Nap Time

It is a rare day indeed that we do not partake of a mid-day nap here in the little hacienda on Skinny Island.  We find it a necessity for well-being, as well as a small contribution in the continuance of a grand tradition of warm weather places, the siesta.  The Spanish word is from the Latin, hora sexta, the sixth hour, which counting from dawn, or around six a.m., (which happens to be the time Pico the house cat rouses us to be fed,) puts you at noon. The siesta, or nap, traditionally follows the mid-day meal when, drowsy and heavy from food, one simply must recline.  Somnolence rules.  Old casements open a foot, shades drawn down to that breezeway, the ocean-facing bedroom here, which extends seaward from the body of the house, is the perfect spot for such repose.  A few readers can testify to this, for the room serves as guest quarters when travelers arrive.   Ocean breezes and the sound of surf on the beach, (once one learns to ignore the traffic noise on A1A,) carry you to, well, a place of ocean breezes and surf on the beach.

Pico is, of course, the most accomplished napper in the little hacienda.  The house joke, which The Baby now finds hilarious and expresses with glee,  goes as follows:  “Wake up, Pico.  It’s time for a nap.”  And Pico, depending on his mood or the depth of his current somnolence, but more often than not, will abandon his spot on the tile or rug, and stake his claim on the bed.  On Saturdays, when The Baby is here, the nap is inviolate.  He has been doing it all his life, and offers only half-hearted resistance, usually manifested in the statement, “Just a little nap,” his diminutive stature leaving just enough room for Pico at the foot of the bed.

Everything naps here, cats, lizards, snakes, humans.  The world shuts down, succumbing to a warm, gauzy glow beneath a gently loping ceiling fan for the duration, which may be anything from fifteen minutes to two hours.  And life is slower, richer on the other side. Oh, there may be a project or two to finish between waking from the nap and the next main event, five o’clock cocktails, but we strongly discourage beginning anything new.  That’s for mornings.  The nap essentially signals the end of the work day, such as it is here on Skinny Island, and we’re holding to that.