WISHED I HAD A PLAYMATE

Well, well, well, wishes do come through.
A new neighbor moved into our yard! My wish for a playmate was granted. I am pleased. Betty, was a bit younger than me. She was around 6 yrs.old. I was 7. We had lots of fun, together.

We even played house and school. We played doctor with our dolls. Mine was a blown-up Santa clause. Remember my doll, Baby, was destroyed?

We even experimented, playing out the roles of mommy and daddy. That ended abruptly, due to my own natural response. I felt a shock and jumped! Frightened, we vowed to never do that again.

That afternoon, my paternal gramma, and a couple of the neighbors, got together to loudly discuss what happened to two littler girls who played mommy-daddy games. But, they played with a broom, and wound up in the hospital.

Looking back, I can see that they watched us play and just wanted to scare us.
(see upcoming book for details)

A LESSON IN LIFE

Living as a small child in Jamaica with my paternal grandmother was a lesson in life I will never forget. I learned certain truths. What was someone Else's was not mine to give away or share.
I learned to respect other people's property. I learned it the hard way the first time.

Grandmother and I had a pleasant visit with our next door neighbor. Eating, drinking and sharing laughter with simple conversations. The news neighbors discussed and so forth.

The night passed swiftly for the first time in a long time. Remember, we only had a radio to ease the stillness of our evenings back then. For me, a seven year old without a playmate the woman's visit was a relief.

To show my gratitude, I did the unthinkable. As our friendly neighbor was about to leave for the night, she commented on a picture on our wall above the bed. "That is a beautiful picture, Ms. Spence." That was all I needed to hear when I responded, "I will give it to you since you like it."

Unaware that my grandmother did not care to share, I was shocked to receive a fine flogging that lasted forever, it seemed. When she was through, I had the awful task of going next door to bring back her picture. "Go now and bring back my picture!"

No sooner than after one knock, the door opened. "Here, take it back, I heard everything." I didn't have to explain. The wooden walls were thin.

Once a sharing child, always a caring adult. I still share. That won't change.

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.yardflex.com/archives/crying.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.yardflex.com/archives/003222.html&usg=__Ilw3mqEOg51qMcq4oSfawDlRo30=&h=321&w=400&sz=25&hl=en&start=577&um=1&tbnid=6ahZoJkE4DzIMM:&tbnh=100&tbnw=124&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcrying%2Bchild%26ndsp%3D20%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26start%3D560%26um%3D1

SPOTLESS OR ELSE!

OUR HOME WAS IMMACULATE.

I received one of my most memorable beatings one day when I decided to do chores after playing.

It was a beautiful day. Trees swaying in the sun. Birds softly chirping. When after-school neighbors gathered together just to play. Not one of us was older than age eight. I must have been about 7 years old.

We had a good time playing shop and house. We even found a good sized box to use as the bus.

Each of us took turns as the bus-driver who pulled the box from one imaginary bus stop to another.

We bought and sold dirt goods, from our friendly shop keeper and paid for it with little stones. I even had my turn as shop-keeper. I wrapped the imaginary rice and flour in the brown paper we tore from brown paper bags. All this time we played in the big shady back yard, until late in the day.

Finally, reality took over when I heard my sister, Yvonne, calling. "Dorreth!!!!!!!!!"

That beating changed my life. From that day forward, Cleaning my home came first and all other activities took a back seat.

If only we could still pay for real food and services with stones, life would be just dreamy!

A bit rough riding around on our bottoms inside a card-board box from place to place, though (LOL)!

CHURCH DRESS

I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE IN MY BEAUTIFUL DRESS, because the other children in our neighborhood did not own one as beautiful as it.

Complete with crynoline, satin and lace. I loved that my momma, sent me such a dress, yet I felt almost ashamed to be wearing it in front of others who were less fortunate.

I never wanted to feel like I was onstage. I hated the stares as my grandmother and I went by, on our way to church.

Embarassed? Yes, I was! She was always dressed up, but this was new to me.

It was nice to go to church, but the services were long and predictable.

BED WETTING NOT ALLOWED

It was in the middle of the night, when I felt a warm and wet feeling beneath me! I was ashamed when I wet the bed. However, nothing compared to what happened next.

"You are seven years old, how can you be wetting the
bed? The next time you wet the bed young lady, you will sleep on the
floor!!"

I took a good long look at the hard wood floor. Dismayed. I thought to myself, I will wee-wee before bedtime from now on.


I hurried off the bed from my spot in the corner, against the wall. I hurriedly changed the sheets, while listening to my grand-mother.


She eventually chipped in and gave me an extra towel to rest under my bottom to prepare for my next accident. I never wet the bed again. I awoke every hour, on the hour to check under myself. That was the longest night for many years to come.

To this day I cannot sleep through the night.


Bed-wetting
(Enuresis; Primary Nocturnal Enuresis; PNE)
by Debra Wood, RN

Definition
Bed-wetting is involuntary urination during sleep in children over age five. Typically around ages 3 to 5 years, children become able to sleep through the night without wetting. While infection or anatomic abnormalities of the urinary system may explain bed-wetting at night, most cases have no explanation and are referred to by doctors as primary nocturnal enuresis (PNE).

Causes
When children are sleeping, the bladder may signal the brain that it is full. But the brain must return a signal for the bladder not to empty. Then the child must wake up and go to the bathroom.
Causes of bed-wetting are varied and may overlap. Contributing factors include:
Bladder control that develops more slowly than normal
Greater than average urine production at night
Genetic predisposition
A sleep disorder, sometimes related to enlarged tonsils or adenoids
http://www.aurorahealthcare.org/yourhealth/healthgate/getcontent.asp?URLhealthgate=%2212021.html%22

STICK FIGURES ARE NOT REAL

My first attempt at drawing, was a bare stick figure.

Studying it after I completed the drawing, I thought that people did not look like that.

I thought; I will do a better picture, tomorrow. I drew another picture the following day, with two sticks for each limb. Now, this' more like real people, ...practice makes perfect. I thought to myself.

Alone, outside our cottage while gram-ma was out, I did a lot of thinking.

Well, after all my chores were done and I was exhausted from trying to catch grass quicks, and humming birds in the garden (small birds).

Mischievous? Yes! I had to stay busy or suffer boredom.

Until, a new family moved into our yard with a playmate.

More on my playmate in the upcoming bio.

SEVEN YEAR OLD HOUSEKEEPER?

Yes. I started making the bed every morning according to gram ma's specifications.

"Make sure there is not even one wrinkle, I should be able to bounce a penny off
that bed....you know that so-n-so's, little girl is younger than you and she
makes the bed like that."

Her bed had rolled pillows that made it look fancy.

Her bed was so big it felt like I was climbing up onto a bus. To reach the far corner-side, I had to climb across the center. Still, all the while she made it clear that there were to be no wrinkles.


I followed her instructions on rolling the pillows and placing them, so they appeared to be truly round. That was a tough challenge, but I liked the outcome.


Washing my ribbons and socks after school every weekend was one of my chores. I did it without ceremony, but it was a short lived respite from near boredom.


Before she came home one day, I got through with all my housekeeping, and decided to fill my time with my own desires.

I searched and found a pencil and piece of paper, to draw something. I drew my first person.
It was a stick figure.

Visit my online gallery, now: http://www.artandolls.com/

MY FIRST FAINTING SPELL

My first fainting spell was a good thing because it was a turning point, that lead to my cooking at seven years old.

It was a lazy Sunday morning, when I awoke late to find myself alone at Gram ma's. She had left earlier that morning. Returning at about 10am, to find me unconscious on the floor.

I felt dizzy, my head throbbed.....I was nauseous. I was shivering and tingling with goose-bumps all over my body, as the room whirled around me. The floor started to come up to me faster and faster, until I couldn't stop it from slamming into my face. BANG!!! .....I was gone.

The next thing I knew, I was getting slapped in my fuzzy, tingly face. My entire body felt cold and light, almost as if I were an invisible person disconnected from my physical body.

Gram ma, shouted my name repeatedly "Dorrett... Dorrett!! All the while slapping my tingly face with ice cold water. When I opened my eyes she asked with a relief in her voice "Did you eat anything when you woke up this morning?" I answered weakly, "No mommy." Her response, "You mean to tell me that a big girl like you don't know, to make yourself a little breakfast?" ( I was 7yrs. old) I tried to answer but my parched cracked lips wouldn't part, ...I was speechless.

She scolded, "Well, from now on I want you to start making a little breakfast when you wake up in the mornings."

This blog represents some of the bones of my upcoming book.
Details housekeeping coming up, next!
Please leave feedback. Thanks!

MY FIRST MOVIE

This is not my real grandmother's picture. (This picture looks so much like her-representational purpose, only)

Grandmother (daddy's mother) took me to see my first movie. She loved to get dressed up and go out. I loved the big-screen. However, she told me to cover my eyes during the scary scenes.


On my second visit, gra-ma had moved to another home. She enrolled me in a local school near her. It was a short bus-ride away, near Busta Mante park (details in book).


I was anxious, to learn how to read, because I wanted to know what the cartoons were saying in the Sunday paper. Within two weeks, I was reading the comic strips. Yes, I was pleased.


Her new place was set in a huge yard with separate little attached homes, with a court-yard in the center of it (layout drawing in upcoming bio). As you enter her new home, from the gate; on the right side is an L shaped veranda. Then leading down a long path to a little cottage straight ahead. In front of it was a flower garden.


Across from which was another garden, alongside the veranda on the right side as you walk down into the yard. Towards the rear of the courtyard there was a separate cottage where lived a beautiful, dark skinned lady by herself. Behind her little home were huge, towering trees that extended from behind an old fence.


To the right of the courtyard, were different convenience rooms in a row along a plain concrete veranda with wooden posts that held up the roof. Unlike the front veranda with its shiny, polished tile floor. The convenience rooms were bathroom, kitchen, toilet room, shower room(detail in upcoming book).


There was even a one-room apartment where lived a fat blind grandmother.

I felt sorry that she was often left isolated in her dark room. So I often visited her to keep her company and entertained with small talks. Her relatives would sometimes take her to the center of the court-yard for sunning, or set her outside her room in a rocking-chair.



Gramma, seemed to move back and forth a lot. I remember, her moving from the one-room home with the big veranda to the two-room cottage across from us facing the front gate, and back again, in that same yard. Anyway, I took on the job of watering the gardens at that home. I remember feeding left-over rice to wild birds, daily. Then trying like a cat, to catch them as they ate.


On one occasion, I remember gramma's friend speaking with her about me, "Mrs. Harris, your grand daughter's hair needs cutting, so she can put on weight!" Gramma's response was, "Oh, no, she is just a picky eater." The woman enquired about my age, "Then how old is she, about eight? " (I felt upset that she guessed me to be older!) Gramma said, "No... about 7 years old." The woman remarked, "She is tall for her age, but Lord the hair is sucking her, you have to cut it, so she will gain some weight." What you use on it, Castor oil? "No, nothing but Vaseline, Castor oil is too stink."


The weight of my thick un-straightened plats (braids), laid on my chest and down my back like ropes. For church my hair was platted in two, with the front half combed back from my face, over the plat behind my head, and adorned with ribbons.



I guess my delicate frame, gentle oval face and big almond eyes, made me look as if my hair was getting all the nutrition.


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Thanks

SCHOOL AND WORK IN AMERICA

I have started my auto-biography; A Jamaican Princess.
I lived in Jamaica until I came to America at age 13. I am 52yrs. old, but I look like I am 29.



I survived a servantile youth. Continued to serve my mother, Brother and sister,

after coming to America. I landed my second baby-sitting job at age 14, in America.



I found my third job, working at The U.S. Trust Co. on Wall Street during my second year of high school. During my third year, I pursued my acting career and went on a few auditions , one was at the Apollo theater, in NYC. I had dreams of becoming a successful actress, and saving myself for marriage. However, I had to move out on my own during my fourth year of high school. I supported myself by caring for a mentally retarded teen aged girl. Somehow I maintained high grades and stayed on the "college-bound" list at Erasmus Hall, H.S.



From 1972 to 1975, I attended The Little Theatre school while I was in high school. During this time I learned Marshal Arts as a means of defending myself from school bullies (details that lead to that-in book). At 23 yrs. old I attended Brooklyn college. During my first year of college, I worked as a portrait artist and stripper in order to pay for my living expenses.



I remember investing my rent money to pay for a spot in the Flatbush indoor-flea-market in B'klyn. It was during this time that I met Steve, and agreed to get married. That was a major mistake, that hurt me badly. I trusted him.



I went from dire poverty as a child to owning my own home. I am a portraitist/Publisher.

LINK: DISCIPLINING CHILDREN-JAMAICA

Dorreth Witt http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3256/2753851064_8325a911bb.jpg%3Fv%3D0&imgrefurl=http://flickr.com/photos/barrybar/2753851064/&usg=__cHJMcfrzj-QO-yoNIv4-mdcV6is=&h=500&w=456&sz=163&hl=en&start=66&um=1&tbnid=DBgppKV9BZyETM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=119&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dwhipping%2Bchild%2BJamaica%2BWI%26ndsp%3D20%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26start%3D60%26um%3D1

THE SEARING BELT WHISTLED

My paternal-grandmother's visits, usually ended with me going to stay with her a while. That meant separation from my beloved brother, Orien. Spending long visits with her was like being cast off on an island, by myself. A sentencing to me. There was no one to play with there. Scary nights... (details in upcoming book).




She was a high society opera singer who seemed to go to church almost daily, even at night.


She was fair-skinned, with short-cut baby-fine hair, so she visited the beauty parlor weekly to curl it. She had a double chin, thin nose with flared nostrils. Her reading glasses were a bejeweled cat shape on the outer corners. She was well endowed up-front but her dress flopped-inward behind her. She was always dressed up in perfume, pearls and fancy dresses. Lace and sequins. She wore medium heeled, pointy-toe shoes, with seem-stockings on her slender legs (remember those half stockings that women, with the seam down the back, that were worn with garters)? She had a double chin and a thin nose with flared nostrils. She never left home without her hat, lace gloves and icy-mint candies.

Yes, her fine taste led to the fine china I ate from, everyday.

Yvonne, always sent me to stay with her a while. By the time I was seven, I stayed with her long enough to attend the local school where she lived. Very distressing.




I resented having to get separated from my younger brother though. "Dorrett, come get yourself ready to go spend some time with grandmother." Said my sister.


I would arrive at grand mother's neat, two-room efficiency home. Nice looking, atop a slight hill off the side-walk. with steps leading up to its quaint little porch. She always lived in cottage-like homes. Complete with roses and other flowers adorning the sides of the veranda (porch).



It is not that grandmother, was not nice to me, it was more my separation from Orien, that saddened me, so. On my first stay with her, she made it clear to me where we stood. "Dorrett, you must call me mommy, never grandmother."

My poor appetite grew worse with those visits. Grandmother tried to take good care of me, which I was not accustomed to. Oh boy did she pour on the "Betty"sweet-cream. I remember the picture of a small girls face on the can. Still, I would've been happier with my brother, Orien.



We were off to a bad start from the first visit. When she referred to daddy(her son) as my father, I told her, "He is not my real father." (details in book). I might as well have committed suicide at that moment.


That statement earned me my first beating from her. That was an experience, I will never forget. Each lick indelibly burned into my memory, as it welted my skin. Lash after lash, the searing belt whistled (wiss-wiss!). My wails for mercy went unheeded "I am dead now!" I cried "murder!" I stumbled throughout the tiny apartment with the physical woman towering over my small frame. I was like a drunk trying to gain his stance during a ship-wreck. She was like a monster from a sci-fi, movie. My flailing arms offered no protection from the all-over strikes.



Beating a child in Jamaica, meant that the screaming child was guilty of a wrong-doing. That scouring (beating) was accepted. Afterwards, she prepared and served me a bowl of hot oatmeal (yuck). I had trouble swallowing it, because of the angry lump in my throat, that hurt. Between every gingerly spoonful, I took hiccuped sobs of breath. I was around six years old.

These are just the bones for my upcoming book. Enjoy!

Please, take a moment to tell me how you like this blog.

PRESENTS FROM ABROAD

Momma was the best at caring for us from afar. She worked two jobs to pay for our gifts and still support herself back in England.

She wanted us (not the neighbors), to enjoy the fruits of her labor. However, Yvonne, shared the parcel. Neighbors gathered every time we opened our parcels.

"Vonne, you mumma rich, inna England, look pon de big box!"

Another chimed in, "Mek we see weh she sen fi-u."

Neighbors were free to dip in and help themselves to whatever they wanted, first.

I loved the unusual gifts, like peanut butter! Delicious!

Most importantly, momma sent us basic necessities. Soap-on-a-rope(unusual), among other things we could not purchase in Jamaica. Clothes and shoes. All the things she thought we needed to make life better on a daily basis.

Momma worked hard in England to send her love to us. She even sent us spending money. Don't ask what they did with it or how that was divvied (divided) up. I was just a six year old.

"Dis shoes, nice! ...Lorks-King! ...Vann, gimmie dis, no?"

Anyway, mommy sent smart toys for Orien and me. I received my first baby-doll. It was an arm-full, with sleeping eyes. I named her Baby. She slept safe in my arms the first night. On the big bed in the front room, with Yvonne, Tony and Stafford.

The very next day, one of the neighbors from the yard asked Yvonne to let her little girl borrow my baby. It was returned days later with the head cracked down the center, and the eyes knocking around inside of it. I was hurt.

CONTINUED: NIGHTMARES

NIGHTMARES

My brother and I hated going to sleep during the day, because we enjoyed playing.


But, big sister, Yvonne, always made us take a nap at noon. Right after lunch.

Nap time was essential to keeping order and mellowing us out.


I can remember, one-day when my younger brother, Orien, was shadow boxing. I accidentally walked into his punch as I entered the back door from the dark corridor. My stomach was cramping, as I fell to the floor, doubled over in pain. He was a sturdy boy. Healthy. That was, the first of two times, he received a beating from Yvonne (that I know of). He was lucky.

At six, I watch her wistfully as she did chores. Hoping I would get a chance at that broom. Then one day I got my chance. What a fateful thing. I soon learned why? Explained, when I get to that chapter.

At night we slept in pitch darkness, unless the home had moon-light shining in through the windows. Back then we slept with windows and doors open.

In the middle of the night when it was pitch black, I experienced nightmares that drove me to leave the cot my brother and I *shared. I'd run to join the older siblings on the big bed, in the big front room. Other times, I was too afraid to leave with my body, so I would express from my body and leave the room through *astral or etheric projection. I knew instinctively how to eject when I felt afraid enough. I was innocent, then.

*We slept head and tail-my head by his feet and visa-versa. Otherwise we would not have fit comfortably on the narrow cot.

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astral_projection

MOVING TO A TWO-ROOM HOUSE

Daddy's second of many moves. Was the home next door to the Veranda(front porch) kindergarten. It was not as roomy as the previous one, where momma left us on her way to England. It had a sprawling veranda where we entered a large front room, which led to the second and smaller room, with a back door that opened to a short dark corridor.

The front room was large where we placed daddy's big bed. Yvonne, 17; Tony 16;
and Stafford 15, slept there together, when daddy was not home. As far as I can
remember; it was crowded.

Just outside the back corridor was the entrance on the right to the community kitchen. Next to it, one facility after the other were the shower room, then the wash-room, and so forth, down the line with the toilet room, last.

From these rooms one could enter from the back yard. which was an open-space. You could see the string of connected one-room rented homes across the yard. In the center they were connected by clothes lines. Off to the back was a fenced-in, pet Mule.

This home must have been haunted, because it was there that I experienced fear for the first time. So many nightmares...

WAS IT A GALLOPING MULE, OR WHAT?

Life was sometimes too exciting for us.

Indelibly, printed in our minds were the thunderous gallop of a mule gone wild! He was kept in a fenced-in part of the back property. Beyond our general yard with its clothes lines and so forth. But every so often, we would hear shouts that he was "loose!." Everyone, except the owner, would run inside and slam their doors shut.

Terrified? Yes, we were. It would not be long before the poor creature would be forced back behind his fence again. He looked so bored, as he would just lumber about with his head hung down. Looking back, I feel he needed that periodic escape.

Even back at that tender age of maybe, six, I felt such empathy for animals. I'm sure my kind brother felt the same way too.

MY FIRST VISIT TO A DENTIST

After my father, sister and brothers left for the day. We were on our own as usual.

My tooth hurt so badly, that I walked two doors to the corner from home, where I asked a stranger for directions to the doctor for my tooth ache. "Mr. can you please tell me where to find a doctor for my tooth?" He replied. "You need a dentist. The closest dentist is about a mile from here. You can go left down this road, and when you get to the corner, make a right and go...."

The sun was so hot, there appeared to be water in a distance on the road.
After double checking the directions with a different stranger, I finally made it to the dentist. There was a thick crowd of people on a long line, when I arrived. After I waited for what seemed like all-day, the doctor looked at my teeth and told me to return in the morning, because the clinic was closing.

The following day I returned to find, another thick, long line. When it was my turn, the dentist sat me up on a big black chair and pulled my tooth. He used no Novocaine. It took a while for him to extract the tightly rooted tooth. Then he sent me home with cotton packed in, where the tooth used to be.

A BURNING HUNGER

There is nothing like a burning hunger.

It drove us to risk a terrible beating, if we were ever found out, when our folk got home.

Hunger is a drive that has no shame. It distinguishes neither one from the other.

Sometimes, at the end of a long dusty day of play, we were so hungry. We watched wistfully as Synthia, our teen-aged neighbor washed dishes outside, by her family's pickup truck.

She cleaned her pots and tossed the scrapings(*bun-bun) to wild birds. Until she started giving it to us. We usually ate it, as she did dinner dishes after her parents left for their evening walk.

*Bun-bun was burnt-on scrapings from her pots that were soaking as she cleaned her dishes. Sometimes, she would scrape the burned on rice from inside the bottom of the pot with her hands and give it to us. We gladly ate it, because hunger made it delicious.

What she demanded of us in return for the bun-bun, was......

Synthia's demands will be declared in my upcoming book.

TO SCHOOL OR NOT TO SCHOOL?

I was too young for the school when I was about five yrs. old, but after my incident with the bike, it was OK. So, the teacher who held a front porch kindergarten school next door, must have had a talk with my folk about signing me on.

For a few Shillings(English currency) a week, I was booked into school.

However, my brother was now left alone to his own device. I was just next door. Across the fence on a crowded front porch. I can only surmise, now, that the teacher saw my accident with the bicycle that fateful day we shot across the street in front of its path.

School was very interesting to me. We had to write on a slate with a slate-pencil. Our teacher and her relative were the teacher and head-mistress who controlled everything.

We learned our A B Cs and we counted daily. The Veranda (porch) was packed and energised.

FEAR OF SUCCESS?

I walk with the creator, so I will not be intimidated by the hater who left a negative comment(erased) on my blog. I will continue to write this book through blogging, to its completion.

Thank you for reading my blog.
Dorreth

RUSIAN ROULETTE CROSSING

Our Russian roulette crossing, was fun! Until the day I got hit.

My brother and our neighborhood friends, enjoyed dodging cars, and bicycles. We waited until the vehicle was almost upon us, before darting across its path. I was six years old and my brother was 5. Our friends were roughly the same age. This was one of our regular things to do just for laughs.

As customary, with this sort of fun, there is always one child lagging behind, who gets hit. This time it was me. I felt ashamed as my contemporaries fled the scene. They ran home, and I hurriedly, brushed myself off, and left the scene with my cuts and scrapes. The cyclist, took off.

AUTHOR'S QUOTE:
THINK WELL OF OTHERS AND SPEAK WELL OF OTHERS, or you will be ashamed of your stinking-thinking, and be forced to sign your name as ANONYMOUS. Do unto others, as you would like to be done you.
D. E. Witt

CATCHING BEES BARE-HANDED!

I loved my brother, Orien, so. He was 5, and I was six years old.

We had great times together, with children from the neighborhood, wherever we lived.

Everyday, after daddy left for work, and our brothers and sister went to school, we would have our own adventures.

Every morning, we would sit on the front steps with daddy's old fashioned, square razor-blade. Anxiously we took turns, using it to shave the hairs off our legs, the way daddy shaved his face.

We shaved every morning AND practiced tying our shoe laces, on the front steps.

Another, favorite pass time of ours, was bee catching with neighborhood children.

Who could resist the hum of bees on a sunny day milling around the bushes, along the entire length of our fenced-in yard? We loved locking our prisoners into glass jars after puncturing tiny holes into the lids. It was on the second day of this adventure that we learned how Orien caught more bees than the rest of us. He was catching them bare-handed, and got stung!

As playmates, we scarcely ever stopped to make sure that all the rules were spelled out to younger companions.

More to come on our innocent misunderstandings.

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WE NEVER HAD FOOD ON FRIDAYS

My younger brother was a handsome wide faced boy with a pug nose. Kind and playful. He loved to play cowboys and Indians. He was smart and he made friends quickly, wherever we moved.

Mr. Harris (daddy), was a thin man of very light complexion. he had a narrow face with almost Chinese-like dark eyes. His black hair was so tightly curled that it appeared to be straight at a glance or from a certain distance. He always seemed to be insecure or nervous. Daddy was a well paid executive accountant, who did the work of five people, but he was a poor provider. I discovered that Fridays were his time to buy rounds of drinks for the entire bar, when Yvonne once sent me to a local bar to fetch him one Friday evening. Details in the upcoming book.

We never had food on Fridays.

Orien, who could not go for long without food would ritually vomit on Friday nights. Right after his first bite of buttered bread and a gulp of sweet milk.

Before this book is completed I'll find out why we moved so often. Might be the same reason we never had food on Fridays. I never liked to eat, so scarcity of food was never a problem for me.

What would we usually have for breakfast?

We would have peppermint tea with bread and butter. Or scrambled eggs with fried dumplings. On rare occasions we would have short link Vienna type sausages from a can. Weekend delight!Whenever, my sister served us Cerasse tea I felt like it was a punishment, because it was so bitter (she picked it).

We picked these teas off the fence that separated our yard from the business, next door. The ripened fruit of the Cerasse tea was delicious, though (see pic. of the green fruit above). I never got a good look at the fence underneath the thick foliage of teas and what-not.

What we had for lunch on the average day, was cold Lime-aide with dry crackers, buttered.

Sometimes we would have a Bulla-cake(large cookie) instead, which was nice.

Some days we'd have a steaming hot bowl of porridge, either cornmeal or green-banana, I like that, these porridge were made with coconut milk. So delicious! I disliked oatmeal, because it had those specks of different dark things, that I couldn't identify. Disgusting. It seemed like I sat at the table for hours trying to brave that porridge.

Dinner?

One of my favorite dinners is codfish and Ackee (tree grown vegetable), over white rice. If it were a weekend breakfast, codfish & Ackee would be served with fried dumplings, and tea. Yes weekends were special! A weekend dinner would be browned and stewed chicken, served with rice and peas(red kidney beans). Yum, seasoned rice, was a nice dinner, too! Like fried rice. Recipes in upcoming book.

Anyway, My oldest brother Tony, was a looker with clear blue eyes! He had all the girls eating out of his hands. So much so that one of them left his first born in my hands when I was only turning 8. That story in detail, later. Stafford, was the family brains! I can only remember him studying all the time. You will learn why later.

Scientists have identified several active proteins in the cerasse bush are potentially cheaper alternative treatments for HIV/AIDS.
All over Jamaica, the cerasse bush (Momordica charantia) grows wild, unaided by human device. Though it produces bright, yellow flowers and an orange-coloured fruit, it is often viewed as no more than a nuisance, creeping through the garden. Tea brewed from the leaves is popular among rural folk but considered too bitter by most Jamaicans.

Ackee is a poisonous vegetable if it were to be picked before full maturity, when it opens up while still on the tree.

Please leave a comment before visiting the Link on cerrase tea, below. Thanks.
http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://alumniroundup.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/bitter-melon.jpg&imgrefurl=http://alumniroundup.com/%3Fp%3D2538&usg=__pa3Hx_PO2DJyI5VfpZDhYIkHRlQ=&h=333&w=500&sz=84&hl=en&start=16&tbnid=VR9d7kCIfMc1vM:&tbnh=87&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3DJamaican%2Bteas%26gbv%3D2%26hl%3Den

Where did Orien and I fit in?

A SIX YEAR OLD'S SENTENCING

Independence is a cold truth. Only a small child can accept such a position with brevity. What is brevity? Is it the other face of denial? Was my 5 year old brother bothered? Unanswered questions, live in the minds of youngsters who seem to adjust. Yes. especially when adjustment is the cornerstone of survival.

My brother Orien took refuge in food, and bawled when he was hungry. I took refuge in solitude, because, I felt safe there. Power? What power has a 6 year old girl, whose mother walks out without no more explanation than"good bye"? Especially when mother orders her to obey a sudden-reunited teen sister without question. Talk about a sentencing.

Withdrawal? Obstinate? Depression? Call it what you wish. I had trouble eating. Food was hard to swallow. What a bother. Nowadays, it's called separation anxiety.

And bless my sister, Yvonne, who was thrown into a world of responsibility, way out of her league. Was she ready? No. Did she have a choice? No. Was she resentful? Yes! She did the best she could under the circumstances. I grew to admire and respect my sister as only a faithful sister, could. Hindsight is 20/20

My Yvonne was a good girl. She was delicately built. Fair complected. A cute button nose, and an affective smile with dark eyes. Her hair was tall, thick and black. In Jamaica long hair is referred to as "tall.") I used to love to watch my sister get gussied up for a Friday night on the town with her friend, Marie. She would have her french manicure. Groomed eyebrows, and black eyeliner. Did I mention her up-swept do, with the french twist in the back of it?! Of course she wore her favorite little black dress. We didn't have much but my sister managed to get a straightening perm from time to time. I thought she was so beautiful.

At the age of six, I admired my sister, so. My brother on the other hand, wailed aloud, on Friday nights as she was about to leave. It was painful for him when she left us. Me? I stayed quiet.

I remembered wondering when it would be my turn to help out with chores like sweeping, and more. Yes. I got my chance....oh-boy did I ever?

More to come...

Please Leave a comment, my friend.

WHEN MOMMA LEFT...

I remember the sunny day when momma, left, Jamaica. It was our first Taxi ride from the countryside of Portland, to the city of Kingston. The trees danced with the cool breeze on a sunny day. As we approached a strange home with a wrap-around veranda(porch) and a wide yard with children at play. Some were swinging on homemade swings of rope and wood, that hung from a sturdy limb way up in the tree.

I was quite shy. My mother instructed my brother Orien, and I to "go and make friends with those children, until I call you." As she went inside, my brother wasted very little time making friends. I just stayed to myself and observed.

Later she called us inside and told us "you must obey the rules of your father's home and do as you are told." Inside the home was warm and welcoming, with shiny wood floors. It was sparsely furnished. The atmosphere was fresh and light. When momma said goodbye, I must have been apprehensive, but knew I had to keep my feelings hidden, and accepted what was happening without comment. The witnesses to all this were friendly neighbors.

One neighbor named, Miss Betty, reiterated momma's sentiments, " don't give your big sister any trouble, she is like your mother, now. Do as she says."

I met my older siblings, Yvonne about 18yrs. old; Tony about 17 yrs. old and Stafford about 15 or 16 yrs. old. I have to guess, because I do not know their actual ages.

That was the last time I saw my mother, for the next eight years. Although we kept in touch through letters, over the years.

CARRYING WATER ON TOP OUR HEAD

The water bucket, I carried was designed to hold just enough for 1-2 uses. So, water fetching was a daily chore, to fill up the water barrel, located beside the house, to catch rain water.

Balancing the water bucket on my head was a feat in discipline and poise all at the same time. Not to mention walking downhill from the roadside to where mammy lived below road level. The worn path had natural steps that were grooved from bare root vines that laid across small rocks. So, you only had to slowly place your feet one in front of the other, never looking down, for fear of tumbling forward down the steep hill.

That water was cold! It was important for my cousin, Sharon, and I, to bathe by the river or in the spring. Washing-up, by the water spicket on the roadside, was all we could do in the early morning, before others would show up to catch water, too.

Google picture of anonymous girl carrying water for her family.

My cousin, Sharon, was a year younger, than me. She was fair skinned, with a round face and a mischievious smile. Her nick-name was Panchy, and her baby sister, Jacynth' s nick-name was Puunchie. Puunchie had a velvety dark complexion with a doll baby face and bright eyes. These were loving names given by their mom (aunt Esmay). She was a strict church woman with a curvy figure and a formal disposition. Always neatly dressed. Picture coming in bio.

I remember back when Puunchie first got her new teeth, that she loved biting other children. Maybe she liked to hear them scream. My mother and her mother(my aunt), would argue about the biting and what to do about it. Looking back, it was quite funny. My younger brother, Orien received a good bite from her. He was about 4 yrs. old.

Kingston was nothing like the countryside that I loved to visit. We had running tap water, although it was cold. Kingston homes had indoor bathrooms and kitchens.

The life back home in Jamaica, was the best. I got my first cold when I came to America. However, some hardships there, makes me appreciate that my mother was good enough to send for us when she came to America. More on why in my upcoming bio.

My mother lived in England for about 6 years before she came to America. So, I must have been only 5 yrs. old when she went abroad. My brother was 4yrs. old and my youngest sibling, Carol, was a 1 yr. old infant. Mmm. Writing does seem to clear up a lot of confusion.

EARLY BIRD GRANDMOTHER (Mammy)

My grand mother, mammy, was an early bird. She was loved by, and known to locals as Miss. Matey. Mammy, believed in rising before the birds at 4:30AM every morning. And yes, she woke and sent us to go collect water for the day, a mile up the mountain road at the public faucet(pipe). It felt like we walked two miles each way, though(might've been).

We would get to the road-side pipe and wash-up, before filling up and returning with the water buckets. Trying to keep the water from splashing our little faces as we came back down. You know we were lucky to make it down off the country road into mammy's property located below road level, with 3/4 of the original fill-up!

Mammy was so beautiful! She had a milk chocolate complexion, with very soft naturally curly hair. Mammy's lips were heart-shaped, with apple cheeks when she smiled. A curvy, energetic little woman, she stood nearly 5' tall. Her eyes twinkled, a hazel brown, like a baby dolls. I sure miss her. Mammy was self employed, and enjoyed working the fields for produce that she took to the market, every weekend.

I'll tell you more about mammy in my upcoming bio.

WISHED I NEVER HAD TO EAT

I was a thin child because I refused to eat.
At the tender age of eight, I lived to draw, so food was an unwelcomed distraction.

I remember thinking that I wished I never had to eat. Although, I loved some foods and fruits. The only thing was that my favorite dishes were seldom prepared. My favorite dishes were stewed peas and rice, seasoned rice, cod-fish and ackee... mmm-mm, yum! The look of that dish reminds me of chocolate-covered raisins over rice! If you ever go to a Jamaican restaurant, ask for stewed peas and rice! The recipe will be found in the back of the upcoming auto-bio.

My favorite fruit is mango, I will tell you what I would give up for it, in my upcoming bio. You haven't lived until you have tasted jack-fruit. I ate so much of it in one day when I went to the country with mammy, that I got so ill, and swore it off. These are foods and fruits and drinks, that I could possibly die for, they are so delicious. You have not tasted lemonaide as delicious as the one made with sour-orange, and brown sugar. DELICIOUS! OMG!

Anyway, the usual fare back home was ackee, and codfish. That explains why I never got sick with the common cold, or anything else while I lived in Jamaica. Another common dish was mackeril and banana, these dishes are tasty, when they aren't salty.

However, too much salt or too much pepper for a youngster, can be daunting. Not to mention the punishment of watching a glass of water that I could not touch until I ate my entire plate. My sister, Yvonne was a disciplinarian. I acquired my discipline and patience from my early experience at the dining table.

MORE to come.

MY FAVORITE UNCLE, Alan

My favorite uncle, Alan, has a heart like an angel. To this day he shows almost no signs of aging. in his early seventies. His skin is a deep coffee. He is kind hearted with a healthy temper, if pushed too far. he has a strong muscular build from years of hard work. He possesses a kind chiseled face. His eyes are deep and warm. He is known as a man of great honor in all his ways, business and personal. He is respected and loved by all respectable locals in Portland, Jamaica.

Anyway, let me tell you how he saved my life. On the occasions when mammy(maternal grandma) would come to visit me in Kingston at my father's home, I would beg to return with her. On those return visits, we would not get back to the countryside until deep in the dark of night. Mammy would, usually stop to visit uncle Alan, on her way home with me. It was on those occasions that uncle A, would prop me up on a stool at his dining table and mix me a drink of Guinness stout(beer) with sweetened condensed milk, garnished with cinnamon and nut-meg.

"Mammy, my God this child is starving to death." he would remark as he placed the drink in front of me to drink. As usual I would take a sip and then hesitate... at which point he would drag off his strap from his waist and order me to , "drink it up, now, Miss. D." Timidly I would suffer one more gulp, then he would strike me, once to assert his position. Mammy's protective launch would cause him to turn on her with his threatening strap over his shoulder, shouting, "you want , take lick, mammy!" Immediately, mammy would back off. The threat of that belt, forced me to gulp down the bitter, sweet concoction.

After several days of this nourishing drink, I would start to feel happier. On my returns home after such visits, my sister's friends would ask in exclamation; Yvonne, is dis you little sista, Miss D? My sister would say "Yes, man it is Darachie." "Lord king, a how she swell up, so?" "She look good!" It would not be much longer before I would lose the weight, again, as usual. My uncle, literally, saved my life.

I'll tell you why I was a thin child in the next posting. Thanks for your comments, friends.
Uncle Alan's picture will be in the upcoming auto-biography.

SCARS IN MY HAND

One of my fondest early memories from Jamaica was riding into town, with my uncle Alan on the crossbar of his bicycle. I found it to be all at once mesmerizing and hypnotizing. It was exciting because it appeared that the road was rushing up and continuously disappearing under us.

I remember, being a bit of a daredevil.

As usual, going to the shop was my opportunity to be a big girl. Only I was not so lucky on one of my runs to the shop.

One dry sunny day with a cool dusty breeze, I ran uphill to the roadside. Barely, looking from side to side, I dashed across the dirt road with the stubby gravel and dirt under my bare-feet. Soon I was sprawled in the middle of the road, with cuts and bruises. Embarrassed, I quickly brushed myself off and continued on my way to make my purchases, and return to deliver my goods to my folk. I might have been between five and six years old. To this day I wear the scars in the palm of my left hand. A one inch gash across my palm and a quarter inch bulls eye just before my fore-finger. The one inch gash is less visible these days.

Back in the country woods of Portland Jamaica, life seemed effortless. I learned to roll with exciting storms and endless summers. There was no television. So, I enjoyed playing with my little chicks.