I didn’t go to a waterfall.

 My lovely friends and all visitors passing through,

I does think about this regular, how I like to experience wonderful things, like sea lashing up and waterfall plunging down. I does dream ‘bout contemplating beauty ‘pon a mountain top, of me rambling through a lush valley. But as you and me know, fabulous travels ain’t alway possible. 

So I really glad I learn how to find delight in tiny moments. Just put me outdoors and you would think I discover the world.

I did take some photos to share with you all, look them here.

While you look, I gon visit other blogs. Til next time, I hope you can find light and brightness to fill you’ insides. Plenty luuuve, neena.

First hospital time:
Through the window, into the hospital room, the early morning light shine in. 

A photo on the wall of me mother hospital room.

Second hospital time:
Y’all won’t believe this but…I look up and, on the ceiling in the emergency room
where my mother been lying down, waiting…this is what I see!!
The nurse say an art student did paint it. 

Been home to freshen up, get food,
waiting for me brother to pick me up to go back to the hospital,
I stand in the sun; the light and bright colours infuse they self into me. 

I return to the hospital full of the energy, the vibrancy of this plant. 

Finally, I’m a paper-bag writer!!

My lovely friends, and all strangers passing through!!

A fierce case o’ gladitis rushing through me head and heart!! I am a paper-bag writer! I never in all me born-days thought I could be one…but here me is, a bona-fide one!!

So you can understand what I am blabbering about, lemme share with you what I write somewhere else recently: 

I knew, as a child, that being a paper-bag writer wasn’t a “proper” career. I learnt this from one of the Beatles songs my brothers and their friends would blast whilst hanging out in our big ole family home near the Atlantic.

I would imagine a book so dirty, it had to be hidden in a paper-bag. I wasn’t sure what the song meant by “dirty” but it sounded like something Very Bad. Somehow, the paper-bag writer and the dirty man in the song became one, and I would picture grimy alcohol bottles, a long-suffering wife, worn down and pale, and a starving writer.

(At one point, I’d pictured the writer scribbling his dirty story on a brown paper-bag, but that made no sense. How many paper-bags would he need?)

Even as a child though, I knew I wanted to do something with words…soooo…after graduating from university, I dedicated myself to writing for media. Yawn yawn. Writing for media became a bit of a drag. My imagination grabbed hold of my head, shook it and hollered, you need to be a paper-bag writer. (I’d discovered the truth about paper-bag writing by then.)

After years of hemming and hawing, and publishing digitally, I got my author’s copy in which I’ve done some scribbling. 

And now, the clean copy is out! You can buy it online from practically any book vendor (order it and they will ship it to you). You can also get it from these book sellers…click on their names, and you will go to their sites):

Barnes and Noble

Prologue Book Shop

Book Depository

Amazon

Here’s a polite description of the book:

On the north-eastern tip of South America sits a beautiful home.

Visitors from as far as Eastern Europe have been welcome there. Conversation reveals the madcap relationship between mother and daughter living in the house, and the hilarious, sometimes sad, affairs of the locals. Food is plentiful. Fish with a rude name is served. Tall tales add to the sauce. A snake dances. Stones grow. A ghost seeks help. A woman sheds her skin, spins into a ball of fire. Dreams can mean anything.

The book, a collection of dialogue, stories, quips and musings, highlights hope, grief, beauty and humour in a 3rd world setting.

It is, in essence, an irrepressible celebration of home.

And here is what the description of the book ought to be:

Oh me Lawd-oh Gawd-oh! Them people mad-ohhh!

On a serious note…I’m about to do something that I’ve never done before. 

I’m asking for your support to make the book sale go viral. My goal is to buy a tiny home of my own. If my old ma (now 86) wants to move with me, it would please me no end. Her heart is beating slower than regular, and the cardiologist cannot determine why.

In the meantime, I’m tidying up Book 2. Vroooom vroooom««««« Can you guess what it’s all about? Skrrrrrks, lemme haul up brakes on me mouth and don’t say no mo’.

Thank you for reading this far, friends and visitors. Thank you for your support. Remember to take good care of you. Eat good food, nourishing and nice. Dance up and play. Plenty lurve, neena.