Stop and smell the magnolias.

Dear Friends and Lovely People passing through,

Sunday morning in Florider, and the leaves sparkling after the thunda and lightning and rain perform big drama Friday and Saturday yesterday. How the trees and plants and grass love the show! You can see them shimmering with gladness.

I know exactly how they feel.

The very same way when I go pon the road for afternoon walks.

I does feel in love. I want to jump and click me heels.

Up this road, the twenty-foot or mo' tall pine-cone tree wearing a jasmine gown. The vine o' the jasmine weave a wide green skirt and loose bodice and sleeves on the branches o' the pine tree. Thousand o' white-star flowers dot the gown from top to bottom. 

Ow me Lawd, I could just lay meself right there pon de road with delight, stay there and close me eyes and live. 

You would see what I mean if you inhale the perfume from jasmine and magnolia and gardenia. It gon lift you to a space that you never been to before; you ain't need no ticket on a rocket. Trust me when I tell you, you ain't gon need no gee-gaw, designer perfume, dress, handbag, trinket, electronics to lift you up and out o' youself.

Oww, the fabulous things you gon see if you only slow you' pace, oh wow.

Magnolias in almost every yard blooming in the warm sunshine. I never in me whole born-life see flowers so big pon a tree. Like plate. White like the smile in me heart. Every day, I walk up to them and examine they new bloom-freshness, they tender age-ing brown. I does put me face close and inhale lemon and secret blends o' fragrance from the land of exotica. 

And don't forget them flowers in the grass. Not because they small, at you' feet, and don't have perfume. Them is the li'l colours, li'l details we ain't see now, but gon notice if they gone. 

I stop to say hello to them too.

White petals with purple centers, mo' small than pin-head, congosetting...gathering in groups, chatting; bright yellow daisies spreading like carpet; butter-colour flowers with delicate petals; small, hard white knots; lantana in bunches; all o' them is worthy of adoration and gratitude. 

If you's one o' them who walk with speed, I feel sorry for you. Oh, the wonderful things you ain't gon see, and if I tell you slow down to look, you gon think I boring. I might be boring to you, but I gon never be bored.

Next week, I gon share some photos.

Ta-ta for now. I promise Ma we gon sit on the front porch and gyaff...chat.

Have a lovely week, plenty love, neena xx.

De Hole.

Dear Friends,

Picture this, you driving by in you' up-to-date car in this out-of-town Florider settlement...that is to say, suburbia but I call it settlement because it so quiet, it feel like every scrap o' life settle down to silence. Next thing you know, you spy a pretty gyal with long tan-legs standing on a white wicker chair on de porch of a house. She hollering as if she money leaving she. 

That was Cousin Lis.

(These immigrant people, I tell you, going to good-good foreign people land and behaving like this!)

She and she family been visiting one bright sunny day, birdies choiping, boiping, eating doity woims, and so on.

Cousin Lis too tall for de chair, wobbling like teen-gyal trying out high heels for the first time. 

Me and she brother, Cousin T., stroll out to the front door.

Me sister out dey arguing. "Is not a big snake. Is only a smallll snake."

Cousin Lis insisting, "It big. It! Big! What is wrong with you?"

She point to the plants, hands quivering.

After a year and a day, she calm down, step down from she stage and enter the home, walking bend, like a ole-ole, frail ole man. 

Food pass around and we dig in (which remind me of de hole, I getting to that soon). Without fail, de conversation circle around snakes.

I announce, "N., the next door neighbour, say that de snake been hanging out on a wall and drop on de shoulders of de husband, de former owner."

Honey-chile, lemme pause here to tell y'all.

Where I come from, in South America, we got several cultures blending together, African, Indian, Amerindian, Chinese. None o' these cultures ain't got white-folks stoic attitude towards snake. We don't hug-up and kiss-up snake and ker them to bed with we. Okay, well, some men and women seem like the human-variety kind.

Anyway, all in all, as far as we's concerned, Snake Symbolise Something Strange. (See what I do there with the Ss sounds?) We-the-blended-citizens pool we resources and together we believe that when you dream about snake, it mean you got enemies. I ain't doubting this. I prove it to meself couple times well.

In other words, we got a healthy fear of snake. 

Many weeks later, after the Incident with Cousin Lis, me sister announce, "Look! A hole in de garden. Must be de snake."

Dear Lovely Friends and those passing by here, I am asking you in Proper English: can snakes dig holes? 

Until you reply, I gon be avoiding this garden in this here foreign land for a while.

I got another theory as to how de hole appear but I got to fix lunch, my mother feeling hungry. No, no roasted snake.

Stay safe and have a lovely week. Dance up and eat good food. Plenty love, neena. xxx

Toleration.

My dear lovely friends,

I rushing baaad today. Me sister having guests over, and I want to help she in the kitchen.

I barely scrape some time and post the "every other Sunday" thing on Substack.

I gon be back soon to tell you about the hole in the garden and so on.

In the meantime, here is what I been writing about toleration ain't a botheration.

Happy Labour Day. Eat good food, take care o' you. Plenty love, neena. xx