Last year, this time, I was in Jamaica for my grandfather’s funeral. A few days ago when I heard Auntie Madge died, it broke me. Tears burned my eyes. The night my hubby, sister, and I arrived at my grandfather’s house, there were over a thousand people lining the road. Hagglers, not mourners, were putting…
In just a few minutes, Barbara prepares a daily feast — and she is her guest.
We chose Panama City Beach the way one would if they were to spin a globe, stop it suddenly, and select the first place whose letters were no longer a blur. We rolled the words around our mouths, considered the price we wanted to pay, and searched for vacation properties. For weeks, we sent ideas…
Sometimes, little noses greet the roses,
I migrated from Jamaica to the United States when I was eleven years old.
I have lived in four states,
seven cities, and thirteen homes.From these experiences, I have learned:
Home is not just a physical space.
Home is daily conversations my sister,
laughter with my brother, and the length of my mother's never-ending, but sagacious stories.
Home is coffee…
I was visiting my sister in New Jersey when I noted two small birdhouses hanging in her backyard. She told me Sav made them for the kids, and I would get to meet him that afternoon. He came over to fix some stepping stones in the yard, my sister introduced us, and I commented on…