Years ago before the advent of cell phones, dare I say this because it really ages me, yeah anyway, before cell phones there was a song which made reckon to the crooner being… “caught between the Moon and New York City.” At that time this lyric was considered to be imagery at its finest, I mean who gets caught between the Moon and New York City? What an impossible situation conjuring up a myriad of possibilities this was, it must have taken a truly gifted lyricist to think up this hook. Impressive!
Fast forward, oh wait a minute we don’t do that anymore either…skip to the next track, next century and I am speaking to my cousin in Florida and he mentions that he is somewhere between Jupiter and Stewart County. Right then it strikes me that prior to cell phones if one were to be using such a directional in speech, one would either have to be on a pay phone, writing a jingle or scoring a hit song. Further to that thought, now if there is a nightclub or diner or any blip on the map called the moon, it becomes quite possible to be caught between there and New York City. As it was then. Therefore, maybe it is not the span of the world that has gotten smaller but the reach of my imagination that has gotten wider.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Silence
When I was in Prep school, elementary school to those educated here, we learnt a song with this chorus…
Silence is the silver thread of vibrant expectation,
Silence is the absence of a longed for visitation,
Silence is the feeling of a breathing all around you,
Silence is the loneliest of sounds,
Silence is the loneliest of sounds.
Poignant isn’t it! I don’t know the title of the song and as I think of it, I probably learnt it because I loved its poetic resonance, even then I had a love of the written word, it wasn’t taught to me either rather to the school choir for a Christmas play but I remember it touched me then as it does now…and I think I was about nine or ten years old at the time – but I digress.
Silence in today’s cacophony of whirring computers, cellphones and the internet has come to mean something totally different to what it meant to our grandparents or even us when we were younger. Today, there is always something running in a dwelling, be it a refrigerator or a microwave oven, leaving me to think that true silence is rare.
Well the other day I think I came as close to witnessing the nothingness of sound as I ever will. Now I’ve been in power outages in this country before, but none were so, well quiet and curiously enough this state of quiet was achieved without an interruption in electricity. You see recently there was a mandated switch to cable reception on a television – either that or get a converter box at a cost as everything is now being broadcast in high definition. But since that transition was made this was the first break in transmission and it was quiet interesting. Think of being placed in a bubble unbeknownst to you. The television did not work, and in some households because all are linked then that meant the internet and the telephone were also down.
People were literally outside looking up wandering what was going on! It was as if they forgot that the radio still worked. I mean, I know some folks get their household music from the cable music channels so you can just imagine. Everyone was just drifting to their windows and looking out kind of dumbstruck. Sure you could hear you fridge run but who wants to?
This leads me to conclude that although silence is wonderfully romantic to sing about; the security of din is far more comforting. Forget all that philosophical mumbo jumbo about if a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around to hear it....We want sound damn it and we want it now!!
Silence is the silver thread of vibrant expectation,
Silence is the absence of a longed for visitation,
Silence is the feeling of a breathing all around you,
Silence is the loneliest of sounds,
Silence is the loneliest of sounds.
Poignant isn’t it! I don’t know the title of the song and as I think of it, I probably learnt it because I loved its poetic resonance, even then I had a love of the written word, it wasn’t taught to me either rather to the school choir for a Christmas play but I remember it touched me then as it does now…and I think I was about nine or ten years old at the time – but I digress.
Silence in today’s cacophony of whirring computers, cellphones and the internet has come to mean something totally different to what it meant to our grandparents or even us when we were younger. Today, there is always something running in a dwelling, be it a refrigerator or a microwave oven, leaving me to think that true silence is rare.
Well the other day I think I came as close to witnessing the nothingness of sound as I ever will. Now I’ve been in power outages in this country before, but none were so, well quiet and curiously enough this state of quiet was achieved without an interruption in electricity. You see recently there was a mandated switch to cable reception on a television – either that or get a converter box at a cost as everything is now being broadcast in high definition. But since that transition was made this was the first break in transmission and it was quiet interesting. Think of being placed in a bubble unbeknownst to you. The television did not work, and in some households because all are linked then that meant the internet and the telephone were also down.
People were literally outside looking up wandering what was going on! It was as if they forgot that the radio still worked. I mean, I know some folks get their household music from the cable music channels so you can just imagine. Everyone was just drifting to their windows and looking out kind of dumbstruck. Sure you could hear you fridge run but who wants to?
This leads me to conclude that although silence is wonderfully romantic to sing about; the security of din is far more comforting. Forget all that philosophical mumbo jumbo about if a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around to hear it....We want sound damn it and we want it now!!
Little Girl Bling
If stickers are the currency of childhood; then hair clips are little girl bling!!
So the interaction with the girls’ favorite crossing guard has resumed without a hitch despite our foul weather break. We walk almost every evening now and Miss M continues to be a highlight of our trek. The other day she asked me if I would mind if she give the girls some hair clips. I thought about it and responded gratefully because a girl can’t have too many shoes or hair accessories.
Well, if ever there was an understatement in the history of understatements the words “some hair clips” is a clearly that; for was I was in no way prepared for what I received the next day…a vat full of hair clips!! I am not kidding. Miss M gave me a container about 36 x 24 x 12 in size!! The container was so big that it had a warning label on the side cautioning adults of the possibility of a baby being locked inside! That’s not all, inside there were several smaller containers which had the hair clips color coded and sorted according to design. I was overwhelmed.
Then when I got home my youngest dived in with reckless abandon. She wanted every one in her hair regardless of whether it matched her outfit and nothing was too grandiose for her liking either. There were hair clips with fur on them, heart shaped hair clips, flower design ones, some with a pearlescent finish; I mean enough hair clips to patch a mile. Then when my eldest and saw them she sang Miss M’s praise and wanted to know what we could do to repay her generosity, I reassured her that mother’s day is coming up to which she responded "We'll really have to do something great for her, Mummy".
You know sometimes life gives you events which etch themselves on your psyche; I hope this act of giving is one of them for two such little people - allowing them to realize that sharing does not neccesarily need a reciprocal expectancy attached to it and spontaneous acts of kindness just feel right.
Now I just have to tame my girls’ wishes to be bling-blinging every day and find storage for the multitude. EGAD!!
So the interaction with the girls’ favorite crossing guard has resumed without a hitch despite our foul weather break. We walk almost every evening now and Miss M continues to be a highlight of our trek. The other day she asked me if I would mind if she give the girls some hair clips. I thought about it and responded gratefully because a girl can’t have too many shoes or hair accessories.
Well, if ever there was an understatement in the history of understatements the words “some hair clips” is a clearly that; for was I was in no way prepared for what I received the next day…a vat full of hair clips!! I am not kidding. Miss M gave me a container about 36 x 24 x 12 in size!! The container was so big that it had a warning label on the side cautioning adults of the possibility of a baby being locked inside! That’s not all, inside there were several smaller containers which had the hair clips color coded and sorted according to design. I was overwhelmed.
Then when I got home my youngest dived in with reckless abandon. She wanted every one in her hair regardless of whether it matched her outfit and nothing was too grandiose for her liking either. There were hair clips with fur on them, heart shaped hair clips, flower design ones, some with a pearlescent finish; I mean enough hair clips to patch a mile. Then when my eldest and saw them she sang Miss M’s praise and wanted to know what we could do to repay her generosity, I reassured her that mother’s day is coming up to which she responded "We'll really have to do something great for her, Mummy".
You know sometimes life gives you events which etch themselves on your psyche; I hope this act of giving is one of them for two such little people - allowing them to realize that sharing does not neccesarily need a reciprocal expectancy attached to it and spontaneous acts of kindness just feel right.
Now I just have to tame my girls’ wishes to be bling-blinging every day and find storage for the multitude. EGAD!!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Manners, A Double Edged Sword
Alright, I grew up in a pretty strict society even though today it may seem very lax. Children would speak when spoken to, neighbors would greet each other pleasantly on the road and most importantly a child would never dare to pass an adult on the street and not recognize their presence. I guess by now the direction that my argument is about to take must be pretty obvious. I am constantly offended by the way some children in this my adopted nation, just kind of walk past an adult without even acknowledging them. What happened to good manners?
Maybe to some this may seem too inconsequential to even briefly mull over but it is a real blight on a society. Who are the parents of these cattlelike young people that just mosey along chewing their respective cuds and regurgitating insolence through their many stomachs akin to grass? How could they not know in their most basic being, that it would be nice to be respectful to a passing adult?
On close observation I note that this phenomenon strikes at every level of childhood, from the very young preschooler to those children close enough to adulthood that one would think should know better. And don’t for a minute think that your being familiar with their parents may cause them rattle their civility even for a minute…NOT! My neighbor lamented the other day that some children play with his kids, ride their bicycles in his driveway, see him sitting there and do not even nod in his direction, they then have the temerity do it all over again, the process could continue for hours unchecked.
But who is blame? The Parents…for not imparting to their children the importance or being as old time Jamaicans would say, “mannersable,” maybe. The neighbor…for not insisting that they acknowledge him after all they are riding on his property…could be. Or perhaps society is to blame for the manifestation of declining environments where a child’s safety could hinge on whether he or she speaks to a stranger adult or not! In that case then perhaps, it is best that a child speaks to no adult rather than endanger himself trying to discern who is safe from who is not. Welcome to the Razor’s Edge where Manners becomes a double edged sword!
Maybe to some this may seem too inconsequential to even briefly mull over but it is a real blight on a society. Who are the parents of these cattlelike young people that just mosey along chewing their respective cuds and regurgitating insolence through their many stomachs akin to grass? How could they not know in their most basic being, that it would be nice to be respectful to a passing adult?
On close observation I note that this phenomenon strikes at every level of childhood, from the very young preschooler to those children close enough to adulthood that one would think should know better. And don’t for a minute think that your being familiar with their parents may cause them rattle their civility even for a minute…NOT! My neighbor lamented the other day that some children play with his kids, ride their bicycles in his driveway, see him sitting there and do not even nod in his direction, they then have the temerity do it all over again, the process could continue for hours unchecked.
But who is blame? The Parents…for not imparting to their children the importance or being as old time Jamaicans would say, “mannersable,” maybe. The neighbor…for not insisting that they acknowledge him after all they are riding on his property…could be. Or perhaps society is to blame for the manifestation of declining environments where a child’s safety could hinge on whether he or she speaks to a stranger adult or not! In that case then perhaps, it is best that a child speaks to no adult rather than endanger himself trying to discern who is safe from who is not. Welcome to the Razor’s Edge where Manners becomes a double edged sword!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Gauging Responses
In this world of political correctness, I find myself always trying to give the most right (I know, grammatically incorrect) response to any question. I literally must have a built in gauge in the speech section of my brain that gathers, fetters and checks over my every response before it is cleared for delivery. Gone are the days of just answering a question from my heart because those types of retorts I have often noticed, draw a snarl or bad feelings sometimes causing repairable damage. Remember when you were young and could just blurt out exactly what you thought? Look back at those times properly with clear vision even as you thought you were voicing your opinion truth be told, there was probably some other party looking to revise your intensity.
I have resumed my walking regimen with the children now that the weather is changing. Every day we meet up with a very nice Yard neighbor who usually walks along with us to get his grandson. This particular day my youngest was complaining that the sun was in her eyes so my neighbor suggested that she ask her dad to get her a pair of “sun spectacles” (curious thing about my people is that we have this engrained habit of calling items by their original or outmoded name… hence glasses are spectacles and pants are trousers… even though conversely a lot of us don’t know when to use an A sound as opposed to a H sound – go figure). To my horror my baby said “I don’t want to hear that!”
I thought and intervened immediately. “No Honey, you can’t speak like that to Mr. H., he is an adult.” My embarrassed neighbor muttered a lot of platitudes, “its okay…she didn’t mean anything by it…children will be children,” but the damage had already been done. All of a sudden I felt as if the innocent mutterings of child reflected badly on my parenting skills thus, I sought to edit her. What’s so bad about her reply? Shouldn’t her candidness be applauded? Wasn’t her candor coming from a place of truth with no intention to hurt or dismay and technically should be embraced? But the ways of the world intervened in the form of Momma and she apologized and perhaps learned a lesson that day.
Three things cometh not back: the spoken word, the sped arrow and the missed opportunity.
I have resumed my walking regimen with the children now that the weather is changing. Every day we meet up with a very nice Yard neighbor who usually walks along with us to get his grandson. This particular day my youngest was complaining that the sun was in her eyes so my neighbor suggested that she ask her dad to get her a pair of “sun spectacles” (curious thing about my people is that we have this engrained habit of calling items by their original or outmoded name… hence glasses are spectacles and pants are trousers… even though conversely a lot of us don’t know when to use an A sound as opposed to a H sound – go figure). To my horror my baby said “I don’t want to hear that!”
I thought and intervened immediately. “No Honey, you can’t speak like that to Mr. H., he is an adult.” My embarrassed neighbor muttered a lot of platitudes, “its okay…she didn’t mean anything by it…children will be children,” but the damage had already been done. All of a sudden I felt as if the innocent mutterings of child reflected badly on my parenting skills thus, I sought to edit her. What’s so bad about her reply? Shouldn’t her candidness be applauded? Wasn’t her candor coming from a place of truth with no intention to hurt or dismay and technically should be embraced? But the ways of the world intervened in the form of Momma and she apologized and perhaps learned a lesson that day.
Three things cometh not back: the spoken word, the sped arrow and the missed opportunity.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Watch De Ride
Recently while giving this child a ride home from school and that neighbor a lift, I was struck by how my car resembled a good old Jamaican Robot. For those unschooled in yard transportation ways, the Robot was an unmetered mode of transportation - more than a taxi but less than a bus, or for terms that anyone who has been through Brooklyn NY can identify with, the Robot was the more unruly grandfather to the dollar van. I say was because I’m not sure if they still ply the streets of Jamaica, but when they did they were menacing!
My friend and neighbor and I reminisced on our childhood experiences with catching minibuses plying any random route in Jamaica. We relived how the robot was almost always was a Volkswagen panel van which had both a Driver and a Ducter. The Driver’s role was simple; get the vehicle from point A to point B, stopping to pick up twice or three times the van’s capacity in passengers, break or flout all of Jamaica’s road laws as often as possible and scrunch over on his seat to allow a schooler a kotch while maintaining enough space to aide his control of the vehicle.
Now a Ducter was always a very important character, he kept the day’s intake lodged between his fingers in fan like configuration dispensing change at will while holding the string that both opened and closed the door. Minibuses were never empty but no matter how filled they were the Ducter was always calling out to anyone who would listen and was willing to take the chance “...two more”. When he was not doing that, he was hanging out the vehicle in periscope fashion, calling to all the young girls and trying to touch pedestrians as the “bus” wheeled past, door open, carrying him squinting into the breeze.
Additionally, I am sure the Ducter’s job description required he be able to bang on the side of the van to signal the needed start or stop of the vehicle and if he cared not to bang he could simply sound off, “one stop driver” – he was key personnel. In a traffic snarl it was not unusual to see a Ducter get out of his bus and take his banging talent to the next level as he slammed his hand on the hoods of cars that dared to block the way of his bus leaving a wake of unsuspecting drivers wincing as they crushed their brakes and envisioned phantom impact only to hear, “watch de ride” or get out the way!
The trip down memory lane was interrupted by my eldest calling out in subway fashion “next stop, neighbor’s house, keep please move to the front of the vehicle,” mimicking that eerily mechanical voice piped through the trains she has ridden in. At that juncture I was struck by how different our life experiences are. How sad it is that she will probably never know what a minibus is. Hey, I don’t even know if they still exist!
My friend and neighbor and I reminisced on our childhood experiences with catching minibuses plying any random route in Jamaica. We relived how the robot was almost always was a Volkswagen panel van which had both a Driver and a Ducter. The Driver’s role was simple; get the vehicle from point A to point B, stopping to pick up twice or three times the van’s capacity in passengers, break or flout all of Jamaica’s road laws as often as possible and scrunch over on his seat to allow a schooler a kotch while maintaining enough space to aide his control of the vehicle.
Now a Ducter was always a very important character, he kept the day’s intake lodged between his fingers in fan like configuration dispensing change at will while holding the string that both opened and closed the door. Minibuses were never empty but no matter how filled they were the Ducter was always calling out to anyone who would listen and was willing to take the chance “...two more”. When he was not doing that, he was hanging out the vehicle in periscope fashion, calling to all the young girls and trying to touch pedestrians as the “bus” wheeled past, door open, carrying him squinting into the breeze.
Additionally, I am sure the Ducter’s job description required he be able to bang on the side of the van to signal the needed start or stop of the vehicle and if he cared not to bang he could simply sound off, “one stop driver” – he was key personnel. In a traffic snarl it was not unusual to see a Ducter get out of his bus and take his banging talent to the next level as he slammed his hand on the hoods of cars that dared to block the way of his bus leaving a wake of unsuspecting drivers wincing as they crushed their brakes and envisioned phantom impact only to hear, “watch de ride” or get out the way!
The trip down memory lane was interrupted by my eldest calling out in subway fashion “next stop, neighbor’s house, keep please move to the front of the vehicle,” mimicking that eerily mechanical voice piped through the trains she has ridden in. At that juncture I was struck by how different our life experiences are. How sad it is that she will probably never know what a minibus is. Hey, I don’t even know if they still exist!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Telemarketers...As Explained by a Six Year Old.
Ring, ring, ring.
I look at the caller ID and ignore the telephone hissing, “telemarketers,” as I continue my task preparing dinner. My youngest inquires, “Why didn’t you answer the phone Momma?” Immediately my eldest chimes in, “Telemarketers again huh Mom?”
“Yup!” I answer nonchalantly.
Youngest: Momma, what’s a telemarketer?
Eldest: I’ll answer that Mom.
Before I can respond, she begins her lecture to her awestruck, intently listening younger sister.
Eldest: Well baby, (forget the fact that she is only 21/2 years older) a telemarketer is a bad person that always calls Mummy during dinnertime asking her to buy something when they should know that she has no money and she already told them so and make her to say, …I’m not interested, please take me off your list!! Then they force her to hang up on them. Right Mom?
Youngest: Oh! We don’t like telemarketers Momma?
My Reponse: No Honey it’s not that we don’t like them, we just don’t like them always calling during dinner.
Everyone seems satisfied with my adjunct. My eldest beams at what she believes, is her masterful explanation of the situation, my youngest quietly ruminates in her light bulb moment. Dinner preparation continues as per usual.
I look at the caller ID and ignore the telephone hissing, “telemarketers,” as I continue my task preparing dinner. My youngest inquires, “Why didn’t you answer the phone Momma?” Immediately my eldest chimes in, “Telemarketers again huh Mom?”
“Yup!” I answer nonchalantly.
Youngest: Momma, what’s a telemarketer?
Eldest: I’ll answer that Mom.
Before I can respond, she begins her lecture to her awestruck, intently listening younger sister.
Eldest: Well baby, (forget the fact that she is only 21/2 years older) a telemarketer is a bad person that always calls Mummy during dinnertime asking her to buy something when they should know that she has no money and she already told them so and make her to say, …I’m not interested, please take me off your list!! Then they force her to hang up on them. Right Mom?
Youngest: Oh! We don’t like telemarketers Momma?
My Reponse: No Honey it’s not that we don’t like them, we just don’t like them always calling during dinner.
Everyone seems satisfied with my adjunct. My eldest beams at what she believes, is her masterful explanation of the situation, my youngest quietly ruminates in her light bulb moment. Dinner preparation continues as per usual.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Letting The Cold Air Out
There are some Momisms that we as Mothers pass on to our children knowing fully well that we were told them as children and not really questioning their validity. Things like:- don’t play with sticks you’ll poke your eyes out; or don’t do that with your eyes they’ll stick like that or, if all your friends were jumping off a cliff would you jump too or my personal favorite, close that refrigerator door your letting all the cold air out.
Debunking time!! As a Mom I have found that sticks and kids have a certain gravitational lure to each other that is unbreakable. You could be at a formal dinner at the most crystal glass setting, bone china displaying and heavy silver crockery using event in the most discerning location and rest assured your child can probably find some sort of a pointy object, or sans that a stick will probably find your kid!! It’s kind of like childhood kismet, ying and yang if you prefer, so best to get used to it. To avoid pricey mishaps, keep eyes peeled, ears well tuned and rely heavily on that gender gifted ingrained intuition that all of us have for disturbances in that Mom force field – one small rule of thumb could apply here – if you can sense trouble on the hairs on the back of your neck, there usually is something to worry about.
I have yet to come across any instances where anyone’s eyes have gotten stuck cross-eyed after making a face. But if it can diminish the occurrences of same and keep the peace by reducing the annoyance factor in other siblings, I’m all for it – I was once told by a parent that she did not lie to her children, good for her – this does not qualify as lying it is more like passing on a Momism that your children will pass on to their children intergenerational ad infinitesimal!! I am of the mindset that if it helps to maintain equilibrium, and lessens daily household friction and as my mother would say - lets your ears eat grass - more power to you!!
If all your friends were jumping off a cliff would you jump? This one kind strikes my nonsense toleration vein deep at its core akin the frustration I felt as a child with the statement Рa man on a galloping horse would not notice Рbegging your pardon here but how many men on galloping horses do you know? In the same way, how many of us have cliffs handy? I am fully aware that I am being purposely trite but if you know your child do you really have to brandish this Momism? Hmm, methinks thou dost protest too much!! Say no more, I have to admit I too have used this saying once and then shuddered at my own lack of imagination РTouch̩!!!
After diligent research I have found that it is actually possible to let the cold air out of the fridge, who knew? I thought that it was something that the Academy of Moms a very August body, devised in order to keep sticky little people from standing in front of a yawning fridge door on a hot summer’s day. Apparently cold air circulates in the fridge and the warm air that gets let in has to be cooled down causing the machine to work doubly hard. All in all letting the cold air out is not the worry rather letting the hot air in is the more bothersome of the two prospects. And you thought you wouldn’t learn anything!!
Whether or not you are going to burden your children with these nonsensical verbal glyphs is up to you, but for me the fun lies in participating in tradition all the while remembering, my mom used to say that!! Happy Disseminating.
Debunking time!! As a Mom I have found that sticks and kids have a certain gravitational lure to each other that is unbreakable. You could be at a formal dinner at the most crystal glass setting, bone china displaying and heavy silver crockery using event in the most discerning location and rest assured your child can probably find some sort of a pointy object, or sans that a stick will probably find your kid!! It’s kind of like childhood kismet, ying and yang if you prefer, so best to get used to it. To avoid pricey mishaps, keep eyes peeled, ears well tuned and rely heavily on that gender gifted ingrained intuition that all of us have for disturbances in that Mom force field – one small rule of thumb could apply here – if you can sense trouble on the hairs on the back of your neck, there usually is something to worry about.
I have yet to come across any instances where anyone’s eyes have gotten stuck cross-eyed after making a face. But if it can diminish the occurrences of same and keep the peace by reducing the annoyance factor in other siblings, I’m all for it – I was once told by a parent that she did not lie to her children, good for her – this does not qualify as lying it is more like passing on a Momism that your children will pass on to their children intergenerational ad infinitesimal!! I am of the mindset that if it helps to maintain equilibrium, and lessens daily household friction and as my mother would say - lets your ears eat grass - more power to you!!
If all your friends were jumping off a cliff would you jump? This one kind strikes my nonsense toleration vein deep at its core akin the frustration I felt as a child with the statement Рa man on a galloping horse would not notice Рbegging your pardon here but how many men on galloping horses do you know? In the same way, how many of us have cliffs handy? I am fully aware that I am being purposely trite but if you know your child do you really have to brandish this Momism? Hmm, methinks thou dost protest too much!! Say no more, I have to admit I too have used this saying once and then shuddered at my own lack of imagination РTouch̩!!!
After diligent research I have found that it is actually possible to let the cold air out of the fridge, who knew? I thought that it was something that the Academy of Moms a very August body, devised in order to keep sticky little people from standing in front of a yawning fridge door on a hot summer’s day. Apparently cold air circulates in the fridge and the warm air that gets let in has to be cooled down causing the machine to work doubly hard. All in all letting the cold air out is not the worry rather letting the hot air in is the more bothersome of the two prospects. And you thought you wouldn’t learn anything!!
Whether or not you are going to burden your children with these nonsensical verbal glyphs is up to you, but for me the fun lies in participating in tradition all the while remembering, my mom used to say that!! Happy Disseminating.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Lessons in Tree Removal, 101
On every occasion that I have observed the tree removal process not only have I been fascinated and awestruck but I have also learned something – to boot. And I am not the only one because as I stand transfixed by the visual I always notice others gathering; taking photos with their phones; stopping their cars to observe and marvel if even for just one moment. Interestingly, this procedure I note with interest is more of a suburban phenomena as in the big cities where I have lived a tree (which often provides a welcome bit of solitary green to the prevailing urban grey) is valued far more and greater lengths are travailed to preserve its sexy.
To understand my enthrallment one needs to know that where I come from only two things take down trees, dry rot and breeze blow (i.e. hurricane). Oh well scratch that, three things take down trees, dry rot, hurricane and construction but the act of taking down a tree for household purposes is unheard of. Even more unheard of is the occupation of tree service person hence this is where my interest stems (pardon the pun) from.
You know one has to admit that the tree service guy is the closest thing to a rock climber that most of us will ever see. He is outfitted with crampons (those climbing spikes that are attached to shoes), carabiners (those detachable locks that can hold tremendous weight) and heavy duty rope harnessing enough strength to tow a small fleet of disabled vehicles. That’s not the most fascinating thing though; the tree guy has to know math, angles and physics to pull down the tree without causing damage to surrounding property. He uses his ropes, locks and a power saw to guide the direction of the falling logs with such precision that one is almost inspired to yell T-I-M-B-E-R!!!
When the guy started to pull down the tree next door, I wondered how is one little man going to bring down this humongous life form all by his lonesome? He was a young Hispanic man who could barely speak any English, and although he was doing a good job on the smaller bramble, it became obvious that he would need help with the trunk and larger branches. Well later his entire family came out to help him. I’m not joking, his wife and daughter were cutting up and organizing stacks of rubble for loading into their truck; his brother helped to anchor him to the tree and sure up his safety harness while he sawed away at the thick tree trunk and his son was picking up the twigs and smaller branches and loaded them into their truck which served both as crew vehicle and disposal unit with disposal of waste being their last job related chore for that day.
As I watched I knew I was observing the birth of a tree service dynasty, and as the man said in his halting English; “we work so we eat.” Everyone in the organization knew their purpose and got right to the business at hand, no fooling around - enjoying the effortless pleasure of being an authority at their particular task regardless of how simple. Now suppose we all pooled together like that, relative helping relative, mano y mano, what a different place this world would be! In unity there is strength even if the question is to fell a tree or not to fell a tree. Eureka!
To understand my enthrallment one needs to know that where I come from only two things take down trees, dry rot and breeze blow (i.e. hurricane). Oh well scratch that, three things take down trees, dry rot, hurricane and construction but the act of taking down a tree for household purposes is unheard of. Even more unheard of is the occupation of tree service person hence this is where my interest stems (pardon the pun) from.
You know one has to admit that the tree service guy is the closest thing to a rock climber that most of us will ever see. He is outfitted with crampons (those climbing spikes that are attached to shoes), carabiners (those detachable locks that can hold tremendous weight) and heavy duty rope harnessing enough strength to tow a small fleet of disabled vehicles. That’s not the most fascinating thing though; the tree guy has to know math, angles and physics to pull down the tree without causing damage to surrounding property. He uses his ropes, locks and a power saw to guide the direction of the falling logs with such precision that one is almost inspired to yell T-I-M-B-E-R!!!
When the guy started to pull down the tree next door, I wondered how is one little man going to bring down this humongous life form all by his lonesome? He was a young Hispanic man who could barely speak any English, and although he was doing a good job on the smaller bramble, it became obvious that he would need help with the trunk and larger branches. Well later his entire family came out to help him. I’m not joking, his wife and daughter were cutting up and organizing stacks of rubble for loading into their truck; his brother helped to anchor him to the tree and sure up his safety harness while he sawed away at the thick tree trunk and his son was picking up the twigs and smaller branches and loaded them into their truck which served both as crew vehicle and disposal unit with disposal of waste being their last job related chore for that day.
As I watched I knew I was observing the birth of a tree service dynasty, and as the man said in his halting English; “we work so we eat.” Everyone in the organization knew their purpose and got right to the business at hand, no fooling around - enjoying the effortless pleasure of being an authority at their particular task regardless of how simple. Now suppose we all pooled together like that, relative helping relative, mano y mano, what a different place this world would be! In unity there is strength even if the question is to fell a tree or not to fell a tree. Eureka!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Subliminal Reckoning
I’m not sure if I ever mentioned that I don’t know how I came by the name of my blog, but after my niece passed last year, I began to see things and this world differently. It occurred to me that every experience that one has is just that; the single experience that one will ever have. Life gives us no do-overs, pause or rewind buttons, simply what you see is what you get. A person essentially lives in this moment nothing is promised so it behooves same to notate the joys and triumphs, curiosities and light bulb moments to pass them on to whomever wants them, whichever way one can hence, “We Pass This Way But Once,” was bourne… or so I thought!!
Recently I had occasion to be discussing just various events with a friend whose parent was the principal of a school that I attended at age 3. He inquired what the name of my blog was and when I told him, he laughed. This was his parent’s favorite saying. Now I could not have revisited this memory through him because I did not reacquaint myself with him until about a month or two ago and my blog is approximately four months old! Could it be that this memory was planted in my subconscious all these years and now in a moment of need the saying resurfaced to guide me in muse like fashion? Or did I see it on someone’s epitaph? I don’t know but it sure makes interesting fodder for discussion on the capacity of the mind to preserve thoughts and ideas through time.
Recently I had occasion to be discussing just various events with a friend whose parent was the principal of a school that I attended at age 3. He inquired what the name of my blog was and when I told him, he laughed. This was his parent’s favorite saying. Now I could not have revisited this memory through him because I did not reacquaint myself with him until about a month or two ago and my blog is approximately four months old! Could it be that this memory was planted in my subconscious all these years and now in a moment of need the saying resurfaced to guide me in muse like fashion? Or did I see it on someone’s epitaph? I don’t know but it sure makes interesting fodder for discussion on the capacity of the mind to preserve thoughts and ideas through time.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Ecosystems
I awoke this morning to the sound of the neighbor’s proxy busy cutting down their tree. Really, I should have no love for this tree, it’s a nuisance during fall, it bears no fruit and its roots burrow down beneath any surface in search of water, regardless of whether there is a structure in its way, or not. But my children and I love its aura, if a tree can have an aura.
It’s a welcoming site for all sorts of wildlife, from birds to squirrels to groundhogs and its not unusual to look out and directly observe Blue Jays, Cardinals and Pea doves in their natural habitat; the experience somewhat similar to having a thriving ecosystem in your very own backyard. At the root there is the Groundhog who nests and gets protection from exposure to the elements while perhaps benefiting from the water collection that the tree is constantly sourcing. In the middle are the squirrels scampering along the power lines commuting back and forth to their hiding places in the fall to sleep the winter through. The topmost level hosts a thriving colony of birds and whether they are, laying eggs, molting, or gathering bramble for nests; something is always happening.
Alas, the neighbor says the squirrels are getting up in her attic and causing havoc in her house’s heating and cooling systems and the birds follow the squirrels taking refuge when their furry counterparts are not around, then the burrowing roots are upsetting the foundation of her house – so its got to go! One Ecosystem in these circumstances must give way to the other - I guess. In other cultures folks try to incorporate nature into their livity (Jamaican for living) the mindset being that symbiosis certainly is more ideal but – what can I say - I hope that trees don’t eventually go the way of dinosaurs and our offsprings’ offsprings don’t have to go to museums to experience the joy that this lonely tree and its vibrant ecosystem has so generously shared with my family and that my neighbor remains cool and warm always.
It’s a welcoming site for all sorts of wildlife, from birds to squirrels to groundhogs and its not unusual to look out and directly observe Blue Jays, Cardinals and Pea doves in their natural habitat; the experience somewhat similar to having a thriving ecosystem in your very own backyard. At the root there is the Groundhog who nests and gets protection from exposure to the elements while perhaps benefiting from the water collection that the tree is constantly sourcing. In the middle are the squirrels scampering along the power lines commuting back and forth to their hiding places in the fall to sleep the winter through. The topmost level hosts a thriving colony of birds and whether they are, laying eggs, molting, or gathering bramble for nests; something is always happening.
Alas, the neighbor says the squirrels are getting up in her attic and causing havoc in her house’s heating and cooling systems and the birds follow the squirrels taking refuge when their furry counterparts are not around, then the burrowing roots are upsetting the foundation of her house – so its got to go! One Ecosystem in these circumstances must give way to the other - I guess. In other cultures folks try to incorporate nature into their livity (Jamaican for living) the mindset being that symbiosis certainly is more ideal but – what can I say - I hope that trees don’t eventually go the way of dinosaurs and our offsprings’ offsprings don’t have to go to museums to experience the joy that this lonely tree and its vibrant ecosystem has so generously shared with my family and that my neighbor remains cool and warm always.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Condoleezza Rights
A lot of us disassociate our selves from the current Secretary of State because of her political party affiliations. But Dr. Condoleezza Rice is on paper quite the force to be reckoned with. She has numerous degrees, is purportedly a fabulous musician and has many firsts associated with her name.
The first that intrigued me the most however, was when I saw her step off Air Force One, the President’s official aircraft by herself. Had she been in another administration on another side of the fence the importance of this event would not have been so severely under publicized. I mean I know that when the President does not ride in Air Force One it is not really considered to be the first priority aircraft, but my goodness, the historical significance of the impact of a black woman, who probably had ancestors who were sharecroppers deplaning such a important vehicle by herself should not be lost on us.
Sure one could say what’s the big deal, General Colin Powell was Secretary of State but a black woman I believe is doubly handicapped. She has to work twice as hard for four times as long to merely qualify for anything not to mention to become an acknowledged expert or leader in a field. So now when it seems as if Dr. Rice could be in the running as a possible Vice Presidential nominee I say, "Bravo!! Way to trump the Democrats!!" I know my Condoleezza rights!!
The first that intrigued me the most however, was when I saw her step off Air Force One, the President’s official aircraft by herself. Had she been in another administration on another side of the fence the importance of this event would not have been so severely under publicized. I mean I know that when the President does not ride in Air Force One it is not really considered to be the first priority aircraft, but my goodness, the historical significance of the impact of a black woman, who probably had ancestors who were sharecroppers deplaning such a important vehicle by herself should not be lost on us.
Sure one could say what’s the big deal, General Colin Powell was Secretary of State but a black woman I believe is doubly handicapped. She has to work twice as hard for four times as long to merely qualify for anything not to mention to become an acknowledged expert or leader in a field. So now when it seems as if Dr. Rice could be in the running as a possible Vice Presidential nominee I say, "Bravo!! Way to trump the Democrats!!" I know my Condoleezza rights!!
Friday, April 4, 2008
About Maturity
The other day, I’m at the checkout stand in the supermarket when my young cashier sees her obvious crush and everything else was shot into teenage romance zone. She becomes totally oblivious to the clearly mundane task of ringing up my groceries. “Why you didn’t text me?” she stage hollers (I guess her supervisors must have some rules as to what is appropriate behavior in front of customers). I stop trying to organize my youngest’s unloading of food from inside the trolley and look up, she’s caught my attention.
From his hiding place behind the potato chips display, I spot her object d’amour - a young man dressed in a soda delivery uniform. I must note here, how unused to this type of scenario I am. You see I cannot help but observe that in Jamaica (which a third world economy), jobs such as this are almost never held by teenagers; instead adults with families hold such coveted service industry positions as jobs are hard to get and any money coming in is better than no money at all – same are a step up from household helpers and gardeners which are perhaps the most basic level for the unskilled labor industry and a very menial way to eke out a living. In other words, it is a successful economy that can afford to place youth in what could be sort after positions for breadwinners in purportedly lesser, cash strapped financial systems but sometimes the young do not know how to honor such privileges – just an observation - but I digress, back to the show.
So my girl races through checking out the items I purchased, hurriedly grabs my money, shoves the change in my hand, packs meat in with tinned goods and abandons her post to bumrush the poor guy. But wait, I was in the way, still packing up what she had deemed unnecessary to stuff into a bag. She practically impaled me against the checkout aisle with the cart while sending my child lurching as she wiggled up the narrow space, hot pursuit was where her focus remained fixed, everything else mere projectiles to be dispersed at will. Forget the job responsibilities!!
Even with all her abrasive behavior, the mother instinct in me wanted to caution her and share wisdom gained through years of experience. I wished she could just look at the little guy cowering behind the snacks through my eyes – her enthusiasm was scaring him – me too for that matter! Alas I shook my head, checked my disoriented daughter for injury and quickly left the immediate area before she came trampling back to her station. Glancing over my shoulder as I departed, I could see her interrogating the poor young man while gesticulating wildly and causing a scene, tsk, tsk, I thought. It wouldn’t happen if an adult had in her space. There’s something to be said about maturity or decorum for that matter, which is best gained with age.
From his hiding place behind the potato chips display, I spot her object d’amour - a young man dressed in a soda delivery uniform. I must note here, how unused to this type of scenario I am. You see I cannot help but observe that in Jamaica (which a third world economy), jobs such as this are almost never held by teenagers; instead adults with families hold such coveted service industry positions as jobs are hard to get and any money coming in is better than no money at all – same are a step up from household helpers and gardeners which are perhaps the most basic level for the unskilled labor industry and a very menial way to eke out a living. In other words, it is a successful economy that can afford to place youth in what could be sort after positions for breadwinners in purportedly lesser, cash strapped financial systems but sometimes the young do not know how to honor such privileges – just an observation - but I digress, back to the show.
So my girl races through checking out the items I purchased, hurriedly grabs my money, shoves the change in my hand, packs meat in with tinned goods and abandons her post to bumrush the poor guy. But wait, I was in the way, still packing up what she had deemed unnecessary to stuff into a bag. She practically impaled me against the checkout aisle with the cart while sending my child lurching as she wiggled up the narrow space, hot pursuit was where her focus remained fixed, everything else mere projectiles to be dispersed at will. Forget the job responsibilities!!
Even with all her abrasive behavior, the mother instinct in me wanted to caution her and share wisdom gained through years of experience. I wished she could just look at the little guy cowering behind the snacks through my eyes – her enthusiasm was scaring him – me too for that matter! Alas I shook my head, checked my disoriented daughter for injury and quickly left the immediate area before she came trampling back to her station. Glancing over my shoulder as I departed, I could see her interrogating the poor young man while gesticulating wildly and causing a scene, tsk, tsk, I thought. It wouldn’t happen if an adult had in her space. There’s something to be said about maturity or decorum for that matter, which is best gained with age.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Signs
I don’t particularly think of myself as being superstitious but the other day when I was in a set of circumstances that I really wanted to work for me, I found myself counting signs. Not street signs or poster boards (even though one of my so called signs did take this form) but curiously circumstantial events occurring through hapinstance that I wanted so much wanted to believe were portents, good omens or just plain lucky. I had to check myself, where did an educated 21st century woman like myself, come off looking for confirmation of direction through random events?
My questions continued. Was this something that I developed on my own as an adult, or was it my Jamaican Socialization? Is this type of behavior unique to Jamaicans or can almost every culture be tipped to reveal their own curious behaviors or traditions that border on superstition or should we say comfort actions (we all know my experience with holding my heart). For instance, I know that my American friends can recall the playground legend, “step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” and I know some West Indians who don’t even want to see an umbrella in the house; and do wind chimes have particular significance in some cultures and what about some of these emails that we all have gotten that say pass this on to all your friends or else(a new millennium chain letter if you may); and how many of us dare to put a hat on a bed (I’m just saying)?
So although I would have loved to believe that a street sign of showing the name of a road that I grew up on in an unexpected location as being significant, or a familiar car leading me on my journey in unfamiliar territory and a dream having special meaning and all of these experiences adding up to one bonanza of fortuitous situations, maybe I should as the song of praise and says, “….Turn your eyes upon Jesus and look full in his wonderful face, and the things of this earth will go strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace"
My questions continued. Was this something that I developed on my own as an adult, or was it my Jamaican Socialization? Is this type of behavior unique to Jamaicans or can almost every culture be tipped to reveal their own curious behaviors or traditions that border on superstition or should we say comfort actions (we all know my experience with holding my heart). For instance, I know that my American friends can recall the playground legend, “step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” and I know some West Indians who don’t even want to see an umbrella in the house; and do wind chimes have particular significance in some cultures and what about some of these emails that we all have gotten that say pass this on to all your friends or else(a new millennium chain letter if you may); and how many of us dare to put a hat on a bed (I’m just saying)?
So although I would have loved to believe that a street sign of showing the name of a road that I grew up on in an unexpected location as being significant, or a familiar car leading me on my journey in unfamiliar territory and a dream having special meaning and all of these experiences adding up to one bonanza of fortuitous situations, maybe I should as the song of praise and says, “….Turn your eyes upon Jesus and look full in his wonderful face, and the things of this earth will go strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace"
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