Life can be so cyclical. This is a post from my other blog....but Once again i feel the same way. This time though I actually found the song that I've been singin in my head all day...and back then too...
Can somebody play some parang??? SomeSignal Hill Alumni..."christmas coming yeah yeah yeah yeahhhh yeahhhhhhh "....
Im longing to hear bamboo bursting in the cool afternoons...When the days cleaning would finally slow down and the smell of lemon pledge and wood varnish would float out on the night air...
Im longing to smell fresh bread baking in the mornings...and see loaves of bread and sweetbread covered with towels and cooling on the counter. The days when pans of fruit sit soaking in rum....when the press for the pastels become the most prized possession and a day is dedicated to oiling it just right.... When the big decisions become...Olives or no...??
Im longing to walk into the market and smell the apples and grapes and pears on sale and KNOW...yes its Christmas in Trinidad... With vendors harassing you to buy their wares....when one just down the street would be selling the same thing...
I want to hear the box base and guitars playing in the neighbours house and know that soon it will be our turn to be the host.....When the rum in abundance in the cupboard will emerge...and the bucket of ice filled and the nuts and walnuts laid out....Its not Christmas without the cheese snacks for the kids...and the black cake for the adults.
OOOh that black cake....the recipes guarded like a honored possession...where sisters can tell the difference in who made the "batch" that were eating now....
I want to smell the ham baking in the oven...where children and adults alike keep turning the light on to peep at the skin...caramelizing in the oven...knowing that still there would be a wait while it cooled....but hoping that you were lucky enough to be around for the sample...
Can you remember the batter?? The left over goodness from the cakes?? who cared that the ingredients were raw?? The vanilla essence in that creamy batter was more than enough. Who can forget the smell of varnish and lemon pledge everywhere, the smell of fresh paint and linens brought out and left in the sun ....so that the very smell of them was island warmth.
This is the time of polishing silverware, or removing louvres, and cleaning cabinets. This was the time of lime on the cement outside the house, of polishing mahogany until you could see your face in it...Chores were aplenty...but it also meant opportunities to be good were too....
