Lower, lower, lower….

How low can we go searching for water, for sustenance for anything? Most people who live in a progressive society with lots of food and “good things” may never understand a child scavenging in a garbage dump, or mothers giving their little ones mud to eat just to fill their bellies. This is the depth that parts of this world have to dig, just to get by.

When we sit for our meals with our families and hear complaints of how the food does not taste good. We should counter with ” at least you have food”. We are becoming a nation of complainers and no one is looking for solutions anymore. We do have the solution, be kind to ourselves, love people, be fair, trust more.. and this list can go on and on.

Please let us all dig deeper into the depths of our collective consciences and let it out there. Breathe deeper and give thanks always.

Depth

Yesterday, tomorrow and whenever

Yesterday was a hectic day, both my husband and I had our treatments slated for this day. We piled into the car and got as comfortable as we can, each encouraging the other. I must let you know that I am the optimist and he is the opposite. He started saying “I don’t want to do this again.” My question to him was what is the alternative? What “this is” is a second round of chemo treatment. This went on for longer than we expected thus cutting into my time for my treatment.

We left the center and instead of going home, we went directly to my treatment which was a little roads ahead and a much shorter production. But as luck would have it, we didn’t eat a breakfast and we were both finished about 4:30 pm. By now we are both exhausted and hungry. I pulled into a Dunkin Donuts to get some goodies until we got home.

I looked around us, with the music blearing over the speaker and the ease and peace of rest and respite, and I was thankful. I asked him do we have anything like this back home, meaning Grenada. We always go back and forth calling Grenada home, it is our birthplace. “There is no place like home..” Underneath this veiled question there was an implicit idea that if we were not here, what treatment would we have received.

We must always look to the tomorrows, the yesterday and the forevers to get the whole picture. We live and take in stride what ever comes our way. Life is a series on ups and downs and roundabouts also, and I will go with the flow, holding on for dear life and trusting in the God who knows all the answers.

The Two old witches

Growing up in the island, there lived two frail old ladies whom the school children used to call old witches. They were sisters who I later learned lived with their parents and never got married. Their house never had electricity nor running water, and all times of the day and night they would be looking out of their windows that were devoid of curtains.

These women started their day with climbing the hill to the Roman Catholic Cathedral for morning mass. They walked together clutching each other tightly never mingling with the neighbors. They had a gauntly-like appearance and the word fragile, unstable and many other synonyms came to mind.

After both parents died and they were left to fend for themselves without friends nor family, they grew more and more frail in statue and probably in mind. Anytime children passed their house they would throw stones at them further rattling their nerves.

As a child, I did not realize that their mode of dressing was of a strict sect. They had long sleeve dresses that went down beneath their knees and thick stockings even in the 90 degree weather of a Caribbean sun. They left their house only in the mornings and evenings. Thus furthering the idea that they were witches, and none of us realized that those times were chosen because of less contact.

In hindsight, I now know how fragile or frail our minds were, in not making our acquaintance with these women. What we might have learned from them. How happy they may have been to mix with the neighbors. We probably would have learned how to be content in whatever situation we were placed. Maybe I might have learned how to do some fancy needlework that they were constantly doing from my vantage point of the curtainless window. Now I have to rely on Youtube and Google to teach me needlework.

Sometimes I reflect on the past and I ponder on the different people that passed through my life. The old witches always come to mind. If they were so bad how they did not put a hex on us. How quiet and frail they looked each depending on the other for survival in our cruel paradise.

Frail

This Sunday morning

Arise and praised the Lord. I let the words of God flow over me, taking in His promises and my strength was renewed. I went to my mini back garden, did not have to water since we got a downpour yesterday. I did some mulching and gave them some food. I usually talk to my plants especially my fig tree. This is year 4, and I hope this will be my year to get some figs before the aphids or squirrels.

Walked a half of a mile, looking at the ground doves fur rage and the flowers my neighbors planted. It is a great day, the sun is up and only a few cars and people on the streets, that I felt that I was the keeper of this world.

Next phase is church. Later.

This intricate floor

After getting up this ancient ruin, all I saw was dust and rubble.  Looking over the landscape to the east was the Dead Sea, and desert for miles around.  That was awesome, but I still looked at my daughter questioning what’s the purpose.

Most of the tourist from my bus was excited because they probably did their homework and read up about Masada.  No I am not slow, my daughter kept this as a secret, a surprise because she knew I loved ruins.

We followed our guide who was a spry man about 70 years but skipped up and down the ruins as though he was 50 or less years.  He was excited and animated , whipping us all up…”come along, hurry up..”.  I was up the mountain with no fast food shops, no vending machines so I followed the packs.

We went into different rooms, and to see the level of advancement as heating and cooling rooms, wells, and other conveniences that one would never expect in the 1st Century in which it is estimated to be built.

Then I stepped into this room and saw that tiled floor.  This was unpredictable and I then became alive again. If Isaw just this flooring in the whole pile of ruins and of course, the landscape, that tour would have worth the drive and the innane conversations on the tour bus.

We have to keep looking for the unpredictable around every corner and inside every hole.  You may never know what treasure is stored in there.  Look around, be inquisitive, follow your dreams.  Seek after the unpredictable.

Unpredictable

Experiences of a tropical hurricane

Janet the hurricane

A hurricane passed through the islands in 1955. We lived on the island of Grenada in the West Indies. I was one year old at that time so I remember none of the events, but every islander would tell you the stories about the time Janet passed through, many houses were damaged, crops of bananas, nutmeg and cocoa were uprooted and lives were lost swept down the rivers of pulsating water. There was much flooding, damage and lost. Of course electricity was down, water wells were unusable. The government had requested the natives to boil the water before drinking. The Red Cross had sent help to Grenada.

The family home

My family had just built there house, and as my mother told me, it was a refuge to some neighbors. Our house survived with only a lost of galvanized sheeting from the roof and some minor cracks. This was nothing compared to the destruction of many homes around. We resided on a hill so there was no flooding. Life as they knew it was changed and fear came over the islanders. Before all they heard about hurricanes, was lots of rain, children were let out of school early and everyone was happy because culture foods were cooked and the family was all together.

Experiencing the storm

Time passed and I grew up and experienced hurricanes myself. There was a lot of teachers huddled near the radio and then the edict came down that we should be sent home. Our parents were in their shop so I went there and waited to go home. Their shop was only about fifty yards form the water’s edge. The high waves could be heard crashing against the wall. My mother closed the shop, she tried to sell the last bag of flour, surgar and any last minute canned stuff goods that the shoppers stocked up on in times of hurricanes. We all climbed into the car; my father, mother, brother and I and climbed the hill towards our home. The rain was beginning to come down in torrents. We ran into the home excitedly, mostly because we were not in school. Being all at home , our mother would have bakes and fish cakes ready for lunch.

A child’s view

image

 

As a child, every experience was somewhat non significant as long as your parents are near. To me a hurricane was not a fearful time but a time of refreshing, being with the parents who were workaholics. We played games like Chinese checkers, snakes and ladders and cards. Just imagine, mother in the kitchen, kids playing and father listening to the radio. We didn’t have TV until my brother went to America nineteen seventies. The radio was the focal point and connections to all Grenadians. If the weather was severe, sometimes electricity was cut so your battery powered radios and flashlights were you lifeline.

The storm continues

The rain grew heavier and the winds began to pick up, we could hear it by the slamming of some windows that are not tightly shut. Mother would call out for someone “to shut that window. The food is coming”. We got more excited, in school we were not hungry, but being home everyone is hungry. We had an early lunch with the whole family in tact. This rain and wind continued all through the night. As we went to bed, (bedtime was around 8 pm on the island) the rain could be heard on the roof, the beating on the windows and the howling of the wind.

Morning on the island

I cannot remember sleeping, but I remember getting up the next morning. The rain and wind had subsided and I went unto the veranda which was wet. Looked up and down the village and the place had a washed looked. Everything looked serene, no one was walking around. Quietness descended on Grenada, children home, mother started breakfast and father listened to the radio. The announcer said that the eye oh the hurricane passed near the island, this was a narrow miss. My question was “are we going back to school?” We had to stay home another day, because some parts of the country did not fare too well and some of our teachers lived in the outer parishes and could not come into St. George’s, the town in which we lived.

After the storm, there is always a calm, a peaceful center and that I remember. That when I migrated to America, and I hear that there is a hurricane coming, I don’t think much of it until Katrina. Now I have a fear of hurricanes and try not to live in states that are in the hurricane belt. Life continues and seasons change but the earth endures for the next catastrophe.

Story Club #2: Surviving the Elements

 

Best Coworkers

I came back to work after a day of rest from my treatment and they had a surprise cake and coffee gathering for me. I was humbled and thankful for such wonderful people who are 100% behind me. A party to cheer me one and for me to know that they are thinking and praying for me.
Thank you guys. That’s the reason I love my work family, we are in this together.

Early Morning

I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and blessed. After the day I had yesterday, with aches and pains and general lethargy , I felt life as I knew it will never be the same, but God. I remembered the last vacation I took with my daughter and she took a picture of Lake Geneva from the hotel.

Even though it was rainy, the lake still looked peaceful and beautiful. It reminds me of calm in a storm. So this morning I am pressing on, going to work and taking advantage of all the good days to come. Hoping that the chemo is working and looking forward to my next vacation.

Storm

A Long Road Ahead

This is not the renowned book, The Odyssey, but, I will tell you about my journey.  I sat with my husband for two years as he received chemotherapy .  His regime was one week  for four hours and alternate week for two hours.  As he went in and out of sleeping.  I know my previously strong husband who watched his diet and took no pills for his sixty nine years, was asking why me.  These chemo drugs blackened his face and his nails.  Grew his facial hairs tha he looked like a mountain man.  He lost his taste for food, which was already a small a mount, even babies ate more than he did.

Three months ago, we got the results of the Pet scan.  There was no sign of cancer.  We were exhilarated, I told my friends and church folk.  He all rejoiced with him.  Two weeks after this great news, he had massive pains in his back.  We went to the hospital emergency , our team of doctors, x-rays and MRI.  The diagnoses came back he had two herniated discs and he had to have an operation.  All the while staying by his side, being the mother, the wife, and the nurseHe was in the hospital for two weeks and six weeks in a rehabilition center becaus he could not walk.

All this point, I was still singing Loretta Lynn’s sound, ” Stand by your Man”. We can do this.  During this time, I went for my physical, and I too was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a cancer of the bone.  This disease mainly affects black men over the age of 50, I was told.  But surprise, suprise, it also afflicts people from the African diaspora.  Did I mention tha last week after another Pet scan, the cancer re-surfaced.

I have started taking chemo myself, and yesterday was the first day of the treatment.  Needless to say I went to the doctor’s office feeling like a million dollars, and wok up the wee hours of the morning , feeling as a penny farthing.  This is my cross roads, with a long road ahead.

Journey