Jamaica… WRITING PARADISE

  1. A friend said, ‘Blog [my] life’.
    I said, ‘What for?’
    He said, ‘Because people want to read it.’
    I said, ‘You must be joking.’
    He said, ‘I’m serious.’
    I saw no reason to … now I do… I’m writing my birthright into being…..paradise… I was born in one.
    Nothing wrong with this place except the people (I don’t exclude myself).  The place is spellbinding, looked at objectively and you will never hear a negative in this blog … only the beauty and the gratitude written into being..I was born and have grown up in paradise.  I am grateful…  and I dream of more…  a person to share it with is important….So this a.m. I decided on which of my balconies and verandahs to have coffee.  I chose the upstairs porch…   A blue wrought iron two-seater in a sunny lemon space with white Spanish grill for walls… eye level with a wonderful old monster of a breadfruit tree which never stops bearing… an ackee tree in full fruit and the fronds of dwarf coconuts… the woodpeckers squabble and I go downstairs and play the 1940s.  The music that takes me elsewhere.I still want to do a Kim Anami retreat, a Viking river cruise, the Orient Express, the Wine Valley balloon ride, the 4 town French tour;  Mandeville-en-Bessin, Montelimar,  Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, Villers-Cotterêts of General Alex Dumas and the Vienna Ball Season.  Why not, 1 life to live…:)?  and with which good friend?  Shall I pay? Why not?  My treat….

 

2.  I have a relaxing job in which I get to see clients at my own pace and get reasonable money… I also have the time to see my own clients… I look out my corner office window at verdant rainforest and in the golden afternoons the branches of the magnificent cotton are filled with shrieks and jabbering of crows… like they cannot contain themselves in the golden sun rays of the waning day….  And some days the rains pelt into the foliage and it turns a  deep, silver grey with the cool mists silently shrouding and sliding over the terrain  to nowhere, disappearing into thin air….muffling sound..   The goddess cotton tree stands out of the mists in her  waist high green flamenco skirts of heavy vines trailing to the forest floor..  then the sun glints through one last time before bed…