i also remember a large wooden fork and spoon hanging on the kitchen wall

Yesterday morning, I was going through old archives of Chookooloonks, and came upon this story that I had written when Alex was 2, and we were still living in Trinidad.  When I read it, I laughed heartily, since (a) I didn't remember ever writing it, and (b) I didn't remember ever living it.   The sad fact is that if I hadn't actually written that account, I'm not sure I would've believed it happened.

The truth is that I have an absolutely horrible memory.  Huge swaths of my past are gone forever.  I don't think I could name 10 friends I had in any particular school that I attended (and given that my family moved every 2 years of my childhood, that's a lot of schools).  I have vague recollections of major events happening -- a going-away party in 8th grade when my family was moving back to Trinidad, prom night my senior year -- but I remember only a very few details of those occasions.  When friends ask me if I remember So-and-So, someone I would've known more than, say, 7 years ago, they're often met with blank stares.  I'm awful.

And yet, there are certain details of which I have a crystal clear recollection:

•  I remember the house we moved into when I was 5 years old, located at the end of Now-For-Now Road ("now-for-now" is a Trini-ism for "immediately").  I remember it was a grey, dilapidated 2-story house, with window units, and a cracked concrete patio.  I remember that bats lived in ceiling, and at nighttime, you could hear them skittering across the roofline.  I remember the back yard was sand, with a rickety wooden gate that opened right onto Mayaro beach.  

•  I remember, when I was 11 years old, getting my very first "stereo" for Christmas -- it was, in fact, simply a turntable with speakers, and I was completely blown away that I'd have a stereo in my bedroom.  I remember opening a corner of the wrapping paper, and discovering that the box held this stereo that I'd coveted for so long, rocking back and forth in fetal position while my parents laughed at my reaction.  I remember getting it all set up in my room, and putting on my very first LP (the Grease soundtrack), and listening to it over, and over, and over.

•  As a teenager, I remember many evenings sitting in my grandmother's room after school, with her sitting in her rocking chair telling me stories of when my mom and her brother and sister were kids (but sadly, I don't remember any details of any of the stories).  I remember Granny used to smell like Limacol, unless she was going out, and then she smelled like Chanel No. 5.  I remember Grandpa used to smell like Old Spice and pipe tobacco.  I remember Granny's wardrobe smelled like mothballs, which I loved.

•  I barely remember graduating from college -- like, I have no memory of it whatsoever -- but I do remember an instant when I was graduating from law school:  I remember climbing the stairs onto the stage, shaking the dean's hand, and as I crossed the stage clutching my diploma, one of my favourite professors got up from his seat to hug me.  I remember being incredibly moved by the gesture, and know that I'll never forget every detail of that moment (but I don't remember how I managed to walk down off the stage afterwards, or where my seat was, or even exactly what building on campus that the commencement ceremony was held).

We've lived in our current house for 7 years -- longer than I've ever lived in any house in my life -- and yesterday evening, as I was sitting in our dining room taking a few photographs (because I liked how the light was falling on a thrift-store clay pot I bought -- 9? 10? -- years ago), I thought about how grateful I am that I've been blogging this long, and shooting this long, to help trigger memories of my marriage/motherhood (and I vowed not to stop as long as my fingers and eyes work).  I wondered how much Alex will remember of her childhood when she's an adult -- if things like my perfume, or Christmas presents, or tiny acts of kindness and support from professors will be the only things etched in her memory, or if she'll remember every detail about her life.

So, if you're so inclined, share with me:  do you have a good memory?  What memory stands out from your childhood?

Song:  Little talks by Julia Sheer & Jon D.

desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. 
Be careful.
Strive to be happy.

© Max Ehrmann 1927

---

Every few years or so, ever since I was about 14 years old, I re-read this poem, and in every instance, I'm always surprised at how relevant it is to my current life.  I share it with you now, in the off-chance it resonates with you as well.

in the mirror

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

They're also more distorted:  warped because of the barrage of messages we receive from television and movies and music and even corporations about what beautiful is supposed to look like, or what cool is supposed to look like, or what breathtaking is supposed to look like, or what human is supposed to look like.  What we see in the mirror is never going to be what we see in the media because what we see in the media is often computer-aided fantasy -- and we're forget that fantasy isn't reality.   And seduced by inadequacy, we fail to accept or even recognize the mere possibility that reality might be even better. 

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

They're also more limited:  because the mirror is incapable of capturing context.  The mirror won't tell you that the person it reflects is also capable of incredible generosity. Or humour. Or kindness.  The mirror doesn't tell the rich history of the ancestors that gifted those eyes, that nose, those hips -- ancestors who also gifted that work ethic, that resilience, that capacity for deep empathy.  The mirror is incapable of reflecting the vast scope of attributes that might be present whenever someone is in the presence of real, breathtaking beauty.

Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

They're also more incomplete.  Because mirrors are only capable of reflecting a specific moment in time -- and we rarely live in that specific moment in time.  Because mirrors are never around to show us what we look like the instant someone we love walks into a room.  Or when we suddenly laugh at a funny joke.  Or when we're enjoying a peaceful moment, in a beautiful place, with company we enjoy.  Mirrors are never there when we're truly shining.  Mirrors, for all their reflective properties, never show us our light.  Even though there's no question that we all radiate light.

Objects in mirror are not what they appear.

Song:  We are all made of stars by Moby

---

Today's post inspired by the "In the mirror" prompt from Write Alm's March Prompt-A-Day.  You can read all of the prompts here.

this was a good week

Here's what made this week awesome:

•  I spent some time photographing Houston and the intimate-yet-highly-funky venue of my upcoming workshop.  Things are slowly coming together, friends, ever slowly!

•  "I had begun to enjoy the seduction of inadequacy ... Beauty wasn't something I could acquire or consume.  Beauty was just something I had to be."  Preach, Lupita.  Trust me, this 5-minute talk given by Academy Award winner Lupita Nyong'o at the Essence awards is worth your time:  it is the very soul of the Beauty of Different.

•  This week I got to see my friend Kim Coles perform in her one-woman show, Oh But Wait, There's More!!  People.  Kim is fabulous (you can see a few clips from her show here).  If you find out she's coming to your town, please do yourself a favour and get tickets.  The show is all about her journey to discovering her own beautiful different, and it's a helluva ride.  (Heads up, Raleigh-Durham, I know she's headed your way soon -- and if you want to find out when she's coming to your town, click on her Facebook page and sign up for her email list.)

•  The talented Christina Rosalie turned me on to this list of writing prompts.  Beautiful. I suspect I'll be using this in the coming weeks...

•  Dude.  Corals are animals.  I had no idea.

•  This photo.  Tell the truth -- you watched it go down and it made you smile, too.

•  I'm loving this style & lifestyle blog, run by two sisters, right here in H-town.  Beautiful images, sweet stories:  it is, indeed, mucho mucho bueno bueno.

•  My friend Lola, a travel writer and photographer, accidentally tried to get over on a hapless Peruvian woman.  (Seriously, it was an accident.)  Lola didn't succeed; however, writing about the experience earned her the bronze award in the “Travel and Shopping” category of the 8th Annual Solas Awards for Travel Writing by Travelers Tales!

•  And as long as we're traveling, time to go back home: this week was Carnival in Trinidad & Tobago.  I haven't "played 'mas" since 2006, and I miss it "bad too bad," as we say at home; however, the guys over at Uncommon Caribbean beautifully captured what it feels like to be there in all that revelry.  Check it out. (And check out these amazing photos of how it all went down here.)

And finally for the song of the day, one of this year's songs for Carnival, First Time, by one of Trinidad's most famous soca artists, Destra.  (Aside:  note that the song is about what it feels like the first time you dance and participate in Carnival revelry, and nothing more salacious;  that said, as with most Carnival music, while the lyrics are safe for work, the double-meaning is almost certainly intended).

(Aside #2:  before you click on the link, understand that the proper way to listen to this is to turn up your volume way up, and just let the music take you.  So if you're not in a place where that can happen, I'd save it for later.  If you are in a place where you can turn up the volume, and you also happen to have a glass of rum nearby, well ... let's just say that I'm not responsible for your subsequent behaviour.  Fair warning.)

Enjoy.

On that (somewhat homesick) note, have a wonderful weekend, friends.  See you Monday.

random thoughts: on passing time

A couple of weeks ago, I was having dinner with a friend of mine who had recently celebrated her 29th birthday.  She wasn't very happy about it:  it seemed her 30th birthday felt like a deadline, a looming reminder of everything she had yet to accomplish -- and she felt, I suppose, like time was running out.

I'm in my mid-forties, and I have to admit that I was a bit stunned that she was so keenly feeling the passage of time.  Good Lord, I remember thinking to myself.  At 30, I was only just beginning to feel like a grownup.  And in truth, my 30s were awesome.   It was a decade of all sorts of adventure:  international travel, international residence, relationships (marriage, motherhood), huge career shifts.  I feel like I did most of my growing up in my 30s.  "Oh, honey," I said to my friend, "the truth is you've only just begun.  You've finally approached adulthood -- and you've got so many more adulthoods ahead of you."

I admit that I felt a bit wistful as I said it:  after all, in my current state of mind, "mid-40s" means "middle aged."  And they don't call it "middle aged" because you're young and dewy anymore, a nagging voice in the back of my mind insisted.  She's young, but time is running out for you.

---

On a recent flight, I tucked into a new book, Dancing Fish and Ammonites, by Penelope Lively.  It's a memoir, written by the author at 80-years-old, and includes her considered thoughts on aging.  I'm about 3/4 of the way through (and it has been delicious all the way), but this particular passage, written at near the beginning of the book, turned me inside out:

Years ago, I heard Anthony Burgess speak at the Edinburgh Book Festival.  He was impressive in that he spoke for an hour without a single note, fluent and coherent.  But of the content of his talk, all I remember are his opening words:  'For me, death is already sounding its high C.'  This was around 1980, I think, so he was in his early sixties at the time, and died in 1993.  I was in my late forties, and he seemed to me -- not old, exactly, but getting on a bit.  Today, people in their sixties seem -- not young, just nicely mature.  Old age is in the eye of the beholder.  I am eighty, so I am old, no question.

And then later in the book, as she talks about her life in the 1990s, she says this:

We are into the 1990s here,  and I have hit sixty.  I don't remember feeling especially bothered about this -- full of energy still, writing, living.  The view from eighty says:  huh! a mere slip of a girl -- just you wait.

 I love that her view from 80 considers 60 to be "a mere slip of a girl."  I love that she considers 60 to be simply "nicely mature."

Age, it appears, ain't nothin' but perspective. 

And now, after reading this book, it seems I've only just begun, too.

Song:  Fly like an eagle, as performed by Seal

#lookforthelight: february 2014

I know, I know -- I'm so sorry I'm late for the February #lookforthelight!  But it was a short month, Alex's birthday, and ...

Anyway.

Here's the good news, though:  you guys so came through.  I mean, let's face it, weather-wise, February packed a punch this year, didn't it?  And yet, despite the grey, the slush, the thundersleet, for heaven's sake, you guys came through.

Here are some of my very favourites.  Please be sure to click on the names of the photographers -- there's even more good stuff in each of their streams.

---

Left:  @mamaherenow
Right:  @crystalmoody
 

Left:  @amandacthall
Right:  @staceyechin
 

Left:  @retro_blonde
Right:  @schmutziemorgan
 

Left:  @annettek14
Right:  @ppestana1
 

Left:  @here_we_be
Right:  @xantheb
 

You guys are so great -- thanks so much for sharing your beautiful work.  See you in March.

Song:  The moon song by Karen O

---

Thanks again to all of you who participated this month in #lookforthelight -- keep 'em coming!  If you'd like to participate and you have an Instagram account (it's free), simply grab shots of the light in your life with your mobile device, and add the hashtag "#lookforthelight" to your shot, either in the caption or in the comments.  I'll feature my 10 favourite shots again at the end of March here on Chookooloonks, giving lots of link love, naturally.  And of course, click here to see all the submissions (and feel free to follow along my own progress at heychookooloonks on Instagram!).

of ice cream and family outings (and getting #slabhappy)

When I was 14-15 years old, for reasons that had to do with my education and the location of my father's employment, I lived with my maternal grandparents, Henry & Carmen Alexis.  They lived in a hilly suburb of Port-of-Spain, the capital of Trinidad & Tobago, in a rambling 1-storey house.

Henry & Carmen Alexis, my maternal grandparents, on their wedding day.

Every week for two years, I would be driven to my grandparents' home two hours away from where my parents and sister lived on late Sunday evenings, and then right after school on Fridays, I'd be driven back the two-hour drive to our family home in the small fishing village of Mayaro.  Because I spent such a large part of my weeks with my grandparents,   I became incredibly close to them -- so close, that when it came to naming our daughter, I wouldn't even entertain the thought of naming her anything other than their surname.

Occasionally, of course, I wouldn't return to Mayaro, and instead, my family would come up to spend the weekend with my grandparents.  And on those weekend, my grandparents would delight in taking my sister and me, along with our baby cousin, Jason, on a special outing for ice cream.

I remember in my jaded teenage years being somewhat amused by the whole thing:  "We're going out for ice cream!" Grandpa would announce grandly, like we were going to the opera, or something that I deemed far more fancy than ice cream.  "And we will be leaving on Saturday afternoon at 2 o'clock sharp, so please be ready."  Then at the appointed time, we'd climb into my grandfather's ancient sedan -- a 20-something-year-old beast that rattled with every pothole, and had windows that you had to manually wind up or down with a crank, for heaven's sake -- and off we'd putter to a local ice cream café.  The café was really nothing to speak of, and had only a few flavours:  vanilla, chocolate or strawberry (I always chose chocolate), rum-raisin and, of course, coconut.  The ice cream was delicious -- this was the time before synthetic additives, after all, and save for the strawberries, the ice cream and ingredients were all local and handmade.  So the truth is that even though I might have been a bit snobbish each time we headed out, by the time I'd taken that final bite of ice cream, I was really happy that Grandpa took the time to do this for us.

---

Several weeks ago, I was approached by Marble Slab Creamery to experience their ice creams, specifically because they now offer "unlimited mix-ins" -- as many of their offered ingredients mixed into your chosen flavour of ice cream as you'd like.  Since I'm a fan of their ice cream (they include Trinidad as one of their international locations), they source their dairy from local farms and mix the ice cream in their actual stores -- plus, let's be real, my family just loves ice cream in general -- I happily agreed.  

And so, on the first fine day of the year in Houston a couple of weeks ago, Marcus, Alex and I headed out to our local store.

Because Alex never met a sweet she didn't like, when she heard that she could have anything she wanted mixed into her ice cream for no additional cost, she went to town:  she chose birthday cake ice cream, with the added mix-ins of gummy bears, chocolate chips, and cookie dough.

Girlfriend does not play when it comes to her ice cream. 

Alex's mix-ins being added to her ice cream on the chilled marble slab (hence the name).  For the record, if the lovely woman who took care of us was horrified by Alex's choice of mix-ins, she was a total professional and didn't let on one bit.

Marcus was a bit more reasonable:  he chose cheesecake- and rum-flavoured ice creams, with coconut and chocolate chip mix-ins.

I'd like to think his choice reflects my Caribbean influence on the man.  

As for me, I remain a purist:  simply sweet cream ice cream with Oreos added in.  Because Oreos, as you know, are milk's favourite cookie.

The ice cream was delicious, of course.  But I also had the added bonus of suddenly remembering all those little outings of going out for ice cream with my grandparents, sister and cousin.  And as Marcus, Alex and I sat there on the Marble Slab Creamery patio, eating our ice cream that beautiful day, I couldn't help think, really, why don't we do this more often?  It seems to me that in this day and age, of Pinterest-perfect birthday parties and beautifully-decorated holidays, we've -- okay, I've --  forgotten about little things like just climbing into the car with the family and going out for ice cream, for no other reason that making the ice cream outing the event itself.  

And I suddenly realized that this was a little tradition I really wanted to begin again for Alex, especially in the incredibly hot, humid summers that Houston is known for and will surely arrive soon.   Because really, why not?

Anyway, because Marble Slab Creamery is so awesome, as part of this experience they're also allowing me to give away a USD $25 gift card -- which seems particularly appropriate, what with this being Alex's birthday week, the fact that she chose birthday-cake-flavoured ice cream, and so on.  So leave a comment with your favourite ice cream flavour, and I'll pick one commenter at random to win the gift card for you to start your own ice cream memories.  

I'll announce the winner by updating this post tomorrow, March 5th.  One comment per person, please, and as always, good luck, friends.

update, wednesday, march 5:

According to Random.org, the winner of the gift certificate is Sarah, who said: "Any kind of chocolate :) The best ice cream I've ever had was on a family ice cream outing....what a great tradition to start!"  Congrats, Sarah! Please keep a lookout in your inbox for an email from me, requesting your snail mail deets.

And thanks to all of you who commented -- looks like I have a ton more flavours to try. :) 

Song:  Ice cream by Sarah McLachlan

---

Thanks much to Marble Slab Creamery for sponsoring this post, as part of their Direct your Delicious™ Unlimited Mix-Ins campaign.  Marble Slab Creamery has a variety of gourmet flavours and mix-in possibilities, and produces their ice cream made with real dairy from local farms, making as many of their products as possible from scratch, including their cones.  And Marcus, Alex and I can attest that it's all really, really good.

ten

Alex is 10 years old today.  Which, you know, is insane.  

The urge to share photographs I've taken every year on her birthday is strong, but I did that a couple of years ago, when she turned 8 -- so  I won't put you through that again.  However, since I don't really share parenting stories here anymore, Alex only appears in the blog every once in a while, and finally reaching "double-digits" is a pretty important time in a kid's life, I figured I needed to do something a bit special.  So this year, I decided to interview her so you can sort of get to know her first hand; also, since there are a few of you who have been reading Chookooloonks since the very beginning when she was born, I figured it might be interesting for you to see how she's grown up during this time.  

I decided to start with the Proust Questionnaire (editing it for questions that she might not yet be old enough to give it considerable thought), and then turned to Twitter to invite people to submit questions that they would like me to ask her.  The following are her answers:

What is your idea of a perfect day?

Watching TV with my mom by a fireplace.

What country would you most like to visit?

Spain -- it seems cool, because of their culture, and I've heard that they have elaborate celebrations. (I'm not sure which ones she's talking about, but I suspect La Tomatina would be right up her alley.   -- Ed.)

When and where were you happiest?

At home with my mom today.  (I swear I didn't tell her to say that.  -- Ed.)

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Sewing a skirt and getting my black belt.

What is your most treasured possession?

Baby Lion.

What do you most value in your friends?

Kindness.

Who are your favourite writers?

Megan Frazer Blakemore (author of Water Castle) and Eve Yohalem (author of Escape Under the Forever Sky).

Who is your favourite fictional heroine, and why?

I think Akeelah from the movie Akeelah and the Bee.  She's smart, funny and nice.

Who are your heroes in real life?

My mom, dad and my dog, Rufus.  (Someone give this kid some chocolate.  -- Ed.)

What is your motto?

Sharing is caring.

How'd you get to be so awesome?

My family and friends treat me so awesomely!

Where do you think you'll be 10 years from now?

I think I'll be in Paris, fashion designing in my little house made of bricks, looking out at Notre Dame!

Song:  Let it go, as performed by Idina Menzel.  Today's song naturally chosen by Alex.  Happy birthday, sweet girl.

this was a good week

We're back at it, friends!  Here are the things that made this week a great week:

•  Shooting, writing, preparing for my upcoming workshop.  I love being this energized.  Love it.  Once it goes live, you're all invited.

•  The sci-fi geek in me is completely tickled by these illustrations, reimagining Star Wars as a John-Hughes-esque high school drama.  (Leia's headphones slay me dead.)

•  Spending time with the ONE Campaign in Washington DC earlier this week.  In addition to reconnecting with some great friends, we also heard amazing stories about the successes being realized in fighting extreme poverty (for example, did you know that extreme poverty has decreased by 44% in Ghana between 1992 and 2006, and by 49% in Ethiopia between 1995 and 2011?  Such awesome news.)

•  Speaking of the ONE Campaign, they recently shared these beautiful portraits by Mario Gerth on their blog.  I need to step up my portrait photography game, man.

•  This photograph of my friend Joshua (aka "Gilligan") made me indescribably happy (and a little homesick for the Caribbean).

•  An artist recreates six famous cultural icons (Rodin's The Thinker, Forrest Gump, Mad Men, Michaelangelo's The Creation of Adam, Reservoir Dogs & Daft Punk), all in one take, for the Sunday Times.  I love smooth and clever.

•  Everything about this photograph of a groom's reaction as his bride walks down the aisle.  Fantastic. 

•  Alex is having a slumber party tonight.  I love how excited she is about it.

•  And finally, the song of the day:  anchorman Brian Williams "rapping" Rapper's Delight.  I can't stop watching it.

Have a great weekend, friends.  See you Monday.

i might be a loropetalum

This winter has been unseasonably cold for Houston, including a couple of days when the plants in our garden were covered in ice.  This made me nervous.  I am not a gardener (by any stretch of the imagination), but a few years ago, when we were in the throes of a drought and neighbourhood water rationing, many of the lush foliage in our back yard died a brown, crispy death.  This naturally led my completely-untrained-gardening-mind to believe that "unusual weather patterns" necessarily equals "spectacular plant death" and, as such, recently I have been peering outside in the certainty that I would see our remaining foliage rolling over in their beds (pun!), their little leafless limbs up in the air in frigid death.

So you might imagine my surprise when yesterday, I looked outside and saw the bushes had exploded in vibrant pink, almost in defiance to the cold snap that had suddenly sauntered into Houston in the afternoon.  It was like the plants muttered to themselves, "To hell with it: I don't care that conditions aren't favourable, or that there may be challenges.  I'm going for it anyway."  

It was a sign.

---

For the past year, I've been toying with the idea of offering in-person workshops and retreats -- even going so far as checking out possible venues in various cities.  But try as I might, I couldn't go through with it.  I kept hesitating, unsure about what I was doing.

But over the past week, I've had a few conversations, not the least of which was with the inimitable Andrea Scher.  After brainstorming with her for a few hours, I realized that I'm totally ready to do this.  It's go time.

I'm not ready to reveal everything quite yet, but suffice to say that I'm moving full steam ahead.  Give me about 6 weeks, and I'll share all the details with you. 

It's going to be a great year.