Saturday, October 9, 2010

Arriving

There couldn’t be a better thing to do in life than arrive.  When I think of arriving it makes me think of the end of a journey—a pleasant one.  Etched has been such a journey for me.  It started with that childhood dream and as the child (me) became a young adult and then a woman the dream stayed.
As a child in Barbados it, of course, was filled with only those Bajan things that I knew.  So when I envisioned an end there it was Bajan dreaming that I was doing and everything Bajan would be waiting for me at the end of the journey.  In those dreams I would finish my book and my mother would be there. She would, as she’d always done—celebrated with me. She would’ve made me something to eat—something Bajan.  I love bread or anything made from flour so my mother would have satisfied that desire. When I arrived at the end of my Bajan dreaming with book in hand and published Author now part of my title my mother would have been there with me when I walked into my own home; perhaps in St. Philip where I was born.  It would be near the beach as we are sea people.  It would have had trees: mango, cherry, ackee, green apple, pawpaw, sour sop, guava and of course banana and coconut trees.
There would be a big eat-in kitchen, veranda, lots and lots of space where she and I could talk from sun up to sun down and of course a monster size kitchen garden.  In my kitchen my mother would make her Bajan baked goods: coconut bread, turn-overs, drop cakes and soft buttery pudding (American pound cake). I, of course, would have relished in those baked Bajan ‘things’ with a big cup of tea made from loose green tea leaves that were tossed into boiling water and allowed to draw till it was perfect to add the Carnation milk. Tea with milk is very Bajan; very Caribbean.
I, however, did not stay in Barbados to see the fulfillment of my dreams.  I came to America and brought those dreams with me.  The dreams didn’t change that much but now my dreams involved a brownstone in Bedford Stuyvesant where my mother and I would adjust my Bajan dreams. We would accept that there would be no fruit trees, no banana, coconut trees or veranda to while away a lazy summer day.  We would make do (as my mother would say, ‘make got do or ‘say no matter.’) with sitting in the parlor whiling away our days. 
Time and illness has taken my mother from me.  So I’m arriving at the end of this journey without her.  I don’t yet have the brownstone but I’m in Bedford Stuyvesant and I’m in the apartment that was home to my mother and I until a few short weeks before she transitioned.  So although she’s not here physically I know that she’s here in spirit.  I don’t have an eat-in kitchen but I have an open floor apartment so the dining room is near enough to the kitchen to give that warm and cozy eat-in-kitchen feeling.
A lot is different but enough of what was supposed to be is here—so on the day I get my completed  copy of Etched I will excited.  I will go first to her old room (my den and reading room) and as I’ve promised (myself) I will read out loud from my book for her.  I won’t read any of the ‘dirty’ parts—although she would’ve gotten a kick out of that.  I’ll read a part of the book that my he would have liked.  My mother loved new beginnings.  She love, kindness, and family.  I’ll read the excerpt below.  My mother would’ve like Aunt Bess.  Once I’m done reading I’ll put the book on the book case (my mother would say book press).  I’ll tell her how I feel.  I’ll probably cry to the point of zero visibility and once that has passed—it will because I’m her daughter and she won’t have allowed me to, at such a happy moment, crowd it with tears and sadness.  So, with the zero visibility moment over I’ll call the ones that I love and those that love me.  I’ll tell them that Etched and I have arrived.  Etched—a childhood dream has been fulfilled and the child that dreamed that dream has arrived—she’s a woman now holding her fulfilled dream.
 While I wait for the ones that I love and the ones that love me back to come over I’ll get those baked goods.  I’ll make them myself as I received her gift of baking.  I will, as she would say, “Annette put the kettle up on the stove.”  Of course I knew she meant for me to put water in the kettle and turn the stove on underneath…tea time.  I will draw the tea—of course allowing it to draw enough before adding the Carnation milk.
I’ll drink my tea in quiet reflection and then I’ll take a deep breath and thank God that he gave me Margaret Irene Smith as my mother. I’ll thank him for blessing me with three wonderful young people who call me ma.  I will thank him for giving me the strength to hold onto my dream and then, after inhaling and exhaling a deep lung filling breath, I’ll thank him for always walking with me and most importantly I’ll thank him for waiting so patiently for me in the  Arrival Terminal as I slowly inched my way; sometimes doubtful, sometimes scared, sometimes fussing, sometimes cussing, sometimes losing faith, sometimes falling, and sometimes not wanting to get up—but always doing so because Margaret Irene Smith was my mother and there was no such thing as not trying again.
So here I am…awaiting the arrival of Etched.  Less than two weeks before the editing process is complete.  After that I have another few weeks before its formatted and then…Now arriving in “Gate Fulfillment”:  Etched

Excerpt from Chapter 4 of Etched:
Arriving in Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn
As soon as we stepped into Aunt Bess’ house Cousin Thea tried to get her tears to stop.  She wasn’t fully crying but she was sniffling.  I’d stopped and wasn’t ‘bout to start again.  Aunt Bess’ words had dried my tears.  With only one of us crying Aunt Bess paid Cousin Thea’s crying no mind and soon I didn’t either because of the warmth and smells that were all over the house.  Cousin Thea’s smells were no match for these smells. The smell of biscuits, yams, ham, and something else I couldn’t figure out rushed at me and wrapped itself all around me.
I started looking around at the beautifully carved wood framing the door and the curved polished banister leading up the stairs.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the flowered cloth on the chairs.  The chairs were made, it seemed, from the same polished wood as the banister.  The wood was polished till it looked like there were squares of white here and there on them.  There weren’t really any white squares. It was just the reflection of the light bouncing off the polished wood.  There were big thick pillows on the chairs, a fireplace that looked like it could just warm your whole heart and on all the walls there were framed pictures everywhere.  Aunt Bess spoke and stopped my gazing.  She said, “Now Thea I hadn’t planned on you being here so I ain’t fix a place for you so tonight you goin’ sleep on the extra bed in the room where Gina Pearl goin’ be and tomorrow we goin’ work on something more permanent for you.  Now come. Follow me.”
As we’d done since the bus station we followed Aunt Bess. She walked us up the beautiful stairs with the shiny curved wooden banister and all its carved rails.  It looked like I should be coming down it in a beautiful wedding dress and, waiting at the bottom—

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