Category Archives: Trinidad Tales

Living the Trini life

Easterness

On Easter this year:

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That is Little Child after eating half the brains of her very first Easter chocolate chick.  It was Cadbury’s milk chocolate–which makes me gag–but I managed to truly enjoy this moment (and the ones where she got chocolate in her hair, in my hair, and all over my leg) nonetheless.

We also went to Port of Spain to see all the kids flying kites on the savannah, played with books all morning, and ate like piggies after she “helped” me make dinner.  How young is too young to zest some lemons?

Ah, Easter traditions old and new… We take some, we make some.  Among the old ones:  making black beans and rice with codfish salad on Good Friday–funny that I ALWAYS stick to that as I’m not remotely Catholic.  Among the new ones:  making vegetarian Greek pastitsio (from Moosewood Celebrates; another adaptation of that dish here)–funny that I ALWAYS (for the last three years, anyway) stick to that as I’m not remotely Greek.

And now, I can add “wiping chocolate out of hair” to the Easter traditions list.

Hope you had a wonderful Easter too!

The Carnival 2013 Wrap-Up

Nothing spectacular to report carnival-wise, I’m afraid.  In the end, despite my cool feelings towards the carnival season this year, I got into it enough to enjoy what we ended up doing–without missing all the stuff we didn’t do.

As for the stuff we did?  We stayed up late watching Soca Monarch last Friday (late being 2 a.m. for me and 4 a.m. for the husband, who is blessed with not having the necessary equipment to nurse a baby that wakes up at 7 a.m. every time her silly mother decides to party it up and stay up late), we caught a couple of hours of kiddie carnival on Saturday, and we lay low until Tuesday, when we went into town to see Tuesday mas in Woodbrook and caught plenty of good vibes while seeing Tribe, Fantasy, Trini Revelers, and a couple of sailor bands go by.

I dare say the child enjoyed her first carnival very much:  she bopped her head for the entirety of kiddie carnival from the side of the Savannah stage (I think Fantastic Friday might be her new favorite song), went “wow wow WOOOOW” at the costumes, drank tons of water while snuggled up in the carrier, and even slept in her carrier for parts of Tuesday mas.  Who in the world sleeps through music trucks blaring soca twenty feet away from you?  My child, that’s who.

Clearly, she’s a very good Trini already. (My apologies for the blurry picture–it was taken on the quick before she got her hands on the headpiece).

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[I also debated posting some pictures of the actual show on the road, but with the new and TOTALLY BULLSHIT photography and copyright regulations that the ridiculous pack of jokers that pass themselves off as government experts enacted for this year, I decided against it.  Why should I post nice pictures and run the risk of being held liable for copyright infringement if the thoroughly unprofessional types that put together carnival magazines take my pictures and use them without my consent?  And how does my posting photos of a street party for non-commercial purposes (because this blog is 100% un-monetized--I make zilch off it and I like it that way) break copyright in any way? 

You can tell this pisses me off to no end... but whatever. Therefore, no pictures of mas on the road, or in the Savannah, or anywhere other than at our friend's house with matching headpieces. And   anyway, it's not like I got great shots with all my gear, what with having a baby strapped to my person and whatnot].

 

 

Who Stole My Carnival?!

It’s carnival on Monday and Tuesday, and it’s been carnival season for weeks, and I think I left my carnival fever in Buffalo.  Or at Toronto airport.  Or in a box somewhere.  Or it might be in Guyana, possibly being enjoyed by the same bastarding person who is also enjoying my forgotten coat from my flight back in January.

The point is, I was talking with a friend yesterday and we both felt the same–as in, we weren’t feeling it.  The season is not with me this year.  Last year, it wasn’t with me either, but that was because whales do not take part in carnival:  they are unable to do so (being whales and all) and, because they are unable to do so, something in their DNA makes them NOT want to take part in it.  I was a beached whale at eight- months-and-change of pregnancy, and that was that.

This year, I don’t know what gives.  It might very well be that, despite my thinking last year (“oh, we’re totally going to leave the baby with a sitter for 3Canal or the yearly Rudder show or a fete or jouvert or even two days [albeit abridged, four-hours-a-day days] of carnival!!  We will we will WE WILLLLLL!!”), I’m not even remotely ready to do any of that.  It’s fine. I admit it.  I’m OK with it.

And maybe because I’ve internalized that reality, I haven’t given much thought to costumes, so I don’t even know the costumes this year.  Hell, I barely know of the new bands here and there, so don’t even ask me about each band’s theme because I’ll just give you a blank stare and you’ll blankly stare back and we’ll both look rellllll chupid, as they say here.

And because I don’t know the costumes, and I don’t know the bands, and I’m not in the car all day long (or even most days–gulp) with the radio on full blast, I don’t know aaaaaallllll the new tunes.  I know the big ones.  I like some of them.  I really like some of them.  I dance a bit to them in the kitchen, and I half-wine in my seat when a select get played while I’m in the car.  But because I’m not playing mas, and therefore don’t know the costumes, and therefore don’t picture myself jumping up on carnival in any of the costumes I don’t know, most of the songs don’t really move me to a state of frenzy–or even mini-frenzy.  Not even The Fog (may not be suitable for work, unless images of wining bumpers are suitable at your work), which I love despite my mixed feelings about Machel and his usual shenanigans, gets me into the correct carnival-ish frenzy.

And because of not having any kind of frenzy carnival feeling, I’m feeling flat about carnival–and I don’t like being so flat about it.  Carnival d-e-f-i-n-e-d my life for a couple of years; those of you who have known me for a while are all too aware of this.  I played with Spice in 2010 and with Yuma in 2011 and if you had told me back then that I would ever not know the tunes, the bands, or the general gossip about carnival, I would not have believed you.   Now, I feel like I had a personality transplant and I’ve been turned into a boring, stush, clueless person–a person who can’t even be bothered to wine properly in her own kitchen.

Some may say it’s “because I’m a mom.”  That phrase makes my stomach turn and my nails itch.  I turn my nose up at that simple of an explanation.  Yes, I have a baby now and I didn’t before and my priorities are different (namely, they are ensuring that she eat / play / sleep nicely… and that she lets me do likewise).  My head is somewhere else and it may well be related to the baby.  I accept that grudgingly.

However, someone please reassure me that my DNA is still the same, because I need to believe that.  I mean, it must be, right?  If I still love to dance and fete and carry on and get on bad and think that I’ll probably want to do carnival properly next year? My days of putting feathers on my head can’t be over yet…

Until then, though, I’ll muster my pitiful store of carnival spirit for watching Soca Monarch on Friday night and kiddie carnival on Saturday.

(And if you’re out playing mas this year, take a little jump-up for me, OK?)

 

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TTUTA 10K Training Plan: When You Can’t Leave “Terrible Enough” Alone

So.  I came back from the six weeks at home–in which I logged a steady two weeks of running and then got sidelined by two feet of snow, Death Flu 2013, and the week of craziness around my sister’s wedding–with the firm intention of getting my ass in check.  LITERALLY.  (As in, it was all over the place and strength training and cardio were to be done like my life depended on it, with the purpose of getting properly back in shape–and fitting into my old pants, regardless of whether they are still in fashion or not).

Last week, I did great.  I did Monday Zumba, Tuesday and Wednesday runs, Thursday Zumba/Zumba toning, plus two days of the 200 situp challenge (which I started pre-wedding madness and then abandoned when my stomach ate itself during flumaggedon).

THEN, I saw that the TTUTA 10K was going to be held on February 23 this year, as opposed to its usual January slot.  And I got to thinking.  And I realized that I can’t leave well enough alone.  Scratch that–I can’t leave TERRIBLE enough alone.

You see, the 2011 TTUTA 10K race kicked my ass all over the place.  I said I would never ever EVER do it again.  I told you I’d be tempted in future and that I needed to be reminded not to do it by all of you, my lovely readers, because I have the memory of a goldfish.  I wasn’t tempted last year because I was a pregnant beached whale, but this year…. You know where this is going.

Therefore, because running up a mountain with the sun in your eyes and traffic in your face at 4 p.m. on a hot day is quite possibly the world’s worst idea ever,  I made up my mind:  I’m running this year’s TTUTA 10K.

I will most likely embarrass myself all over again.  I may well be among the last through the finish line again.  I’ve no doubt this race is going to royally suck again.  But I’m going for it because it’s the only race on the panorama so far this year, because I’ve clearly lost my mind, and because I need to prove to myself that it is as ridiculous a course as I remember it being.  I’m also running it because my husband–who knows me too well for his own good–said I’d regret NOT doing it more than I’d regret doing it.  Unless I got dead from a car on that mountain, of course.

Oh, and I’m also running it because I got it into my head while I was tipsy–after two drinks on Friday night, lightweight that I am now–and you all know how I love to make crazy running plans when I’m intoxicated.

Clearly, these are great reasons to run, no? (Feel free to shake your head at me here).

Now, for my training plan.  I started “training” on the sly this week, to see how I felt about structured runs, running with the stroller if necessary to keep up with the plan (which is partly why I was so exhilarated that it worked so well earlier this week), and throwing training into the mix of everyday life.  If it felt too much, I gave myself permission to bail, shame-free, having not told anyone except Mr. Man, the baby, and my rum-filled pineapple cocktails on Friday night.

Well…  A week of training has gone by and I’m raring to go!  I have just over three weeks to train and up to the start of training, I had maxed out at 3.5 mile runs (fine, ONE 3.5 mile run… two months ago).  So here’s the deal this time around, with the operative word of this plan being “loose” and the goal being to train and run it. (Please note that I didn’t say I’d run it curse-free; I’m sure my mouth will need Lysol after the race, so runners near me, beware)

I’m planning on running three to four times a week, one of which will be a long run (4 miles, 4.5 miles, and 5.5 miles) and the rest of which will be between 3 and 4 miles in length.

I’ll probably run Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays (and a Saturday or Sunday if I decide to run four days a week). I know I can stick to the weekday running, and three days a week is what I usually run when I’m training; I’d love to go for four (because this is also about kick-starting the whole “getting back in my pre-pregnancy pants” thing) but I’m going to be realistic and not set myself up for disappointment if, with a ten-month-old baby and carnival season and a semblance of a social life, it doesn’t happen.

Because I know my knees need some attention in the form of strength training and I hate running with wobble, I’ll be going to Zumba/Zumba Toning on Thursdays and doing another strength training workout (either Core Fusion or some kind of barre workout) once or twice per week, for a minimum of two strength training days, hopefully three.

I’ll also be doing serious ab work (sigh), sticking with the 200 sit-up challenge, where I’m in the middle of week 2 now that I re-started it.  (Damn, it hurts to think I was already at the end of week 3 before the sickness/wedding craziness set in!  Oh well).  This will happen three times a week–most likely on the same days that I run so that I don’t forget to do it.  I despise ab work, but it’ll improve my running and my posture–and my belly needs telling.

Anyway, this is the plan.  Let’s see how it goes.  Right now, excitement is HIGH for this race and this plan–as it is for finally, after much too long, getting my hands on some new, well-deserved race bling.

Red Carpet, Big Screen

This picture pretty much sums up what I’ve been up to the last two weeks:

 

The Trinidad and Tobago Film Festival 2012–red carpet opening, limes, lectures,  Q and A sessions, and of course screenings of some really cool films.  Yep:  with baby, every single time.  It’s been awesome, by which I mean, SHE’S been awesome.

Truthfully, I can’t begin to fathom how lucky I am that she’s such a sociable and easy-going little lady.  She’s thankfully never been much of a crier or fusser, and when she does get a bit antsy, I can count on a feeding to set her straight.  She will chill in her carrier for hours, watching everyone like a gossip pro in the making.  She even falls asleep at these events–the louder it is, the snoozier she gets.

“Woman, you are straight up crazy to go to a film festival with a baby,”  I hear you saying.  Yeah, I think I might be a bit crazy, too.

Trust me, it hasn’t been easy.  Between scheduling her feedings (both milk and twice-daily solids, avid muncher that she is), planning for outings around her potential nap times, sorting out the damn baby bag (by which I mean working out a balance between taking enough stuff to cover eventualities, like spit-ups and cold theaters, and carting all her earthly belongings), and scoping out locations for diaper changes/feedings (thank goodness I have no qualms about nursing here pretty much anywhere)/escape routes in case of a baby fizzle-up, I can assure you it would have definitely been easier to stay home.

However, I would have regretted it more if I had just phoned it in and not even tried. I love the film festival.  There are just two short weeks of TTFF every year.  Apart from the odd short film festival or series here and there, TTFF is IT… unless you want to watch the standard blockbuster fare or, more often, the likes of Hollywood Chihuahua 3.

So we braved it.  We tried to keep her to her routine as much as possible (no outings during aforementioned potential nap times, only a late-ish night here and there).  I also cut myself major slack–no double headers like in years past, no guilt if the production of going out is enough to tire me out (regardless of the fact that I’d be fine once I got to the place–and she’s always fine), no problems in accepting help… or accepting that doing this while taking care of her and her needs might mean peanut butter sandwiches for lunches and dinners galore, nutrition be damned during TTFF.

Do I count my lucky stars every second I make it back home after an event because we haven’t had to run out of a room, her screaming and me mortified at being that woman with the baby?  Oh, you have no idea!  I also realize that, at six and a half months, she’s still portable, she doesn’t talk or have opinions to voice (except over her choice of toys for biting), she has such eyes for her parents that she’s content as long as she’s with us, and she has no idea of what goes on in the films (she’s rating them on lights and colors and will have her results shortly).  This is most likely not going to be the story at 18 months and I know it.  Come back next year and ask me about going to TTFF events in 2013 and I may tell you about the one film I saw (or, if I saw more, about how great her babysitter is).

So, now that it’s over (as of tonight, that is), let’s all clap our hands for Miss Young Money and award her the Best Performance For A Baby At A Film Festival.  Oh, and let’s pretend there were other babies in the competition, even though I saw none.

Now, where’s her Official Baby of TTFF 2012 onesie?

 

Trini Tales: 5K and Rum Festival Weekend

This weekend, I put my resolve to do stuff I would have done before having the baby (bar sailing down the islands) with the baby to the ultimate test.  One race and one all-day rum festival later, I can say that we not only survived, but we had a great time–even if the car still looks like it was overturned in a hurricane and landed in a swamp.

The weekend plans called for a Saturday 5K that I’d looked forward to for months (like, “since I found out I was pregnant and called it my real comeback 5K” months) and a Sunday rum festival.

On Saturday, I “ran” the “Scotiabank 5K.”  I say it in quotation marks because I didn’t actually run the real race. I tried all of last week to register for this and between the baby’s so-called nap schedule (ha), the rain that pelted down during times around that nap schedule, the horribly inconvenient banking hours at the bank where I had to register, and the two times I went in and had to run back out due to baby meltdown, I missed the registration completely.  It was totally sold out, which had me in tears on Friday.

When I called to see if there was any way I could register late or be put on a waiting list of some kind, the lady on the phone told me that, while I couldn’t officially race, no one could stop me from running the course next to the race (wink wink) and that I should just go down and do that.  Hmm.

So that’s we did.  We left the house on time but hit traffic for ages.  Then the baby got hungry and had to get her insurance bottle, leaving her without a bottle as insurance for the duration of the race.   Then it took forever to find parking.  Then, since I lack the superpowers to be safely seated in the car and nurse her at the same time, I had to feed her as soon as we parked.  I actually started the “race” a half hour late–when the participants were long-gone and the race course was being closed up by the start line.

I decided that since I wasn’t racing anyway, I’d run as as close to 3.1 miles as I could and meet with our friends (who were running the real deal) afterwards.   So I ran and started the “race” from the car.  I caught up to the walkers eventually and followed along them on the side for the 2.25 miles that were left of the course.  As they reached the finish line, I veered off to the field, not going through the line or the prize stuff, and met back with my friends, my sister, my husband, and Miss Baby for a celebratory meal and drink afterward. No photos, no medal, no nothing–just big smiles from all, a great short run, definite relief, and a sense of accomplishment for rolling with the crazy.

Did I wish I’d run the full course?  Definitely.  Did I regret cutting it short? Not at all–no way was I getting lost on my own to find a race course for a race I wasn’t even registered for.  But I was shocked at how I was totally unbothered and chill I was after not making it in time (to register and to race) and by how I just ran anyway.  It seemed fitting for the new order–or rather, baby-caused disorder-of things.

As if that weren’t enough fuss, we hit up the Angostura Rum Festival the next day.  It was hot and sunny, and meant we had to meet up with our group of friends to go in together.  And it went GREAT.  Yeah, we had to meet a bit later than we’d planned (thanks, Miss Baby, for not wanting solids at the usual time then REALLY wanting them later and making us run late).  And I had to feed her three times at the festival, missing out on some booths and almost being late to a scheduled event we had tickets for.

But it was a great atmosphere, and a great day out with great friends, and a fun time at the cooking demo and the factory tour, and Miss Baby in her Downton Abbey hat was AWESOME–she looked at everything and smiled at everyone and, despite a couple of loud moments, was an absolute dream in a little lady hat despite the heat and noise.

And, in case you were wondering:  no, she did not drink the rum.

So today we (and by “we,” I mean us adults of the house–she’s rested as can be and refreshed from having been cooed at for two days straight) will be taking it easy.  And we have a lot of cleanup to do; my race shirt may still be balled up and sweaty in the car, and I have to do a diaper and spit-up cloth sweep of the car, too.  But even if we had to prepare like crazy and carry a million baby-related things and plan escape routes from events in case of a crying baby and scan all premises for potential diaper changing spots and are a bit tired and can’t wait to stay in for the next two days…  it was 100% worth it.

Just don’t ask me to do this again next weekend, please.

 

The Power of the Sada Roti

This morning, thanks to the power of the almighty sada roti, I had a new-baby first:  a just-the-girls outing.

Yes, I know: she’s five months old and I hadn’t been out with her all on my own yet?  Indeed.  There are a zillion reasons for this, but the main one is that there really is no place that I’d go on my own with her on a regular basis, added to which most of the other outings (errands, etc) have been done with Mr. Man or with friends as social outings.  (How sad my social life is when going to the supermarket counts as a social outing is something I’ll leave for others to debate).

Anyway.  She let me sleep a civilized amount of time and until a civilized time (7:45!!) and was all birdies and happiness during her first hour.  As I fed her and contemplated the possibility of having yet another hastily-assembled bowl of oatmeal with banana (the usual– or more like, the always breakfast), sada roti sounded like the best idea in the world since the invention of the baby monitor and the teething ring.

So we went.  No real preamble, no big fuss, no baby bag (or even change of clothes for her in my bag).  We just wen, the two of us.

Did I freak out over only being able to have a limited view of her in the baby mirror I installed?  Did she freak out over the lack of toys or mama-as-entertainment in the backseat? Did either of us freak out when we realized that we left the house at 9:30 and our sada spot could well be out of our holy grail of Trini breakfast?  Nah.

We got sada roti.  She spit up in the car but still managed to charm everyone in our path with her huge, huge eyes and slobbery, cheeky face.  We stopped for gas since we were out already.  We made it home.  I ate my sada (tomato choka and fried plantain, slight pepper).  It was boss.

I’m not going to question why it took so long; all I have to say is that it may become a weekly thing for just the two of us.

(OK, maybe not so weekly–the pre-pregnancy jeans loom, uh, small, y’all).