Chookooloonks

sunday photo review

Here's how we spent our Sunday:

It's good to be home.

my steel drum

In the summer of 2003, having returned to Houston from London, newly-married to an Englishman and firmly entrenched in my career as a corporate attorney, Trinidad seemed very, very far away. Part of me was disturbed by this: while Marcus and I weren't yet ready to have children (that decision didn't happen for another three months or so), I found myself wondering how I would keep my culture alive to our kids if we ever had any. Our lives in America seemed pretty grounded, and if we left, it likely would've been back to the United Kingdom. I didn't think my handful of Trini recipes and calypso CDs were going to go far enough to keep my Trinidadian-ness truly present.

So, I decided (rather irrationally, it could be argued), I had to have a steel drum -- an instrument native to Trinidad & Tobago. Not a fake one, either. It had to be authentic. So that I could teach myself to play.

My poor, long-suffering husband went on a quest to find me a steel drum. Luckily for him, my dad had contacts, and within a few days, Marcus had located a steel drum maker in Trinidad. A few weeks later, just in time for my birthday, a shiny beautiful steel drum arrived on our doorstep in Houston. We assembled it the stand, attached the drum, and displayed it proudly in our living room....

...where it sat for the next 2 years, collecting dust.

Of course, times change, and we found ourselves here in Trinidad. I figured my opportunity to actually learn to play the thing had finally arrived: I quickly found an instructor, and for a few months, took twice-weekly lessons. I began building a repertoire, and now, I can do chromatic scales up and down the thing like blazes. Eventually, hectic travel schedules, frequent out-of-town guests and, most recently, my new job caused the lessons to fall by the wayside; however, every once in a while, I take the drum outside on our veranda and practice, its haunting notes ringing out purely in the evening air. It's also a great way to call Alex -- as soon as she hears its resonant tones, she comes running, and she's drawn to any music that includes a steel drum.

I don't know how long our family will remain here in Trinidad; however, I take such pride in the fact that if we ever move, I'll take my new-found skill with me. And now, more than just being a rather large, shiny tschotschke sitting in the corner of my living room, it's a tangible form of my culture that I hope I can continue to share with Alex.

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if this isn't the last straw, i believe we fast approach it

Early this evening, our housekeeper/babysitter called me from her home, audibly shaken. It appears that just after she left our apartment complex grounds, a man began following her, gradually getting closer and closer. After some distance, she noticed some security guards parked under a tree, she went and stood nearby.

"Why aren't you walking?" the man asked her.

"I'm just not," she responded.

"You should be walking," he responded, and revealed a knife that he had hidden under his clothes.

Celeste remained where she was, certain that if the man tried to harm her, the guards would intervene (why she didn't just walk over to the guards and tell them what was happening is anyone's guess). They stood there like that, staring at each other at a veritable impasse, for about 20 minutes. Eventually, two more men came down the street, and she fell in step with them. The man with the knife disappeared.

Thank goodness she's okay, and escaped unharmed. What's distressing is that this occurred in our neighbourhood, which arguably is one of the safer neighbourhoods of the city. Further, it happened in broad daylight. This obviously ends my morning runs -- and while it's true that I hated every minute of them, I detest that my routine ends this way. What's more, I'll no longer leave our grounds unless I'm in my car -- windows up, and doors locked.

Crime in Trinidad & Tobago has officially and empirically spiralled out of control. Latest statistics indicate that we are now well over a murder a day for 2006 -- and that's just the ones they're reporting.

As much as I love my country, I fear my patience with it is wearing very thin.

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as requested by island spice

Our home, Divali 2006

Happy Divali, everyone.

weekend update: divali, the festival of lights, and creativity

The diya Alex decorated at her school this week.

Tonight is Divali, the Hindu "Festival of Lights." This evening, thousands of families in Trinidad will decorate the exterior of their homes with small lanterns, or diyas, as "a sign of celebration and hope for mankind" and triumph of good over evil.

Now that's a festival I can get behind.

In further celebration of this joyful day, I thought I'd share with you some of my favourite recent posts from my favourite creative bloggers:

First, from beautiful art blog woolgathering, Elizabeth shares the materials she uses to make her beautiful images. I actually used this post to put together a small kit for Marcus' birthday last month, and now he's making quick images every night. For those of you frustrated artists out there who never seem to find the time to create, these items might be just the thing to get you going.

Also, from my new favourite spirit, Jen Lemen, more inspiration on how to get creatively unstuck. For those of you who, like me, are new to the whole creative scene, these words can get you started.

And finally, if you're trying to figure out the perfect gift for someone you love, check out this beautiful gift Elspeth recently received for her fortieth birthday. Also? I love this definition of "creativity" -- it makes me want to go out and get creative right now.

With that, Happy Divali, everybody. Although we're not Hindu, we will be lighting diyas tonight on our veranda. And if you're of a mind to celebrate your hope for mankind, consider lighting a candle in your home tonight, too.

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a clear and present danger of turning this website into all things bob marley

This morning, I am convinced Alex was channeling The Ghost of Bob Marley.* The entire way to school, she sang his songs at the top of her lungs. Since those of you out there in Internetland cannot actually hear my little cherub belting out The Wailers' Greatest Hits, I shall once again attempt to convey to you how bad beautiful it sounds:

"mmmmfFALO SOLJAH!
mmmmlocked raSTA!
BuFALO SOLJAH!
BORN IN AMERICA!!"

(She knows that last line well because she knows that she, too, was BORN IN AMERICA.)

When I finally dropped her off at school (thus making her dulcet tones her teacher's issue), I sped home and went for a run. The second reason I know The Ghost of Bob Marley was close to us today is because as soon as I walked through the gates of our complex and stepped onto our street, the distinct smell of marijuana suddenly hit me in the face, even though as far as I could tell I was alone on the road.

And frankly, I couldn't help laughing to myself.

Every little thing is gonna be all right, indeed.

* Not to be confused with The Ghost of Jacob Marley. Wrong season, after all.

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i'm all shook up

Immediately after my previous post about the baby velociraptor went live, I felt the strongest earthquake I've ever felt in my life, causing a power outage for the last few hours. Since getting back online, I've been reading rather scholarly summaries of the experience, with Richter scale numbers like 5.5 (no way) to 7 (probably not that high, but it certainly feels believable) being bandied around. Also, this one felt like it lasted forever. However, because I'm no seismologist, the only way I can describe the experience is like this:

shake-a shake-a shake-a ("Oh, wow," I think, "an earthquake!") shake-a shake-a shake-a ("Damn," I think some more, "this is an earthquake...") shake-a shake-a ("...okay, it's stopping now...") SHAKE-A! SHAKE-A! SHAKE-A! SHAKE-A!! ("HOLY SHIT!" -- at which point I run out the door outside) SHAKE-A! SHAKE-A SHAKE-A! (I'm outside, quietly freaking out) shake-a shake-a shake-a (still freaking) shake-a shake-a shake-a (The phone rings, though I still feel the earth moving, I go back inside to answer, knowing it's Marcus) shake-a shake-a shake-a (I pick up the phone, and hear Marcus on the other end saying "It's still going! It's still going!" to someone in the room with him; I say, rather shakily, "hello?") shake-a shake-a shake a (Marcus says, "hey-- are you okay?") shake-a shake-a shake-a STOP.

Marcus' office was evacuated, and Alex's rather unnerved preschool director called to ask parents to come pick their children up, particularly because the power was off. Although cupboard doors opened and slammed shut and several pictures are now catty-wompus on our walls (and my friend Joanna tells me things fell off desktops at her office), at this point there have been no reports of damage or injuries.

That'll teach me to make fun of a lizard, though, I'll tell you what.

Update, 2:36 p.m.: We just had an aftershock about 10 minutes ago -- not nearly as strong, of course, but given the tremor this morning, we're all a bit unnerved. Alex keeps asking, "What happened to the walls?"

Everything's fine -- except now there's no way Elvis Presley's "All Shook Up" is ever going to stop running through my brain. Ugh. Quick, someone sing something else.

Update, 1:06 p.m., Tuesday, October 3rd: If you're interested in what other Trini bloggers were saying about the quake(s), check out this great post by Georgia Popplewell on Global Voices.

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anyone? anyone?

This morning, on my run, a tiny lizard running on its hind legs crossed my path.

Anyone know what kind of tropical lizard that could have been? Because I'm guessing "baby velociraptor" isn't right.
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rainy season

Rain on the veranda/gallery/loggi'al fresco, taken about an hour ago.

Several years ago, when I was preparing to move to London from Houston, several friends who'd lived in England before me were full of well-intended warnings. "London's great," they said. "Except it always rains. And during the winter, it gets dark. Dark and rainy. Do you get depressed with dark and rain? Because seriously, it's dark and rainy. Dark, rainy and ... damn, I'm getting sad just thinking about it."

The truth is, I don't mind dark and rainy at all (cold is another story. Dear Lord in heaven, how I hate the cold). I'm actually sort of comforted by the rain. Perhaps it's because I come from a country that instead of four seasons, has only two: six months of dry weather, and six months of rain. I find the rain soothing. When it rains, I think of hot cups of tea, reading good books curled up on comfy sofas, dinners with family members in warmly-lit kitchens full of laughter. Rain is good.

We're currently in the middle of rainy season right now in Trinidad, and about the same time every afternoon, the skies open up, the house goes all dark, and the rain starts pounding outside. And lately, Alex and I have been developing our rainy day rituals: sometimes we read books, sometimes we cuddle and listen to the rain hit her bedroom window. Right now, she's sitting at my feet, drawing page after page of crayon-filled pictures, while I work on my laptop. And although she's still too young for me to tell, I think she's learning to love the rain as well.

How about you guys -- do you have any favourite things you like to do when it rains?

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not even an avocado can ease the sting of being corrected by my own daughter

This morning Alex and I went to visit Granny the Great, and as we were leaving, she gave us about 10 avocadoes (called "zabocas" here in Trinidad) from the tree in her backyard. These beauties are as big as Alex's head, and the urge to make roast bake and buljol to go with them is overwhelming.

In other news, when I picked Alex up from school yesterday, her teachers said lovely, glow-y things about her, which has officially put my mind at ease.

And in other, other news, Marcus just came in from a 4-hour bike ride, reeking of sweat and funk and smelling to high heaven. "Oh my GOD!" I exclaimed, sincerely horrified, and directed him immediately to the hose outside.

Alex looked at me seriously.

"Mummy, not 'oh my GOD,'" she said, frowning. "Oh my GOSH."

Full of life, indeed.

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