Thursday, January 29, 2015

Car abuse. Guilty, your honour.

Me dear Conscience a.k.a. Judge a.k.a. Your Honour,

Every day, every single living-day something been happening in, around, outside me li’l cocoon!

Like, I had to help a li’l ole lady who is related to somebody who is related to somebody who is related to me. Which must mean that me is related to the li’l ole lady.  So I had to carry she to town so she can look after she banking business, then take she and she daughter home.

A lot of coming and going I had in between editing and tutoring, a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, lunches, visits, taking care of family business, going to the park to walk.

I know, I know, this is not to excuse me bad behaviour with the car…

…okay, yes, it is to take the shame out of me face.

Yes, your Honour, I feel proper shame.

And I is a lady who don’t normally feel shame.

I shame, I shame.

Yes, I did promise the car, Don’t worry, I gon take you for a good wash, I gon take you to fix the back door (that somebody around here hit and bend-in while me car was parked! I suspect it is a man, look, don’t bother to accuse me of bad-woman driving!!).

Your Honour, I smell the black-eye peas cooking, and I hungry, you don’t mind if I go look after that then come back…?


Please, just know, I am now very reformed after the li’l car crisis…

Friday, January 16, 2015

Friday Fruit: golden-apple. Read this and salivate.

I stand at the sink and bite a golden-apple.

Only hardy folks and the youth does eat golden apple. 

It got a seed that look like a baby-palm-size tumbleweed.  A burry tumbleweed. It ain’t a hard burr or a needle-like burr though.  It is just burr enough to poke your lip or tongue.  But anyway, you can slice around the burr with a good-sharp knife to get the fruit.  

Why we call it golden-apple?  Ahhmm...I ain't really know, y'know, it ain't a' apple, in fact, in Jamaica, they call it june-plum.

The youths, always looking for a snack, does eat slices o’ green golden-apple, or the too-tarty ripe one, with salt 'n' peppa.  If you want to see youths in harmony, watch them share sour-ish fruit with salt 'n' peppa in Guyana!

Lemme tell you, no manufacturer can duplicate that taste.  They gon have to artificially inseminate some chemicals to reproduce it, and even so, you gon taste the falsity of it.

As for the ripe golden-apple, if you get a sweet one!

Oh mah glory!

Ayie yai yai!

Paint me yellow and call me mellow!!

This one I have is so delicious, me eyes roll over in bliss upon the first bite.

It is so sweet, with only a touch o’ tart, when the juice spurt, I could feel my mind holler, Hello World!!!


Saturday, January 10, 2015

Techno-Babe.

“You got to hit it HHHARD,” I instruct Cousin Nan. “Bang it, then it gon flow a li’l better.”

The water-bottle beautiful.  If it had wheels, men would be all over it.

I am convinced that even my Seattle-visitors back in December was impressed by it. 

It clear-blue, oblong, with a pretty li’l white spout.  At the top, it got a wide, white cork that the water-shop worker does unscrew to pour in fresh sky-juice. Every time I fetch that refilled bottle from the car to me apartment, people does admire it.  It does hold about two-point-something gallons, it big enough to last me days, small enough for me to fetch up these apartment steps.

Only problem, the water does trickle s-l-o-o-o-o-w from the spout like Chinese water torture.  If you want to full-up a glass, you can read all of Don Quixote and still be waiting.  Ok, ok, I exaggerate, but like I always say, whaz a li’l exaggeration between friends, eh?

Anyways, believe me, no matter what language you call water...pani in Hindi, agua in Espanol, l'eau in Francais, whader in 'Merican, woodah in Strine,

it 

does  

trickle.  

But I discover if I whack the bottle, the water does trickle out a li’l more fast.

What a Techo-Babe, eh?  I know how to control wayward modern invention.

Just imagine! I used to be terrified of technology, now look at me, blogging, using smart-phone, tweeting like a proper tweeter, and maybe I might join fazebook, etc etc.

Yes, yes, I am so in tune with technology today, I can’t even operate the tee-vee without the remote control no more.  Like a true modern person.  Up to this morning, here me was, searching this room, up down sideways for the remote control, all the while thinking, Yes, I know I can switch on the tee-vee on the set itself, but how to change the channel while tidying up this room?  Aha!  See?  Got you!  I can do it but I won’t!

Thump-thump, on the bottle, I show Cousin Nan, look dis is how you...

...you know that bottle SHAME me in the eyes of me Seattle visitors?  The water trickle from the spout in the same ol’-fashion Guyana-style.

“You have to open this cork at the top,” Nan say matter-of-factly.  “Let out...” 

I open the wide, white cork at the top, phishewwww the bottle say and swell-out at the sides like a satisfied man after Christmas lunch, snap braces and rock back on heels and!!! the water gush through the li’l spout, Oh my gosh, look, oh my gosh, is true, I squeal like a’ excited cat.

"...the air-bubble, when you open it, you let out the air-bubble,” Cousin Nan explain.

Oh.

Saturday, January 03, 2015

Stepping out…

Last year, Circumstances was tough!  He drag me from me cocoon, me lovely old family home.

“Stay here,” he order, shuubing me in a strange new dwelling-place.

Though this new home is in my own-own country, I sure did feel like I been migrant in a foreign land. Folks around me barely greet anyone outside of their circle. I say to meself, it is because they are up-and-coming, never-see-come-to-see, Hurry-Come-Upsters. Foreign and locals alike.  Ya never notice? When some people start to move up in life, they shuck aside good manners?

Before I could settle into a routine, a virus had me weak and trembling for nearly two and a half months. Not to worry though, six weeks in Florida with me family restore me.  Ain’t that funny?  Six weeks in a foreign place restore me to meself!

Then in December, Cousin Nan from Seattle and she family (minus one working-son) come to Guyana for a week.  Joy? I thought I woulda elevate up to the sky with joy!  Me and the car was up and down that road so much, visiting Cousin Nan and she family at she in-laws, I bet mini-bus drivers thought I was running a taxi.  I did feel as though Circumstances did take off he tough boots and put on soft shoes, as if he oil-up he sand-paper hands and smooth them, reach out to me and say, Let’s be friends. 

Now, dheeray-dheeray, little bit by little bit, I am weaving me way back to me ol’ self. Which is another funny thing. The ol’ self feel a bit different, as if it got new shades and colouring, it feel lighter in some places, darker in others, weak here and there but strong elsewhere, yet it feel like me ol’ self, seeking peace, love, beauty, and good health in body, mind, spirit.

Dear Readers, whether you chuck off the old self or keep it, or if you discover a total new self this year, I hope you find peace, love, joy. I hope too that Circumstances is kind to you and yours throughout 2015!

  

Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Been to see the beached whale, etc.

Been to:

- visit a ol' lady [who seem lonely to me], she open she back verandah door and show me she mango tree so full, it look 10 months overdue

- the hospital to visit a young boy who, riding home from school, get fling into the air by a speeding motor-cycle

- visit the child's gran'ma

- take a foreign woman to we market to teach she about local food, the Sunday morning sunshine was cooking we arms but we was happy and laughing, the heat didn't trouble we

- visit me Azeri friend one Sunday afternoon, we sit at the kitchen table near the wide, open windows and chat, the chimes in the patio outside ring in the breeze, and the trees rustle, luring me to stay, to stay, I leave when the sun was almost set

- sit under the big, white tent outside the tax-office, waiting four hours to re-new my driver's licence, and to pass the time I chat with a' 80 year-old chap who tell me stories about he life Abroad

- tutor...some English lessons in the day, some in the evenings, and I laugh with me students til eye-water drop from me eyes, and one man do a google-translate on the computer, from he language to English, for me: "Laughter prolongs life"

- walk in the park as the sun was rising

- walk towards sunrise in the next neighbourhood

- stroll in the morning rain

- me own poetic session one night...I switch off all the lights, open the door to me small verandah and listen to music as the ocean do some wild soca moves against the wall, across the road, and the traffic add a rrrrrrr

-  see the beached whale this morning, listen to the comments of the crowd and write them down, and take pikchas

Today is Beethoven birthday. 

And Noel Coward.

And my bir'day too.

What you been up to, dear gentle-people?


Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Dear, dear World...

Dear, dear World,

I stopping in the middle of editing to ask...

...why nobody never tell me about this before? 



But then again, maybe is good to not know it before, because now, I got the joy of discovering it while tweakin' an' twistin' words, while cool sea-wind blow in, and grey sunlight peep into me new room here...

Ahhh Dear, dear World, how I wish everybody had the chance to do something beautiful everyday!

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Things that eat, and things to eat.

I been to me old neighbourhood, me heart in me hand.  I had to talk to it, comfort it, remind it that selling the old house was a sensible move, a good move, a happy move.

I got to do this every time, every single crazy time that I go back to that old neighbourhood!  It is cos o' them memories that can eat into me, memories of me sitting in me sunny, yellow room, sugar-cane stalks stalking me outside the window, and the…

…Y’know what? It ain’t good to look back this way.

It is better to celebrate what the future can bring, and what the present offer.

So, lemme start again.

I been to me old neighbourhood to visit my dear, beloved Irish Auntie, and when I see she, me heart was its rightful place, beating with gladness to see she.

I walk with she as she water she garden, I admire orchids and heliconias, I talk she ears off.  I pick and eat a cherry tomato bursting with red life.  We walk around the neighbourhood then we go back to she home where we had Irish soda bread, she drink tea and I drink passion-fruit juice with mint leaves, in she verandah by the sea.

She give me a bag with little gifts…

…cherry tomatoes



…some strands of lemon grass, or as we say, fever grass




…seasoning pepper that is big on taste without the fire



…curry leaves



...and bora (or as some say, snake beans).



I leave when the darkness drop she cloak down, but the moon been full and cover that ol' cloak with light, and the sea breeze blow cool across the garden to the gate, and I drive home with me heart in its rightful place.