Happy New Year to everybody in Social Media Land. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and are still enthusiastic about taking 2015 by storm!
Have a listen to this song, and don’t pay too much attention to the costumes: they are so ’70s but I like this recording of the age old song, ‘We Have Come this far by Faith‘.
I can’t believe January is almost finished already. Since arriving in London, I have been in somewhat of a holiday mode, for want of a better term. But all gears will have to change come February 2 when I start my new assignment as coordinator for the charity, Word for Weapons. Continue reading
Some people say there is no God but I believe that there is.
I didn’t get the full-time role that I’d applied for at Ascension Trust. Instead, I got a better paid, part-time role as the coordinator for one of their affiliate charities: Word For Weapons. Not only was the role more suitable in terms of my career level but it would afford me the privilege of having time each week to work on my personal business and other goals-sourdough included.-while still having a decent salary.
I saw it as a God-given blessing that I had done nothing to deserve, and so I prepared myself to embark on another step of my journey-my sourdough journey-determined to make the best use of this time.
Gone were the sunny scenes of Hay-on-Wye. In place of the wonderful scenes through different bedroom windows where I’d stayed,
Scene through one of my windows in Hay-on-Wye – at the start of the day, all creatures looked to the horizon in anticipation of a blissful summer’s day. . .
After my last shift at the bakery, in mid December, I left with a big box containing a variety of loaves. Gillian gave me a lift to the house where I was staying, and I busied myself with final preparations before my driver arrived at noon to collect me.
So where was I going? I had decided to go to London. London of all places! The big city that in my estimation was devoid of country greenery and fresh air and the kind of truly organic, just round the corner fare that I had grown accustomed to in Hay-on-Wye. Continue reading
As moving to a new place is never easy, so is leaving a place that one has become familiar with. It meant letting go of certain comforts and starting that cycle again of settling in somewhere and establishing a workable routine.
One of my fondest attachments in Hay-on-Wye–well, not exactly in Hay-on-Wye but in Brecon, to be more precise–was my church family at the Brecon Elim Church. Gentle reader, time did not allow me to let you in on the resolution to my initial attempt to attend church in Hay-on-Wye but suffice to say, I settled nicely at Elim and looked forward to going there each Sunday. It was a peaceful haven, especially if I’d had a trying or tiring week. Continue reading
. . . a beautiful autumn leaf pasted to the window pane! Pretty though it was, it was a sure sign that the approach of winter was imminent.
A beautiful autumn leaf in Hay-on-Wye: the approach of winter was imminent
In my mind, up until the appearance of that leaf, I had been delaying acknowledgment of the inevitable because temperatures were still mild for the time of year. Continue reading
Hay-on-Wye reminded me in some ways of Cuba in that they were both curious places that gave one the feeling of having stepped out of one world and into another that was different, quaint, exciting and new in an old fashioned kind of way.
That sense of other worldliness came home to me the strongest when I went for a walk through town one Saturday afternoon and came upon the turbaned one sitting crossed-legged on a quiet street corner. Continue reading
I was in Hay-on-Wye for at least two months before I discovered the community garden, and I would dare to say that it was one of the town’s best kept secrets.
I actually discovered it the day when I went with Malcolm to do the bread deliveries. I spotted the ‘organic fruit and veg’ sign as the van sailed past.
“Oh, an organic fruit and veg farm!” I said. Continue reading
One morning as I walked home from my shift at the bakery, I found myself against the tide of hoards of people drifting through the town. They were all headed down an alleyway between two buildings on the sidewalk and towards the racy voice of what could only be an auctioneer. The faint neighing in the background told me it was a horse auction.
I asked one man what it was all about and he said that people from all over the country came to Hay for this event each year. Determined not to miss out on any of the action, I shoved the tiredness to the back of my mind, went back to the house where I was staying-which wasn’t far away-grabbed my camera and returning, I fell in line with the other spectators, horse buyers, whoever, who were wending their way along Hay’s streets to the horse auction. Continue reading
Breakfast was my all time favourite meal of the day and that meant fruit. A big bowl of fruit or a mammoth smoothie. Sometimes I even went to bed with a feeling of I can’t wait to get up in the morning and have breakfast.
I had some of the best fruit breakfasts in Jamaica with tree ripened fruit – some from Spanish Town market, some from our back garden and some as gifts from friends’ and neighbours’ gardens (Jamaicans liked to share that way and were always proud to bestow a gift that they had reaped from their property with their very own hands). Continue reading
Back in Hay-on-Wye, I went downstairs on Tuesday morning to find Sue’s dog, George, nosing around behind the garbage bin in the backyard. What on earth was he doing? Maybe he’d cornered a cat-but no, Sue said he was a gentle dog; or perhaps he’d found a bone-no, he was amply fed with pedigree dog food. Something fishy, though, was definitely going on behind that bin. Sue wasn’t in the house, and even though George and I had come to a kind of understanding about my presence there, I was not about to entangle myself in his affairs regarding whatever lay behind that bin. Continue reading