Me at Carnival 2003!

Mas Domnik 2003 Carnival, like Mardi Gras is celebrated--for two weeks--up until Ash Wednesday when Lent begins. In the islands it is a time for the people to criticize, mimic and make fun of the powers-that-be, without fear of reprisal. One of the last days of Carnival is called Sensé. People dress in shredded rope shaped as wild animals and other elaborate costumes with faces covered. This allows for great freedom of expression since one is unidentifiable.

February, 2003

The goats and sheep in my neighbor's yard talk to me. They sound like old men with wizened voices at a soccer match cheering on their team, brrrraayyy hooray. They are safe from the dogs, now locked inside our gates. Jazz, Reggae and Jr. are tied at night so they don't bark at the dogs in the hood who go liming after 11 PM. It is not cool to have a resort and barking dogs. We are learning along the way.

Bonty, our gardener, is still a wonder. The pumpkin patch has taken oven again and we will have enough bok choy for the millennium. The 50 bushes of sorrel Bonty planted this past summer have turned into a bumper crop and have made me wonder about their economic possibilities. I think a market in America could be developed for this wonderful red flower that boils so easily into a gorgeous red juice. Add cinnamon, clove , sugar and voila.

It has been so cool and rainy the last few days that I can't get warm. Then a wave of "my own private summer" washes over and I welcome a night of wind. My workers talk about how cold it is here in the bush (woods, forest), so I describe the expanse of snow in my Maine backyard after a storm. How covered and white everything is trees barn, as far as the eye can see. To Roger, my builder, I said it would seem like being on the moon. He can't imagine being warm enough to stand in a place the temperature of a meat cooler. For my part, I remember the feel of whooshing down the mountain on skis with the wind in my face.
In NYC, this Christmas, after getting out of an afternoon movie, I found the streets covered and the snow blowing at 30 mph. I caught a gypsy cab to go 5 blocks to meet Ollie and friends for dinner!

The pool is a wonder and worth the wait. I have been swimming 1/3 of a mile per day. We colored the deck deep blue. From the balcony of the house the pool looks like an abstract and ever-changing painting. Children from the Carib Territory are going to design a mural on the side wall. At the far end I will plant a flower garden, reminiscent of my English Garden in Maine.

Because all my ideas seem to be coming to fruition, I must be careful what I wish for. I don't want to overload myself with too many projects. I have announced a lending library because books are so scarce and expensive here for the locals. Our tourists bring the few books they want to read on vacation and then leave them, so the library , besides the 20 boxes of books I crated down, is building. We now have Anne Sebold's memoir, Lucky written before Lovely Bones.

I haven't had enough time to focus on a novel but I am keeping up with the New Yorker (which miraculously arrives within three weeks of its cover date.). One sentence in an Arthur Miller story: "Beneath her defiant banter, Clement felt the scary force of the majestically defeated. . ." I could picture her.
I try to read the face page of the Times and any article that jumps out at me. I met a rasta man on Donkey beach and we exchanged books. I am reading his worn bible, flipping it open to any page and reading a few stanzas. I read a tarot interpretation every day or three.

Ollie and I are moving now at a similar speed, just a skosh too fast. We went out on "LovingKindness" for a sunset cruise on Sunday with a few friends. I jumped off the boat and swam. Ollie was a bit freaked but it had always been a movie fantasy of mine. The handsome men on board and me just swimming and frolicking like a fish. We saw a few dolphin, no whales, but a turtle about 25" in diameter.

I spent the morning in the Catholic cemetery looking for Ma Saint's (Ollie's mother) grave which has remained unmarked since she died almost 7 years ago. Vo den? I and I plan to have a plaque made with her dates and the list of her children. I was with my sister-in-law Agatha, who's husband died on Mother's Day last year and left her with five children. The baby, Jeremiah was only six weeks old. I am now his godmother although I told her that the point of a godmother was to bring the child up in his religion and I surely couldn't do that. There is only a pile of stones around Baba's grave. Priorities here are five mouths to feed. While we were walking back to the car she said, look at the plate. I thought she was talking about a grave marker but no, it was someone's denture plate. Here, they dig up old graves to make way for the newly dead. Makes me think more and more of cremation, especially since I can't be buried beside my man at the B'nai B'rith Cemetery . I think fire, air, and wind for my ending. It suits my lifestyle. I suppose it can suit my death.

During yesterday's yoga practice, I was listening to the song "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" and I remembered my mother singing that to us children after we had climbed into bed with her one morning. It is the sweetest memory of her love that I have. I blessed her for always believing in me.

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Our drive from town to the house is ten minutes. There is one street light hanging from its one wire over the one lane bridge into and out of town. Still, we go like hell on yellow to beat the red! Left hand driving was easy enough after the first half hour behind the wheel. Watching the bus and car drivers wind around those bends did not make me want to try. The trick is to judge how much of the mountain road is yours while passing an oncoming car on your right and your left wheels two inches from the mountain cliff! Or, if you're lucky, only a six foot drainage ditch.

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I am still a bit on NYC time, but I am learning patience. The tourism office ought to advertise the development of patience in its promotional material. The people communicate in such a forthright and unique manner. I always knew oppressed groups had their secret language. We women do. The downtrodden everywhere. Dominican patois is talk among ourselves without the massa understanding. There is also a system of signals. The road to Tarish has speed bumps--as if it needed them!
When someone calls out, "Police," the crunch of his tires track his pace while the culprit slips away. The people here are like quicksilver, in and out of doors, eluding, overhearing. The city is a fishbowl, with everyone giving respectful privacy.

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Alongside the grandeur of the rainforest, the Dominican people are amazing. Curious, loving, respectful, eager and benign, which is so good for Americans, scared as we are of black people. I have been singing "The Magical Mystery Tour is coming to take me away." Along with the toot of bamboo and the beating rain.

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It rains every day, sometimes on my neighbour's house and not on mine. Sun and rain and rainbows. The mountains shoot straight up from the end of my back yard which then drops down to a river. There are 365 rivers on the island.

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It took me ten minutes of figuring to recall what day it is. By Thursday of this week I caught up to it. Days and time just blend. The wind blew my IKEA clock off the wall and now the minute hand swings free like a broken arm. The hour hand moves correctly from number to number and that is close enough.

It is 7 AM and I sit on Mama's porch with my coffee and mastiff bread and watch downtown come alive. The Steamship "Fascination" is docking. The portholes of the ship move slowly between the small wood houses. It looks as if the Empire State Building is being wheeled up the street. Car horns have begun their hurry up. The cawks started hours ago.

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I am up early with the first cock. I've squeezed some fresh o.j, cleaned the kitchen, swept the veranda. Everything is so alive. The cow next door wakes up to graze. Some bamboo in the woods snaps with a hollow toot. When the door--that should have been open to air out the house--swung wide in the wind, I turned and said, "thank you."

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I am agog and awash with the phenomena of this culture. The language, the signs. The way people tell each other the news, survival of the species. I am having little racial tweaks. People are people everywhere. But there is no pure hatred here as in the US. For the most part, these are sweet, good, polite, with a capital P, fun loving people who, despite poverty (which has become a sin in America) do the best, cleanest job with what they have.

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Of course, herbs and spices, fruits and vegetables grow amazingly well and supply a more than adequate crop for our family needs. I will have tomatoes and cukes in three months, the scallions (or sive as people here call them) are up. The basil and rosemary are wondrous. The wind has whipped up. I have doors open on three sides and I look out to the crux of two mountains. A vee to the sea. Surrounded by coconut palms, a plantain orchard that ends in cool bamboo woods.

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It is about 4 am and I have been up for an hour. I need a reset button. I just finished two NY Times puzzles with a few words missing. Can't do it with my sister by phone anymore. I experimented the first few days with my office phone. They sent a bill right away for a whopping EC$459= US$160. Too much for four days work. The phone Co. is British owned and a monopoly with the highest international rates. They pay the Dominican government for the privilege. I was told that 30 cents per dollar stays in the country but it is hard to believe. There is no 800 access. No freebies. Most of the money goes back to England. Cable & Wireless says they are the only access to the Internet but the Marpin, Dominican owned, bought two 800 lines and started transmitting for customers. The phone co. cut off the lines. Its now in court. Power to the people.

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Necessities are so expensive here: lights, phone, food. But there really isn't much to spend money on. Restaurants are becoming savvy about the fact that Americans will pay $20 for a meal, so those are the new prices. The first three waves of immigrants, the Brits, French and merchants from the Middle East, sewed up the import/export industry of provisions and have charged the highest prices to the people. Rule of thumb is they charge seven times their cost and expect it will cover freight, duty and overhead. An 89 cent jar of mayonnaise costs EC$8.35=US$3.20. We bought a soccerball at Ames for $9.99/retail. Here it sells for EC$150= US$60. A 600% markup on the retail price. The newest breed of immigrant businessmen, the Indians and Chinese, are giving lower prices. Vo Den? Where is ZAYRE Gut South?

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Our freight has been delayed two weeks in Puerto Rico. My frustration over no water, no phone, a filthy house and none of my things has turned to anger which shifted to paranoia. The Powers that Be have heard we're in tong. Oliver, s'enfant Saint--who used to carry his family's poops to the ocean in a calabash on his head has come home with his wife from America. My husband, with such a big heart, single handedly boosts the economy of Pottersville. Henry has a room, with his sweet, concerned face smiling out of his photo. My nieces change in there after they bathe, so I hope he's enjoying it. ____________________

It is six AM. The sun has just risen and early morning rain cleans the air. It beats down like crazy part of every day. After a few seconds it stops and the sun becomes unrelenting. Then a mist, more sun. More rain. My only experience like this was being in W's greenhouse when the barometer gauged the need for moisture and the automatic jets opened.
A cow grazes next door. She has gotten used to seeing me out in my pink sarong and just looks up. She's the kind of cow that has horns and the first few days when she was lowing like a foghorn every few seconds, I was worried she would rush and gore me. I call her Molly. I misstepped once and landed splat into a cowpie with only a thong on my foot and no running water in the house. Lucky we have rain buckets all over.

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Some days a nanny goat, untethered, brings her two kids to graze. You should see how she herds them and protects. I fear I will see only one kid in a few days. The other sold for someone's Christmas dinner. It would be tasty, free range, herb fed. mmmmmm. Life here makes me see the purity of use for purpose. Nothing wasted, nothing missed, but without the gluttony of America.
That world seems so far away. The predictability of the talking heads trying to make news. Pulling out Clinton's short hairs, abusing poor Elian, posturing over the presidency.

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Good morning starshine. My eyes lift to the mountains. The immensity of them can only create belief in me. Yesterday rained and rained and wouldn't let up. The wind felt like a hurricane. I thought the palm tree across the street would fall on my house.

Johnny was sick to his stomach and intestines and stayed in town in Mama's bed where he feels safe. Boydy made him some bush tea. Family is everything. The good, the bad, the ugly, the faithful.

Right now the wind through the house is like air-conditioning.
I have bought tools for the house. "Harriet homeowner" wherever I go. I'm extraordinarily happy, grateful, and ecstatic. In awe of this fabulous choice I have made. Not any too soon. Almost too late.

December, 2002

LovingKindness is almost in the water. Like almost pregnant. She'll be afloat when you arrive. She wasn't built for fishing but we have a universal outrigger.

We would love to go to Cuba and have talked about making plans. I could slip into the setting of a Graham Greene novel, slink around in a sexy sheath listening to great music.

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She's finally in the water at Donkey beach! We have to tweak the batteries a bit but our partner, Vantil took her to Soufriere on Sunday. We will do sundown cocktails on Saturday for a leisurely cruise.

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We had 12 people for Thanksgiving. Luckily Emma made the whole meal even though I forgot to buy some major ingredients. Instead of pumpkin soup, she picked some of our celery and presto chango we had our soup. She is a whiz. Six ex-pats and six locals. A great time was had by all. We have guests in the cottages. Intense island energy is thumping away.

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The pool is up and running. We go to Oyster Bay in St. Maarten tomorrow to meet a friend for 3 days then back to Dom and the WORK.

J man and I returned from a fabulous vacation in St. Maarten at a beautiful time-share apartment overlooking the rough Atlantic with a group of eight including a lovely honeymoon couple from Zurich. Their aunt took six rooms for some of the wedding guests. One suite was free so John's friend from NYC asked us if we wanted to join. What a great time. Shopped till I dropped and got stuff that would have cost quadruple in Dominica. Great food with an interesting mix of people.

Emotions are running high here in the Carib. It's taking a while for guests to relax. Scott's Head and the hot springs at Soufriere are on the day's roster.

Let's see, hmm, new haiku for Christmas visit to America.

I will see my friend
so much talking we will do
love to a new high

laughter melts the snow
I take first painting lesson
A vision for life

And she writes:

At dusk my message finally arrives somewhat disheveled, dizzy with glee and smiling
I send you my best forever,
exult in our enduring friendship
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At dusk
the birds coo & trill some sweet long songs
from out the bush their rapture rises
in warm rhythms on little fragrant breezes
swell and linger thru the fading.

Pink Sky, Wind, some Snow
the air is so cold and dry,
inhospitable

Ummmm guess we could call that one today's New Hampshire Haiku Weather report!

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I missed your birthday
Heart of my heart as you are
I beg for amends.

Today we drive up the west coast of the island and stop at a couple of beaches and then dinner at the Blue Bay Restaurant in Portsmouth overlooking a cove dotted with boats. A slim boy on a surfboard punts as messenger and deliverer to each boat. He slips along the surface like a skater.

We have a Springfield and Portsmouth in Dominica and the Tel # they gave me five years ago has the exact same numbers as the phone I had until I was 18 at my parents home. Must be beshert (Yiddish for "meant to be").

November 9, 2002

Lock one door, another opens again. After five days of swollen glands and flu-ish symptoms from a ccccold trip to Minneapolis to meet my West Coast daughter and the trip south to this here paradise, I have finally arrived. Ollie hit the ground running and has been doing great PR for our return. He is happy to be home, where all the faces and friends are his own. He "limes" a few hours a day and can be found for cocktails in Lagoon. Picture the setting of Night of the Iguana.

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Visitors and friends who know we are back, come up to the Retreat. My workmen are hopping too. The boss is back, and you're gonna be in trouble. They are glad to see us with our sacks of gifts and happy smiles. The POOL, promised in April and sworn to by November has nary a drop of agua for me to step my toe. They have sworn by Thanksgiving, when my first sister arrives.

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I tasted a cherry guava today. You pop the whole thing into your mouth, the size and consistency of a no-pit apricot. My first five passionfruit are ripe. There are ten huge babadin, the color of a honeydew, but oblong like a watermelon. I haven't tried it yet. They are almost ripe. They grow on vines that climb the guava and the cocoa trees.
One of the workmen called it "rat food"; because it is so sweet it draws them from far and wide. The jungle beats.

Our next adoption will be rat cats, to chase and kill. No poisons here to seep into the soil, or hurt the water or our creatures: Jazz is two years old now and although we had her spayed after her litter, she is just as lively as a pup. She and Reggae J gang up on Reggae and tore his lip the other morning. He needed six stitches. Three is too competitive a group.

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Three oranges have sprouted from our newest tree. I saw one green coffee bean. The lettuce garden is sparse but we have our yams and dasheen and figs (which are unripe bananas). The herbs have been maintained. The cocoa pods are red now. When they turn yellow, we'll crack them open, eat the sweet pulp and dry the seeds to grind into cocoa.

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After my first drive cross - island to Rosalie and a refreshing sit in the river with two friends, I made it home safe. We did the sit in underwear so I had no bra under my T-shirt. (Did your mother remind you to wear good underwear in case you had to go to the hospital?) I stopped for a chicken leg at a roadside bar trying to hold up my tétés in front of the eight guys who were hanging out. Of course, they were inside, in a flash. I ate the crispy broiled leg as I wound the Suzuki around and around the bends, keeping to my side.

I plan only a minute or two ahead these days.

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PS If we like someone, we learn their Schtick, Patois, Fast-talking English, whatever it takes to get close. Yes, Charlie, putz is spelled so, although people have used other spellings in the indigenous language of Yiddish. And, schmuck is still the foreskin that was cut off and discarded, but everyone thinks it's the penis. That's the putz.

Called a Tolie, here in Dominica.

October 8, 2002

We apologize to all of you who were disappointed that the swimming pool is not yet ready. As you know we are working on West Indian time with materials being waylaid on the sea and other snafus. We are promised by November. Our fingers are crossed.

We have been in the States for several months, regrouping and shopping for supplies. We miss our friends and our "kids", Jazz, Reggae and Reggae Junior. They have been guarding the property for us as good Shepherds and have been well cared for by friends and family.

February 7, 2002

We have been on HIGH gear since January 1. Rach moved into Brooke house to work out any bugs before you all arrive. Ollie stayed in the rental until the lease was up January 17. Then they both moved into Lolly Cottage to smooth out the scene and because the house, of course, was not yet finished.
We had lights and electricity by the 28th so Rach moved into the house. No kitchen. Running water in baths. Ollie moved up last night.

In the midst of this, we bought a 34' cabin cruiser that we named "Loving Kindness". She sleeps six, and is equipped for fishing and island hopping.

The pups, Jazz and Reggae had five pups (he's my brother, he's my mate!! He's my brother!! I guess that's why they are called dogs!) on Jan 15. They looked like big Idaho potatoes but are now shaping up. Opened their eyes and are walking and being roly-poly. We've named them reggae j, cuz he looks like his sire, the only female is jezebel, then there's blues, calypso (the fattest) and soca. We are sending the last three to good homes and reggae j and jezebel will stay with us.
Oh, and two fish in our Japanese bowl - o.j. and dillinger. The beginning of our menagerie. We sold the pigs, Wilbur and miss Ellie and I have a big Wilbur ham in the freezer that I'm going to make when carnival is done.

I pick up my costume today. Hope it's not a skimpy tutu. At my age. When a friend saw my pic from 1999, I said."I wasn't alone and I wasn't the fattest." Still in my American consciousness. This year I will be red, white and blue. A tribute to the bravery and loyalty of us all.