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Of the many responses that came my way about how much Scrunter is beloved, this one was particularly striking:
“Scrunter is my favourite! His songs have been playing on loop for me too all month! Pic hijab-wearing moi jamming to ‘Ah want a piece of pork’! There is no Christmas without Scrunter in our home.”
(via The Caribbean Camera)
She’s been living in the US for years, a devout Muslim, and her declaration was by no means a betrayal of her faith; rather it was an affirmation of the way Scrunter’s music has seeped into the fabric of our lives.
In the spirit of this season that brings the whole spectrum of emotions—from despondence to euphoria—I felt an urge to mention some of the things that have brought joy to me.
Not one for shopping, I had cause to be in two or three spaces where the bustle was big and a tad overwhelming. That gets me flustered and instinctively, I want to flee.
(Copyright Oli Scarff/ Getty Images)
The sight of elderly women, some straight-backed, others bent over their walking sticks, making their way purposefully and imperturbably through the hordes gave pause. One was carrying about three colourful seasonally decorated mats; another, a pile of cushion covers; another, hobbling in her walker alongside what must have been her grandson, was urging him to move fast.
It was such a reminder of the things that had to be had for the season—the kind of season Scrunter invokes, that I felt I was looking at the people he has made visible in song.
A middle-aged woman was squatting next to bakeware. She asked my advice about some bread pans.
I suggested that the one she was holding was so thin that it would cook the outsides too quickly and she might be better off paying extra for heavier ones that would also last longer. She seemed relieved, and explained that this was the first time she would be doing Christmas in her own home.
(via Destinationtnt)
She and her daughter had lived at her mother’s house, and this year she wanted to host the family. Anxiously, she told me what she was planning to prepare and wanted to know if I thought that would be a good mix.
Naturally, I got into a good ole talk with her, and it wasn’t long before we had shared stories about the challenges of parenting, and the complications of managing the season. It made me feel like I was talking to a neighbour over a low hedge of red ixoras.
At the San Juan market, the same stream of women marched about with their market bags and their determination to get the best deals. They haggled and complained, but they were obviously old hands at securing whatever they needed.
The beef man said things were slow. Young people don’t shop at the markets. They prefer to get their meats pre-packaged from the groceries, where they could get everything in one place. His was freshly butchered, far superior to the frozen stuff, but his stall was a snapshot of a bygone era, frequented mostly by those with age and experience.
Those excursions brought bouts of nostalgia and were a reminder that at the centre of all that we celebrate, consciously or not, lie memories of community and home.
They’re not costly, consumer-driven experiences. They are snippets of the things we truly appreciate. Like the friend who not only shared the sorrel he had brewed, but brought me a bag full of the already cleaned flowers.
Or the gathering at my home where my Guyanese friend generously spent half a day showing a group of thirty-somethings how to make pepperpot, and her beautiful bread. It was one of those warm, gregarious occasions that will linger as a symbol of sharing.
The truth is, there is much to savour and appreciate in the season. The secret might be to just open ourselves to receiving the moments.
Expectations can beat you down like a big stick. People camp out on the door of marketing images that define what the perfect Christmas is, and it is hard not to fall prey to the wily influencers who define for you what that ought to be.
(Copyright Ekaterina Bolovtsova from Pexels)
When it comes down to it, no strings of baubles and themed decorations can replace the warmth of just being at peace with the world. If it turns out that you are alone, you don’t have to be lonely—at least that’s how I have come to look at it after years of spending the day itself on my own.
I’ve said it many times—for me, as long as I can have homemade bread, baked chicken and stuffing on Christmas Eve night, I am good to go. My way of connecting to others has been through cooking and sharing, the satisfaction it brings is enough.
And while I have been making this list of pleasures, I cannot resist adding that the West Indies winning both the ODI and the T20 series against England lifted my spirits enormously. It was a captivating tournament as both sides produced gems of performances, and it was truly a competitive encounter.
Photo: CWI Media
It has made me look forward to the World Cup being hosted here in the Caribbean (and the USA) next year.
I’d like to wish everyone a season of contentment. True, times are hard, but your spirits don’t have to be.
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Vaneisa Baksh is a columnist with the Trinidad Express, an editor and a cricket historian. She is the author of a biography of Sir Frank Worrell.
