Yesterday I embarked on a culinary journey. One that awakened my senses and my pallet. So there I was going on an impromptu lunch date with my husband. Yeah I know, these are the little things that help keep the spark alive. He had just the day before dined at the Pink Plantation House restaurant and thought it was an experience worth sharing. Excited I accepted the invitation with the Knowledge that the proprietor is known for serving food that is worthy of praise.
You see the Pink House Restaurant is operated by the same folks who own the Coal Pot Restaurant so you know there is no disappointed there. After quickly getting through the regular lunch time traffic in Castries I heading for the hills. The Pink House is said to be over one hundred and fifty years old. It is located on Morne, on about Two acres of land, which affords one a panoramic view of the City, While feasting on delectable delights with the soft sound of music wafting on the warm tropical air. The ambiance was completed with the personal touch of Michelle's hand crafted dishes and paintings coupled with the strategically placed relics which had survived more than a century from slavery to emancipation to present day with the sole purpose of adding to my dinning experience.
So there I was staring at the menu, taking in the aroma of freshly fried hot bakes and trying to decide what to order.
My order came soon enough and resembled a work of art not to be devoured but rather admired. That was just a lingering thought, for I quickly dug into my creamy curry jumbo shrimp meal. Every morsel was an experience to treasure. Rice never tasted this good. I sampled everything which was set before me from the sweet potato balls to the cabbage gratin and it was scrumptious. Imagine the flavor of curry cream laced with fresh mint. Yes it brought a smile to my face. This is living indeed.
In that moment all thought of calories and moderation were far removed. It focus was on taking it in and making a memory. This coupled with the perfect lunch date (great company and conversation) made going back to work a shame. We all know that all good things must end and more so great things, so with the mental note of returning to savor the sweet nectars cooked up at the Pink Plantation House I paid the bill and left.
Today I am having authentic trini doubles for lunch. A far cry from yesterday.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
memories
So I am sitting here years after having left the hallowed walls of SJC, my Alma Mater. Not quite the hallowed walls since the lower school has been relocated to a totally different location. I suppose I am one of those students who have succeeded and can now help to shape the young minds of new students.
So here I am going through my presentation in my head when in walks in non other than my past Maths teacher. She has since retired but that did not stop the memories from rushingto the fore of my mind.
Back then in her opinion I was the useless child who was clearly too daft and slow to understand mathematics (never mind the fact that I was in the science class which was an achievement in itself) So there I was years later in form 5S with Miss at the front of the class. Hands up "miss can you explain this again" no anwer. "Miss I do not understand" still no answer. Hand ready to fall off now because one must raise one's hand to get the teacher's attention. "Miss Miss" and finally I have managed to get her attention so she responds "Girls lets move on with the non-sense this child is asking" Defeated I put my hand down and slump back into my seat. Like many of my teachers at that time she too thought I was just wasting time and would amount to nothing but a failure.
Imagine their surprise when I successfully completed SJC with CXC passes and moved on to higher education.
So now 19 years and a bachelors and masters degree later in addition to training and certificates in many areas, she peers at me throught the rims of her glasses and smiles. "Hi how are you? what are you doing now. Remind of your name again" Ah Yes I remember now. And I am thinking yes!!! retribution.
Ans so years later I can let go. I have proved them wrong and now it is time for me to positively impact young minds.
"Good morning girls, I am so happy to be here today. I am a past student. How many of you here are in St. Theresa's House?
So here I am going through my presentation in my head when in walks in non other than my past Maths teacher. She has since retired but that did not stop the memories from rushingto the fore of my mind.
Back then in her opinion I was the useless child who was clearly too daft and slow to understand mathematics (never mind the fact that I was in the science class which was an achievement in itself) So there I was years later in form 5S with Miss at the front of the class. Hands up "miss can you explain this again" no anwer. "Miss I do not understand" still no answer. Hand ready to fall off now because one must raise one's hand to get the teacher's attention. "Miss Miss" and finally I have managed to get her attention so she responds "Girls lets move on with the non-sense this child is asking" Defeated I put my hand down and slump back into my seat. Like many of my teachers at that time she too thought I was just wasting time and would amount to nothing but a failure.
Imagine their surprise when I successfully completed SJC with CXC passes and moved on to higher education.
So now 19 years and a bachelors and masters degree later in addition to training and certificates in many areas, she peers at me throught the rims of her glasses and smiles. "Hi how are you? what are you doing now. Remind of your name again" Ah Yes I remember now. And I am thinking yes!!! retribution.
Ans so years later I can let go. I have proved them wrong and now it is time for me to positively impact young minds.
"Good morning girls, I am so happy to be here today. I am a past student. How many of you here are in St. Theresa's House?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
10 degrees in the sun
"It a beautiful day today. Hurry! Let's get out of the house and enjoy the sun." I hurriedly got dressed and rushed to brush my teeth while pulling on my jeans. It seemed that once and for all I would get some respite from the cold gnawing at my bones. Never thought I would appreciate the great indoors so much.
Over the last few days it seemed that my body was being preserved for some greater purpose. I swear I am being embalmed alive. My skin feels rubbery and appears chalky and scaly. I have gone several days without underarm deodorant and still I have failed to develop the body odour which should accompany such a dispicable act. I swear it is so cold because the good Lord wants me to save in this recession. I see no reason why water, soap and deodorant should be wasted when I do not even sweat. My skin thirsts for a honey bath to restore its moisture. Just the night before, my attempts to have a conversation on the way home was halted by the heightened sensitivity of my teeth and the chilling of my breath with each spoken word. But like a gambler hoping to cash in on the next bet, I splash some makeup on my unwashed face and quickly step out the door.
Enjoy the sun my arse. Decked out in a t-shirt, covered by a sweater and a trenchcoat, with a scarve thrown around my neck to add that touch of color to welcome the spring, my butt still freaking feels cold. And whose brilliant idea was it for us to walk the couple blocks to the mall? But only the strong survive so thrusting my hands into my pocket, I stride forward anticipating the reward of shopping within the hallowed, warm, walls of the Mall.
Over the last few days it seemed that my body was being preserved for some greater purpose. I swear I am being embalmed alive. My skin feels rubbery and appears chalky and scaly. I have gone several days without underarm deodorant and still I have failed to develop the body odour which should accompany such a dispicable act. I swear it is so cold because the good Lord wants me to save in this recession. I see no reason why water, soap and deodorant should be wasted when I do not even sweat. My skin thirsts for a honey bath to restore its moisture. Just the night before, my attempts to have a conversation on the way home was halted by the heightened sensitivity of my teeth and the chilling of my breath with each spoken word. But like a gambler hoping to cash in on the next bet, I splash some makeup on my unwashed face and quickly step out the door.
Enjoy the sun my arse. Decked out in a t-shirt, covered by a sweater and a trenchcoat, with a scarve thrown around my neck to add that touch of color to welcome the spring, my butt still freaking feels cold. And whose brilliant idea was it for us to walk the couple blocks to the mall? But only the strong survive so thrusting my hands into my pocket, I stride forward anticipating the reward of shopping within the hallowed, warm, walls of the Mall.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
cloud nine
Glancing at my watch for the umteenth time, I make a mental note to self, two hours left to go. Seems like an eternity. I am not easily bored, but now I silently curse myself for lacking the foresight to carry along some descent reading material. Once again I long for those colorful, interesting inflight magazines on Caribbean carriers. (GOSH!!! I never imagined I would miss LIAT or find something positive to say about that infamous "Leave Island Any Time" airline.)
I have labored through the pages of "UP" from cover to cover and found a couple articles which genuinely held my interest. Biased by a sense of patriotism, I linger awhile on an article entitled "Oceans Love Portion". The author related his search for one of St.Lucia's aphrodisiacs on a friday night in the village of Anse La Raye. Aunties seamoss reigned supreme. The lambi and osyters came in a close second. I still prefer Mr. Yard's lambi from Gros-Islet.
The damn magazine could have at least one cross-word or sudoku puzzle. With little option I focused on the television screen mounted on the back of the seat infront of me. At least I do not have to strain my neck and eyes to look at the images being beamed from a screen over my head. Since I have resisted the temptation to slide my credit card in the little slot and for a meagre 5.99 I could purchase a pay per view movie and a miserly $3.00 more would allow me to purchase the headphones required to hear the dialogue accompanying the scenes,I am left with a satellite GPRS map showing our current location on the globe. At 414 mph and an altitude of 37608 ft there is still no sign of Canada on the map. Once again I look at my watch. It is six o'clock, One hour forty-five minutes to go.
I peered out of the window and I am amazed by the clouds which appear like rugged, snow capped mountains with an interplay of light and shadows. I wish I could step out and walk into the abyss. At 37602 ft, there is no sign of the ocean below. I thought the horizon was the point at which the sky appears to meet the sea. Funny there is no sea but still a horizon and the sun beats down ferociously through the window.
The scene is calm and relaxing. The creator is really amazing. Now I understand the saying floating on cloud nine.
Enough of these ramblings. I will mentally do that kickboxing class I am currently missing. Jab uppercut, Jab uppercut, Jab Uppercut cross Kick.
I have labored through the pages of "UP" from cover to cover and found a couple articles which genuinely held my interest. Biased by a sense of patriotism, I linger awhile on an article entitled "Oceans Love Portion". The author related his search for one of St.Lucia's aphrodisiacs on a friday night in the village of Anse La Raye. Aunties seamoss reigned supreme. The lambi and osyters came in a close second. I still prefer Mr. Yard's lambi from Gros-Islet.
The damn magazine could have at least one cross-word or sudoku puzzle. With little option I focused on the television screen mounted on the back of the seat infront of me. At least I do not have to strain my neck and eyes to look at the images being beamed from a screen over my head. Since I have resisted the temptation to slide my credit card in the little slot and for a meagre 5.99 I could purchase a pay per view movie and a miserly $3.00 more would allow me to purchase the headphones required to hear the dialogue accompanying the scenes,I am left with a satellite GPRS map showing our current location on the globe. At 414 mph and an altitude of 37608 ft there is still no sign of Canada on the map. Once again I look at my watch. It is six o'clock, One hour forty-five minutes to go.
I peered out of the window and I am amazed by the clouds which appear like rugged, snow capped mountains with an interplay of light and shadows. I wish I could step out and walk into the abyss. At 37602 ft, there is no sign of the ocean below. I thought the horizon was the point at which the sky appears to meet the sea. Funny there is no sea but still a horizon and the sun beats down ferociously through the window.
The scene is calm and relaxing. The creator is really amazing. Now I understand the saying floating on cloud nine.
Enough of these ramblings. I will mentally do that kickboxing class I am currently missing. Jab uppercut, Jab uppercut, Jab Uppercut cross Kick.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Crash Test Dummy
For those of us who have travelled too many times to count, we pay little attention to the airhostesses as they run through the routine, crash course on surviving a plane crash. So I am on this West Jet flight bound for Toronto. It seems like eons ago since my last visit. I plan to enjoy every minute of this trip even with the threat of freezing cold tempretures waiting to suck the life out of me like the dementors in a Harry Potter movie.
In a high pitched canadian accent the air hostess welcomes the "Guest" on board. She then asked us to pay attention to the safety instruction booklet and her colleagues as they go through the safety instructions. Disinterestedly, I pulled the inflight magazine from the seat pocket infront of me, browsed it briefly and tossed it aside. Nothing readily caught my attention. Stark difference from those on Caribbean Carriers.
Bored, I refocused on the airhostess. I mean seriously, as if anyone would remember all that information if the plane took a sudden nose dip and began a quick and steady decline on an unmarked trajectory to the botom of the sea. I think even as a frequent flyer the air hostess will not be able to function beyond the how to unfasten the seat belt part of the orientation.
Could you imagine the over two hundred passengers on the plane, stooping to retrieve lifejackets under the seat, carefully opening the packaging, pulling out the jacket and having placing it over their heads, queuing up to jump outside anxiously waiting to pull down on the tabs and then "alleluia" Freedom Escape Nirvana. Shit!!! this is definitely not skydiving and there is no parachute but then again most of the passengers are caucasian and may ejoy the rush of adrenaline from the free fall. Almost like bungy jumping without the rope. So why worry? That will definetly be a bonus on the flight.
The captain's voice rings out to inform us there is insufficient gas for the journey. So as we fill up the air hostess tries to entertain the guests with jokes and I am momentarily snapped back to reality. I am an unwilling crash test dummy.
In a high pitched canadian accent the air hostess welcomes the "Guest" on board. She then asked us to pay attention to the safety instruction booklet and her colleagues as they go through the safety instructions. Disinterestedly, I pulled the inflight magazine from the seat pocket infront of me, browsed it briefly and tossed it aside. Nothing readily caught my attention. Stark difference from those on Caribbean Carriers.
Bored, I refocused on the airhostess. I mean seriously, as if anyone would remember all that information if the plane took a sudden nose dip and began a quick and steady decline on an unmarked trajectory to the botom of the sea. I think even as a frequent flyer the air hostess will not be able to function beyond the how to unfasten the seat belt part of the orientation.
Could you imagine the over two hundred passengers on the plane, stooping to retrieve lifejackets under the seat, carefully opening the packaging, pulling out the jacket and having placing it over their heads, queuing up to jump outside anxiously waiting to pull down on the tabs and then "alleluia" Freedom Escape Nirvana. Shit!!! this is definitely not skydiving and there is no parachute but then again most of the passengers are caucasian and may ejoy the rush of adrenaline from the free fall. Almost like bungy jumping without the rope. So why worry? That will definetly be a bonus on the flight.
The captain's voice rings out to inform us there is insufficient gas for the journey. So as we fill up the air hostess tries to entertain the guests with jokes and I am momentarily snapped back to reality. I am an unwilling crash test dummy.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Mon Petit Cadeaux
Yesterday I reminisced about my near death experience exactly one year ago when I cheated the grim reaper and created life instead. The experience seemed locked in the distant past as I strained to recall the 13 hours of excruciating pain I endured. Had I been asked before I would deny having the strength to do so. I recall roaming through the hospital halls moaning as I succumbed. Tears streamed freely down my face. All pretence of decorum and control dissipated. I would happily trade places with the teenagers who waltzed in on the verge of delivery, went into the delivery room and momentarily sauntered out, grasping their trophy, bundled and ready for public exhibition. That was the price I paid for waiting until I was prepared to be the best mother ever. Yeah right I am certainly no longer an advocate for geriatric pregnancies.
I think I had watched to many deliveries on Discovery Health. So here it is I was expecting to be monitored throughout. Yeah right. The nurses did not seem to see the urgency and they obviously believe that pain is part of the process so why fuss. So when the pain became unbearable hours later I was given sedatives and the battle continued between moments of sleep and semi consciousness when the contractions came. I became the unwilling victim of the battle between the two. I vaguely recall the nurses confusion after an inspection and wondering if they were touching the babies head or butt. The doctor examining me and ordering an emergency c-section. The rush to get me to the operating room and then nothing.
I have no tales to tell of pushing or crowning. No tales of cuddling a newborn fresh out the womb. Instead I can tell of distant voices, fainting, discussions of blood transfusions, my son hooked up to drips and on antibiotics with a swollen head and my dear husband at my side every step of the way encouraging and supporting me. And of course my doctor informing me that I was lucky to have cheated the grim reaper and should be thankful I was still alive by some miracle.
And as I reminisce about Jabari’s first smile, and tooth, the first time he turned over, sat up, crawled or took his first step I smile. He has brought me such Joy that I would tempt the hands of fate all over again for him. The grim reaper lost out and I have Faith the God has given me a Gift, an intelligent one who reasons. JABARI AKHIL IMAN YOHANNES.
I think I had watched to many deliveries on Discovery Health. So here it is I was expecting to be monitored throughout. Yeah right. The nurses did not seem to see the urgency and they obviously believe that pain is part of the process so why fuss. So when the pain became unbearable hours later I was given sedatives and the battle continued between moments of sleep and semi consciousness when the contractions came. I became the unwilling victim of the battle between the two. I vaguely recall the nurses confusion after an inspection and wondering if they were touching the babies head or butt. The doctor examining me and ordering an emergency c-section. The rush to get me to the operating room and then nothing.
I have no tales to tell of pushing or crowning. No tales of cuddling a newborn fresh out the womb. Instead I can tell of distant voices, fainting, discussions of blood transfusions, my son hooked up to drips and on antibiotics with a swollen head and my dear husband at my side every step of the way encouraging and supporting me. And of course my doctor informing me that I was lucky to have cheated the grim reaper and should be thankful I was still alive by some miracle.
And as I reminisce about Jabari’s first smile, and tooth, the first time he turned over, sat up, crawled or took his first step I smile. He has brought me such Joy that I would tempt the hands of fate all over again for him. The grim reaper lost out and I have Faith the God has given me a Gift, an intelligent one who reasons. JABARI AKHIL IMAN YOHANNES.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Self illusions
I look in the mirror and ask my self whether the image I see is really me. While I can recognize the physical and though the subtle changes through the years are now manifest and have been accepted as part of me, the changes which have taken place on the inside in my mind and soul are foreign like a cancer. Consuming and destroying me. Sometimes I think I truly know and understand myself and I have confidence that I am in control. Other times I wonder and am truly dissappointed and disgusted in me. Where has the real me gone too. Can I rescue myself from me? Why am I compromising who i am?
Will the real me please stand up?
Will the real me please stand up?
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