FMM 1 3 2025 Walk Good

“The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.” ~ Cesare Pavese.

I have often said (or thought, or written) that what helps make the Holiday season special, that magic time at the end of one year and the beginning of the next, is the rituals.  Doing the same things, eating the same foods, feeling the excitement build and the anticipation increase.  In my case, the traditions were severely challenged by moving from the UK (cold Christmas and mince pies) to Jamaica (Christmas breeze and black cake) as a child, then returning to the UK for three years of nursing school (cold) and then to Miami (maybe cold, maybe hot, maybe we go to the beach, maybe we drink hot chocolate!)

For this reason, the notion of ‘going home for Christmas’ is a moveable feast.  The whole notion of a family home did not exist.  My father, being a minister, lived in the church house (manse) of whichever church he served.  So even my childhood home in Manchester, England, did not belong to us.  So where is home for me?

For most of the first part of my working life I worked every New Year’s Eve (usually the night shift) in order to make sure I was off for Christmas with the kids, and my birthday (the 30^th, the eve of New Year’s Eve).  It was not until I changed careers by switching to teaching nursing instead of being a nurse that I was able to get two weeks off over the Christmas holidays.  At that time my parents were aging and showing signs of declining health, and so I decided to travel to the UK (Wales mostly, where my parents had retired) to spend time with them each Christmas.

It was the home that my parents lived in for the last roughly 25 years of their lives, possibly longer than anywhere else they had lived, nestled in a hillside overlooking an estuary, with views of the nearby mountain ranges.  Surrounded by beauty in Jamaica in the last 23 years of their working lives, they found an equally beautiful part of the world to retire to.  It was no sacrifice to visit them, to spend last days with them, never knowing which visit would be the last time I would see them alive.  This is the bittersweet experience of the exile living far from loved ones.

Since I spent my formative years in Jamaica, despite having lived in South Florida for most of my adult life (over 45 years), whenever I come back to Jamaica it feels like home.  The memories of going Christmas caroling, with a wax candle dripping down and burning (hot for a second, then cool and solid – almost a delicious experience to pick it off and realize no damage was done!), cool enough to need a sweater in the cool hills of Clarendon; getting up before dawn on Charismas morning to walk through dew-soaked grass to sing more carols and shiver in Church; the opening of presents and the promise of good food, washed down with sorrel; this was Christmas for me.

Any visit to these places of my childhood, whether in the UK or Jamaica, bring back a host of memories, of things you had forgotten.  A visit to Wag Water River in Castleton Gardens reminded me of hikes down to ‘Sutton River’ (was that its name? Or was it because we went to the section that was in Suttons?), where we could splash in the river, watch the women downstream beating their clothes against the rocks then spreading them out to dry, then eat the food cooked on an open fire.  Don’t ask me why, but in Jamaica, when you cook a big pot of food in the open, you say you ‘run a boat’. 

Up in Castleton Gardens we encountered two of Jamaica’s 28 species of endemic birds, birds unique to Jamaica.  One was pointed out to us by a local farmer who went and dug a few heads of soft yam for us, then sold us plants from his garden.  The first bird was the ‘Hopping Dick’ (correct name the ‘White chinned thrush), also known as the manchickman.  It is a bird known for its orange beak and its habit of hopping along the ground to look for food.  The other was the Jamaican crow – looking similar to a more common black bird, the ‘Kling-kling’, but with a different beak. 

The challenge of being a bird appreciator is that they are usually a non-cooperative species.  They let you know of their presence with their calls (‘some a dem a holler, some a bawl’) but are often only spotted in the trees when they flit around and then swiftly fly away.  For a photographer it is a big challenge, to be ready to snap them in that moment that they are still and in the open.

One of my experiences on this trip is to be reminded of the beauty of memories, of moments in our life that stand out.  When memories are stolen by a disease like dementia, what remains?  It may be that you are left repeating five or six stories of your life over and over.  For the listener it may be tedious to keep hearing them again and again.  But what is it like for the teller of the stories?  What would your five stories be?  Would they show you in your best light? When you don’t recognize the people around you, can you still see in their eyes, in their actions, the love they have for you?  Have you enough kindness and generosity banked, that it makes it easier to sit through your frustration, your struggle to keep track of your wallet, your glasses, your lost memories?

As I write this, the early morning petchary (Jamaican mockingbird) has started her soliloquy, her many-tuned repertoire that shows off her range.  Dogs in the area alert us to the early morning walkers who are enjoying the seasonal coolness as they march to health.  A dripping gutter reminds me of the rain which fell up in the hilss last night as we visited with my childhood ‘forever friend’ and reminisced and put the world to rights.  Home for me is wherever I am, so long as I am surrounded by loved ones.

This first Friday morning of the New Year I hope that you are able to pay attention to the beauty in the world around you, wherever you are.  I hope that the vibes this Holiday season have been positive, restoring and reenergizing.  I hope that as you notice the simple things around you (a flower blossoming, a bee busily working, the sun lightening the sky and coloring the clouds, a rainbow) you can take a slow deep breath and give thanks for it all.  After all (to quote from that great poem, Desiderata), it is still a beautiful world.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family! And as they will often say in Jamaica: Walk Good!

One Love!

Namaste.