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Re: Coming In From The Cold...an unremarkable trip report
The next command comes down from General Moms, and I’m off to pick up Verna, a close family friend. Verna has a laugh that is contagious and I’m in stitches the entire drive back home. Soon, she’s in the kitchen with Moms cooking up a storm. Coconut gets grated to add to the rice and peas. Bread pudding gets its finishing touches. The curry chicken is…well, currying… During a break, I catch Verns (as we call her) checking out some of Moms books, while Mom does her best “Oprah’s book club” presentation, picking out select choices for Verns to read.
Jamaica holds many memories for me, but my memories of Ocho Rios are those of a three year old child, and extremely limited. I remember riding my tricycle around the yard. I remember my first attempt to drive a car, when at three, while parked on a hill with Dad inside purchasing hard dough bread (no doubt for Moms…), I yanked the steering wheel on his Lincoln (the first one imported to Jamaica) and sent it careening down the hill into a wall. Unfortunately these are my only memories from the only period in my life when my mother and father actually lived together. Verna was a close friend of my dad and became close to mom when they moved to Ocho Rios.
I cherish being around her, because she sees in me, my father, and often regales me with stories of their adventures in the old days… Some of her favorite memories are of dad pulling up in the big Lincoln and yelling out “Verns, come mek wi go lick some a the whites!” And when she tells me these stories, I reflect deeply, and longingly for my father, now 5 years deceased. He was a good man, and I don’t say that because I’m his son and every son wants to be proud of his father. I have yet to meet anyone who has had an ill word to speak against my father. It’s the reverence and respect in my grandmother’s voice when she refers to him. It’s the quiver in Verna’s voice when I open the passenger door to let her in, and she pauses and looks at me and says, “[y]ou is a gentleman, just like your daddy.” I pray that I never dishonor that man’s name…
With Verna and Moms deeply engrossed in Grisham’s latest legal theory, I step outside for a stroll around the house. It’s my last full day, and somehow being in the house is just not the lick – know weh mi mean!? I still have no clue what this flower is, but I am clearly intrigued by it. It’s the only one of its kind in the yard, and this is my second pic of it:
Flowers are all over the place, and I spot this beauty hanging out by itself on the branch of a tree:
Just in case I don’t get another sip of coconut water…
Now, one of Mom’s neighbors has the most stunning display of flowers I have ever seen growing in the wild. The guy’s front gate could serve as a flower shop. The colors are so brilliant, I can’t resist a few pics. Looking at them now, I curse myself for not having the eye of Nina, or the talent of fOrTyLeGz…
A dread comes flying (well actually struggling) up the hill and I hail him up as he finally reaches level ground and almost as if on cue Bob pops into my head, singing
“ride natty ride
go deh dready, go deh
go deh, go deh!”
Night envelopes me quickly and before long I realize it’s party time. I take one last look down the street as darkness descends, realizing that I won’t see this view again for a while…
I tear myself away and head inside to hit the shower and get ready for the big bashment.
The next command comes down from General Moms, and I’m off to pick up Verna, a close family friend. Verna has a laugh that is contagious and I’m in stitches the entire drive back home. Soon, she’s in the kitchen with Moms cooking up a storm. Coconut gets grated to add to the rice and peas. Bread pudding gets its finishing touches. The curry chicken is…well, currying… During a break, I catch Verns (as we call her) checking out some of Moms books, while Mom does her best “Oprah’s book club” presentation, picking out select choices for Verns to read.
Jamaica holds many memories for me, but my memories of Ocho Rios are those of a three year old child, and extremely limited. I remember riding my tricycle around the yard. I remember my first attempt to drive a car, when at three, while parked on a hill with Dad inside purchasing hard dough bread (no doubt for Moms…), I yanked the steering wheel on his Lincoln (the first one imported to Jamaica) and sent it careening down the hill into a wall. Unfortunately these are my only memories from the only period in my life when my mother and father actually lived together. Verna was a close friend of my dad and became close to mom when they moved to Ocho Rios.
I cherish being around her, because she sees in me, my father, and often regales me with stories of their adventures in the old days… Some of her favorite memories are of dad pulling up in the big Lincoln and yelling out “Verns, come mek wi go lick some a the whites!” And when she tells me these stories, I reflect deeply, and longingly for my father, now 5 years deceased. He was a good man, and I don’t say that because I’m his son and every son wants to be proud of his father. I have yet to meet anyone who has had an ill word to speak against my father. It’s the reverence and respect in my grandmother’s voice when she refers to him. It’s the quiver in Verna’s voice when I open the passenger door to let her in, and she pauses and looks at me and says, “[y]ou is a gentleman, just like your daddy.” I pray that I never dishonor that man’s name…
With Verna and Moms deeply engrossed in Grisham’s latest legal theory, I step outside for a stroll around the house. It’s my last full day, and somehow being in the house is just not the lick – know weh mi mean!? I still have no clue what this flower is, but I am clearly intrigued by it. It’s the only one of its kind in the yard, and this is my second pic of it:
Flowers are all over the place, and I spot this beauty hanging out by itself on the branch of a tree:
Just in case I don’t get another sip of coconut water…
Now, one of Mom’s neighbors has the most stunning display of flowers I have ever seen growing in the wild. The guy’s front gate could serve as a flower shop. The colors are so brilliant, I can’t resist a few pics. Looking at them now, I curse myself for not having the eye of Nina, or the talent of fOrTyLeGz…
A dread comes flying (well actually struggling) up the hill and I hail him up as he finally reaches level ground and almost as if on cue Bob pops into my head, singing
“ride natty ride
go deh dready, go deh
go deh, go deh!”
Night envelopes me quickly and before long I realize it’s party time. I take one last look down the street as darkness descends, realizing that I won’t see this view again for a while…
I tear myself away and head inside to hit the shower and get ready for the big bashment.
:love: goodnight Napi - sleep tight!
.... that is it exactly, isn't it??
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