Thrity five more days until the big day, my daughter's wedding. I find as the day draws closer, I have more thoughts about what this means for her, her husband to be, their children and even for me. Granted they have been together for many years. But this step of actually getting married, of making their union official as it were, represents a whole new stage in this relationship - not only in how they relate to each other but also with their children, their friends, our families and even me. I will have a Son-In-Law, for better or for worse, he is here to stay. Oh my. :) The fact that they have chosen to do this in the Church means alot also. My daughter has grown to be her own woman with her own relationships, her own terms and rules of engagement with the rest of the world. We don't agree on everything, nor do I expect us to. Her experiences and mine are different. I'm not the same as I was when I was her age. Life is about change and growth. This is but a stop along the way.
Forty one days until I return [home] to Jamaica. Why home? I fell in love with the island from my first visit there in March '07. Hard to believe it has just been a little over 3 years that I have been going there. But from the beginning, landing in Montego Bay represents a huge weight lifted off of me as I go into "destress" mode - as opposed to "distress' mode - and I relax. I have made friends and found my own little niche. Amazingly, after running from, and I do mean running away from, the men, the gigolos, the lotharios on the sand, I have finally met someone who I want to spend time with and who treats me with nothing but respect. Now, when I go to Jamaica, I am spending more time away from the tourist areas and getting a taste of real life in the country is like. Little dirt roads that twist and wind their way up into the hills, not really big enough for cars and barely suited to the motor bikes that serve as the main means of transportation. Children go to school seated fore and aft on the bikes as their drivers take extra care to manuever the obstacle course of potholes until they drop their charges off safely. Gray haired grannies sit primly on the gas tank, side saddle as it were. Young girls lightly hop on and off - they saunter away unfazed by comments from young men on the road and often are ready with a comeback of their own .
The people are resiliant, taking in stride the difficulties life tosses at them. Wooden "board houses" line the road, alternating with cement structures of varying size, grandeur and degree of completion. A few homes show signs of damage from storms in years past, Ivan, Gilbert, and others, which continue to leave their mark as the funds needed to rebuild and repair are in short supply. The house next to where I stay has a ramshackle kitchen that is just about holding on, barely attached to the main structure. The old man living there doesn't own it so he is not inclined to invest in a repair, despite the obvious damage and the lack of having a proper place to prepare his meals. Even if it was his own, he doesn't have the money to do much of a fix up.
At night, the little frogs provide a rhythmic sound too loud to be a lullaby but hypnotic and soothing in it's constancy. The mosquitos too are there, relentless in their desire to have some fresh foreign blood as their main course. Now that we have screened the windows, the louvers can be left open safely, allowing the cool breeze to flow through and eventually the heat of the day is swept from the room. Later as the cooler night air collides with pockets of hot, humid air, there is some storm activity and the rain begins to fall. Sitting in the back door, leaning back against my beloved, I watch the lightening play out over the hills in the distance as the rain pours down. The air is now cool and fresh, the warmth of his body against my back is soothing as we sit together on the tiny hassock, speaking a little but mostly just content to be. The rhythm of our breaths syncronize and become one as we relax in contented peace. His voice growls in my ear, deep and rumbling, my lion of Judah speaks quietly leading me back to bed now that the heat has passed, washed away by the rain that continues to fall, now more softly. Striking the tin roof in a faint stacatto beat, the raindrops provide the soundtrack to my dreams as I doze off in the arms of my lover.
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