Learning to speak Gina

One of my girlfriends told me the other day that she now knows how to speak “Gina”.  Here is the conversation:

Self: Explain yourself.

Her: Well you know how you will start on one topic and then skip to five or six other topics before coming back to the first topic?

Self: Well I have been told that one cannot have uni-processor to have a conversation with me .

Her: Well I now understand you.

Self: Aren’t you scared?

Her: Why?

Self: Well for a linear mind to understand a rambling mind, that linear mind has to become a rambler too.  However most linear minds cannot handle such a transition and as such can lead to madness.  However since they have stopped giving out Milo at Bellevue, my only choice would be to leave you at a Tastee Patty or Juici Patty and pass by and give you a patty and Pepsi every now and again.

Her: (blank stare – then she quietly walks away shaking her head)

Rat Bats – et al

I have a thing about rodents – Rats, rat bats fall in that category.  When I was married we had for about two years lived in Harkers Hall in St Catherine.  The house was a decrepit kind of thing sitting on one acre of land.  It was abandoned for some time and was overridden with rats – eeeew.  One night I came home and there I was peacefully minding my own business and opening my front door when somethng landed in my hair.  Upon realising that it was a rat ( not mouse) I am sure that my scream could have been heard in Negril.  They were eventually brought undre control with the introduction of Briggs & Stratton – my two kittens – both of whom lived a merry life – that is – until they met Dasher my dog.

In addition to that the house had no back door – just a grill.  There was a rat bat that would fly through the grill and (apparently when the house was unoccupied) would fly through the front door to the breadfruit tree.  In addition the chair that I loved to sit in to watch TV was placed almost in his flight path.  So there I was peacefully watching TV when I felt my hair buzzed and heard a resounding crash in the front door.  The damn bat flew through my hair and apparently had a sore throat ( remember they find obstacles by emitting sound waves) because it crashed into the front door.  Next morning we could nto find him.  It happened again the next night and we christened him Laryngitis Larry.  After a few days of this effontery – I covered the grill with mosquito mesh and no more of that. 

Another rat bat incident was at my home –  I was going out and so decided to kotch on the toilet seat to clean my shoes (all the necesary implements were locaetd in the bathroom) – So there I was peacefully brushing away when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.  When I took a second look there were three such flying rodents hanging upside down over my bath.  Well I forgot about shoes et al and made a hasty exit out of the apartment.  I called my brother on the phone.  The conversation:

Self: Hey mi need you help!!

Chris: Why?

Self: Mi need you fi get three rat bat outa mi bathroom

Chris: (laughing) mi busy!

Self: – I don’t ****)(& care – find youself home and help mi – puleez

He came to my rescue, demolished my bathroom but managed to chase the bats out of my house.  He was not pleased that I took him from his task of “lyricsing off a chick” but what the heck.

Army Slop, Cooks Privilege, White Liver and Disappearing Chicken

When I was three years old – my father died.  I subsequently spent a lot of time in the kitchen sitting on a high stool and reading.  By the time I was about six or seven years old – my mother decided to teach me to cook.  That Sunday she was doing Stewed Beef with irish potatoes.  Her instructions included added water to the meat until it became soft.  Which I dutifully did.  When she asked me if the meat was soft yet, of course I said yes – even if it had disintegrated to gravy.  Anyway, it was served with the rice & peas for dinner and my siblings promptly christened it the Army Slop.  But nah nah – it still tasted good.

I enjoyed cooking very much and my mother made a rule that anyone who cooked the Sunday Dinner would be entitled to Cook’s Privilege.  This meant that the cook could share any amount of food for themself.  Well I had a big appetite when I was little so you know that most of a roast chicken would be on my plate.  My mother however, quickly put a stop to that.

Then came the day that I was to cook some liver and onions for breakfast.  I was instructed to wash the liver before seasoning it.  My poor mother – still had not realised that I took her instructions very literally.  So I washed the liver until not a drop of blood was left and it turned white.  There was also the time that I seasoned the liver with Salt Petre instead of salt – can you say BLAND AND WITHOUT TASTE?

Fried chicken was a favorite.  But my family was very versed in removing pieces of chicken under your very nose.  My mother was the chief culprit.  She would come and talk to you and you are dilligently watching her hands and yet when she left – you would see a piece or two missing from the bowl.