A few Sabbaths ago, I went by Sister Iris to peel some yams for her. She opened the door and regretfully explained to me that Nevil (her grandson) had been unable to purchase any fish, and one really can’t have de yams wif out de meat you know, so she didn’t need me to peel yams for her. I offered to read to her. She got a big smile on her face, half agreed, and then took it back. “Cricket”, she said, gesturing toward the radio. “The West Indies and Jamaica are playing.” I almost couldn’t believe my ears. Sister Iris is 88, nearly 89, and lives in what we would call a shack. It is extraordinary that she even gets radio signal in Mabaruma; most people don’t. I blinked hard, and then asked, “Who are you going for?”, reverting to a voice I would have used with a child when asking about their pet rock. “Well, I’m going for Jamaica. They are up by so many runs, and the West Indies players are looking weak.” Dropping her chin, she explained this with all the seriousness of an avid sports fan. “Listening to cricket is one of the favorite hobbies of mine...”
The next Sunday, when we returned to pipe water into Sister Iris’s house, she was still listening to cricket. Jud surveyed the scene, set Bill and I to work digging a trench, and went off to find more tools. Jake discovered the hidden hazards of the site by standing on an unsuspecting ants’ nest. Tyler documented the proceedings. Trench dug, small geyser quenched, and a few cricket runs later Sister Iris had water flowing out of a facet in her house. Which is handy when one is 88, nearly 89, blind and house/shack bound.
If I make it to 88 years of age I hope I still live full. I hope that I will have the gumption to listen to the sports I love and cook foods I like right. Self pity sucks. Go listen to some cricket.
a group of college kids went to go mow lawns and clean up a very run down back yard of a little old lady in the community. she had made all of us "laptop bags" and aprons for the girls..of course. i love the little old ladies.
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