Three weeks ago a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was told it's likely that she's had the tumor for five years in spite of getting regular mammograms, which missed the growth until now.
Five years ago I was mourning the loss of one friend to lung cancer. Little did another friend know that five years ago cancer cells were gathering for a party in her breast.
Five years ago all three of her daughters were single. The family has grown to include two sons-in-law even as the cells silently grew into a tumor.
Five years ago one daughter anticipated becoming a forensic pathologist. Now she's training for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in an effort to keep people living. Her slogan is "Save Mom's Boobs (Dad Really Likes Them)."
Five years ago a couple of friends, including my recently diagnosed one, were lobbying for me to begin dyeing my hair because of the grey in it. Two years ago they threatened to take me out, get me drunk, and dye my hair when I passed out. I told them their plan was doomed to failure now that I knew it but assured them that if they somehow managed to succeed in getting my hair dyed I'd shave it off the very next day. They stopped bringing up the topic of hair dyeing because they know I meant it.
She had a lumpectomy and will be undergoing aggressive chemo and radiation. She has been told to expect hair loss. She has thick, luxurious hair. She decided to cut it short now reasoning that loosing short hair will be less traumatic than loosing long hair. One of her daughters is a hair stylist who took charge of helping her mom find a wig she will be happy with when the time comes. Then came another idea. Mother and daughters would dye a small section of hair pink for breast cancer awareness. A few friends were asked if they'd join in the dyeing (including yours truly), then a few more.
This weekend, till all was said and done, nearly two dozen women had bright pink dye applied to some small section of their hair in solidarity with one friend who is going to have a long road ahead of her. Others wanting a less permanent route had pink extensions added to their tresses. Some brought food. One brought bracelets and pins designed for breast cancer awareness. The stylist daughter brought lots and lots of dye and a friend to help. Their boss graciously allowed the use of the salon after hours at no charge. Another daughter who had hair almost to her waist cut off nearly 18 inches of hair to donate to Locks of Love for the making of wigs. Several of us began organizing a schedule for driving our friend to her daily treatments, which begin today, since she is not currently permitted to drive.
Forty friends gathered in support of one woman. In our midst was a baby girl who has yet to be aware of what surprises life can hold. We also had with us a woman in her 90's who has seen more than the rest of us can imagine. There were teenagers, including Calypso, who now sports a bright pink stripe. There were college students and middle aged women. There were daughters, sisters, mothers, grandmothers, and aunts. There was a party atmosphere some might have found irreverent. We were not gathering to celebrate a diagnosis of cancer but to celebrate that we are friends, that we will support the one among us who needs us most, that she is loved, that there is strength to be found among friends.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Friday 55- A Mother's Lament
I witnessed your first breath,
kissed away your first tears,
and cradled your head
against my breast
that you could draw my first milk.
Why must I now weep over your final gasps
and flood your bed
with my tears
as I cradle your weakened frame
against my breast,
dried and unable to sustain you?
kissed away your first tears,
and cradled your head
against my breast
that you could draw my first milk.
Why must I now weep over your final gasps
and flood your bed
with my tears
as I cradle your weakened frame
against my breast,
dried and unable to sustain you?
Five years ago this month, on a snowy day, a dear friend lost his battle with cancer. As much as I mourned my own loss I thought his mother's must have been so much greater. It's simply not the natural order of things to outlive your child. The February snows often make me pause and remember both him and his mother as I say a prayer hoping her heart is eased somehow.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Slice of Lime-Put De Lime in de Coconut
A week or so ago, maybe more, I shared the wonders of coconut water on a hot day in the tropics. Here's a common scene from around the Queen's Park Savannah in Port of Spain. There are several trucks with the bed full of coconuts. Guys with big machetes sell them cheaply and expertly hack off the top in quick order.
Since I was a tourist he handed me a straw for my drinking pleasure but most folks would drink it straight from the nut. As a bonus you get a rare picture of me with very short hair....which is a story in itself.
>
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Trini Tuesday-A Lovely Anthem
One of the things I enjoy about the Olympics aside from watching the competitions is hearing the various national anthems during the awarding of medals. I like watching to see the reactions of the gold medalists when they hear their anthem and I like hearing what the respective anthems sound like. I stayed up late to see the ice dancing medals given and really enjoyed watching the Canadian winners sing along with the entire crowd to O, Canada. And if you haven't heard me comment on curling enough, I also loved the story about how the Canadian crowd urged on the curling team by breaking out into the anthem as well. You Cannucks have a much nicer anthem than we Yanks do.
It's true, I don't like the Star Spangled Banner. Call me a crank or question my patriotism but it's horrible to try to sing it because it's all over the place. The lyrics focus on one battle in one war and give an extremely limited scope as to the values Americans hold dear. Personally, I prefer Amercia the Beautiful because it celebrates a broader range of our history and cultural values within a more singable range of notes. In any event, the title of this post is Trini Tuesday so for today I'm again rerunning a very old post about the anthem of Trinidad and Tobago. It has a dignity befitting an anthem and it sounds lovely whether played by an orchestra or on steel pans. You won't hear it at the Winter Olympics but in case you wondered they've won medals in the Summer Games.
For now, you can click on the video and just listen as you read. I'll share a few thoughts on the lyrics below.
Forged from the love of liberty,
In the fires of hope and prayer,
With boundless faith in our Destiny,
We solemnly declare,
Side by side we stand,
Islands of the blue Caribbean Sea,
This our Native Land,
We pledge our lives to Thee,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation.
Patrick S. Castagne composed the words and music of the National Anthem in 1962.
Forged from the love of liberty, in the fires of hope and prayer... Trinidad and Tobago was alternately controlled by Spain, France, and Britain. It is one of the few Caribbean islands which still has a small enclave of indigenous people. It is very small, and there are none with 100% Carib or Arawak blood, but a group still exists and there is deep pride in what culture remains. The bulk of the nation's population, roughly 80-85%, is descended from African slaves and the East Indian indentured servants that were brought to replace the slave labor lost upon emancipation. Entire villages from southern India were transplanted to Trinidad with promises of freedom once the cost of passage was worked off. These are a people with a collective history of oppression yet who maintained an indomitable spirit. Independence was gained on August 31, 1962. It is really quite a thing to sit and listen to the stories from 1962 when they are told by someone who was there for such a moment in history. It was a bloodless handover of power unlike our own revolution but the excitement over the right to determine the path of one's own nation still carried great impact.
With boundless faith...side by side we stand. While Trinis may be quick to criticise government and perhaps lack faith in their leaders every bit as much as we do or more, they still know that without unity they are doomed. When times get bad they pull together, neighbor stands with neighbor. A sense of community exists that is a great strength in the culture. We were the recipients of such warmth and generosity on many occasions. We lived at the very end of the water pipelines, as such we were the last in the neighborhood to get water. Water does not flow into houses around the clock so tanks are the norm for storing water to use throughout the day. At the end of dry season our water tanks were empty even though our neighbors had begun getting enough pressure to fill their tanks. As soon as neighbors realized our predicament every hose in the neighborhood was running from 3 different neighbor's houses to fill our tank. We didn't ask for it. They asked us, "Do you have water yet?" When we said no they flew into immediate action. People look out for each other and lend practical assistance not just words of encouragement.
Here every creed and race finds an equal place. In addition to the Africans and East Indians there are significant Chinese, Portuguese, and Syrian minorities as well as the odd Brit, American, or immigrant from other Caribbean nations. Religiously, you'll find large populations of Catholics, Anglicans, Hindus, Muslims, and the syncretic Spiritual Baptists who blend a little bit of everything. One set of neighbors was representative of most of this. The father was a practicing Muslim, the mother an observant Hindu, the children were sent to Catholic school. Religion is not a forbidden topic of conversation, neither is it generally a thing that causes heated debate when discussed. True to Trini love of liming, more religions and cultures means more opportunities for a day of work to party. Whether it is true or not, I don't know, but Trinis like to boast that they have more public holidays than any other nation on earth because each culture and religion is represented in at least one official holiday. It's not at all unusual for folks of widely differing spiritual practices to share each other's holidays. Racial terms are bandied about very casually, but again, not in a derogatory manner. Because of the intermingling of races there is a descriptive term for just about every mixture. When you meet someone new an early question is going to be 'What's your mix?' I have to admit, I used to get a kick out of being ambiguous looking enough to confound them....Hhhmm, American accent, black hair, good tan......"Gyal, what yuh mix is? I cannuh figure yuh!" Is there occasional conflict based on religion or race? Yes, of course. But overall, there seems to be a really refreshing embracing of differences rather than mere tolerance.
....and may God bless this nation.
It's true, I don't like the Star Spangled Banner. Call me a crank or question my patriotism but it's horrible to try to sing it because it's all over the place. The lyrics focus on one battle in one war and give an extremely limited scope as to the values Americans hold dear. Personally, I prefer Amercia the Beautiful because it celebrates a broader range of our history and cultural values within a more singable range of notes. In any event, the title of this post is Trini Tuesday so for today I'm again rerunning a very old post about the anthem of Trinidad and Tobago. It has a dignity befitting an anthem and it sounds lovely whether played by an orchestra or on steel pans. You won't hear it at the Winter Olympics but in case you wondered they've won medals in the Summer Games.
For now, you can click on the video and just listen as you read. I'll share a few thoughts on the lyrics below.
Forged from the love of liberty,
In the fires of hope and prayer,
With boundless faith in our Destiny,
We solemnly declare,
Side by side we stand,
Islands of the blue Caribbean Sea,
This our Native Land,
We pledge our lives to Thee,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation.
Patrick S. Castagne composed the words and music of the National Anthem in 1962.
Forged from the love of liberty, in the fires of hope and prayer... Trinidad and Tobago was alternately controlled by Spain, France, and Britain. It is one of the few Caribbean islands which still has a small enclave of indigenous people. It is very small, and there are none with 100% Carib or Arawak blood, but a group still exists and there is deep pride in what culture remains. The bulk of the nation's population, roughly 80-85%, is descended from African slaves and the East Indian indentured servants that were brought to replace the slave labor lost upon emancipation. Entire villages from southern India were transplanted to Trinidad with promises of freedom once the cost of passage was worked off. These are a people with a collective history of oppression yet who maintained an indomitable spirit. Independence was gained on August 31, 1962. It is really quite a thing to sit and listen to the stories from 1962 when they are told by someone who was there for such a moment in history. It was a bloodless handover of power unlike our own revolution but the excitement over the right to determine the path of one's own nation still carried great impact.
With boundless faith...side by side we stand. While Trinis may be quick to criticise government and perhaps lack faith in their leaders every bit as much as we do or more, they still know that without unity they are doomed. When times get bad they pull together, neighbor stands with neighbor. A sense of community exists that is a great strength in the culture. We were the recipients of such warmth and generosity on many occasions. We lived at the very end of the water pipelines, as such we were the last in the neighborhood to get water. Water does not flow into houses around the clock so tanks are the norm for storing water to use throughout the day. At the end of dry season our water tanks were empty even though our neighbors had begun getting enough pressure to fill their tanks. As soon as neighbors realized our predicament every hose in the neighborhood was running from 3 different neighbor's houses to fill our tank. We didn't ask for it. They asked us, "Do you have water yet?" When we said no they flew into immediate action. People look out for each other and lend practical assistance not just words of encouragement.
Here every creed and race finds an equal place. In addition to the Africans and East Indians there are significant Chinese, Portuguese, and Syrian minorities as well as the odd Brit, American, or immigrant from other Caribbean nations. Religiously, you'll find large populations of Catholics, Anglicans, Hindus, Muslims, and the syncretic Spiritual Baptists who blend a little bit of everything. One set of neighbors was representative of most of this. The father was a practicing Muslim, the mother an observant Hindu, the children were sent to Catholic school. Religion is not a forbidden topic of conversation, neither is it generally a thing that causes heated debate when discussed. True to Trini love of liming, more religions and cultures means more opportunities for a day of work to party. Whether it is true or not, I don't know, but Trinis like to boast that they have more public holidays than any other nation on earth because each culture and religion is represented in at least one official holiday. It's not at all unusual for folks of widely differing spiritual practices to share each other's holidays. Racial terms are bandied about very casually, but again, not in a derogatory manner. Because of the intermingling of races there is a descriptive term for just about every mixture. When you meet someone new an early question is going to be 'What's your mix?' I have to admit, I used to get a kick out of being ambiguous looking enough to confound them....Hhhmm, American accent, black hair, good tan......"Gyal, what yuh mix is? I cannuh figure yuh!" Is there occasional conflict based on religion or race? Yes, of course. But overall, there seems to be a really refreshing embracing of differences rather than mere tolerance.
....and may God bless this nation.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Winter Silliness
Sunday I finally turned the corner and started feeling like a human being again. I have to say that is the worst cold I've had in a very long time, bad enough that folks at Chez Lime seemed to think I was milking it for all it was worth. I very definitely was not. I would much have preferred to spend my days off in some enjoyable activity which didn't require a case of Kleenex and heavy doses of Sudafed and Tylenol. Sleeping all night through would have been a plus as well. In any event, my recovery seems to be coinciding with the assault of the plague trampling over Mr. Lime and Isaac, who are now finding themselves feeling less than healthy.
Given that I'm trying to disinfect the house and I have to go back to work today and I have one person staying home sick today. He's snoring on the couch as I type and ESPN isn't even on so you KNOW the boy is sick. One of my evidences of illness is that I sat catatonic on the couch while ESPN was on and I didn't even protest. Anyone who knows me would take that as incontrovertible evidence of serious illness on my part. But I digress...I'm just posting some silly quiz results today.
That shouldn't have been surprising at all since Jocelyn declared me positively Duluthian after seeing me in my own ear flap hat.
Given that I'm trying to disinfect the house and I have to go back to work today and I have one person staying home sick today. He's snoring on the couch as I type and ESPN isn't even on so you KNOW the boy is sick. One of my evidences of illness is that I sat catatonic on the couch while ESPN was on and I didn't even protest. Anyone who knows me would take that as incontrovertible evidence of serious illness on my part. But I digress...I'm just posting some silly quiz results today.
First, I ask the probing question, "What kind of winter hat am I?"
You Are a Hat With Flaps |
 You are fun loving, cheerful, and even pretty cute most of the time. (Well thanks! You're kinda cute too!) You use fashion to play. You never take style all that seriously. (My preferred attire is tie dye and Birkenstocks. I sure didn't need a quiz to tell me this.) You're the type most likely to wear a funny t-shirt or goofy hat. (Sometimes even at the same time!) But when it comes time to clean up, you clean up nicely. (Right, I put on my formal tie dyes.) |
That shouldn't have been surprising at all since Jocelyn declared me positively Duluthian after seeing me in my own ear flap hat.
In the spirit of the Olympics let's see what winter sport I should be.
You Are Curling |
 What you lack in athleticism, you make up for in concentration. (I can push a broom like nobody's business!) And while curling isn't much more of a sport than bowling, you *can* win a gold medal for it! (I wonder if beginner curlers get bumpers on the ice like beginning bowlers get them in the gutters...) |
Blogthings: Quizzes and Tests and Memes, Oh My!
I can't argue with these results at all. I just want to know if it's ok to wear my ear flap hat when I go curling.
I can't argue with these results at all. I just want to know if it's ok to wear my ear flap hat when I go curling.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Can Someone Tell Me...
...how a microscopic thing that looks like a fuzzy ball...
...can make me feel like I've been hit by one of these multi-ton things?
I haven't slept in 2 days and my head feels like it's full of a truck full of snot. Please excuse me while I go crawl under a rock and contemplate dying.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Welcome to the Lime-a-lympics
I missed the opening ceremonies of the Vancouver Olympics but I've been catching the games here and there since then. I've realized I get the biggest kick out of the events on ice. I love the skill, speed, and grace. The events on snow don't interest me quite as much because of the dominance of faddish things like snowboarding. The biathlon seems like fun though. Cross country skiing and shooting just strikes me as practical from the hunter/trapper days and yet slightly goofy in an endearing way.
Curling cracks me up entirely. I don't mean that in a mocking way. It's the one sport in the games I'd really like to try and could possibly put together a version out of items I have on hand. I have a broom, a bunch of sawdust, and I figure I could either fill my tea kettle with sand or use my iron as the curling stone. It looks like the sort of game a bunch of guys sitting around drinking Labatt's invented because none of them could stand up on skates. They must have been the handful of Canadians who can't ice skate and yet they succeeded in getting it to be an Olympic sport, one a woman in the second trimester of pregnancy is even competing. What other sport sees middle aged guys and pregnant women competing side by side at a world class level? That's the sort of thing that gives a klutz like me some real hope.
It is in this spirit of inventing sports I could actually succeed in I am going to propose a few new ones. I invite you to submit your proposals as well.
1. Yesterday I started with a horrid head cold. It could bring a whole new level of meaning to "hockey." Alternately, I could be a loogie-er instead of a luger.
2. I wound up making 50 fastnachts yesterday. I have a few leftover. I suggest instead of discus or horseshoes we have the donut toss. We can have events for both distance and accuracy. Freeze them and they'd make dandy hockey pucks too.
3. Another donut related idea is to take the guns away from biathletes and replace them with small donut cannons. Make the fastnachts big enough and we can replace the skis with donuts as snowshoes. Maybe we could even dip the donuts in gold, silver, and bronze to use as award medals. Have I mentioned I made a LOT of fastnachts?
4. At work the boss seemed pleased with how quickly I reconciled billing statements and collated piles of forms. There's another new girl at work too. Poor thing had a terrible time with the paper shredder yesterday. I think we could easily come up with some sort of triathlon event involving shredding, collating, and reconciling. Style points could be awarded for staple placement and colorful highlighting.
Ok, you're up. What sports do you want to invent and see added to the next Olympics?
Curling cracks me up entirely. I don't mean that in a mocking way. It's the one sport in the games I'd really like to try and could possibly put together a version out of items I have on hand. I have a broom, a bunch of sawdust, and I figure I could either fill my tea kettle with sand or use my iron as the curling stone. It looks like the sort of game a bunch of guys sitting around drinking Labatt's invented because none of them could stand up on skates. They must have been the handful of Canadians who can't ice skate and yet they succeeded in getting it to be an Olympic sport, one a woman in the second trimester of pregnancy is even competing. What other sport sees middle aged guys and pregnant women competing side by side at a world class level? That's the sort of thing that gives a klutz like me some real hope.
It is in this spirit of inventing sports I could actually succeed in I am going to propose a few new ones. I invite you to submit your proposals as well.
1. Yesterday I started with a horrid head cold. It could bring a whole new level of meaning to "hockey." Alternately, I could be a loogie-er instead of a luger.
2. I wound up making 50 fastnachts yesterday. I have a few leftover. I suggest instead of discus or horseshoes we have the donut toss. We can have events for both distance and accuracy. Freeze them and they'd make dandy hockey pucks too.
3. Another donut related idea is to take the guns away from biathletes and replace them with small donut cannons. Make the fastnachts big enough and we can replace the skis with donuts as snowshoes. Maybe we could even dip the donuts in gold, silver, and bronze to use as award medals. Have I mentioned I made a LOT of fastnachts?
4. At work the boss seemed pleased with how quickly I reconciled billing statements and collated piles of forms. There's another new girl at work too. Poor thing had a terrible time with the paper shredder yesterday. I think we could easily come up with some sort of triathlon event involving shredding, collating, and reconciling. Style points could be awarded for staple placement and colorful highlighting.
Ok, you're up. What sports do you want to invent and see added to the next Olympics?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Trini Tuesday-Is Carnival!
It's Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I'm sure the Sants' recent Super Bowl victory is making things more fun down there. It's Fastnacht Day in Pennsylvania. You may recall the Donut Debacle of 2009. Already this year I have skinned up 2 knuckles bad enough that I am still applying pressure and typing in a very odd fashion. Since I need to finish this year's attempt before I go into work and since several of you have expressed interest in more Trini posts I am rerunning a post from 4 years ago about Carnival in Trinidad. Sorry I can't attribute the source of the photos since they are old and I didn't keep track of that the first time, but they are not original to me.
Carnival officially opens on Monday, though the partying starts well before that. In the wee hours, J'ouvert (Zhoo-VAY) takes place. Festivities are opened with a parade of mud or oil covered revellers. They cut eerie figures in the first rays of morning light as they evoke thoughts of primal beginnings. Mud is free and allows anyone, poor or rich to engage in the bacchanal before the day gives way to the brightly colored mas bands in their expensive and ornate finery.
Monday and Tuesday give way to parades of mas (masquerade) bands. Months have been spent preparing costumes for the hordes of people who will join marching and dancing along the street to the biggest calypso and soca hits of the season.
Stilted moka jumbies walk along.
Tuesday will be the final competitions to crown the Queens...
And the Kings.
Happy Carnival all yuh!
If you'd like to hear some live music here is a link to some videos I posted one year.
Carnival officially opens on Monday, though the partying starts well before that. In the wee hours, J'ouvert (Zhoo-VAY) takes place. Festivities are opened with a parade of mud or oil covered revellers. They cut eerie figures in the first rays of morning light as they evoke thoughts of primal beginnings. Mud is free and allows anyone, poor or rich to engage in the bacchanal before the day gives way to the brightly colored mas bands in their expensive and ornate finery.
Monday and Tuesday give way to parades of mas (masquerade) bands. Months have been spent preparing costumes for the hordes of people who will join marching and dancing along the street to the biggest calypso and soca hits of the season.
Stilted moka jumbies walk along.
Tuesday will be the final competitions to crown the Queens...
And the Kings.
Happy Carnival all yuh!
If you'd like to hear some live music here is a link to some videos I posted one year.
Monday, February 15, 2010
To My Valentine
(Lime enters, smiles demurely. She begins her recitation.)
(Lime curtsies daintily and exits)
(Lime curtsies daintily and exits)
Friday, February 12, 2010
In Time for Valentine's Day
This is one of my favorite love poems. A dear friend shared it with me years ago and I was utterly charmed by it. It's not your typical love poetry but I hope you like it.
Love Poem
by John Frederick Nims
My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing
Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.
Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—
Misfit in any space. And never on time.
A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.
Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat.
So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.
Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.
Love Poem
by John Frederick Nims
My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing
Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
The refugee uncertain at the door
You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.
Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers' terror,
Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—
Misfit in any space. And never on time.
A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
With words and people and love you move at ease;
In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.
Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
Your lipstick grinning on our coat.
So gaily in love's unbreakable heaven
Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.
Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—
I will study wry music for your sake.
For should your hands drop white and empty
All the toys of the world would break.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Journey of a Technophobe
Once upon a time I was scared to death of computers. Way back in the 80s, when the shoulder pads were big and the hair was bigger my school began requiring students to have a class in computers in order to graduate. Mind you, young uns who have never known anything but the various incarnations of Windows, we had to type in actual commands to get actual results. I viewed this as significantly less desirable than using a hammer and chisel to make the images I desired appear on the screen before me. All those C prompts and crap looked like abstract things with no bearing on reality, much like algebra and trigonometry, which also escaped my ability to reason.
Random strings of symbols and numbers and letters marching across my screen drove me out of my mind. What was wrong with a good old electric typewriter? Yes, I had conceded an electric typewriter was a darned nice thing to have so as to not require serious bashing from fingers on an old manual model and the resultant hand cramping. Given that option I'd prefer the quill and inkwell, thank you very much. My preferences were not considered in the least by my school administrators though and thus I growled and harumphed my way through the required computing course. I would feel pity for the teacher who was cursed by my dark countenance day after day but he delighted in enhancing my irritation. The more annoyed I became the more amusing he found it. In spite of it all I did like the guy. I just hated the freaking computer.
Then it was on to college as an education major. Again, I was a member of the first class required to have computer training. Again, I was less than enthused. Again I let my unhappiness over this requirement be known. By the time I took the class I already knew my goal was to go overseas and use my teaching skills among folks like you've read about in the recent Trini Tuesday posts. I let the prof know it was the height of stupidity that I had to take this sort of class. In the Third World I'd be lucky to have a blackboard and textbooks. Computers were not going to serve me out in some hut in Africa. I wouldn't even have electricity! He listened to my rant, smiling smugly. When I finished he just said, "It's even more important for you to have training than the others in class so you can be more equipped to provide a good education to your intended students." I cocked my head like a confused puppy and knew he'd taken too big a sip on the Kool-Aid.
When my kids were little and large segments of the population already had PCs in their homes I continued my resistance. I was proud of my lack of computer. Like a hapless red shirt facing the Borg in a Star Trek episode though, resistance was futile. Eventually, I was worn down in my lone stand and we acquired a Mac. I admit I warmed to it when I realized the joy of not needing white-out. I am the Queen of Typos so I went through it at a fairly alarming rate...when I typed...because I generally tried to avoid it...because I needed a lot of white-out. Word processing was a pretty groovy little trick after all. Oh, and I didn't mind playing Solitaire without using the bent up deck of cards with the 8 of diamonds that was missing. Minesweeper was kinda cool too. On this Mac we had an email only (no surfing the net) account and I found I quite liked being able to keep in contact with friends so easily.
I was still absolutely refusing to have anything to do with the Internet though. There were all sorts of weirdos out there on the World Wide Web and what was I going to find there that I couldn't find in the local library? Eventually Mr. Lime wore me down stating that the students at his school found it increasingly necessary to have Internet access for the sake of doing their schoolwork. Fully in touch with my inner curmudgeon, I acquiesced while grumbling about how when I was in school we knew how to use a library and card catalog and actual books and what sort of excessive nonsense this Internet in the home was.
So we got a newer computer and full Internet access and dontcha know there was some pretty neato stuff on that there interwebs thingy. I could find information faster than driving down to the library, which I noticed now had its own computers with Internet access. Hhhm, fancy that. Oooh, and I could read the newspaper from Trinidad. How cool is that? And I could talk to people in chat rooms. Ew, not those kind of chat rooms. There were trivia chat rooms where all sorts of other nerdy people who read the encyclopedia for entertainment would get together to challenge each other with obscure questions about every topic. I mean these people were as nerdy, even nerdier, than I was. They even told me the difference between a nerd and a geek.
Unfortunately, the trivia rooms eventually became overrun by some less evolved lifeforms who called themselves sexxybeyotch16, who had a webcam and wasn't afraid to use it or pradeep, who would send lame IMs to every female in the room or the anonymous cowards, who used to pick fights and spew bile from behind the safety of their monitors. The civilized nerds retreated into blogdom and dragged me somewhat reluctantly. This blogging thing, I dunno, it seems kinda complicated. I don't know if I can manage this sort of thing. What the heck would I have to say and really, who is going to read it anyway?
Yeah, you all know how that turned out. Assimilation complete.
Random strings of symbols and numbers and letters marching across my screen drove me out of my mind. What was wrong with a good old electric typewriter? Yes, I had conceded an electric typewriter was a darned nice thing to have so as to not require serious bashing from fingers on an old manual model and the resultant hand cramping. Given that option I'd prefer the quill and inkwell, thank you very much. My preferences were not considered in the least by my school administrators though and thus I growled and harumphed my way through the required computing course. I would feel pity for the teacher who was cursed by my dark countenance day after day but he delighted in enhancing my irritation. The more annoyed I became the more amusing he found it. In spite of it all I did like the guy. I just hated the freaking computer.
Then it was on to college as an education major. Again, I was a member of the first class required to have computer training. Again, I was less than enthused. Again I let my unhappiness over this requirement be known. By the time I took the class I already knew my goal was to go overseas and use my teaching skills among folks like you've read about in the recent Trini Tuesday posts. I let the prof know it was the height of stupidity that I had to take this sort of class. In the Third World I'd be lucky to have a blackboard and textbooks. Computers were not going to serve me out in some hut in Africa. I wouldn't even have electricity! He listened to my rant, smiling smugly. When I finished he just said, "It's even more important for you to have training than the others in class so you can be more equipped to provide a good education to your intended students." I cocked my head like a confused puppy and knew he'd taken too big a sip on the Kool-Aid.
When my kids were little and large segments of the population already had PCs in their homes I continued my resistance. I was proud of my lack of computer. Like a hapless red shirt facing the Borg in a Star Trek episode though, resistance was futile. Eventually, I was worn down in my lone stand and we acquired a Mac. I admit I warmed to it when I realized the joy of not needing white-out. I am the Queen of Typos so I went through it at a fairly alarming rate...when I typed...because I generally tried to avoid it...because I needed a lot of white-out. Word processing was a pretty groovy little trick after all. Oh, and I didn't mind playing Solitaire without using the bent up deck of cards with the 8 of diamonds that was missing. Minesweeper was kinda cool too. On this Mac we had an email only (no surfing the net) account and I found I quite liked being able to keep in contact with friends so easily.
I was still absolutely refusing to have anything to do with the Internet though. There were all sorts of weirdos out there on the World Wide Web and what was I going to find there that I couldn't find in the local library? Eventually Mr. Lime wore me down stating that the students at his school found it increasingly necessary to have Internet access for the sake of doing their schoolwork. Fully in touch with my inner curmudgeon, I acquiesced while grumbling about how when I was in school we knew how to use a library and card catalog and actual books and what sort of excessive nonsense this Internet in the home was.
So we got a newer computer and full Internet access and dontcha know there was some pretty neato stuff on that there interwebs thingy. I could find information faster than driving down to the library, which I noticed now had its own computers with Internet access. Hhhm, fancy that. Oooh, and I could read the newspaper from Trinidad. How cool is that? And I could talk to people in chat rooms. Ew, not those kind of chat rooms. There were trivia chat rooms where all sorts of other nerdy people who read the encyclopedia for entertainment would get together to challenge each other with obscure questions about every topic. I mean these people were as nerdy, even nerdier, than I was. They even told me the difference between a nerd and a geek.
Unfortunately, the trivia rooms eventually became overrun by some less evolved lifeforms who called themselves sexxybeyotch16, who had a webcam and wasn't afraid to use it or pradeep, who would send lame IMs to every female in the room or the anonymous cowards, who used to pick fights and spew bile from behind the safety of their monitors. The civilized nerds retreated into blogdom and dragged me somewhat reluctantly. This blogging thing, I dunno, it seems kinda complicated. I don't know if I can manage this sort of thing. What the heck would I have to say and really, who is going to read it anyway?
Yeah, you all know how that turned out. Assimilation complete.
(I'm not advanced enough to do the photoshopping. An old trivia/blog pa, BSoholic did this a long time ago.)
All that said, here's an Eddie Izzard bit on technology that rang pretty true.
All that said, here's an Eddie Izzard bit on technology that rang pretty true.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Trini Tuesday-A Visit with Friends
Last week I introduced you all to Irene and Mathura. The week before we had just entered the squatter village. Today we will just stroll back inside and lime around at their house for a bit. Their house is back down the dirt road a good ways from the paved road. In Trinidad most people have some sort of fence around their house and property for a variety of reasons. Most folks have dogs for security. The fences also provide some measure of the same. In more permanent buildings, which are most often made of concrete block, the fences might be more like walls and may have metal spikes or broken bottles embedded in the top to discourage folks from climbing over them. In the squatter village, fences are less common, though no less needed. As with other material things it's an issue of cost. Mathura, however, has managed to put together a high fence of various materials. When we stand at the gate and call to them it understandably draws attention from the neighbors. Who are these American people shouting at Mathura's gate?
As soon as some of the neighbors who know us well recognize us they come running. Innocenta is glad to see us and fetches a couple of coconuts from her tree so she can share with us all. she might not have sweet drink to offer us but in the hot Trini sun the water from a nut is more refreshing. A bit of coconut trivia: coconut water is a naturally rehydrating drink of superior quality to Gatorade of Pedialyte or anything commercial. It has also been used in place of blood plasma. Amazing, no?
Ok, back to the visit. Mathura adds a couple of his own coconuts to the mix. Most often folks drink the water right from the nut but since we have more people than nuts he is opening them and pouring them into a pitcher so we can share. The concrete slab he's using is the foundation he poured for a block house. Currently the family is in a wooden house but security in a wooden house is always a bit of a challenge. Little by little he's working toward a better future for his family.
After all the coconut water is gone it's a treat to split the nut in half and scoop out the soft white jelly from inside. I have to admit that's my favorite part. I like it much better than the way most Americans eat coconut which is to wait until it's dry and brown and then flake up the hard meat inside. Gimme the jelly from a green nut any day. Usually you just chip off a sliver of the husk to use as a spoon but Irene and Mathura's little girl is happy with a real spoon.
As I mentioned last week, the family raises their own fowl, as do many Trinis. Irene is scattering a little bit of feed so she can catch a duck to sell to our friend Joy. Irene would gladly curry the duck on the spot but we'd like to make sure she can afford to replace the duck we will eat tonight so we negotiate a price.
Irene ties the legs of the duck she caught. What the picture can't even begin to capture was the mad chase around the yard, under the house, behind the foundation, with 4 or 5 kids and 3 adults in hot pursuit of one terrified duck.
The exchange is made and the duck's time wanes. In a couple hours it will go from wandering around Irene's yard to plucked, gutted, and curried in Joy's kitchen. I don't know if it is still the case but when we lived in Trinidad a common sign advertising good places to get a chicken or duck for your Sunday dinner was "PLUCKING AND GUTTING SATURDAYS." You'd go out, point to the bird in the yard that you wanted and pay for it. After the deal you'd head to the produce market to get your vegetables and fresh seasonings. On the way home you'd stop by the pluck-n-gut and be handed a still warm but fresh bird carcass ready for stewing or currying for your Sunday dinner. Yes, you could get chickens and parts at a supermarket but a lot of people still preferred this because they knew the bird was as fresh as could be. In the tropics that is a fairly important consideration.
Before we leave, we snap a quick picture of Irene and 4 of her 7 children. They are a wonderful family and special friends. Again, they are posing on the foundation for what they originally intended as a new, more secure house. Joy has spoken on several occasions of wanting to hold regular classes in the village in order to reach more of the children who can't get to school regularly. We can only transport so many ourselves and understandably, many parents don't want young children taking taxis. Giving an allotment for taxi fare doesn't mean it will be used for such. Remember there are a lot of hard choices to be made daily between taxi fare, food, and clothes. Joy has been looking for a good place to locate the school program. Irene and Mathura have offered the use of the foundation for a building to be used by Joy. They very much want their own children and the other children of the village to get good schooling. They see it as a win-win situation. Joy would compensate them for the foundation already built so they could continue to work toward having a better home. The school would be available to the rest of the village. The problem rests with maintaining security since having a "school" with valuables inside could expose the Mathuras to greater risk from bandits.
The other issue no one has really discussed is that as squatters they don't own the rights to the land and later in this same year the government will push to relocate everyone in this village. You may think this is an improvement but no one in the village sees it as such. Their homes may be somewhat crude by our standards but they were built by their inhabitants. The people dug their own gardens. They formed a sense of community. The place the government wants to relocate them to is a sterile piece of rock where nothing grows. Let me tell you finding any place that is less than lush with vegetation in Trinidad is a real challenge. The government had to search long and hard to come up with that sad lot. The houses are concrete ovens which all but bake their inhabitants alive due to the way they retain the sun's heat. I had the opportunity to respond personally to the Prime Minister's wife over this issue. It's when Joy told me I had real belly. (Go ahead, you know you want to read about me telling her off...nicely...)
My visit on this trip was 14 years ago. Ten years ago the village still stood.
As soon as some of the neighbors who know us well recognize us they come running. Innocenta is glad to see us and fetches a couple of coconuts from her tree so she can share with us all. she might not have sweet drink to offer us but in the hot Trini sun the water from a nut is more refreshing. A bit of coconut trivia: coconut water is a naturally rehydrating drink of superior quality to Gatorade of Pedialyte or anything commercial. It has also been used in place of blood plasma. Amazing, no?
Ok, back to the visit. Mathura adds a couple of his own coconuts to the mix. Most often folks drink the water right from the nut but since we have more people than nuts he is opening them and pouring them into a pitcher so we can share. The concrete slab he's using is the foundation he poured for a block house. Currently the family is in a wooden house but security in a wooden house is always a bit of a challenge. Little by little he's working toward a better future for his family.
After all the coconut water is gone it's a treat to split the nut in half and scoop out the soft white jelly from inside. I have to admit that's my favorite part. I like it much better than the way most Americans eat coconut which is to wait until it's dry and brown and then flake up the hard meat inside. Gimme the jelly from a green nut any day. Usually you just chip off a sliver of the husk to use as a spoon but Irene and Mathura's little girl is happy with a real spoon.
As I mentioned last week, the family raises their own fowl, as do many Trinis. Irene is scattering a little bit of feed so she can catch a duck to sell to our friend Joy. Irene would gladly curry the duck on the spot but we'd like to make sure she can afford to replace the duck we will eat tonight so we negotiate a price.
Irene ties the legs of the duck she caught. What the picture can't even begin to capture was the mad chase around the yard, under the house, behind the foundation, with 4 or 5 kids and 3 adults in hot pursuit of one terrified duck.
The exchange is made and the duck's time wanes. In a couple hours it will go from wandering around Irene's yard to plucked, gutted, and curried in Joy's kitchen. I don't know if it is still the case but when we lived in Trinidad a common sign advertising good places to get a chicken or duck for your Sunday dinner was "PLUCKING AND GUTTING SATURDAYS." You'd go out, point to the bird in the yard that you wanted and pay for it. After the deal you'd head to the produce market to get your vegetables and fresh seasonings. On the way home you'd stop by the pluck-n-gut and be handed a still warm but fresh bird carcass ready for stewing or currying for your Sunday dinner. Yes, you could get chickens and parts at a supermarket but a lot of people still preferred this because they knew the bird was as fresh as could be. In the tropics that is a fairly important consideration.
Before we leave, we snap a quick picture of Irene and 4 of her 7 children. They are a wonderful family and special friends. Again, they are posing on the foundation for what they originally intended as a new, more secure house. Joy has spoken on several occasions of wanting to hold regular classes in the village in order to reach more of the children who can't get to school regularly. We can only transport so many ourselves and understandably, many parents don't want young children taking taxis. Giving an allotment for taxi fare doesn't mean it will be used for such. Remember there are a lot of hard choices to be made daily between taxi fare, food, and clothes. Joy has been looking for a good place to locate the school program. Irene and Mathura have offered the use of the foundation for a building to be used by Joy. They very much want their own children and the other children of the village to get good schooling. They see it as a win-win situation. Joy would compensate them for the foundation already built so they could continue to work toward having a better home. The school would be available to the rest of the village. The problem rests with maintaining security since having a "school" with valuables inside could expose the Mathuras to greater risk from bandits.The other issue no one has really discussed is that as squatters they don't own the rights to the land and later in this same year the government will push to relocate everyone in this village. You may think this is an improvement but no one in the village sees it as such. Their homes may be somewhat crude by our standards but they were built by their inhabitants. The people dug their own gardens. They formed a sense of community. The place the government wants to relocate them to is a sterile piece of rock where nothing grows. Let me tell you finding any place that is less than lush with vegetation in Trinidad is a real challenge. The government had to search long and hard to come up with that sad lot. The houses are concrete ovens which all but bake their inhabitants alive due to the way they retain the sun's heat. I had the opportunity to respond personally to the Prime Minister's wife over this issue. It's when Joy told me I had real belly. (Go ahead, you know you want to read about me telling her off...nicely...)
My visit on this trip was 14 years ago. Ten years ago the village still stood.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Just Out of Curiosity
Are there any men who are actually going to be swayed by this ad? I'm just not seeing a lot of you guys going out there and buying something called "Dove" even if it's dressed up in a dark grey bottle.
Having just come out of a totally crappy work environment though I have to say this cracked me up. I'm glad to say I am aware of no such horrors at my new place of employment.
And now, something completely different and not designed to sell anything. Just a video that cracks me up.
Having just come out of a totally crappy work environment though I have to say this cracked me up. I'm glad to say I am aware of no such horrors at my new place of employment.
And now, something completely different and not designed to sell anything. Just a video that cracks me up.
Friday, February 05, 2010
Friday 55 & Da Count-A Quick Shift
FRIDAY 55-Last Night's Dream
Gees, she's yelling at me again.
Numbers, numbers, always numbers,
how much money, how many patients,
how many people did you call?
A sudden shift in the scene
and I am with three new doctors.
No yelling, no numbers, just calm talking.
One puts an arm around me and says,
"You're gonna be just fine."
DA COUNT-A New Job
Last night I had the dream described above...after my first day at a new place of employment, at the chiropractor's office where I have been a patient for 15 years. Yep, you read that right. I am no longer employed by Dr. Evil but instead by someone I've known and trusted a long time. About a week and a half ago they made me aware of a job opening in their office. At the same time Mr. Lime told me about a temp position in the elementary school in his district. There was a bit of wrangling but I decided to throw my hat in the ring at my chiro's office. Originally the new chiro job was intended to be full time, which meant late nights 5 nights a week. Between needing to get some continuing ed. requirements out of the way and not relishing a return home around 8pm every night I was a little hesitant. Then another job became available. This was part time and only required 3 late nights. On Wednesday they offered it to me. I thought for about a nanosecond before I said yes.
The timing was perfect because on Saturday I was let go from my previous place of employment...via a phone call from the associate doc...after I had put in many extra hours the week before, even though I was having a pretty wretched flare-up of lower back issues and had difficulty standing up straight the one day, even though I did the extra hours without any complaint. The official story I was given was the immediate need for someone willing to work more hours. When I turned my key in the remaining girls told me there was no replacement, they'd been asked to suggest some likely candidates. Ooooookay. Logic rules the day as always.
Anyway, I started my new job yesterday and was greeted with lots of hugs from people I've known and liked for years. They were all glad to have me join the office and I was really grateful to be there. There is a radically different tone in the office, which is far more caring on a genuine level. There's a sense of teamwork and family. Being given a chance to be a part of that is a BIG count this week.
Gees, she's yelling at me again.
Numbers, numbers, always numbers,
how much money, how many patients,
how many people did you call?
A sudden shift in the scene
and I am with three new doctors.
No yelling, no numbers, just calm talking.
One puts an arm around me and says,
"You're gonna be just fine."
DA COUNT-A New Job
Last night I had the dream described above...after my first day at a new place of employment, at the chiropractor's office where I have been a patient for 15 years. Yep, you read that right. I am no longer employed by Dr. Evil but instead by someone I've known and trusted a long time. About a week and a half ago they made me aware of a job opening in their office. At the same time Mr. Lime told me about a temp position in the elementary school in his district. There was a bit of wrangling but I decided to throw my hat in the ring at my chiro's office. Originally the new chiro job was intended to be full time, which meant late nights 5 nights a week. Between needing to get some continuing ed. requirements out of the way and not relishing a return home around 8pm every night I was a little hesitant. Then another job became available. This was part time and only required 3 late nights. On Wednesday they offered it to me. I thought for about a nanosecond before I said yes.
The timing was perfect because on Saturday I was let go from my previous place of employment...via a phone call from the associate doc...after I had put in many extra hours the week before, even though I was having a pretty wretched flare-up of lower back issues and had difficulty standing up straight the one day, even though I did the extra hours without any complaint. The official story I was given was the immediate need for someone willing to work more hours. When I turned my key in the remaining girls told me there was no replacement, they'd been asked to suggest some likely candidates. Ooooookay. Logic rules the day as always.
Anyway, I started my new job yesterday and was greeted with lots of hugs from people I've known and liked for years. They were all glad to have me join the office and I was really grateful to be there. There is a radically different tone in the office, which is far more caring on a genuine level. There's a sense of teamwork and family. Being given a chance to be a part of that is a BIG count this week.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Slice of Lime-You Say Corn, I Say Cane
Back to the slides from Trinidad. One afternoon the group I was working with had no real activities planned. We were staying at a camp to do construction projects and help with campers. This was our day off. I was liming (hanging around) with some of the camp counselors and they asked if I wanted my hair cane rowed. Yes, down there they call it cane rowing because they grow a lot more sugar cane than corn. Anyway, since this was my first time out of the USA and I was all about soaking up as many new experiences as I possibly could I accepted.
They got a kick out of digging into my head of hair and it was a LOT longer then, let me tell you. It took these 3 girls many hours to do my head in cane rows. They were also hampered somewhat by the texture of my hair, which they found surprising. Caucasian hair is a lot more slippery and so it was harder for them to work with since it didn't naturally hold a braid as easily as their coarser hair did. We had a lot of laughs as they'd get some part done and loosen their grip only to have part of it fallout. It was kind of interesting to have my head tugged and pulled at for hours as we all chatted about a wide variety of things. This was my first real experience learning how shared grooming can be a bonding sort of activity. It's not quite the same as a bunch of beauty shop chatter. There's a certain level of intimacy though that allows for people to open up to each other.
They got a kick out of digging into my head of hair and it was a LOT longer then, let me tell you. It took these 3 girls many hours to do my head in cane rows. They were also hampered somewhat by the texture of my hair, which they found surprising. Caucasian hair is a lot more slippery and so it was harder for them to work with since it didn't naturally hold a braid as easily as their coarser hair did. We had a lot of laughs as they'd get some part done and loosen their grip only to have part of it fallout. It was kind of interesting to have my head tugged and pulled at for hours as we all chatted about a wide variety of things. This was my first real experience learning how shared grooming can be a bonding sort of activity. It's not quite the same as a bunch of beauty shop chatter. There's a certain level of intimacy though that allows for people to open up to each other.
After all that time together I gained not only a new hairstyle, but a lot of new insights into their lives and they into mine. We certainly knew each other a lot better and we enjoyed the time spent. I was delighted that they'd want to share with me and I think they were delighted that I'd try something so different. Although I don't think it's my best look it was a fun and memorable experience that was a great learning opportunity too.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Trini Tuesday-A Bit of Background
This is a repost from almost four years ago when I was doing Trini Tuesdays on a regular basis. It explains what took Mr. Lime and me to Trinidad and shares a particular experience we had. It was originally posted in response to the question of why we went and what was something that impacted us most significantly. I thought it would be helpful to give this background before proceeding with some of the pictures I have yet to share.
Mr. Lime and I are both Special Ed. teachers and we wanted to use our skills overseas. We had gone to Trinidad for two week work trips in '89 and '91. While there the second time a local man who had a desire to meet the needs of learning disabled students asked us if we'd consider coming back to do just that.
There was a real need. The Trini school system is based on the British system. At that time, students at the end of our equivalent of 6th grade too what is called the "Common Entrance Exam." A student's performance determined whether or not they got any further public education and if they passed the exam it determined which school they were allowed to attend. It was extremely competitive. Consequently students with even mild handicaps struggled and often failed when some basic remediation and adjustments in instruction could have made a world of difference. A child's whole future basically came to rest on their performance on one test on a single day. Every year when results were announced the newspapers would be full of accounts of 12 year old children committing suicide or being beaten severely because of a poor showing or a failure on the exam. In the years since we have returned to the US things have changed so that secondary education is guaranteed but it is still highly competitive to determine WHICH school a student may attend.
We went in September 1992 and returned to the USA in December 1993. We had planned to spend at least 4 years there but some rather severe administrative problems necessitated our return to the States. During out time in Trinidad we did a lot of home visits with students who were not attending school. We found economics to be a bigger handicap for many families than any learning disability, although that was a real problem too. Although education was 'free,' students still had to provide their own textbooks, school supplies, uniforms and transportation. We worked mostly among squatter families who, on a daily basis, had to make the gut wrenching choice of taxi fare to get children to school or food to put in their bellies that night. Helluva choice, huh?
You ask about the greatest experience. I have such a hard time choosing! There were so many greats, but let me tell you about one that humbled me deeply.
Irene grew up in the interior of Venezuela. She describes her childhood as a nearly tribal existence. As a teen her family moved to Guyana. When she was 15 she was given as a wife to Mathura, who is Guyanese. I met Irene when she was about 30. She and Mathura, who was about 45, had 6 children at the time. They lived in the squatter village we worked in. Their house had been constructed of scrap lumber. They may have been desperately poor but they had pride and the house was built as sturdily and decently as possible and it was kept neat as a pin.
Mathura was a Guyanese man who worked for a poultry processing plant and as such was annually given a certain number of fowl as an employee bonus. Many families in Trinidad raise their own fowl. He choose a good mix of layers and birds for meat. He had also very wisely invested some of his meager earnings in fruit trees. He told me, "I don't always have enough money to buy food but at least if we have fruit trees the children will have mangoes or oranges." He had asked himself what would provide food consistently over the long range and had sacrificed a few good meals in the present to be able to eat in the future. He and Irene also agreed that taxi-fare came over meals because they knew their kids needed to do well in school if they had any hope of getting decent jobs. Again, awful choices to have to make.
Mr. Lime started going to work with their children. Even though they got to school regularly, they needed help to be able to pass the CE Exam. Tutors are very common but hideously expensive so there was no way this family could afford a traditional tutor. Every week, this family would kill the fatted calf to feed Mr. Lime when he came. He asked them to please not do this but it was an insult to them that he should decline hospitality. We noticed that the children were allowed to eat after Mr. Lime had his fill so I told him to eat the minimally polite amount and then encourage the kids to 'fix up.' That seemed to work.
Some time later Mathura asked Mr.Lime if he was only allowed to work with children because his wife could not read. Truth be told, Mathura was not much of a reader either, but we suspected he wanted Irene to be the guinea pig and that it might be a bit injurious to his pride to admit he needed some help. Mr. Lime began working with Irene each week after he was done with the children. After some months Irene was making some really good progress. She was utterly devoted to her work and each week would surprise us with some new piece she had been struggling through on her own. Irene gained a new sense of self-confidence and just beamed with each success she had. You could see the pride her kids had in her achievement too. Even Mathura had a new found respect for his wife. Previously, he regarded her as somewhat mindless. Now he could see she was capable of thought and reason.
I have to say, illiterate or not, I could have sat at Irene's feet for months and learned many things from her had time allowed. She was full of practical wisdom and knowledge, gentleness, kindness, and love. Whenever we did share time I always came away with some new piece of knowledge or with the encouragement to be a better person. I spent most of the time in Trinidad pregnant with Calypso. When it was nearly time for her to be born Irene sat me down with some advice. She knew I'd had a c-section with Diana, she wanted to make sure I was ready for Calypso, that I wasn't afraid (well, I was a little). I was really touched by her motherly tenderness toward me.
After Calypso arrived and we were back at our house we heard the gate rattle and a familiar gruff voice, "Good morning! Good morning! It's Mathura!" Mr. Lime tied the dog and let Mathura in. Mathura entered apologizing profusely for not being able to stay even long enough for a sweet drink (the very minimal expression of hospitality required of hosts and remember it is rude to refuse hospitality) since he was on his way to work. He greeted me, fussed over Calypso and said he had to bring something to us right away because he wanted very much to be the first to give us something.
He explained that according to his culture (East Indian Guyanese) every baby had to have a piece of gold. With tears in his eyes he thanked Mr. Lime for giving his wife the ability to read. For all the time we had spent with them helping the children and his wife he hoped we would allow him to give our new baby her first piece of gold. With that he pulled out a very small box and extracted a delicate adjustable gold band sized for an infant and gently slid it onto Calypso's chubby baby finger. Mr. Lime and I looked at each other knowing what a sacrifice it was for this family to give such a gift and feeling utterly unworthy to accept it. We dabbed our eyes and quietly said a very humble, 'Thank you.'
Mr. Lime and I are both Special Ed. teachers and we wanted to use our skills overseas. We had gone to Trinidad for two week work trips in '89 and '91. While there the second time a local man who had a desire to meet the needs of learning disabled students asked us if we'd consider coming back to do just that.
There was a real need. The Trini school system is based on the British system. At that time, students at the end of our equivalent of 6th grade too what is called the "Common Entrance Exam." A student's performance determined whether or not they got any further public education and if they passed the exam it determined which school they were allowed to attend. It was extremely competitive. Consequently students with even mild handicaps struggled and often failed when some basic remediation and adjustments in instruction could have made a world of difference. A child's whole future basically came to rest on their performance on one test on a single day. Every year when results were announced the newspapers would be full of accounts of 12 year old children committing suicide or being beaten severely because of a poor showing or a failure on the exam. In the years since we have returned to the US things have changed so that secondary education is guaranteed but it is still highly competitive to determine WHICH school a student may attend.
We went in September 1992 and returned to the USA in December 1993. We had planned to spend at least 4 years there but some rather severe administrative problems necessitated our return to the States. During out time in Trinidad we did a lot of home visits with students who were not attending school. We found economics to be a bigger handicap for many families than any learning disability, although that was a real problem too. Although education was 'free,' students still had to provide their own textbooks, school supplies, uniforms and transportation. We worked mostly among squatter families who, on a daily basis, had to make the gut wrenching choice of taxi fare to get children to school or food to put in their bellies that night. Helluva choice, huh?
You ask about the greatest experience. I have such a hard time choosing! There were so many greats, but let me tell you about one that humbled me deeply.
Irene grew up in the interior of Venezuela. She describes her childhood as a nearly tribal existence. As a teen her family moved to Guyana. When she was 15 she was given as a wife to Mathura, who is Guyanese. I met Irene when she was about 30. She and Mathura, who was about 45, had 6 children at the time. They lived in the squatter village we worked in. Their house had been constructed of scrap lumber. They may have been desperately poor but they had pride and the house was built as sturdily and decently as possible and it was kept neat as a pin.
Mathura was a Guyanese man who worked for a poultry processing plant and as such was annually given a certain number of fowl as an employee bonus. Many families in Trinidad raise their own fowl. He choose a good mix of layers and birds for meat. He had also very wisely invested some of his meager earnings in fruit trees. He told me, "I don't always have enough money to buy food but at least if we have fruit trees the children will have mangoes or oranges." He had asked himself what would provide food consistently over the long range and had sacrificed a few good meals in the present to be able to eat in the future. He and Irene also agreed that taxi-fare came over meals because they knew their kids needed to do well in school if they had any hope of getting decent jobs. Again, awful choices to have to make.
Mr. Lime started going to work with their children. Even though they got to school regularly, they needed help to be able to pass the CE Exam. Tutors are very common but hideously expensive so there was no way this family could afford a traditional tutor. Every week, this family would kill the fatted calf to feed Mr. Lime when he came. He asked them to please not do this but it was an insult to them that he should decline hospitality. We noticed that the children were allowed to eat after Mr. Lime had his fill so I told him to eat the minimally polite amount and then encourage the kids to 'fix up.' That seemed to work.
Some time later Mathura asked Mr.Lime if he was only allowed to work with children because his wife could not read. Truth be told, Mathura was not much of a reader either, but we suspected he wanted Irene to be the guinea pig and that it might be a bit injurious to his pride to admit he needed some help. Mr. Lime began working with Irene each week after he was done with the children. After some months Irene was making some really good progress. She was utterly devoted to her work and each week would surprise us with some new piece she had been struggling through on her own. Irene gained a new sense of self-confidence and just beamed with each success she had. You could see the pride her kids had in her achievement too. Even Mathura had a new found respect for his wife. Previously, he regarded her as somewhat mindless. Now he could see she was capable of thought and reason.
I have to say, illiterate or not, I could have sat at Irene's feet for months and learned many things from her had time allowed. She was full of practical wisdom and knowledge, gentleness, kindness, and love. Whenever we did share time I always came away with some new piece of knowledge or with the encouragement to be a better person. I spent most of the time in Trinidad pregnant with Calypso. When it was nearly time for her to be born Irene sat me down with some advice. She knew I'd had a c-section with Diana, she wanted to make sure I was ready for Calypso, that I wasn't afraid (well, I was a little). I was really touched by her motherly tenderness toward me.
After Calypso arrived and we were back at our house we heard the gate rattle and a familiar gruff voice, "Good morning! Good morning! It's Mathura!" Mr. Lime tied the dog and let Mathura in. Mathura entered apologizing profusely for not being able to stay even long enough for a sweet drink (the very minimal expression of hospitality required of hosts and remember it is rude to refuse hospitality) since he was on his way to work. He greeted me, fussed over Calypso and said he had to bring something to us right away because he wanted very much to be the first to give us something.
He explained that according to his culture (East Indian Guyanese) every baby had to have a piece of gold. With tears in his eyes he thanked Mr. Lime for giving his wife the ability to read. For all the time we had spent with them helping the children and his wife he hoped we would allow him to give our new baby her first piece of gold. With that he pulled out a very small box and extracted a delicate adjustable gold band sized for an infant and gently slid it onto Calypso's chubby baby finger. Mr. Lime and I looked at each other knowing what a sacrifice it was for this family to give such a gift and feeling utterly unworthy to accept it. We dabbed our eyes and quietly said a very humble, 'Thank you.'
Monday, February 01, 2010
Muppets on Monday!
I got nuthin' for today. It's been a weird weekend. For today, have some good muppetty giggles on me. I'll be back tomorrow with some more old Trinidad pictures.
UPDATE: Dopey me, posted this under a date from 2009.
UPDATE: Dopey me, posted this under a date from 2009.
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