21 Mar

Today

Today will be a good day. I will return from church and kick my shoes off, having been in pumps for all of 3 hours. I will walk barefoot to the kitchen with confidence as dear hubby cleaned it before we left. I will light my kiwi scented candle and proceed to make dinner, it will be Jollof Rice, Fried Plantain and Roast Duck. As I bend down to pull out the pot, The 10-year-old will walk in and rubbing my shoulders affectionately will ask “What’s for dinner mum? I’m hungry”.

The 9-year-old will come in almost immediately and ask “Mum when will you sort out my PSP?”  This question will coincide with the 10 year old’s repeat of his question.

I will make a concerted effort to answer both children at the same time while closing my ears to number’s 4’s screams in the sitting room as number 3 and he compete to see who can do the flip the fastest. Number 4 doesn’t realise he’s only 2, he thinks he is 4 or 5. I will wash my rice to the background sounds of the 9-year-old telling me about the Charles Dickens’s movie he watched yesterday. His narrative will be regularly punctuated with “guess what happened next mum?” To which I must reply “What?”

He will call my attention to look at the way the child’s leg was bent, he shows when he tells. I will then comment on his narrative, and give him a life lesson or two from the gory tales.

I will beg the two boys to give me a minute so I can type something on the laptop. I will go to Pawpaw and Mango to attempt to finish updating today’s post. Child number 4, the 2-year-old will then rush in gleefully to switch my laptop off. I will clench my jaw and thank God for His gifts to me. I will decide to wait until he falls asleep. In the meantime I’ll go and watch Colombo with the older boys. Hubby will be somewhere in the house, perhaps on the phone to his buddy discussing the upcoming match between Arsenal and whoever, while eating a bowl of cereal. Hubby likes his cereals.

He will ask me if he can quickly check on an update on a sports station, it won’t be more than 2 minutes. I will get up to check on my Duck sizzling away in its own oil in the hot oven. I will forget about Colombo and go to the room to go back on the laptop since number 4 seems engrossed in his play. At that point he will start screaming “Stinky, Stinkyyyyy!” He needs a nappy change or needs to use the potty. The 6-year-old will remind me about the adaptor for his keyboard, I was supposed to have replaced it by now. He will tell me all about Sunday school and how well-behaved he was and that he answered all questions correctly. Chances are that it would lead to an account on how he answers questions in class at school, but Todd doesn’t. He will tell me Emilia is very annoying and his best friend is now Tristan. This in turn will lead to what Tristan loves to eat at lunch. I will at this point stop him from talking too much.

I will call my friend Justjoxy to get an update on her day and to update her on mine. I will call Kenny in Minnesota (like I mean to do every Sunday). I will call Tolu as well as Shade and Lara. I will not be calling Bukky because she’ll be busy, we’ll catch up in the week. I hope to catch up with Tola too.

Our dinner will be like no other, very lovingly prepared and so tasty too. While having dinner I will regret not buying coke when I went shopping yesterday. I will lie down to read Rich Minds, Rich Rewards- again. After that I’ll grab my planner, pic shown below and plan my day tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be busy. I have to attend to two enquiries from the UAE, the customer whose custom-made valance did not fit her daughter’s bed and is now worried that said child’s bedroom will not be ready for the her 4th birthday,  I will chase up a missing chandelier as well as an old invoice payment that has gone AWOL, I will send a gift voucher to the customer whose stepstool arrived broken-twice -yet sent us a nice comment, that makes me smile 🙂 I will update the PP Blogs and prepare Tuesday’s newsletters.
 

But that’s tomorrow. Today, I will enjoy and rejoice in; it is the day the Lord has made.

I hope your Sunday is restful and filled with all the goodness God has in store for you!

25 Feb

Toks Goes to The West Country (Actually Beyond)

So there I sat on the coach. I arrived at the station in the nick of time and the only seats available were towards the back, a few rows away from the bathroom. I scanned the area and quickly noticed that it was packed with students which was little wonder as my destination was a university town. I looked forward to 3 1/2 hours of uninterrupted reading. I’m excited about my book. The front cover has a handsome man and a pretty woman, they make a great couple. I think it’ll be a good book. The story line seems good. It was then I noticed him:

The coach is full of students but why is there an older, bearded gentleman on it?  He is Asian and fits “The Profile”. I start to get nervous as he gets up for the umpteenth time to use the bathroom. Why on earth do you need the bathroom so early, we only just left. He is wearing a long puffer jacket, at first I wonder why he has to be the only one wearing a long coat, then I notice we are all wearing one but then everyone’s is short. Okay mine is long but no, it isn’t puffed. I start to type texts to dear friends and family to inform them of my impending demise. I type faster as I noticed another man a couple of rows in front staring suspiciously at the bearded man as he returns to his seat. The minute this man sits down a younger Asian man gets up and goes to the bathroom. Five Minutes later I turn to look at the bathroom to see if smoke has started bellowing out from beneath the door. It hasn’t- yet. In the meantime I start to wonder what role I’ll play. I would like to be the hero. The one who tackled him to the ground. Or the one who was bold enough to voice her suspicions to the coach driver, but not the mug who blew a false alarm now labelled racist or Islamist (that’s what it should be called).

I try to settle into my book. It is promising, but too many characters are being introduced and in rapid succession. I think the author should not have used names that are too similar like Melba and Shelby, it’s a struggle to keep up and I hope it’s a good read. It’s all I have with me- reading Success Magazine(which I brought for back-up) sometimes gives me the feeling of being at work.

Would I sell my story to The Sunday Times? Of course, I have no plans to die (not that you plan these things- except you favor euthanasia). I wonder how much they’ll pay as the hero who stopped the bomb from going off?  But what if I don’t make it? I’m jolted back to reality as a smartly dressed man with red hair rushes towards the bathroom. He doesn’t make it and pukes right in front of the door. Ugh!! He finishes puking and stands upright looking around like a complete idiot. About now everyone is busy covering their noses. I fight the urge to tell him he needs to wipe a bit of puke stuck to his goatee. And I win, urge slowly retreats. The guy now has to walk the length of the coach to “report” himself to the driver. Wine is indeed a mocker. He says to you; “here, just a little more, so what if you get drunk? (moron)”

We make an unscheduled stop at a bus garage to have the coach cleaned. It was at this point that I had nothing but praise for the British Transport system. I remember years ago when my cousin Gbemi and I had to walk miles back home from Hyde Park. It was new year’s eve (I think) and buses were few and far between. We finally caught bus 32, only to have an inebriated passenger spill out the contents of his stomach. We were all bundled off the bus and told the bus was “no longer in service” and we walked all the way home.

As I get back in line to get back on the coach, I silently pray that I don’t end up near the bathroom or near the drunk. I think everyone is praying along with me- for their own sakes. Thankfully I don’t. But I end up right behind the younger Asian man who was in the bathroom for 10 minutes. He starts talking excitedly to the young lady beside him. I hear Jesus Christ. I hear Church. Before long I realise he is sharing the gospel of our Lord Jesus with her.

I look at my book, and now know where the adage comes from…

Thank you for reading, do come back!

23 Jan

A Brief History of Words (and Phrases)

Words are powerful. You may have heard that statement before. It suggests that when you speak out loud or make a verbal declaration, there is a high chance of it coming to pass. In some cultures, words carry a very heavy weight. It says that you are responsible for the words you say, so be extremely careful as you could very easily find yourself directly or indirectly responsible for someone else’s death.

Words also have a life of their own. I realise that because there are words that have lived with me from as far back as I can remember, refusing to let go. I am able to recall the very first time I heard the word:

Risky

I was about 6 at the time and my family had just returned from an out-of-town weekend. Upon our return we discovered the live crocodile (or an alligator, can’t remember which) that someone had left us. Needless to say we were baffled and terrified. They had left it in a tall wooden crate so that the head and tail both reached up the sides; part of the belly lay in the middle. I remember my cousin Wole holding me up to have a peek, I grabbed the sides of the crate to have a better look and he said; “Careful Toks, it’s risky“. That was the first time I heard that word. We later found out that in that part of the country it was considered the highest honour to receive a crocodile as a gift. Apparently Dad had saved some person’s life and they were just being er…thankful. At the risk of starting an animal rights invasion to Nigeria, I’ll let you know that the Croc was left to die as my parents rightly feared for our lives.

Repose

I heard this word for the first time  years ago when dad announced he had arranged a mass for my grandpa who died in 1982. What’s the point of having a church service for a man who died so long ago I asked.  His response? For the repose of his soul. I asked what  repose meant. He explained but I don’t remember. No plans to add that to my vocabulary.

Woe Betide you.

A boarding house special. “Woe betide you if my bed sheets are not bright white after you have washed them”.  “Woe betide you if you do not bring my diner in from the dining hall.” Woe betide you this, woe betide you that. Senior Funmi comes to mind here. For the longest time I thought this ugly phrase was a slang and not a real word. I also though the “betide” was spelled betie as senior Funmi and others dropped the “d”. Today I still wonder who came up with the word anyway. It is one of those words that you can’t figure out the meaning unless you already knew what it meant. As it turns out it is not part of my vocabulary.

Massaged the truth

I love this one, credit to President Obama. It was his description of what was done to the weapons of mass destruction report carried out by the Bush administration. I keep meaning to use it but I forget. I also feel sorry for the next few people I’ll be speaking with as I’ll be sure to worm that phrase into our conversation. Somehow. Anyhow.

Now I haven’t the faintest idea why I chose to put up a post on words but I thank you for stopping by to read. Plus of course the fact that you are reading this means a mass is not being held for you, that’s something to smile about isn’t it? Have a lovely rest of the day!

28 Dec

The Nigerian Bomber Edition

I was the queue at the Department store today waiting to pay for my items when this woman a few yards away started shouting to the checkout assistants;

“Hey girl! hey girl!”

The woman in her sixties had a very strong Nigerian accent; she wore ankara with a turtle neck sweater on the inside and a long coat on the outside. Her gele was tied in a way that completely covered her ears.

“Hey you girl, hey you!” She continued very loudly. “Have you got Longjohns?!”

Pardon? The assistant had a can’t-you-see-I’m-serving others-attitude along with a why-don’t you-come-closer-so-you-don’t-have-to-shout? look.

Me? Embarrassed, but only slightly. I wavered between thoughts of directing her to Uni Qlo where thermals are sold, costing me my place in the queue and staying put, hoping she stopped her shouting. I chose the latter.  I chose the latter because thanks to Mutallab I have not been in a very patriotic mood. I have not been too keen on aligning myself with fellow Nigerians, even if it was just to offer help. I thought of ways in which I could successfully fly under the radar. From reverting to my maiden name and a first name I’m not fond of, to claiming Ghana as my motherland. At least the Ghanaians are a calmer bunch. They don’t shout, brag or do 419 (not that much anyway). I will be sad to curb my enthusiastic association with  Nollywood, Ovation magazine and designer  rice  and stew, but at least I enjoyed it when it lasted. Since I don’t attend Naija parties, I won’t be missing 40 year old bald men in tight jeans trying desperately to look 23, or the Naija-London babes with weaves down to their bums almost wearing shimmering mini-dresses. I look forward to the mouth-watering culture of Kenkey and shito, I binged on it while I was pregnant with child #4 so I’m well versed. I will also finally learn how to speak Twi, that way Suzy and I can at last gist to the exclusion of all others present.

 In the end I chose not to deny my people, instead I will face up to the fact that hailing from a country where one person chose to have  illogical idealolgies that resulted in him attempting to blow up NWA flight 243  is not the worst thing in the world. It is just one individual. Nigerians are not only shocked but dismayed and are certainly not in support of that sort of behavior. Come to think of it the population of the country is so high, the odds are there will be at least one nut-case. In fact I think we’ve done quite well 1 terrorist in every 151,319,500 people isn’t that bad, statistically speaking if the only requirement for being a terrorist was to be a Nigerian, and all the world was Nigeria, we would have a grand total of 44 terrorists in the entire world.

After paying for my goods I felt guilty that I didn’t help mama. Thankfully I found her in another part of the store and gave her very clear directions on where to find Longjohns. Not only that but I said goodbye to her with “God bless you ma” and the sweetest smile, you know how we love respect!  It felt good.

06 Dec

Totally Random & Unrelated, Not Even Close

When I meet someone nice for the first time, I exchange phone numbers, email addresses, etc. I do so with every intention of staying in touch because I enjoyed our conversation, I think they are lovely and would add to my life and I would love to add value to theirs too. I always add a warning though, I tell them recognising faces is not my strongest point. So if you ever see me walk right past you in public as though I have chosen to “blank” you, actually I haven’t. I simply did not recognise you.

Dear friend Bolatito always had my back when we went out and ran into people we knew. She would say to me; “Toks, the one in the red shirt we know, the one in black we do not know”. I can’t think of the number of guys who thought I was making a pass at them because I smiled at them. I have been known to hug perfect strangers, ugh!

So there I sat at the hairdressers chatting with a really nice lady. It turned out that her son is a well known Christian artist. Not only that but she was married to Maxi Priest’s brother.  (Remember Maxi Priest- cute looking 80s Reggae/R & B singer with dreadlocks? I just wanna be close to you). Now Hubby and I watched him perform on TV recently after a long hiatus and were surprised to see his new look- dreadlocks all gone, in a suit with a new single. So I told this nice lady at the salon (in the spirit of showing off, and  I’m in the know) that Maxi Priest looked nice with his new look.

“New look?”

“Yes, you know without his dreadlocks”, I replied with confidence.

“Maxi Priest hasn’t cut his hair off” she replied, “has he?”

She had this bewildered look that said why would a total stranger know something that I don’t?

“He’s been growing that hair since he was 13! He wouldn’t do that!” She says with disgust. So I call hubby to confirm. Who promptly told me that the singer we watched was not Maxi Priest but Maxwell- another R&B singer with hair.

My back was turned to her and I asked hubby; “where do I now put my face? I’ve just been arguing with Maxi’s sister-in-law!”

It was with great confidence that I turned to her, cleared my throat and admitted that I was wrong and that it was in fact Maxwell I was referring to. Of course at this time I wish I hadn’t gone on and on about how nice he looked with his haircut. I  went to great lengths to assure her that I loved her brother-in-law and loved the dreads too. I don’t know how well I did there. Not that it matters, I didn’t ask for her phone number or email address. So if I “blank” her next time I see her it won’t really matter. Or would it?

www.punkinpatch.co.uk

www.punkin-patch.com

22 Nov

Employment 101

Some people have a job history, others just have the one job for life, others still work at home raising kids or from home running a business. Mine is quite a history. In fact I suspect my first few jobs instilled the distrust I carry around for sales people today. See post on salesmen here.

My very first job was in a country where teenagers work- England. The thought of working at the age of 17 was both ludicrous and exciting. So as I came across the ad for what I thought was a telephone canuasser (the writing on the display window was bad and the v looked like a u) I felt I could handle it, whatever that job meant. How hard can it be? I can dial, I can talk. The pay was £3.00 per hour and the job entailed going through a list of some 100 names,  calling each one and telling them “wow, your name was picked out of our draw and you have just won a trip to Turkey!” I had to sound excited and genuinely pleased that the gods were indeed in their favor as they  had ‘won’ this all expense paid trip to a dingy Bed and Breakfast somewhere in Turkey. I worked 3 hours per day and on my 3rd day I was “let go” as ‘head office’ decided to cut costs by closing the East London Office.

“We have to let you go Toks.” It was the first time I had heard that phrase.

“No, I’m fine you don’t have to let me go, I like it here.”

“You don’t understand- head office have decided to cut costs…”

Ahh! So that’s what let go means.  They told me they would stop by the next evening with my pay of  £21.00.  Besides learning the new term of being dismissed, by the end of the week I also learned  through experience a new word- ‘Naiveté’  as they never showed up with my £21.00.

I got my next job a few days later working for a double glazing company. This was where I learned that “commission based” was a euphemism for “voluntary”. That job lasted all of 2.5 hours. It was in 1990, the year of the worst winter for 27 years and the snow reached close to my knees. We were told to knock on doors asking for an appointment for potentially free Double Glazing. With the assurance that most sales men in the company secured a minimum of 4 appointments daily and at the rate of £25 per appointment, it was a steal.

Armed with visions of my new car, new wardrobe and  house I trudged along expecting to have 10 appointments that evening.  I didn’t have a single one. In fact no one wanted to see us.  To tell the truth I couldn’t really tell who had double glazing and who didn’t -something about an aluminium strip was mentioned earlier when the manager explained but I didn’t get it. When we returned to the base, the same guy who told us top sales people in the company made up to 10 appointments per night now said Monday nights were notoriously slow as people chose to stay in watching Coronation street. When I realised there was a soap on television every single night from Emmerdale to Eastenders and what-not, I faced up to the fact that I was working with cowboys and fled the scene of the crime.

This is a 2 part post so do come back to learn about my stint at Wimpy’s, MacDonalds, Woolworths…

Thank you for reading! Don’t hold back from sharing your thoughts in the comments box below 🙂

20 Nov

“I remember…”

Excited because I caught up with a long lost friend today.

The best part of re-connecting is that we actually chatted. I mean, we caught up until our chats became separated by yesterday and today. And then she had to go to bed. So we’ll catch up later. Much better than the one who accepts (or sends you) a friend request and then doesn’t respond to a follow up message. And then you wonder if perhaps they do not sign in often but they do because their wall is peppered with hourly tid-bits and comments. Anyway I digress. During the course of our conversation Funmi mentioned the name of a town that I have not been to in well over 10 years. At that point I realised I have a memory for every place I’ve been to. A bit like child number 3 who has a narrative for just about every word he says. I guess he gets that from me, I have a story behind every outfit I own, many times when complimented on a dress, I start at the very beginning.

Stratford  Thanks to a kind family, I lived in Stratford for about a year when I first arrived from Nigeria. But the main memory I have is of the day I went swimming. I had this friend who wanted to date me. I come from the school of thought that belives in playing hard to get, yet I wanted to impress him. So when he asked how I spent my afternoons after school I told him I usually went swimming. He asked if he could come along the following Thursday, I wanted to show off some more so I said ‘sure’. Trouble is I couldn’t swim. Enter dear friend Eva. I grabbed hold of her and informed her that somehow, anyhow, I must learn how to swim by Thursday. Day after day we trekked to the swimming baths in order not to bring a disgrace upon my good family name!

Highbury My cousin lives there. Safety and security come to mind when I think of Highbury. My big cousin always was (and still is) a welcoming face. She loves to cook and entertain and so we have a feast whenever we go there. I remember standing at the bus-stop by the butcher’s waiting for bus 4 or 19. I didn’t mind at all as the butcher was just like the ones you read about in fairytales- fat, jolly and wearing a white stained apron. Next to him was the cobblers. Again like the ones we used to read about, particularly because where I come from they are not called cobblers but shoemakers. 20 years later, the butcher and cobbler are still there, same sign, nothing’s changed. That’s security, un-moved by time.

Elephant and Castle I hate that place. Sorry if you live there but I actually loathe the place. I have memories of dear friend Tinuke and I in our student days, living a student’s less-than-cushy life. Plus it took me a while to realise that the station actually had a shopping centre in it or vice-versa which was unbelievable dinghy, I thought it was an indoor market- then again maybe that’s what it was. Either way I still don’t like it.

Cricklewood  Many fond memories here. My uncle and aunt’s home and I loved living there. One day someone parked in front of the drive-in, Tinuke promptly told him to move his car as he was blocking our drive- not that we had a car. He refused. That night we both made eba (starchy, sticky African staple meal which hardens on exposure to air) and plastered it all over his windscreen then we stuck a note-” See, we told you not to park here!” I am cracking up as I write this! The next morning the oyinbo man came out and as Tinuke walked across the road, he tried to run her over, we burst out laughing! He was lucky it was a slightly damp night, the plan was to have had the eba harden by morning.

There are so many memories, some unbelievably embarrassing with a major cringe factor! Who knows, I might muster up the courage to share some day.  Like the day I walked in on uncle Ade…

Thanks so much for reading, do come back.

 

10 Nov

Playing God

The whole timetable thingy has been a huge success. You may remember from a previous post where I finally admitted that I needed to budget my time and money. So I started with a weekly meal planner which features my family’s favourite meals. On each day I have about three options- hard, not so hard and dead easy to fit in nicely with my mood or energy levels for the day. I shop for the week knowing exactly what we’ll be eating throughout the week.  Hubby isn’t picky and most of the time is happy with whatever I cook. Occasionally I get the ‘Nah, I’m not feeling that Toks’ . On those days I give him the impression that he actually has a choice. This is when I pull out my other 2 options and he decides. Or so he thinks. As for the kids they don’t have a preference- that’s African parenting for you. There is no “Sweetheart what will you like to eat?” Instead it is “What is that meal you hate so much? Rice and Broccoli Stew? You better clean your plate, I’ll be watching you because that’s what we’re having!”.

Some African Parents love to play God. They decide what their children will study at school. Who they will get married to and when. They plan the wedding, pick the colours and decide on the guest list.  Actually this happens in many cultures. In some cases they even name the children borne out of the marriage, I have a cousin who loathes his own son’s name because his parents chose the name.

So it is with great pride that I preside over my family’s nutrition and choice of meals, even when they think they are exercising their own judgement, it isn’t really the case. Heck I even control their thoughts!

Like the X-factor drama. For my non-UK readers this is the UK’s version of American Idol. Viewers were made to think that they decided on which act stayed and which one was voted off, until Sunday when the two horrors by the name of John and Edward where “voted” to remain on the show. Word is that the results were rigged and Simon has secretly supported those two from the beginning. Poor Simon.

There are rules about playing God. For one don’t protest too much. You don’t want to risk having to make a decision that goes completely against the crusade you have been running. To go from “these boys are horrific, I will leave the country if they win” to “I-I-I  can’t decide” is a banned u-turn and there are cameras everywhere.

So when I take my throne as she-who-cooks-whatever-she-absolutely-wants-to-and-you-must-eat-it, you will not catch me protesting too much when child number 3 tells me he hates fish and don’t I remember that he is allergic to it? I will gently coax him and convince him that tuna is not fish. It’s just another type of seafood. After all I can’t please everyone, I’m not God.

04 Nov

Blackberry Bold, a Proper Noun

I am totally in love with my Blackberry Bold! Hubby isn’t smiling, he has accused me of spending more time with it than him. Sadly he is right.

My social life was suffering greatly as I couldn’t bear to be more than 20 minutes away from my laptop. I apologise if you are one of those  who had to endure my rudeness when I walked into your house and helped myself to your computer, sometimes without asking.  I stopped going out- choosing to remain glued to my pc instead. So when hubby suggested there was a better way to do things, the choice fell between the iPhone and the Blackberry.

After my research, I rightly concluded Research in Motion developed their phone for people who needed immediate access to their all-important emails. Picture Donald Trump and every successful business man or woman.  Michelle and Barack both use Blackberry too. And iPhone? well I picture urban, trendy, I-love-my-music-and-I’m-in-sync-with-the-latest-fashions. Blackberry = Success, iPhone = fashion accessory. Sorry iPhoners, don’t hate its just my opinion.

Do bear in mind that I have never owned a smart phone and the features I have  used so far is only a tiny fraction of what this amazing piece of equipment can actually do. If the Blackberry were a car, it’ll be a Rocket. Yes a R-o-c-k-e-t.

Okay! The first thing that blew my mind was that instead of chasing my emails, they were chasing me! My reaction? Oyinbo don crase! (Broken English very loosely translated – the creators of this thing are mad) The email notification is adjusted to bleep when I get a business email and the flashing red light when it’s a personal mail. I sometimes see that flashing light and feel the trackball under my thumb in my sleep.

There are at least a thousand applications, and I currently have facebook, The Bible and the AJC- Atlanta Journal Constitution. No doubt there are tons more I could use but we’ll do things poco-a-poco, let’s not get things too complicated here.

I discover something new almost daily, like when I called Bola and her picture promptly showed up on the screen, I did not upload that so where did it come from?  It took me a moment to realise that it was linked to facebook. 

Word, Excel and Adobe are all part of the package, an excel file on a tiny computer screen! I can also have QuickBooks if I want to be a sorry workaholic.

Needless to say my Blackberry doubles as an iPod, only better because I can now listen to music without the earplugs. Talking about earplugs, BB’s are sound proof. They plug deep into your ears and leave out all external noise, plus they are soft and comfy.

BB’s screen is very hi res so there are no compromises when you watch anything. I watched two episodes of Lie to me on my BB in a hotel room in Paris where all TV channels were in French. I missed nothing. The sound is crystal clear.

Internet access is fast and very user-friendly, you can easily highlight a phone number and call while surfing the net. Your browsing history gets saved and life suddenly becomes a breeze.  I chat with my brother almost daily as he is also a successful Blackberry user, we use the Blackberry messenger app, owners only. All in all Blackberry is for serious emailers and texters thanks to the full QWERTY keyboard, I play wordmole while on the queue at gas stations and supermarkets. Suddenly everything has a purpose!

And that’s why Blackberry is a proper noun, please don’t make the mistake of writing iPhone with a capital ‘I‘.

04 Nov

Rain, Rain

It rained today.

The world got washed while I slept just so that I could breathe in fresh, clean air on a bright new day. Thank you Jesus for a beautiful new day!

Whatever the challenges I face, I had a whole brand new day today and it smelt nice and was free from pollution.  Whenever it rains it is as though the previous day got washed away and a new day begins. I feel a calming peace as I start out with this new slate, wiped clean just for me. And yesterday’s unsolved problems are taken care of with new solutions and brand new energy.

Is it just me or do you also see clearer on a newly washed day? I thought so! Have a trully blessed day 🙂