LIAT

I have been 'LIATED' as they say.

Over the Christmas break I decided to go visit my brother in Fort Lauderdale.  I had to take LIAT to San Juan and connect with Jet Blue.   I was smart enough to leave a long layover in San Juan knowing that LIAT would be late.  I was to leave Dominica at 8AM.  They didn't come to get us in Dominica until 10.  OK. I had time.  They didn't take us to San Juan though, they took us to Antigua. Why? Because the pilot was tired!!!!   Yes he actually got on the intercom and said that.

 OK, with luck I could still make the connection in San Juan.  But no, I didn't get there in time and had to stay overnight in San Juan at my expense.  OK. I got a flight out of Antigua to San Juan the next morning and  Jet Blue got me on an early flight to Fort Lauderdale.  I had a good holiday with my brother.  

Now I had to get back to Dominica.  Jet Blue to San Juan, no problem. LIAT to Antigua - Dominica.  We left Antigua late and arrived in Dominica, but did not land The pilot said it is too windy to land, the plane cannot handle it and off we went back to Antigua. The people on the ground waiting for us to land watched the plane overhead.   LIAT put us up in Antigua and took us home the next day, minus some luggage.

This is a true story.  I am happy to report that I was very Zen about the whole thing

LIAT: Lord, I Am Terrified

         Luggage Is At Terminus

         Leaving In Another Time

Jojo

RIP Josephine Etienne.

Thanks for the pear juice.
I  hope they play cricket where you are


See 3/22/14 Notes From Sea View Restaurant

Older Ladies

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4QzHeUE-CM

HAPPENINGS

Here are some little stories for your entertainment.

Yesterday Carol, a Ross U spouse and friend,  had to appear in court for a minor traffic mishap. The proceedings were recorded, by the judge, by hand!  They were asked  to stop every once in awhile so he could catch up!  No tape recorder, never mind a person, other than the judge to write down who said what. This is a true story.


I took a small package to the post office to send to Peter. I had it nicely addressed and sealed for its journey to Canada. The little post office guy demanded that I open it. Why? I questioned. So we can see what is in it. I coolly looked him in the eye (not easy here as they avoid eye contact) and answered, "It is none of your business what is in it. The contents will be listed on the customs sticker.  Its contents are the problem of the receiving post office, not yours." We went back and forth for a bit. The post master got involved and my package went off intact.

Ross University is constructing a large new building.  An American firm is doing the work and have hired  local workers.  Many of these workers have long locks which they pile on top of their head or bind under a kerchief.  There is an issue with how to perch your hard hat on top of your hair.  The American safety officer is insisting the hard hat fit snug to the head, the construction workers are saying, "impossible."  Dominicans are very fussy about their hair.

DATURA

                           

SPEAKING DOMINICAN

Muddah                                               Mother

Fahdah                                                 Father

Come awhile                                      come here now

Just now                                              Wait a minute

Irie                                                         Good

Tanks                                                    Thanks

Portsmouf                                          Portsmouth

Fig                                                          Banana

Pear                                                       Avocado

where you be?                                 Where are you?              

I dere wi                                              Right here

Bobul                                                    A corrupt person

Fockeries                                             Foolishness
meg                                                      skinny

WET

Let's talk about being wet, constantly, inextricably, relentlessly wet.  Not damp, or humid, just wet - all the time. It's one's own juices that render one wet all over all the time.  Certainly it rains hard and often and you will get caught on the wrong side of the street where there is no overhang for shelter, but that is not the wet I am talking about.  From that you will dry quickly. The sun will blast forth and dry everything except YOU. I am talking about sweat.  

Your eyeballs sweat and you feel like you are crying; the soles of your feet sweat and you slid off your shoes.  The elastic in your bra rots and your underwear, no matter how scanty is your panty, gets wet and stays wet! The striking sun does not dry your person, it makes it wetter. You may go into a building that is air conditioned only to now be clammy and wet!

I guess they don't call it the rain forest for nothing.

And I would rather be hot and wet than cold and bundled up.

Morne Diable - an active volcano

WOMEN OVER FIFTY

As I grow in age, I value women who are over fifty most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:

A woman over fifty will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, “What are you thinking?” She doesn’t care what you think.

If a woman over fifty doesn’t want to watch the game, she doesn’t sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it’s usually something more interesting.

A woman over fifty knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of forty give a hoot what you might think about her or what she’s doing.

Women over fifty are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won’t hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.

Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it’s like to be unappreciated.

A woman over fifty has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn’t trust the guy with other women. Women over fifty couldn’t care less if you’re attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won’t betray her.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over fifty. They always know.

A woman over fifty looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women. Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over fifty is far sexier than her younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They’ll tell you right off if you are a jerk, if you are acting like one! You don’t ever have to wonder where you stand with her.

Yes, we praise women over fifty for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it’s not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of fifty-plus, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some twenty-two-year-old waitress.

Found somewhere on the internet - this, together with Maya Angelo's statement on what every woman should have, is truth!

Walking into Portsmouth

I walk to Portsmouth from Glanvillia and back at least once a day, a short 15 minute jaunt  that usually takes 20 to 25 minutes. Usually the sky is high, and bright and intensely blue, by 9AM the sun is already striking and it is 80 degrees  F.  My morning trip goes like this.

After I clang the gate behind me,  the first   thing I pass is Angie's bread hut. 

Usually there are people leaning over the counter chatting with Angie and buying  their morning loaf.  They wave a cheery good morning and wish me a 'blessed day'.  The hut faces an abandoned building which houses several generations of little screech owls who sit on the wire across the road at night, screeching, and  keeping the rat population under control.  The building is on posts I can smell the goats who sheltered there over night.

I continue on, past Obiah's shop, more good morning wishes,  down to the corner.  But first I must pass Sono's beloved boat "Capri", rotting away at the side of the road.  I apologize to it and give it a tap. 

At the intersection, on the left is the 'public convenience', toilets and a shower.  If I am going to Picard, (the other direction), this is also the bus stop!  There are always 3 or 4 rum soaked denizens lounging on the steps drinking their breakfast.   They call to me, "Dahlin' you good?"  "Madam, you lookin' pretty", "Baby, have a bless day".  I return the greeting with a smile and a wave and turn right around Cherry Tree Bar, from whence their rum is dispensed!

So now I have the ocean on my left and I am headed directly into Portsmouth.  I walk along Glanvillia Bay remembering my happy days there with Sono,  and always checking to see who has gone to sea today, what boats are on their mooring, and of course acknowledging whoever happens to be sitting there under the almond trees on the beach.

I pass Woody's Pizza, Ma Parson's shop, 2 little Spanish taverns, the huge gas station and the Bank.

The Tourist building

Next comes the tourist office across the road on the  beach,  the Indian River men hustling tourists,  the bridge and the 'canash', the mouth of the River where the boats are tied. I know these men.  They will always  acknowledge me, but rarely call out or wave, a rather dour lot unless they have tourists under their wing!   I look to see if  Gregory is there.  I will stop and sit with him on my way home at the end of the day.  Now I cross the Indian River Bridge.  I look up the River to see who is rowing with a boat load of tourists.  For some reason they will wave and call to me now, from their boat, with tourists there! Crossing the Bridge is like changing zones.  On the other side is Portsmouth and the vibes are different!

west side facing the ocean

east side looking up the River

So on to bustling Burrows Square. Loud, noisy, crowded, dusty.  It is the bus terminal.  Buses coming in from Vielle Case, Thibaud, Dos D'Ane, Bourne, Paix Bouche stop here and buses to Roseau start here.  The square is crowded and the buses drivers are hustling passengers.  They don't leave Burrows Square until they are full although they could pick up passengers on the way.  " Cucumber" (coo-cum-bah)  comes dashing and calling across the street to me to see if I need a bus.  The drivers are all calling, "Madam, Madam, goin' Roseau? Leaving right away." (not true).  ( see blog below "Riding the Buses"). I trip  over the feet of the men sitting on the steps of Miss Olive's  shop, all greet me lustily!  Just a few steps and I stop to chat with Michael, (known as Soul) the shoemaker at his stall just outside Douglas'.  Sometimes McDowell is there and comes out to say good morning.

Michael "Soul"

The next few blocks can bring anything!  I pass Rudolph Thomas hard ware, Mini Cash where I buy electric power and top up my phone, pass and hail (as they say here) several acquaintances, fist bumps along the way, wave to Jennifer in her Salon, look to see if Sea View restaurant is open yet, maybe stop in at the Internet Cafe to get something for school photocopied,  greet the Rasta selling local homemade juice, and on to the Market area and CALLS. Right on the corner , under a big mango tree are several vegetable stalls.  Phillip has the best grapefruit, pink and sweet and juicy!  Into the CALLS courtyard, hello to Rosemary in the laundry and up stairs to see what adventures wait for me there!

A wonderful way to start the day!  Who wouldn't love this!