Left Sunny’s Birdsucker area home, had Blue Mountain pressed coffee at the cafe, took buses up here to a wealthy enclave overlooking Kingston and the harbor. Birds, trees, swimming pool, a few drinks (beer, rum and Pepsi), and Hagen Das coffee ice cream (pilfered from freezer) later, I’m luxuriating in the depravity to which I’m (despicably) accustomed.
It’s Peter Abrakian’s house. He’s a Couchsurfer. Party tonight. Did card reading: spades and diamonds (both 10s = families of warriors and moneyed people), balanced/aided by hearts (the 7 = take a chance on love) and clubs (the 10 = creative family). Peter’s a director, film-maker; party here tonight. Two nights here, then back to Cass’ house.
I stopped at the post office and mailed Bob Marley-stamped post cards back to the U.S. Printed out my T&T ticket at the shop next to Western Union upstairs from Woolworth’s on King Street (by Parade and St. William’s Grandpa’s Park [aka Sir William Grant Park]).
I am reveling in the pastoral setting up here above the helter skelter of the city. The noisy and almost preemptive birds make me feel safe and protected.
- done before others can act: done before somebody else has had an opportunity to act so as to make his or her planned action pointless or impossible
- intended to prevent attack: intended to eliminate or lessen an enemy’s capacity to attack
- discouraging further bidding: in bridge, being so high a bid that it discourages further bidding
I’m just sailing along, after watching about twenty-five episodes of “Keeping Up Appearances” over the last two days, feeling like: a.) I’m changing, growing, and definitely for the better, and b.) all is well.
Dear Peter has Shakespeare’s 29th sonnet on his kitchen wall.
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
from sullen earth) sings hymns at the heaven’s gate:
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That I scorn to change my state with the kings.
Goats and dogs are running around parts of Kingston; the goats around Sunny’s area (Birdsucker, near Barbican) aren’t even tethered, just freely wandering the grassy areas.
Cars are on the left side of the street in Jamaica, British-style. Fundamentalist Rastas live up in the hills. “Yah, Mon” is what everyone says. On Christmas Eve day, on one particularly busy section of Downtown sidewalk, unruffled hairdressers created fantastical hairdos on the heads of young women seated on high stools.
Carib People still exist; Sunny saw one on a bus or something. She couldn’t stand not knowing for sure, but she felt awkward striking up a conversation with the distinctive=looking man. In the end, she just asked him, “Are you a Carib?” He said he was.
Carib (/kærˈɪb/), Island Carib, or Kalinago people, after whom the Caribbean was named, are a group of people who live in the Lesser Antilles islands. They are an Amerindian people whose origins lie in the southern West Indies and the northern coast of South America.
The people spoke either a Carib language or a pidgin, but the Caribs’ regular raids on other groups resulted in so many female Arawak captives that it was not uncommon for the women to speak Kalhíphona, a Maipurean language (Arawakan). In the southern Caribbean, they co-existed with a related Cariban-speaking group, the Galibi. They lived in separate villages in Grenada, Tobago, Saint Lucia, Dominica and St.Vincent.
I added this to Facebook today:
I forgot to include questioning my sexual orientation among my experiments. Yes, I dabbled briefly in lesbianism. Just enough to be able to say, with the certainty born of hands-on experience, that it’s not for me. My cup of tea includes a third leg.
The party went on until about 4 am, and now, before 8 am, Peter and his date, Renee (Jamaican living in Toronto) are laughing in the bedroom. “Sleep is for the weak,” Peter said. He’s a theater person: actor, director, lighting, etc. He lives for it!
I went to the party for a few hours, and it was fun. A DJ mixed the music which was reggae, but not hard-core. Light reggae and pop music, I’d call it. No ganja–a young, professional crowd. Lots of alcohol and friendly people. Chicken, pork, rice, bread and macaroni. Lots of birthday cake left over.
My new mantra is: “That doesn’t bother me.” Amazing how much it helps. Even a few months ago, I couldn’t tolerate loud music and people partying into the wee morning hours; now, it’s fine. That doesn’t bother me! I got this mantra from my teacher, Paula Bussi, who said that to me when I told her I thought I had lice. She’s a gem.
I’m an opinion writer. A piece of opinion writing is also known as an editorial.
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