Queen Mimi and Empress Lime are pleased to offer their best advice in various situations. Just to make it more interesting, some of these are borne from actual experience, some will be entirely from my imagination. I welcome your guesses in the comments as to which are which.
What NOT To Do when you’re…..
1. On a first date: Ask your date if he/she minds a quick detour to engage in transactions involving illegal pharmaceuticals.
2. Intoxicated: Go swimming in an ill-fitting bikini/swim trunks, dive off the diving board repeatedly and only begin to ascend to the surface after finding the bottom of the pool with your face but loosing your attire.
3. In the shower: Make toast.
4. At your ex’s wedding: Stand up and offer a top ten list of reasons why the new spouse should not marry your former spousewhen the officiant asks if anyone knows any reason why these two should not be married.
5. In jail: Drop the soap in the shower.
6. Being stalked: Well, that depends on if we are talking about celery, corn, or psychotics. I need a little more clarity here.
7. Stuck to an igloo: Depends upon which part of you is stuck...
8. In sewing class: Argue with the lunatic instructor about certain methods because your mother is a seamstress and that's not how she does it and things work out just fine for her, thank you very much.
9. Asleep in a helium balloon: I'm just trying to figure out the mechanics of first getting INSIDE a helium balloon before I can consider the list of things one ought not to do while inside it.
10. At a birthday party for twins (assuming they are your daughters): Invite Hugh Heffner.
11. On a nude beach: Forget sunblock on the parts that haven't seen the sun before.
12. At the opera: Ask when they are going to start biting the heads off bats.
13. You’re falling in love: Fall so hard you hit your head and loose the ability to reason.
14. Low on gasoline in a bad part of town: stop at a local biker bar while dressed in penny loafers, bike shorts, and a waist length pleather jacket with tie belt to ask if they have a payphone you can use.
15. Having a baby: Tell your husband it's ok for him to go deer hunting while you're in labor.
16. On fire: Fill your gas tank.
17. Lost at the mall: Well, seriously, if you're over the age of 10 but haven't developed age related dementia yet this shouldn't even be a major issue at all.
18. At a single’s dance: Introduce yourself as a polygamist.
19. Riding a bike on the Jersey Turnpike: Wear penny loafers, bike shorts, and a pleather jacket.
20. Driving your significant other's car: Allow him to decide the best place for you to learn to drive stick shift is in a parking lot next to a crowded park full of little kids.
21. Being robbed at gunpoint: The thing not to do is be robbed at gunpoint. I really don't recommend it at all. Freebie moment: this advice is sadly borne of personal experience.
22. Kissing: Check your watch, grab the tv remote to turn the channel, break the kiss and ask, "Are we done yet?"
23. Paying the hotel cashier: Use the smallest denomination of Estonian kroons...unless, of course, you're in Tallinn.
24. Buying lingerie: Expect Victoria's Secret staff to be helpful or knowledgeable of proper fitting procedures or even care if you are over the age of 30 or weigh more than 95 lbs. Go to Frederick's of Hollywood instead.
24. Commenting on a blog: Leave a long diatribe in Arabic detailing the links between global warming, Branch Davidians, and the worldwide conspiracy to spike lemon jello with hallucinogens in order to take over the southeast Asian market in rare breeds of slugs.
25. In Queen Mimi's dungeon: Expect a pardon from the Queen or clemency from the Empress.
After the last few days I'd like to make a little escape. Finances and schedules being what they are it's not too likely I'll make one to Trinidad any time soon but I thought I'd go back to some of the previously unseen slides I was able to scan so we can take a trip to the beach together. I've posted about Maracas Bay and Toco Beach before. Even if you don't want to read the text, I hope you'll enjoy the pictures. Today's are from Toco.
Our dear friends (We'll call them Ren and Flora) on the island introduced us to Toco. Ren used to work there so he knew all the secret places. Toco quickly became a favorite spot for me because it was entirely undeveloped and raw. Very few people bothered to make the trek unless they were local because it was so far out of the way and not at all easy to access. There was also a neat little lagoon behind the beach, which gave it a remote feel to me.
Flora and me. Flora liked this picture because it was one of the few we had together but she was slightly annoyed because it makes me look taller than she is, which is definitely not the case. She made me promise any time I showed it to people I'd explain she was standing in a hole when the picture was taken. I am keeping my promise, Flora.
Here Flora and two of her girls are fighting the sideways current. Yes, sideways. Toco is at the northeast point of Trinidad so the water flows down the east coast and across the north coast. that sideways current is far more powerful than any undertow. In fact, there are few waves and very little undertow at Toco.
Toco also has some very rocky sections. It's fun to leapfrog around the big rocks during low tide or just sit on them and watch fish in the little tide pools.
Here are a couple other pictures I like that aren't from Toco. This is from Maracas Bay and I just liked the muted colors in it. Maracas is on the north coast where the mountains descend dramatically to the sea.
Leaving Trinidad completely, here's a shot of Pigeon Point, Tobago. Tobago is the sister island in the republic of Trinidad & Tobago. It's a far more touristy place than Trinidad is and beautiful in its own way. I've only ever been there once but I liked the way the silhouette of the roofed pier came out so I am posting it now.
Aaaaaah, I needed that. Thanks for coming along. I hope you enjoyed it too.
So let us recap the various misfortunes and maladies which have befallen members of the House of Lime in the last week.
3/20: Mr. Lime sustains a broken toe of such magnitude the tendon is damaged. If it does not heal properly (high likelihood given his disinclination to wear the boot he's been given and stay off his damn foot) he will either 1) develop a drop toe or 2) require a very unpleasant surgery with a long recovery. He already knows he needs one foot surgery unrelated to the break but due to other chronic issues. The question is, will it now become TWO surgeries?
3/9-3/22: I have one unending headache which varies between blinding migraine and just tiresome, niggling throb. On 3/21 I begin to think it may be a lingering sinus infection which has settled in. On 3/22 one of the chiropractors I work for takes one look at me and says, "You have a sinus infection headache. I can see it crawling up toward your eye. Get on the table now." Her adjustment is the first thing that finally relieves the headache and I feel things I didn't even realize were clogging me up start to drain.
3/24: Isaac stays home sick with a hideous cold. I remind him of the need to keep his head as clear as possible with fluids and decongestants so his asthma doesn't go haywire. We've been down this road before. When Mr. Lime brings him to the chiropractor the doc notices Isaac's left knee is very swollen. Isaac says it's been that way for a month or more. I feel like mother of the year for not realizing this was the case but at the same time he's been wearing long pants until now and hadn't complained. An MRI is ordered and it is hinted we will likely wind up in the orthopedist's office for a baker's cyst or a torn quadricep.
3/25: Diana informs me she has sustained a concussion while playing the game Bill Cosby calls "Buck Buck." When I ask her if she has been seen by a doctor at school she tells me to lighten up she was only joking.
3/26a: Just as I am preparing to call the MRI center to schedule an appointment for Isaac I get a call from his school nurse. His asthma is going haywire. He is sent home from the doctor's office with his very own nebulizer for the first time. He is to have a treatment every 4 hours around the clock. I set my alarm for the middle of the night.
3/26b: As I am bringing Isaac home I get a call from Calypso's school nurse. She is nauseous, headache-y, and has a fever. I pick up the drugs for Isaac who needs a treatment before I can get Calypso to the doctor. I take her to the doctor who declares Calypso also has a sinus infection...oh and some other unpleasant but very treatable diagnosis is made as well when she gives the doctor a litany of symptoms she has withheld from me.
3/27a: Calypso wakes up with a splitting headache and informs me she thinks her wisdom teeth are doing bad things. She says she doesn't want anything to eat that requires chewing because it all hurts too much. I try to call the dentist who used to have Saturday hours and I find out this is no longer the case.
3/27b: Diana calls to check on everyone because she has been keeping up on Facebook with her siblings. She says she does have a concussion because the health center doctor confirmed it. She is having many headaches and sleeps a lot. I say I hope she is no longer playing Buck Buck. She informs me she has no intention of ceasing this activity as it reduces her stress. I remind her that we get one brain in this life and doctors have not figured out how to do brain transplants. She hangs up in a huff letting me know I am ruining her day.
3/27c:(Ok, this isn't a malady but I think it displays a certain degree of pathology given the circumstances.) Mr. Lime foolishly storms into the room where I am and bellows in a mock macho tone, "Woman! Where's my dinner? I want to eat NOW!" He gets a withering glare from me before issuing another testosterone soaked command just in case I misunderstood the first one. I inquired as to his preference at being shot with his own pellet gun (non-lethal ammo, so don't worry) or being hit in his broken toe with a hammer because that's about all such behavior was likely to get him. He wisely opted to skitter off like a cockroach when the lights are turned on.
3/28: Calypso wakes up and vomits right after she finishes showering. I stay home from church with her feeding her soft, bland food. Mr. Lime and Isaac return home. Displaying a new found sensitivity born of fear for his well-being he does not suggest I ought to be preparing lunch but silently hurries off to wash dishes.
Those frogs I mentioned on Friday, were they part of a plague or something?
Long ago I sat with Nana by the campfire at night singing in round, Hear the lively song of the frogs in yonder pond Crick crick crickety crick BUUUUURRRR-UM! Spring peepers joined in chorus as backup. Decades later I hear their rhythmic lullaby rising again from the swamp on an early Spring night and smile.
DA COUNT
Lots of folks around here get excited when they see the first robin of Spring. While that may be a good sign of warm weather to come I smile most when I drive past the swamp on our winding road and hear the hum of spring peepers. Lots of folks who move out here from the city think it's crickets making all that racket but I set them right. Earlier this week I was on a phone call from a friend in a part of the country not blessed with such a proliferation of singing frogs. I pulled the car over and stuck the phone out the window to share the music. I could almost hear my friend's smile. If you want to hear it too there's an audio file in the link I provided. Just multiply it by thousands to imagine the swamp near my house. Nothing against the robins but the frog choir and the memories of a happy time and place soothe me into blissful slumber.
The office where I now work is a place where I have been a patient for many years. The staff there have supported me through the healing process after 4 car accidents and one unfortunate zipline incident. There have been a handful of times when I just sort of melted down in tears and someone there brought me a tissue and gave me a hug when I most needed it. A couple years ago one of those staff members went through the unimaginably painful process of loosing her son to cancer. I was honored to give her a few hugs when she really needed it in those dark days.
This week marked the anniversary of her son's death. She was determined not to spend the day in tears so she organized a happy and silly way to remember him by asking everyone to wear bandannas (his favorite accessory) so she could have some smiles and laughter on that day instead. That goal all by itself makes her a remarkable woman in my eyes. I've known others who have spent every day for decades making those around them miserable because they feel the world should pay for their loss. My coworker made a far different choice, perhaps a more difficult one but one that amazed me.
Here are some pictures to prove the smiles. My hero of a friend and coworker is the lady in the blue bandanna next to me. You're not actually surprised I wore a tie dyed bandanna are you? I wore mine around my neck because I've been fighting headaches for 2 weeks and I couldn't bear to tie it around my noggin.
At lunch we began the intense laughter therapy. Start laughing or the bandanna bandit will have to use this finger to tickle you!
See no bandannas, hear no bandannas, speak of no bandannas.
And for the Monty Python fans out there, we have the tie dyed Gumbie.
Caller: Hi I'm from Alma Mater U. and I'd like to thank you for your past donations to the Alumni Scholarship Fund. I'm calling today to see if we can count on you again to support this year's drive.
Me: This is the third time you've called me this year. My answer hasn't changed since the last two times when I've been called.
Caller: I'm sorry, Ma'am. What would that answer be?
Me: Are you going to actually listen and take note of what I say, AGAIN?
Caller: Yes, Ma'am.
Me: Good. My husband and I who are both graduates of your fine university have indeed donated to the Alumni Scholarship many times in the past as finances have allowed. I have noted during the previous two calls that we now have our eldest child enrolled in this very same school. Upon her acceptance we contacted the Alumni Office to learn what sorts of scholarship opportunities existed for the children of alumni who would now find themselves as students at this fine institution.
We were told she may have her name entered TWICE in a scholarship lottery, one for each parent who graduated from Alma Mater U. We were informed that should her name be chosen at random she would receive a $700 one time scholarship. It was a little bothersome to have been led to believe in the past that this scholarship had something to do not only with being the child of alumni but meeting rigorous academic standards. Did I forget to mention she graduated high school with honors, had excellent SAT scores, and passed 2 AP exams with the highest marks? Also, your fine university has also admitted her to the Honors Program. 'Twould seem to indicate she has met some rigorous academics standards, no?
She has not received one cent in scholarships or financial aid from your fine university. One may suggest she ought to pursue her degree at an alternate institution where she may be able to receive such assistance, however, yours is one of exactly TWO which offers her major and are situated east of the Mississippi River, therefore you have a near monopoly on this particular field of study. Given that we are paying full tuition for the next four years and trying to enjoy a diet which consists of something more nourishing than ketchup sandwiches during that period of time I would like to very clearly convey the answer that we will NOT be contributing to the Alumni Scholarship Fund during her undergraduate years. I believe the tuition payments should be considered our full contribution to any programs at Alma Mater U at this time.
Caller: May we call you next year?
Me: Have you learned how to count to four and how to add?
...I'm going to merely answer the questions and comments posed in response to yesterday's post.
Craig said... Did you just say, 'uber-groovy'?? . . .'a toe at very strange angles'?
Yes, I did indeed say "uber-groovy." I know that may seem like a strange turn of phrase but I am given to such things. Other verbal oddities I use with frequency include, but are not limited to: nifty, snazzy, holy moses on a pogo stick, crappalappadingdong, and bite me.
As for the toe in question, it seemed to be rotated at the joint so that the toenail no longer faced skyward but rather inward toward the next toe.
Jazz said...Could the bear have stolen the venison perhaps?
Only if the bear had been able to operate the garage door opener then remove the bungee cord from the ancient freezer in the garage which keeps the freezer door closed. Additionally, the bear would need the manual dexterity to open the door to Gracie the Minivan, turn the key in the ignition, and shift into reverse in order to back the van up far enough to allow the door to the ancient freezer to swing open. I've known some darned resourceful bears but the likelihood of that skillset being possessed by even an above average example of Ursusamericanus strains credulity just a bit.
jinksy said... If I told you I'd hit 69 and indulged in a week of torrid telephone sex, which of the two statements would you believe?!
I'd want to hear more, you randy thing!
furiousBall said...i bet the bear won the laser tag game
He was given great odds even though he couldn't work the lasers.
Suldog said...Oh, please tell me that you're going to expound on a few of these during the coming days. I'm way curious!
I did not participate in the all-night laser tag debacle. I value you my sleep more than that. The day old bread came from Calypso's boyfriend, who works in a grocery store. More to come on the foot in a moment. Calypso had the close encounter of the bear kind when showing aforementioned boyfriend the door one evening. Perhaps you heard the screaming? Calypso and I both enjoyed the film festival, which featured a series of shorts 9 out of 10 were phenomenal. If 3 members of the House of Lime kill 6 deer during deer season and one 150 lb deer can feed our family for roughly 9 months and I have to ask Mr. Lime for 3 months to please bring meat home from the friend's house where the bulk of said venison is being stored and I finally give up in frustration, drive there myself and I am told it's almost all gone I begin to get curious as to the whereabouts of such a massive quantity of venison. I'd tell you more about the official reports but then I'd have to kill you. Gorgeous weather=happy Lime. Go see Alice in Wonderland. It's marvelous.
Cricket said... I'll trade my list for yours, except maybe the broken toe. The weekend here at the House O' Quills featured a four-pronged attack of dysentery.
Yes, you. Do you have something to share with the class, Mr. Craver? Pay attention now. I just posed a word question to Mr. Suldog up there and he was too busy propositioning Jinksy to pay attention and explain how 6 deer weighing an average of 150 lbs. could have been consumed in merely 4 months. Please come to the board and work out the problem for the class.
S said... Sounds like a lot of fun was had!Especially the bag of day old bread, thats super exciting!
A whole lot more fun than the migraine I've been fighting.
That would be Mr. Lime. He was an all night laser tag participant running around like a junior high kid until his toe forcefully met an unyielding surface resulting in a shattered end of his phalange and a damaged tendon which may require surgery if it doesn't heal up like a good little tendon. Given his disinclination to follow doctor's orders my odds are on surgery.
Moannie said... That is a good ten years worth of goings on.
Maybe that explains why I feel a decade older this morning.
g-man said...Does a bear shit on Trini's front porch?
No, it still shits in the woods. However, Calypso could wet herself just a little in the foyer when she opens the front door and unexpectedly finds the bear.
Not nearly enough, though I did enjoy a truly lovely bottle of Louis Roederer Brut Premier Champagne with friends while Mr. Lime was busy demolishing his big toe. I think I had the better evening.
No, I saw it in 4D, complete with smellavision. Ok, ok, I saw it in 2D. I'm too vain to wear the glasses. when they distribute 3D contact lenses I'll consider it.
Two couples pass along the sidewalk. They've aged with the once sapling trees whose branches now reach to shake hands across the street. Stooped men clasp gently under the boughs. Dainty ladies wave as the breeze ruffles leaves. What burdens bent their backs? How far did the wind once carry them? The trees have seen.
Once upon a time there was a blogger named Lime, who had a bizarre fascination with tie dye. She met another blogger named Gawpo, who liked to play in the mud, that is to say he made beautiful pottery. She proposed a swap of tie dye for pottery, because she really digs pottery. He readily agreed.
She sent a shirt and got a picture. She grinned ear to ear seeing another happy wearer of tie dye.
Then she waited. Gawpo disappeared from blogland because he was busy working crazy amounts of overtime. Then she saw pictures of more of his pottery and heard about a new kiln. Then Gawpo engaged in great amounts of self-flagellation over not having sent a bit of pottery. Lime was not overly worried though she was hoping for a fun little delivery sometime before the next Limelet graduated high school. Gawpo got busy growing a beard and loosing a bunch of weight and hunting wild asparagus and playing on Facebook.
Gawpo sent pictures of when he got busy making mugs. Lime got very excited when he said one was just for her.
Gawpo asked for her mailing address about 3 times because he kept loosing it. He engaged in more self-flagellation. Lime gave her address again and reassured him he was still an uber groovy friend because he is and she likes him like the Academy likes Sally Field. He's a fascinating, smart, kind, talented, funny as all get out friend, which more than offsets his odd phobia of post offices. She began to tremble in excitement when she got a picture of Gawpo and her mug actually at the post office.
Finally, a package arrived at House of Lime and inside it was a beeeyoooteeful, custom made faceted Gawpo mug complete with cat's paw mark and locally produced glaze. Lime was ever so grateful and went to make herself a lovely cup of tea.
It is often assumed Diana is of Irish stock because she is a fair skinned red head. This irks her no end. She asked me when she was fairly young if she was in fact Irish because so many folks thought she was. I told her to really spin their heads and let them know she is ethnically Greek, which is true since my birth father was a Greek immigrant. (And I wonder why the kid likes to mess with people's mind as much as she does...).
On my dad's side (dad, not birth father) his grandfather was and Irish immigrant who was disowned by his Catholic family for marrying a German Protestant. Dad and his mother are a fearsome mix of German and Irish. Seriously, don't anger either one of them. It's just not worth it. So, since I am adopted that means almost nothing for my own alleged Irish pedigree but hey, I grew up in that stew so for one day a year I'll claim some Irish background. I produced a kid who looks Irish because he father does too. I never inflicted upon her the indignity displayed in this picture of her father though. He's happy enough in this picture but others exist in which he is wearing a very pronounced scowl. Yes, his mother did this to him many years in a row.
Now we'll move on to the trivia portion of our post...
Bagpipes were originally made from the full skin of a sheep. I guess that kind of explains why they look like the bagpiper is giving mouth-to-mouth to an upside down sheep and why the instrument sounds sort of like the sheep is protesting.
The Irish version of bagpipes is called Uillean pipes. Uillean means something akin to playing with the elbow.
The rock group known as the Pogues originally called themselves Pogue Mahone, which translates from Gaelic to mean kiss my ass. (I think I need to go find some Pogues recordings right about now.)
Historians believe St Patrick's real name was Maewyn Succat. Personally, I think the Irish improved upon the poor man's situation.
Ireland is the only nation with a musical instrument (the harp) for its national symbol.
To close I'll share my favorite toast from my favorite Irish poet, William Butler Yeats. By the way, poets were at one time esteemed as highly as kings in Ireland. How can you not have affection for a place where the national symbol is an instrument and poets are so well regarded?
A Drinking Song
WINE comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.
I'm working all sorts of extra hours this week so blogging time is kind of cut into. I first shared this post four years ago so I think it's safe to assume most of you have not seen this before.
We lived in Arima, Trinidad for the bulk of our stay on the island. Come with me as I remember my first walk through Trinidad's third largest city.
It's a hot September day in Trinidad. We've just moved into a lovely house on the outskirts of Arima. It's the biggest house I've ever lived in to date, a yellow one story, concrete block house. We've got palm trees, hibiscus, fruit trees and all sorts of flowering tropical bushes in the yard. Our shipment of household goods from the US hasn't arrived yet and we haven't had a chance to buy any furniture yet. We have some borrowed folding chairs, a mattress on the floor, Diana's porta-crib and what we could carry in suitcases. We have no phone service, that won't come for weeks yet. Things move a bit slowly down here. We haven't got a car either. But we are here! Let's go grab a taxi and see what we can find in Arima.
The three of us walk the half mile out to O'Meara Rd. to catch a taxi. There are maxi-taxis which look like airport buses. They have colored stripes on the sides to designate whether they travel east/west or north/south. There are also all sorts of private cars that function as taxis. We recognize them by the license late number which starts with 'H' for 'hire.' On a busy road like O'Meara there is no trouble finding a taxi. The slightest eye contact with a driver or nod of your head brings one to a screeching halt. Even if a full one passes by it is only a matter of a minute or two before another one comes along. An H-car stops for us and the driver asks, "Long drop or short?" The befuddled Americans look at each other and he clarifies, "Where all yuh goin'?" Oh just into Arima, please. "Ok, dat is a long drop as I will be crossing de Bus Route den. Just so yuh know. Tree TT dollahs fuh a long drop, two fuh a short." We peer out the windows all along the ride, watching coconut trees, strange buildings, and an endless parade of other taxis whiz by. The driver rather skillfully dodges the massive potholes and ditches along the side of the road in spite of some of the tight squeezes that look utterly impossible. We disembark in downtown Arima and the driver indicates where the O'Meara Rd. taxi stand is situated so we know for our return trip. Aside from being white Americans, which makes it impossible to camouflage, we must have that "just off the boat/deer in the headlights" look to us. I'm grateful for the kindness.
We head right into the thick of the action. It's market day so the town is full of shoppers, though it is late morning and the latecomers will be scrambling for the remnants of the fresh produce. Hills of bright red tomatoes, sheaves of local dasheen bush and cooking herbs, mountains of more kinds of bananas than I knew existed stretch out on rows of tables shielded by tarps or wooden roofs. Gigantic pawpaws dangle from roofs and pyramids of watermelons tempt me. Watermelon in September! Awesome! I'm a bit shocked by the booth with all manner of pig parts. And I mean all manner! The table draws my attention like a car wreck. There are rows for ears, tails, snouts, whole heads, and feet! I silently swear to myself not to ask what parts of a pig are in a dish I may be served in the future. Ignorance will be bliss. The call of, "Potatoes $2 a pong (pound)!" and the counter of, "Oh gosh, gyal! So much? De next one ovah have it $1.75 a pong!" snaps me back to attention.
We slowly work our way out of the market and back to the street. We pass Royal Bank and stroll toward The Dial. At the central crossroads of Arima stands a clock. When the town was first founded it was an actual sundial. No one remains who would have seen the sundial but the spot is still referred to by that name. On our way, we stroll through the main business district. There are stores and a few restaurants. We see lots of Trinidadian franchises among the appliance stores, the grocery, clothiers and fabric shops, lots of mom and pop type stores too. We take notice of the offices for the local utility companies. Little do we realize how much time we will spend standing in those lines over the next few months. My eye is so drawn to the fabric stores (so much variety, so cheap, and such good quality! I can't resist!) and I ask Mr. Lime if he minds me wandering through one. He says no but he will keep walking with Diana since she has lots of energy. They will meet me back here in 20 minutes.
The time passes. I exit the store and wait for a few minutes. I see no sign of them. I check my watch and see a half hour has passed. I'm not worried but I wonder if I should stay here or go look for them. I stand on the corner at the Dial, in the center of Trinidad's 3rd largest city, looking up one street and down the other. I am a complete stranger but a lady going on her way and without missing a step informs me, "Yuh husban' an' chile up by de post office." Um, ok. Thank you! I take my chances as I find my way to the post office and sure enough, there they are! I guess when you are so obviously foreign, people know you belong together. As I tell my story Mr. Lime and I share quite a giggle over it.
It's getting hot and we are getting hungry so we decide on a street vendor for some doubles, two small saffron-colored, soft pancakes filled with curried chickpeas and potatoes. The vendor asks if we want pepper. We ask how hot because we've had some encounters already. The vendor obliges us with a short course on the types of pepper available not only for doubles but for any dish you can imagine. Mr. Lime decides he is content with "slight pepper." The vendor counters with a bit of picong (good natured ribbing) about the relative weakness of American tongues and stomachs in being able to handle a proper Trini pepper. The doubles are incredibly cheap and really filling and delicious! We wash it all down with "sweetdrink." Mr. Lime goes for a Coke, I want to try the local favorite Big Red. I'm not a big soda drinker normally, but under the blazing tropical sun it sure hits the spot. We double check with him about the location of the O'Meara taxi stand and head over.
We decide on the maxi-taxi this time since one has been parked a few minutes and is waiting for a final set of passengers to fill up before leaving. We squeeze in and settle among the other passengers and all their goods from market day. The aromas of herbs, peppers, ripe fruits and various toiletries swirl around inside the maxi. It may be tropical but it's unlikely you'll encounter BO on a maxi in Trinidad. People here are fastidious in hygiene. Even if you don't have running water in your house you either haul water to bathe twice a day or you take your turn bathing at a public standpipe by the side of the road. As we bump down the road toward home we see a couple of children being lathered, scrubbed, and rinsed by one such standpipe. Our road is coming up, we indicate to the driver where to stop, pay our fare and step out. Diana is asleep on my shoulder and we slowly walk the half mile back to our house. It's the heat of the day and time for all of us to be resting.
Carload of teens. One boy shouts, "Let's hit Taco Bell!" The driver is broke. "I'll buy you a taco." The driver winks at his girlfriend. Exiting the drive-thru he offers her half the taco. "Dude, I bought the taco for you NOT her!" "Get used to it, man. Anything I get I'm sharing with her."
DA COUNT
Calypso has a first boyfriend. There is one seriously twitterpated young lady at Chez Lime. It's really pretty adorable to watch. She's been infatuated before and there have been some young men who have been googoo eyed over her in the past but this is the first time there has been reciprocal twitterpation. The really lovely part though is that it's coming at a time when Calypso has been consistently making good choices and has shown a lot of maturity. Similarly, the young man seems to be a really kind and gentlemanly soul who exhibits his own good character in a number of ways, including but not limited to, being the kind of guy who doesn't think twice about sharing his taco with her when neither of them has money and someone else buys him one...and unashamedly defending his consideration when some bonehead gets on his case for it.
Perhaps you recall the tacky tourist post from a few weeks back. If time has erased the image from your mind and I just traumatized you anew, please accept my sincerest apologies. In light of Tuesday's post about Trini pals shopping in the US I thought I'd share a few more somewhat dorky pictures of myself shopping and sewing in Trinidad. While lots of friends shop here for the cheap ready made clothes, shoes, electronics, and school supplies I love to shop for fabric in Trinidad because I can easily find nice quality fabric for super cheap compared to US prices. This picture is again from the first trip I took in 1989. I saw the fabric shop and went inside. I was so taken by the rows of bolts of Indian fabrics and the gorgeous colors I asked the owners if they minded If I snapped some pictures. I intended to get some semi artsy shots of the fabrics themselves but the owners had different ideas. This was a marketing opportunity for them so the wife came out and arranged her husband, her son, and me in the pose you see here. I never did get to take the shots I wanted but I did buy some beautiful fabrics....admittedly because I wanted my mom to sew some things for me. I had some rudimentary sewing skills at that point but not much confidence in my own ability.
Later when we moved to Trinidad and I found out I was pregnant with Calypso it became necessary for me to start expanding my sewing skills because ready to wear maternity clothes were either very hard to find in stores or outrageously expensive when they were found. Since my mom is an accomplished seamstress she was delighted to hear I intended to make some of my own clothes and asked me to send pictures of the finished products. Here's a black skirt and a crazy blouse I sewed. I have no defense for the print I chose for the blouse. I think I was trying to prove I wasn't a dowdy American because I heard from a lot of Trini pals that they considered American women lacking in style since we wore a lot of neutral colors and shapeless clothes.
Here is a picture of me wearing the only set of pants I have ever constructed. The t-shirt was bought. (Diana is modeling a dainty pj top with a saggy diaper and her mother's shoes.) Don't make fun of this print. I actually like it. Besides, the fabric was a gift from a friend after we were robbed. The thieves took all the fabric I had just purchased the day before. My friend was very generous to give me her own yardage. The part which is really funny is the sewing process. I cut out the pieces and basted them together so I could try them on and fit them properly. As you can see they were capris which tapered at the knee. Being maternity pants they were designed to expand quite a lot at the waist. However, when I tried on the basted pair I struggled greatly to pull them up over my merely second trimester baby bump. I huffed and puffed as I worked them up over my hips and belly mumbling under my breath about what kind of stupid maternity pattern would produce a garment too small to wear when I was only 5 months pregnant. Then I took a look in the mirror and noticed how they flared at the knees like bell bottom pants. Doh! It was the stupid seamstress who sewed them together upside down! Don't ask me how I managed that trick. I really don't know. I ripped out the basting, sewed them together right-side up, and tried them on again. This time I noticed the left leg was kind of baggier than the right leg. I had used the two front pieces to form one leg and the two back pieces to form the other leg. Again, I don't know how I managed that particular arrangement but this time I didn't rip them out. By that point I just wanted a pair of pants that looked relatively normal so I just took in the baggy side and called it a day. Mom howled with laughter when I described my sewing process with these pants. In a rather Tim Gunn manner she said I had marked a milestone in my development as a seamstress by having my own improvisational "making it work moment."
Finally, we come to the mother of all maternity dresses. Again, I had the wild colors. I may have been to the point where only shapeless bags would fit me but by golly I was not going to be accused of lacking color even if it was dizzyingly garish (by less daring standards) to see an entire wall of it waddling around. By the end of the pregnancy this was the only dress that fit in a way which was presentable publicly and the push toe sandals were the only shoes I could get on my feet at all. I actually still have the dress. I like to pull it out on horribly hot summer days just to wear around the house when I am cleaning because it's roomy and cool. Yeah, I am such a fashion maven.
*Exit stage left singing "I'm too sexy for my dress, too sexy for my sandals, to sexy for those pants..."
