BAJAN SUN MAGAZINE
“Child, hold yuh head straight. I ain’t got all night.
You know the number of things I still gotta do. De
ham still in put in yet. I hope I get all de salt outta dat
leg cuz dis year I don’t know what Mr. Branch, that
thieving shopkeeper, did tinking. I know we like we
hams well cured but I had to soak that thing four
times before I get out most of de salt. Den you know
the sweet bread gotta bake, cuz what else you gonna
eat fuh breakfast before we go to five o’clock service
in de morning. Lord hav’ist mercy, I ain’t gonna get
no sleep tonight at all!”
It never failed to amaze me, the same soliloquy each
year as to how daunting the Christmas day
preparations were, but it made no difference; I had
faith in my Daydee that it all would be done and I
would awaken to the glorious smell of baked ham and
fresh sweet bread and a hot cup of Milo before going
off to church.
So, with the last few tugs of my plaits, rubber bands
affixed and head-tie securely on, I moseyed into the
corner of the bed, snuggled under the sheets and
pressed myself against the wooden walls tha t felt
damp and cool this December night. Daydee turned
off the overhead light and raised the wick on the
kerosene lamp that was on the night stand. She hated
sleeping in darkness and figured that I did as well.
I closed my eyes and I waited for her to tuck me in
and whisper her usual prayers of protection over me
before I went off to sleep. “Goodnight Cherry-Baby.
Sweet dreams,” she said as she kissed me on my
forehead and smiled that crooked smile of hers that I
loved dearly.
“Come on Cherry, time to wake up.” It seemed like I
had just blinked and there she was again, but this time
DEC 2014
accompanied by a wonderful smell that wafted into
my bedroom. I could not throw off the covers fast
enough. I ran to the bathroom, almost squished the cat
in my haste, washed my face and brushed my teeth. It
was still dark outside and I heard the faint refrain of
Christmas carols coming from down the street.
I pulled my pink and blue blanket tightly around me
and tip-toed into the living room. There it was, my
Christmas tree! As tall as the ceiling with a gold star
at its crown; blue, silver, and red glass balls gleamed
and glittered as the multi-coloured string of lights
wrapped tightly around the pine branches reflected off
their surfaces.
I stood still. The only light in the room came from the
majestic decorated conifer. And oh, the smell!! The
pine scent mixed and merged with the pungent aroma
of the recently polished furniture. Everything had
been newly cleaned and dressed; the Morris chairs
shined like dog stones on a moonlight night. Cushion
covers had been changed and newly crocheted doilies
placed on the side tables and mahogany cabinet. The
floor boards were still slightly damp underfoot from
being scrubbed with blue soap. A thought crossed my
mind, albeit fleetingly, as to how could all this have
been done during the time I had slept. Never mind, I
did say fleeting, because my primary concern was
about my tree and what lay underneath.
But, there was something different about my tree. Yes
all the decorations were there, and yes the silver tinsel
strings were hanging on for dear life on every branch
but what was that white cottony stuff that covered it
like a fluffy petticoat. I reached for it when I felt a
stinging slap on my hand. “Don’t touch dat! You
wanna be itching fuh de rest of de day?”
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