Recently I had a discussion with a cousin who is a radio presenter for an online radio station.
During this discussion about ‘rare groove’* songs he mentioned that he has been considering playing music generated by AI?!
Well dear readers, you can predict my shocked response. What?! Whatever for?!
Now then, I’m not so blinkered as to not have noticed the emergence of artificial intelligence. Or its dominance in just about every aspect of modern life. And that is my objection. I don’t believe a machine can replace or reproduce the individuality and uniqueness of the human touch.
I am fully aware that this debate is not a new one, even as AI and all it can or cannot achieve, be fully understood at this moment. Nor can it be fully implemented, as it is ever evolving.
While I think AI is great for many things such as research, collating information and many other uses, I draw the line at the arts.
I have no interest in listening to any kind of music that has been generated artificially. This also includes creative writing, which I’m sure is on the bucket list of programme developers!
As touched on earlier, I believe as humans we are capable of producing magnificent things. When you think of much earlier writers such as Shakespeare, Chaucer, the poet John Milton or Robert Frost. All generated from that infinite well of human creativity. And let’s not overlook contemporary writers such as Stephen King, James Patterson, Danielle Steel, J K Rowling and Ian Rankin. All prolific writers and achieved before artificial intelligence was even thought of. And those are just the famous writers!
Painters such as Picasso, Turner, Constable crafted their art from their imagination and talent. All genuine, authentic and are still revered centuries later!
Although I blog about books, fiction and the wider arts, this post was triggered by a comment about music. I’m certain that late reggae artist Bob Marley composed his songs from his creativity. So too did Lennon and McCartney, Bob Dylan and Smokey Robinson – all renowned, prolific songwriters.
The use of AI in creativity has a limited place in my world. I frankly don’t see the need.
Before I go. If new technology/AI can solve the short battery life of my phone and other devices, it will make me one happy camper!
Trigger Warning: This work of fiction contains themes of loss, grieve and bereavement.
Rose Saunders gazed through the kitchen window taking a momentary break from her Christmas preparations. Heavy snow fell from an opaque sky, coating everything with white flakes. Her large garden too was covered in snow and would lie dormant until next spring. Rose reflected that maybe she too was dormant, engulped and smothered by her own feelings since Malcolm’s death.
Rose slipped away from the window as the tears spilled from her eyes. She brushed them away briskly just as the telephone in the hallway chirped into life.
‘Mum, you really should get a mobile phone,’ her daughter Caitlin snapped, ‘it’s nearly 2016! You’re about the last person in the world who hasn’t got one.’
Rose smiled despite herself. ‘I don’t need one love,’ she replied softly.
‘OK Mum never mind that. Are you OK? You sound funny.’
‘I’m fine sweetheart,’ she lied, ‘I was taking a break from putting some finishing touches to the decorations, when you called. It’s snowing quite heavily here, please tell me you are both still coming. I haven’t seen you both in ages.
‘Actually mum, me and Flora were wondering if you would like to come to ours instead for the holidays. I’d come and get you on Christmas Eve and you could stay for the entire season. How does that sound?’
Rose fell silent momentarily. She could hear the house hum and the radiators crackle. The smell of cinnamon and cloves hung heavily around the house from the baking she had been doing that week.
‘Sweetheart, I would much prefer it if would come to me, as we planned. It would be better for me.’
‘I was thinking it would be nicer to get you out of the house for a change. You could bring everything here,’ Caitlin persisted. ‘I know you have been baking up a storm in that kitchen of yours,’ she added with a lighter tone.
‘I’ve made all your favourites: mince pies, a fruity Christmas cake, cookies, everything! It’s best you come here.’
‘As long as you are sure,’ Caitlin replied in an uncertain voice. ‘The thing is,’ Caitlin continued, ‘I know you miss dad terribly we all do, that’s why a change of venue, so to speak, might be better for you this year.’
There it was. Rose submitted silently, it was plain to see why she couldn’t contemplate spending the holidays anywhere else but home in Hently.
Rose put the phone down with a clink, sighed and headed for the the living room where the lights on the Christmas tree blinked and sparkled. The room with its glitzy decorations created a festive ambiance, even if Rose was yet to be wholly embraced by it. How could she explain to her headstrong daughter, who took a somewhat modern approach to life and living that she was sentimental? When Caitlin had divorced Marcus, Rose saw no discernible difference in her daughter’s demeanour explaining they had simply grown apart. It was as if Marcus had barely existed.
Rose had no interest in moving on. The house she was standing in contained many joyous memories of living with her father and building a life with him. All it contained, from the furniture to the family photos dotted throughout the house, anchored her to him.
When on that fateful day in December, she discovered Malcolm had been killed by a drunk driver, her first thought was that she had lost her dance partner. The shock and numbness dwelled on her like a malevolent mist. Even after ten years, it felt as fresh as ever.
Rose hasn’t expected to fall in love when she first met Malcolm Saunders at a ballroom dance class, in Hently town centre. However, the fireworks between them could not be denied. She remembered feeling thrilled when Malcolm finally admitted the depth of his feelings with an engagement ring.
Her mother Margaret did not approve of Malcolm, simply claiming he was from the wrong side of town. Her father Ted, was less vocal choosing instead to give him a chance to prove himself.
And he did, Rose noted with a slow smile. Then the smile fell from her face when she recounted how they were married in December and he had died in December.
‘Merry Christmas Nana!’ Flora announced brightly from the doorstep.
‘Happy Christmas Mum!’ Caitlin said, stamping her feet vigorously on the mat. ‘Terrible journey! Very snowy!’
‘Never mind that now,’ Rose consoled, ‘so good to see you both.’ She closed the front door, glad to shut out the icy cold. Then, Rose hugged them both enthusiastically.
‘Cool hat, Nan,’ Flora teased.
‘Thought I’d try and get into the spirit of things,’ Rose explained more brightly than she felt. She straightened her santa hat and patted her hair. Come on, let’s get started on some drinks, dinner will be ready for about three o’clock.’
Three hours later, Rose presided proudly at the dinner table. A large golden turkey sat in the centre of a busy table together with baked salmon for Flora.
Rose was enjoying listening to Flora talking about school and Caitlin complaining about her new boss at the accountancy firm where she worked.
‘So Mum,’ Caitlin said now, have you given any serious thought to downsizing? With dad gone, a smaller place would be easier to manage.’
‘Not this again, sweetheart, I thought I told you I was happy here, it’s not that difficult to manage.’
‘Yes, but with prices rising the way they are, a flat will be more cost effective.’
There was something in the stubborn set of her jaw, that made Rose’s heart ache. It was just like her father’s.
She took a long sip of wine and placed the glass down with a gentle thud.
‘That does make more sense, Nan,’ Flora added, ‘but don’t move too far away though, if you do decide.’
‘Right now, the only place I’m moving to is the living room to open our presents.’
The three of them filed into the living room and headed for the presents under the tree.
Rose tore the wrapping off her present excitedly and gasped.
‘That’s from both of us, Mum. Landlines belong in a museum!’
‘OK, I give in,’ Rose replied chuckling. Thank you both.’
‘Don’t worry Nan, I’ll show you how to use it. It’s not hard. I’m sure all your cronies have got one, so you can stay in touch.’
‘That’s something,’ Rose replied not sure how she really felt.
Later than evening while Flora was off with her phone in the spare room, mother and daughter sat in the living room.
‘The dinner was amazing! The turkey was succulent and the baked salmon was delicious.’
‘There’s loads left so you can take some home, if you want.’
Caitlin smiled as she sipped her brandy, the liquid warming and comforting. Mum, I know you miss dad a lot especially as it’s Christmas. I can still remember how you used to waltz around the living room and the kitchen. It used to make me laugh. The waltzing nurse and the bus driver! So cute!’
‘I remember it too. I miss those times, Caitlin. He died so suddenly. None of us got the chance to say goodbye.’
‘I know,’ Caitlin said in a low voice. Dad would have loved the tree. It looks jolly, very sparkly and twinkly.’
‘I learnt that from him. Your dad was the Christmas decorations expert.’
‘What I remember the most was how he used to dress up as Father Christmas when I was small, going around saying, Ho! Ho! Ho! Even when I was in my teens!
‘That was funny, he was goofy like that,’ Rose said as a smile played around her lips.
Then Rose grew serious. ‘I would have loved to have danced with him one last time, sweetheart.’
‘Then maybe you could find another partner, you’re retired now. You have many good years in you yet. When you learn how to use your new mobile there are dating sites you could join.’
‘Hmm! I’ve heard about those sites, but I doubt I’d find someone like dad. He was a one-off,’ she reflected more quietly.
‘I know, and he was the best dad a girl could ever ask for. But I want to see my one remaining parent happy again. It’s in there Mum, you just have to reach out and grab it.’
‘You know, for an accountant you can be very soulful at times.’
‘I know,’ Caitlin grinned, ‘I learnt that from my parents.’
Mother and daughter hugged then, an embrace so fierce and tight, there was no need for further words.
Eventually, they pulled apart and chatted into the night about Flora, and about Malcolm.
‘OK mum, I’m off to bed,’ Caitlin yawned and stretched.
‘I think I’ll sit here for a while and watch some cheesy Christmas film,’ Rose replied.
‘Ever the night owl, eh, mum! A throw back to your nursing days I don’t doubt!’
‘Something like that. Sleep tight, love.’
‘I’ll do breakfast tomorrow,’ Caitlin offered.
‘I’m looking forward to it!’
Rose settled back on the sofa with her feet up. She was still feeling full from the hearty Christmas dinner she ate earlier. She channel hopped briefly, but could find nothing she wanted to watch. Before long, she drifted into a deep sleep.
Somewhere in the dead of night, something brushed Rose’s cheek. Her eyes snapped open and for a moment she felt disoriented. She glanced around the room and then she noticed the blanket tucked around her.
The sound of her name, sounded far away at first, then close by.
‘Rose!’
There was no mistaking the voice. Rose turned her head and standing beside the Christmas tree was Malcolm dressed in his smart red jumper and black trousers he always wore on Christmas day.
Rose blinked several times before a smile transformed her face. ‘This can’t be real.’
Malcolm Saunders extended his hand to Rose by way of a reply. Rose floated to her feet and felt herself being glided around the living room. She was twirled and spun before they fell into a slow waltz. The room shimmered. There was nothing but air beneath her feet. As they danced and danced, they were frozen in time. They laughed and cried and kissed.
‘Happy Christmas!’ she heard him whisper.
And then he was gone.
‘Mum, Mum, wake up!’ Caitlin was standing over her mother shaking her. Mum…!
‘Flora!’ Caitlin screamed, ‘come quickly I can’t wake up Nana!’
Flora rushed into the living room, worry etched all over her young face. Mother and daughter exchanged a terrified glance.
At length, Rose opened her eyes slowly. ‘Good morning. Thanks for tucking me up with the blanket.’
‘Mum, you gave us a fright! We were trying to wake you.’ Oh! I didn’t bring the blanket! She turned to Flora.
‘I was out like a light,’ Flora shrugged.
‘Are you all right? You had a funny look on your face.’
‘Did I?’
‘It was kind of peaceful.’
Rose Saunders smiled serenely, the first real smile in the ten years since Malcolm’s death.
‘Come on Mum, I’ll do breakfast.’ Caitlin walked out of the living room, her relief evident with every smooth step.
And later that Boxing Day whilst alone in the kitchen Rose glanced through the kitchen window. It had stopped snowing. The white stillness settled upon her garden. Then she saw them. Footprints in the snow, strong at first and then fading away into the nothingness.
Rose turned away. ‘Flora, sweetheart!’ she called out. At once Flora appeared in the kitchen.
‘You OK now Nan?’
‘I’ve never been better. Let’s get started on setting up my new mobile phone. And maybe you could show me how to join one off those dating sites.
‘Cool and super fabulous!’ replied an excited Flora.
‘I’m ready to move on now, sweetheart. I’ve been granted my wish.’
Is it me or has Christmas rushed out of nowhere this year? It seems fast. Then maybe it will go part way to explaining my next point.
On Sunday I visited my local low-budget supermarket. It may help my point if I submit to you that I don’t live in the more affluent suburbs of North London. That said, it is the run up to Christmas when most people can expect to spend a little more money than usual.
Having bagged my shopping and whilst walking towards the exit I noticed a big festive looking collection box. It was the place to donate gifts, toys and games for poorer children.
I took a look inside and found it contained absolutely nothing. In fact, people were clearly using it to dispose of their till receipts. I did a double take!
Now, I know this is a low budget supermarket within a downtown area, but really?! I’m also aware that the holiday season is still weeks away, but still, I would have expected to see at least one gift in there!
Christmas is a time for giving! And I don’t believe you have to be particularly religious to hold that view. I feel Christmas is a time for quiet reflection, being with family and thinking of others who may be less fortunate than you.
Furthermore, it can’t be nice for a young child to wake up on Christmas morning with nothing underneath the tree, or maybe no tree at all!
Maybe, I’m overthinking this and the box will be filled with presents closer to the day! I’ll check the next time I’m in there.
Or could it be that the locals have donated at the tills, like I have done. Or, donated in other ways. I certainly hope so.
Interestingly, while I am on the subject of giving; a major supermarket chain again in my area, has erected large cardboard Christmas trees in its stores in acknowledgement and celebration of the season! Really?! Cardboard! Considering the profits these big stores make year on year, that’s not my idea of a display of generosity!
Ironically, I also hold the belief that Christmas, at least over here in the UK, is too commercialised nowadays with more emphasis placed on spending large amounts of money, than anything else!
What to do if you have nothing to give. Then, the gift of kindness is priceless.
Warning: The sensitive subject of death and bereavement!
Last month I attended the funeral of a beloved cousin, Jeff. Whilst I was sitting at the reception where we celebrated his life, I was thinking and reflecting.
I don’t think this is unusual at funerals, whether it is a close relative or anyone else. Interestingly, I was with my older brother Glen who, you may recall, had a massive stroke last year, which should have killed him! But luckily, he is very much alive and making a great comeback!
While I was busy catching up with family, some who not so long ago (to me) were mere preschool youngsters, but who were now fully grown adults, I took a sharp intake of breath. Heck! Life has really done a number on me, or I have done a number on myself!
Let me explain, if I may. It was life affirming witnessing the continuation of the family through the younger generations. But, as a childless woman, there is no continuation of my own family or bloodline. Hmm!
So when I lose my place on the ‘life list’ so to speak, what do I hand down? Did I truly exist? Could I go on in other ways?
As I glanced around the venue a thought formed in my mind. I have cousins, first, second and third. I have a sister, two adult nieces (my brother’s kids) who can reproduce in the future. And this is the kicker; if one drop of my blood runs through their veins then I am still going to exist much, much later down the line. That’s reassuring.
But here’s the thing. What if you can leave behind a thought, a book, an invention, a piece of art, a timeless photograph, a poem, a piece of music?! Then, surely this affirms your existence and value many, many moons from now! A comforting thought.
So, out of my grief and quest for eternity I have concluded that death doesn’t have to mean the end.
And failing all of that, I might just leave behind my winning smile!
October is Black History Month here in the UK. It was first introduced in October 1987 with its aim being to acknowledge and celebrate the contribution black people have made to British culture and the arts.
As I blog about books and the wider arts occasionally, I would like to touch on black characters and writers who are British from ethnic minority backgrounds.
White Teeth was written by black British author Zadie Smith and was first published in 2000. Set in north-west London, White Teeth follows the lives of two former war buddies Samad Iqbal who is from Bangladesh and Englishman, Archie Jones whose life is ill-fated from the beginning!
Samad and Archie are from two completely different backgrounds but somehow they still manage to get on! And as you can imagine, there is bound to be fireworks with such a friendship. Aside from being funny and original, White Teeth, set from the 1970 to the 1990s, explores themes such as family and friendship, all within a multi-cultural spectrum.
White Teeth is a colossal work and is a debut novel for Zadie Smith, who was merely in her early 20s at the time of publication! It is the recipient of many prestigious awards including the Commonwealth Writers’ First Book Prize.
The character Luther was created by British novelist and screenwriter Neil Cross in 2010. John Luther is a black Detective Chief Inspector who works for the serious crime squad in London. Luther became a TV series on BBC and ran for five seasons. It also generated the 2023 feature film, The Fallen Sun starring Idris Elba.
The character Luther although charismatic, is complicated. He is dedicated to his work as a senior policeman, so much so, that it cost him his marriage! I liked the character Luther because he solved many of the cases not only through good detective work, but also with intuition. Together with his criminal sidekick, Alice, John Luther finds himself in many tight corners! A highly unique character and a very addictive TV series. The film The Fallen Sun is dark and gritty and shows Luther on the hunt for a wealthy serial killer. Very tense stuff!
I think my favourite black character in fiction was created by the American thriller writer James Patterson. If you are a fan of his work, you will be aware of his immense output. James Patterson is a prolific writer and I couldn’t begin to tell how many books he has written – I can’t count that far!!!
However, in 1993 the novel Along Came A Spider was the first of many books which featured the very eloquent African American forensic psychologist, Dr Alex Cross.
I remember reading Along Came A Spider in the early 90s and thought it was refreshing reading a thriller with a black main character. The character Alex Cross is so well developed that he feels real to me to this very day!
Dr Cross is not only an excellent detective solving grisly, complex crimes with fellow police detective, John Sampson (who happens to be 6ft 9 tall), but he is a very devoted family man. He also listens to classical music and can be found playing the piano in his spare time!
James Patterson although an American author, has been included here as I felt the character Alex Cross was too pertinent to leave out.
As Black History Month UK draws to a close the contribution and celebration of black people in literature or the arts and culture will continue beyond October! Enjoy!
I found the book Long Island by Irish novelist Colm Toibin purely by chance during the summer at my local library. And I’m so glad I did. Furthermore, judging by the amount of reserves on the aforementioned book, many other readers are keen to read it!
Long Island was first published in 2024 and it appears is a further exploration of the life of main character, Eilis Lacey. She was first introduced in the 2009 novel, Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin. However, Long Island works very well as a standalone novel.
Eilis Fiorello (nee Lacey) is married to Italian American plumber, Tony and together they have two young adult children, Rosella and Larry. Eilis and Tony have built a comfortable life living in Long Island within a complex alongside Tony’s family as neighbours.
All seems well until one day Eilis has a visit from a strange man, an Irishman. He goes on to tell Eilis something that will threaten her marriage to Tony and possibly her future in Long Island. I have to say the opening took me by complete surprise and was an ingenious place to start a novel. It certainly had me hooked!
Eilis who is originally from Ireland, is a woman with a past and it is because of the past that she feels compelled to travel back to her home country. And this is where the story becomes more complex.
Back in Ireland and living with her cantankerous elderly mother, Eilis reconnects with former boyfriend, pub owner, Jim Farrell. The problem with this dalliance however, is neither of them are truly available!
I have to submit to you here; although Long Island starts in America, most of the plot takes place in Enniscorthy, Ireland. Furthermore, the novel has a good sense of location. I felt I was right there, in southeast Ireland! Additionally, I especially liked the 1970s setting of LongIsland with many scenes featuring public phone boxes! So delightfully quaint!
Interestingly, James Baldwin is one of the writers Colm Toibin quotes as having a influence on his work. I can certainly discern that in Long Island. However, I can also sense James Joyce in the telling of this drama of lost love and reflections of a woman in her 40s.
I found Long Island a satisfying read. The chapters are short, thus keep the narrative moving along refreshingly. However, the ending did leave me with my mouth open…
Colm Toibin in a great traditional storyteller. He has many other books to his credit, including Brooklyn. He is also the recipient of several literary awards and I’m thrilled I discovered him.
And as the first crisp, curled brown leaf Shakes down from every summer tree, To the heavens my glad heart leaps, For autumn's rich bounty, my eyes see.
When the ripe pink and red apples blush - Swollen tawny pears dangle and sway, Then, to the fruit trees I will rush, With my basket, I shall pick away!
And when the harvest has been done, My basket filled;so sweet does it smell. With the amber, green, reds of autumn, Under teal blue skies, my heart doth swell.
On a warm late summer’s afternoon in West Sussex the entire Jackson family, save a few, were getting ready to board a British Airways flight bound for Jamaica. It was to be a once-in-a-lifetime holiday.
They were in various states of excitedness as this was the first overseas holiday any one of them had ever been on. Joseph Jackson affectionately known as Joey was the self-appointed head of the clan and took this appointment seriously. As could be expected he stood at the head of the queue wearing his favourite light green tracksuit. He faced the large group and addressed them in a most serious manner.
‘Right then,’ Joey instructed now, ‘let’s all stick together, I don’t want any mishaps!’
‘Yes Joey!’ the crowd murmured, ‘anything you say.’ Then, one by one the Jackson brood, dressed in all manner of brightly coloured summer attire, from summer dresses, beach shirts, sun hats to sunglasses, bustled onto the aircraft and searched for their seats. This wasn’t going to be easy, as Joey Jackson was about to find out.
‘Son, where am I sitting?’ His mum Shirley enquired? ‘What about dad?’
‘You’re both both sitting behind me and Sheena,’he replied. ‘Grandad and Nan, you are beside me and Sheena.’
‘What about me, Joey?’ asked another one? And so it went on!
Joey Jackson knew there was not much point in telling this lot to look at their tickets and find their own blinking seats! Eventually, with the help of the flight attendants Joey managed to seat the remainder of his large brood.
‘Not sure I’m gonna like this, Joey! It’s cramp and I’ve got nowhere to stretch me legs.’
‘It’ll be all right Nan, you won’t notice it after a time!’
‘If you say so,’ Nan Ethel replied doubtfully, trying her best to settle down.
Once seated he turned to Sheena, ‘you all right girl? How’s the little one in there?’
Sheena looked at Joey with a satisfied look on her young face, ‘the little one’s fine.’
‘You’re not gonna have it on the plane are you?’
‘Dont be silly,’ Sheena giggled, ‘I’m only three months!’
‘Oh! That’s good because you don’t want to panic this lot.’
And with that the head of the Jackson clan stood and glanced down the aircraft. His face was a vision of contentment. Apart from the inevitable fidgeting and looking around everyone was more or less in their allocated seats.
It was a mammoth task getting everyone rounded up first thing that morning from various parts of south London, to get to the airport on time. But with his brother-in-law Tony’s 30 seat minibus, it worked out a treat. They only had to turn back once because someone had forgotten their passport!
And so it came to be that three generations of the same family ranging from grandparents, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles and a bunch of cousins, crowded out an aircraft bound for Montego Bay, Jamaica. Their spirits were high, only momentarily dampened down when the flight attendants instructed everyone to fasten their seatbelts.
‘Ooh!! Ahh!’ Came a loud bellow from the crowd when the captain announced take-off.
‘This is great!’ Grandad Harold shouted to no one in particular.
‘I’m not sure about this son,’ Shirley Jackson said to Joey.
‘It feels like being in a washing machine,’ Nan Jackson expanded, ‘Oh, I don’t know!’
And while Nan Jackson’s face was turning a distinct shade of green some of the other Jackson family members were getting mega excited, making lots of noise and cracking jokes, much to the annoyance of the other travellers.
‘Would you mind keeping it down!’ the flight attendant said to three cousins who were at the back smoking and telling funny family anecdotes.
‘OK love, we’ll quieten down,’ promised Alan Jackson, ‘how long’s the flight love?’ he continued.
‘Approximately ten hours,’ she replied curtly.
‘You hear that Jerry? Ten hours and we’ll be in sunny Jamaica with all them beaches, blue skies and wall-to-wall sunshine! And I heard they do something called jerk chicken! Can’t wait!’
‘I hope they’ve got some nice beer!’ Jerry retorted, ‘all that sun is gonna make me thirsty.’
‘I hear that!’ This from Ned Jackson, an uncle.
‘Yes, the beer’s nice,’ offered a fellow passenger. Jerry, Alan and Ned Jackson turned their heads to see who had spoken, ‘it’s called Redstripe. Look out for it.’
‘Thanks mate,’ Alan Jackson said looking at man who was dressed in a beach shirt and lightweight slacks, ‘thanks for the tip!’
By this point the jumbo jet was fully airborne. Some flung off their seatbelts and started moving around. Others were ordering drinks, checking out the duty free brochure while others were looking forward to tucking into their meal.
Joey Jackson flipped off his seatbelt and stood up. At six-foot tall and with the customary jet black hair and sapphire eyes, as was typical amongst the males of the Jackson bloodline, he cut a dashing figure as he negotiated his way down the narrow aisle.
Even some of the huffy passengers gave him an admiring glance, that was until his joining the others meant more noise disturbance. Some resorted to sticking on their headphones to watch the in-flight film. Others flung daggers at the offenders. But none of this mattered, especially not to Joey. This was the first time since last Christmas they were all together, save a few who couldn’t raise the money. Perfectly understandable as very few of them had anything in the way of a proper job!
Joey headed back to his seat just in time to hear his grandad Harold beckon to a flight attendant asking her if she wanted to hear one of his war stories. He seemed genuinely injured when the young attendant replied, ‘no thank you,’before disappearing behind a curtain!
While his girlfriend Sheena and mother dozed off, Joey was counting down the hours until their arrival in Jamaica. It beat spending a couple of days in a caravan with the rain beating down, as was their usual getaway.
Finally, he himself drifted into a light sleep. He woke up abruptly when the captain announced their imminent arrival. The clicking and clacking of seatbelts going on for the final time was the only audible sound for a short while. Clasping Sheena’s hand, Joey felt chuffed to pieces that in a few months, after the holiday, a fourth generation member of the Jackson family would be born.
Things could not get any better until with more than a few rumbling thuds, the jumbo jet touched ground.
As of one mind the Jacksons started shaking loose. Gathering themselves, and grabbing their bits and pieces from the overhead conparments; they readied themselves. They were in all bristling with excitement.
To the relief of the flight attendants one by one the Jackson crew, disembarked the aircraft. Some were jigging as they sang at the top of their voices, ‘Here we go! Here we go! Here we go!’
Joey Jackson wouldn’t have it any other way. He grinned widely as they all sauntered into the intense bright sunlight.
The end
************
Dedicated and in loving memory of my late cousin Jeffrey Allen, who was born in Jamaica but died here in London on 12 August this year. RIP!
Blood Grove is the 2021 mystery novel by African-American author Walter Mosley. It is the fifteenth out of seventeen novels featuring the black private investigator, Ezekiel (Easy) Rawlins.
Blood Grove is set just after the Civil Rights Movement in 1969 and takes place in Los Angeles, California. This knowledge forms the background and sets the tone of this mystery novel. Furthermore, Easy Rawlins as a black private investigator is aware of the negative impact his race can have on his job.
Blood Grove starts when a young white shell-shocked Vietnam war veteran Craig Kilian walks into Easy Rawlins’ office claiming he witnessed a black man attacking a white woman at Blood Grove, an orange orchard. He then claims to have stabbed the woman’s attacker to death. In this violent altercation Craig Kilian becomes unconscious. However, when he wakes up there is no evidence of the crime!
Easy Rawlins instinctively knows he shouldn’t take the case. He can see the dangers, but going against this hunch, he accepts the job to uncover what actually happened there.
This is the first time I have read a book by Walter Mosley and what struck me about the main character was his uniqueness! Easy Rawlins is a man of many facets. Aside from being a thorough investigator, he is a devout and attentive father as reflected by his tender relationship with his adopted teenage daughter, Feather and her older brother, Jesus. It can be argued that his children keep him on the straight and narrow!
Blood Grove is a complex mystery and Easy experiences many twists and turns as he tries to uncover the truth behind the incident at that orange orchard. The characters in the novel are extremely well-defined, especially the many dangerous, low-life characters that he encounters.
Although Easy has to adopt a mellow outlook to do his job, don’t be fooled into thinking he is a pushover. That would be wrong! The character of Easy Rawlins can and has defended himself in the many tricky situations he has met with! There were moments when you think, this is the end of him, but with his innate intelligence and guile, he makes it through!
Easy Rawlins is a likeable character. He is a man of honour, a hero who is hell-bent on doing the right thing, even at risk to his own safety.
I liked that Blood Grove is written in first person narration. I immediately felt closer to the character but also to the action. The short paragraphs moved the plot along swiftly making it a very engaging read!
There are seventeen books in the Easy Rawlins series so far. Walter Mosley also writes mystery novels featuring Leonid McGill. There are seven books in the series. Walter Mosley also has four standalone novels to his credit. Enjoy!
This reflection is the telling of the one that got away! It is not a big thing in itself but can be massive if you think about it.
Recently I was in my kitchen giving it a clean, as you do, when I came across what I thought was a recent receipt for groceries. I gave it a quick glance before aiming it at the dustbin. However, to my surprise the same said receipt was dated 2018! Really!
Now then, I know I have cleaned and tidied my own kitchen in the past seven years so this was simply the one that got away! Apart from noticing how much food prices have gone up in that time, I started thinking about about time and its importance.
How can I account for the past seven years? I know I had some significant downtime in 2021 for medical reasons. I also know I am no longer a part of the nine-to-five treadmill. Aside from acknowledging the six years added to my age I had to think about this discovery and its implications.
What I discovered is that time really is non-negotiable, it roars on regardless! We should therefore strive to make every single moment count. To make each moment productive and fulfilling. It is irrelevant whether you are young, old or somewhere in between. Wherever you are in life’s journey, time is finite so it is never on your side. What’s more, if we are to have any chance at keeping up with time, it’s vital to respect it.
Ways To Waste Time!
Have you noticed that modern life is filled with ways to rob you of this precious commodity? For example, you buy something online and then you are expected to leave feedback! This can also include a routine visit to the supermarket! What for? So I can tell other shoppers I purchased a bag of apples!
Or you TRY to get through to a company on the phone and you are requested to press various numbers, yet it still takes forever to actually SPEAK to someone.
The best one yet: you are online and the links don’t work or they are very slow to respond!
Actually, I have better things to do with my time!!!
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