THE LOWDOWN – Toxic waist
God is good! Just when you hit the depths of despair, He works in mysterious ways and you bounce right back.Been real low down lately. Life slipping away and no time to do the things I want to do. Fighting a losing battle to convince the family to let’s work early and be in the house by sundown. We finish around midnight every night. Can’t blow the sax. Haven’t gone to Celebrity Tent which I never miss. Too tired. Can’t take it no more.Meanwhile, we haven’t seen a Sunday Sun in a long while. The wife buys the daily paper on the road, but it’s too much hassle to drive to Belleplaine for a Sun only to find they’ve sold out. Maybe new Editor-in-Chief Kaymar Jordan (Looking good, boy! Wow!) will find me a delivery man. Or maybe she hates my guts and will send me packing. Who knows?Anyhow, last Sunday for the first time in many months the wife bought a Sunday Sun. Which contained a message from Upstairs just for me. Sponsored by the Shekinah Medical Centre Inc. and entitled simply Grass: “You have to admit it. Grass has guts. Just a few short weeks ago Barbados was brown. Dry and brown . . . you couldn’t find a blade of green grass . . . now, it’s all a lovely green. Grass just seems to know something we don’t. “Most of us stopped growing a long time ago . . . just turned brown and dusty . . . we simply gave up . . . just died . . . forgot how to live . . . accepted defeat . . . became useless . . . . Okay. But now the rain is falling again. The drought is over. Learn from the grass. You can grow again. Be green again. Live again.” Amen, brother! Thank You, Lord!Lots more inspiration in that Sunday Sun. Al Gilkes crafting a column out of nothing. Cameron Boyce still going strong at 98. Some BARP old girls wukkin’ up and doing dixie. And Carl Moore being taken for a Grantley by a con man.Don’t know why that should make me smile. Maybe because I myself once got hit. Fellow from the village came up here one night. Said someone had been injured in an accident and he wanted $10 to pay a car to take him to hospital. I obliged. And later heard how he bragged that he tricked me out of $10 to buy drugs. Big joke.They found his body in a fishing boat off Oistins some years after. After waxing euphoric with the Sun, I suddenly realised, hey, not only the grass is turning green. Follow this one closely: I got a call (small world) from my sister in Denmark to tell me that brother Joe had called her from Australia to report that oldest brother Ted, at 84, had been naked in bed with his (Joe’s) sister-in-law, who, I believe, is somebody’s wife, and did I know if he was okay!The phone connection was very bad but somehow the conversation then turned to fjords, of which apparently Denmark has a good supply. And she promised to get me one for installation at Morgan Lewis beach as a local and tourist attraction. Hoad Fjord, I’m going to call it.On Monday I was right UP there with Dawn Morgan. But the class act really belonged to Wild Coot Harry Russell. Lord have mercy! In what must surely be the definitive word on wukkin’ up, or toxic waist, he made the English language talk! “The rear section, bedecked with only a thong-like string and rippling with muscle and fat that alternate with contractions of upward circulatory and spinning motion, uncoils itself in spectacular convulsions. There is a gyroscopic movement that accompanies the halcyon parade. One swears that she is in another world.”Once, after I had written a column that he liked, Gladstone Holder called me up and presented me with a P.G. Wodehouse novel. Would that I could give the Coot my whole library!And finally the grands have been warming the old cockles. Little Haillie sung me her version of that old Bajan favourite Slime On Goose (get it?). And Raffie refused to leave his “star boy”. “Who’s your star boy?” his mother asked. “Grandad, of course!”By the way, no, it wasn’t me who took care of that fellow in the boat. And Ted’s affair was apparently a dream the lady he was in bed with had.