The West Indian/ Carribean Nannies and I had a picnic with their little charges and the sweet ice tea. They invited me to join with the stipulation that I tell them “A Truth”. I said, “Would you like to know the secret of a Good Life?”
“Tell me now mr. Alex,” says the Haitian with the patois and the perfect smile and the Pentacostal Jazz Hands.
“Joyce’s Cooking. This is happiness. If I’m sleeping don’t wake me up. If I’m dead, don’t do CPR, if I’m in Hell, who needs heaven… This is Heaven”…
Ladies Laughing at your jokes… Never a bad sound. So we talked about God and the Devil and tea and Drugs and Jesus and Food. As I said, the sweet spiced chicken was by Joyce…not James but about as profound… Died and woke up in Paradise: Sugar Mountain…. Later was drinks with I.T. guy and the Drunk Muses… so stay tuned for more loverly images of loverly city in loverly springtime of our years.
