s grown son Tario — feasts, after all, are for family. The mound of food rapidly diminishes and we are left with only a few vegetables and a pile of fish bones.
And me, I am left with memories of warm and friendly people, sunshiny days, a treasure of bird song, and a lovely red coral necklace.
A Quick Trip to Spanish Wells
“I be there! 8 AM sharp. Miss Lynn, Miss Judith, you be ready!” Kervin cautions, his Thursday parting words.
Of course, 8 AM came and went on Friday, and finally — about 9:30– we were off, dressed for a trip to North Eleuthera. Water bottles, comfortable shoes, cameras — and plenty of money.
Now North Eleuthera is not many miles away from Tarpum Bay, maybe 70 or so, I’d guess. But by car on the single highway that traverses our 110 mile island, it’s well over 2 hours, maybe more. Then you come to the end of Eleuthera island and located off its tip are two small island which are settlements in themselves: the upscale Harbour Island, and the quirky settlement of Spanish Wells. It was Spanish Wells that was our destination.
Spanish Wells is approximately two miles long and a half mile wide. The geography of Spanish Wells is extended, however, by a bridge that links it to neighboring Russell Island, which is just over three miles long and has become an integral part of the community. The island is known for its lobster fishing. But perhaps most interesting is its history: this old island village got its name from sixteenth-century Spanish galleons filling their water casks before sailing back to Spain. Most of the people indeed are European – true blond-haired, blue-eyed descendants of the original Eleutheran settlers. Some later residents arrived as British refugees fleeing the American revolution. Today, the island is one of the most prosperous of all the Bahamian islands outside New Providence because of modern commercial fishing fleet specializing in Bahamian lobster for shipment to restaurants in Florida, Nassau, and Freeport. The Red Lobster chain is one of their biggest customers.
I’d always heard stories that the residents were almost all white, very aloof, and inbred. In fact many island residents do have an extra little finger on one hand, but we found most people very friendly and welcoming.
Getting there is half the fun. The highway north from Tarpum Bay takes you along the edge of the island, through several small towns and through some undeveloped “developments”. The latter are a hallmark of the island: large glossy signs pointing the way down wide stone roads which quickly narrow into rocky two-tracks which meander to the sea. Chances are you won’t find a single structure under construction, nor will you see an electric line or fire hydrant. But these are a developer’s fantasy— and a property owner’s money pit.
The settlements are small, usually with some brightly painted small concrete houses, several churches, and a couple of ‘take-away’ restaurants which feature the same menu: hamburgers, ribs, baked- macaroni, and the ubiquitous ‘beans and rice’. Now and then there will be a vegetable stand or a small ‘art’ shop, usually closed.
Kervin is a madman behind the wheel. He’s driving our somewhat questionable rental car and I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat because Lynn has insisted she get the back. She misses a lot of the scenery because her head is buried in a beach blanket, her screams of “Kervin, SLOW DOWN” muffled by the fabric. But Kervin knows this road well, having driven it for most of his 47 years, and living in many of the settlements. He delights in pointing out houses he built, places he lived, restaurants where he ate, and the beach where he got his first kiss. “She was beautiful, Miss Judith,” he says. “But she was bossy. I don’t want no bossy woman in my life.”
We make a quick stop at The Island Farm: Tuesdays and Fridays are the days for fresh bread and rolls, and most of the white part-time residents and tourists show up early in the morning. The “good stuff” is usually gone by noon, but we’re there in time to get some cinnamon buns and small loaves of ‘cheesy bread’, and we much happily as we head north. Kervin’s not a frosting lover, but I am, and this mid-morning snack is just perfect!
When we reach the end of the island, we climb aboard a small ferry boat to Spanish Wells. We’re there in about 10 minutes, and the captain doesn’t take our money. We can pay him on the return trip: how else are we going to get out of there? We hire a golf cart, which is the main mode of island transportation and we set off on a tour of the brightly colored houses and immaculate yards. As we have traveled north on Eleuthera the vegetation has become greener and it’s clear why Eleuthera was once called “The Garden Island”. Abandoned stone grain elevators and old pineapple fields appear on the North Eleuthera landscape. Banana bushes and orange trees are in everyone’s yard. Here on Spanish Wells, there’s grass, too — not just the stone outcroppings we find in Tarpum Bay.
Spanish Wells has some beautiful beaches and parks, as well and almost every house is immaculate and freshly painted. Most seem to sport murals of sea turtles, fish, and other tropical subjects as well as lush plantings of bright grasses and flowering shrubs.
Kervin knows everybody, it seems. “Hey, Belly!” is a shout that frequently hails us, and he’s busy shouting back, waving, and occasionally stopping the cart and shaking hands with someone lounging against a shipping crate or a street sign. Lynn and I haven’t been fooled, of course, by his willingness to take the day off and squire us on this trip: Kervin has a little ‘boat talk’ with a variety of men down at the dock. I explain to him that in the US this is called ‘kicking tires’, and is a favorite activity of many real estate and automobile shoppers. “Well,” he says. “Everybody knows you don’t buy a boat on an island if you want a good deal. You can buy something in Miami for three times less.”
Kervin kicks tires
Our other highlight is lunch: we find a restaurant and go inside, Kervin leaving the golf cart keys and his cell phone in the open vehicle. The restaurant is small (4 tables) and the menu predictable. Kervin and Lynn spot some really delectable baked goods and both order a piece of “Coconut Lane Cake”, which they devour before their sandwiches arrive. It’s a truly sumptuous dessert, a cross between a cake and a coconut cream pie, but when we ask, the cook refuses to share the recipe. Kervin understands: “Miss Lynn! Why should she? It’s how she makes her livin’!”
A little more tire kickin’ and we are ready to head home. The ferryboat captain remembers us and collects $8 each. We find our car, Lynn crouches down in the back seat and buries her face in the blanket, and we are flying south to Tarpum Bay.
Miss Brenda Takes On the Principal
As a parent, I was not an enthusiastic advocate for my children when it came to fighting the school system. There were, of course, a few notable occasions: once I kept both children out of school until the principal could understand my point of view, and I reminded him that some of my best friends were newspaper reporters. (I won that one) Another time I went to the school board when the high school principal insisted that my daughter’s grades in the US Senate Page High School would not count toward her Honor Society Membership. (We lost that one.)
Generally speaking, though, I always felt that an important part of learning was understanding that power is power, no matter whether the people who have it are good and kind, or bigoted and dumb. I think children need to know that. “The hand that wields the pencil over the grade book is the hand that wields the power,” I said. “Learn to live with it.”
But yesterday I found myself in another one of those battles I thought were over when my children were grown and graduated. It seems that Miss Brenda’s granddaughter, Dera, had been kicked off the school bus. Now Dera is a smart and beautiful 12-year old, and in the 6th grade she had won a scholarship to a private middle school some 45 minutes away. Brenda recognized the prestige of this honor, and encouraged Dera to attend, despite the added expense to the family (which they can ill afford).
Picture a busload of smart, energetic 12-14 year-old children on a rickety school bus for an hour in the morning and again in the evening. Add to it an illiterate immigrant school bus driver who doesn’t know the language and can barely keep the bus on the road. Recipe for disaster? You bet.
So whether or not Dera bonked the boy with the shoe is not really the issue, though for the school principal it was. And Dera had no way to get to school, as there is no working car in the family at the moment — and even if there were, Kervin would be using it for his fishing and construction businesses. Further the high cost of gas on the island (over $5 a gallon) would make a twice daily drive financially impossible for this family. Off we went to Deep Creek to reason with the principal.
We found the principal was adamant, in the way that only PhD’s in education who don’t much like children can be. “I’m sorry,” she told Brenda. “There will be orderliness on the bus. That is non-negotiable. Dera will learn self control before she can ride the bus again.”
Brenda asked, politely, about the other five children who had been banned from the bus during the last two weeks. “That’s not my concern,” the principal said. “We will not have children in this school with no self-control on the bus. The parents must find their own way to get the children to school until I say they can ride the bus again.”
“How long will that be?” Brenda asks.
“I can’t say,” said the principal. “Whenever they demonstrate responsible behavior.”
“How can they do that,” Brenda asks, “if they can’t ride the bus?”
Answer: “That will be up to me to decide.”
By now, Brenda is furious: I can see it in her eyes. She argues, respectfully, not that Dera is innocent, but that the boys do tease her unmercifully and she gets angry. No, that isn’t right. But kids are kids, and they are on a bus unsupervised for long periods of time, and these things do happen. Isn’t the punishment a little unreasonable? Doesn’t it hurt all the children to be out of school for that long? Because there really is no transportation alternative.
“Non-negotiable!” says the principal (her favorite word today).
Now Brenda is angry. “I am a Christian woman!” she says. “I am 46 years old and I grew up with 8 brothers and sisters. I tooks care of them and my children and Kervin’s children and now these grandchildren. I bring ‘em up right, I do.” Her brown eyes are snapping. “But I tell you, Miss, if other children be raggin’ on me day after day, and if they be teasin’ me about my breasts and such, I tell you I beat the piss out of ‘em! That’s what I do!” Tears are running down her cheeks.
“That,” says the principal, her pale skin gone even whiter, “is certainly not socially acceptable behavior.”
“Come on, Brenda,” I say. “Let’s leave. There’s no point in further discussion.”
Dejected and angry, the three of us head back to Tarpum Bay.
Goodbye, Monkey
Posted March 7, 2010
Filed under: Eleuthera | Tags: Bahamas, community, death, Eleuthera, funeral, Tarpum Bay
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Monkey. Pencil sketch by Judith Lindenau
A couple of Saturdays ago, the Tarpum Bay community buried Monkey.
Everybody on Eleuthera seems to have a nickname—Kervin is “Belly”, my neighbor is “Carwash”, and Kevin’s grandson Renaldo is “Po”. And so it goes.
Monkey’s birth name was Kimsley, and he was 24 years old when he died. The very ornate 12-page memory book handed out at his funeral explains that “he gain (sic) the nick name Monkey because of how fast he could climb a tree.”
His obituary tells us that “With firm guidance and much love he was groomed into an affectionate, and mannerly child….No matter where he went or who he came in contact with he would talk jokes with people or tease them, but he didn’t mean anything by it.” Monkey never married, but he was a well-loved part of a huge extended family which spread throughout the Bahamas and was centered here in the Tarpum Bay settlement on Eleuthera island.
Monkey was at work on the island of Exuma when the boat on which he was working blew up. He and another man were severely burned and flown to Nassau. Monkey was in the hospital for over a month and then received outpatient treatments. The obituary tells us he was often in pain but “reading his bible and seeking God deep in his heart…he thought he was getting better, he was making plans to come home for Jr. Junkanoo, but the Lord was on the other side making other plans for him….two weeks later his body took a change for the worst and he was readmitted…” Family and friends visited him in the hospital and sang and prayed, and on January 25, 2010 “he went on home to be with his sweet Jesus.”
“Life in the beautiful settlement of Tarpum Bay will never be the same,” the obituary concludes. “Sleep on Monkey take your rest we love you, Jesus loves you best.”
Monkey’s death did indeed shake this community. He had many friends — his funeral book lists over 120 names categorized as Mother, Father, Stepfather Grandfathers, Grandmothers, Brothers, Sisters, Adopted brothers and sisters, Nephews (lots), Godchildren, Mother Like No Others, Father Figures In His Life, and Numerous Other Relatives and Friends including various places where Monkey shopped and hung out.
In addition, Monkey’s family was lacking resources to ship his body home to Tarpum Bay for the funeral. Rumor has it that the undertaker wouldn’t release the body until the family could pay cash, so the community held a fund raiser to help out: Monkey’s portrait was printed on white t-shirts which were sold to everyone. Many men attending the funeral wore these shirts under their dark suits in remembrance of their friend.
I didn’t know Monkey, although he was a very close friend of Kervin’s son Mano. Tarpum Bay takes its funerals seriously, however. Monkey’s passing was announced by a slow and somber tolling of the church bell right next to our house. People gather at the sound which, the slow, hollow toll which seems to go on forever. They stand in quiet groups in the middle of Lord Street, heads bowed, murmuring quietly.
Once the money was collected and the body brought back from Nassau, a Friday night visitation was held, followed by an all night vigil. Since the church is next door to our house, we were able to watch the huge floral arrangement being brought in for the Saturday service, and the church entryway decorated with garlands of plastic flowers.
The service itself was over two hours long. People were dressed in their finest: women in somber church suits and dresses and solemn hats, children in pressed white shirts or blouses, men in dark suits and – often– their memorial t-shirts. A shiny black hearse was parked in the alley between our house at the church, and the overflow crowd leaned against it in the hot sun. Often children and men would escape and run to Berts for the Best for a cool soda, and then return to the singing, preaching, and eulogies. When it was over, the coffin loaded in the waiting vehicle, and the five block processional began.
The settlement cemetery is located down by the sea, right next to the cottage I rented the first time I stayed in Tarpum Bay. Because of the winds and tides and shifting sand, many of the concrete vaults are exposed, and grave tending is a futile task–but for one or two days the huge, garish plastic funeral wreaths will mark Monkey’s final resting place.
Crime in Tarpum Bay
Posted March 2, 2010
Filed under: Eleuthera, Life | Tags: Bahamas, crime, Ele, Eleuthera, Leelanau, newspaper, Tarpum Bay
(photo from Officer.com)
My readers who live in Northern Michigan are undoubtedly familiar with Leelanau county’s weekly paper, “The Leelanau Enterprise”–also known as “The Surprise” to those of us who eagerly await our Thursday news source.
Here in Eleuthera we have our own periodic paper, “The Eleutheran”, the Caribbean’s answer to Leelanau. In both instances, readers anxiously wait for the police report section: it’s where you find out everything! For instance, in the “Surprise” I found out my son was getting married, and that a good friend tried to drive home after having too many beers at a Superbowl party.
Here in Eleuthera, the paper performs the same function. The difference is that in the Bahamas the paper doesn’t name names, and doesn’t give anyone’s exact age. The magnitude of the crimes are pretty much the same as in Northern Michigan, however—except that Bahamian journalistic style is a little more flamboyant:
“Accident with injuries reported at Tarpum Bay. There was an accident with injuries on Eleuthera Main Road Tarpum Bay involving a blue 1990 Chevrolet Siverado being driven by a man (over 40). The driver infomed police that while travelling south along Eleuthera Main Road in the early afternoon, with a cargo of a Mattress and a passenger (over 35) from Rock Sound on the back of the vehicle the wind got under the mattress and blew the man off the truck while in the area of South Eleuthera Emergency Partners. As a result of his fall, he sustained face, forehead, shoulders, and wrist injuries. He was also unable to explain what happened as he was knocked unconscious…”
We also have drug dealers here in our little island. Check out this report:
“Search Reference to Possession of Dangerious Drugs. Police while on early evening Mobil Patrol in Tarpum Bay conducted a searchof a Ford Explorer Jeep occupied by men from New Providence. The men were searched for possession of Dangerous Drugs and on one found foil wraps in the pants pocket a grassy like substance susected of being marijuana. The suspect was arrested and cautioned and transported to the Rock Sound Police Station where a Name Check was conducted, and revealed that there were two (2) outstanding warrants for him. The suspect was charged with possession of dangerous drugs with intent to supply.”
And finally, there’s violence—in this case, finger pointing:
“Arrest ref Disorderly Behavior, Threats of Death, Obscene Lanuage & Resisting Arrest. Rock Sound police reported that while supervising a Tarpum Bay man (over 30) in the area of Tarpum Bay Ball Park on community services as ordered by Magistrate’s Court Rock Sound for about 30 minutes he became hostile towards the supervising officer and began pointing his finger in the officers (sic) while threatening and swearing at him and his family. As a result the officer placed him under arrest… He was later charged with disorderly behavior, threats of death, obscene languqage & resisting arrest.”
Whew. No wonder Miss Brenda insists that we stay in at night and lock our doors! She knows how threatening life on this island can be! I keep telling her that we have people who fall out of pickup trucks and point fingers at policemen (and even carry foil-wrapped leafy substances in their pockets) where I am from in Northern Michigan…but she just shrugs and says, “No, Miss Judy. You gots to keep all your doors locked up tight.”
“OK, Brenda,” I tell her. “I’ll just lock myself in tonight and read ‘The Eleutheran’ for excitement.”
Note: quoted passages from “The Eleutheran”, Feb/Mar 2010, p. 27.
Lynn and Gertie at work!
Posted March 1, 2010
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: art, Bahamas, Eleuthera, Tarpum Bay
Lynn painting
“Hand me the yellow,” Lynn said. “And some more water.”
“Ok,” I say, agreeably—Lynn, after all, is on the top step of a ladder, which teeters now and then as its legs sink deeper into the sand. Me, I am most content to be Michelangelo’s water girl with my Keene sandals firmly on the ground.
Well, the comparison is a little inflated: we aren’t doing the Sistine Chapel ceiling. What we are doing is restoring the wall mural on the street side of the elementary school in Tarpum Bay, Eleuthera, Bahamas. It’s the second time we’ve done this project: the first restoration was about three years ago. Back then we used hardware store enamel and cheap brushes that textured the paint with bristles. The school, which sits by the Caribbean shoreline, is vulnerable to onshore winds and saltwater spray—no mural can last long under those conditions. Our work had faded after two years in the elements.
This mural is special, though. It’s an underwater scene, complete with coral, bright fish, snails, a lobster, and a swimming turtle. Even more importantly, it was painted by one of Tarpum Bay’s most famous residents, artist Mal Flanders. Flanders came to Eleuthera in the early 1970’s and lived and painted on the top of Bernard Hill in Tarpum Bay. Though he died in 2004, residents remember him fondly as a quiet, unassuming man who loved film as well as painting, and who used to gather the residents together in the elementary school to show Three Stooges and other classic comics.
The mural on the elementary school wall is one of Flanders’ many gifts to this community, and it is much loved by children and adults as they slow down to make the sharp curve on Queen’s Highway and head inland from Tarpum Bay.
This year we came prepared. Lynn toted about 10 pounds of acrylic paints, as well as brushes and fixative, when she traveled from Michigan. The new school principal was delighted with our offer to paint, and as soon as we got over our obsession with lounging on the beach every day, we organized for the restoration. Our plan was to start fairly early in the morning, as the wall is in full sunlight by late morning and the temperature begins to climb quickly.
It took us about three mornings, working 3-4 hours each day. Because the original was so faded, we found ourselves getting creative—a new angelfish here in the middle, and some pink and green plants in the corner. I hoped Mal forgave us our creative license, but the original was long gone in some faded sections.. Besides, the first mural had been painted on wood and attached to the wall: I envisioned Flanders in his studio under the palm trees sipping Kalik beer as he painted. Lynn and I, on the other hand, were dangling from ladders in the hot sun, working to finish before the paint dried and caked.
Part of the fun of this project is working outside the classroom windows. We were privy to third grade math problems: “There are 18 slices of bread. How many sandwiches can you make?” Most lessons were conducted verbally, with teachers asking questions and students chorusing their responses. Students also stood by their desks and chanted “Good Morning Miss Smith”, and repeated together “God is great and God is good, and we thank Him for our food” before the mid-morning snacks and recess. The children wear school uniforms: starched white shirts and navy pants or skirts—except for Fridays, which is physical education day. Then jeans are allowed, and tennis shoes.
The children were most admiring as the mural took shape. “Ooooh, look at the lobster. And that black fish!”
“What’s your favorite fish,” asked Lynn, ever the teacher.
A chorus of replies: The red one! The black one! The little yellow ones!…until every fish was named and exclaimed over.
The teachers seemed to like it all, too: they would stop by and chat briefly. And the ever supportive principal would appear quietly behind us several times each morning. “It’s coming,” he’d say. “Looking good!” One morning he made sure someone brought us a plate of steaming conch fritters as a mid-morning snack, much to our delight.
But I think the highest praise came from the proprietor of the grocery store across the street from the school. “Sure is real nice of you to fix that painting,” he said to Lynn. “Makes everybody proud.”
Completed Mural
Friday Night Out
Now I’ve said this before: if you want a hot time with bright lights, Eleuthera is not for you. You don’t come here for gambling, drinks with umbrellas, and pole dancers.
Heck, Lynn can’t even find bridge players, though we do have a couple of gaudy green and gold whist trophies that she won at the annual Rock Sound Homecoming.They’re on our windowsill, proud symbols of our community support. But whist tournaments aren’t a common event around here. So come Friday night, we have to make our own fun.
Our big plan this week was to go to Governor’s Harbour, the capitol of Eleuthera, do a little shopping, and to hear a Bahamian writer who was doing a book signing at the fancy new Tapas Bar.
First, though, we stopped at the Rose Manor gift shop where our young friend Chris works. Chris is a student at the Rock Sound Community College studying business: he wants to own a men’s fashion store someday. Probably he’ll have to leave the island to realize that dream—men’s high fashion on Eleuthera consists of ‘pants-on-the-ground’ shorts and oversize t-shirts with sparkles.
At any rate, Chris’ current employer has a quaint little shop tucked away in Governor’s, and it’s filled with jewelry made with fish scales and and paintings of Kalik beer bottles on driftwood. Perhaps the most amazing thing was a massive Victorian chandelier coated in cement, sand and shells (you could hang that sucker in your entryway for a cool thousand bucks). Lots of beads and beachglass, too—and straw bags, floaty scarves, and sun hats. Lynn bought a $10 watch and a gold colored bracelet, Chris’s first (and probably only) sale of the day.
Then, on to the bar. Tapas Bar is on a beautiful stretch of beach, the one where a Club Med used to be before it was destroyed by Hurricane Floyd. The reading was well underway when we arrived, the deck filled with white folks dressed in pastel plaids and deck shoes. I’d read the book, “Life on a Rock”–but I think no one else had. The author, V A Albury, is an interesting woman: she and her husband spent 5 years as managers of a primitive private island. Life with no electricity, no water, and a monthly visit from the supply boat made Eleuthera sound very modern and civilized.
Cocktail hour after the reading consisted of wine and various snacks: conch fritters, fish pate, and vegetables. Conversations among those present didn’t include Lynn and I, however: it never does. We are not a part of the Gated Glitterati whose conversation consists of the latest tennis scores and social gossip. We didn’t stick around the Tapas Bar for very long.
Instead, we went to Kervin’s favorite Governor’s Harbour restaurant. It’s a little (2 tables) cafe on the docks—scrupulously clean and very, very, pink: the menus are pink, the walls are pink, and even the television set in the corner is the color of Pepto bismol. The food’s pretty good though.
Lynn: What don’t you have?
Cook/Waitress: ?
Lynn: What are you out of?
Cook/Waitress: ?
Lynn: Anything on the menu that you haven’t got?
C/W: No mum. We got it all.
Lynn: Fine, then. I’ll have a salmon salad.
C/W: We’s out of salmon.
Lynn: Oh. (pause) I’ll have a pizza then. With crab.
C/W: Pizza will take 40 minutes. And no crab.
Lynn: How about a hamburger?
It was delicious. But it took 40 minutes.
Meantime, a beautiful young Bahamian mother came in with her 8-month old baby. “What’s his name?” we asked.
“Chalice.”
Lynn held Chalice, resplendent in his sweatshirt and red knitted cap pulled tight around his ears, while his mother placed her order. Other local young people soon crowded into the small place, laughing and surprised to see two women Of a Certain Age in their hangout.
“Hi,” said one man, older than the rest and clearly under the influence of too many Friday night Kalik beers. “You must be from Nassau. I hate Nassau. Too much crime and drunkenness.” (Takes one to know one, I think to myself.)
“Not us. We’re from Tarpum Bay.”
“Say WHAT??? I hate people from Nassau.” He was weaving over our table, friendly but very drunk. Then, muttering something about needing more beer, he stumbled out the front door.
“C’mon,” I say to Lynn. “Let’s head for home.”
Driving on the left side of a one and one-half lane highway in the dark is nerve-wracking at best. And I sure don’t want to try it if Nassau-hating Ned is on the same road at the same time.
What I really want is Miss Barbie’s guava duff, a cup of good coffee, and the serenity of our own snug cottage in Tarpum Bay.
TGIF.
Lynn’s Arrival
Posted February 11, 2010
Filed under: Eleuthera | Tags: Bahamas, Eleuthera, Rock Sound, Tarpum Bay
Lynn, my friend who co-owns this house with me, had finally arrived in Tarpum Bay. She flew in on Bahamas Air, which arrived in the Rock Sound Airport at 4:44 in the afternoon, just 7 minutes after Pineapple Express—which arrived 15 minutes after Southern Express.
Sounds like a busy little airport, doesn’t it? Just be aware that all three planes are prop commuters, all come from Nassau and on this day the highest passenger count on any one flight was four. Not to mention the fact that they all three arrive from the same place, and within an hour’s time frame.
Don’t ask me why. What I know is that because they each leave at approximately the same time, and because 4 :30 PM is the latest scheduled flight in to our airport, chances are good that if you are trying to make connections to get here, you may not make it the whole way in the same day. That means you get to experience an evening (and maybe part of the next day) in Nassau. Add a couple hundred dollars on to your travel expenses, if that happens. For that you can get a night in a no-tell motel where your dinner consists of potato chips and fruit-flavored soda because there’s no restaurant within walking distance of your lodging.
At any rate, Lynn arrived bearing two 50 pound suitcases and a carry-on,and I met her in one of Mr. Godfrey’s super special rental cars, with the steering wheel on the right side and a lot of dents on the left front fender. Godfrey doesn’t bother hisself with amenities like gas, either, so I had to stop at Mr. Kinky’s shell station and buy 20 dollars worth—which barely moved the needle off empty, given the shudderingly high Bahamas gas prices. I opened the minuscule trunk of the Japanese import to load the suitcases, glad that Miss Brenda and I had cleaned out the trunk before I left Tarpum Bay.
Now THAT had been an interesting moment, too. Turns out the car had been used by a female friend of Godfrey’s up until the time he found a live customer (me) to rent it. The ‘friend’ had left her belongings in the trunk: a glittery gold over sized purse, one high-heeled boot with fake leopard spots, two shocking pink sandals, a huge pair of gleaming silver earrings, a beaded bracelet and a backpack stuffed full of what felt like clothes.
Brenda was scandalized.
“Miss Judy! Godfrey shouldn’t of rent you that car! No tellin’ whose things these be! We should tro ‘em away!”
I tell Brenda that we will just tuck them over in one corner of the trunk. Somewhere, there’s a woman who needs her other boot, I say. Brenda’s face frowns with disapproval. At least the trunk is clear enough for one of Lynn’s bags.
The other bags we hoist into the back seat, and head for home. Lynn exclaims over the newly painted sign for the furniture store, and I tell her the story about the school bus which ran off the road and has been left in the scrub brush at the side of King’s Highway for over two weeks. Kervin’s son Kelly appears just as we arrive at our doorstep, and helps us with the bags and the 5 gallon water jug I left at the bottom of the front steps, hoping that a strong person would come along. We are all excited: she’s brought coffee, trail mix,dried fruit,chocolate—even a couple of still-frozen steaks! Life is good.
Lynn unpacks, and we feast on stuffed crab and pineapple tarts from Miss Barbie’s Take-away. Exhausted, we go to bed early. I can only hope Mr. Godfrey’s lady friend comes during the night to get her stuff out of the car.
Junkanoo!
Posted January 31, 2010
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Bahamas, Eleuthera, Junkanoo, Tarpum Bay
Junkanoo: it’s a funny word, sort of like ‘hurdy gurdy—which is my musical instrument of choice. And like ‘hurdy gurdy’, the origins of the word are obscure. I prefer the colorful legendary one: that ‘junkanoo’ is derived from “John Canoe”, the name of a 17th African slave trader. The story goes that the slaves would run from him, hide in the bushes, and occupy themselves with music and dance and costumes made from bits of leaves and debris. The celebration, Wikipedia says, became associated with freedom and is a celebration of independence.
Whether that’s true or not (and there are more scholarly historical and linguistic versions of how the festival came to be), here on the Bahamian Island of Eleuthera, whose very name of which means ‘freedom’, junkanoo celebrations are extremely joyous and an honor to the Bahamian heritage.
We held one in Tarpum Bay last night. It was a Children’s Junkanoo—and I need to explain that. A junkanoo is basically a big street party: think Mardi Gras in the Bahamas. The most elaborate celebrations are held at Christmas time, on Boxing Day and New Years’ Day, in many of the islands of the Bahamas. Junkanoo is also held at other times—independence day, and on Eleuthera, for the Pineapple Festival. The highlight of a junkanoo is always a parade which features goombay music and dance, and elaborate costumes made from crepe paper. The ‘rush’ (celebration) traditionally begins at midnight and lasts until the sun comes up. Over the years the activity has become quite formalized, with cash prizes for participating groups and an elaborate judging system. The national Bahamian community recognizes the junkanoo as a cultural expression which should be encouraged and preserved—that’s why the contest structure was developed to encourage tradition.
The preservation efforts resulted in the development of an activity known as the Children’s Junkanoo, which features school children, with parades and contests judged on costumes, music, and dance. That’s what Tarpum Bay hosted last night, and schools came from very far away to compete. Abaco, an island close to Eleuthera, was represented, as was Spanish Wells, a unique settlement almost 70 miles away from our town. Participating schools spend all year rehearsing, making costumes, and building elaborate banners. According to the national junkanoo rules, everything must be constructed by the children, though banners and costumes can be designed by adults. (In Traverse City’s Cherry Festival, the parents of a school’s ‘royalty’ are ‘honored” with the float building job). For the weeks I’ve been in Tarpum Bay, I’ve heard the drummers practicing in the afternoons after elementary school lets out, and I thought this probably took the place of the American marching band.
It certainly does.
The Tarpum Bay Junior Junkanoo started about 3 in the afternoon, as the buses arrived with children of all ages. The kids immediately began drumming, playing basketball in the town park, and clustering around the food stands selling hot dogs and conch fritters. By about five, when I got there, they were pretty much in costume and the big activity was to walk up and down the parade route, showing off costumes and greeting friends. Adults were beginning to gather as well—mothers with strollers, men with drinks and food, and general onlookers, many women dressed up in their most elaborate sparkling sandals and huge hoop earrings. Young men had on their best ‘pants on the ground’ outfits and everybody was chattering, eating, and drinking with great enthusiasm. “You alright?” is the Bahamian greeting, and it was shouted everywhere.
It was an eclectic mix of folks, too: Bahamians come in all colors and heritages. The Tarpum Bay area has its share of white residents , though last night the older ones seemed to keep to themselves, wearing plaid shorts and shirts with embroidered animals and sockless boat shoes. Many seemed to be carrying small fluffy dogs. They were aloof, didn’t greet anyone (including me), drank designer water, and avoided the gloriously greasy conch fritters and sauce-soaked barbecued ribs.
The parade goes on for hours. Everybody’s pretty casual about when to start: the magic signal seemed to be whenever everyone in a group was in the vicinity it would march down the street. There was often a half hour or more between parade entries, but nobody cared: that’s when you did your eating and socializing. Then, when a group did come down the street, it was a signal for everyone watching to join in and shout encouragement to the kids, who danced the whole six blocks, stopping only in front of the judges’ stand to perform their most elaborate routines and music. There was no feeling of being a passive bystander in this parade: even the youngest children danced and clapped as the groups came down the street.
For a little idea of what a junkanoo parade is like, you can watch this clip on You Tube .
The music is hypnotizing. The goombay drum, a drum with a single goatskin head, is played with the hands in a repeated rhythm. Layered over the drum are cowbells, whistles, brass instruments, and—more rarely—clarinets and saxophones. In the You Tube clip you can clearly hear the whistles, which are of the police or sports whistle variety. In the Tarpum Bay parade, even the smallest children played them as they danced down the street.
I was at the celebration for four hours. I think I got to see all the parade entries, and unlike my other pale-skinned participants, I ate barbecued chicken and baked macaroni and cheese, and drank soda. When I left I noticed that the first entry was back at the starting position, ready to begin the cycle all over again.
That’s another feature of the junkanoo parade: the show just circles around in an endless loop, and everybody parties until the sun comes up.
Take a break, and then it's back to the party!
(To see all of the photos, visit my Facebook page)
Proud Teacher
She'll be dancing next year!
The World According to Godfrey
Posted January 22, 2010
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Eleuthera, Tarpum Bay, youth
Out walking today, enjoying the sunshine, when my friend Godfrey pulled into the yard in front of me, honking and waving from his taxi van.
“Miss Judith! Having a stroll? You looking good!”
I thank him: I am in fact getting a little stronger and more agile every day, and today I sat in the sun for a while. I tan quickly, so my skin is taking on a healthy brown glow and my Seasonal Affective Disorder is about gone, so I am even smiling as I walk.
My skin will never be as dark as Godfrey’s, of course, nor will my eyes ever be as bright blue. Not much I can do about that, but I can learn from his optimism and his enjoyment of life.
Today, however, Godfrey is worried. As we talk, we’re watching the young men of Tarpum Bay stroll up and down King Street. It’s the middle of a Monday afternoon, and there are probably a dozen or so handsome guys wandering up and down the street, smoking cigarettes, bored. “These young people,” he says, “it’s a shame. They doing nothing. It isn’t like when we were kids.”
I nod appreciatively.
“We worked,” he continues (in Bahamian dialect, it comes out ‘woiked’). “We worked every day. And I still work every day!” Godfrey drives a cab, rents cars, and owns several rental cottage in Tarpum Bay.
“And we took care of ourselves. I still do, even if I got The Sugar. I went swimmin’ this morning. I likes to go every day, and if I can’t get my exercise I feel like something is missing.
“Now these youth,” he continues, nodding toward the parade of young men, “they don’t do nothing worthwhile. They just walks around, do some drugs, get in trouble.
“And the girls (‘goils’), they’s worse. All they wants is some quick cash.
“Now Miss Judy, I never was no angel. I usta like my rum, I did. And maybe a little, you know, smoke now and then. And I always liked the ladies—still do, in fact. But I took care of myself, and I worked all the time. I did my bidness, and I was successful. These youth, now, they don’t get it. They’s gonna ruin our island. I fears it, Miss Judy. I do.”
Godfrey puts his cab in gear, backs up, and drives away. Before I could tell him that he’s not alone in this world.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Winter 2010 Winter 2010 - , Winter 2010 Winter 2010 - Leadership, Winter 2010 Winter 2010 - Personnel
Let’s All Just Get Alongby Alice Martin, VP of AE and Leadership Development,
NATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF REALTORS®Not getting along with your leadership? Is the pressure of that conflict, paired with diminished membership numbers and related dues income, causing sleepless nights, temper flare-ups, and exhaustion?
You are not alone. Stressful times can exacerbate personality conflicts and increase the likelihood of issues between professional staff and volunteer leaders. Ultimately, all of this strife can disrupt the efficient operation of your REALTOR® organization.
Bad times made worse
In the past year, as economic conditions have worsened, I’ve observed an increase in the number of personality problems leading to conflict at -REALTOR® associations.
Recently, one local association director asked me why his AE had to attend every board meeting. The director felt that the perpetual presence of the AE—with whom he was having a personality conflict—made it difficult to find an opportunity to confidentially discuss the AEs shortcomings and salary. I’m seeing more association leaders—like this director—questioning the value of their AEs.
Often, volunteer leaders are jealous of paid staff—no matter how much or little they make—simply because they receive a steady paycheck. Recently, some boards have even required their AEs
to cut their salaries by high percentages to match the loss of income association members have realized in the real estate world.How personality conflicts manifest
In general, I find that when AEs have personality conflicts with leadership, actions against them are often taken secretly and abruptly. Frequently, these actions are initiated by the one person with whom the AE is having a conflict, often the association’s president or other leader. Are these actions taken by volunteer leaders reasonable? Sometimes they are, sometimes they’re not. But in any case, they can create distrust, paranoia, lack of respect, fear, and gossip. And all of those can lead to more conflict, which usually goes unresolved because it pertains to personalities rather than real issues.
7 steps to stop the conflict
How should you, as professional staff, work to avoid or resolve these toxic situations fostered by personality conflicts? With new leaders every year—and their new styles, temperaments, expectations, and behaviors—how can AEs ensure that they maintain a good relationship, no matter who’s in charge? In my experience, the best AEs prevent and resolve conflicts by following these seven rules:
1. Build relationships from the beginning.
Always work to establish good communication and a friendly environment with volunteers from the start, not just after they have risen to a power position. Get to know them personally. One AE I know has scheduled a “part social, part business” meeting with his leadership every week at a local restaurant, which keeps things informal yet businesslike. He has an excellent relationship with his board, in large part due to his extra efforts. Once you’ve built a good relationship, it’s a lot easier to work through problems.
2. Don’t let it eat you alive and don’t put it off.
If you let a personality problem fester without directly dealing with it, or put it off until next year when you have a new president, you’ll lose sleep, snap at your spouse, and possibly even get an ulcer. Not confronting the problem when it’s happening can weigh down the whole board and negatively affect the entire organization. Contact the person with whom you are in conflict directly to set a time to discuss the problem one-on-one. The best AEs
I know are experts at this technique.3. Stop talking and just listen.
Many AEs are hard-charging, Type-A personalities who have a hard time listening to others because they’re so busy figuring out what to say next. A better approach is to not only listen carefully, but restate or reframe the person’s statement or position to show that you understand. This reflective listening is a common characteristic of good mediators and one that AEs would be smart to cultivate.
4. Use neutral language by not blaming or accusing.
State how you feel about “the problem,” not about what the other person is doing wrong. Always respect your leadership and never be sarcastic, openly critical, or dismissive.
5. Look for the underlying motivation.
Very often what seems like a personality conflict is based on something else entirely. Your leader could be having personal problems, harboring a long-held grudge against the association, experiencing a lack of self-confidence, or any number of things completely unrelated to you. If you are able to discover the motivation behind the conflict, it may be easier to address that problem first.
6. Take responsibility.
As with everything in life, there are two sides to a problem. Look hard at yourself to see what you might be doing to fuel the fire, then stop doing it. I’ve seen AEs take this approach many times with proven success. It can be as simple as treating the other person as you would like to be treated—no matter how hard that can sometimes be.
7. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
As the chief staff person at your organization, it’s easy to feel responsible for every decision—from the Christmas party entertainment to the e-newsletter design. When faced with a conflict with volunteers, step back and ask yourself, “Will this really matter in a year, a month, or even a day?” Most of the time the answer is no. Often, you can resolve a conflict on your own simply by choosing not to engage in it in the first place.
If you work hard to address the parts of any problem within your control, you’ll sleep better, have healthier relationships, and get better results overall.
Learn from your members
REALTORS® very often must work with clients and customers that are “difficult.” Ask a few of your most successful members for tips on overcoming personality conflicts and building trust. There’s also the NAR Field Guide to Working with Difficult Customers on REALTOR.org filled with tips and links to more resources. Visit http://www.REALTOR.org/library/library/fg320>Return to REALTOR AE Winter 2010 Contents Page, Click Here.
Good association management article....for everyone!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A Quick Trip to Spanish Wells « Gertiecranker’s Weblog
A Quick Trip to Spanish Wells
“I be there! 8 AM sharp. Miss Lynn, Miss Judith, you be ready!” Kervin cautions, his Thursday parting words.
Of course, 8 AM came and went on Friday, and finally — about 9:30– we were off, dressed for a trip to North Eleuthera. Water bottles, comfortable shoes, cameras — and plenty of money.
Now North Eleuthera is not many miles away from Tarpum Bay, maybe 70 or so, I’d guess. But by car on the single highway that traverses our 110 mile island, it’s well over 2 hours, maybe more. Then you come to the end of Eleuthera island and located off its tip are two small island which are settlements in themselves: the upscale Harbour Island, and the quirky settlement of Spanish Wells. It was Spanish Wells that was our destination.
Spanish Wells is approximately two miles long and a half mile wide. The geography of Spanish Wells is extended, however, by a bridge that links it to neighboring Russell Island, which is just over three miles long and has become an integral part of the community. The island is known for its lobster fishing. But perhaps most interesting is its history: this old island village got its name from sixteenth-century Spanish galleons filling their water casks before sailing back to Spain. Most of the people indeed are European – true blond-haired, blue-eyed descendants of the original Eleutheran settlers. Some later residents arrived as British refugees fleeing the American revolution. Today, the island is one of the most prosperous of all the Bahamian islands outside New Providence because of modern commercial fishing fleet specializing in Bahamian lobster for shipment to restaurants in Florida, Nassau, and Freeport. The Red Lobster chain is one of their biggest customers.
I’d always heard stories that the residents were almost all white, very aloof, and inbred. In fact many island residents do have an extra little finger on one hand, but we found most people very friendly and welcoming.
Getting there is half the fun. The highway north from Tarpum Bay takes you along the edge of the island, through several small towns and through some undeveloped “developments”. The latter are a hallmark of the island: large glossy signs pointing the way down wide stone roads which quickly narrow into rocky two-tracks which meander to the sea. Chances are you won’t find a single structure under construction, nor will you see an electric line or fire hydrant. But these are a developer’s fantasy— and a property owner’s money pit.
The settlements are small, usually with some brightly painted small concrete houses, several churches, and a couple of ‘take-away’ restaurants which feature the same menu: hamburgers, ribs, baked- macaroni, and the ubiquitous ‘beans and rice’. Now and then there will be a vegetable stand or a small ‘art’ shop, usually closed.
Kervin is a madman behind the wheel. He’s driving our somewhat questionable rental car and I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat because Lynn has insisted she get the back. She misses a lot of the scenery because her head is buried in a beach blanket, her screams of “Kervin, SLOW DOWN” muffled by the fabric. But Kervin knows this road well, having driven it for most of his 47 years, and living in many of the settlements. He delights in pointing out houses he built, places he lived, restaurants where he ate, and the beach where he got his first kiss. “She was beautiful, Miss Judith,” he says. “But she was bossy. I don’t want no bossy woman in my life.”
We make a quick stop at The Island Farm: Tuesdays and Fridays are the days for fresh bread and rolls, and most of the white part-time residents and tourists show up early in the morning. The “good stuff” is usually gone by noon, but we’re there in time to get some cinnamon buns and small loaves of ‘cheesy bread’, and we much happily as we head north. Kervin’s not a frosting lover, but I am, and this mid-morning snack is just perfect!
When we reach the end of the island, we climb aboard a small ferry boat to Spanish Wells. We’re there in about 10 minutes, and the captain doesn’t take our money. We can pay him on the return trip: how else are we going to get out of there? We hire a golf cart, which is the main mode of island transportation and we set off on a tour of the brightly colored houses and immaculate yards. As we have traveled north on Eleuthera the vegetation has become greener and it’s clear why Eleuthera was once called “The Garden Island”. Abandoned stone grain elevators and old pineapple fields appear on the North Eleuthera landscape. Banana bushes and orange trees are in everyone’s yard. Here on Spanish Wells, there’s grass, too — not just the stone outcroppings we find in Tarpum Bay.
Spanish Wells has some beautiful beaches and parks, as well and almost every house is immaculate and freshly painted. Most seem to sport murals of sea turtles, fish, and other tropical subjects as well as lush plantings of bright grasses and flowering shrubs.
Kervin knows everybody, it seems. “Hey, Belly!” is a shout that frequently hails us, and he’s busy shouting back, waving, and occasionally stopping the cart and shaking hands with someone lounging against a shipping crate or a street sign. Lynn and I haven’t been fooled, of course, by his willingness to take the day off and squire us on this trip: Kervin has a little ‘boat talk’ with a variety of men down at the dock. I explain to him that in the US this is called ‘kicking tires’, and is a favorite activity of many real estate and automobile shoppers. “Well,” he says. “Everybody knows you don’t buy a boat on an island if you want a good deal. You can buy something in Miami for three times less.”
Kervin kicks tires
Our other highlight is lunch: we find a restaurant and go inside, Kervin leaving the golf cart keys and his cell phone in the open vehicle. The restaurant is small (4 tables) and the menu predictable. Kervin and Lynn spot some really delectable baked goods and both order a piece of “Coconut Lane Cake”, which they devour before their sandwiches arrive. It’s a truly sumptuous dessert, a cross between a cake and a coconut cream pie, but when we ask, the cook refuses to share the recipe. Kervin understands: “Miss Lynn! Why should she? It’s how she makes her livin’!”
A little more tire kickin’ and we are ready to head home. The ferryboat captain remembers us and collects $8 each. We find our car, Lynn crouches down in the back seat and buries her face in the blanket, and we are flying south to Tarpum Bay.
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About Me
- GertieCranker
- 30 years as an association manager for real estate trade association. Has held the RCE and CAE designations, and was the recipient of the William R Magel Award for Excellence in Realtor Association Management. Frequent consultant, writer, speaker.
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