A Muse Zing

Miss Vinny Hog

ginarey — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 04:08:48 +0000

This incident happened when I was about 6 years old and living in St Mary with my grand-aunt. It was the ideal country life for a child – a nice river, lots of janga (crayfish for the non-Jamaicans), chickens to chase etc and we always bathed in the river. So there I was peacefully minding my own business, trying to catch some janga after I had bathed when I noticed this HORRIBLE SMELL IN THE WATER. Lo and behold the water was also getting very muddy (now remember, I had just bathed). After I ran out of the river (I had to bathe again later of course) I discovered that the hog that belonged to our neighbor Miss Vinny was upstream from me WALLOWING IN THE RIVER. I was furious – but what could I do?

A few days later though I had my own little revenge (somewhat). It rained and the river “come down” (again for the non-Jamaicans – flooded). There being rushed down the river with all the debris was the dratted hog. I was so happy. But it was short-lived as it landed on a rock and stayed there for the duration of the storm. After the river went back to normal levels it simply waddled back into Miss Vinny’s yard. Again, poor me , I could only make note of when it would wallow (it was a creature of habit you see) and made sure that I did not bathe in the river at that time.

Waxing & Screaming

ginarey — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 20:36:25 +0000

This is not a childhood memory but a funny one nonetheless. When I was living in Montego Bay, I had a business called “It’s a Personal Thing” offering services such as Massage therapy, waxing, reflexology, and facials.

I got a chance to do my first (and subsequently only) brazilian wax. As I pulled off the hair, screaming could be heard emanating from my booth. Finally when I finished, the client looked at me quite calmly and asked “why were you screaming?”

Learning to speak Gina

ginarey — Fri, 01 May 2009 16:22:30 +0000

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

ginarey — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 21:17:45 +0000

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

ginarey — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 21:01:31 +0000

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.

91 mph… 90 1/2 mph… into the guava tree

ginarey — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 18:26:57 +0000

When I was in my early twenties, I went on a hike up to the Blue Mountain Peak. I fell into conversation with a fellow hiker and we were so engrossed in our conversation that we did not see that we had completely missed the trail that leads up to the peak. This trail is called Jacob’s Ladder and it is perpendicular to the trail. So if you are not paying attention to the guide and your group you can easily miss it.

So there we were peacefully engrossed in conversation when we realised that we had strayed in the middle of a bull pasture. How might we have come to this conclusion? I am sure it had nothing to do with the hulk of prime beef pawing the ground (complete with a ring in the nose) a few feet from us.

I was instantly reminded of a joke I heard about a man who was scared by some crocodiles and shouted “foot whey yuh deh?” His feet replied “mi gone lef yuh”. It is amazing the number of thoughts that can go through your head in a few seconds.

Well I did not wait for my feet to leave me. The bull went from zero to 90 mph in a few seconds and we went from zero to 91 mph in as many seconds. Picture the scene – my “friend” had long gone and left me. I was doing 91mph, the bull was doing 90 mph. Suddenly a check of the speedometer showed that I was doing 90 1/2 mph. The bull was maintaining a steady 90 mph. Well, realising that I was slowing and the bull was not I quickly scaled the only tree in the entire pasture (of all things – a guava tree).

The dratted bull just calmly lay down under the tree – occassionally getting up to rub against the tree. I was not amused. In frustration I picked some green guavas and stoned him with them but he just gave me the “This is my yard and I have all day … and night” look. I just hung on for dear life and somehow managed to sleep.

I was awoken by the unmistakable click of a shotgun being loaded. However the farmer after having a good laugh at my expense moved the bull, fed me and sent me on my way.

Limes to Lemonade…

ginarey — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 18:13:27 +0000

One day – I guess I must have been about 5 years old or thereabouts – I asked my mother for lemonade. She said no – as she was preparing dinner. Of course – I did not see any reason NOT TO have lemonade so I set about planning to outsmart my mother (riiight!).

So there she was peacefully going about preparing dinner when I came in and asked for water. She duly gave me a glass of water. Then I asked for some lime juice and she gave it to me…but with a strange look. You know – as if “what does this child think she is doing trying to outsmart me!”

Of course you guessed it, I came in a few minutes later and asked for some sugar. She made me drink the lime water and then gave me a teaspoon of sugar. So much for lemonade.

The S-90 Skank

ginarey — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 16:15:45 +0000

When I was little, my little sister and I lived with my grand-aunt (Aunt Maud) – who was very strict, for a brief period of our lives. Up the road from us was Mass Sunny’s bar which had a jukebox and that was the only way we could hear the “sinful” music, since they really had “Not Fit For Airplay” on the radio in those days.

One particular Sunday after church, my little sister was not feeling well and so I decided to cheer her up by doing my version of the S-90 Skank (a dance similar to riding a motorbike with all the various connotations, screw face etc.)

So there I was peacefully riding away to the music from Mass Sunny’s bar, enjoying the giggles of my little sister when I noticed that she had stopped laughing. Thinking that I needed to be more outrageous, I proceeded to dolly, wheelie, dip and turn back etc. Still no laughter. Only to realise that she was staring behind me.

Lo and behold – there was Aunt Maud with the “horsewood” whip who gave me one almighty whack across my butt. Howling I grabbed the coconut brush I was supposed to be shining the floor with and proceeded to finish my assigned task.

Carol’s DJ career

ginarey — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 19:21:51 +0000

In the early 70′s after the advent of (Forty Legs) , my sister Carol decided that she was going to be a DJ. So she gathered us on the verandah and proceeded to regale us with her DJ rhyme. It goes like this..

Say de dread flash him locks/Pon de mountain top/and it strike him in de back/ and a lightning flash/ Sey him like dumpling cause it is de someting/…..

She got stuck right there.

The SuperGirl Cape

ginarey — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 19:15:31 +0000

When I was five years old, my mother had a tenant whose boyfriend travelled to Miami very frequently. On his return trips he would bring back comics of all kinds for me. My favorite at the time was SuperGirl and Superman comics. On one return trip he gave me a SuperGirl cape (blazing red with the SuperGirl emblem). My mother took one look at it and said, “you can’t fly in it”. Notice she did not say “It wont make you fly”.

So one day while she was at work, I went on the housetop with my cape. My older sister (7 years old), and my little sister (about 2 1/2 yrs – who at the time was still answering questions in single syllable answers) stood under the Sweetsop tree to watch. As a matter of fact, she could not say Sylvia – but called me Tilly or Tillyboo instead.

So the great moment had arrived and I spread my arms, opened my cape, shouted, ” Up , Up and Away!” . Then I jumped.

I promptly landed in the sweetsop tree where the cape proceeded to strangle me as it had gotten caught in the branches. My quick thinking older sister ran inside, grabbed a scissors and proceeded to cut the cape. My little sister shouted up at me (in her little baby voice), ” Don’t worry Tillyboo, you flew for twee seconds and then you fell like a stone”.

My mother (who by this time was getting quite used to rushing me to the hospital for some injury or another) came home, saw my sister cutting the cape, and said, “She bleeding?”

My sister: “No Mommy”

Mommy: “She break anything?”

My sister: “No Mommy”

Mommy: “At least she had the sense to jump where the tree was. I am going to bed”

At least .. heh heh.. no spanking