Farewell, Dominica...

There are really no secrets on Dominica, or for that matter, amongst those of us who love Dominica where ever we live. So, I will share publicly that I am returning for now to the frozen gray wasteland of my birth.

There is no one reason for my decision, and it may not be permanent. But for right now, it is the easiest way for me to once again have my own home. You see, I have been longing to have my own home again for the two and a half years we have lived on Dominica. We have had difficulties here that few encounter, like a major landslide which rendered our land unbuildable. Anyway, we bought a tiny alternate plot and were poised to build when we did some reevaluation and decided to wait. Here is why:

• Our finances are diminished and we are reluctant to invest more money before the government pays us for the purchase of our land which they are excavating to keep the road open to Laudat. We have been assured by all in government that they will pay us, since they must have the whole property for the stabilization of the hillside. But they have yet to make an offer of payment for the land. Meanwhile we wait and watch ourselves getting older and sadder. Mr. Wizard is going to stay on the island a while to try to nudge some resolution along. Once our palm is crossed with silver, we will be better positioned to proceed with building.
  
• As you may recall, Dominica declined to give me a license to practice as a nurse here. I miss my profession of over 25 years, and I look forward to working a while longer. Already several US hospitals have written me about openings, which is gratifying.
  
• I am tired. Perhaps we both are. We know that building a house here will not be easy, and my ability to fight is depleted.
  
• Property is so damn cheap in the US, I can go back, buy a small house and have the immediate gratification of painting my own walls without having to go through the fight of building. Maybe eventually we will summer in the US and spend winters here. Who knows.
  
• I am concerned about some of the choices currently being made here. Nuff said. Clearly, it is for Dominicans to decide the future of this island jewel.

I feel ambivalent about this decision. I love Dominica. I know I will crave the shades of green, the unique smell of this blooming island, the sight of the sea outside my door. And I love the friends we have here, who have been wonderful. But I am tired of the struggle all the way to my bones.

I do look forward to seeing forsythia, dogwood, redbud, and that peculiar shade of pale newborn green you only see in springtime. Until then, picture me wrapped in an electric blanket set to high, only wandering as far as the next outlet...

livingdominica: Thank you for your kindness and support, Gentle Readers.

To Wit's End, In Memorium

This was the view from Wit's End prior to the massive landslide.

I have long enjoyed the poetry of E.E.Cummings, in fact I read one of his poems to Mr. Wizard at our wedding some thirty years ago.


Here is an offering that reflects my feeling about the expanse of air that was once our farm:

nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born
failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville
perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve
like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my
Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a
highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it
needlessly
added
my Uncle Sol's farm
failed because the chickens
ate
the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate
the chickens when
my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught
cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle
manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who'd given my
Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him
upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention
splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and
everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle
Sol's coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down
went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)
-- E. E.
Cummings

livingdominica: 'wonder if it is too late for a career in vaudeville...

Why my husband is called Mr. Wizard

Don Herbert, the original Mr. Wizard










Our daughter and I have called the man of the house Mr. Wizard for years. In fact, the name may even predate our 29 year old child, I can't be certain since my synapses do not fire like they once did. Old Americans, like myself, may remember that the original Mr. Wizard had a children's TV show in the 50's teaching science concepts.

But I do remember that the name for my husband started at a campfire on a starry night.



The Wiz has always been interested in physics, theories about the formation of the cosmos, and other gee-whiz stuff. My background at that time was more arts and literature, so I found this utterly fascinating. I recall sitting drinking wine at a campfire staring up at a sky thick with stars. "Tell me about the Universe, Mr. Wizard" I asked. And so he seduced me with big bang theory (apropos, eh?), the idea of an ever expanding galaxy, and of our minute spot in the magnificence of space and time. I was dazzled. (But I always was easy when it came to guys with big brains.)

The name stuck, and thirty some years later he is still Mr. Wizard. But only on the days when I like him. When I am pissed off, I don't call him much that is worth repeating. You probably guessed that, since 30 years is a very long time. But I do still like him most days.

As I recall this, I am reminded of something Cynthia Jones of Diana's Grove wrote:

"I will sing the song that the Universe sang on the day that the Earth was newly born and She held it in Her starry arms."

livingdominica: I wonder what that girl at the campfire would think if she could see me today, living on this wayside tropical island.