have two manual programmes. The first of which is the heavy soil, which T operates admirably.It includes jeans, garden clothes, towels and sheets. I am responsible for the delicates, girly items, underwear and anything that I don't want to be bleached, scrubbed or wrung to death. Before coming to live here, anything requiring hand washing lurked at the bottom of the laundry basket for a period of time, gestating towards annihilation or rejection, until I would risk throwing it in the machine rather than leave it lying there any longer. Initially, I admit, I found hand washing difficult. I had no notion, no desire, no technique. I watched and learned and, gradually I found a rhythm, a system, a liking for the water and the suds, the rinses and the wringing.
It is unlikely that I would feel this way if there was only one programme and I had to wash for three adults and three children, as my sister in law does, but, for the two of us,?
Guyana-Gyal , who is 'taking stock', sowed a welcome seed of thought, on 'oneofthosedays' when the vindictive demon of self doubt, chose to gnaw at, taint and question, everything. By saying that she was "looking forward to hearing about my accomplishments in Grenada" I began to wonder what they were. So often we measure ourselves against others' values, fortune and fame, but, most often, it is the little things that make us whole. So, thanks to my patient teacher, T, here is accomplishment number one. I now know; a spice tree when I see one, how to scrape off the outer bark, pound the inner, not too hard but just enough, so that it is possible to remove the cinnamon, and leave it to dry in the sun.
Just recently I was reminded, by a visitor to this island, of this wall.
I used to drive past here every day without really giving it a second glance.
It has been a long time, yet the image still remains. Right next to this building, a new road and bridge have been built, ironically, with the assistance of the Chinese government, I think. This time in the islands' history is still not openly discussed or taught in schools. 10 men remain in prison and families from all sides are still hurting. The wall, whether or not one agrees with its' sentiment, seems to serve as the only public memorial of that time.
Due to hurried, impromptu, previous, searches, the papers, certificates, documents etc., the proof of who you are, lay, in a disorderly bundle, at the bottom of a plastic storage box. Sifting, sorting and identifying took the best part of a productive day.
I was rewarded by that delightful, if shortlived, feeling, of space and clarity and purpose.
The 'studio' was refreshed and ready.
In amongst everything, I found this little gem. A list of words from a game of Scrabble, played many years ago, when we got bored playing by the rules and gave each other extra points for creativity, using our remaining letters.
Boule- French delicacy, sort of cross between pastry, ice cream and chocolate.
Does not make you feel bloated, helps you slim and tastes delicious.
Burano-Cross between a meercat and a rabbit. Found in deepest forests in Africa.
It can be distinguished from other, similar looking animals by the pink and fluffy area under its' tail.
Seworc-Disease of the big toe, usually the left.
Goicuiey -Ancient art of thatching , as in "Will you please 'goicuiey' my roof for me?'
Tevidiamn- particular make of organ.
Gankoity- the circle in the ice that the Inuit fish through.
This little chap has taken up residence in the breadfruit tree. He appears a little confused with the world right now. Darrel, from Green Withens Birding , tells me the Green Herons he saw here in Grenada, were quite tame. He doesn't seem very bright, the heron that is, not Darrel, but we will get along fine, providing that he limits his appetite to the wood ants and not the lizards. Would have thought he would prefer living down by the river? Perhaps he just likes company.
Sometimes, it takes an image such as this one from NOAA, showing all the storms and hurricanes since 1851, to put things in perspective. Every little line holds a million different stories. Story is healing, when it falls on a listening ear.
A bit slow off the mark today but we only just got our electricity back after our visit from Felix. Now, I know, I should be accustomed to this by now but, well,... I'm not. We're all fine though, and, as far as I can tell, everything is back to normal, except for one or two 'isolated incidents', unless, ofcourse, those 'incidents' were yours -sorry for that.