cerulean waters...

I’ve been dreaming of cerulean waters ever since we returned from the Abacos a few weeks ago, unable to shake the Caribbean from my shoes. One charter flight and a quick boat ride later, we were quietly sunning on a beach without another human being in sight. Ten days full of dark rum, fried conch, exploring underwater reefs and isolated shores is enough to make any person forget the office, chores and bills. I came home without braided hair, thank heavens. My Cerulean uniform for days on the beach included Matta pareos, Dolce Vita thongs in every color, Moroccan straw baskets, and Susan Hanover jewelry- all pieces that went from casual days to breezy candlelit nights. We dove for conch, found shells bleached by the sun, and danced in the rain at a bar you can only get to by boat. If only Cerulean could expand its headquarters, opening a Bahamian outpost….