Reflections on life from a caffeine hyped point of view

Happy New Year

2011-12-31T16:47:00.000-08:00

Here we are. Another year. Wow. Where did 2011 go? Guess it's true, as you get older, time blurs and you lose track. It was a strange year, wrapped in a miasma of hopelessness, ill health, and yet, there were some standout moments that gave me an inkling of what was lurking not too far below the surface. Middle age is not so different from any other age, you just have more experience is all.

In deference to my counsellor who always made me name some good things, here goes:

my very good friends
phone calls from my brother
realising that people think I can do ANYTHING (even when I'm winging it!)
understanding my value, as a friend, family member, employee
learning to let go (again)

The purpose of my story? None really, only to say, don't be afraid to explore, to find your passion, to get rid of the clutter in your life. It's not about money, or fame, or position, life is more than that. Stop re-reading that last chapter, picking away at the mistakes, get on and write the next chapter and the next. It's your story, feel free to edit as you will. Sure you may never get that 21" waistline back, or fit into a size 6, so what? It's not the end of the world. Love yourself, don't let some ad agency copy define you. It's not worth it to spend your time agonising on what isn't, focus on what is. Because all that time you wasted, you'll never get back. Was it really worth the agony? I doubt it.

So here's to 2012, going forward with hope, with a promise to myself. Happy New Year everybody!

The day before the day before

2011-12-30T13:38:00.000-08:00

It's the eve of New year's eve, the hustle is on to do last minute things for tomorrow night; preparations for parties, or grander scale balls, things to resolve, resolutions to be made. End of Year is a time when people re-examine themselves and make decisions to greet the new. In the midst of the madding crowds, stop and ask yourself, is this where I want to be?

Seen on Facebook, how do you move on to the next chapter in your life if you continue to re-read the last one. On this the almost last day of the year, I know with certainty that my own life is about to change. And that change is a good thing.

So to you out there in the world, Happy New Year. Don't operate from a position of fear, don't stay in a rut because it is comfortable or easy. Be who and what you want to be, because life is precious and time waits for no one.

Thanks for the innovations

2011-10-05T20:46:00.000-07:00

This blog, since inception has always been written on an Apple computer, starting with a Powerbook and then moving to a succession on MacBook Pro's. Every computer I have ever owned has been a Mac, somehow, I've never been a PC type of girl. Despite his oft made fun of black turtlenecks and control freak demeanor the world has much to thank Steven P. Jobs for, several generations of people have been allowed to "Think Different" through his genius.

Tonight, there will be many superlatives written, analyses on how his thinking and products changed the world. "Steve's brilliance, passion and energy were the source of countless innovations that enrich and improve all of our lives," Apple said in a statement. "The world is immeasurably better because of Steve." Yes, despite whether you liked him or not, used his products etc, we have lost a visionary make no mistake. Since the second coming of Jobs at Apple the company has consistently pushed the envelope to create products that capture the imagination and by so doing, changed the face of world. http://edition.cnn.com/2011/10/05/us/obit-steve-jobs/

Apple has inspired many to continue to reach, to up their game, Tim Cook has large shoes to fill. And in truth, Apple may continue on brilliantly, but it will never be the same. Because in his drive to always top his game, Jobs has left a long legacy. And by golly Steve, we'll miss you unveiling the next Apple product.

Thanks for the innovation.

Runaway

2011-10-02T16:08:00.000-07:00

My brothers don't hate the two X-men who were part of my life the longest....at least not for the reasons you might think. They would have weathered physical abuse reasonably well. It would have given them a tangible target for them to get angry, they could have pinpointed that thing; the thing that they could say, leave. And then, how do you tell you big sister, the one who's held your hand through all those moments, that her life is shit, because she's allowing someone to do that to her? Or that many years after the fact it's still colouring her life because she won't let anyone get past the barriers.

My brothers, all of them, whether by blood or by choice, were angry because I let someone make me feel like crap, treat me like crap and most of all, I took it. So they were angry with me too. Don't let anyone tell you that mental abuse is preferable to physical abuse. Neither is better or worse, they just are, they are about control. About having someone manipulate you and take away your self respect.

And here's the thing. You either fight your way back or you spend the rest of your life second guessing yourself, questioning your choices, being afraid of taking risks. Having written about this again and again, it sounds like a broken record. Therapists encourage you to practice introspection in these situations. To look inside yourself, because that's all you can do. This is what I found out...introspection, not a bad thing. But, you can do it so much that you lose yourself to it and end up doing exactly what you said you wouldn't. You analyse everything to death, stop trusting your gut, have complex explanations why you are unhappy. As opposed to: this is a shit situation. This is not for me or whatever the situation warrants. And though the cause has virtually disappeared from my life, there remains the effects of those years and so, always there despite intellectually knowing that it is shit.

Funny how it works, I am the one everyone calls when there is a problem or needing assistance. But I rarely give anyone an opportunity to do the same for me, because if you have no expectations, you cannot be disappointed. My brothers and friends are spoilt by me.... why then am I so surprised that it was them who broke the wall.

Oddly enough, it was a gay man sitting over a dinner table, in a lovely restaurant. Having given up his evening, because I called, because I was crying, to do something nice for me. Over dinner, my wonderful friend said to me, all those things you want a man to tell you...and in that moment, you know that someone loves you. And it does not matter that we will never be more than platonic friends, we have love. And the next day, two gay women, lovely, lovely people, saying, come on over, talking, drinking wine, exploring the fridge, dancing in the living room as I DJed via iPad. And as they hugged me and sang Bruno Mars, Just the Way You Are to me, in that moment, life was good.

Thanks guys.

October

2011-09-13T03:18:00.000-07:00

It is almost October, the year is mostly over bar the hectic rush that is Christmas. Hard to believe the millennium is already into its second decade. Soon we will observe the rituals that have survived virtually intact for centuries, in a way that is reassuring because the world changes these days at fever pitch.

Fall had always been my favourite season when staying in colder climates. The crisp bite in the air, sharp, smelling green. Birds flying south for winter, knowing that summer was over. And the leaves turning shades of red, bronze and gold, whole stretches of hedges looking as though someone had passed with cans of spray paint and coloured them in. If spring is the time of renewal and new things, fall is the time to say goodbye.

In the tropics, ten degrees north of the Equator the changes are less dramatic but no less noticeable. Here the evenings get cooler, the scorching heat of the day banished by colder air descending. In the early hours of the morning condensate drips off the eaves of roofs, a patch of wetness denoting the footprint of the house. It still rains, that heavy torrential downpour that leads to hot cocoa, evenings curled up under the blanket with a good book or these days, an e-Reader. The snowbirds are here, arriving in numbers daily. Inhabiting the neighbourhood fruit trees, their songs are different from the native birds. If you take the time to listen and the noise of the traffic quiet enough, their music accompanies morning coffee.

These cooler mornings are harder to get out of bed. The nights are longer, the days shorter, dawn takes its time to arrive and this is the time when sleeping with someone can be a languorous pleasure. The sticky, sweat filled August nights giving way to a time cool enough for cuddling in a tangle of pillows, sheets and bodies. Who could not like this?

Growing up without a father after 9/11

2011-09-09T06:48:00.000-07:00

Growing up without a father after 9/11

This story sad, no denying that. The reporter well captures the poignancy of children waiting for a father that never comes home, the recurring nightmare of a parent who has to cope with the loss of a spouse and deal with kids and an event that is so large that it is a constant reminder of loss. For the world, 9/11 is still the news story of the century, it touched so many lives and changed the way we thought of so many things that were previously commonplace. Ask anyone over the age of twenty where they were on that day and they can tell you. For those moments that it took for the towers to come down, the world stood still, watched in horror and then watched again and again as the events were endlessly replayed by the world media. It was a truly sad day for mankind because it was caused by man, not some random act of nature.

And yet, this story has another resonance for those Trinidadians reading it. In reality, it is the story of many Trinidadians who leave here to go and live in "America". It is their version of the American dream. Many immigrants work at low paying jobs to ensure that they have a roof over their family's head while they continue in their quest for better. For some, it means a house, car and decent schools for the kids. Others study and get better jobs and create their own version of the dream. But for this family it turned out to be a messy, somewhat sordid end that left them perhaps questioning the memory of the person. The underlying story line is familiar to us, it happens here all the time. We recognise Vishnoo, from sneaking into a movie, to the way he interacts with his children. But he was also a still married man, living with another woman, having children leaving another family behind. It is a quintessentially Trinidadian tale in many ways, it's the stuff of so email forwards: only a Trini would decide to go up into a building to get a better view of a disaster, to the quotation from the wife of ""The way he go, it's like the earth opened and just take him away from them." Life is messy, you never know what will happen.

Been through the desert on a horse with no name.

2011-09-07T03:59:00.000-07:00

Oftentimes the greatest revelations come to you in the wee hours of the morning as you toss and turn hoping for blessed sleep. In the darkest hours of night problems seem more dire somehow, urgent, unsurmountable. Things, that by day, have smaller significance when pitted against the more urgent imperatives: getting a job done, going somewhere on time, and all the cares of modern living. It is therefore little surprise when seemingly startling answers to all those puzzles that you push to the back of your mind, reveal themselves in detail when there is little to otherwise occupy you. However, depending on your state of mind, they are perhaps, not the solutions you should be looking at.

It is hard to face the realisation that increasingly, values that were once held close, have over several generations been eroded, leaving behind a global culture that more and more, worships the vapid, self promoting cockiness that stems less from true ability and relies more on being “with it”. You Tube has provided a platform to promote your every moment, documented in often excruciating detail for mass consumption. More and more electronic media gives rise to the adage that everyone is a writer/photographer/designer/chef or whatever is today's trend. Even blogs, like this one, are really one person's musings put out for opinion. In fact, the constant magnifying glass has removed any need for standards, after all, anyone can do it, no matter how good or bad. Is this a good thing? You get to muse about that when you can't sleep, I don't have an answer.

When you consider that public figures these days are mostly famous for being famous, the result of a “sex tape” or having some scandal attached to their names is it wonder that we seem to be raising children with little morals and ethics. Things that ten or even five years ago would have been unacceptable have now passed into being commonplace.

It is okay to be a lout. Starting sentences with, “in my day”, is a surefire way to have eyes rolling and to be typed as a dinosaur, probably past your usefulness. And in truth, who's to say they're wrong. After all, they are the ones inheriting the earth, never mind that the majority seem to have passing acquaintance with grammar, manners or common sense. No, my generation is not perfect, far from it, we raised you lot so that should tell you something.

But it is interesting, we are told that age is a number. Advertisements for cosmetics, educational opportunities etc tout that we can be forever young even as our ageing bodies let us down by developing joint problems from all those spin classes and immobile botoxed grimaces that pass for a smile. We endlessly the pursue the fountain of youth, competing though we should know better. You see age is more than a number, it signals that we have had some life experience, or it should. That we have a wider perspective than someone just starting out because of those experiences and that we are unashamed of being who we are. Sadly, that is not the case. We struggle to keep pace, even as we conversely say that we are proud to be older. One of the best ads on TV is for the Toyota Venza. Hats off to the ad agency who came up with that one. You'll have to google it – see, we can learn new things that are relevant.

These musings in the wee hours of the morning are not about vilifying young people or the way of the world. It is the calm acceptance that perhaps my time has passed, my relevance eclipsed by younger, brighter stars, and that's as it should be. It is wondering, in my fourth decade, what is the next chapter. And no, forty is not the new thirty, it is what it is.

Too much time on my hands

2011-09-04T05:32:00.000-07:00

Times flies when you're having fun, everyone knows this adage, we hear it often enough. In reality time goes by at the same rate, it only seems to drag if you are bored and wish for it to go quickly. So far it has been easy to not write about the state of affairs in Trinidad (and Tobago). It is the usual drama that accompanies most things here and it will all be over soon enough, forgotten except to say, remember (insert curfew story here), back to normal. The state of emergency and accompanying curfew declared by the Government of the day have not much changed the way most Trinidadians live. Most of us have self imposed curfews and our rights are usually being infringed by certain elements, now they have legitimacy. For the record, this blog is not about the SOE so you can stop reading here if you were looking for SOE commentary.

Now that I can't venture out past 9 p.m. there is lots of time to do “stuff”. After all, there is only so much Criminal Minds and educational TV one can watch. And so, got to thinking, always dangerous I know, about the difference between HAVING character and BEING a character, because yes, there is a difference. It all started with an email forward sent by a like minded friend. For a long time I've pondered in this space that I'm not like the average Trini and for the most part those things that other trinis consider to be the hallmarks of being a TRINI continue to elude me. Thanks to my friend, I've discovered that in fact, I am Bajan (or Barbadian to you non Caribbean people). Why you might wonder, would someone born, raised and living for most of their lives in one Caribbean island, have so many characteristics of another despite not having spent more than a few days at a time there.

Consider the evidence at hand:

I read, I buy books – like the average Bajan.

The Bajan does not throw KFC boxes out of moving cars but what is more, if they see someone exhibiting classless behaviour, they tend to open their mouths and articulate their discomfort.

The Bajan does not care to elect people who SHOUT on platforms. They don't care for politicians who have soup kitchens and rum and roti. Their politicians speak in a normal tone of voice and the female ones are not trying to be beauty queens. Their media does not care to follow “important people” around and generally focus on issues rather than diatribe.

The Bajan does not have to tell the world, every minute, how dey “love up dey country”. They demonstrate that by educating their families, coexisting peacefully in neighbourhoods, protecting their environment and raising the type of citizen that will not disappoint them at election time.

In the event that a police report is made, the police will actually manage to come. And the police have email addresses that a citizen can use to communicate with a relevant officer.

The above are all characteristics of my non-Trininess and more examples can be found at http://www.unep.org/ourplanet/imgversn/103/05_look.htm. If you have character, all those things above are not alien, you will in reality, find them to be normal every day living. Trinidadians on the one hand take pride in the fact that “we is characters” and yet complain about everything. Sadly, we often mix up reality TV, with real life and unless there is some drama and bacchanal associated we think that order is boring. We love our country so much that we condone illegal vendors on the streets, squatters in the hills, poor and illiterate driving, garbage everywhere, vagrants in our capital city etc. The list is endless. We have blithely accepted that we needed a state of emergency to get the police to do what they should have been doing in the normal course of their work. Because apparently, without the impetus of a false sense of urgency, the majority of our police force would not get the job done.

For some reason we, the general populace, have a sense that it is okay for us to be lawless, rude and inconsiderate because we are not criminals, those are the people with guns living in “hot spots”. We are just “characters”. And so fail to see the correlation, that crime is crime and you don't need a state of emergency to fix that. What you need is to have more character; i.e. backbone, forward innovative thinking, hard working, having a sense of humour without having to reduce everything to humour and less tolerance of those things that we perhaps attribute to “being characters” instead of seeing them for what they really are, a lack of responsibility and real character. Our problems as a nation are not going to be fixed in a day, or in three months even with the suspension of the constitution. First we will have to grow up and accept that 49 years into our independence we have as yet to live up to the late Dr. Eric Williams' Independence Speech :

“What use will you make of your independence? What will you transmit to your children five years from today? Other countries ceased to exist in that period. Some, in much less time, have become totally disorganised, a prey to anarchy and civil war.

The first responsibility that devolves upon you is the protection and promotion of your democracy. Democracy means more, much more, than the right to vote and one vote for every man and every woman of the prescribed age. Democracy means recognition of the rights of others. Democracy means equality of opportunity for all in education, in the public service, and in private employment--I repeat, and in private employment. Democracy means the production of the weak against the strong.”

Or a definition of independence, “ The capacity to manage one's own affairs, make one's own judgement and provide for oneself”.

A long road

2011-06-05T15:51:00.000-07:00

It's like being wrung out, nothing more inside, nothing more to say, or even if there were, not wanting to say it because what would it matter. Stepping away from writing is the most difficult thing, it is the skill that has defined my being for most of my life. Writing is intensely personal, you do it alone, you and the blinking cursor, blank page that you fill with words, sometimes enthusiastically, sometimes painstakingly. Longing for the creative outlet and perhaps reaching an audience. That's what having a blog is about, writing about something and sharing it with people who may or may not have similar likes and dislikes.

But looking back at the last few years, it was as if the writing had become more and more bitter, less and less about what creativity. More about the situations that unfolded and the discomfort of dealing with things that had very little chance of being resolved. It was about venting rather than exploding with the weight of responsibility. Understanding that it would require radical changes to reach a new place and perhaps it was time to do just that without second guessing. It is also about understanding how much the world has changed. This is how people must have felt in the 60's when man went to the moon, it was so radically different to everything that came before and then the rapid changes due to technology that turned everything on its head. Pedestrian by today's standards to be sure, those changes triggered an even bigger explosion hurtling us towards a very different, unexpected outcome to what our parents planned for those of us born in that hopeful time.

After nearly a year of not writing it feels like trying to ride a bicycle that hasn't been oiled in a long time. Or the inability to do a forward bend after a long lay off from yoga. Creaky, lumbering, not graceful or even interesting, but what else to do.

Today's thoughts

2011-03-19T06:06:00.000-07:00

This week a friend had thieves break in to her home. We live in the same building, it was traumatic on two levels. One, for my friend and her family who lost many treasured memories and important papers, and then, for myself knowing that there by the grace, it could be me. Fortunately for her, she missed confronting the perpetrators though the police surmise that they were still in the house when she got home. That in itself was nerve wracking and a lot of prayers were said that night. We found out later that another neighbour had been hit as well. The police were surprisingly helpful, at least the fingerprint guys, but we know, unless there is some fluke, the possibility that my friend will get her things back are slim.

For her, this incident was the last straw in a long line of circumstances that have forced her to re-think her decision to live in Trinidad. It's been an on-going conversation between us for several years, we ponder our inability to own a home, the ever rising cost of living and the very real fear of being victims of crime. This country that we have given so much to that gives so little back. In a way, this incident has been a catalyst for making decisions that we have been putting off.

In the meantime, it is distressing to read the news. The situations first New Zealand and then Japan have caused the world once again to look at the power of nature and understand that even with the best planning, it can still all go horribly wrong. The stoicism of the Japanese people is amazing, even in the face of such great adversity they are still seen to be behaving in a disciplined manner. They help each other, follow rules and advisories, you might think that there would be a huge break-down in society but so far, they have gone about trying to survive as best as possible under the circumstances without resorting to anarchy. It is an object lesson that collectively we should be carefully observing, there by the grace, it could have been us.

One thing that becomes clearer each day is that the nuclear crisis has huge long term implications for the future use of nuclear power world-wide. How much more evidence do we need that perhaps we should have moved away from this as a source of power and invested in more sustainable, earth friendly sources? Germany and Venezuela have already re-thought their positions and we shall see how long this thinking lasts. Meanwhile, forgive the pun, we will all face the fall out in some way.

In the face of these crisies, and other natural disasters occurring in the world, the unfolding events in the middle East that started in Egypt and have spread to Tunisia, Libya etc, you may be forgiven for thinking the prophets of doom and gloom who have taken to embracing the idea that the world will end in 2012, as per the Mayan calendar, are on to something. Whether or not that is the case, we'll find out to be sure, but in the meantime, it's our planet and we have to live here.

I am woman re-visited

2011-03-13T13:17:00.000-07:00

Though it may seem hokey to today's young woman, Helen Reddy's " I am woman" defined a generation of women. As the world commemorated International Women's Day on March 8th, there were thousands of women who had no idea of the significance of the day . They are lucky enough to take for granted the ability to work outside the home, to choose whatever career they wish, to not be limited in their activities by the fact of their gender. Because as those of us who are a little older know, it has not always been that way.

It was as a small child in the 70's that I first heard Ms Reddy's song, it was played over and over on the only station we had TTT. The station has come and gone like many of the pioneers of women's empowerment. They are much to numerous to list here but thanks to the magic of the Internet, they are out there for a whole new generation to experience. The song "I am woman" is simple, it does not speak only about being equal, it talks about empowering yourself and that you have the power over your life. Wow. For a kid who only knew that women were teachers, or nurses or other "womanly" type pursuits it was powerful. For the first time I really knew that I could choose to be whatever I wanted. Unlike my great grandmother, grandmother and even my mother. Eventually, I was the first of my branch of the family to go to university, male or female. In my mother's generation she had cousins who went to university, they were considered to be unusual, remember, it was the 70's. Twenty years later, it was me walking around campus without a doubt that I had the right to be there.

For generations women have fought for the right to work and receive equal pay, to join any profession and be respected not reviled, to wear whatever they choose, to vote, to run a country, to manage their own money. There are still places in the world where this is not possible due to fundamentalism, or parochial societies. In several countries in the Middle East a woman cannot drive a car, go out in public without a male escort etc., perhaps someday too they will have the same rights that women have fought for in other parts of the world. I hope so.

That is why it is so disturbing, the latest trend in female performers, to debase themselves or perform lyrics that are denigrating to women, reality TV which magnifies the worst qualities possible. That women's empowerment is taken to mean that we can behave as badly as possible and then excuse it as "freeing up". Too many women fought too hard and for too long. Gender equality does not mean that we are better than men or that we should take the place of men, it means that we are evolved enough to value ourselves and to act that way.

Meanwhile, I am woman, hear me roar, in numbers too big to ignore.........
I am woman Helen Reddy

For the Slacker

2011-03-03T05:28:00.000-08:00

This one is for my ¨pardner¨, fellow Trini, Slacker.

Slacker has a gift that I could only hope to play catch up with, he is a much better writer than I, his prose often spare, with well chosen words that flow one after the other making sure you want to read. Where I am a journeyman, Slacker is an artist. For a long while he disappeared, we had that in common. We both went away to different places, perhaps to find that core within that made us want to write, and to write well. It happens.

As Winston Churchill used to allude to his depression as the black dog that rode his back, so too have we our black dogs. If I were to describe mine in very literal terms, he would be a hellhound, with red eyes that shine in the dark and is the stuff of which nightmares are made, my own personal Cerebus, guarding or keeping me in? What is it for you Slacker? What is it that keeps you away from the empty page?

Ah yes, us arty farty folk who use any excuse not to do "honest" work! But the so called honest work has been responsible for sucking the very soul and lifeblood of the thing that makes us stand apart; that quality or talent that defines who we really are when we slip the bonds of the suit and tie, impossible high heels and faceful of makeup. The self we hide behind because we must survive, must eat and put a roof over our heads. Yes, we are excessive, we feel too much, want too much, love too hard and then we do it again and again. Not because we have not learnt from our experiences, we are far more wily than that. Instead, we cast ourselves against the sea of normalcy because we cannot do otherwise. Not the best curse of action, but so be it.

Slacker, I am glad you have come wherever you went to bide your time. And I look forward to the challenge of keeping up with you again. Selah

Learning

2011-02-27T13:35:00.000-08:00

Most people take their computer keyboard for granted, if you use it enough it gets familiar enough that you can find the keys without having to hunt and peck. Having learnt to type on a regular typewriter long before I ever laid fingers on a computer keyboard, I can type at many words per minute. As a matter of course using a computer to construct most of my work has become second nature. Like most familiar things I take this skill for granted, until that is, my computer stayed at home this trip and my friend John graciously lent me his laptop. It is a Mac, since I am PC unfriendly, they tend not to like ,e and behave badly. So far so good. Mine is the more heavy duty MacBook Pro, a four year old workhorse, this is a cuter MacBook. Still for me, a blessing.

Except for one slight problem, John uses a french keyboard which means that the keys are not where I am used to them. It is taking me forever to find the right keys. For the first time in almost thirty years, I learnt to type quite young okay, I am having to look at the keys while I type which slows me down. I cannot get it through my head that M is now a comma/question mark. Needless to say frustration is getting the better of me. Do you know how many times you use M and A in English? Lots, that's how many! And while I speak some French, I don't write it so there are lots of mistakes.

And it got me to thinking about all those times when we think we know, or get stuck in a rut because it's familiar. We cling to certain things, people or personality types because we are too afraid or too complacent to try to do something different. Because it is hard, because we are afraid to be alone or we prefer to make the same mistakes because it is easy and breaking out requires work. All of this from trying to get my brain to accept a keyboard. So yes, there will be mistakes but in the end I will have created a new blog post and perhaps, mastered instinct.

Seriously?

2011-02-24T10:03:00.000-08:00

Is it right to utilise taxpayer funds to fund a popularity contest? Stupid question right, it’s going to happen anyway and it’s no less stupid than all the other frivolous crap that the taxpayers’ money is spent on. This is the on-going burning question engaging Trinidad and Tobago, oops, no, that’s not quite right. The question is whether Ravi B’s behaviour was not acceptable and it has been the source of police investigation, politician’s attention, just about everybody has added their two cents. While his behaviour was reprehensible and was up there in the category of sore loser, it is not unusual, and the question remains; should the performer be the target of all this attention?

A small explanation; this year the Chutney Soca Monarch Competition, one of those interminable Carnival related competitions based on popularity more than on content or substance was given two million taxpayer dollars as a first prize. Ostensibly this was encouraged by the Government as a means of raising the standard of the competition. Perhaps the question that should have been asked by John and Mary Taxpayer, how exactly was this to be accomplished by handing over money without setting some goals or standards?

Chutney music grew out of the rather bawdy songs that Hindu women sang at their version of a bachelorette party, over the years. With the changing role of East Indian music in Carnival prompted by Drupati Ramgoonai in the 80’s, chutney evolved into its own art form. However, in the last ten or so years what were cleverly constructed songs on a variety of tropics have been eclipsed by misogynistic ethnic stereotyping in the form and prevalence of “rum” songs. That is, songs that glorify drunkenness or love of alcohol as an excuse for not being a good husband, for beating your wife, for being unfaithful etc.

And this is where the problem starts. Should the taxpayer be funding an event that glorifies alcoholism in a country that has a problem with alcoholism? Are these the values we wish to be imparting to our youth? This trend has not been limited to Chutney Soca, indeed while calypso has always been risqué, critical of government and lifestyles there has been a downward spiral into songs that are about mimicking sex. The lyrics a mishmash of random soca buzzwords like “wine”, “jam”, “wave”, “party”, “grind” etc thrown together around a central idea usually involving what one will do with a woman in a fete. You are encouraged to be “wotless”(worthless), to “wine on a tong ting”. Makes you wonder why we are so surprised that there is little respect for women in our society, why youth are so free and loose with themselves and we have so many unplanned pregnancies.

And yet, we all talk about raising the bar, becoming a first world nation, having values. Forgive me but how are these competitions funded at the taxpayers expense doing that? The quality of the offerings are banal at best, mostly puerile aimed at the lowest common denominator. People should always have choices, if this is what you choose to listen to, well that’s your decision, should it be state sponsored, that’s another discussion. The widening disparity in popular Carnival music is a good indicator of the level that our society operates. We are supposed to be an educated, progressive, thinking lot, and yet scatological, sexual or alcoholic references are what have the most resonance. Trinidadians are losing their clever way with words and degenerating into a crude, witless, anomalous mass. Sad from the nation that promoted the Mighty Sparrow, Lord Kitchener, Earl Lovelace, Vidia Naipaul, Super Blue, Geraldine Connor and a host of other talented folk.

Back to the earlier issue, at the root of the Ravi B ‘controversy was that the competition was decided by people texting in their favourite. That means this competition was not judged on merit but on how popular your persona was. It also means that it was probably decided before a note was sung. While the performers were aware of the rules up front and should abide by them it must be very disappointing to put out the effort to be put down on the basis of popularity over performance. Then there is the disparity in prize money, two million first prize, and one hundred thousand dollars second prize? This makes sense how?

It may be a novel idea to some, but instead of investigating Ravi B the powers that be should be questioning their use of the taxpayers dollar at a time when they are also moaning about the state of the treasury. Because when Carnival is over we might all remember those things that need fixing.

Marvel at the crowd

2011-02-23T08:49:00.001-08:00

It is 12:26 on Wednesday and the windows of my office building are shaking in time to the music coming from Woodford Square. We are close and high up enough to experience the full blast of “B Square”, a series of free concerts put on by a mobile provider every lunchtime this week for office workers. Every day features another hot “star” of the Trinidad Soca scene. Today it is the King of Soca Machel Montano, from early droves of workers filed up the road to the Square. Trinidadians routinely call in sick etc when it rains, they can’t come to work. Despite the overcast skies with intermittent rain, armed with their umbrellas they’re all out there.

It is a testament to Mr. Montano’s popularity that he can command the numbers that throng the Square today. More power to him and his crew. A visiting foreigner could be forgiven for thinking that we had a civil protest given the proximity to the Parliament Building and Hall of Justice. But no, it is not. Even while we see the news images of the protests in the Middle East, the dismantling of dictator states, the ending of 30 years of a state of emergency in Egypt and 19 years in Tunisia; even as we commiserate with our fellow man in New Zealand, and even as we rail against the vicissitudes of crime, pay issues etc here at home, it is apparent, nothing will stop the Carnival.

It is instructive that Trinidadians were putting up black squares on their Facebook and BBM profiles in mourning for Daniel Guerra, the eight year old who was abducted on his way home from the shop, were every news outlet, social networking site etc was filled with outraged comments from persons from all walks of life and yet, the hot story was the Ravi B, a soca chutney performer, was a “sore loser” after his behaviour at the Chutney Soca Monarch Competition. While one thing has very little to do with the other, our sense of proportion is unbelievably lacking. Yes, his behaviour was egregious, but it is sign of how farcical most of these so-called competitions are, is it warranting the level of attention, you can judge.

While I have nothing against the concerts in the Square, I was once a participant, it just underlines what our priorities are and it certainly is that we can party hearty! We would never have a situation like that in Egypt, Trini would grumble, get vex and then hit a rum shop/bar/pub or wherever else and say, “later for dat”. I almost hope that the Ministry of Arts and Multiculturalism holds fast to his promise to tax imported Carnival costumes just to see whether all those people who vex now going to refuse the inflated prices next year; my guess, not at all. The cost of fete tickets have been escalating every year, looking at the pictures, there does not seem to be any fall off in attendance and judging from the amount of calls from people looking for tickets, well, nuff said.

In two weeks this will all be over, the remnants of costumes swept up, the glitter packed away, the soca stars will go on to their next destination, the sheds around the Savannah dismantled and what will we be left with?

Comparisons

2011-02-06T03:40:00.000-08:00

As my more erudite colleague Paolo Kernahan stated in his column yesterday, I too had not considered adding my comments to the situation in Egypt. Frankly, as a Trinidadian, my experience with large groups standing up for anything is more likely to mean a few thousand people packed together in a makeshift party location with deafening music and few toilets than anything to do with principles. No wonder I am loath to comment.

For twenty-nine years, the people of Egypt since the assassination of Anwar el Sadat, have had Hosni Mubarak, a former Head of the Air Force as their supremo ruler. Mr. Mubarak has survived six assassination attempts and has been re-elected on four occasions though this has less to do with popularity and more to lack of opponent due to a dodgy restriction in the Egyptian constitution which was of course, crafted by his party. Essentially, as in most Arab countries, Egypt has a passing acquaintance with Western style democracy; their elections are not based on a popularity contest where parties go out and campaign, throwing millions of dollars into advertising and who has the whitest smile. However, as with most of those Arab regimes, there has been unstinting support from the poster child of democracy, the US, for the incumbent. As one commentator from the Middle East wryly pointed out, how can you expect ideals of democracy from someone who has basically ruled as a dictator for thirty years?

But all good things must come to an end and it would appear that Mr. Mubarak’s ride might well be over despite his last desperate attempts to cling to the status quo. It is reminiscent of the movement in East Germany, also driven by the economic imperatives that brought down to Berlin Wall. It would seem, that at some point, as a leader, you will be made to live up to your rhetoric; at least in some places. For the last three weeks, like everyone else in our shrinking global village, watching with awe as throngs of people show up everyday in Tahrir Square to support their cause I’ve remembered what having a cause means. My view of the world is coloured by early formative memories of seeing other protests in first black and white and then the magic of colour TV and of course, even various coups etc here in the West Indies. People of my generation and earlier know what it is to have principles and to stand up for them and commit to a cause.

Once again I’m taken back to the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989, referred to in much of the world as "the Tiananmen Square massacre and in Chinese as the June Fourth Incident(in part to avoid confusion with two prior Tiananmen Square protests), were a series of demonstrations in and near Tiananmen Square in Beijing in the People's Republic of China (PRC) beginning on 14 April 1989. Led mainly by students and intellectuals, the protests occurred in a year that saw the collapse of a number of communist governments around the world." The iconic images of tanks rolling over university students was particularly poignant as I too was a university student and questioned whether I would have the nerve to do as they did. Fortunately, like most people in my part of the world I’ve never had to find out but given my internal knowledge and past experience, my participation would be guaranteed.

And so, applying the example of principles to the current state, though there is no repressive government here, we enjoy the democratic popularity contest of free elections; our problems are caused more by lackadaisical attitudes and poor decision-making. Trinidadians complain all the time, about crime, about the aforementioned poor decision-making etc. And yet, our willingness to do more than complain is tempered by two choruses of “wine to the side” or “ I is a Trini” while being exhorted to move left or right while waving a hand in the air. Social scientists have long posited that due to the Trinidadian propensity for treating lightly with important things and reducing all our references to the national festival Carnival, we escape the responsibility of taking an active role in addressing our problems. Take for example the crime issue. If crime were so serious and we felt so bad, perhaps we would consider giving up Carnival for two years while powers that be devote all the time energy and resources to making tangible inroads.

What you say? Is now you want Trini to riot! No all-inclusive fetes! No costume in Yuma or Tribe! No banal, inane, barely literate entertainer exhorting you to do something faintly obscene while throwing in a few patriotic references to make you feel less ashamed. Before you think me a Carnival hater, it is quite the contrary, far from it. Frankly, I used to love the energy, the constant activity, the innovativeness and wonder of design, the people watching.

However, our willingness to constantly find distractions instead of facing the hard decisions and preparing for the long haul is really driving me nuts. My ability to enjoy a fete is tempered by worrying about my car being broken into outside, whether I’ll be safe getting into my house, whether someone will get shot or robbed or whether some drunk person is driving down the highway with me. Lest you think I exaggerate, listen to the Parliament channel; the crime issue is constantly referenced there.

Average spent on Carnival activities: $650 per person per fete, fete outfit -$450 (a top!), costume -$3,500 (regular section), gas money, “vex” money, etc. Add it up, people take loans to cover Carnival which by the way, happens every bloody year with the same parties, the same music, pretty much the same everything, heck, even the costumes look the same due to extreme laziness on the part of the so-called designers. But yet, we continue to shell out and then spend the rest of the year complaining about how bad it is. Government resources are expended including those of the much-beleaguered police force. Is it really worth it? I suppose those who make their revenue off of Carnival would say yes.

It would be extremely poor of me to compare our situation with that of the people in Egypt. They have legitimate reasons to demand a change and have stood by the courage of their convictions. But is it so wrong for me to wish that people here would become a little more serious, grow a spine and approach our issues with the single-mindedness that they party?

(photo from the Huffington Post more images can be found at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/31/egypt-protest-photos-sunday)

A gift

2011-01-31T02:38:00.000-08:00

The strong outlines of the young man’s face are very appealing across from my usual seat at the dining room table. His lithe muscular figure is easy on the eye, he is always joyous; we’ve only been recently introduced by a friend and are “getting to know each other” so most mornings are a discovery, largely because mornings are the quiet time, lost in contemplation and meditating to mostly gird my loins against another day.

His apparent happiness is appealing, coming at a time when life perhaps is not so much, filled as it is with days that make me want to weep. The temptation to return to the oblivion of SSRI’s or even Bupropion to counteract the entire appalling overload is tempered by knowing that feeling nothing is not the answer. It would be too easy to ignore the cause and to not address the real reason that every morning also brings the rising panic and nausea associated with anxiety. An anxiety that is not caused by feelings of inadequacy or low self esteem but finally, knowing that each day is spent denying the truth and my own self worth. That’s the magic of the little happy pills, an expensive luxury for not only do they take away the emotions, they also remove any responsibility for dealing with the root causes…well except for the physiological ones which are also present. While not denying that they have been and are still extremely useful, in this situation, they would be a sop, a refusal to face the truth, and live a lie I will not.

Coming at this time my new friend has made a difference, he gives me pleasure, to just look at him and what he represents. My friend, in giving him to me did not realise the magnitude of his gift or how much I would appreciate him. You see, in giving me my young man, my friend expressed his own love for me, it is something that to treasure because this friend, is someone that not only do I love, but I admire. He has chosen to chart his own path through life, working at his art, though criticism, lack of understanding by a buying public and sometimes, difficult life situations do not necessarily make it easy. Through the years he’s held my hand more times than I can count and his unwavering support has gotten me through many a bleak day though he does not always know it. His experiences have given me perspective and has also helped me to understand that really, we aren’t normal, but that’s probably a good thing, because we were meant to be different, to be special.

The reality is, most of my friends are like this, the real people who surround me, love me and know me have given me leave to support myself, to honour the work that I do and more importantly, to accept me, whatever. It is the greatest gift that you can give to any friend. The young man is a beautiful drawing, given to me by the artist, I take great pleasure in looking at him and appreciating what he really is; a sign of true affection and trust. And knowing that someone thought enough of me to consider what I might like and to give it to me; how lucky is that.

It's a YouTube kinda day

2011-01-29T04:29:00.001-08:00

Slash’s familiar opening guitar riff, the opening bars of Sweet Child of Mine fill the living room. Outside, it is a lovely but grey morning, the rain falling light as mist over the trees and rooftops visible through the porch door and windows. The sound of traffic is getting louder as the morning opens up to become day. The heavy metal may not be the most obvious choice for a morning like this but The Monkees, “Daydream Believer” has already made an appearance as will Coldplay’s “Clocks”. It’s an eclectic mix of music consistent with the ambivalence of my mood.

I know what this means, so do you if you’ve read this space for anytime. But we’ll leave that there. Last night standing in a tattoo shop on the Avenue with the insistent bang of the music truck sponsored by a snack company wending its way down the road was surreal. Like being in someone else’s movie, the puzzlement of the young man at the counter and the disdain of the groupies posing decoratively on the couch. You could see the question, what is this middle-aged woman in a dress doing here? Obviously getting another tattoo jackass. Except I’ve left it too late for the moment. Off to the beach in another four weeks, nothing screws up a new tattoo like saltwater so perhaps the week after.

To quote Katy Perry in Firework:

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
Drifting through the wind
Wanting to start again

Yes………..

And it makes me wonder

2011-01-23T10:36:00.000-08:00

It is an undeniable fact; if you live with a large, hairy German dog indoors, he will shed prolifically, clogging the vacuum cleaner, dryer etc. It is also obvious that, if you like his type, Maroon 5's Adam Levine is one hot man. He is so smoldering hot that it's amazing his videos don't catch fire. What does one have to do with the other? Not a whole lot really but considering that I've spent most of this fine Sunday with a large dog instead of someone looking like Adam Levine makes me wonder at the choices we make.

The pros of dog; unconditional love, you always know where the dog is, you don't have to talk to the dog when you've had a shitty day, the dog will snuggle when you're depressed.

Cons - the dog does not have opposable thumbs and is therefore useless with a screwdriver or power tools, he cannot talk back, there are places he can't go with you.

Hot Man - he's a hot man, nice to look at, promise of sex, someone to talk to, can perhaps be trusted with power tools, if he's socialised-you can take him places.

Cons of hot man - other women want him, you have to talk to him even if you've had a shitty day, you have to talk to him when he's had a shitty day, he's useless with tools, and sometimes, he requires more than four cups of dog food a day.

This of course is simplifying the issues but these are the things you might contemplate while sipping a cool drink after lunch propped up in front of the computer with Adam Levine on YouTube and a German dog wanting his stomach scratched.

After all this time

2011-01-22T03:26:00.000-08:00

I've been gone for a while, my heart just wasn't in it anymore. It always happens when life goes a certain way, the urge to write becomes stymied by knowing that if it's out there in black and white I cannot fail to acknowledge what IT is. You can only hide for so long.

There are so many things that are waiting to be commented on:

The the company that is contracted to move prisoners to and from their court hearings drive so dangerously that "justice on time", their slogan, may well be "better dead than late". If you work in downtown Port of Spain you know them. The officious grey and white vans in convoy with several police SUV's siren and horn blaring escort driving at high speed through the narrow streets, trying clear a way through the heavy traffic when there is nowhere to go for the average motorist. I wish the powers that be would spend some time walking about or being on the highway when they are coming down at full tilt and experience what it's like. It may well change your point of view or are you going to wait until someone gets hurt or killed? Having nearly been rear-ended by one of these vans yesterday because the driver was tailgating at high speed on the highway and failed to notice that the traffic was slowing down for the traffic lights and then swerving at the last minute to avoid my car (which was at a complete stop as were the three cars in front of me) into the next lane with an on-coming vehicle. Nerve wracking to say the least. By the way, the driver of the van failed to moderate his behaviour after this incident and proceeded in the same way once the light had changed.

Lack of driving courtesy on the whole. Taking a trip out east at midday for the first time in months I remembered why I don't like to drive anymore. Trinidadians are generally are discourteous drivers. They will not budge even if someone else has the right of way, they will block intersections even when there is nowhere for them to go. Trying to get out of the gate in the morning is always an experience, it's a long time before anyone will let you join the line of traffic. We cut each other off, we tailgate, we are upset when the person in front of us does not run the red light because we plan to, the list is endless. Women are generally more rude than men, yes ladies, be ashamed.

Traffic police - do they even exist? Or are they only used to escort prisoners and VIP's, and to clear traffic for aforementioned? We used to see them on the highway but that disappeared some time ago never to re-appear. Suggestion for the COP, instead of sitting in your office over on Sackville Street, walk around Port of Spain in your civvies one day and see what your officers are doing. Take a drive up the highway. Bravo that you are trying to drag the Police into the 21st century but sometimes a little low tech is useful.

And speaking of the streets of Port of Spain. The Mayor was all for removing street people, well I really wish he would. My sympathy for the suffering is tempered by the large piles of human excrement that dot the pavements, the rank smell of unwashed bodies and the hands thrust into my face every time I'm stupid enough to go out of my building. Particularly bad, Queen Street, Chacon Street, actually the smell is so bad you gag. What are we paying 25% income tax for? VAT? We say we want to encourage tourism, foreign investment etc, but our capital city is not what you expect from a modern progressive place despite the presence of large, faffy buildings.

Why oh why are we putting up that crap in the Queen's Park Savannah again? You mean after fifty years of staging a Carnival parade we couldn't come up with a better solution. Actually, I'm pretty sure someone did but was totally ignored as per usual when anything innovative is put forward.

You know TALKING about innovation is not the same as BEING innovative right? It's pretty apparent that we think if we say we are going to be innovative it's the same thing. Wrong.

Day one headline - Missing piano. Day two headline - Where's the piano? Day three headline - Accuse ex-PM of misappropriating piano. Day four headline - Piano found right where it should be. Is this for real? Steupps

Surly service from store clerks etc. and the fact that business owners neither monitor their staff to see what type of service they are offering nor do they provide adequate training or empower their staff. that said, big praise to the Security guard at the NP station on the Beetham who noticed my struggle to fill my car tank while trying to wrestle my hair and clothing into submission because of the wind and came over to assist. He didn't have to pump my gas but he did and was very pleasant too! Kudos also to the guys at Peakes they usually very helpful; the girls at Rituals Nicholas Towers and St. James. Good customer service is possible.

Are you beginning to get the idea of why I stopped writing? There are so many larger issues that are not mentioned here but the list is endless. What this has done is made me understand very clearly that years of my life have been wasted trying to achieve something worthwhile instead of very quietly living my life without guilt. What's next? I suspect the other side of the world for me.

The Clash - London Calling

2010-11-07T13:28:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately....

2010-11-03T13:03:00.000-07:00

That’s dangerous, Madam PM
TODAY'S EDITORIAL
Published: 3 Nov 2010

“There are dangers to this country’s economy, to its image and to the regional integration movement associated with Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar being so hard-nosed about giving assistance to our Caricom partners on the basis of this country getting something in return from lending a hand in a time of need. As with her comment of T&T not being an ABM for Caricom, this statement requiring a pound of flesh for assistance can seem to be offensive and demeaning to our Caricom neighbours. Assistance to countries which are victims of natural disasters is a well-established practice in international relations, even between and amongst countries geographically, culturally and politically far apart as Argentina and the New Hebrides in the South Pacific. More so for Caribbean countries with deep historical ties, cultural, familial and economic trading links; frankly, countries which are tied together in their economic and social future.”

This was the start of an editorial in today’s newspapers, the Express had a similar tone, Newsday of course chose to say nothing. My two cents for what it's worth, I was hugely incredulous that she had made the comment. Several months ago when the Honourable PM made the comment in Jamaica that TnT was not the Caribbean ATM I was similarly aghast, especially since the goodly lady later pounced on a microphone and conducted Karaoke night complete with dancing careless of the insult she offered to our trading partners.

As Marge would say, this is simply Not Done. When people need your help you help. The comments on Facebook, on-line versions of the newspapers, blogs etc were instructive. They underlined the divide in our maturity levels. For example, random comment, the person posted their name but I won’t use it here;

“Hang on a minute, has anyone ever been to these countries to see the second rate status many of our products manufactured or made in T&T is given? While you're at it, try walking the streets of Jamaica with a Red, White and Black flag on your chest and you will understand. You see more Jamaican flags on Frederick and High Street in a day than you would ever see in Jamaica in a month. The blanking has been going on for a long time now, it's nothing new, only she has the guts to speak up about it. “
What does this have to do with anything? If your neighbour’s house was burning, would you only agree to run your hose if they were your friends? This is not the time for hard feelings. Fortunately this type of comment was in the minority. Mostly Trinidadians near and far were appalled by the statements and were trying to reassure their Caribbean counterparts that we weren’t all thinking in such small-minded terms.

For the record, in my travels through the Caribbean, by far and large the products mostly found in supermarkets etc, Trinidadian. And so what if they are not as prominently displayed abroad, we don’t promote other people’s products over ours either. I’m sure that the manufacturers are even now quietly getting together shipments to affected countries all the while holding their heads and praying that the fall out will not be a total washout. If they haven’t already they should consider it. What if Caricom really decided to take their business elsewhere? Are we prepared for that exigency?

What this latest brouhaha speaks to is that all politicians have to learn that they cannot use every situation as a political tool to batter their opponents There are times you have to rise above the urge and be a bigger person. In the end you will win, you’ll appear compassionate and a statesman. Diplomacy and tact are not bad words, no matter what personal opinions you have, you must watch your words, they represent more than you.

The fall out has been swift and amazing, BBM, Facebook, Twitter, it’s everywhere and people are weighing in from all over the world. Many of us have family and friends living “up the islands” who have been communicating the varying degrees of shame and distaste; it's a sad day for Trinidadians.

Effective police, a hopeless dream?

2010-10-29T08:12:00.000-07:00

The Commissioner of Police was quoted in today’s newspapers as saying at a town meeting in Arima on Wednesday night; “ Whether it’s drinking and driving, whether it’s disobeying all rules of the road and is driving and if you see them taking bribes…..There is no room in our service for that….Lodge a formal complaint by writing it down and presenting it to the (Police) Complaints Unit. They will investigate any of your complaints…..”.

When the statement was made it caused a flurry of comment. Not as you might suppose, laudatory statements about the Commissioner’s commitment to ending alleged corruption in the Police Service. Quite the contrary, a random sample of comments ranged from, “poor fella, he tink he still in Canada”, “he expect the Police to investigate themselves? Wha?”, “he ent know that if you report a Police they does vicitimise yuh”. And these are just a few of the comments, I’m pretty sure there were lots more on the blogsphere, on message boards and in rumshops.

As much as we can empathise with our new Commish, the sad reality is it will take more than telling people to report complaints to the Complaints Unit to change the perception that you can actually go to the police for assistance. For far too long the Police Service in Trinidad and Tobago have enjoyed a less than savory reputation, fueled as it were by stories of bribes, lethargy, incompetence, the very real rising serious crime figures and the poor rate of convictions.

It is evident that the reform of the Police Service cannot be by PR alone and the Commish is going to have his work cut out for him. There are many factors that contribute to the issues and problems and there is no quick fix. However, there are many short and long term strategies that must be employed to ensure that the TnT Police Service be brought up to date in modern policing practices. The reality remains however that all parties must be committed to reform, that includes, politicians, the executive of the police service, the business community and the general public because it will take a change in regulations, laws and most of all, time to achieve.

It is disingenuous to say that ALL police persons are corrupt, that ALL police do not respond or are sour/bullies/truculent/inept and whatever other adjectives the population chooses to apply. There are in fact officers who are conscientious, hard working and actively dedicated to their jobs. They face the same frustrations that the public do; poor record keeping, outdated processes, systems, policies and equipment, lack of accountability, pay and promotions issues and the inability to discipline poor performance from the aforementioned problems. It is a perennial problem, what are the long-term objectives? How are we going to achieve them? What about recruitment practices, training, promotion by merit as opposed to seniority, proper equipment management etc.?

In the past twenty years there have been at least four Police Reform plans that were a result of extensive consultations and consultant man-hours. And yet every time there has been a piecemeal approach because it would appear that no one really wants to change anything.

The Police Union does not want the status quo to change; they speak about performance appraisals but what standards are to be employed? Policemen don’t want the system change, how else can you be promoted for just sitting in one spot for a long time without actually having to do anything? So what is the recourse? WE need to support the reform, whether it is to speak with one voice, to refuse to pay bribes, to report all crimes, to adhere to the road traffic laws, to support police officers who do speak out about the system, in fact become responsible. It’s not going to be easy but these things never are, progress will be incremental, perhaps we can be less critical of initiatives and more vocal about the real issues. We as taxpayers need to hold people accountable and ask, if we have paid for this, why hasn’t it been implemented?

The situation HAS to change or like the dinosaur, the decision will be taken away from us. The worse the worldwide perception of us is, the less likely investors will want to come here or tourists. Citizens will choose to live elsewhere if they can, businessmen will take their money elsewhere leading to cash and brain drains. In the end we will all suffer.

The days where we can continue to bumble along are gone, swept away by the increasing ability of people to make news instantaneous. You Tube, blogs, on-line news forums, blackberry messenger, Facebook, Twitter, text messaging and cheap mobile phones have ensured that the global village shrinks more and more every day. It is harder to keep the seedy side of life hidden. Each of us has a responsibility, ask yourself Trinidad, how you are going to support our Police Service?

What?

2010-10-25T03:03:00.000-07:00

If you've been following this space you may have noticed that the posts have been few and far between this year. It's not because I didn't have anything to say, quite the contrary, there was too much to say, too many things to comment on against the backdrop of my "day job" and the boundaries of what could and could not be expressed. Mysterious enough for you? Some of you know my alter ego, the one that works for a living so you know what I'm referring to.

A lot of things have happened in the past ten months, things that turned the way I thought of myself and my circumstances on the side. All these questions about my beliefs, who I am and what is right. Philosophical questions but striking at the heart of a life long conviction that with life, there comes responsibility for the circumstances in which you live. A few years ago, a blogger called Angry African got me thinking again, and another blogger, aka Slacker fueled my muse and so I wrote. And then my ability to write without fear was swallowed by the every present concern that it what was said would adversely affect my other life.

Well, enough of that. This blog was going to be about the things that were of concern. A little rusty but here goes.

Crime - here in Trinidad we go on and on about how crime is so bad, we have Crime Watch, plans for crime etc. What it seems to me is that there is little attempt at solving the issues that create a situation where the criminals can flourish. You see, Crime is treated as though it is a nebulous entity, sort of like the forces that Agent 86 battled in Get Smart. It is not people who commit crimes, nope, it is CRIME who is on the loose. What utter stupidity. The criminal element is alive and well here, flourishing nicely thank you. They don't need any help getting their stuff done. No, it's us poor citizens at their mercy who have to be worried.

So why the constant burying our heads in the sand and the lack of acknowledgement that quite frankly, our policing sucks, the factors that allow the situation to prosper are well supported and of course, it takes forever to prosecute someone even if it does go to court. And this does not even start to address the social issues that create a platform for criminals to operate in. Newsflash, the Commissioner of Police cannot do it alone, he's not Batman and this is not Gotham City. Without a concerted effort by the whole machinery associated with active policing the prevention/detection/conviction rate will certainly not decrease. The whole system has to be overhauled but instead we will consult, write plans, flounder around making statements and promises but in the end, do we really want anything to change? Are we committed to reporting criminal activity? Are we serious about anything that means we have to be active participants instead of joining Facebook groups, signing the occasional petition or putting on our sneakers for the march in the sun before going off to whatever activity. Do we really understand that it is going to take a fundamental behaviour shift for us as a country? Are we ready for that?

And then there is the fact that we changed the political party in Government. But did we change the government? And why do we always feel that putting someone into power is the only thing we have to do? Sure it's a start but what about holding them accountable for our expectations? What about having realistic expectations? What about saying enough of the talking and more about the doing? More about the issues as less about the "picong". Remembering that no one is perfect but no one is all bad either. Every political party has its pros and cons, do not expect that they will not fail at some things, they will, they're human not Gods. But also remember that you have a duty as a citizen to hold them accountable; whether for perceived squandermania or lack of cohesive, implementable plans. Unless you have a dictator or tyrant you have a voice, use it. Don't just sit by going, is for the Government to do, they are not your parents so you will have to provide things for yourself too. The Government's job is to provide effective strategies, systems and policies to move a country forward. There is an expectation that they will provide adequate social services, access to health care, potable running water, electricity, roads, education, housing etc. However, there is a difference between a service and a hand-out. Know the difference, understand what is political talk and what is a sustainable development.

Lots of things to think about, so many subjects to choose from. Think, question, speak up, it's your responsibility.

Village living

2010-10-11T14:47:00.000-07:00

Despite the prevailing conditions I found myself vacationing off the island for a few days. Wow, what a difference a little time away in a different place can make. You really appreciate what you have so much more!

For example, who needs running water everyday? That nice hot water gushing from the shower or tap, is so wasteful. No, no, I am so thankful to WASA for providing me with the opportunity to work my biceps and triceps, hamstrings etc while getting in a water saving bucket bath. Our lack of running water has ensured that multiple trips are made up and down the back stairs carrying buckets of water to flush the toilet, have a bath and wash some dishes thereby strengthening my muscles and saving on gym fees. But have no fear, I have been contributing to the economy other than the 25% tax deducted at source from my paycheck. Yessir, all those a take out meals that I've had to procure so that I don't have piles of dirty dishes to wash etc having certainly added up. Yep, thanks WASA, no water all the time sure has improved my life. Though I am wondering what the traffic for months was in aid of when you were upgrading the water lines to Diego Martin. We have even less water now than we did on the old system. Oh right, efficiency of course.

Then there's HiLo, everybody's favourite food store. Having trawled the aisles at Krogers I was amazed that anyone could sell such vegetables, fruit and other produce of such quality and at such a price! Oh yes Mr. HiLo, you have saved me so much money because I simply cannot bring myself to try the expensive spotty, underripe fruit, manky veg shrink wrapped into submission. It's working wonders for my diet and with the exercise, soon I'll be able to fit into all those clothes I bought twenty years ago. Conservation at its best.

Going shopping I found all those foreign service staff trying. All that Good morning/afternoon, are you finding everything you need, may I help you and how can we serve you today, oh so tiresome. Who needs all those questions and questions? What business of yours is it that I have a good day? What is wrong with you people? Don't they know when asked if you can vary the order the correct response is, "dat is how it does come, yuh want it or not", accompanied of course by a loud, "steupps".

Ah, finally back home, driving down the highway where the speed limit is a suggestion, none of this having to watch the speedometer all the time, or for that matter observe the traffic lights. Now that was getting so tiresome! And the newspapers. So damn boring! Not one murder, crime or scandal on the front page. Why would anyone want to read about policies and plans to alleviate poverty or smart policing? That crap is bor-ring.

I don't know why I leave Paradise at all, but you know, sometimes you just have to.

Lazy time

2010-09-26T07:01:00.002-07:00

It's Sunday morning, day of rest and all that. You're supposed to be lazing, preferably while someone else labours in the kitchen to make a decent meal, while hopefully someone else is washing the car, cutting the grass and all those other chores that need to get done, somehow. Houses need staff to run them, they don't get clean by themselves, neither does the laundry get done or any of those other must do things. Sadly, my dog does not have opposable thumbs so that leaves him out of the housework detail, actually, out of anything that is of use. Managing the housekeeper who used to come became a job in itself, when she was available I wasn't and so on. Fortunately the man who cuts the grass needs no supervision, we just have to find him.

It's an incredibly beautiful day outside, blues skies, hot sunshine, the kind of tropical day that entices you to come out and play. And yet, after many days of storming rain, wind, thunder and lightening there is no enthusiasm for the beach. Come to think of it, I've not been to the beach in Trinidad for going on four years! The smell of the ozone, clean, briny and sharp, the crash of waves on a sandy beach, wind swishing through the coconut trees, all just a half hour drive from the house and yet...as much as the sea is my refuge, there is no reason to go. The small sliver that shimmers through the trees from my front windows while not enough to assuage the longing is all that I have the energy to muster up. Truly sad state of affairs for one who at every chance would spend it massaging sand between my toes.

There is also no desire to cook a Sunday meal or any of those Sunday things my mother made us do. Her attitude was that if we managed to cram all our chores into Saturday's we'd have a whole day free, conveniently forgetting that she would find us things to do if we had free time. There was always stuff to do and in all these years, it has not changed. Always, something to do. This morning there is no water, again. A regular weekend feature but maddening none the less simply because there are things to do. Perhaps it is the Universe's way of saying go out and play, but I DON'T WANT TO.

Not that I know what I do want. It's that queer restless feeling that takes hold sometimes. The one that makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say f*** all those things that aren't interesting. To be a gypsy, to not care enough because others don't. To soldier on, past the point of pain, to keep working at it when at the end it will all be for naught. Because it is hard to break the habits of a lifetime and throw off always having to do.

It is a beautiful Sunday morning. Enjoy it, whatever you do.

Lazy time

2010-09-26T07:01:00.001-07:00

Again

2010-09-12T05:15:00.000-07:00

Extended vacation ? nope
Depressed as hell? nope
Too lazy to write? nope
Nothing to write about? nope

Incredibly, the only reason for not logging on for months has been an absence of an internet connection at home. In upgrading my method of connecting it would appear that the "blinking" company cannot cope with my computer, in short, their device does not speak to mine and when contacted, their response is, our technicians are not familiar with the system. As a life-long, dedicated Mac user, I have no intention of parting with my MacBook so the company better figure it out quickly. However, thanks to the generosity of my neighbours I have utilised their wireless connection and am seriously considering either going with the "flow" or "connecting the dots". Trinidadians will understand these references but far be it from me to give anybody free advertising.

So we know that generally customer service sucks in this country. Mind you there are some real gems, for example, the young woman behind the counter at BURGER KING in MARAVAL. Has anyone explained the concept of fast food to these people? Anyway, having reached the top of the line requested a Number 1, that is, Whopper (with cheese thanks), fries and drink. I don't often indulge mind you but sometimes you just gotta have it your way. In very surly tones she related, "it ent have none". What? This is your NUMBER 1 seller and you don't have it? No, you could have the burger, just no fries....this despite rows of packaged fries staring back across the counter. Trying again, in measured tones my friend inquired, but what are those while gesturing to the rows in back of her. At which point she exploded, "ent I tell yuh it ent have no fries!" We left, sans burger of course.

But wait, this was not our only run in, I wonder why we keep going back. It must be because we love punishment.

Anyway, not to complain or anything. Didn't want my first outing back to be about the yucky things. Therefore things that will not be mentioned:
Budget
Traffic
Crime(!!) except to say, GOOD LUCK MR. GIBBS!
Work
The price of anything

Perhaps I should have made a list of things that I could write about, hmm
The really creamy breakfast scrambled eggs
My granny being really happy to be surrounded by all of us talking at the same time on Friday.
My brother channeling his inner beach bum.
Coffee with my friends yesterday.
Coffee!
An orange butterfly landing on my air before flitting merrily on it's way.
Singing loudly in the car....hey, you can't hear me outside

By the way, VH1 has been endlessly counting down the Top 100 artists of ALL TIME. Subjective list because it speaks to people's perceptions of what is popular at any time, though it this was a poll of 200 musicians. Funny thing though, even as an old geezer, I knew the music of all the bands/singers in the Top 20 (well, I knew most of the Top 100). I couldn't figure out how someone like Madonna, a marketing machine could score higher than say U2 or even AC/DC but then I figured it our. The marketing machine worked. The amazing thing was this, the Beatles were the Number 1 act! Michael Jackson was #2, he's probably spinning in his grave since his life long objective was to top their popularity. I suspect half of the people surveyed weren't even born when the Beatles were around. Now that says something......for the record, they were before my time too but I still play them because their themes and music are timeless.

Good to be back, gotta go play with the dog now.

Exit, stage left....

2010-07-02T11:21:00.000-07:00

These past few weeks have been enlivened by the World Cup going on in South Africa. Comparing it to World Cup's past however, there seems to be something missing. Is the star players, the stylish games of my youth? There are Dunga and Diego Maradona on the sidelines, coaching! The football pundits have all put in their two cents and they surely know more than me. Aside from the irritating vuvuzuelas which have removed the "human" element of matches, there is the football; the style and panache lost against the new FIFA yellow and red card strictures. I miss the cheering crowds, the banging drums, the samba beats that told you when Brazil was playing. Instead, the relentless drone of those damned horns which drown out every other sound and make the game soulless. It is the crowd reaction that spurs players on, cheers of encouragement, collective gasps when a goal is missed; holding your breath and the silence on a field when a game is lost. This is what adds character. That drone, not at all.

There is a lesson in all of this too. Many of the "big name" teams have succumbed and exited. The mighty Brazil faded in the face of the Dutch challenge. Everybody has an off day, today was theirs. Ironically, they lost to a team that up till now, was not playing a particularly good game, a team that is described by its coach as dysfunctional. In a World Cup plagued by poor refereeing decisions, refusal to utilise current technology and just indifferent performances it is hard to take for supporters that a team that was playing well could go but there you have it. This could happen to anybody. As in life, today you are CEO of a big company, tomorrow you might be job hunting. Encourages you to not take things for granted, enjoy the moments. Try not to spend your time dwelling on what might have been but relish was is.

Tomorrow, the Argentines play Germany, it is like the World Cup final came early again. We will see if Diego Maradona can prevail even though it is from the sidelines. For now, ciao Brazil!

Oh, Gabriela, I found some translated work from Luis Alberto Urrea!

Spring in my step

2010-06-28T08:29:00.000-07:00

The untimely loss of a friend can elicit many emotions, anger, hurt, sorrow, melancholy. All those things left unsaid and undone, the things you wish you could take back or celebrating the time you did have. People come and go in your life, some remain "lifers" those friends that stay with you for the duration and then there's the set that come in, serve their purpose and move on. When public figures die, even though they are not our close associations, we feel a sense of loss to the talent gone or whatever. It's been a year since Michael Jackson died, his presence was so iconic that his death became one of those "where were you when you heard" moments.

I was driving home, alone in the car with the radio, the news came on at the same time that a friend called. Due to hands-free communication and the news reader, there was a simultaneous announcement that the King of Pop was no more. Michael Jackson was like an old friend, he'd featured in many happy and not so rosy periods in my life. Off the Wall and Thriller the soundtrack of much of my early high school years. Before heavy metal and then the new romantics, before a foray into punk. And though he'd been out of the spotlight for a long time, his music was always there in the background. Ironically, that particular friend is also no longer a part of my life. A loss more to do with differences of opinion, values and even bloody mindedness. It was a friendship that while it lasted, meant a great deal and though there are no regrets that we were friends, it perhaps is a relationship that could not survive. My friend and I have drifted far, perhaps some other time.

Lately my muse has also wandered far, the urge to write is always tempered by the thought that if the floodgates opened I would be like the little Dutch boy, trying to hold back the endless tides. More sobering, the loss of desire to comment but to just watch it all unfold while hoping for the best. It feels almost like looking through old pictures of yourself, seeing the progression of years, acknowledging fondly the person you were but knowing that the time is past, looking forward to what's next.

It's like doing home renovations, you ever notice that when you re-do one area everywhere that you've left alone looks tired, dated, grungy or just doesn't fit? You go through room by room to find that ideal mix of old and new, paint and accessories or more sweeping changes of broken walls and ceilings, lighting fixtures and furniture. That's like your own life, the things that don't work show up more sharply against the newly reformed areas! If you are never open to change, then you can never experience anything new, if you don't take out the things that are old, tired and non working, if you your hands are full, you cannot pick up anything else. This weekend I decided to re-paint the corridor and area outside the bathroom. The colour is unlike the rest of the house, a neutral, Sand Dollar it is called. My house is filled with blues, greens and yellows so this is really outside the box. The newness of fresh paint made me look again, more so than late last year when I re-did the living room(which I still like!). Now the bathroom needs doing, the kitchen cupboards, they all look tired and grotty in comparison. Ironically though, instead of the solid black or grey that has made up the bulk of my wardrobe for the last four or five years, bright colours have made a re-appearance. And though not as ebullient as Maradona kissing all his players during this World Cup, I'm smiling more.

So like a plant that has had some pruning, new leaves are forming and branches taking shape. The structure remains, tested by fire, love, joy and adversity, new things opening up. Perhaps even a bloom or two.

What means goodbye

2010-06-16T05:52:00.000-07:00

For those who knew and loved him, the Bookman was one of those characters, you overlooked the strange bits and understood what what was really important. The Bookman was part of a lime that encompassed a bunch of, dare I say it, misfits, people who really didn't quite fit in anywhere else. So much that we formed our own little group and then to our collective surprise, found that other people wanted in. We know who we are, Richard, despite our differences, your friends still love you and wish you Godspeed.

Seems that in the last ten years, but perhaps it's been longer, the funerals of my contemporaries have outweighed what could be considered the normal course of things. Weddings, christenings, anniversaries have come in far behind hospital visits and the Grim Reaper. I wonder what it is about my generation; though we have better access to information, medical treatment and our work consists more of keyboards than rakes and hoes; that our longevity is far eclipsed by our great grandparents and grand parents. And realised, it has come down to HOW we live.

This morning brought a touch of melancholy.....but why? Death is inevitable for all of us. Preferable to suffering to be sure. We can question why, but really, does it change anything? The secret is to live, to live your life with quality. To know what are the things you can put up with, the things you can do without, the people you love and who love you. It is about pleasure, even pain, balance, not living with regret but with appreciation.

So to my friend the Bookman, thank you for the spirited conversations, the weird little asides, the books you made, the art you shared, thank you for you. Thank you for appreciating me just for me. For making me smile, driving me nuts on occasion. For always believing that I had talent, pushing me to write, without you and Adele, there would be no Reflections.

Richard Bolai 1962-2010

Vote TnT

2010-05-24T03:54:00.000-07:00

If you haven't already, remember, the single most important thing you will do today is vote. So no excuses, go do it.

Something, something, something, vote for we...

2010-05-16T17:22:00.000-07:00

I had no burning desire to comment on anything to do with the elections taking place here in TnT. Why bother, other than to exhort people to go out and vote there wasn't anything to say. Every candidate will tell you whatever it is they think you want to hear and you're all old enough to make up your own minds. Aside from the obvious fact that ad agencies, t-shirt and banner purveyors, the media (advertising is at an all time high!) music trucks and Kernal Roberts are coining money, the rest of us soldier on and wait for the 25th with bated breath. If nothing else we will be able to surf the net without being accosted by flashing yellow or red banners pressing us to vote for some or other political party.

But yesterday the candidate put forward by the opposition toured the area, it was interesting. I've not a lot of time for politicians generally, my innate cynicism always wins but Mr. Garcia has cojones. This is his THIRD attempt to best the "Rottweiler" aka Keith Rowley. That Mr. Garcia has been trounced on two separate occasions by the gentleman is one thing, to put yourself forward yet again despite that Mr. Rowley is currently enjoying a popularity brought on by the simple fact that he is NOT the leader of his party and is seen as also having large cojones is quite a feat of optimism. What I found most fascinating though, was the PEOPLE that were a part of Mr. Garcia's motorcade and those canvassing the neighbours. Do not think I'm racist but it is not often you see certain sectors of our population actually walking around the streets far less for being a part of any political parade. And yet, there they were, those self same people who attend the church at the end of the street and yet speak to no one living within twenty five feet of the place. Many of the folks waving their little white flags and singing along to the 'Rocky" jingle were of a certain ilk. Things to make you go hmm. Does this mean that the middle and "upper" class folk might actually climb off their collective asses and do something for a change. Wow! Now that takes talent and more power to the Rock that he could move and motivate them so...for whatever reason. A word of advice to the candidate, he might actually want to speak to the people he's canvassing. I expect that as per usual we shall see Mr. Rowley over the next week making his trip through the constituency as he does at least once every five years.

Lest anyone accuse me of campaigning for any party, put the thought out of your head. I'm just commenting on current affairs. Truthfully, I would not wish to be a politician. Your whole life and that of your family open to scrutiny, every little action put out for public consumption. The prevailing feeling that our leaders should be Gods without faults and human frailty, come on people really. What makes them any better than any of the rest of us. Okay, it would be very nice if they did not lie, steal or cheat and that they would run the country without raping the state. Big plus for us but how many people actually get into politics to serve? One can only hope for the best and trust that the institutions will safeguard the interests of the state. And that's where we are responsible, for holding our elected officials to high standards, to put country before self and all that.

And pigs may yet fly......

Thanks for the laughs

2010-05-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

Have to hand it to Wuzdescene, girl, I love those earrings! Yesterday, a bunch of us gathered in Chic Shak up in Belmont in support of our fellow blogger and ace earring/anklet/belt maker 'Scene. Other than the small issue of almost having to wrestle the designer for MY earrings, it was an afternoon well spent. 'Scene, we have to have a small talk about letting go...and commerce...and that you have to actually LET people buy your product, you can't keep them all for yourself. Other than that, talk about welcome relief from all the election noise that is happening in TnT at the moment. On an aside, I hope all of you citizens who complain are registered to vote and intend to do so, otherwise, keep quiet.

It's always a loaded moment when you decide to put yourself out there and meet other bloggers. You just never know whether it will all work out. As I've said many, many times before, blogging is a nice narcissistic activity you could do by yourself and nobody has to know who you are. If you are a responsible blogger you will not slide into "mauvais langue" or libel. So when you meet a bunch of bloggers whom you only know from whatever it is they put it out on the net, it's an experience! And yesterday was an excellent time....I can't tell you the last time I laughed so much. I found out that 'Scene and I are so alike in some ways is spooky...now if only I could find a man like that! Too bad for those who missed the lime, the rest of us had a ball, not to mention some truly good jewellery.

It's kind of funny in a way. Lately I've been working on me again, you have to do that every so often in order to move forward in life. It struck me again how schizophrenic my life is, during the week I am one person, and on weekends, someone else. Sort of like a Barbie doll, weekday Barbie wears suits, towering high heels and makeup. Weekend Barbie is a casual dress or shorts type of girl, flip flops or sandals and you're lucky if hair gets combed, far less for lipstick. This is not to say that they aren't the same person or that I'm seriously disturbed. I'm only partially disturbed. It's really about the compromises we make and the concessions we make to fit in to make a living. When I grow up I want to be Scene and her friend Roger, they walked away from corporate life and are doing what they want. Sure, it's not easy, they make sacrifices but they sure as hell look happy. They are intelligent, articulate, insanely funny, nice people, they just dance to the beat of their own drum. When I look back at my own life, the times when I've done that have been the most fulfilled...even with all the uncertainty.

So yes Scene, in answer to your question, it's getting to that time when the choice to dance again it growing close. The trick as always is mitigating and adjusting, shedding all those unnecessary things so you can concentrate on what's really important. Now all I have to figure out is what next.......the adventure continues.

AND TO SOMETHING NOT SO FUNNY

.....on a different more serious note. I wasn't going to give this any more 'airtime' but having spoken to a couple of friends I couldn't not comment. Last week the newspapers carried a story about two boys from a 'prestige school', their YouTube video. It was a three column, six, maybe seven inch story, small by newspaper standards, buried among the election stories. Is it that we are so bereft of news or bored that that is the story that led like wildfire. Speculation was rife as to who the boys were, one paper actually published the name of the school. While I question the wisdom of the boys as to carrying on their activities where they did, the stupidity of filming it and even worse, having it posted to the Web, I have to wonder at us, the constant interest in the salacious. Everybody had an opinion whether condemnatory or otherwise.

But I notice, not one person, expert or otherwise has pointed out that it is normal for adolescents to experiment with sex, whatever their orientation.
I haven't heard one person say, oh goodness, what they and their families must be going through.
Not one official has made an intelligent statement on the situation. The Ministry of Education, Catholic School Board, NPTA have all buried their heads in the sand.

All that's been said so far is that the boys are being separated and sent to different schools, as though this addresses the issues.

And then there's the fallout that no one has considered. For the last week, Peter has indeed been paying for the sins of Paul. Boys from that school have been harassed, nasty comments are thrown their way, it's so bad that parents are considering moving their children to another school. The sports programme, one with many successes, is suffering. Everyone is being tarred with the same narrow minded brush. I hear it's so bad boys are walking with a change of clothing so that they don't have to face the heckling. We've managed to make the lives of over three hundred people unbearable, all because of something that routinely happens, don't fool yourselves, it does and will continue to, whether among the heterosexual or homosexual population

I know this is not going to make me popular but I don't much care. If it were your kid, how would you like it? What are we so afraid of that we can't just accept people for who they are? Who in their life has not done something stupid, something we're ashamed of? You're either deluded or a saint, good for you if you can say no, but I somehow doubt you're being honest.
Check yourself first.

4G and more

2010-04-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

The first mobile phones were unleashed on the world in 1973 by the Motorola Corporation. That first baby was a 2 kilo monster and a far cry from the cute little devices we slip into our pockets today. They were utilitarian, grey, shaped like a brick and there were certainly no cutesy skins or jewels with which to "bling them up". Japan was the first country to launch the first commercially automated cellular network in 1979. Several countries in Europe followed suit two years later, with Canada, Mexico and the bringing up the rear in 1982. The US got their first network in 1983. These were analog systems, kind of clunky with not so great voice reproduction and the sound of white noise ever present in the background; the digital system or 2G networks didn't happen until the early '90's.

So, it's been 37 years since Martin Cooper and his team brought the world that one thing that we seem unable to do without. There are several generations of young adults who don't know what it's like not to have a mobile phone, or who even know what a "land line" is, far less for a telex or telegram! They know nothing about having to "place" an overseas call by calling the overseas operator and booking a time etc. And yet, we somehow survived in the pre-mobile days. Man didn't expire and the species did not die out just because we couldn't speak to someone from the car, movies etc.

What did we do before we had mobile phones? Well we didn't feel we had to relate the sordid details of our night out to all and sundry on the public bus/train etc. We had face to face conversations with people and then we went our way. Has all this immediate ability to connect really improved our ability to communicate? Like everything there are pros and cons. I don't knock mobile phones being the possessor of not one, but two of the darned things. One belongs to my office and the other is mine. I am well trained to respond to the blinking red light signaling a text message, email or BBM. It's been the best and worst of times and we, the phones and I, have a love/hate relationship.

"You didn't answer your phone" has become a more frequent complaint. Well, because I don't think you should have access to me all the time. Leave a message and I'll call you back. Okay, mobile phones are great in an emergency but we seem to spend more quality time with the damn phone than we do people. Maybe because it's easier to communicate when we have an impersonal third party to channel our discussions through. But getting back to the point, I'm driving, hands on the wheel and attention to the road please. I'm not immune, I use the hands-free but really, did I HAVE to tell you about the dress I just bought? Couldn't it wait until I got home? I'm doing something, that's why I didn't answer the phone, that okay with you?

One Saturday I went out to do my errands and forgot the phone home charging. I didn't realise it until it dawned on me that the car had been pretty quiet for a long time; no phone ringing. Determined to stick it out, I went about my business but all the while feeling, naked, as though I were somehow incomplete because I was not tethered by the leash known as Blackberry. In an age where everything is now, things take on equal importance, there is no sense of balance, of understanding the difference between real priorities and things that can wait. That chat with your child as opposed to the twenty things that come up because it's all important.

As we move into the era of better, faster communications I have to wonder, if we had one of those apocalyptic calamities often portrayed in doomsday movies, how the current generation would survive without their steady diet of X-box, Wii, Netflix and the ability to text. Horror of horrors, they might actually be expected to WRITE something down...learn to spell and even worse, wait until they saw someone to actually speak to them.

Yellow or pink?

2010-04-26T11:06:00.000-07:00

The hills that surround my home have been burnt brown by a combination of bush fires and drought. They are arid, unattractive sentinels, far removed from their usual verdant green...it's been sad to watch them. Every year we go through a version of this, but this year while not the worst that I've seen in the time I've been living in this house, is a telling reminder of the global climate and other changes that we are experiencing. The days are so hot that all you want to do is lie in a cool spot and not move, pity the poor dog with his thick coat. He spends much of his time panting in front of the fan or slipping into the bathroom to lie on the cooler tiles.

And yet, the poui trees, though burnt and battered are once again blooming. Ironically, poui only blooms in the dry weather. They are glorious, pink or yellow, masses of blossoms cover the trees and they stand out against the harsh landscape, beacons of brightness against the parched brown. It is a testament to the resilience of nature that something so beautiful could come of such inhospitable conditions.

I have always prided myself on being resourceful and resilient. No matter how dread my life gets I always find a way. I'm very handy, can fix most things around the house, don't really need anyone to do stuff for me that kind of thing. It does not mean that it wouldn't be nice to have that but there is no expectation that it will be so and so, I do what I have to. Kind of like those poui trees, I expect that no matter how much happens, I'll still bloom. It always comes as a surprise to find that I can't always. That sometimes, you have to wait a season or two to recover or that no one is infallible, even me.

It's understanding that......

Easter again

2010-04-05T09:05:00.000-07:00

This blog was supposed to be filled with pictures. The little point and shoot was gotten out and plunked into handbag in preparation for a pictorial on the things that caught my eye. Sorry, I missed all those pictures of the sea early in the morning, kites flying in Queen's Park Savannah, the burnt, rain starved hills around my house, I give you instead, my constant companion and my books. All I have done this weekend between lie unmoving before the fan with sweat dripping off extremities and sheets sticking to skin and throwing the ball at the hound in a desultory manner, is work. You heard me right, there are those of us who've had to forget we live in the public holiday capital of the world, roll up our sleeves and "get the job done".

But it is not to whine. In preparation for the long Easter weekend there were multiple visits to the various bookshops who had sales and even those who didn't to pick up a stack. Next to sinking into clear sea water and not coming out until I'm all wrinkled, my other favourite pursuit is to lounge in bed or on the couch with a stack of books at close hand, losing myself in the author's prose. Not everyone's idea of an exciting time to be sure but it is my pleasure. Sure, being out exploring the world is a wonderful thing to do but when you can't, or it is all too much, exploring the pages of a good novel can transport you to places you can only dream about. After all, you could spend a couple of hundred dollars to sit around a bar or otherwise for a few hours, that has its place. On the other hand, you could do without that once or twice and pick up some books in which you can lose yourself over several days or weeks. That you can re-read at leisure or share with like minded friends.

Too often it is easy to get bogged down in all the things that you cannot do instead of enjoying the small pleasures that you can carve out. Like I wish that I'd gotten some more of those oh so delectable intense chocolate cupcakes made by Emma Herrera that were being sold at Reader's Bookshop. The dark chocolate ganache frosting shining against the silver sleeve, red, red cherry on top. The one that I ate with my fingers was so rich, moist, chocolatey and yummy I wanted to lick the foil. Good manners prevailed but I took two to friends who demanded more. As you can see, I managed to sneak in a little down time, enjoyment is where you find it.

Real women

2010-03-23T08:31:00.000-07:00

Take a good look at the picture, don't you think you might know some of those women? Okay, maybe not those women but women who look like them. This picture came from a Dove soap campaign featuring 'Real Women", as defined by their marketing department. Depending on whom you speak to, this is either a good thing or a bad thing....Dove says their sales went up because women saw themselves; a study by some university, who incidentally surveyed their female students (in other words a particular demographic vs Dove's sales tracking) said it hurt because it lowered women's self esteem. It would appear, among American College students who attend the particular university, curvy women are equated with things like being unfit, unhealthy, plus sized etc.

Eh? Look Dove marketing can call them whatever they want but I would say Real Women come in all shapes and sizes; big, little, tall, short, angular, bony, lush curves, top/bottom heavy....that's what makes us oh so special. We're different! But to refer to women who are a size 8 and over as "Plus Sized" and therefore "Real" is just plain condescending in my book. Clearly society is saying it does not matter if you are tall, short, big or fine boned. It's whether you can squeeze yourself into a size six or less that makes you not a "real woman', because real women are all over a certain size, but desirable. If I were a smaller woman I'd be pretty pissed because how does my dress size or lack thereof decide whether I am real or not. WTF.

How come no one types men that way? I've never, ever heard a man referred to as "Plus Sized"...big and tall yes, the other, no. The irony is that women have fought long and hard to overcome all kinds of gender bias and yet, we still subscribe to this nonsense about body types. Am I less smart, accomplished etc because I am a size 12? It would seem yes because according to the "pundits" I am too dumb to lose weight and conform to the norm. Size is also equated with healthy or fit. Guess what, you can be a skinny size 4 and still have high cholesterol. Does that make either of us less real?

Look, we honestly have enough other crap to deal with than to subscribe to some magazines idea of what our bodies should look like. I for one have no real desire to be so exercised that my arms look like twigs (like many Hollywood starlets). Exercise is good for making you feel good, endorphins and all that, but do you really want to look like an gym bunny. If the answer is yes, then go for it but if you're happy to be you, wobbly bits and all do not let anyone make you feel badly about yourself. I say be whomever you want to be, you are not the sum total of your dress size.

As for the Dove campaign, I really wish they had used more diverse women in all shapes and sizes, then maybe they would have been real. But hats off to them for trying something different and also, recognising that not only one demographic spends money on their product.

Alice, you're back!

2010-03-11T13:48:00.000-08:00

You know sometimes you hear a song on the radio and it immediately transports you back in time to a particular moment? You remember what you were doing, how you were feeling...first kisses, dances, breaking up, breaking out, breaking down as the case might be. While driving to work, windows firmly up against the early morning heat of a country in the throes of drought, an eighties flashback, AC/DC's Back in Black on the radio. The opening guitar riff familiar to headbangers everywhere, my fourteen year old self immediately turned up the radio and even though I know it's stupid, there I was singing along and modified headbanging ensued. I am and have always been an equal opportunity music lover so no conclusions please. Fortunately it was early enough that there was no traffic so the red mobile whizzed along without the disapproving stares of fellow road users. It was a great little walk down memory lane as is Level 42's "Something About You".

Two weeks spent luxuriating in the unfamiliar experience of having two whole undiluted weeks of flip flops, my brother's company and the ever present sea in the background and no ever present Crackberry left me unprepared for the intrusion of real life. But surely, I know what Lewis Carroll was experiencing with Alice in Wonderland. Carroll wrote his novels under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs and surely, there are days when I pick up the newspaper and swear that the Mad Hatter, who happens to look oddly like Johnny Depp, has made an appearance. Or is it wishful thinking. I'll leave it to you to decide.

Now while it may seem that I'm being all mysterious and oblique that's not the case. I'm practising my new outlook, no obsessing about the things I cannot change or more to the point, focus on those things that make me happy like Klondike (ice cream) Bars, the Hound, a perfect Dirty Martini, the stack of books next to the bed.....

And what was the point of this post you might wonder. Like many other things Trinidadian, does it matter and does it really need to make sense? Perhaps not.

Once upon a time

2010-03-02T05:16:00.001-08:00

Isn't that how all good stories begin? The one's that made you want to curl up with the book and lose yourself in the magical words on the page. After what feels like a lifetime of one path, it's time for a new journey. I don't know where this is going to take me, only that I must. It's not mysterious, or sinister, or even that exciting, simply new. Different; a shedding of one skin, renewal, or maybe even rediscovery at what is at the heart. And finally, after a long period of indecision, knowing feels good, right.

The perils of red nail polish

2010-02-07T15:42:00.000-08:00

However screwed up my life can get, I still believe I'm pretty lucky. Things can always get worse, the evidence is all around. As f****** up as it gets, if I choose, the hardest thing I'd have to do in the next three months is sit around and figure out what colour to paint my toenails. After that, reality would again intrude but there is a certain freedom in knowing that you have a small window. Of course it's not as easy as that. There is the ever present reality of rent and bills to pay, dog food to purchase, car to gas, and most of all, paying work to secure to ensure once the free period is over. But when you stop worrying about the immediate future, your life suddenly becomes less complicated.

And I have to tell you, the lure of sitting around with nothing harder to do than paint my nails and play fetch with my dog is very attractive. As I get older the reality is a preference for simplicity. Organising my closet this afternoon I was overwhelmed by the amount of STUFF it takes to keep my current life covered. There is a sensation of time slipping by, ill used, governed by other people's imperatives , not my own.

Recently another friend mentioned that he was having a mid-life crisis and wanted to simplify his life and take off with a backpack to explore the wilds of New York. Go figure. Long time couples are breaking up, people are changing their preferences, forty year olds having first time babies. We're all re-starting our lives. It's exciting and scary at the same time, but sometimes you have to leap and know that the net will appear. Or that it won't kill you when you go splat as the case might be.

Haiti, we're sorry.

2010-01-17T15:00:00.000-08:00

The year got off to a dubious start for us in the Caribbean. In Trinidad, the New Year’s eve parties gave way to Carnival fetes while citizens alternated between looking forward to various activities and the Beyonce “I am” Tour and slunk off to banks and credit unions to apply for loans to fund it all. Those that hadn’t used up all their credit at Christmas time to “nicen up” their houses and splash out on outfits, parties etc; never mind that the word recession has become commonplace.

And then, a massive earthquake struck Haiti wiping out most of that country’s capital city and it’s occupants. It was sobering moment and in between the gaiety, we all looked north and if we were at all honest, while commiserating with our neighbours, gave thanks that it was not us. The US as a first world nation sprang into action. They have well developed plans and execution mechanisms with regard to natural disasters. It wasn’t long before search and rescue teams, army engineers and supplies were on their way. While it would be days before any real aid would be able to get into the country, they put their money where their mouths were and did something.

While CARICOM leaders did what they do best, TALKED about doing something. It’s the usual story; the fiddle hoping someone else will take responsibility for the ills of that country. Instead of providing solid assistance for true development, money is shoveled at them in intervals and we can all forget about Haiti’s problems until the next time.

At least local companies and individuals have mobilized to collect food and supplies while the Government babbles on about assessments and reports. Sure AID agencies like the Red Cross initially was asking for money, the need for supplies would soon grow urgent and those boxes collected would come in handy. At least it makes us feel less helpless and as though we are actually providing help in some small meaningful way.

But it did give rise to a train of thought that was disturbing in light of the global events of the last decade. It has become increasingly commonplace for Mother Nature to get even with us humans. Drought, flooding, earthquake, Tsunamis, we’ve seen a lot of activity. North America and Europe are experiencing one of the worst winters in many years. One of my old teachers used to talk about the balance of life and that nature had a way of equalizing things when populations spiraled. In fact, wars, famine, drought, natural disasters are all considered to be forms of population control.

This conundrum was brought to mind when one of the office greenies was whining about not being able to buy a salad for lunch because it was packaged in a clear plastic container. She was told to consider the lesser of two evils or to bring her own bloody salad the next day. We’ve all been told about the need to be more aware of the damage we’re doing to our planet. However, with the advances in medicine and technology humans have been able to eat up more space and resources. We tell our kids that they can be anything they want to be, but is this really true?

There is a finite amount of space, resources etc on earth. In our quest of lengthen our lives, retain our youthfulness and all those other things we’ve created industries to employ our people which in turn fuels our consumption rates. When you look at our lives, we are greatly influenced by a culture of want thereby increasing our “needs”.

I’m not in any way advocating a return to those days when you died from the common cold and we all grubbed around for our daily meal, I would be first to applaud that life has gotten easier. I love the fact that I can get on a plane and go somewhere or that the chicken I had for lunch did not have to first be chased around the yard and then slaughtered. But it has come at a price. Humans have grown to expect that we are at the top of the food chain and think we will always have it our way, perhaps Nature has other ideas for us or at least we must acknowledge that it comes with a price. And the question we must ask is, can we afford to pay it?

If you can, please give generously to the Haiti relief effort.

To you all...

2010-01-01T05:26:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year !

It must be Christmas

2009-12-20T18:03:00.000-08:00

Like a proud mommy who whips out pictures of her kids all the time, my dog has featured in many of the posts here. Let's face it, only parents get the kiddie stories and even dog people get tired of hearing dog stories, but you know, I love my hound. The feeling of well being engendered from running my fingers through his thick fur cannot be measured and having him waiting, tail wagging at the front door lifts my spirits after a tough day.

Today, instead of cleaning, or organising for the rest of the week I lit up the oven and put in some stuff to bake. It's been a while and if you don't practice, you lose the skill. I made a bunch of stuff that will distributed around the office tomorrow but really, it's nowhere as good as it used to be and for that I'm sorry.

And that's when you know you're an old geezer. When you start wistfully remembering all those Christmas' past and how much better they were. In this morning's paper there were all these stories from Trini ex-patriots living in a variety of countries and to a woman, because ALL the stories were from women, they were banging on and on about how much they missed "home" etc. Forgive me, if you miss it so much why in heck did you leave? I've never understood this phenomenon, you leave your country of origin by choice and then you cling relentlessly to the "old ways". Okay, familiarity is one thing, missing your family, wanting to preserve your traditions etc but to slavishly cling to this stuff? Like fruit cake, what's up with that? If you like it so much learn to bloody make it already, why am I lugging it up from here?

But then I suppose since I don't particularly LIKE Trini christmas food it matters not to me. You heard me right, no to the pastelles, ham and turkey (which is always way overcooked so it's dry and tough), no to the macaroni pie, callaloo and beans, definitely no to the table groaning under the weight of all that food. And there is always too much of it and everywhere you go, it's the same bloody menu with little variation. By the time Christmas day rolls around you are sooooo sick of seeing this stuff at every function you got invited to the six weeks prior. And then we repeat it on Christmas day without fail. So you can guess there will be none of that going on here. One year a friend did a huge prime rib and a goose and we who were lucky enough to be invited to dinner were so pathetically grateful that we showed up on Boxing Day to polish off the leftovers.

The one Christmas food I do like happens to be garlic pork which the X-man's sister used to make so we had it for breakfast. Garlic pork is just one of those things, either you like it or you don't. It's basically pork loin that has been trimmed and preserved in a mix of vinegar, garlic and french thyme. My former landlord with the Portuguese heritage makes some of the best I've ever had, it's one of those fond Christmas memories. This year for Christmas I decided that I didn't really want to do anything, that the day would be mine and the hound's. We're going to do some bonding before I go off to dinner at a friend's house in the evening...probably for the ubiquitous menu but her mother is a great cook so it will be lovely.

I'm going to go pet my dog now. Goodnight.

Goodbye Mr. Polar Bear

2009-12-17T12:48:00.000-08:00

Science fiction writers have done many stories based on extinction of species, one particular story was about experiencing animals via hologram because the last living member of the species had died in a zoo. I never thought that I'd see the mass extinction that many species are experiencing in my own lifetime. It is an extremely disheartening revelation that the only place that polar bears may soon exist is in controlled zoo conditions. I have been a part of several save the whales/manatees/snowy owl etc campaigns and as much as we try, we know we are like the boy with his finger in the dike. Holding back an endless deluge over which we have no control.

In Copenhagen world leaders debate over what they will and will not sign, but truthfully, it is all about commerce and making money. Humans are about want, we talk about reducing carbon emissions, about conservation, but we fail to realise that it is about responsibility. Sadly, we will not change until it is too late and like the dinosaur, we too will become too big for our world and then we die.

We are given the gift of life and the loan of the earth but we have yet to mature enough to appreciate it.

Large Woolly Hounds and other perils

2009-12-15T13:14:00.000-08:00

Beware of sleeping with large woolly dogs, they shed, they take up a lot of room and they snore. Kind of like men except they don't have expectations of either sex or conversation. This is how I know that I'm getting older, the fact that I'd rather sleep with the dog draped across my feet than put up with a man. Sorry guys, just one of those things.

Tomorrow is my kid bro's birthday, except that he's hardly a kid but he wouldn't thank me for selling him out so I won't. It didn't help that my "step child" had a twenty first birthday as well. How did that happen? Truthfully, it's not a big deal, geezerhood is hard to take only when dealing with young, know-it-all whippersnappers. LOL Of course, to quote Cathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes, " youth is always trumped by experience and more insurance". Ain't that the truth!

And for the record, the naughty girl in me is still in there. Just ask......

Flat ironing your hair and other dangers

2009-12-13T19:27:00.000-08:00

There's a brisk north wind that has the curtains billowing out like sails on a ship tonight; that nip in the air making the fan redundant but for the mosquitos that will not go away. The large hound is curled up at my side on the bed, though he knows he's not supposed to be lying where he is, we both know that tonight there might be some bending of the rules. It's raining, alternating between a slight drizzle and a more serious downpour. The plants in the backyard have perked up, but so have the weeds and the Gardener, whenever he appears, will have a merry time subduing the burgeoning jungle.

Tonight has been a night for contemplating my toes, both literally and figuratively. End of year, time to reflect, weed out the things that are no longer relevant and set new goals or maybe, just to dream a little. It is the literal contemplation of my toes that reminds me of how much I've given up. My toes, once a source of pride (go figure) are now a mess, ill cared for, subjected to killer heels that cause deformation. Once long, straight and unblemished, now calluses and other icky things are a fixture. I long for the days when open toed sandals did not cause grief but understand that this is my life now.

A friend whom I have not seen in two years is in from Toronto, we had a lovely time catching up though all too brief. Once again reminded that my life was on hold but knowing that it will not be forever....or even perhaps for very long. The winds are blowing and even as my hair ruffles at the edges, I know the flat iron must come out to tame it into submission. Tomorrow there is work and no time in the morning to do it. This habit is ruinous to your hair, the constant pressing between two hot plates but necessary for all the wrong reasons.

My hound is silent tonight, even he is resigned it would seem. Even as I enjoy the quiet, watching through my bedroom window as the lights twinkle up the hill where once, there was only darkness. A good night for hot cocoa with little bobbing marshmallows but laziness holds me back from lighting up the stove to heat the milk..microwaved is just not the same!

So what about you? What does this Sunday bring for you? Tonight with my books, computer and dog for company, I am happy. Tomorrow is another day.

It's December

2009-12-06T18:04:00.000-08:00

Yup, that's right. it's December, again. Same as this time last year, and the year before that, before you know it, it's rolled around again. The signs that it was on it's way started earlier this year. The first shock came walking through Excellent Stores on the way to snag a salad at Linda's bakery. Now isn't that oxymoronic? Going to a bakery to buy a salad. The very word bakery conjures up the smell of freshly baked bread, little cakes, crunchy cookies, certainly not something so prosaic and ordinary as lettuce leaves, A tomato cut into wedges and the chicken du jour.

But I digress; whilst wandering through the hallways between the kitchen supplies on one side and strange souvenir type things on the other was the first inkling that year end was in the offing. And this was October! Silvery fronds, a green fake fir, clusters of bright bulbs, they'd all been dusted off along with the Santa effigies and had replaced the rows of chocolates and preserved fruit on the shelves near the cashiers. It was far too early to take in or even accept and it was weeks before I dared venture that way again. Salads were procured via the front entrance of the building to guard against random christmas ornament sightings.

And now it's December. My brother's birthday, and my cousin, my uncle, my former mother-in-law, ex-husband and late father. Used to be a brisk time for gift giving but now, thankfully, it's been reduced to a card to the ex-mother-in-law and a present mailed to the brother which he got this week. Before the happy day but I was taking no chances. Lately I've been writing blogs, saving them and not posting them. Because really, what is there to say? Another rant about the state of life, who gives a toss? Certainly not the hordes encountered while shopping for the right Christmas pressie for someone or other. Not that this has anything to do with anything but thought I'd slip it in to let you know that I wasn't in the throes of some dread malaise.

Yesterday a friend and I ventured forth to a rather chi chi open market sale in a yoga studio. Lots of goodies and a whole bunch of ernest people telling me how good and eco friendly their product is...whatever you say bud. My friend and I eventually fled from the utter pretentiousness of it all. There was far too much posturing for the likes of us poor peasants. The wine counter next to the guy making fruit smoothies was just a trifle weird.

Anyway, since I'm stuck here over Christmas and New Year's, the passport office having prevented my fervent desire to get off this island, I thought I'd better acquire some Christmas presents for my nearest and dearest. Well, actually, did most of my shopping weeks ago, now they're all wrapped up and under the reluctant Christmas tree that looks like a demented person decorated it. Well, that would be right too, these days I make no claims to anything. I'm sure at some stage I'll fire up the old, sorry, that would be new, oven and do some baking. Just to stress myself out further. Must have something to eat while watching tons of DVD's and reading the books I'll have to buy myself. Yes, I do wish I were going to the island but alas it is not to be.

And how's this for sucky. My brother got to meet Bono! Who is U2's biggest fan? Me of course, you know what I mean. My bro is not, he was weeing himself at the irony of it. Little bastard, why did I send him a birthday present again? Oh right, because I want to go crash his pad when I do get the bloody passport.

As you can see, the grinch is alive and well over here. Yes, it's December.

Question

2009-11-22T15:04:00.000-08:00

Has everybody in this country lost their cotton picking minds? I was looking at the tobacco legislation which is supposed to protect you poor, clean lunged people from us dastardly smokers. It's pretty draconian, and like prohibition, will serve to make it more attractive to some. If you think it through you'll realise it's really a nuisance act, designed to frustrate you into becoming a reformed smoker. As a reformed smoker myself I applaud anything that gets people to stop smoking. It's a vile habit that adds nothing to your life except to make you dependent on a nasty tasting thing which stinks up your hair, clothing and everything else. KInd of like those food fairs where the evacuator hoods don't work and you smell like stale chinese food for hours after.

So while the politicos bask in the glow of goodness from having saved us poor schumucks from our unthinking selves we must be grateful. I hear their next task is to cut down sugar consumption...that's going to be interesting.

And isn't it somewhat hilarious that sixty percent of the world's leaders are FLYING here to talk about climate change. How cool and eco-friendly is that! Wonder what the carbon footprint is going to be like after this shindig.

And now, for something completely worthless

2009-11-15T15:51:00.001-08:00

Perhaps not, but I figured if I was ripping off Monty Python then at least some modesty should prevail, after all, am nowhere in the same category as John Cleese et al. The cable was disconnected during the week, I forgot to pay the bill, repeatedly. It's turning out to be the best thing in a weird sort of way. Not sitting there rotting the old brain on countless episodes of Law and Order, in all its incarnations, Criminal Minds and, wait, what the hell do I watch? Ah yes, E! News and the Food Network, now you can see why this is scary; it's junk at best.

The lack of cable is not really much of an issue, I'm not around enough to watch large amounts of television, most days I just fall asleep in front of the idiot box anyway. The dog probably misses it more than me because at least he could corral me into one spot and irritate the life out of me to throw his dumb ball at him. Yes, we sometimes play ball in the house when mommy can't be bothered to get up, make sure the neighbours are inside, gates locked to prevent dog from getting out and intruders from getting in. Needless to say, it is a recipe for disaster if only for the spitty state of the ball, the prospect of a large animal bounding heedless all over the place in direct proportion to the number of breakable things in the living room and the newly painted state of the walls. Did I mention that having spent several days slaving with a roller brush, various cleaning implements and on a shoestring budget the living room is now a zen oasis, welcoming, yet calm. Ah, it was worth the three day pain in the arm and knees that needed to be wrapped after balancing on the ladder.

But I digress, it was the lack of cable tv that started this. Really, it was sort of inevitable, freudian even, for reasons not to be shared here but let's just say they feature the Xman and a remote. However, lately I've been buying books the way some women, okay I, buy shoes. At lunch time, even though I rarely eat lunch at the designated time most days, I find myself in the bookstore around the corner. In the last couple months there has been a real danger of being overrun by cream coloured plastic bags with the logo on the front. Novels, magazines, other kinds of books, there is no real pattern, just words printed on pages. In the last month I think I bought about thirty books, well there was a sale so it made sense. But, I also had book exchange with two friends, got another FOUR boxes of books from a friend who is migrating and passed through both Readers Bookshop and the second hand bookstore and snapped up some more. Does this not signal that something might be up?

It only occurred to me that this is not normal when a friend nicely pointed out that since: I almost never have vacation, work twelve hour days and then spend another two hours a day getting to and from work that there was precious little time left to read all these books. Now I do read fast, and yes, with comprehension and retention thank you very much, but still, this was a little excessive. After all, as my mother would remind me if she were around, you cannot spend your life with your nose in a book, get up and exercise, so socialise...do something! But you know, I'm starting to suspect that this is the real thing because you see...I LIKE to read. It takes me away to that special place...okay that's Christopher Cross' Sailing, sue me.

Here's the thing though, the Christmas tree went up today. Now this is a FIRST. The Christmas tree, when it does go up, goes up, grudgingly (except for that one year I completely lost my mind and bought the damn tree and $600(!) worth of decorations), the week before Christmas. The living room now looks charming with an artful collection of paintings, plants and other stuff and of course, the tree. Trimmed with brown and green bulbs and some red berries it is restrained, relatively tasteful and unobtrusive. Totally unnatural given that Christmas is an opportunity to decorate mostly in an excessive, unrestrained, somewhat gaudy, definitely tacky way as possible. All that gold and sparkly dust stuff! But the living room has prevailed so none of that, but it's up. This lack of cable thing might be dangerous.

Next thing you know I'll be shampooing the carpet, stripping and sealing the tiles and whatever other rituals women subjugate themselves to in the name of house proud Christmas. And here's the kicker...I don't give a crap, I never understand what the fuss is about and truthfully, would happily read away the two days we get off. Now you see the confusion.

Anyday now, the men in the white shirts come to cart me away, or perhaps sanity will prevail and a return to shoes will obtain....

So what?

2009-11-08T17:14:00.001-08:00

As per usual, it's Sunday evening and I'm dreading having to go to work tomorrow. Actually, that's a mild understatement, I'm hopping around the living room trying to pretend that it isn't so close to the end. Having to face the morning drive to work is enough to set me off. I hate sitting in traffic and even worse, I can't stand what passes for driving around here....

And so what?

Is it going to change anything? I doubt it.

Am I going to wake up tomorrow morning and find out that we all suddenly got efficient, grew a brain/conscience/spine? Again, probably not.

And so what.

Imagine, we put a flag that cost two million dollars. Unbelievable right? Perhaps not, because it's up there and having gone up, we break all manner of protocol which says that it should fly between 6:00 am to 6:00 pm and then come down. This is the practice all over the first world, but not HERE. Because you see, it takes all manner of things to put it up and take it down, so up it stays.

And so what?

In the scheme of things don't you think we should be more worried about the $10 million spent on ANOTHER performance area at the Diplomatic Centre? Nah, that's just peachy. Because we all know that the hospitals are all equipped and adequately staffed. You tell me okay.

And so what?

You see, one of the first lessons you learn in monitoring and evaluation is that "so what" question. Have we fulfilled our objectives, have we added value, have we promoted sustainable change?

Several years ago a worthy citizen mobilised hundreds to protest something or other. One Saturday people turned out to march around the place and then congregated in Woodford Square to make their voices heard about....something! I can't remember what now even though I was around when it was happening. Can't take the old journalist out of me I'm afraid. And what changed? Nothing. Because once all the folks had dispersed so did all the fervour and passion. Because you see, for most people, the march was the end, not the beginning. They could say, look, I marched against something...now someone else go do something about it. And that's the truth about most things. We complain, we write a few letters to the editor but mostly, we're content to be armchair commentators and wait for someone else to do the do.

Look in the mirror. See the person staring back at you. Get to know them well, because that's the person who is going to initiate change.

And so what?

Well, you be the judge of that.

And by the way, if you haven't been to see it yet, Michael Jackson's "This Is It" is worth the trip. Go see it for yourself.

Going global

2009-11-01T18:51:00.000-08:00

Luckily for me someone decided not to go to a work related function and I snagged their ticket otherwise my evening would have been spent watching Cold Case with the hound. It was an $800.00 dinner and the speaker, Peter Kageyama. Well it was an evening well spent if only for the twenty minute talk, because ladies and gentlemen, pardon my language, the brain f*** was amazing. He talked about creativity being a catalyst for transformation, for accepting failure because of of the opportunity to grow and learn. In an evening of somewhat pedestrian delivery, he was witty, interesting and most of all, he spoke a language I'd not heard in a long time.

Creativity, innovation, two concepts that people talk about but which it would seem, we have but passing acquaintance. That's because most people don't think of themselves as being creative; creativity is something that is ascribed to, well, creative people. You know, artists, writers, performers, people of that ilk, but we all have it in us to be creative and innovative, it's just more latent in some personality types. That however, should not be a a deterrent, until you get out there and try, you'll never know what you could accomplish and being creative is not limited to only artistic type pursuits. You can apply it to many situations that are a part of your life.

Mostly these days there is little room in my professional life for creativity, which is more than passing strange given my profession and my employer. We are actually responsible for promoting transformation, innovation and finding solutions but alas, all we seem to do is turn over.

Tonight's little outing was get another slap upside the head, a sign of things really. Thanks Peter.

In the news today....

2009-10-22T19:37:00.000-07:00

Pick a day, any day, scan the newspaper. What do you see? Most days; someone shot someone, someone died in an accident on the road, some government minister did something, some commission of inquiry has inquires into it, or some residents are protesting something somewhere. Yup, that's pretty much it, I don't why we bother to buy the newspapers or watch the television news, it's like that Bill Murray/Geena Davis movie that you geriatrics who read this blog should remember, Groundhog Day.

Anyway, due to occupational hazard, I cannot avoid the news so mostly, it's suck it up and wade through it with the, increasingly, dim hope that somewhere in there....well, whatever. Recently I took down a blog because it upset someone. That's not something that happened lightly, suffice to say, it was necessary. But it left a residual burn. You see, every day that I go through the news I become more convinced that I want to quit the "I am a Trini" club and head off to somewhere else.

Sure there is crime etc everywhere but you know what, I'd like to live in a place where people respect the law, or at least a place where the law is enforced. Where people do not think it's okay to go through the red traffic light. Where businesses do not take their customers for granted doling out shitty service because they can. Where grocery prices are not arbitrary. Where there are rules for landlords too. Where good sense it applied, not whatever vaps catch some politician on a given day.

Take for instance the whole property tax brouhaha that's been occupying us lately. We've always had to pay land and building taxes but now we're upset because, god help us, they're actually being updated! Sure it's going to cost some folks more, but it's going to cost some folks less, and if you're a pensioner, you have the right to appeal. In other words, if you can't pay, you can't pay. Or so the Ministry of Finance people say. The irony is that we will whinge about it, but in the end, it will be something else we accept. How do I know? Does anybody remember the furore over Value Added Tax. I sure do. When introduced about twenty years ago, VAT was supposed to be a temporary measure. Given that there are temporary buildings that have been around since World War II, I don't hold out much hope that it's going away in my lifetime. The bright side is you don't have to pay property tax every time you take out your wallet.

And then there's that thing about swine flu being the reason the Caribbean Games were cancelled. Yeah, sure, right, whatever you say dude. It had nothing to do with the lack of big names participating or dwindling enthusiasm or even post Summit burn-out. Swine flu, which by the way is rearing it's swinish head again with lethal consequences. As a rule I never agree with Sat Maharaj, the Maha Sahba man, but you know, when he advocated closing schools to slow the spread he was on to something. Clearly Felipe Calderon was a man with brass balls, in Mexico they shut everything down. Sure it didn't completely eradicate it but it did cut down on the number of cases. Of course, how would Trinis be able to lime if we did that? Twenty lashes with a wet noodle for stupidity for me. In five weeks our little island is going to be flooded with people from some fifty countries around the globe. This is "where the world meets" right. So all these people, carrying all their germs are going to descend upon us and our wonderful, efficient health care system. I don't know about you, but I rest easy knowing that the MInistry of Health has got it all under control if their news releases are anything to go by.

And then there is Keith Rowley. Well wouldn't you know, time in the cold, away from the comfort of Cabinet and colleagues suddenly makes one grow a conscience. It would appear that all his concerns materialised overnight because surely they could not have been cumulative if it bothers him so much? He would have spoken up before now, right? And the Uff Inquiry...well, does anybody know what the outcome of Piarco 1, 2 and 3 was? Remember those, what happened?

Look, as things go our lives could be worse, think about it. We're blessed, we're not freezing our collective asses off, we have free education, free pharmaceuticals, access to training, grants etc and when all else fails, we fete. We're really good at blame, not so good at solutions but everything in time. And yet, considering the shrinking globe, the information age and all that, with all those "best practices" lying around you'd think we would bloody learn......and this is why I'm contemplating turning in my membership.

Fix You

2009-10-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday, day of rest. Or something like that.

Chris Martin at the BBC crooning, "in my place, in my place...how long must I wait for it...come back and sing to me"

I'm singing along, badly. We all know I can't sing but my dog does not mind, in fact, to him it's music because his mummy is home and he can bug her to throw a ball to his little furry heart's content. Not that his mistress is amused but you take the lovies where you can get it.

A week ago, a post full of resignation. Not a commentary on anything, just some introspection. Lot of that going on lately. Asking, what if, why not, maybe...a word filled with infinite promise. Crap, my download speed has just stopped speeding and slowed to a trickle and Coldplay is reduced to stops and starts. Yes, I confess, it was You Tube that I was "watching". Technology not always working for us in the third world.

So I took the post down. Because I couldn't stand to have it up anymore. Not because the person was close, or because the subject matter was distasteful. Because it simply did not matter anymore. Recently an artist friend did a body of work on crime in Trinidad. She put a lot of thought, effort and time into it. She is my friend, she is someone I care about, I went to see her work. I admired her passion, wished that many more people could have seen it. But truthfully, realised that while I supported her, it was her show, her opinion, her passion. Not mine. Sure there is bad stuff happening here, bad things happen everywhere, it is how we cope, how we acknowledge and the things we do to change or not as the case might be. She's doing what she can, as am I.

I write about things. Another friend takes pictures and yet another gets out and crusades. We are what we are. This morning with Chris crooning there is a part of me that wants to re-affirm that I'm living.....

Doubles as an economic indicator:

2009-09-21T06:22:00.000-07:00

The Trini street food doubles, when googled will get you a lot of hits. There are pictures, stories, blogs and recipes that the search will run many pages. Doubles have been around for a long time and though there is much discussion to their origin, they, like Carnival, are a great leveler. Essentially, doubles are two rounds of soft dough that are fried so that they are crisp but pliable. They’re filled with curried chickpeas that have a thickish sauce to prevent drippage. When done well, they are delectable and are known as the things you must have when coming home from a late night party, the grease perfect for sopping up alcohol. They are filling and once, they were considered to be the “poor man’s food”. Like so many other things over the years they have morphed into one of those foods that have snob appeal. We now have our favourite doubles vendor, the condiments have grown more and more elaborate (and silly) and on many a morning you will find people of all shades, hues and economic backgrounds lining up for “two with slight (pepper sauce).

Recently however, there has been much grumbling in this place called Paradise because the price of an average doubles has gone from $1.50 to $4.00 and even $5.00 in the last two years. The outrage! Much has been written, including in this blog, as to the grasping, opportunism of doubles vendors who raised their prices when the price of flour went up and never dropped them when it fell. Well truthfully a lot of companies did that but no one has yet commented on HiLo’s predatory pricing practices.

In the recent budget it was once again apparent that the middle class would be made to bear the brunt of the shrinking economy. If you are an unmarried person with no assets there is a good probability that you are going to remain with no assets because of the difficulty in saving. In the last three years the cost of everything has increased exponentially but not my salary and things look pretty bleak there. Rents have increased, the cost of electricity, basic services, food, you name it, I don’t sell a product that I can raise the price on to cover my shortfall in revenue. Unlike the business community, I cannot charge the VAT back to my business and recover it. I pay the same rate of tax that the people who make real money do, but I have no tax breaks at all. At the same time, I am responsible for my pension and health plan because my employer does not cover me. I must also shell out for clothing and hair etc as consistent with my job. I don’t entertain clients, if I do; it comes out of my pocket. I don’t party; eat out (other than the occasional Burger King). I maybe get together with friends a couple of times a month and we all split the tab. My bank manager used to laugh and say that I could work a hundred dollars better than anybody he knew. I get that from my grandmother who never spent a bad penny. Sure I scrape by and hope for the best but I know, the day something really happens, I’m quite frankly in shit street.

As per usual there was grumbling after the budget but I am reminded by something a colleague always points out. In Jamaica what do people do when they are dissatisfied? They revolted against the slavemaster, they take action in some form; they generally do not sit around whining but do something. If the price is ridiculous they just don’t buy it. In Trinidad what do we do? Previously we would mock our “masters” in the street, sing calypsos and drink rum. What do we do today? We complain, dress up in expensive costumes that are not worth the half what they cost, drink rum/vodka/Baileys, brag about how much we spent on something and complain about the Government. In short, we have remained sheep who prefer to do nothing but to baaa at our situation. We don’t even sing about it anymore, now we have performers who tell us how to dance and how to behave and generally add very little to our lives. It’s really appalling because it seems to imply that we are unable to think or act for ourselves. It’s always someone else’s fault or responsibility.

And what does this have to do with the doubles vendor you might wonder. Look at it this way. The cost of living has increased for everyone, even your doubles vendor. They are really a barometer for society: though they may not have the overheads of a shop in the mall, they still have mortgages, kids in school, insurance payments, health care etc that they must front themselves. And yes the price of flour may have gone done but by golly, the price of few other things have, they may be making slightly more that they were a couple of months ago but really, how much more. They can’t claim the VAT back like most businesses, the day they are ill or unable to work they make no income. Street vendors know that theirs is a balancing act, their price must be affordable to the masses because they rely on volume to make their profit. Their margin of profit comes down to less than a dollar per item for the one item they sell. While we bitch, whine and moan about everything, I notice that Carnival costumes are still selling, bars are still full, new cars are still hitting the road and people are planning their Carnival fetes and jetting off for weekends in Miami. Well some people anyway, the rest of us are just trying to get by best we can.

Why are we so angry about the rise in the price of doubles? You could always stop buying them except what we are angry about is not the price, it is that we feel more comfortable complaining about doubles vendors because they seem to have no voice of their own than go up against the bigger issues that assail us every day. Do you know what the mark up on that blouse you bought in the mall is, I kid you not, roughly two to three HUNDRED percent. I was going to make one of those unequivocal Coffeewallah statements that are supposed to make people think about circumstances but I find these days I really don’t care anymore. If people wish to remain sheep then that’s their choice, carry on smartly. When I was going through my new age period I would have said, you are where you’re supposed to be, there is a reason for everything. Now I’m pretty sure the reason is, we like it so, why fuss. We continue to accept the status quo because it suits our purpose to not accept responsibility for ourselves. And for those of us who do try to make a change, keep up the fight good people, be the change you want to see in the world even if that means lugging the sheep along behind you.

What gives?

2009-08-31T11:47:00.003-07:00

You might have noticed of late the posts here have been somewhat middle of the road forays into the day to day activities of Coffeewallah-land. There's been an absence of commentary about the state of the country, the news, in fact anything that could raise the level of one's blood pressure or cause offence. In fact, this has not been about apathy, it has been a deliberate experiment in 'positive living".

What in heck is that you might wonder? Or more to the point, have I finally lost my mind? Well, I've never claimed to be normal so there might be some small insanity going on but after the crazed intensity of the early part of this year, I thought that I'd give what a friend of mind calls "being positive" a try. That is, always looking to find the good in everything, taking every situation as it is and not getting caught up in the emotion etc. It's been an interesting experiment, one that in a way has been good and in others, has made me understand that medication is not the only way you can duck responsibility for yourself.

Now other than a long standing addiction to caffeine, a newer hang-up on Reese's peanut butter cups and a habit of talking to my dog I would say that geezer-dom has been wholly embraced. I've gone from having a circle of friends and plans most evenings to coming straight home from work and settling down to a quiet evening with my book, the dog and the tv. It's not a bad existence and I'm not a hermit by any stretch of the imagination, I've still got friends, I still go out from time to time but truthfully, only when I really want to instead of feeling like I have to. So far so good. Now, just to conquer the personality quirks.

Anyway, the theory of positive living was to always approach life looking at the good things, seeing only the good in people, being upbeat all the time, in short being one of those people who sometimes make you want to beat your head against the wall in the hope that they go away because they are so constantly upbeat. One of the things you very quickly learn while on anti-depression medication is that you feel nothing or you feel everything. It is artificially induced well being where there are no highs nor lows, life tumbles along in somewhat oblivion. It is unnatural and after a while, despite how "good" things are, you long for something else. Some people might call it self destructive but as my counselor pointed out, it might also be a part of being human. What can I say, all that goodness was quite frankly, tiresome. Now there is nothing wrong with being positive and always looking at the bright side or whatever but in truth it is another way to not take responsibility for yourself, in long, there must be some middle road. What do I mean? Well, if you constantly dress things up all the time you only see the things you want to see and sometimes, fail to see the situation for what it is. Or worse, in your well meaningness, you belittle or play down someone else's right to express themselves authentically. If you constantly tip toe around always going with the flow, you never take a stand, you never acknowledge that something is not right or that it could be better. You never innovate because you're too busy pointing out that "everything happens for a reason" or that "you are where you're supposed to be", instead of maybe asking, "what the hell was the reason for this" or "screw it, this pisses me off". You're right, everything happens for a reason, maybe that reason is to question, to exercise free will or just to make you appreciate what you have or to make you want to do better.

I don't know, the answers are somewhere out there in between. But if it means that I've got to give up seeing the things that are not working and commenting on them, well, maybe this is not for me. Because sometimes, all it takes is one person saying something....it might just be you.

Why would you want to read this...

2009-08-30T16:43:00.000-07:00

Sweat is trickling along my shoulder blades and between my breasts, prickly heat raised along my arms. It is sticky, humid, outside a breeze stirs but all that is blowing is hot air. The brief interlude of rain earlier in the afternoon has only raised the heat. This situation is not helped by an intensive session of elliptical walker and resistance bands, cooling down will take a while.

The bout of exercise was really to counteract the after effects of a late lunch of stewed chicken and red beans, admittedly not cooked at home. The heat of the day negated any desire to spend time in the kitchen, which incidentally gets heat reflected from the roof next door. At first there’d been some guilt, of late the kitchen has seen little cooking and a combination of take out boxes or quickie meals cobbled together. Cereal can fill many roles and sadly, I’ve let it. Crap that; the chicken quietly thawing on the sink was unceremoniously bunged back into the fridge, much to the disgust of the hound, living in hope that it would have been forgotten upon hearing the jingle of house keys knocking against the car key. Sadly for him, mummy remembered and returned to safely tuck it away, maybe tomorrow.

The heat in the car almost derailed the process, even with the air con cranked up, the steering wheel was not pleasant and the sun beating mercilessly down through the windscreen caused a vampire like hissing and thoughts of shriveling up and blowing away as dust. This is when you know you’ve become an old geezer; the temperature gauge read 34.5 degrees outside. I know it wasn’t that hot on a regular basis when I was a kid, 34 degrees was usually a high, of late, it’s the standard. Of course this, the last weekend before school re-opens would either have been spent outside running around or on the beach, burning to a crispy brown one last time. Now, my thoughts turned to swiftly acquiring the goods and returning home and maybe eating in the shower, the only cool room in the house!

The roads were strangely empty for a long weekend, the only place with lots of cars, the supermarket car park, stocking up for school? Maybe everyone was still in Tobago, Great Race weekend they’d all be trying to get back today. Lot’s of people in Creole Cuisine, seems none of wanted to cook in the heat, at 2:00 however, the choices limited having been raided by the smart people who’d decided earlier to err on the side of no stress Sunday lunch. Goods in hand, back into the car hoping that it had not had time to heat up again. No digressions, it was straight home out of the sun again. The stewed chicken was tender, nicely browned, the beans floury, with lashings of Allana Stuart’s pimento sauce it made a lovely meal. If you’ve never had it, pimento sauce is a piquant sauce with body, made from flavour not hot peppers. It adds a little kick that enhances the flavour of the food without being overpowering like pepper sauce.

It is still hot, even as night falls and the day’s heat slowly relieved by a cooling breeze. It is amazing that the hound, covered in thick fur still hopes that we will play ball, I cannot believe that he wants to run around. He is panting in the heat, his water bucket supplemented by the occasional ice cube as a treat. All I want to do is veg, not moving with my book for company. He’ll have to settle for lying in front of the fan. Tomorrow is Independence Day, happy 47th Trinidad and Tobago!

The Dog Catcher

2009-08-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

There is a little black, furry cur that hangs out on the pavement near to my office; I pass him on the way to work, most mornings he’s lying on his side in the shade of the tree. He is a scrofulous, scabby sort, but something about him, makes me pause for a second look. On the occasions when his eyes are not tightly shut against the intrusion of morning, the look he gives me makes me want to sweep him up and hide him from the danger that lurks. He was a member of a larger pack of abandoned dogs that congregated on the front of the library building but now, he is all alone, the others are gone.

It happened a couple of weeks ago. Late one evening, after the streets had grown quiet, after the hectic rush of traffic had gone and all that was left were the few stragglers, making their way in the twilight. That evening I was without my parking lot comrade, the pair of us usually left behind after most of the rest of the office has gone for the day would make the trek to the silent, forbidding car park together. He had stayed behind to finish something and I was too hungry to wait for him. In the half light, the streets were eerie, like something in a movie or reminiscent of something you read.

A clanking, grinding noise heralded the arrival of the pickup dragging behind it, a cart, covered in BRC wire. There coming slowly up the street, the City Dog Catcher on the prowl; it was a Dickensian moment, the poor benighted souls trapped within the confines of the cage being carted off to the workhouse. Except, in this case, it was the furry denizens abandoned by their humans who were encaged. Strangely, they suffered their fate in silence, nary a bark nor even whimper from any of them as though all resigned to their sinister fate. We know there is no animal rehabilitation in Trinidad. It froze my soul, as many pairs of eyes stared at me, not accusingly but with a wary look that said, could you have been my master. The pack that for weeks had greeted my passing them by with varying degrees of tail wagging or hopeful looks that said, “do you have any food”. Who banded together and would be seen grooming each other, sleeping in a heap, or just hanging out, like men in a rum shop.

Their grubby countenances, these orphans, several with matted fur, maybe never knowing the reassuring touch or affection of a human, and their eyes, sadness, resignation, incomprehension. In those moments as the vessel of doom drove past, I thought of my pampered pooch, who at that moment was probably lying happily on the bed, waiting patiently for me to come home, to go walkies, maybe toss around his ball. His body, a transport of joy at the sound of the key in the lock; for these poor characters it was the end of the road. In my guilt that I could not offer any consolation, I scurried across the road, but there was no escape, there it came clanking past again. Sitting calmly on the floor, a little fluffy character, his fur stained grey from lack of care, the kind of dog you see in the homes of the wealthy and yet, he had become a street dog, A victim of circumstance. I confess, things were different, they would have been a different result, but I've learnt the hard way, I cannot save everybody.

In the long traffic ridden drive home, there was much time for introspection. The image of those dogs stayed with me a long time, yet another example of the randomness of life. How easily we could slip from one position to another.

Rain, rain

2009-08-17T03:37:00.001-07:00

The smell permeates my sleep, tickling at the edge of memory; one that goes back so far that it seems that is has always been there. In the half sleep, half wake state of early morning, struggling to get my eyes open as an impatient dog does the dance of “ I have to go out, I have to go out”, the aroma is a reminder of good things, of days long past.

For the past two or three days there have been whiffs of it, the sweet, banana-ey smell of ripe plantains being fried against a richer backdrop, the aroma of dirt soaked and wet trees. It is the smell of rainy days, of coming home to a warm kitchen, counters covered in flour, the hiss and spit of hot oil in a battered black frying pan, the vibrant yellow turning golden brown with blackened edges, a quick drain before being stuffed into the fluffy white saada roti and handed over to waiting hands.

If like me, you are life-long sufferer of “sinus” attacks, your sense of smell is always compromised by the lingering nasal drip and blockages that remove most of your olfactory responses. Since eating is a sensory pleasure that involves all the senses, the loss of one can make things sometimes, less so. And yet, almost thirty years later, there are some smells that remain, that are so evocative that the merest twitch of a nose and fleeting whiff, are enough to transport, to visualize, and to remember. These smells are so inextricably intertwined that they are not a logical progression, they just are.

August was the month that we were all at home, “summer camp” meant weeks at my Granny’s house, endlessly riding bicycles up and down the yard or the back street, climbing trees, getting dirty, causing mayhem and generally getting into trouble. My mother used to apply for her vacation, my granddad too. Granny, who’d already had a month of us driving her nuts would breathe a sigh of relief and resign herself to whatever entertainment Pappy planned.

August is the month of rain in Trinidad, huge, droplets falling from the sky, sometimes a warm gentle shower but mostly pounding torrential downpour, cold rain that comes from high up. Being locking indoors with everybody was frustrating. As a child, I never met a rain puddle that didn’t say, “ jump in me!” The odd thing was that if you parked me with a stack of books, I would happily read away the day, living in my own little dream world, a state that persists today. It’s my brothers who would instigate the trouble. Playing in the rain, freedom from the fetters of adults, clothes sticking to your body, dancing in the droplets or being pelted by them, eventually being so cold that you went indoors to receive your scolding secure in the knowledge that you’d do it again.

The smell of rain, before, a heavy lingering smell, full of promise, rainy-ness, of mysterious green things, after a downpour, newness, wet earth and trees, fecundity. After the rain the place would look as though it had been washed, shininess, the plants acid green, the sky bright, even when covered still in grey clouds. The evening smells after a day of rain, of cocoa or Horlicks, fried plantains and bakes, tomato choka, stewed chicken leftover from lunch, hops and cheese and always, the promise in the nose of rain waiting to come while we, tucked up in our houses, snug against it, ate and laughed, got scolded and slept, twitching in our dreams, of playing in the rain.

Cooking for life

2009-08-09T09:39:00.000-07:00

Spending Sunday morning cleaning the stove is one way to get into a meditative state, largely because looking at what one is scrubbing can be kind of gross. Especially when you consider that what is coating the stove might in fact also be coating your insides. Not pleasant unlike the steak devoured happily, stewed chicken as indicated by the brownish crusty stain on the otherwise white enamel and other sundry remains of meals cooked and eaten since the last time the stove was cleaned.

Generally West Indian kitchens are often covered in a sticky residue near to the stove and on the ceiling as is discovered when you try to re-paint the walls et al. West Indian and East Indian cookery often involves a lot of browning things in hot oil, searing in hot oil on high heat, long cooking with sputtering sauce everywhere. That residue is left by fat granules adhering to every surface requiring constant scrubbing with abrasive grease cutting detergents which take the skin off of one's fingers. Ah, the joys of cooking. Once upon a time, my kitchen was the scene of much cooking for Sunday lunches with friends or dishes to be frozen for other friends who were unfamiliar with a stove. That all went the way of when I realised that my entire weekend revolved around the kitchen, preparing for the meal, cooking the meal, cleaning up after the meal. Oh yes, what fun, for everybody else but the cook!

Needless to say, I love reading about food, experimenting in the kitchen and generally trying new gastronomic delights. My shelves are littered with books by cooks, chefs, food editors and restauranteurs. Currently I'm reading "My Life in France" by Julia Child. Mrs. Child a french method cook famous for introducing the technique to the average American housewife in her cooking shows and books, was an unlikely hero. These days when everyone on the Food Network is coiffed, made up and reality TV friendly to death, Mrs Child, 6'2', a halo of red hair and a rather high pitched voice was different, but the woman could cook and she was actually fun to watch! FYI, read the book, it's more entertaining than Meryl and Amy trying to be Julie and Julia.

Last evening, while watching TV there was a programme on two people, one a raw food proponent and the other a calorie counter on a reduced calorie diet. The aim of both parties, to live longer. Now I have nothing against vegans and other people who watch what they eat. I watch what I eat too, I just like it to taste, look and smell good. Truthfully, watching the raw food guy who happens to be a long distance runner did not encourage conversion to the green sludge which he loudly proclaimed, YUMMY! That fresh chard and broccoli might have benefitted from a quick saute in some good olive oil to be paired with a delicately prepared fillet of fish all washed down with a crisp Pinot Grigio. Frankly, the sludge looked gross, like something you might have scraped up from the bottom of an old water tank and his appearance did not help, pale, fleshless, with sunken eyes, he vaguely resembled a refugee as did the reduced calorie couple. They went on and on about living longer to the point of nausea. I just wanted them to shut up because they were boring as hell and for all their protestations they did not appear to be enjoying themselves. Guy Fieri on an hour later was much more entertaining and that dude looks like he really, really enjoys food.

It is instructive to note than many gastronomes, on a steady diet of butter, wine and other forbidden things lived to a ripe old age, Mrs. Child was in her eighties. Seeing my Auntie Enid, an octogenarian trying to get around has not inspired me to want to live to "ripen" into that kind of old age. Sure, I like being healthy and want to be around for quite a while; I exercise, I avoid margarine, fake sugar and all those other genetically engineered foods for the real thing which I then eat in moderation. Okay, there is the coffee and chocolate thing but that's my business.

What's my point? Nothing really, this was just my distraction from cleaning the kitchen so that I could put it back together to get Sunday lunch going. A nice roast chicken, yes with the skin on, oven roasted potatoes and carrots (strategically placed under the chicken to be self basting) and a tomato/basil/crumbled feta cheese salad with balsamic dressing, all washed down with some Chardonnay. Mmmm, good.

Walking in the park and reminiscing

2009-08-02T17:19:00.000-07:00

Well maybe not. If you read this blog you'd have realised that I've been on a personal journey for the last year and what a ride it's been. The question came up whether or not this blog should go on...there are so many things I want to write about but, in the course of changing my life, it's getting more and more difficult to carve out the space to write here too. Most days the last thing I want to do is boot up the computer and write after a long day at the office.

Until yesterday when the Bookman and Adele reminded me once again why we blog. Thanks guys. In the coming weeks I hope to share some of the work that I'm doing towards a larger piece, Notes from Paradise, that I'm working on. You've already seen some of it, the bits on the market, Woodford Square, thumbnail studies really. Here's one:

"Do you know that the Beatles came to Trinidad? No, really, they did, somewhere in the early sixties and there are pictures to prove it. It’s one of those really well-kept open secrets of this little island. Noel Norton took the pictures of the Fab Four on some or other beach with then Prime Minister, Dr. Eric Williams and his young daughter, Erica. It is impossible to imagine that they, the most successful, recognized group of the time managed to slip in and out of the country with nary a person noticing. But it did happen, yes, I’ve seen the pictures and they are real.

The pictures were commissioned by the Tourism Development Authority of the day and the prints are probably now moldering away somewhere if they haven’t already been thrown out. They were part of a repository of hundreds of images relating to this country’s heritage. Sadly many of the photographers are now either deceased or so old that they’ve been relegated to the retirement pile but these people managed to document some of the most wonderful things about Trinidad and Tobago. It is mind boggling that they are all hidden away somewhere and not on display.

It was almost an accident, that they came across my desk in a stack of material that I was cataloguing. At first there was some mild skepticism and then another look. Sure enough it was them, Mr. Norton confirmed it a year or so later when interviewed for a piece that I was writing. "

Let's see now...

2009-07-26T05:51:00.000-07:00

(Good) Reasons to get up early on a Sunday morning:

Somebody you'd like to wake you up does...

Somebody brought you breakfast in bed

You've got to meet the boat for your trip down the islands to go dolphin watching (damn you j!)

Your 80-some year old Granny made you

Your kids stood on you and prised your eyelids apart (this one's for you Coffeedude)

You got up to watch the sunrise while sitting on the backsteps with the hills surrounding you and a cup of Arabica blend warming your hands

I'm sure you enterprising people could think up lots of reasons to get up early the one morning of the week you might not have to, most of them having nothing to do with taking time out. Sadly, I'm up for none of the above and yes, this is going to be another one of those "quality of life" rants but say what, repetition is what makes things stick right.

From the informal Coffeewallah survey conducted in bars, boutiques and coffee shops over the last eight months, it has become very apparent that people in the twenty - fifty year old demographic are so wrapped up in what if, we all forget what is now.

Think about it, you women especially. We're all so busy doing that sometimes we forget to do for ourselves. And then we wonder why we're not appreciated, or we feel so beleaguered. Listen girls, nobody is going to do it for you, so stop waiting for that to happen, if you make yourself a martyr, you will be one; start remembering you - get off the phone, after you've made that manicure/pedicure appointment, go find yourself a book or whatever floats your boat and relax. I promise it will not kill you.

What am I banging on about? The "coven" was talking about how are days are filled with activities/stuff we HAD to do, (we have multiple personality types so it's not as though we're all driven, type A, workaholics), that we were all too busy. In fact our days and nights are so crammed with activities, usually dictated by someone else, that it's amazing that we breathe. As a result we'd all become bloody boring! Who the hell wants to hear a constant litany of my job is so stressful, I spent my day running from one place to another, I can't balance the cheque book, blah, blah, blah, blah. Can you remember when we used to talk about what we were painting/writing/reading? Actually, can you remember the last book that you read that wasn't some kind of ghastly self-help exhortation to be better/stronger/richer etc.

I vaguely remember a time when I used to get up at 6:30 on a Sunday morning and go to the beach! Yes, most Sundays, my feet would be firmly planted in the sand, bits of me exposed to the sun, book on my face enjoying the splish splash of waves on the shore. What's stopping me? Not a bloody thing but ME. House needs to be cleaned, piles of laundry done, meals to be cooked and frozen so that I don't starve during the week. My employer gets more of my time than my family or my dog. Sound familiar eh. But what to do, this is the way it is...NOT. Lesson to self: get over yourself, the self importance of being a vital wheel in the cog is self-inflicted most of the time.

Screw it, I'm going to paint this morning, or better yet, climb back into bed with my book and listen to the crazy people drive past my window outside. Happy Sunday loafing to you too.

Coffee anyone?

2009-07-19T14:01:00.000-07:00

Grandma Wallah was a remarkable women if only for her ability to put up with Grandpa Wallah who, by all accounts, was quite the petty tyrant in his home. Considering that he was not the tallest of men, slight of build generally, it would appear his might came from the ferocity of his character. But I wouldn't know, as a child I had little contact with them and they both passed on by the time I was barely a teenager. The stories about my paternal Grandfather are legend in the family though we learnt them as adults.

Granny Wallah though, remained an enigma until one day,my uncle while visiting looked at me and said, "goodness, you're the spitting image of mama". Well aside from the fact that I'm about half a foot taller, have red hair and am somewhat outgoing. My memory of her is of a quiet, dark skinned woman, with head always covered by a tightly wrapped head tie. She never seemed to be particularly interested in us, the children of her oldest son and the Muslim woman he'd married. By the time I was old enough to remember her she was already a shadow of herself. From the time she married GPW he'd put her out to work in the cane fields which she did until she retired after a lifetime of backbreaking work and then taking care of a family with very little money. I know nothing of who she was or where she came from, I suspect though that her quiet facade hid a lot.

My father's few stories involve how his mother would forage the waysides for bhagi (spinach) to eke out the daily meal and her ability to make do with whatever. My mother always claimed that my father's family could not cook but I suspect that had more to do with her discomfort with them than anything else. The aunts were a homely but strangely attractive bunch of women struggling to make ends meet while raising families. Grandfather Tartar well known for throwing people out into the street for the slightest perceived infraction of his authority. You then could not cross the bridge over the drain to come back to visit, Granny Wallah was relegated to meeting her errant daughters on the sly. After Father died, Uncle parted with a few more stories, it would seem according to him, GW was a woman of great charm, a "beauty" who my grandfather punished for being likable.

These are the things I do know: she loved coffee. She would brew up her pot on the fireside and then sit under the house with her enameled cup and drink it thoughout the day. The doctor made her give it up shortly after she retired, it seemed she was hypertensive and he felt it was bad for her. Actually, it might have made more sense for her to quit Grandpa Wallah because we all suspect he was the cause. She had a hard life and died when she was sixty having suffered the consequences of her life of want. My mother bought her a "dress length" each Christmas and Mother's Day and she would get my Aunt Iris to sew it up for her though I can't recall ever seeing her wear any of them. But then, we never saw her "going out" so why dress up? GW was Anglican, GPW Catholic but it is interesting that he could never get her to convert.

Not a lot to know about the woman who appears, was the precursor to the Coffeewallah.

The Ghost of marriage past

2009-07-14T09:22:00.000-07:00

This has absolutely no bearing on today’s blog; I just liked it.

“It is customary in the higher echelons of the British Diplomatic Service never to knock on the door before entering a room, lest by doing so one implies one suspects a colleague is doing something improper within.”

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It was raining that afternoon, it had been a muggy sort of day and the curtains were drawn. My former husband was making a sign for the tea stall at some or other fund raising do for one of our “causes”. By no means a small sign, it was a large piece of ply board that had a white undercoat and on to which he layered images using acrylic paints and varied pieces of material. He was/is after all, an artist and this was not an ordinary sign, it was directional yes, but it told its own story. I gave no advice but watched as it all unfolded before my eyes, how did he think up of these things? Had he wished, he could probably have sold it but in all the time we were together he never through choice sold any of his work.

To many we were the ideal couple, he, an artist and intellectual and I, a writer and producer of documentaries. We seemed to connect on so many levels; we both liked good food, the movies, going to the beach every weekend. The house was covered in books, pieces of art, an endless array of photographic equipment gathering dust and of course, the ever present hiss of the expresso machine. We seemed free spirits without the leaden weight of conventional living; even our house at the time a testament to our creative spirits. True it was no fun to balance on catwalks with large baskets of laundry knowing that you had a twelve foot plunge to the terrazzo floor beneath, but still, it gave one a feeling of adventure, especially when returning from a night out on the town, many Carib’s later.

And yet, it didn’t work in the end. Whether it is is that you cannot have two creative people in the same space lest they explode or that we just grew apart after thirteen years of togetherness, or all those things and more, we could not stay together. We wanted different things and started to find living together cloying, almost claustrophobic, well at least one party. The other was happy to go along changing nothing as long as they were in control. I’ll leave you to guess which was which. The cracks appeared under the surface until we could no longer hold it together. Though we seemed not to have any acrimony I think for a while there we might have hated each other a bit. My former husband, the stoic, “I don’t let emotions rule me, you are a flake etc” showed his human-ness for the first time, but by then it was too late. There was no finding our way back. Our friends took it pretty hard too, all of a sudden we were outside of our box and they didn’t like it.

The years have mellowed us both, he’s got a whole new life with someone else and I have the hound and incursions by the ex-man. And yet, there is still that queer restlessness that fills my soul, the burning urge to create something, a piece of art, a new essay, something and then tell him about it. And in all these years I still recall how magical it was when he did work. On the rare occasions that he let me be a spectator it was a real pleasure to watch his mind at work. He challenged me to think, to do, to be. And though he may have wished in the end that maybe he hadn’t in a way, we both lived and learnt. He used to complain that I worked all the time, that got in the way a lot. But how could I not, the creative part of the work is what has kept me going, always. The same way when he needed to create he locked everybody out and refused to talk about it.

My former husband gave me an appreciation for many things, he taught me to understand how be true to myself without apologizing for being different. He’s about as different as you get! I miss the early Sunday morning breakfasts, mounds of eggs, black pudding or sausages, he was a marvelous cook. The San Fernando runs for Mrs Attong’s roast pork, just because, the round of art exhibitions or liming with artist friends talking for hours about the work. He also at times drove me crazy, rebelling against the controlling. Now I understand that despite all his talk and seeming confidence, his artistic work was always his bête noire. His coldness a defense against being hurt; his almost Spock-like denial of emotion a sign of his own insecurities and me, always his wild card, his admiration of my determination to be whatever I carved out for myself, a secret wish for himself. There is a part of me that will always love and admire him, he was my first great passion, but certainly not my last.

And finally, the ghosts are expunged and the creative life, trickling back, that part of me exorcised to make bearable giving up everything that was familiar slowly growing again. Understanding that regardless of how I try, I will never be free and must find my freedom within this.

Clean living

2009-07-11T14:16:00.000-07:00

Read today on BBC news:

Gustav III, King of Sweden (1771-92), believed coffee was poisonous. To prove his theory, he took two murderers, sentencing one to drink coffee every day and the other to drink tea. Two doctors were appointed to oversee the experiment and see who died first. The first to die were the doctors. In 1792, the King was assassinated at a masked ball in the Stockholm Opera House. The tea-drinker eventually died at the age of 83, and the coffee drinker survived them all.

It's so nice to be vindicated....

Memorial day

2009-07-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

Years ago my friend Rudy related the story of hearing of the death of President Kennedy. At the time she was a schoolgirl in Trinidad but even here, time stopped for a moment and people cried in the streets, it was a momentous occasion. This was an event that occurred before I was born, but had great resonance due to television. President Kennedy, in the early 70’s was still a household name, a shining beacon of hope who took man to the stars. That he was glamorous was undeniable, with his fashionable wife and relatively young age, Kennedy embodied the hope of a generation. Struck down in his prime by an assassin’s bullet, one wonders what the world would have been like if he’d lived.

The advances in global communications have pretty much made us a large village. The World Wide Web, once a tool used by some uber nerds at CERN in Switzerland is now ever present. We have immediate access to information and are constantly bombarded with even the most trivial of images and “news” twenty-four hours a day. So it is not surprising that today will probably become one of “those” days. You know, what were you doing when you heard Michael Jackson died? Did you watch the memorial service?

It brings to mind twelve years ago when Princess Diana, that other pop culture icon was killed in a car crash. Young and not so young women all over the planet wept for her. Her funeral was the most watched television event of the last century with 25 MILLION people around the world tuning in. Not even the Olympics come close to that. It is a testament to her appeal and the relentless press machine that operates today. Who can forget the sight of her coffin carried by soldiers, two wreaths balanced on top, the envelope tucked between the blooms with a heartrending “mummy” on one of them? Those glorious boys walking with their father and grandfather behind the hearse as it made its way to St. Peter’s indelibly etched in our memories. Elton John singing Candle in the Wind….

It comes as no surprise to see the public outflow of emotions following the death of pop icon Michael Jackson. In his words he went from,” where is he to there he is again”. For several generations, Michael was the defining voice, the original Brand, the ultimate in PR/Marketing, his life was played out across the media, but always, his music. Though at times he has been both vilified and revered he managed to continue to transcend boundaries. At any time, somewhere on this planet, someone is playing a Michael Jackson song. He touched our imaginations and our spirits in numerous ways and as the world gathers to say good-bye to the “King of Pop” it is with sadness but celebration that he lived and left such a rich legacy.

My ex-husband had a theory about shooting stars. When he woke me at 3:00 or 4:00 am to tell me that Princess Diana had died, I remember getting up in disbelief; it was almost like losing a family member. Or maybe it was that my sand unresolved issues so it was close to home. In those wee hours of the morning we talked about those people who lived so brightly and burned out in the prime of their life. We compared Diana to Marilyn, the other blond who’d also died at 36, what could have been, we will never know. And that’s the thing; I don’t think these people are meant to live forever and get old, fading away. They blow through our lives, make their mark and then are gone. They live in perpetuity in our minds, forever young.

In the aftermath of the memorial, Kenny Ortega did a great job, those of us who’d managed to keep it together through the musical tributes lost it when the back up singers et al sang “We are the world”, the tear filled family tributes and the moment that we’ll all remember, Paris Katherine talking about her daddy being the best in the world and the love he had for them.

Market days

2009-06-30T13:44:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a ripe mango? Peeled it with your teeth, tugging at the leathery skin to reveal the soft, glistening yellow flesh beneath. Digging in, the sticky juice running lazily across your chin, fingers and down towards your elbow as arms held away from your body to let it drip to the ground. The mango is soft and sweet against your tongue, better if it warm from sitting in the sun, the sugars developing, not cloying, just a piece of goodness. Sucking on the seed to get every bit of it off.

Now you might be offended by this description but there is a huge amount of sensory pleasure to be gained from food eaten with your hands. In my family, as children we were fortunate enough to have had access to fruit trees which we plundered with impunity, sometimes eating the unwashed fruit while still up the tree. It was magical, fruit eaten at its peak, not shrink wrapped, under-ripened science specimens from the grocery or quailed from long periods sitting in the blazing sun by the side of the road.

They say that you never miss what you never had, one trip to the market in Tunapuna was enough to awaken all those old memories, before the suit and heels, before eating with your hands was a no-no. Well sometimes depending. Tunapuna market is an interesting place, sorry, no pictures, forgot the camera. It’s now all housed indoors but it used to spill out on to the road and pavements, taking on a life of it's own apart from the chaos that was the Eastern Main Road. For years it existed as a loose amalgamation of stalls knocked out of spare pieces of wood and old corrugated galvanized iron for cover or bags spread out as buffer between the produce and the surface below. A place where farmers from the surrounding districts would come to sell their produce plucked from their gardens in time for market day. It was also inhabited by a host of characters who harked their wares in loud voices “tomatoes, fifty cents a pound. Come here!” The doubles men used to stand outside the gates so that you could get your morning breakfast as you left to go home bag bulging with goodies.

It’s been a really long time since tomatoes were that price and the market is all in the concrete building but the stalls have not changed all that much. You could always buy whatever you wanted in the weekend market, even clothing. The piles of fresh vegetables are all still there but these days it’s also bootleg DVD’s and CD’s and other sundry items. Don't be fooled by the technology, it’s still all cash transactions and surprisingly many of the same familiar faces albeit older.

Threading your way through throngs of people all looking for a bargain, bags slapping their sides, eyes eager. Squeezing an eggplant for firmness, picking up handfuls of peppers, green beans or plantains to be weighed. Rows and rows of canary yellow bananas or the succulent red flesh against pale green of a just cut ripe watermelon. Mouth watering, planning Sunday lunch as you go. Maybe some knobby sweet potatoes with their purple skin lightly coated with dirt as though just pulled up that morning or fresh dark leaved spinach. Mounds of fluorescent green lettuce or crisp watercress continuously sprinkled with water to keep it fresh begging to be taken home.

The meat and fish section removed so that the smells don’t overpower you. Mostly it’s pretty clean and “orderly”, sure, it’s no HiLo, but at every turn there is an adventure in cooking waiting to happen. What’s that odd looking vegetable? Don’t know, ask the vendor and you’ll get a lecture on what it is, how it’s grown and how to cook it. See, you don’t need google all the time.

Don"t stop till you get enough

2009-06-28T13:33:00.000-07:00

You didn't think you were going to get away so easy did you. Of course there was going to be a blog on Michael, how could there not be. Michael Jackson was the defining voice of my generation. Like Elvis in the fifties, the Beatles in the sixties, MJ was the eighties. Watching the media hysteria unfold in the wake of his passing has been close to that when Princess Diana died in 1997. Everybody is clamouring for the inside story, every piece of his life is being picked over, again and again. His weirdness, his popularity, all the allegations, his spending, his life still under the microscope as it had been for his whole life. If you were in any doubt as to his popularity, his death caused the internet to overload, Google to freeze and YouTube to crash.

It is apparent looking at the mounds of footage being aired, that Michael Jackson, for all his money and fame, was a profoundly sad, lonely individual. As with the J.M. Barrie character Peter Pan, here is a man who never grew up. Put on stage at five by his ambitious father, it was the beginning of a life where he was constantly exploited by the people around him. If you look at his behaviour he wavers between boy and man, as though knowing he was supposed to act like a "grown up" but not quite knowing what it meant. And how could he, he's been "handled" all his life by various minders. If you look past the weirdness though, you will come to appreciate the consummate performer and know that the like will never pass this way again.

It was 1979, Off the Wall was released, we all knew who MJ was, he and his brothers were famous as the Jackson Five but this was something else. Off the Wall rapidly became the most played album at parties, school bazaars and the like. Long before YouTube, iPods and even MTV which did not make it's debut until three years later; CD's were still in their infancy and you bought vinyl which was by no means cheap. One of the guys in the class above mine had it and made his friends really happy ripping copies onto cassettes. We were pirates even then. It was my first year in high school, there are still a lot of good memories of that album and in case you hadn't guessed, Don't Stop till You Get Enough is one of my favourite songs of all time.

In those days Michael Jackson was still a black guy with an afro, but you know, it didn't matter everyone loved his music regardless of colour, class or geographic location. Much has been written by people infinitely more qualified than me about his talent, dynamism as a performer etc. , for my generation, he was a good time. As time wore on, his fame grew with the release of Thriller and then Bad. He was the face of the MTV generation, he pioneered the artform of music videos and his quickly became legends, short films using real directors, elaborate sets and story lines. Sure he was somewhat weird. In hindsight it can be seen that he was mentally ill but who wouldn't be under all that scrutiny. The pressure to top yourself over and over again. Think about it. Living in a glass bowl cannot be fun. His eccentricities became more and more pronounced, the chimp, his skin colour, he rapidly degenerated into a caricature, parodied mercilessly even as people wanted to be seen with him. The allegations of sexual abuse were the final straw and his popularity waned. Ironically, the very people who pilloried him were the people who did not question why an adult would blithely leave their children for unsupervised sleepovers with a grown man. MJ was bewildered by his treatment, he couldn't tell what he had done wrong but really had he? The doubt exists today, was it all a scam to get his money?

Admittedly I was a Prince fan, that weirdness more compatible with my own sensibilities, but the magic of MJ was undeniable and I confess you will find the music is in my iTunes library; a couple of nights ago while reminiscing several of us found out that we could do the Thriller dance. It amazing how many people talking about him, everywhere you went this weekend people had an MJ story irrespective of age, my friends kids who weren't even born in his heyday were crying having discovered him all over again twenty something years later. Grannies were talking about seeing him perform as a child at the Queen's Park Savannah and I have a memory of my mother singing along to Billie Jean before she died. He touched many lives with his work and gave many people a lot of happiness. And for that alone, Michael Jackson will be remembered fondly for a long, long time. Go listen to Man in the Mirror and ask yourself how you want to make a change.

Return of the Dragon Lady

2009-06-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

For the last two years that this blog has been going, it’s written on a Mac laptop. If you’ve ever seen the Mac ads with Justin Long personifying a Mac computer and some uptight dude a PC and you read this space, you might have a picture of the author. Ironically, the Coffee blog was started to fill the void left when my favourite bookshop closed after eleven years.

A Different View was where I came into my own. It was the shop that gave me the freedom to process and grow; the books, conversations and most of all, friendships were a huge part of my life. When the owner decided that her life needed to take another path, many of us, though happy for her, were left wondering, what next? The happy, loud Saturday limes with Stuart, Richard, Adele and the other transients who came and went were the mainstay of our week; it was here that ideas got tossed around, we talked about everything under the sun and explored our creativity. It was our home away from home. Two years later we still have not found a place to call our own and have resorted to e-mails, phone calls, gallery crawling and the occasional lime at someone’s house, but it is not the same. The shop was a special time and place and we’ve all had to acknowledge that we were lucky to have had it.

Living a creative life is not easy. Like any other profession, there are the days when you don’t want to get up and go to work. When you work as an artist, writer etc, you can’t exactly call in sick and not go to work, most times, the work does not wait for you and you aren’t paid if you’re not working. Most people think if you’re doing creative things that you float around, being all arty farty and it’s all wonderful, it is not. There is nothing worse than sitting staring at a blank page, blinking cursor, deadline looming and knowing, that you don’t have an idea in your head but you need to come up with one, fast. There are the days when the words flow, faster than your fingers can hit the keys but they’re all crap…of course, there are the times it’s almost as bad as giving birth, each word painfully yanked by its roots, painfully strung together to form coherent sentences. Forget paragraphs, you’d settle for sentences but nothing doing. Needless to say, now that this is not my life, I miss it like hell, the urge to create is still there simmering under the surface.

Lately, it’s been a challenge to write. Not that there is nothing to say, there is always something to say but there must be a balance so that the blog does not turn into a space that exists only to complain. Because in the end, this is not the reason for being, it is about living at least part of my life in a creative way. That was what drove my pardner Slacker and I to challenge each other to write, the almost urgent need to one up each other morphing into some really good stuff. Sadly, something we haven’t done that much of late. Life intrudes. Coffeedude asked weeks ago about the return of the Dragon Lady, well now you know. It is a titanium MacBook Pro with a blank page and blinking cursor.

The Mystic Island Diaries:

2009-05-26T11:39:00.000-07:00

“I see a red door and I want to paint it black….” These lyrics are in my ears, pulling me along the charcoal grey asphalt strip, my feet finding their way without me. Run it says, be free! In deference to the gippy knee, I walk briskly but still with enough to look around me, the impudent wind ruffling my hair and the sun shining brightly down on my shoulders and upturned face.
It’s Tuesday – beautiful day outside, slightly overcast, a little muggy but beautiful. It’s the typical Caribbean scene painted in travel magazines and destination television. With Mick in my head for company, I contemplate the road.

This island is the Caribbean but not really – it’s all orderly here. The trees pruned back neatly from the road, not arbitrarily hacked off and the surrounding vegetation stripped; the usual practice is to remove everything in the name of “environmentalism”. It is so clean….devoid of anything out of place, some may sterile but it speaks to organization that is well run. This order is calming; it removes that constant breathless feeling that has been ever present. Here, you never feel like to have to constantly be doing SOMETHING, always.

The acid reflux has taken a back seat to the lure of open air eating and wine, yes, wine with meals. Hey, the purple pill can cure a multitude of sins and my body, though tired, wants to go with the flow and enjoy. Going into the ocean every day has proved healing, the warm embrace of the clear blue water a clarion call to just let it all go. Even the strays here are treated well, fed by strangers or homeowners, these people will even pay vet bills and Rescue, who sleeps on our porch knows that she is loved.

The eclectic selection of music on the iPod hanging loosely around my neck is a representation of events from different parts of my life. It plays in a random shuffle reminding me of a first kiss, the transcending of a long term relationship, absolute abandonment, children playing, school friends, in long, a life. This place gives you the space to just be and in though ten minutes away from the bigger island, it is a whole different world.

In the year that I’ve been retreating here to recharge and visit my energy source aka my brother, I have grown to appreciate the space. New music has joined the sound track, with the waves constantly in the background.

Fun

2009-05-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

Coffeewallah is out on vacation....will be back soon!

A pick me up for you...

2009-05-14T05:54:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEIYYaxaNqs

Grumpy guts

2009-05-10T15:48:00.000-07:00

A chance comment from a far away friend some weeks ago was the wake up call. This was someone who'd known me WHEN. When we were young and supposedly carefree. When we shared most things, from an order of fries and a coke in KFC to clothes and confidences. So you could say, even though more than twenty years have gone by, she knows me. In our brief time together on a fleeting visit to home, she'd called me hoping to get together finally, something we have been trying to do for more than a year now. As usual, I was working. When am I not? Eventually we did get together, but we've not managed to do since.

And that's what did it really. Looking back at this blog there's been a definite trend, the joy has gone, to be replaced by a heaviness, a distinct lack of joy. That's when I knew for sure, no balance, I'd become subsumed by the rigours of job and given up the very things that made me interesting, that gave me pleasure and most of all, balance. A self confessed workaholic, my tendency to hold myself responsible for all things was now taking a toll.

That, and the residual effects of too much responsibility and overwork after the Summit caused me to re-visit my cognitive therapist. It has been a long journey back but worth the effort. In pouring out my thoughts, feelings and emotions to her, in our ritual of cleansing, I am reminded that I must be an active part of my own recovery.

When did food stop being a pleasure and become reduced to fuel? When taste become unimportant, when did the act of sitting down to a meal and being aware of everything going into my mouth become a chore? The act of cooking, or cooking for and with friends. Slowly I started to understand how much of me had been given up, most of all shocked by how bored I was by me.

It took a lot of little earthquakes to wake me up. Relating to another friend how tired my body felt, when did I become old? I remembered too, the all too brief sensations that took hold, salsa dancing one night recently, E. counting the steps for me, telling me to slow down and let him lead. The sound of his voice in my ear, soothing and reassuring, knowing that he would not let me fall. In those moments letting myself go, singing along to Elvis Crespo and really feeling my body move. I love to dance, it was one of the things that was so great about the X-man, is a great dancer and when we were on the floor it was magic. For a couple of nights it came back to me, as held tight against this man who smelled so good and moved like a dream, my body ignored the uptight me and really let go. We moved around the floor in step, it was an outpouring that opened a door I don't wish to close.

Yoga, an activity that I've practiced for most of my life and yet have only attempted sporadically over the last five years, how could I have let it go? The limber strength that was such a part of everyday living, put aside. My body knows the difference, the excuses are getting tired, how did I get from instructor training to barely being able to get into basic positions? This cannot continue.

Mother's Day today, barreling up the highway to see my Granny. Knowing that there would be at least fifteen minutes of her diatribe about my lack of visits and phone calls. The time I spend working and not looking after myself. In the end, we hung out together, she oohing over the plants that I bought her and then disappearing inside to bequeath a new dress sent to her by my aunt but too racy for her. No sleeves and short, you might see her knees! We giggled together like two girls. I truly love her and she loves me, warts and all. Yes Gaby, I took your advice, no grumpy guts today.

And so, the changes, slow in coming, some a deal between my therapist and me, are taking hold. My dog and I play ball again, he drives me nuts and I put up with him. Spanish class starts in two weeks, meanwhile, yoga on Tuesday. Work is that thing you do to live, you do not live to work. When people speak of finding balance it should not be an abstract concept. Today, really tasting the savoury bite of fresh watercress. The vivid green leaves crinkling as I put them into my mouth, enjoying the peppery bite against my tongue. Later this week my brother, John and I will split a bottle of good wine, maybe some cheese, and talk.

Taking pleasure from reading a good book or going to the movies. There are art exhibitions to go to, play clothes to try on, meals to be cooked, lots of coffee to be drunk and new classes to try. Maybe even a coffee shop...who knows what waits.

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-09T19:04:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. For those of us who are neither mothers nor have a mother, it is an interesting experience. Whether we chose not to have children, are yet to do the deed or for whatever reason, cannot, it is our business. It can get a trifle irksome when every store clerk, or male person you happen to run into wishes you “happy mother’s day”. I want to say, it’s okay, having ovaries is not necessarily a pre-requisite, you don’t have to say anything.

What exactly is Mother’s day anyway? Not that I begrudge anyone the opportunity to score some presents and some down time, judging from my temporary part time mommy stint, it’s not easy. Ladies, feel free if you can, to put your feet up, kick back and wallow as much as you can. This does not change my view that Mother’s Day, like Valentine’s Day and all the other “made up” occasions are really a good excuse for some conspicuous consumerism. If you love someone, do you really need to have a designated day to show them ? I didn’t think so…..

My mother has been gone for sixteen years, yes I still think about her, but the years have blurred. I appreciate the women who have come in and out of my life to fill the void when I needed the assist. Thanks ladies. If you’ve still got yours, take the time to appreciate her, you just never know how much time you get to have.

Waiting for Barack

2009-05-04T13:01:00.000-07:00

Hugh Jackman is one fine piece of manhood. What this has to do with Barack Obama you’ll have to bear with me a moment and you shall see. If you have not yet been to see the movie Wolverine, Jackman’s fourth outing as that character, wait no longer, get thee hence to your nearest Cineplex, spring for some popcorn and sit back and enjoy. That man is one of the hottest things on two legs walking around right now. He has that old world charm, the winning smile, he can act, he can dance, he can sing, he seems very secure in himself, loves his wife etc. In short, he is what Victorians used to describe as a “fine figure of a man”. Yes, I would definitely stand around waiting for Hugh.

The most asked (inane) question before/during/after the recent Summit: are you going to see/see/have seen Barack Obama? It would appear that the Summit began and end with the Golden One for most people. You may remember that the leader who got my pulse up was/is Brazil’s Lula, Barack, oh yeah, nice but whatever. I don’t really rave about anybody, other than Hugh of course, the rich and famous are just richer and more, well known versions of us ordinary folk, what’s the big deal? If anybody told me that I and eight of my colleagues would be thundering down fourteen flights of stairs to position ourselves so that we could catch a glimpse of Barack Obama as he pulled up in the “Beast” at the hotel, I would have fallen over laughing.

We are all sensible women and men, we were all pretty jaded by the time Summit arrival day rolled around, and we’d been seeing leaders pretty much most of the day. So when I got the text from Johanna, the White House press lady about “wheels down” I wasn’t too hot and bothered. Watching the arrivals on TV while we worked, suddenly the pressure started to build and all of a sudden we realized that we were where half the country wanted to be. And that’s when the insanity took hold; like the idiots we are, we flung open the doors to the stairs because the elevators took too long, and thundered like a herd of renegade elephants down first one, then two and finally all fourteen flights to make it to the ground floor. As though the man was a rock star and we a bunch of demented groupies, in hindsight, it’s kind of embarrassing. We, so formerly blasé about the waiting for Barack thing, caught in the act as it where.

So the answer to the above question is yes, I did see the man, a few dozen times, I stood right next to him, no, no pictures, that would be crass - I was working. I got to know the Secret Service dudes and the White House press office and am now back to being all blasé. Yes, he is tall, he’s slimmer than he appears on TV, he’s very polite and has that aura of quiet authority. Like Hugh, he is a fine figure of a man, but truthfully; I’d probably trample you to get to Hugh, Barack, not so much.

It was interesting being around all that power, thirty-three leaders in small space certainly gets crowded very quickly. I still think Lula is the bomb and have an even bigger respect for him now, he smiled at me in greeting one day and I blushed. Oh yes I did. For the record, I’m all Baracked out, sure he’s quite something, and his wife is too, I think he’s doing okay as President but I’m really, really tired of hearing about them so stop asking me. One of these days maybe but until then, there are other interesting people out there you know.

Must love dogs

2009-04-29T01:51:00.001-07:00

On Saturday morning Charms took me on a drive down to Macqueripe, the sort of beach that lies nestled between two cliffs on the north coast of Trinidad. It's an easy drive from the house and for me, having been cooped up extensively in an office with little fear of escaping the last three odd months, it was liberating to get out into the morning sunshine, though it quickly turned hot and sticky. Admittedly I was in no shape to really appreciate anything more from all the hacking and wheezing that was coming out but I surely appreciated the effort she was making and persevered. This bay has had an interesting history, once part of the American base, this is where the officers lived in the little houses still dotted around and this is where the submarines came up to moor. Up until a few years ago you could still see the concrete bays, eerie and silent but those and the hotel up the hill have disappeared and now the only submarine is the Cable of Americas which comes ashore here. It is a place that tries to be beautiful despite all the crap that is done to it to make it more "touristy". I hardly ever go any more, it's just too dangerous on your own.

While driving out, there by the side of the road was the hound. Well, he looked like the hound if the hound was a half starved, sort of wild looking dog. I panicked, I wanted to rescue Rover, abandoned by the side of the road. He was a beautiful German shepherd, classic black and tan, great lines, this was no stray. The sticking out ribs made me want to cry and getting home to my own pampered pooch made me feel even more guilty. That happens a lot these days.

In the last year I've discovered that I prefer the company of dogs more than I do people. They have much better qualities, they're loyal, they pay attention, they know when to shut up and generally will love you. And though I often complain about my dog, in that week that he was at the vet while I laboured on a boat, I sure missed his furry self twining around whatever body part he could find. Right now as I write this he is resignedly resting against my ankles waiting for brekkies and walkies. Ghandi said that you could judge the greatness of a nation by how they treat their animals. Judging on what goes on here, well, less said better. Am I surprised, no. We truly never seem that evolved and lately the cracks have been showing more and more. Meanwhile I've been thinking about that dog and wondering if he's okay, understanding that sometime soon, I will have to find a place where they do love dogs.

What's in a name?

2009-04-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

My new definition of irritation is being stalked relentlessly by 90 pound dog while trying to get over a nasty case of bronchitis. The hound does not understand that mummy is sicker than the proverbial dog though the loud hacking, barking noises emanating from my throat might be a clue. Nope, the hound just thinks that Saturday has rolled around again, and though a trifle confusing, is willing to put up with this new dispensation if it means his owner will throw that round yellow thing over and over and over again. When shouted at, he just looks at you with mournful brown eyes until you give in, and then you are in hell.

While this current state is vile, it still beats swine flu; though as a friend, gleefully I thought, said to me, bet you want to just spray yourself with Lysol now after all the close contact with the Mexicans last week. This, I suspect is her revenge for having to translate all the questions and comments from the onslaught of Latin American male ad nauseum since my already troubled Spanish deserted me in the midst of crisis. Apparently heavy applications of charm and otherwise cause my addled brain to further retreat into stuttering idiotdom but that's a story for another day. Preferably with heavy applications of tequila or thumbscrews, whichever is applied first.

Oops left the room for a minute to go pour some milk into my tea and returned to find the hound in front of my laptop, good thing he can't read or I'd be in trouble! But I digress.

Today I really feel for President Calderon. I "met" him last week, well if meeting him meant a couple dozen close encounters in the corridors, him smiling genially at me while saying gracias for pointing the way to somewhere and then his embassy sending a terribly lovely gift as a thank you for all my assistance which I refuse to talk about thank you very much. Of all the leaders, he, Madame Bachelet of Chile and Brazil's Lula are still my favourites, (yes I SAW LULA, was right there next to him!) They seem like nice people just from the way they treated us "help", well and the fact that they acted quite normal, not a bunch of posturing etc. What made the Calderon's very special for me was the call they received from their children on the way to the official dinner. Senora Calderon answered her phone and was speaking to her children, she passed the phone to papa. The whole entourage, security, liaisons, everybody came to a halt while Papa took the time to talk to his kids. Now that is man! They have young children, it was heartening to see that in the midst of all the pomp and circumstance Mama and Papa understood what was important, dinners come and go, childhood does not last forever. Sure it caused us some inconvenience but to a man/woman standing there, we were all happy to wait for them. It made them extremely human and we respected them for that. Phone call over, Papa said "go to bed", the President gently apologised for making us wait, took his wife's arm and went to join his colleagues. We all smiled at each other, these are the moments that make it all worthwhile.

So today, my heart is with him in Cuidad Mexico rocked by a 6.0 earthquake and ravaged by swine flu. What a name! Very Animal Farm, makes you wonder really if Mother Nature is exacting her revenge on us. That'll teach us stupid humans. The Mexican economy which was doing okay is now going to take a hit. Mexican products, tourism and people are taking a blow that is simply not fair, one hopes that they will weather this storm and come out the other side soon.

Vaya con dios mis amigos.

Havaianas to you too

2009-04-26T14:37:00.000-07:00

For the last two days two book have occupied my failing attention, not because there are boring, quite the opposite, it is just hard to be attentive while alternately roasting with fever or shivering with cold against a backdrop of searing heat outdoors and persistent dog indoors. The books, Sue Townsend's, The Public Confessions of a Middle Aged Woman and Brigid Keenan's, Trailing Spouses, read them if you can. Both books were written by ladies around the same age, one a novelist, the other a coffeetable book author and are a collection of their experiences over the years. These two woman are screamingly funny, their ability to laugh at themselves refreshing, one knows they would have been inveterate bloggers had the facility existed earlier.

In the all too brief segues between contemplating my newest pair of Havaianas flip flops, a bright cheery red, dotted with, what else, cherry trees and gold straps, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking at the hopeful dog so that I can rest my eyes, I read for as long as I can. Meanwhile hoping that someone will materialise to take care of the house, cook lovely healthy, restorative meals and provide juice/foot rubs/cough syrup on demand. Sadly the hound does not have opposable thumbs so this is mere pipe dream. I suspect that for the next few weeks as I claw my way back to normalcy, the in-between moments will be spent contemplating whether it is time to think about the return of a significant other. As a background, this is a pretty vile case of bronchitis brought on by overwork, lack of sleep and whatever else was going on for the last two weeks. For those of you waiting my Summit stories, they're going to have to wait a little longer or call me on the phone.

The reason I brought up the books in the first place is that these women have reminded me of the pleasure of writing, as opposed to the utilitarian work purpose to which my pen has been turned of late. They've also reminded me that there is a world outside of the narrow little closet that I've been in for the last two years. And then it occured to me, anybody reading or just hearing about my exploits might think that I was a trifle glam. What a thought! Me, who can barely contain my thighs these days. In the last year I've rubbed shoulders with the Prince of Wales, partied with sundry celebrities while hanging on the super cool island of Mustique. I've just come off of seeing thirty some of the hemisphere's leaders up close and personal adn I have the thank you presents from grateful delegations to prove it. I've worked in the past with musicians, actors etc that are household names. I know lots of people and used to be generally considered a bohemian artist type before I gave up that to re-join the suitably offbeat, though really uptight profession that I do now. Along the way I've managed to collect an ex-husband, lots of colourful ex-boyfriends and a small cadre of really nice, really interesting friends who are all slightly mad, like me.

Wow, I'd be wowed if I read this about someone I knew, and yet, somehow it just does not seem that exciting to me. In fact, a long standing friend once said to me that I had all the qualities that in a different time and place would have made me one of those women, who when old would have many interesting stories that would mortify the children and thrill the grandchildren or nieces and nephews. Neither my brothers nor I have managed to produce any offspring so no danger there, the dog does not care as long as he's fed and walkied at the appropriate intervals. I can see it now, me in a suitably patterned dressing gown lounging in my Paris apartment left to be by a grateful lover. This after a lifetime of globe trotting, going on safari before taking off to work on an aid project or something. Hell even my dreams are earnest. Ah well, sadly I've never had to the ability to see that as an option, I've always just put my head down and worked. But I will admit to racking up experiences. Maybe one day I'll even tell.

These days however, my Havaianas are occupying more of my attention than they honestly should. I have a few pairs ranging from black with white pattern to green with hibiscus flowers, they are rivaling my extensive collection of high heels and winning hands down in popularity. I was actually offended when the lady in the shoe store in WestMall, no I was not buying myself more shoes, my friend was, looked at my flip flops and then said, you know, you can get tons of those for $10 at some store or other. At which point Charms hustled me out of the shop, she didn't want the explosion. Goodly reader, Havianas are not cheap, nor are they cheesy, they are Brazilian made and are the thing in flip flops. One thing those Brazilians know how to do, swimwear and beach footwear. They've even turned the "rubber slipper" into a "flip flop" which can be worn as a high end clothing item. And suddenly, my urge to flee the world of dark suits and towering high heels seems to be much more manageable, because you see, the lure of the flip flop is getting to be a siren call. See you on the beach.

Riding the adrenalin high

2009-04-10T16:46:00.000-07:00

This is where I long to be...

Mi querido, besos para ti

The return of the Dragon Lady

Easter in Trinidad

2009-04-10T03:33:00.000-07:00

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven"

Somewhere in Trinidad, including outside my door, the Catholic faithful are recreating the stations of the cross. Families are getting ready to spend the day together, many go to the beach or find some activity that brings everyone to a central point. It is Good Friday and no matter what your religion is, custom dictates that fish will be the basis of today's meal.

The Good Friday "bobolee" or effigy of Judas Iscariot is being hoisted up, for the neighbourhood boys to thrash. Children are anticipating the chocolate eggs, chickens and other goodies that will distributed on Sunday. Granny or Mummy's Easter Ham, glazed and baked to perfection, or Roast chicken, brown skin glistening and crackling with goodness. ''

Easter bonnet parades, frilly dresses and kites in the sky. This week's rain making it all green, wildflowers springing up, waving happily in the wind.

Though it is a public holiday today and on Monday, my colleagues and I are at work because the project cannot wait. When it is all over we will breathe a sigh of relief, acknowledge the time we have given up and move on.

It is Easter.

Coffee sings the blues

2009-04-03T23:22:00.000-07:00

The numbers on the digital clock glow eerily red in the darkened bedroom.; one twenty seven, no, twenty-eight. Outside the sky has turned into a velvety indigo, not the true inky darkness of nighttime, too many artificial lights for that. The stars mere pinpoints, not the bright, twinkling that you get in the dark lanes of Mustique. My back teeth ache with the acrid tang of the acid reflux keeping me awake while the neighborhood breathes softly in sleep. Even the insects are quiet tonight, biding their time one wonders. But for what?

The acid reflux a recurrent symptom, not eased by calming cups of tea or applications of chalky, fake flavoured chewy pills, it compliments the pain in my lower back and the ache behind my neck. Classic signs of stress related woes. Tomorrow morning, the first order of business will be to acquire some more of the purple pills that only ease, but do not entirely dissipate the burning pain and discomfort of having the pressure of stomach gas in places it should not be. Ultimately, the symptom is not the problem; it is the weeks of work, hard slog that have led to this. While the adrenalin rush from the task ahead is going to carry us through, the underlying fear that all is not well does not go away.

We are all under pressure to make it happen, no matter what the cost. In the living room the backlight from the laptop, yellow energy efficient bulb in the kitchen and streetlight outside are the only light in this room now. In this half light but not quite, Buddha seated in his spot on the Cabinet is serene, how I envy him. It is not the acid reflux keeping me awake but the growing disquiet of something too big to fix. I am not invincible, nor are any of us doing this, and we know it. The hound senses my feelings of unease and leans into me, his furry head soft and comforting to the touch. He whines gently, nudging me with his head and when he realizes that we will not be going back to bed, sighs and settles down to wait. Sometime his mistress must sleep and he will be there to watch over while she does, patient through the turning and tossing until tired over takes and an exhausted peace settles back in.

Everything in this room is recognizable; the shapes familiar even in the dark. I can find my way around with my eyes closed but tonight it makes little difference to the unease. I am reminded in these wee hours of no sleep, of all the plans I had for this space, the best laid plans lacking an implementation phase. The man who made me smile will be here in a little over a week. This is a nice thought but another stab at distraction; it will help but not enough. Even the thought of seeing two old friends, both brought here from abroad by family ties is not enough I have missed them and only realized how much when I heard their voices on the phone this week. As busy as it is, I must make the time to see them, to reclaim that piece of me that is missing.

I long for the comfort of fabric softened sheets and dog cuddled up. The Xman has once again become that, a part of my past, so the hound has reclaimed his superior spot. Funny how this time has turned out. Any residual goodwill, separated from all the other emotions from that period when we were together, he and I, gradually eroded away by his unwillingness or inability to grow, so there is nothing left. It is not about someone else, rather, it is to clear away that which just does not work. In these quiet hours I am reminded of a conversation with a new friend, someone whose experiences so closely mirror my own. A woman of strength and power whom I admire, respect and understand so well. “Open yourself” she said. I’m trying Es, I’m trying.

Cup of tea done, another attempt to calm my body, another attempt at sleep. Tomorrow is another day.

Latin America

2009-03-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

Despite sitting snugly on the cusp of the South American mainland, most people in Trinidad and Tobago know little about those countries between Mexico and Argentina. They are names that feature in geography class and not much else. Maybe it's because traditionally we have looked first to the former "motherland" Great Britain and then to the USA since we share a language, English. We, who have been independent for more than forty years fail to embrace our neighbours for the most part. But maybe we should pay more attention.

This is not a blog about the Summit taking place here, enough has been ventilated about that topic by all and sundry. Having nominally been looking at Latin American politics recently it appears much has changed from the old picture of dictatorships and military juntas every week. Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silvamade is my hero this week. On a visit to Downing Street he is quoted as saying, "This is a crisis that was caused by white people with blue eyes. And before the crisis, they looked as if they knew everything about economics." Incidentally, President Lula is white, well as white as one from our part of the world can be. Lula is making quite a name for himself as is Argentina's Christina Kirchner and Chile's Michelle Bacchelet to name but two. What's even more amazing is the lack of apology, they have unabashedly declared themselves. Lula is head of a sovereign nation of millions, why should he be apologetic. he's right, the rest of us to some degree are paying for the arrogance of nations run by those blue eyed folk. If you look carefully, the economy in India has taken a beating but didn't crumble. Brazil took a beating but largely is rebounding. There must be something to this.

Nope, I'm not racist, quite the contrary. However when you look at the consumer driven values of successive Republican President's and the patterns established by those so called developed nations you have to wonder how no one could have noticed the crap that was going on.

Needless to say, I'm looking forward to the visit by President Lula next month. If nothing else, it will be very instructive.

The troublesome offspring...

2009-03-26T02:41:00.001-07:00

Think Louis de Bernieres, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam et al, and you might understand why I haven';t been blogging of late. They would do much more justice to my current situation because there are surely days when I feel as though this is either an episode of Yes Minister or a Monty Python skit.

This should explain why at 5:00 am I logged into YouTube trawling things like Love is in the Air, anything by Journey and other camp standards of the music scene of the late seventies and early eighties. Surely I have lost my mind because nothing could be so bad that you would listen to Time Life's best of Disco Hits. These were awful when they were first released and time has not changed that at all. Which brings me to late night television. Amazing those infomertials they run in the wee hours of the morning. All those inept women with fake nails disgustedly trying to saw through vegetables or stitch a hem with, gasp, needle and thread! Seemingly capable people unable to ply a simple potato peeler and in black and white no less, as though to imply that the methods that they are using are old fashioned fifties torture tools. And then the light dawns (we switch to colour here) and the latest handy dandy device As Seen On TV is revealed so that you can "set it and forget it" or have a knife that saws through wood but is gentle enough to peel a tomato.

That I know any of this is surprising in itself, that people actually watch these things and worse, get out their credit cards and hustle to the phone because "operators are standing by" is a sad indictment to the state of our lives in the early twenty first century. Have we really so little to do or is it that we have lost all perspective? Whatever, there must be a better way. It used to be that when I couldn't sleep my panacea was a trusty book that would lull me into a sense of security, now I'm so tired that I can't sleep. I'm reduced to trawling YouTube and listening to Love is in the Air. I love that cheesy 70's video with the pull frame shot, as the singer is silhouetted against the pinpoints of the overhead fill light. John Paul Young looked so cute then in those early pre-Final Cut Pro days. Then is was all tape to tape editing on Umatic formats and the camera man had to create the magic because we hand't yet figured out digital imaging. Many crimes against video were committed in those days when music videos were shot and edited as though everyone was having a psychedelic flashback.

Have I made my case yet, if this does not convince my boss that I am dire need of a real vacation...hmm.

And then again

2009-03-17T18:32:00.000-07:00

You meet someone who makes you think, hmm, maybe there might be more to life than just being yoked to the wheel called work. Maybe you should go bravely and put yourself out there again. You remember what it might be like to have someone, you free that energy, the frisson, attraction. He made me smile. And even though you don't do anything, you know that you're still alive and that those feelings you bury deep are still there. No pressure to do anything or to make things happen. You just know.....something.

Or even if you don't, accept the moment, it is what it is. Tomorrow is another day and who knows what might happen....but you just never know right.

Slipstream

2009-03-14T03:24:00.000-07:00

From early on I was pretty sure of two things, I wouldn't do well in a regular job and Trinidad was probably not the best place for me.

For the last month or so we've had some very cool, windy nights and the early mornings are that cool almost cold that make you want to snuggle further under the covers for as long as possible. Wound up from the day, some nights I lie awake listening to the wind rattle the loose galvanise, that low moaning sound as it sweeps down off the surrounding hills; the curtains are always tangled, like a woman's dress removed too quickly and then flung in a corner by an impatient man. Into this, the processor in the back of my mind keeps whirling, going round and round, trying to sort out everything, too much. And yet, there is something haunting, beautiful about that wind, without the usual accompanying rain, a lullaby to soothe you into sleep until relentless pawing by the hound wakes you up again.

It is these relatively quiet moments while the rest of the world outside sleeps that allow me to understand the reasons I stayed here and that continuing to stay, is compounding the fact that I probably need to leave for my own peace of mind. The last five years have been spent, yoked to a job, that while satisfying in some ways, is also extremely challenging and dare I say it, sometimes soul destroying leaving room for little else. The compromises I make every day means I give up a little more of me until I wonder how much is left. Talking to Styles, aka Danielle the other night, we revisited our early days in television when we all had so little money that flip flops and sandals, shorts and t-shirts weren't a fashion statement. that's all we had to wear. She marvels at that I can stomach squeezing myself into four inch heels and a, gulp, suit, every day and I envy that she can pretty much wear the kind of clothes that I'd like to, free and unfettered and that though difficult, she continues to do what she loves in a country that does not appreciate her.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about having a job, it pays the bills and gives me some room to breathe unlike the consulting days when I had to beg, harangue or threaten clients with legal action to get paid for work that I'd done. In these early windy mornings that for me get as close to the feeling I get when I'm in the sea, I clearly understand that a country is the sum of it's people. If we have no manners, if we consistently treat each other badly, if we continue to put ourselves down and see only with blinkers, then even those among us who try to do better will be constantly overwhelmed by the non-conscious mass. Every day now as I go to work, I wonder more and more, why?

Two days ago I was sickened by a letter to the newspaper about the treatment meted out to a security dog that was killed. I won't go into the graphic details but it was horrible. But then, we are country that treat our women and children badly far less for our animals, Every day you read in the paper about missing children and missing young women. Is it any wonder we respond so quickly to the rumour of a container found on the docks with children. It was that knee jerk reaction that comes from fear that what we have all been thinking might just be true. These two constituent groups, young women and children are among the most vulnerable and yet we get no answers. Maybe instead of demanding answers of the news media as to why they carried the story so avidly, the powers that be might have given more thought to the feelings of powerlessness of young and not so young women and talked about investigating disappearances. The blame game is easy, now put your money where your mouth is.

I wonder too if we understand what developed nation status is, it's not about all those tall buildings down by the dock that are reminiscent of Miami Beach. Again, I'm not against buildings but we must also understand that developed nation status means that we honour those declarations and international treaties that we are signatories to, like extended maternity leave for those who have medical issues or the right to equal pay. Mahatma Ghandi said, "the greatness of a nation can be judged by how its animals are treated". Well, we all know about that one right. In developed nations, laws are consistently applied, not just the ones that suit the COP on a given day.

In the now there is little any one person can do but still, in the cool of these mornings as I try to sleep I know that as long as I can, that other Ghandi truism will continue to be my mantra, "be the change you want to see in the world." Until the cries to leave get too loud in my head and I too give up the fight and move on.

Coffeewallah is..

2009-03-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm still here.

Yes, still writing, just not right this minute.

The tendency to be negative too strong, have to step back from the edge.

Until later....

Jouvert...day open

2009-02-23T15:05:00.000-08:00

It’s officially Carnival; in the wee hours of the morning, the Mayor of Port of Spain had them fire off the cannons and we were off to two days of official revelry. Jouvert, or day open, from the French, this is Carnival Monday. Though I am inveterate mas peong; I love all things Carnival, Jouvert is my favourite time. As a child it was one of those things denied because of the dirty overtones, I suppose that’s what makes it so appealing. The forbidden.

I love Jouvert because it is so elemental. Standing in the dark chill of the early morning, before the sun comes up to warm the day. Having a cold Carib beer for breakfast even though the more up-market jouvert bands now serve breakfast complete with tea and coffee. Waiting and then there is the mud, glorious mud, slightly warm, anonymous hands slathering every inch of your body. It is like crawling back into the goo from which we emerged, it is not pretty, it is not even particularly pleasant at first, but as the day warms up and the sun rises, with the after burn of the beer coursing through your veins and music in your head you want to dance, dance, dance. It is not the frenetic wining that will come later in the day when you don the pretty costume. It is a slower; more laid back, sinuous winding of your body, usually around the person you’re with, jouvert is never something you do alone. You either go with very good friends or with your lover.

When we produced mas, jouvert was the only time I felt truly free for Carnival, the rest of the time was work. At first, threading my way through the throngs to provide the home viewer with that eagle eye view of Carnival, then later writing for the web while frantically getting stuff on the air and then the years when I ran a mas camp too. If you’re a maker of mas, on the road you belong to everyone and it is very rare that the day is all yours. And so it was for a long time, jouvert was the time to ‘free up’.

So you’d think that having not missed jouvert in years, it is a surprise to note that this is the third year that I’ve not been a participant. When you love someone you make compromises, you learn to live with their foibles, you make allowances. When you love someone who makes you feel bad about yourself, it colours the way you view things, even the things you once enjoyed. One day I know that I’ll return to jouvert but right now, I can’t. This is another thing I let him take, but I’ll find my way back when the time is right. Until then, for jouvert I snuggle deeper in the covers with the hound. We are complicit, he will snuggle making me safe, I will not miss so much the mud.

What's up with that?

2009-02-17T16:49:00.000-08:00

We've all seen the news reports of the global economic crisis. Banks, retail businesses, there are no exceptions, every industry is feeling the pinch. Even that king of excess Donald Trump has three casinos filing for bankruptcy for the third time. It's been instructive, at the world economic forum at Davos we learnt that 40% of the world's wealth has been lost. Where did we lose it, under the couch or maybe in we forgot it in our pockets when we did the laundry. The reality is, part of the reason we are in the trouble that we are in is due to a lack of responsibility from the money people, partly through conspicuous consumerism and poor leadership.

Banks have been promoting ways for people to spend money that they don"t have, credit cards with punitive charges, loans on "sale", business' offer buy now pay much later, and keep paying. It's a sad morass and an even worse commentary on our ability as humans to avoid reality. As my old granddad used to say, if you don't have money, why are you going to spend it?

In Trinidad we have our own version of excess. One of the largest insurance companies has hit that wall. This blog was started with a question as to one of the projects funded by this company. It caused quite a stir in some quarters, who knew that anyone read this blog, until that. Anyway, this company has expanded into all manner of things, owning majority shares in the largest bank, an alcohol company, things not related at all to the insurance industry. At the head of this debacle, someone who has taken no responsibility at all. Someone who is basically being left with his personal wealth intact while the taxpayer via Government intervention is bailing him out. It really sticks in my craw, not that I object to the Government moving in and rescuing them, it was the responsible thing to do. This way we avert worse, if the bank had fallen we would have been in deep shit.

There are no easy answers to these issues, it will take a lot of time and patience, many people will go through a really hard time but it's up to us to find the light at the end of the tunnel.

Carnival in TnT or the curmudgeon strikes again!

2009-02-15T06:50:00.000-08:00

Carnival, the annual bacchanalian festival is on the go racing towards two days of revelry in the streets of Trinidad and Tobago. We Trinis talk about the explosion of colour, culture, music etc but what it all comes down to is, Carnival is big business. Fetes costing five hundred dollars and up, mas costumes that are equivalent to a house or car payment, is it all worth bankrupting yourself? To anyone who knows me, reading this would fill them with wonder. Clearly I must be getting old and more curmudgeonly. After all, I am the woman who would spend fourteen to sixteen hours producing some or other Carnival feature, then race off to party before catching a couple of hours sleep, put in some time at the mas camp and then start all over again. What happened you might ask.

I applaud all those soca artistes, mas makers and fete promoters for their embracing of the environmentalist’s challenge to reduce, reuse and recycle. They’ve been doing a marvelous job of this! A week ago, watching the Soca Monarch preliminaries, subjected to the same tired, boring, stupid lyrics and arrangements, I thanked the performers, they’ve saved me a ton of money, I have no desire to go anywhere and have that crap playing in my ears over and over again. Understand, most songsters don’t release an album every year, at least not the really talented ones. They generally take their time, craft their product and then release it. Not soca artistes, they release an album every year, it’s hard to be innovative and creative all the time. What generally happens is the recycling of melodies, pap filled song lyrics and intensive sampling of other people’s work. With the exception of Machel Montano, the product of many soca artistes does not transcend the current year of release. And even Machel has his off days, does anybody remember what he sang last year and how does it stack up to say….Big Truck?

Touring the mas camps have not made it any better, with the average costume costing anywhere upwards of three thousand dollars. For years I played mas, made mas costumes and ran a mas camp. I fail to understand why a costume that I will wear for one day is going to cost more than my car payment. Sure the cost of everything has gone up worldwide, sure the musicians are charging more, and yes security costs but there is a recession going on people. Who the hell is going to be able to sustain this? You’d better find some way to cut your production costs and yes, it is possible, try making a smaller mark-up why don’t you. Because despite all the cries of poverty from bandleaders NONE of them are in this for the fun and games, they all are in it because they make money. Look Brian McFarlane is a personal friend, it does not help that while going through his designs I realized that I probably could dig through the back of my closet and find a few that look exactly the same. Yes, admit it, you’re channeling Minshall because that’s the only person I paid to play mas with, all my other costumes were ‘free’ because I was part of the band machinery.

I fail to understand the lure of the all-inclusive fete, what’s up with that? Women go out and buy and outfit for the occasion, this on top of the ticket price which can range from $400 for the basic fete to $750 for a super, superior event. You stand around with your drink having a social ‘wine’, everybody looking to see who wearing what and who came with whom so they could tell their friends they were there. It’s like a very expensive cocktail party with ear splitting bad music. Fine if you like that sort of thing but you know, $750 gets me two pairs of shoes at the Outlet and I’m going to be wearing them a lot longer than the one night.

So you see folks, even though this is our national festival I’m happily giving it a miss this year, again. I’m really glad I had the times that I did when mas and Carnival were a big part of my life but that chapter is pretty much over, thankfully. My pocket and my knees would probably collapse under the strain now. That’s the nice thing about getting older; it lends a different perspective of what really enjoying something is about. These days I find wielding a glue gun making costumes more fun than wearing one, and really, there’s nothing wrong with that.

Disturbia

2009-02-10T10:41:00.000-08:00

Guess that pop personality Rihanna's song was a little too close to home, the singer an alleged victim of domestic abuse by boyfriend Chris Brown. It is distressing for any woman to face this situation but brings home the fact that even the rich and famous are not immune. It is equally sad that the non-white community come under scrutiny again as the usual perpetrators of spousal abuse, remember OJ Simpson?
Spousal abuse is not limited to colour, class, marital status, economic background. It can happen to literally anyone.

Statistics across the globe point to an ever increasing trend of domestic abuse. Is that we're keeping better records, or that more women/men are reporting it or that the numbers are in fact on the increase is not clear. But they are going up. The types of violence vary; physical, psychological, related to power and control issues, sexual, verbal, drug & alcohol related, with related causes. Much research has taken place, papers presented, reports, articles, you name it, people are aware.

It is an academic exercise to wonder what drives people to these ends. Same kind of thing that breeds dictators, warmongers and serial killers. Ultimately it is about power. The question remanins, what do we do about it. Having seen domestic violence close up leaves me to conclude that there are no real answers, just individual solutions that people employ for their own survival.

Sunday, dusting Sunday

2009-02-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

Yes, long time no blog. Really, it’s not because I haven’t wanted to, you have to admit, the news of late has been rich with blog material, and as we all know by now, there are opinions to be expressed. Sadly, due to the abundance of work and other such, my spare time has been a trifle, sparing. So much so that there are days when I would happily send the little demonic device, aka the “crackberry”, complete with blinking red light, out the window into the Port of Spain harbour. Alas, the windows are fixed reinforced glass and they don’t open; seems like I’m stuck with it and all that it implies.

My house has suffered from a lack of TLC, this morning, afraid that I would be overcome by the rising tide of disorder, I set out to conquer the vast frontiers of laundry, piles of things, mysterious glowing objects in the fridge and the ever present rolling swathes of dust balls, Zeus fur and things I don’t even want to think about. Even I, not noted for being particularly a domestic goddess, cannot abide the disorder in the castle. Lest you think that I’m an absolute slob, keep in mind, creative writing is my shtick.

Anyway, the last straw was being unable to find some earrings that my brother bought me a couple of years ago. It would be extremely distressing to lose them knowing that they’d been safely tucked away…..somewhere. The search has been instructive. While going through my walk in closet, re-ordering the clothing, shoes, bags and general detritus of a working woman’s closet I came upon Teddy. He caused me to stop.

Teddy, now a mouldy, balding, seeping stuffing, stuffed toy has been with me all my life. He once was a rather handsome black and white panda, my first ever toy purchased by a rather proud grandfather returning from wherever it was he’d been working. We were one of the only two families to own a telephone in our neighbourhood back in the late sixties and most of the seventies. Young people today don’t know how easy they have it, in those days there was a waiting list for a phone and you had to bribe someone to get on it and then bribe someone else to get one, after that is, a wait of anywhere up to ten years. Then it sat in your house like a decoration until someone else connected you, maybe. Ours worked because Pappy was an important dude to his company and they made sure it did. But I digress; I am told that my Granddad, upon hearing of my birth via the all important telephone, flew back to Trinidad to welcome his first Grandchild, he came to the hospital bearing Teddy. He’s been my companion ever since.

As a child, weaned on Enid Blyton, the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Anderson and other sundry authors I had a pretty active imagination. I read voraciously from the moment I could put letters together to form words. I am still that way. Those stories were responsible for me getting up in the night to see if in fact Teddy and the other toys were having a picnic or balls. Haven’t caught them yet but am still holding out hope that one day I will. My home office is filled with hundreds of books and yes; I’ve read them all. My house has been a treasure trove for me this morning. Not for the things that I’ve found hidden away under other things. But for the memories they bring.

Those earrings bought by my brother are very special, as are all the other pieces of jewelry he’s bought me over the years. Not for their value as objects but of the love that came with them and the occasions that they marked. He’s a lucky sod my brother; he drinks wine for a living. True. Well, he does other things too like run a couple of restaurants, supervise a bunch of staff, that kind of thing, but he’s also the person who buys the wine. He’s one of those people who stand around, sniffing, swilling, swirling and spitting. He can tell you about the accents, colours, what hints are in there, admittedly I think that his imagination is bigger than mine; it’s wine, red, white or sort of pink, you drink it. Going out to dinner with him is always an experience but he’s a good egg and I love him.

Despite my work load and knowing that instead of writing this blog I should have been editing an article that must be in for publication by tomorrow, writing up the proposal for the official commissioning of two new offices, going through my consultants report, doing research for my own article due end of this week, you get the picture; I’m kind of glad I took the time out to tend to my house. It’s given me that space to breathe and to remember that my life is important too. While clearing out some bags I found a bookmark that I thought was lost, it says, “ I try to take it one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.” Now ain’t that the truth. Trick is not to forget that you can stop and smell the roses, or in my case, the aroma of garlic, fresh tomatoes, balsamic vinegar from the spaghetti and meatballs simmering on the stove.

Happy Panorama prelims Sunday everybody.

Darnit! Tagged again

2009-01-27T10:22:00.000-08:00

Well lightening has struck again, I've been tagged by the Slacker. Seems my shoving him to write in 2009 has resulted in some turnabout. The object this time is to open yourself up and tell 20 things that might not be well known. Damn it, I liked it better when I had to pick non existent pictures out of my computer library. Strangely, though I write about me here it's really not about me if you catch my drift. Okay, bite the bullet and get on with those cringe worthy things that are so carefully hidden beneath the facade of Wallah.

1. I like chocolate too.
2. At heart I'm a marshmallow, crusty on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside.
3. Sucker for little kids
4. Though I wear four inch heels all day most days I prefer flip flops
5. I would never wear a suit if I thought I'd get away with it.
6. A pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia or Dublin Mudslide and a good movie is my idea of a good time
7. I stopped swimming in open water when some people I know were lost at sea.
8. I hate karoke or however you spell it
9. Sushi, one of the five food groups
10. Yes, I do like the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever and not ashamed to admit it
11. Nailpolish colour of choice, OPI's I'm really not a waitress
12. If I didn't own my current car I'd probably be driving a pick up
13. And breeding dogs instead of doing this
14. Slacker is one of my favourite writing partners
15. There are days when I contemplate being something where I'm not the one having to make the decisions
16. I collect notebooks
17. If you can't have good sex, why bother
18. I think intelligent men are better than men who are only good looking(though it helps when they nice to look at too!)

I've run out of stuff...these are the folk that I'm tagging:

Marcus aka Coffeedude...time to start your own blog bro, get to it
Sexypink, yes you, stop writing about other people's work and write about you and yours for a change www.sexypink.wordpress.com
Blue, that means you're double tagged by both Slacker and me, write woman, write. www.trinigirlblue.blogspot.com
Gabriela, because you always have so much to say but sometimes don't...http://seisdeenero.blogspot.com/

Are you being served?

2009-01-26T09:16:00.000-08:00

No, this is not going to be a diatribe about what passes for Government service, whether we are being adequately represented to anything such thing. This is a back to basics about how one person can make a difference.

First off, going to the supermarket used to be a form of recreation. I love to walk up and down the aisles, admire the displays, check out new stuff, and wonder at how I could use things to create great dishes. Of course, that does not mean I buy a lot or even go very often. But over the years, it's gotten to be quite a chore. The rising price of everything, long lines, surly or indifferent check out staff who fling your groceries down the counter. Due to geographic location, the choice is limited to HiLo, the biggest supermarket chain on the island or the corner shop, which is by no means cheaper. When I lived out east there were a plethora of family owned and operated places to choose from and many a bargain to be found. These days, with everything else going on, grocery shopping is one of those things that has to fit into the few free hours, either late in the evening on the way home before HiLo closes at 8:00pm or on weekends when there are wall to wall people.

And so, it was this weekend, after a heavy day of roaming around with the girls I found myself in HiLo. It was early evening, lots of people standing at checkouts, carts filled to the brim. Mine was my once a month shop so I expect some grief and I wasn't disappointed. Oh, the check out girl was pleasant enough; they've started providing stools for them to sit on again so that must contribute to their well-being. Before they stood the entire shift. Ever try being on your feet for eight hours; well you might be cranky too. While waiting to pay, the check out boy came up. Before he started to bag he turned and enquired about my health, how my evening was going and made polite conversation while continuing to bag. He treated my goods with respect. When he was done, walked me to the car, unloaded, wished me a pleasant evening while holding my door open for me. What a change! He was quite the gentleman and I found myself appreciative though not a fan of small talk. He made me smile and it is to my eternal shame that I didn't get his name.

He happily pocketed the dollars I gave to him as a tip but those were small compared to the gift he gave me, for a brief moment, he made me believe again. Yes, there are people who take pride in their work, no matter what it is, it is important. The next day I had cause to visit a different HiLo in the neighbourhood. To my surprise, the check out lady was extremely polite, two in a row, wow. Makes such a marked difference from the treatment at the Glencoe Rituals.

Rituals is my normal coffee stop, I generally stick to the one in St. James or the one in Nicholas Towers, they have the nicest staff. Generally, the folks on Maraval Road and Briar Place are competent, if not terribly friendly and Frederick Street is always so busy that they barely have time to say hello but they generally do smile. As you can see, I'm not a stranger to the chain. However, the store in Glencoe is another story. It is as though a miasma of doom hangs over the place. The staff there is the unhappiest I've ever seen and they are generally curt, indifferent or just plain don't care. Sorry, I don't need that bad will dispensed with my coffee, it tends to stick. Reluctantly I went in on Sunday, they were open, the counter totally empty. After standing there for five minutes, I gave up and walked around to the Vie de France counter. The girl reading the papers at a table barely looked up before telling me that the counter staff had probably gone to the office. Not her problem her whole attitude indicated. The rest of the staff looking on. The place was entirely EMPTY. I gave up and went back to my car, a sour taste vowing never to stop there again because it was always bad.

Is it really so hard to ask, are you being served? Is it too much to want good service? Not if you want a job it isn't.

Country road take me home....

2009-01-21T12:16:00.000-08:00

I've tagged by Argentum Vulgaris who thinks that I need some more pictures....since I don't keep a lot of photo images on the computer that I use to write this blog, I had to look, this is the fourth pic in the fourth file as per instructions. This little quiet road is actually the one of the main thoroughfares on the island on Mustique. It goes up the hill, past the Great House one part leading uphill to the Village where Mustiquians live before winding down to the dock where the shops, supermarket and Basil's bar are located.

Mustique is generally a quiet island, the main form of transport is the mule. No, not the four legged stubborn creature who generally does what it wants. A mule is sort of like a golf cart but noisier; a glorified buggy powered by something that sounds like a lawnmower engine! It is as fun way to get around though, wind blowing in your hair, waving at people who pass you by.
Other than that, you walk, ride or bum a ride with one of the teeny mini buses that belong to one of the houses or the hotel. What can I say, it's a small, albeit hilly, island.

It's not an easy climb up this road, even the fit huff a little as they go up and down. I like it because when I've walked down to the waterfront I usually have an ice cream cone as compensation knowing that I will walk off the calories to go home. And that's the other thing about Mustique roads, even though they sometimes appear to be going nowhere, they all lead somewhere, sometimes to people's private land...get off quickly, they don't take kindly to 'stormers' as we say here, that would you trespassing, never mind that there is no gate or fence to tell you that you might be. Hint, house is a dead giveaway though.

Now that I've done my duty, and you know a little more about the West Indies, who shall I bestow the honour on...hmmm I know, my list is going to be sort of regional!

1) Wudzdescene- my fellow commentator on things Trinidadian; she takes interesting pictures and can be persuaded to talk about them
2) Slacker, heck why not, haven't rattled his chain in a while
3) Angry African, in the hope that we might get some dancing or barbecue pics!
4) Hmm, I'm having trouble picking just one more person! How about Annie Paul writing out of Jamaica.

Go to it guys!
4)

The audacity of hope

2009-01-20T04:36:00.000-08:00

Today, as everyone on the planet within range of a satellite feed is aware, the 44th President of the United States will be sworn in. He is not white. A first for a nation that claims to be one of the most progressive. Much has been written about Barack Hussein Obama. What is universal is the amount of qualities, emotions and hope that is being placed on his shoulder. He is like Icarus soaring, but like the winged one, he must watch out for the sun, for as it warms it also can scorch. We shall see how long his honeymoon lasts.

Mr. Obama is being hailed as a saviour and a lot of other things. His persona is measured, he's got that statesman thing down pat and we all respect him for it. In the days to come he will face an economy in trouble, foreign relations crises and of course, the burden of hope. That brings with it unrealistic expectations. There is no denying his dynamism, he embodies those qualities that people hold great, that and his ability to keep calm in the face of provocation will stand him in good stead. However, we must remember that in fact, he is a man with the same human frailities as the rest of us. And cut him some slack and help him along. Mr. Obama has reminded many of us what it is to consider country before self, he has evoked the spirit of many past leaders who marched along this road, Dr. Martin Luther King, John F. Kennedy and Abraham Lincoln. Even those of us who are not Americans can relate to his call for service.

To digress briefly, it was while walking through the dark lanes in Mustique, unlit by electric light that I realised how bright the stars are at night. Thousands of them twinkling against the velvet, navy blue sky providing the light for the way home. In Trinidad you are hard pressed to see the stars because the country is always so brightly lit. Flying over at night, the contrast between the forested areas and everywhere else is astounding. There are so many lights you can pick out houses etc almost as clearly as in the day. But you miss many things too. When are blinded by the brightness you fail to detect nuance, or those things that cannot compete.

Maybe in touting Mr. Obama's star we miss some of the reality of what is truly special about him. Only time will tell. To the man who has, just by being, changed the world, and his family, Godspeed and Good Luck.

Happy Song

2009-01-15T11:50:00.000-08:00

Just sing a happy so-ng
A simple little HAPPY SONG

I have officially lost my marbles. Or maybe I hope that I have in order to justify the current seeming craziness that is going on. Certainly, that would make some of this more palatable. No, you can't know what it is, if I told you then I'd have to kill you. Convinced now are you?

Since coming back from the pebble I am more and more convinced that the LIAT plane bypassed Trinidad and landed in LaLa Land or an episode of the Twilight Zone. Seemingly intelligent people are doing some incredibly nonsensical things, I don't understand it. Or maybe it is that vacation softens your brain?

I thought I'd driven in the wrong place arriving at Piarco on a work related mission the other night. The trees that are normally markers for where the car is parked were all gone. What? Security risk you say. To whom exactly? Hey, you're looking out for the Red Robin, thanks! No need to cut down the trees though. The airport, which already looks like a sterile wasteland with all the grey paint and icky tiles, now bereft of the softening influence of vegetation. It looks like you've arrived in some place other than the Caribbean. There is no warmth, no colour, no...ALIVE. This in a place that has given birth to a Nobel Prize winner for Literature, Emmy Award winning designer, Peter Minshall, Carnival, Geoffrey & Boscoe Holder, Carlisle Chang, Heather Headley, Geraldine Connor, Steelpan. No wonder all the people who work there are usually kind of sour. As for the trees, all in aid of a bunch of people who won't be coming through there anyway because they're all going to the old terminal that is being refurbished at the taxpayers expense.

Fellow blogger Franzomenz has already detailed many of the other LaLa moments so I'll leave you to read her. She's much more entertaining. Every time someone mentions "belt tightening" to me, the back of my neck scrunches up because it seems that it only applies to the few. For all the talk of hard times people are spending money on Carnival fetes, expensive costumes, fete clothes etc. There are people who have already paid off their costumes even while they scrimp to buy food and pay their bills. Clearly good sense at work.

You know, if I keep going along this path, it's going to lead to a bottle of vodka or me banging my head against a wall. Too depressing so instead I'll stick to singing a Happy Song and trusting that tomorrow is another day.

In passing

2009-01-13T08:09:00.000-08:00

The front page of the Monday newspaper carried a story about four men whose boat overturned at sea. Two had been found and the Coast Guard were looking for the other two. Those of us who are familiar with the sea around this island know that the possibility of finding anyone alive after more than twelve hours is small to none.
I first met Floyd Lucas when we were both twentysome year olds with a passion for the environment. At the time, Floyd was the president of UWI Biological Society and I was the secretary of some or other environmental group. Nicole Leotaud, another environmental activist introduced us; there were a bunch of us who were known to picket, write letters/petitions and if necessary, chain ourselves to trees or lie down in front of bulldozers, we all knew each other with varying degrees of familiarity. I wouldn’t say Floyd and I were friends; we were colleagues, activists and acquaintances.
In the ensuing almost twenty years since then, I’d run across Floyd from time to time, still working for the environment so it was no surprise to learn that he’d been out on a job. I am extremely saddened by his demise, we learnt yesterday evening that his body had been found, and my condolences go out to Carol, his wife. The environmental movement has lost another champion and we are all the poorer for it. Floyd’s death has become yet another salutary reminder to live with passion, doing the things you love, being true to yourself and most of all, making the most of the time we are given here on earth. Godspeed Floyd.
I’d found the Monday paper in my usual stop at the St. James Rituals. I like the girls there, they know me, we talk about their lives, kids and how they are being affected by the changes going on in the world. On many days they are a gentle start to my mornings which can often turn into chaos. One of the regulars, an old retired gentleman walked in and while he and I exchanged our usual banter, Adanna, the master barrista waited patiently with his order. He, like me, has the same thing every day unless she persuades us otherwise. Turns out that he’d been in on Saturday morning, stayed awhile and after he left, the ‘customer’ who’d been sitting at a table near the counter, turned into a bandit and held them up.
The robber got the day’s take and her mobile phone, something she could ill afford to lose. My heart wept for those two young women, going about their business trying to make a living to take care of their children. The fear and shock must have been high but there they were, back at work on Monday. The sparkle had gone out of their eyes but they still managed to greet us, their customers. In that moment, I despised even more what we have become; the robbery took place on a busy main road at 9:00 am.
In the last year, several of my occasional breakfast stops have either closed down or stopped offering the service because of economics. I miss the ladies at Sweetness who provided homespun wisdom with the bakes and buljol. Last night, at a small birthday lime for my best friend’s brother, we were all talking about how we have been affected by the world economic downturn. We all knew that this was probably going to be one of the last of these types of limes we are going to have this year. One of our number manages a bank, in the past couple of months he’s seen his benefits cut, his blackberry returned etc. Slowly we have all downscaled, even those of us who were not particularly extravagant to being with. I cannot foretell the future, all I can do is live in today, but I know, it is to live without expectation, take it as it comes.

It's a beautiful day

2009-01-11T09:46:00.000-08:00

Isn't it amazing that the very same people who will denigrate your skills or trash your work are usually the same people who will call you when the need something fixed or a problem solved? There was a time when I was constantly on call for work. Every time there was a situation or somebody couldn't figure out who to dump stuff on, well, you know. At times my job was to be a problem solver, as event manager we worked weekends, holidays, whatever. One night a DJ that we were working with asked, does it really matter if the napkins were yellow or blue, would it be the end of the world. The answer was no but in the moment, a lot of energy was expended; it's like that in a lot of jobs, all those things we HAVE to do but not really. Unless you're in one of those professions like medicine, air traffic control etc, there are few reasons to work 24/7. But you know something, all those odd jobs left me with a large skills base. It takes a lot to faze me, but I had to learn to not work all the time.

Last evening was great, several friends got together for an impromptu lime. It was our second in two nights, limes that revolved around good food, talk and sharing. We kicked back and connected, to share the things that challenged us, for companionship, to enjoy the moment, it was great. No pressure. Then the phone rang, mine is always on. And here's the thing, once upon a time I might well have dropped my whole life and gone a-running but not this time. I had a commitment to my evening, especially since I have to work this evening.

To make a long story short, I won't go into all the internal workings and rumblings because this year is going to be positive, but this was an opportunity to maintain some balance in my life. And you know what, I made the choice to do that, because if I do not, then I am responsible for the degeneration of my life. Other people can only abuse your time if you let them. In the last ten years a lot of friends have died of "lifestyle" diseases like cancer or heart attacks, some of them before their fortieth birthday. I know a lot of people who put off living their lives until their twilight years, only they didn't have twilight years. The truth is that you have to make memories now, because now is all we have.

Today has been spent hanging those paintings that have been sitting in a pile leaned up against the wall for the past three years. Clothes packed away, kitchen restored to order, little things but they give a sense of satisfaction and order. Sure I've been working in between, when the phone rings with the questions and requests, but there is nothing that cannot or should not wait until tomorrow. No one's life is at stake if I don't drop my life and run around doing whatever. It's not a bad feeling.
My dog is happy, I have a greater sense of well being for taking the time to honour my own life, it's a beautiful day.

Being back

2009-01-06T13:19:00.000-08:00

As you may have noticed, I've been giving the blog a rest. When I started this, it wasn't my intention to negatively review life in Trinidad but in the last few months, that's what it started turning into. Not that actively commenting on the problems, issues and situations that occur here is a bad thing, but really, it was beginning to get to the point where it was dragging me down. Nowhere is perfect but maybe I am too close to the ground, it's hard to accept some of the these things.

Going away last week, I found out how tired I was, of everything. The break was very welcome though not long enough. Two days back on the job feels like there was no break at all, you being to actively question why? I think it's about being slowly but inexorably ground down by the mechanics of living. All those days with no water and not knowing when it was coming back, power outages, traffic and more traffic, waiting and waiting for service. Various friends who'd been victims of some crime or other, or subjected to shootouts on their street, innocent bystanders. The newspapers with the count of who's dead, inflation, always the bad news. How many more friends and relatives felled by bad health care? Being accosted by the every growing number of vagrants. Constantly feeling unsafe. How much more to stomach?

This is not who I want to be, always the negative. This year I returned to Sarah ban Breathnach's Simple Abundance. It was a book that helped me though a tough time in life and for some odd reason hadn't really looked at since. It's easy to discount self help books or scoff at things as being new age, but I've always believed that we are responsible for our own recovery, whatever it takes. Simple Abundance is about learning to recognise the positive things in your life. I've found that it's easy to blame depression for all my ills, after all if I'm sick then I'm not responsible for my actions, it becomes easy to accept that as an excuse for a lot of actions as opposed to saying okay, maybe this is my own negative attitude or fuckup. I'm not saying that's what everybody else does, this is just about me.

Sure all the stuff mentioned above are valid but how about all the other things that do work? So I've started writing down my five things every night, the positive things that happened to me today or came into my life. Even those days when there don't seem to be nothing, I list things like my health, dog, roof over my head and you know what, it makes a difference. If you only ever see the negative things in life that's all you're ever going to get. If anything is going to change, I'm going to have to open myself to the possibilities, so here's what universe, ready and waiting. Bring it on.

Already?

2009-01-02T04:12:00.001-08:00

I can't believe it's time to go back!