Letter to My Daughters

My dearest daughters,

It is on a beautiful and warm Friday afternoon that I set out to write to you.  Spring is nearing a close; summer is almost upon us.  However, the very thought of your entrance to this world has long ago warmed the cockles of my heart - beating summer by a mile.  You have not yet been born, and, by the time you are both old enough to read this, you still would not have come to understand much of it.  Promise me that you will return to this letter, every so often, whether I am still with you on this weary sod.

I love you.  The first thing you will need to know about me; the simplest truth to understand.  These are among the first words that I will teach you. I love you.  Please know that there is nothing that I will not want to do for you, as long as it is in your best interest.  How do I know this?  First, the way I've envisioned showing you my love; wanting to make you feel the joy of being cared for.  I can do this.  And, I will.  Second,  I've learned from your grandfather and grandmother - my parents.   Know the saying, "Daddy loves his girls"?  I think it was coined off him.  And, it is said that parenting doesn't come with a manual, but I think my mother got the only copy.  Looking back, it seems as if she was born knowing how to be a great mother.  Me?  Not so much. I've had to pick up a few pointers here and there as I prepared for your arrival.  I once heard a friend of mine who had just had a baby describe her feeling toward her new-born as "the love that knows no end."  I could only smile as I pretended to know what she was talking about.  But, I believe I'm closer now.  I feel the time will be soon when you both enter my world - and I yours.

When you get here, as I'd hinted before, you mightn't take a manual with you.  That's okay.  Just know that I will do the very best that I can to take care of you; to honour God in the role of Mother that He will entrust me to play.  As much as I will try, I won't always get it right.  There will be blood.  Hopefully, no more than a few drops of it from bruises and scrapes.  If more, I pray that it will require no more than a bandage or two. If any of that is caused by my neglecting you for two seconds as I, say, step away to let the dog out - yes, we will have a dog.  Promise. - then, even from now, I'm sorry.

We will play - a lot.  Your father and brothers will join in, too!  Let's team up! I want you to enjoy your childhood and adolescent years and young adult years...I want you to enjoy every stage of your life - for all of your life.  There may be times when you will have to remind yourself to enjoy yourself.  Learn to love, laugh and really live, and those times will be few.

I imagine that we will have spats.  You will think I could not possibly understand the challenges of growing up and I will try to convince you that I do.  Be assured that I do.  True, the challenges and pressures that you will face will, in some way, be different than those that I did.  At the core, however, it is a struggle to do what is right; to be yourself and to please God.  You will be asked to define "right"; be tempted to do what others are doing; be challenged on who sets the moral standard.  Who knows what the world will look like by the time you can understand this part?  It continues to change before my very eyes, trying to dictate what is true and normal and healthy.  Know that you will not have to face those pressures alone.  Even now, before you get here, some might say I plan to open your skulls and pour me in.  That's okay.  I know you will be your own persons.  In addition, I am ...I will be your mother, and it will be my duty to raise you in the way of the Lord.  The course you take thereafter will be yours to choose.  My faith in God is important to me.  I pray that, in time, you will come to develop a personal relationship with Him, too.  That would be the legacy of all legacies that I could leave for you both - an exemplary life of love, lived for Him.

Girls?  About love.  The thing about love now...  Know that love is life itself; life is not worth living without it.  In its many forms, it helps to get us through this one-way journey.  I don't want to wax poetic or philosophical.  I just want you to know that, as simply as you will be able to understand that I love you, it will be as difficult to understand love.  I will not be able to love you in all the ways that you should be loved.  But, I will love you as much as I can.  There are other people you haven't met yet who will love you and care for you in different ways.  You will come to know the difference in those ways.  You will come to know the heart that lacks sincerity in its profession of care and the heart that genuinely cares about you.  Then there's the matter of being in love.  Hardly any other feeling of  joy and delight comes close to that which you experience when you are in love with someone.  Being in love brings out the best in you.  It doesn't matter who you are.  It doesn't matter at what age you are, whenever it happens, you feel like you're sixteen.  Love does that.  This love for that special someone spurs you to give of yourself and, while you give, makes you feel that it is okay to trust enough to receive his in return.  Allow yourself to be loved.  And, love thickly.  For, as Toni Morrison's Beloved asks, "What good is thin love?"

Sweethearts, I don't know how it will be for both of you.  Maybe you will fall in love later than you would have imagined.  Perhaps you will meet "The One" several times.  Maybe you will meet him in your late teens or your early-twenties or mid-thirties.  Whenever and however you do, I pray that you would not have felt the pain of more than one heart-ache prior to that.  A heart aching from unrequited love - especially a first love - is like torture.  They tell you that you have to go on living and that you will feel better in time, when all you know is that the one you loved reached into your bosom, ripped your heart out with his bare hands and smashed it into a thousand pieces.  So, you might feel there's nothing left with which to love another.  Not true.  Not true.  Hearts are not made of glass, my darlings.  Hearts are made of love.  And love grows back as long as there is life.  So does hope.   When they hurt you, some lovers might make you sad; some might make you angry; with others, you might just feel annoyed that they wasted your time.  That tends to happen as you get older.  Know what's funny?  The one that disappears, vanishing into thin air, taking away his friendship without discussing it with you.  Yes, that right there is a riot!  However, no matter what, never hold on to ugly.  Let such experiences make you better, not bitter.  Think that it were better to have happened then than later - before joining in the covenant of marriage.

I am happy to let you know that you will be born into our little circle of love.  Your father and I love each other and, though it does take work, we enjoy being married to each other.  Before we met, we each had pretty much given up on finding, not the perfect one, but, the right one.  When we met, he initially wondered whether I felt I could do better.  I was quick to reassure him that I wasn't concerned about doing better; I was concerned about doing right.  And he was right - for me.  When he came along I was oh so set in my ways.  But, he loved me into charting a new course together.  I felt like sixteen again!  It might have been old fashioned but, I held out for love and married for love.  And, it's been worth it!  I am happier with him than I was on my own.  Otherwise, what would've been the point, right?  I was told before - and learned quickly - that love alone is not enough.  But, love and friendship make a great start, which, when built on Christ the sure foundation, makes our bond gentler, happier and stronger.

"It takes a village to raise a child," says the old proverb.  When you get here, look around!  Once you get past the "paparazzi" Aunties, older cousins and grands, you'll find them a warm, loving and welcoming extended family.

Family.  We're going to be a family!  There's a saying, (you'll come to learn I love quotes :-)) "Babies are a great way to start people!"  I think you'll both be the start of beautiful people.  I can hardly wait to meet you.  And, remember, I love you.



Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

The Promise to Rescue - Part 2

The Promise to Rescue - Part 2

(A Short Story by Claudia Williams)

As the bus neared its final stop, the women knew their conversation did not have further to go.  They passed the little time that was left talking about how the rain might fall that evening;  how it didn't fall as expected the night before.

"It was a good thing, too," Elaine said. 

"How you mean?" Miss Green asked.

"The roof, man, the roof.  It's quite a while now since it leaking, you know.  I just can't seem to find somebody who will do the job properly and done," Elaine explained.

"What about Bimma?  He fixed my own last year and it just start leaking again," Miss Green offered. 

"I didn’t consider him, you know.  I guess I could ask him.  I hope I see him before I see the next raindrop.  It not easy to set pots and basins and then turn round and have to iron out the bed on top of all of that,"  Elaine said. 

As the bus pulled into its last stop, the women said their goodbyes.  It was close enough to the market for Miss Green.  But, Elaine would have to take another bus.  A loud greeting caught her attention.  It was somebody that Miss Green knew who was calling out to her.  Miss Green, about fifty years Elaine's senior, was making her way with strong sturdy steps toward her friend.   Elaine made her way in the opposite direction of the two reuniting friends to a nearby bus stop.

It was only during the school term that it took her this long to get to work.  During the holidays when Winsome visited her grandparents in the country, the commute was much faster with one bus across town.  Even though Winsome tried to convince her that she could take the bus on her own; even when she pointed to a few other children who did it, Elaine would have none of it.  Maybe in another couple of years – or so.

Elaine arrived at work on time as usual.  She was fortunate to have got the job at the government agency.  After Rupert, she had moved from job to job. Twice she got laid off; once the boss wanted to get laid. And, once she found out about a racket that she felt it better to stay clear of.   She kept her mouth shut, but the reason she gave them was that the bus fare wasn't working out.  She felt that some of the girls in her community talked behind her back because of how lucky she was.  For some of them, they remained unemployed year after year.  As a matter of fact, it seemed their job was to have children.  But, she was not ghetto like that.  Winsome was her driving force.  When she had gone for the interview for her present job five years ago, she hadn't given them her current address.  She couldn't.   Instead, she gave them her church sister's address near Half-Way Tree.  She figured that if her boss found out, she could just tell him that things had got worse in some ways and she had had to move.  Surely her work as a good secretary would speak well for her by then, if push came to shove.  Her boss was a tyrant but she endured him.  The frustration he brought on was minor compared to her hope for Winsome.

Elaine walked into her community after the bus dropped her off.  It had been a long day at work and a bit of frustration had set in.  She was behind in her partner, but the banker, Mrs. Lewis was a very nice co-worker.   Stern, when it came to the partner, but nice.  She told Elaine to make sure she paid up by next week.  The next draw was going to be in two weeks' time.  It wasn't just about the partner, though.   It was the every day living hand-to-mouth that got to her sometimes.  It came in peaks and troughs.  One week she would be okay and just carry on about her business.  Another week the feeling of desperation would hit her.  It was hardest when Winsome came home with a new demand from school about an outing or some such thing.  How could she keep explaining to an eight year-old that they only had enough for food and transportation?  Once in a while, her parents would send something "for Winsome", but she didn't want to count on that. 

Before Rupert died, he had arranged for them to get light.  After he died, she arranged for them to get cable.   Water was not a problem, either.  Those were a few of the reasons she couldn't leave.  Her mother wouldn't understand.  Yes, they had to live with the occasional gun fire.  But, those were not so frequent these days.  The most volatile time used to be during general elections  - so she had heard.  In the time that she lived there, there had only been two elections.  The member of parliament had visited them often and made big speeches.  Over the years, Elaine noticed that nothing had changed.  But, she knew better than to complain.  Rupert used to tell her, no matter what, never say anything against the MP for even the walls to hear.  They never talked about politics more than that.   And, in the two elections, she did as Rupert had long ago advised, and voted with the rest of the community.  She hadn't dared do any different for they were known to check the ballots.  So, that was that. 

She knocked at the gate two houses away from hers.  A stout woman opened the door and stood in the doorway. 

"Winsome! You madda deh here!" said the woman, as she flashed a smile at Elaine.  "You alright?" she asked Elaine.

"Yes, Miss Ivy!  How you?" Elaine called back. 

"Mi alright, man.  See your little one here," Miss Ivy said, as her outstretched hand guided Winsome through the door.

Winsome came bounding toward her mother, greeting her with a big hug.  "Hi sweetie," Elaine hugged back. "By the way, Errol dropped them off in good time?  I know yesterday he picked them up from school late.  Something about getting a roast?" she asked. 

"Yes, yes.  Him make good time today," Miss Ivy assured her. 

"It's only because him generally reliable you know - " Elaine started.

"And him know you and the other parents  won't fire him!" Miss Ivy interrupted.  They both laughed.

When they got home, Winsome and Elaine fell into their routine.  That night, though, instead of curling up beside each other as they watched an early favourite, Winsome asked her mother to read her a story.

"You're not too old for a bedtime story ma'am?" Elaine asked her daughter.

"Cho, Mommy man.  Just one?  I know which one I want to hear, too," Winsome leaped off the settee and went to get her book.   She was back in a flash.

"Really? Sleeping Beauty?  Again?"  Elaine asked in mock surprise.  She hadn't read it in a while, but, that was, hands down, her daughter's favourite bedtime story.

"Yes, Mommy, again," Winsome grinned.  "Come, I'll cover up in bed while you read, okay?" Winsome instructed.

"Okay, okay," Elaine followed her into the bedroom and waited until she got herself cozy under the sheets.  When she finished reading the fairytale, Winsome was no nearer sleeping than at the beginning.  In fact, her eyes were wide alert. 

"Mommy?" she began.  "Do you know why I love Sleeping Beauty so much?" She asked.

"No, actually, I've never asked you that.  Why do you?" Elaine asked.

"Well, it's because it reminds me of where we live," Winsome explained.

"What do you mean?" Elaine was now rather curious.  What was this child of hers coming with?

"Well, you know how everybody falls asleep for a long, long time? And the prince comes in time and he rescues Sleeping Beauty and everybody wakes up, and they didn't even know they were sleeping, and they all celebrate?" Winsome continued, excited.

"Mmhmmm," her mother replied.

"Well, it's like here. I can tell you're not happy here, Mommy.  You try to hide it, but, I see it.  Don't worry, Mommy.  It's ok.  I am your prince.  And, when I grow up, I'm going to rescue you!"

###

Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

The Promise to Rescue - Part 1

The Promise to Rescue

(A Short Story by Claudia Williams)

Winsome and her mother lived together.  Winsome was eight years old and was very smart for her age. Her mother was very proud of Winsome, as she always got high marks in school.  They lived in a very small house.  Actually, the house had only three rooms – the bedroom, the bathroom and the kitchen.  Winsome’s mother used a part of the kitchen as a small living room.  The settee, hassock and a centre-table made it so.  To get to the kitchen from the living room, you had to part the curtains she put up to separate one room from the other. 

Every night, Winsome’s mother, Elaine, would check Winsome’s school-work.  Then, she would help her with her home-work if she needed any help. Winsome then made sure that she packed her books in her bag for the next day.  Elaine made sure that Winsome’s uniform was ready, too.  She could only afford two tunics and two blouses.  So, she made certain to wash one set every night. She hung Winsome’s blue tunic over the shower curtain rod in the bathroom and put the white blouse behind the fridge.  They slept in the same double bed.  In the morning, after she had her shower, she ironed the uniform.  While she ironed, Winsome ate her breakfast.  Elaine didn’t eat breakfast.  When Winsome finished eating, she would climb up on the little stool by the sink and wash her plate and fork and cup.  Afterward, she would go to the bathroom to bathe and brush her teeth.  Her uniform would be ironed and ready for her by that time.  Her mother, would spend the next fifteen minutes or so hot-curling her hair, then combing Winsome’s hair.  Both of them walked to the bus-stop together every morning.  This Thursday morning was no exception.

“Good morning, Miss Green!” Winsome’s high-pitched voice did not catch the old woman by surprise.

“Morning, Winsome darling. How are you?” Miss Green replied smiling.  She gave Winsome her full attention. 

“I’m fine, ma’am!” The little girl answered with her usual liveliness.

“That’s nice.  Morning, Elaine!” Mrs. Green turned her attention to the adult.

“Morning, Miss Green, you alright?” Elaine asked.

“Yes man, I’m alright,” she answered.  Miss Green was seated in the bus shed as she and her neighbours waited for the bus.  She was strong for her eighty years.  Her voice was haughty and when she walked, her steps were sure.  The entire neighbourhood knew her.  

Elaine had met her when she came to live in the neighbourhood nine years ago.  She had just moved from the country to work in Kingston.  Not long after that, she met Winsome’s father.  And not long after that, she got pregnant with Winsome.  She moved in with Rupert who had grown up in the neighbourhood. Rupert – that was his name.  He agreed that they should not have the baby out of wedlock.  It was not a big wedding, but it was a nice one.   Her parents drove in from the country and her brother and two sisters came too.  His father and mother were both living abroad in the US and neither of them could come out for the wedding.  They still had not got their papers right after twelve years.  She was only seventeen weeks pregnant at the time, so it didn’t show to all that.  A few close friends attended, but none of them knew about her pregnancy.  She had confided only in her sisters and her mother.  Rupert had told his best friend – his best man.  

About a year after Winsome was born, Elaine was at home watching TV one evening.  She had just put Winsome  in the crib when she heard a knock at the gate.  Her first thought was that the noise would wake the baby.  When she heard the knocks getting louder, however, her mind started to wonder whether something was wrong. How could it be? She hadn’t heard any gunshots fired for weeks now.

“Elaine!  Elaine!  Come quick!  Elaine!” Marcia, her neighbour to the left was banging on the zinc structure.  By the time Elaine rushed to the door and opened it, Marcia was already on the top step.  “What happen, Marcia?” Elaine could feel the bottom of her belly sinking lower and lower as she looked into Marcia's eyes.  Her neighbour, who, just a moment ago was shouting her name, could not find her voice.  She just stared into Elaine’s eyes and kept shaking her head. After a few seconds, Elaine asked again.  “Marcia!” She was surprised at the level of her own voice that now sounded frantic.  The sound brought Marcia back from space.  Tears brimmed her eyes as she replied, “Elaine?  Is Rupert,” she mustered as her voice cracked on “Rupert”.  Elaine’s belly hit rock bottom.   

All of a sudden, she felt weak.  No.  Not weak.  Weak meant that there were still some dregs of strength to get you to the closest chair.  She felt numb. Lifeless. That was it.  Her mind formed the words but she could not utter them.  Why could she not utter them?  They were simple enough. It was a simple question.  She looked beyond Marcia who had taken a seat on the top step.  Her eyes rested on the small stream of people who were making their way to her side of the street; to her yard.  She had witnessed this type of procession before.  She had even been a part of some of them.  It was the usual.  Somebody was first with the news, then, as fast as the news travelled, the people from every street and lane would make their way to the house in question.  Yet, it wasn’t the usual.  For the first time, it was her time.  She stared at the crowd that had congregated outside her gate, spilling over on to the sidewalk.  She stared, but at no one in particular. Then the words came, out of the blue, into thin air. “What happen to Rupert?”  

“Dem shot him, Elaine.  The man dem open fire pon the taxi when it stop up the road.  Dem just let off somebody and, next thing, pure shot a fire!”  Marcia replied as if programmed.

She hadn’t noticed it, but, by this time, the yard had slowly filled up with neighbours.  Most of them had a similar version. The police had opened fire after it stopped to let off “Winji”.   It was not clear whether Winji had been the target but, all they knew, two of those in the back of the car had received gunshot wounds.  Rupert’s was the only one that had been fatal.  Even Winji survived – although with life-threatening injuries.   The accounts differed on how many persons were travelling in the back but, generally, they were pretty clear on who fired the shots.

Seven years.  That was almost as long as it had taken to get her life back together.  If you could call it a life – or one put back together.  Between her siblings who nagged her to “get the hell out of there!” and her parents, especially her mother, who broke Elaine’s heart with her pleading, Elaine’s will-power was tested.  Leave, of course. But to where?  It was hardly an option.  The three-room structure became her property and many of the neighbours were there for her.  Nothing ever came of the shooting.  After a while, she had stopped going to the police station for information.  About six months after the funeral, she decided to give it a rest.  After all, Winsome needed her. The blessing was that their daughter was just a baby when it happened.  That was also the downside.  But, Elaine took it one day at a time.  She purposed in her heart that she was going to do everything she could to make a better life for her daughter. 

The bus pulled up and Miss Green, Winsome, Elaine and two other people got on.  It was already packed.  The little E-20s didn’t have much room to begin, but, that never deterred the driver nor conductor.  They squeezed in, with Elaine making room on her lap for Winsome.  The child held both her school bag and her mother’s work bag in her lap.  As the music – if you could call it that – blared over the speakers, most of the passengers cast their looks outside.  A couple of the brave ones tried holding telephone conversations, shouting into the mouth-pieces.  The less brave listened in, trying to make sense of the lewd lyrics, and certain pieces of the two or three cell phone conversations they could catch.

After stopping to pick up and let off passengers, the driver finally reached the school.  There was a crossing guard at the light.  Winsome slid off her mother`s lap and clutched her school bag.  

“Okay, Mommy! ” Winsome said, as she gave her mother a peck on the cheek.  Her mother hadn’t taught her that.  She had picked it up from one of the shows on Nickelodeon.  But, oh how it pleased Elaine!   "Bye, Miss Green!" Winsome shouted from outside the mini-bus, as she waved to the older woman.  The child's view was terribly distracted by the other passengers and the closed door, but, she waved just the same.  Elaine craned her neck to watch her as she approached the crossing guard, along with three other children.  The driver of the bus in which she was still sitting, knew better than to move.   Elaine watched through a little space between a couple heads out the front windshield as the crossing guard stepped out, held up her sign, then beckoned the children to come.   They were safely across when she beckoned the driver to go ahead.

"That little one going to be bright, you see?" Miss Green said to Elaine after they began moving again. 

"She is already very bright.  You should hear her read!" Elaine beamed.  

When Winsome was younger, the teachers tested her ability to read and write.  They were very impressed with how she did.  To their surprise, she read all the words. Not once did she stumble over any of them.  And, when it came to her writing, she had good penmanship.  They did not know that Winsome’s mother used to teach her at home before she started primary school.  That very day, the teachers arranged for Winsome to skip Grade One.  So, at six years old, Winsome joined the Grade Two class.  The other children were about a year older than her.  But, Winsome was not afraid. She had never been one to show fear.  Her mother had always secretly admired that about her.

  

(To be continued with Part 2 of 2 on the 28th of May.)

Claudia 

www.cyopro.com

www.twitter.com/cyopro

Kryptonite

Some people are like Kryptonite.  Ahhh.  That feels so much better.  Bear with me.  I'm not about to "get all negative up in here". But, I discovered some time ago that when you get bold enough, and call a bad thing a bad thing, it takes quite a load off your shoulders.

I was reminded of this the other day as I listened to a story.  In this story, based on actual events, one person was being completely horrid to another. It was not the first time but, hopefully, with the right intervention, it would be the last.  Many are wont to defend or justify or rationalize ugly behaviour.  How often do we hear of persons who are at the receiving end of a behaviour that causes stress; damages self esteem or crushes spirit?  Whether it is suffering at the hand of an abusive partner or narcissistic boss or a thorn of a co-worker, the first step to relief is calling the bad thing a bad thing; calling it what it is.  We are superwomen and supermen, and these people are Kryptonite.

This post is not about process - as in, how to remove oneself from this offensive source.  Instead, it's simply to remind us of the huge value that is within the simple act of calling the thing what it is.  Sometimes, it's just the realization that you are under no obligation to try to "pretty things up" or rationalize ugly behaviour, that starts to lift the weight. Each person's process to get away and/or deal with the offending character will be different. But, I can pretty much guarantee that once you muster up the courage and bravely admit to yourself what is what, you're on your way to better.

I imagine that some people feel that way about their jobs.  I'm not being insensitive to those who, at this time, do not have a job.  I'm saying that, for many who have jobs, there comes a time when, one morning, it hits: "I do not want to go to work! I hate my job!"  I have been there.  And, that's why I'm no longer there.  Just saying that relieved quite a bit of anxiety, and actually added pep to my step as I went out to said job thereafter.  (At the time, I didn't use the term "Kryptonite", but the idea was the same.  There was that something that was debilitating to my "superwoman-ness".)  I was then able to put some constructive effort into the job hunt.

It goes without saying but, I'll say it anyway.  The good things?  Let's be brave and call them what they are, too.  If someone makes you feel good; lifts your spirit and all that jazz, for some, it takes a bit of courage to come out and say so.  But, again, you'll feel so much better if you do.  And that's like...like a breath of fresh air.


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

CYOPro in Barbados

I had the pleasure of spending my recent vacation - into birthday - in Barbados.  One of the friendships that started many moons ago at the University of the West Indies, flourished over the years.  As with many friendships, there were periods of silence, but, when we caught up, we caught up!  I paid her a visit almost fifteen years ago.  Now, a family later, we arranged the vacation and birthday celebration in her country, Barbados.

For some reason, I noticed quite a bit more this time around.  I think one of the main reasons is that, back then, I was getting over a very recent breakup.  Time away, anywhere, away from him and everything that reminded me of him, was good enough.  I had spent quite a lot of time writing, as well - a different sort.  Then, my friend, Debbie, was kind enough to take me around to most of the touristy spots.  We took quite a few pics - those that you had to send out to get developed and wait a week or so before you got them in your hand!  Good times.  Good times.

This time, we still did a few touristy spots.  But, for the most part, I was just happy to reunite, meet the family and get time away from my usual surroundings to write.  I did all of that!  Several hundred pics later (yeah, it's 2012), I gotta say it was a lovely, lovely trip.

One of my most memorable days was the day before my birthday.  We went on a picnic to Barclays Park, only for them to surprise me with a cake.  Not just any cake, but a birthday cake!  That was waaay cool! And so thoughtful.  Another highlight was the birthday itself.  What a fantastic day by the Boardwalk, along Rockley Beach!

I'm sure if we'd tried, we could have got 41 candles to fit!

A few things stood out during this trip.  On my first visit to the Boardwalk, I was eating cane.  Yes, peeled and sliced pieces of sugar cane.  I love cane!  So, there I was walking along and soon realized that I was getting a few glances from other folks going in the same and opposite direction.  It became so noticeable that I asked my friend about it later on.  She let me know that it was an unusual occurrence.  Bajans don't normally have sugar cane like that.  No big reason, either.  I thought back to Jamaica and became even more thankful that there's a "Caney" on almost every corner.  Well, not exactly, but, you catch my drift.

View from a section of The Richard Haynes Boardwalk

The day before I left, I went into a store to buy a few souvenirs.  I asked whether they accepted Canadian currency.  The cashier said they did not.  I used the BBD cash I had.  Perhaps I would've bought more souvenirs if they did.  Actually, scratch the "perhaps". They accepted US dollars, US credit cards or travellers' checks.  I didn't check with any other store re the accepted currency thing.  I figure it was standard, though.

Another thing.  What you see on the price tag is what you pay.  No taxes added at checkout.   Now, eating out may be a bit pricey, say, BBD$24 for a lunch of Rice and Peas and Chicken.  Or, as I noted by looking in, a footlong Subway sandwich is about BBD$25 - a bit more if it's going to be a combo.  The exchange rate is about CAD$1 to BBD$2.

And, this one always makes me smile.  Almost everybody - with a few exceptions - tell you good morning or good evening or hi or whatever!  Yes, exclamation sign.  It was a pleasant difference from what I'd become accustomed to in Canada, actually, in the US, too.  (I had lived in the Rochester, NY for several years.)  Here in Canada, once you get talking with most people, you discover they are nice to talk to.  However, on too many occasions, far too many to count, someone will enter an elevator, for example, see me and/or five others in it, and not say one single solitary word!  So, when I heard people passing by and wishing me a good morning and so on, it was a bit surprising, then, simply delightful.

I enjoyed visiting the St. George Parish Church; visited that lovely beach near Oistins; loved the sight of kites in the sky on Easter Monday and even saw a few monkeys paying unwelcome visits in people's yards!  Codrington College was also a pleasure to behold.

Codrington College

The sand felt goood under my feet.  (Beach near Oistins)

Ahh the majesty of big strong trees! (Beach near Oistins)

Still, nothing came close to the Boardwalk!  I'm glad I "carpe the heck out of the diem!" and shot my first CYOPro destination video right there and then.  Journey of a thousand miles... Well, just visit my channel already :-)

NB: Need to add this further to the previous post - eating humble pie while I type.  I signed in to YouTube a few days ago.  My Gmail tab was also open. There, in the upper RHC, was a whitish arrow pointing downward to the Gmail account I was logged into. How I missed that the last time must have been by divine intervention!  It caused me pain, but, I've come to realize that the current name works out better, given the ideas I have in mind for when my website comes into its own.  More anon :-)



Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Getting Back Up

As they say in the movies, let's cut to the chase.  Create Your Own Productions  (CYOPro) now has a channel on YouTube.  I created it today.  I've been wanting to do it for a while, having a very good idea of the kinds of videos I want to make.  Several months ago, I created a gmail account specifically with that in mind. That would be the email address to be associated with the YouTube channel.

I was checking my personal gmail account today when I skipped over to a folder to review a few of the videos I had made while on vacation.  As I did that, it came to mind that I could use today, my last free day before getting back to work tomorrow, to create the channel - and upload the videos!  

Next thing I did was go to YouTube to create the channel. I chose my user name "CYOPro" and proceeded to upload, tag, describe and categorize the video.  I had done it!  A few minutes later, as I browsed my latest creation, I clicked on the user name and checked out details of the account.  Lo and behold, the email address that got associated (not "that I had associated", mind you) with that one special user name was my personal email address!  I had been checking emails in another tab, remember?  There had been no prompt (like, you are currently signed in to your email and will be linking x email address to this account.  Do you wish to proceed?) I hadn't signed out!  Oh, the horror!  The shock.  The disappointment.  "I should have known better; I should have known better," also came to mind.  I became so forlorn.

How did I let this happen?  I had been so careful to reserve the email address and the username and now, the connection I had wanted was not there.  Of course, I absolutely did not want the CYOPro YouTube account to be linked to my personal email account.  I searched their help centre high and low for a solution - switch username to other email address; change email address associated with user name.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  No, actually, they did have something to say about it - just not what I wanted to hear.  In a nutshell, it couldn't be done.  (Sounds like there was something about being able to do it if it were a legacy account - if it had been opened before early 2009.  It didn't apply to me, so, that went in one eye and not the other.)  

Remember Kipling's "If"?  "If you can make one heap of all your winnings/And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss/And lose, and start again at your beginnings/And never breathe a word about your loss..."  (Well, never mind the last verse - 'cause I'm surely breathing more than a word about my loss, here.)  The rest of it,  though, is kinda how I felt.  

So, I did the next best thing - think of a new username; cancel the newly-created channel (at least I could have done that without deleting the email account associated with it); realize that the old username would not be available (even after cancelling the channel, people! Yep. This is the new Google-dom for you!) and link the new user name to the special email account I had set up months ago.

The name of my YouTube channel: CYOProChannel

Thereafter, I uploaded my first three videos.  Using this new Blogger look, so, here I go, inserting one of these vids, glitch-free! Of course, I could have just used a link to the video, but, where's the fun in that?

Know what, though?  After I uploaded the videos and watched them, I felt a swell of gladness.  After all, this is a project I'd wanted to start for a long time (more in the channel description), and, I've done it!  I shared it on FB and Twitter.  I wondered a little about the public's response.  But, having put myself out there (#byebyecomfortzone), I had a moment of reflection.  What do I think about it?  I think...no, I know I feel good about creating this production! 

Claudia 

www.cyopro.com

www.twitter.com/cyopro

The Tablet: In Sacred Memory

Here's something you don't see on this blog very often - an image.  In this case, three.  I've read the bits of advice time and again.  For e.g., make sure blog entries contain at least one image. My take is that I write for reading.  Unless an image is going to be a visual aid and/or add weight to the post I'd rather not include one.

From the moment I laid eyes on this tablet sometime after seven o' clock this morning, I knew I wanted to blog about it. And, I straightway imagined it as an image to be included.  So, I remained after the service - my friend, Debbie, waited patiently - to take a few photos.  Even though most of the congregants had filed out, I tried to be as reverent, discreet and non-touristy as possible.  I felt more and more at ease as I went on to take a few of the sanctuary.  The St. George Parish Church in Barbados is a beautiful building.  It's the oldest ecclesiastical building on the island - architecture less Gothic; more Georgian (via a little Google search).

The line that stood out for me then, and got stuck in my head after, is this one:

"And give her husband just reason to deplore the loss of the greatest of God's blessings; a Christian wife."


For several reasons, I wouldn't, couldn't let it go:

(Took this pic on Resurrection / Easter Sunday, April 8, 2012.)

THE USE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE
Unless we indulge in a certain genre of writing, we just don't see the English language being written in such a beautiful and eloquent way these days. True, I don't expect the daily news to sound like an obituary - though, sometimes, it does come close.  However, over time, much eloquence has been lost.  Perhaps it's because of the literature to which I was exposed growing up.  The likes of Milton, Dickens, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Wilde, Lawrence accompanied me throughout my high school and University years. The language was more complex, and within its complexity, it carried a certain beauty.  Perhaps it was the challenge of unearthing the meaning of the likes of, "If music be the food of love, play on," and the subsequent reward in being singled out by my third form (Grade 9) teacher to explain to the rest of the class that "he was in need of love."  Whatever the reason I found it enchanting, they had a way with words.  This tablet - and, especially that line - brought me back to that delightful time.

THE LOSS
Charles Darling suffered the loss of his wife, Anne, shortly after her twenty-fourth birthday.  Having no knowledge of the story behind all this, and, not wanting to do any deep research for this particular post, I let myself be satisfied with what was provided.  She was such a young woman; perhaps they were a young couple.  There was no info to indicate for how long they had been married.  However, the latter section of the tablet made me wonder...

THE DOUBLE LOSS
Charles Darling suffered another loss just about a month after - that of his twenty-one month old son.  I'm thinking that the Darlings' marriage might have been under three years old.  A child would've come soon after marriage, back then.

It's not that I picked a tablet and decided to dote on it.  I think, for the first time, after many instances of reading tombstones and tablets and being fascinated by the dates (they were born how long ago???) I was genuinely interested in how these persons, generations ago, expressed their sorrow.  I think that line - wouldn't it have been penned by Charles Darling? - helped draw me in.

And, in a really warped way, I drew some small comfort in the fact that, no matter the epoch or generation or historical age,  some things have not changed.  Among them, our emotions.  The way we express them? Maybe.  But, sorrow is sorrow and joy is joy, whether it's 1837 or 2012.

THE MORTALITY
Of course, as at other times when faced with the details, or a summary, of death, who can walk away without thinking for a moment of his/her own mortality?  And, if time goes until then, one hundred and seventy-five years from this, who will cast a second glance at the tombstone - or tablet - erected in memory of me?  Will anyone be moved by it?  Will it cause them to engage in a bit of reflection; introspection?  Will it cause them to think, as I did for a second, about their own fleeting mortality, and where they'll spend eternity?   Then again, if it's a tombstone, the thing mightn't be legible by then anyway!

I'm not too hung up on death.  It's more the dying I think about - like many others, I'd rather not suffer in pain while I'm departing this weary sod.  But, it's the dying without Christ that freaks me out.  My Christianity is not just a "fire insurance".  It's a cherished relationship with Jesus Christ.  But, dying with Him does mean that I get to spend eternity with him in heaven.  Just sayin'.

Through His death and resurrection I have hope of my own resurrection and eternal life.  Booyah! *Ahem*  I mean, and that is wonderful!  You gotta believe in something - and I believe in this.

(Inside the St. George Parish Church. Resurrection painting Rise to Power by Benjamin West R.A.  Took this pic on Resurrection / Easter Sunday, April 8, 2012.) 

(View from outside the St. George Parish Church built 1784. Took this pic on Good Friday, April 6, 2012.)

Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro