Tasting the Cake

Shortly after my niece turned three, I happened to host my first family Christmas dinner.  My mom and BIL - and my niece (she helped pour the flour) - baked our famous (or not) Christmas cake.  (That's the Jamaican black cake that has specialities such as rum, candied fruits, raisins... Wicked!)

Not long after dinner, we were lounging around a bit. My niece, however, was not so inclined.  By then, she had already asked us a few times whether we would soon taste the cake. As a matter of fact, she'd started asking as soon as the tables had been cleared.

For the third or fourth time, we explained that we'd be having dessert soon. Finally, she took centre stage in the middle of the living room. She threw her hands in the air, stuck her neck out and said, "If we don't taste the cake, we won't be able to taste the cake!" - shaking her head a little on "taste". 

My niece's statement caused me to think about an observation I'd heard a professor/author make several years ago: "Philosophy may be found in children's literature." Presumably, much of that is inspired by, or taken directly from, the mouths of children themselves. Such a simple truth; such an uncomplicated way of seeing the thing. Yet, so profound.

I'm not about to explore the philosophical undertones of the statement.  Enjoy the a-ha! moment. What I would like to do, however , is draw your attention to another scenario.

My family has a way of extrapolating. We are the prototypes when it comes to  fleshing-out entire scenarios in under two minutes. On one of my trips to Jamaica a few years ago, we were on the way back home from a drive out to the country - Westmoreland. It was the first time that I was gonna behold the then new Sandals Whitehouse. My dad, who was driving,  pulled off to the side of the road and we contemplated whether we should go in. The ensuing stream of consciousness, involving all five or six of us, went stteo:  

Well, we don't have any special reason to go in except to look at the place and the security guard at the main entrance is going to ask us what business we have there and we're going to have to tell him that we're not guests, we just want to look at the property and he's going to tell us that we can't just enter the property like that and we're going to get into an argument with him and ask him about his God-complex and he's going to get upset and ask us to turn around and leave. So, it's better we don't even bother to go in.

And with that, we burst out laughing while my dad drove off for home! LOL!!! Every time I remember that episode it cracks me up. Now, for all we knew, the security at the entrance would have been super nice - possibly even get us an escort to show us locals the splendour of the place, in case we ever decided to spend some time there.  But, from the comfort of our vehicle, we decided on the taste of the cake.

Hey, here's to being able to really taste the cake by actually tasting the cake!

Claudia 

http://www.cyopro.com/

www.twitter.com/cyopro

Letter to My Husband

My dearest love,

You think you know, but you have no idea, how much I love you. 

Do you know that sometimes when I wake up before you do, I quietly prop up on my elbow and just watch you sleep?  I watch your chest heave in and out, listen to the gentle sawing of wood as you breathe, and simply thank God that you're alive; that you're in my life!  I've never told you this, but, for a while after we got married, one of my last prayers for the day was that this was not all a dream.  I had waited so long - a lifetime, really - for you.  And, I am so very glad I did.  Someone tweeted a quote by Billy Graham's wife, Ruth, some time ago: "God did not always answer my prayers.  If He had, I would have married the wrong man - several times!"  Suffice it to say, I could relate. I used to pray then pause then watch then wait - a cycle that continued for years.  And then I just stopped.  I was like, whatever!  Then, one day, out of the blue, He said yes.  He said yes, because you were the right man for me.  Not Mr. Right. Not Mr. Perfect but Mr. Right-For-Me. 

Alas, when it happened, I had not seen it coming!  How could I?  It was at a time when I was not looking. You kinda just... appeared.  My mom had always said that when the time comes, it would be effortless.  I fell, effortlessly, in love with you.  You made it so easy.  Funny how life is.  We'd met before, but, "weirdos and creeps are single because they're weird and creepy; normal people like us are victims of bad timing", goes the line from one of my fav movies.  I'd never really lingered on the idea that I might have met my "The One" before.  Yes, the thought did cross my mind occasionally - but never lingered.  After all, as my reflections showed, the male friends who'd stuck along the way were all "just good friends".

By the time I realized I was falling for you, I wanted to ask, "What took you so long?"  and, "Where have you been all my life?"  But, apparently, both of us had taken the long way; the broken road that led us into each other's arms.  (See what I did there with my country selections? :-))  It had been such a long way that, by then, I had pretty much given up the idea that this thing beautiful was gonna happen for me.   Speaking of Rascal Flatts' Broken Road:

I set out on a narrow way, many years ago

Hoping I would find true love, along the broken road

But I got lost a time or two

Wiped my brow and kept pushing through

I couldn't see how every sign, pointed straight to you.

Every long-lost dream, led me to where you are

Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars

Pointing me on my way, into your loving arms

This much I know is true,

That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you.

I think about the years I spent just passing through

I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you

But you just smile and take my hand, you've been there you understand

It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true...

Little wonder that I wanted that song for our first dance - before we dove into Buju's Bonafide Love, before we plunged into Nickelback's Gotta Be Somebody!  So glad you obliged - even though I know you don't dig country :-)  But, that was just like you.  You were willing to learn what's important to me and, in no time, began to support me. Gotta admit, it was a tad strange, at first.  So accustomed I had become to doing everything for myself - including trying to rub my own back with Vicks VapoRub (the worst part of being single, by the way) - that it took me a lil while to realize that in my allowing you to help, I was demonstrating my trust.  It takes trust to love.  I felt rather vulnerable offering you my love; my heart, not being quite sure of whether, or how much, you'd care for it.  But, in no time, you showed me that there was no need to fear - not even a little bit.  How wonderful life is, since you entered my world.  There are many songs that are my life, but, you are one of the best songs of my heart.  I sing you every day.

They say you can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle three situations: lost luggage; a rainy day and tangled Christmas tree lights.  Husband, you ace them all.  It's in you to be patient and kind and strong enough to be gentle.  I admire that.  I really admire that.  Oh!  Remember that Easter we spent in Jamaica?  You definitely passed the "cheese test"!  While my sisters and I waited and chuckled, I secretly hoped you would.  You were courting me at the time, and I'd like to think that it wasn't my brother-in-law that gave you the heads up :-)  But, you took it out of the tin - all the way to slicing off a thin piece to make me a bun-and-cheese sandwich.  How cool was that?  If I hadn't known by then, that alone would've told me that you were a keeper.  And, if not by then, you telling me, "I'll do laundry," had to be the clincher!

You are a good man, my love.  And, like the movie line, you make me want to be a kinder...better person; to emulate you in some ways.  Your kindness brings out the best in me; makes me want to do all I can for you- including cook several times a week!  And, look at you, teaching me how to make certain dishes.  Smh...:-)   I admire and respect you and care about you. Remember when we spent six hours and Fifty-four minutes on that first phone call catching up?  We were swapping stories about ex-es and, toward the end, you said stteo: "You don't need to try to impress anybody; you don't have to do anything extraordinary.  You are beautiful.  Just be you - and let him know that you're interested."  I thought, "Hope so, 'cause I can't be anyone else."  I didn't tell you then, but, I misted up a little when you said that.  I kept thinking, "He thinks I'm beau-ti-ful; he thinks I'm fine just as I am.  Just...wow."  To be honest, it hadn't dawned on me then that you had...intentions.  After all, it was just a first convo; you were a good friend saying kind words.  But, we were inseparable after that.  You showed me you loved me and I showed you just how interested I was.  That big chune by Nickelback so rings true:

You can't give up, (when you're looking for)

A diamond in the rough, (because you never know) 
When it shows up, (make sure  you're holding on)
'Cause it could be the one
The one you're waiting on...

I'd always heard about couples who clicked; who just always seemed to be on the same wavelength; who got each other.   You get me.  Oh my goodness.  You have no idea how much that means to me.  Finally, not having to explain the me-niqueness of who I am. And, how precious that you've come to know that I would not hurt you; would not spite you; that, as Proverbs says, your heart can "safely trust in me" so you "shall have no need of spoil";  that I will "do you good and not evil all the days of my life."  And, in your patient way, you helped me to learn you, too.  True, occasionally, "teeth and tongue must meet" as the Jamaican saying goes.  We will, at times, drive each other up the wall.  We've had our spats - our first fight scared me, to be honest - but, we know that those moments don't mean we no longer like each other or are no longer in love with each other.  There's a country song that says stteo:  I love you, I'm just mad at you right now.  Yeah, it's kinda like that.  But, oh, the making-up.  Buju has a line in one of his songs: "But the making up part/Dat is the greatest/Discuss matters over a cup a tea/And kiss and caress."  I enjoy making-up.

I enjoy when we make love.  As in, enjoy.  We honour the divinity in each other when we do.   I had long ago promised myself that when God blesses me with a husband, I would make love to him in a way of wild abandon and worship.  God should look down from Heaven, elbow Jesus in His side, point with His chin and say, "That's my girl!"  You now know that I'm ladylike only in ...every other way. #thatisall.  Oh, by the way, when you kiss me, nothing else in the world matters - at all.

Honey, I wrote the kids. I've written to them telling them that we will both be welcoming them into our love.  I know you're looking forward to taking this next step into fatherhood.  I can tell by your grins; by the way you intercept me on my way to the kitchen, lift my blouse up a little and rest your ear against my tummy.  I can tell by the way you pull over sometimes when we're driving out, put the flashers on, then simply lean over and rest your ear against my tummy.  I don't know what they're telling you - how do you decipher the cacophony? - but, you always come back to me with that look of admiration mixed with anticipation.  In true Nemo's mom's voice, "We're gonna be parents!"  Let's not panic, okay? We'll do our best.  Like I told the children, with the help of God, our extended families and the village, we should be okay.

I love that you love the Lord and that you pray for me.  That gets its own paragraph.

I am proud of you, my love.  You work hard and you achieve your goals.  Yet, in wisdom - and sometimes, plain common sense - you know when to fold 'em and walk away.  The children will find in you a very good role model.  I am happy to support you in your endeavours.  (Well, except for the whole wanting-to-try-mountain-skiing thing.  Yeeeeeaah.  No.  But, I converted you to Monk.  So, sure, I'll think about it.)

My dear hubbidiboo (tell me you aren't knitting your brows at that!  LOL!) Anyway, my love, I was just gonna say I understand that life happens.  That sometimes, as Mary Schmich's essay (popularly known as Wear Sunscreen) says, there is the kind of thing that "blindsides you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday."  I pray that the adversities that may come our way will help make us stronger; love each other thicker and live life fuller.  I pray that, amidst the best, the worst and everything in between, we will have each other and each other's touch; that we will grow old together.  And, that, if we don't depart this weary sod together, the one left here will be blessed with long, fond and comforting memories of the beautiful times we shared.

My dearest love, you think you know, but you have no idea, how much I love you.



Claudia
http://www.cyopro.com/
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Letter to My Sons

My dear sons,

I'm writing this letter the day after Father's Day 2012.  It was the last Father's Day before your arrival.  By this time next year, your dad will be beaming, no doubt!  He has been talking a lot about you guys.  Sure, he's excited about his girls, too.  But, I can tell there's that much more to his anticipation when it comes to you.  Something about teaching you sport and spending quality time.  Ahhh.  Who would've thunk it?  With you four on the way, we'll move from two to six.  Supermix! (As Barry G, Jamaican radio DJ, used to say.)  Well, ummm...we're not a hundred percent sure that we'll have two boys and two girls.  But, I've prayed for that combination for so long, when we saw four, I just knew that my prayers had been answered.  Why two and two?  Well, I started off in my early twenties thinking about a pair - boy and girl.  Then, later on, I was like, it'd be great if the boy had a brother and the girl had a sister.  That was it, really.   No deep thinking.  That'd mean twice the amount of spending but, good thing your father and I are doing well, financially.  We both agreed that it was time for children.  I told him about my long-held desire and that I'd "placed my order".  Well, when the results showed not one, but four, he was far more surprised than I was.  Still, it didn't take us long to adjust.  When you get older, you'll learn I'm a successful writer - I'm working even when I'm "just looking out the window".  Honest.  Your dad?  I could tell you but...not now ;-)    I've gone on quite a bit, haven't I?  I don't even know whether you'd be interested in this stuff.   But, just in case you ever wonder.

Sons, as I wrote to the girls, one of the first things that you should know, that you will come to know, is that I love you.  I have been looking forward to this.  But, may I be honest?  I am terrified!!!!!  Sweethearts, I know nothing, nada, zap, zilch about raising a son - much more two!  Your mommy is a girl.  I grew up with sisters.  So, I kinda have the girl thing - nuances and what not -  down pat.  But, I gotta admit, your mommy is a little scared  - a lot excited and happy, but a little scared.  What do I do with you?  I mean, apart from breast-feeding you and bonding with you, holding you close and smelling your hair, and hushing you when you cry, and singing to you, and bathing you, and changing your diapers - I imagine it will sometimes be in that order - and teaching you how to read and write, and playing in the park with you and protecting you when you're with us and more so when we're out with other people...I...I don't know what to do!  And, it's freakin' me out.  Oh.  Language.  Bad Mommy.  See what I mean!  Oh my goodness!  It's started already.  No, seriously, your mother does not use foul language.  But, words like that are okay for adults... It's complicated.  Okay.  Okay.  I won't panic. 

I mean, I grew up with my father, and he was a boy.  And, I had a few male friends and I have brothers-in-law. And, I have your dad - my sweet hubbidiboo!  (Don't ask, sons.  Really.  I just made that one up and he's sure to give me one of those "Ummm...are you okaaay?" looks when I use it on him.)   But, as I was saying, I've interacted with enough males to have an idea of what to expect and how I should help to raise you.  But, my father and BIL and husband are not sons.  You are sons.   My sons.   And, I want to do right by you.  I really want to help raise you well.  Help.  There's a good word.  I am ever so thankful that your father is right here by my side and will be here as we work together on raising you.  No, we won't split it evenly down the middle in a I'll-take-the-girls-he'll-take-you-guys kind of way.   All of you need each of us and each of you need both of us.  But, well, he will more naturally know how to deal with certain things that concern you because Daddy is a boy. Got it?  Sigh.  Quite frankly, sons, I don't know how some single parents do it.  I shudder at the thought.  This is serious stuff.  I didn't quite get that before but, now that the time draweth nigh, I'm (kinda freakin' out) realizing that this is not a walk in the park on a lovely warm spring day.  This...the older I get, the more I realize I don't know squat.  And, there's a lot of squat to know.  So, anyway, I'm just really happy that he will be here for you - and for me being here for you.  That which I may not be good at covering?  He got this.  And, what he hasn't "got", we'll try to swallow our pride and ask for help.  God's got our backs.  Between Him and the village, we should be okay. 

Sons, about love.  As with the girls, I'm stuck at this part, too.  For, I can tell you so much about love, and being in love, but, you're still gonna have to experience it for yourselves; you're still gonna have to go through the joy and the pain and the bitter-sweetness of fighting and making up and learning and getting stronger and wiser.  Know this, sons:  men's hearts get crushed, too.  And, sometimes, they cry.  I'm not saying this to coddle you.  I'm giving you this heads-up because it is a fact.  Women can and will make your heart hurt.  Bad.  You would never believe that such pain can come from, or be caused by, someone so fair and pretty.  But, it can.  And, unfortunately, it will.  Hopefully, though, those times will be very few.  Try not to lash out in anger, nor be vindictive in your reaction.  That'd make you ugly.   Hindsight is 20/20 but be patient.  Even time takes time.  Don't be afraid to talk to your dad or me about stuff that's bothering you.  We'll be parents first.  If we do this well, in time, we will come to develop a great friendship with you!  When you work, work hard.  When you play, don't work at all.  Treat people the way you would want to be treated.  You will not always get the respect you deserve, but, be the bigger person in those situations.  Love and take care of each other - and your sisters. Be a man of your word, like your dad.  It means everything.  When you love, love thickly.  And, when each of you find your "The One", honour her as someone deserving of the number one position in your life.  Yes, even above me. 

The men in your lives are strong and loving and caring.  They have a few quirks, but, we love them anyway :-)  And, speaking of quirks - and, while we're at it, faults - imagine the day when you find out your mom isn't perfect!  I don't always get it right, sons, but, I always get it done.  Do life!  You will make mistakes.  I won't kill you.  Promise.  But, you must learn from them.  Do not stay down after falling and do not go to bed angry.  "Trust in God but lock your car", as the saying goes.  Trust in God.  Period.  We will try our best to grow you in the fear and admonition of the Lord.  As you grow, your eyes will be more and more on your dad.  He is already aware that you will be watching him; watching how he treats others; how he responds to certain trying situations; how he shows his love to me and to you and your sisters; how he moves in his relationship with God.  Yes, he is already aware and yet, the guy is crazy with anticipation!  No fear there!  Not even a little bit.  Gotta love it.

I love you.


Claudia
http://www.cyopro.com/
www.twitter.com/cyopro

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