Train of thought

Subway rides, or any commute for that matter that doesn't involve taking control of the wheel, are great times for pause and reflection.

Today, my train of thought brought a memory of mummy and a private chuckle as I remembered her propensity to get vexed.

She got vexed when she was scared; vexed when she was hurt; vexed when she was sad; and vexed, of course, when she was supposed to be.

One Christmas, we were hanging curtains, a chore I was tasked to do once a year, and if I was home for a visit, that is part of the "puttin away the house" tradition that many a West Indian household toils hard at in December. I coaxed mummy into climbing onto a chair, a rocking one no less, to handle the curtain rod while I handed her the new sheers. Well boy! Almost in the same instance that her knees started to buckle and shake with fear, as she failed to balance precariously on the chair, she started to cuss. They were small words compared to some of her favourites. But two things were clear. She was too old for that "dotishness" (aka climbing) and I, the young and capable one, was not to ask her to oblige ever again.