We had a ten-day window free, so we seized it, took a plane to Jamaica. It was partly a surprise visit to see Karleen’s granddaughter on her 21st birthday; but also to catch up with many old friends. It was too long since we’d last seen that extraordinary island, Karleen’s home for more than fifty years. I once thought it might be mine too. I’d pulled her away; now the elastic was pulling us back, and we let it take us.
We didn’t have time for tourism. The closest we got was 2 nights at the Ocean Palms Hotel in Ocho Rios, one of those resorts where cruise liners unload their passengers for beaches and tours.
We were at Ocho Rios for a reunion with St Hope Earl McKenzie: poet, painter, writer of stories, philosopher, academic. Karleen knew him well from her work at the Mona University campus. She typed his manuscripts, being one of the few people alive who could read his handwriting. I was another, and shared this important burden when I spent six months in Kingston in 2004, without meeting him till now. Karleen wanted to meet his wife Trudy as well.
and another, more personal
a wayfarer’s notes 