Chookooloonks

indigo leaf magazine: free

Sledding, by Rebecca Field -- the cover art for the Indigo Leaf Magazine March 2006 issue

While we're out carousing, I thought I'd giving you guys something enjoyable to read while you wait: finally, after much delay, I'm pleased to present the second issue of Indigo Leaf Magazine.

I promise this issue is worth the wait. This month's theme is "free," and as you can see above, Rebecca Field interprets the theme wonderfully through her beautiful artwork that graces the cover of the magazine. Once inside, in addition to finding the writings of Emily Gaare and Wendy Schulz (both of whom you may know from their wonderful blogs), you'll also read some wonderful pieces by Jan Jugran and Carolyn Ali -- two more great writers who take their turns at exploring this month's theme, "free." Finally, on blue page, Joanne Gail Johnson, an internationally-published children's author, shares her thoughts on "free" with you -- and invites you to do the same.

I hope you enjoy this issue. As always, feel free to spread the news on your own websites -- the more exposure these wonderful artists receive, the more beautiful life becomes. Also, if you're interested in being sent an e-mail update everytime a new issue is published, please drop a line to [email protected], and I'll be sure to add you to the mailing list.

Enjoy. See you when we surface from Carnival.

allie's carnival spirit

Carnival toes

AlRIGHTY, then! I think that's enough of my spangly ass for now, don't you think? For those of you who need to recuperate, I thought I'd post this final picture of Alex's feet, dressed for the Carnival spirit by that Nail Technician to the Stars, Auntie Twyla.

And with that, we're off to a calypso concert. Stay tuned for Indigo Leaf.

presenting the former chief of staff of a very large corporation, dressed in a manner that is probably shocking any number of her former coworkers as we speak

*sigh*

Okay, people before you scroll down, a couple of notes:

1. Remember, when you look at the picture below, I am turning 39 this year. BE KIND.

2. A year ago, I was 20 pounds bigger. So, you know, give me some credit.

3. Even though I'll be dancing in the streets in this thing, I wasn't nearly as worried about doing that as I was about posting these photographs. Because in the streets, everyone will be wearing the same thing, so it's no big deal. However, I can pretty much bet that the percentage of you that are currently sitting in front of your computers wearing feathers and sequins while you look at this picture is less than 1%. Okay, less than 10%. But still, you get my point.

4. To reiterate: I'm turning 39 this year.

So, without further ado, here's me in all my spangled glory. Oh, and by the way: from now through Tuesday, I'm likely going to be in the middle of drunken, sparkly, glittery bacchanalia, and may not resurface until at least Wednesday.

Don't worry -- Alex is safe.

Enjoy.

getting reacquainted with auntie twyla

Alex & Twyla, Chaguaramas, Trinidad

trinidadian rum punch

One of sour

Well, it's beginning to look a lot like Carnival: our good friend Twyla arrived last night, and our good friend Andie arrives on Saturday, so the party is officially beginning. God help us.

One of the things I was famous for when I lived in Houston was my Trinidadian rum punch. I don't mean to brag, but I make a MEAN rum punch. It's absolutely delicious, and it doesn't taste like it has alcohol -- which, of course, can be dangerous (I actually had a friend stand up and walk into a wall after a couple of glasses of my rum punch). My rum punch has celebrated, consoled, cajoled, convinced and comforted. A lot of friends in the States begged me for my rum punch recipe, but it was a rare person with whom I would share it -- it was my special "thing."

Well, luckily for you, after having made a batch for Twyla and Andie's arrival, today I'm in the Carnival spirit (no pun intended). So I thought I'd share the recipe for you to try it (especially those of you who've recently been snowed under in the northeastern parts of the United States. Poor saps, from the images I've seen, you guys look like you could use a tropical drink). Understand that this is TRINIDADIAN rum punch -- this is not the fruit-punch-and-rum-with-a-paper-umbrella mixture you probably got during your last vacation to a tropical resort. This is the Real Deal.

Here's the catch, however: because I learned this by watching my father make it, there are some parts where I don't exactly measure -- I know that I've gotten it right just by looking. I'll try to describe it to the best of my ability, but it may take some trial-and-error on your part to get it just right.

Okay, so to the recipe:

The cool thing is that recipe itself is surprisingly easy, and can be remembered by memorizing a little poem:

One of Sour, Two of Sweet. Three of Strong, Four of Weak.

Translated, this means:

One part "sour," which means freshly squeezed lime juice (do NOT use bottled lime juice -- only fresh lime juice will do!);
Two parts "sweet," which refers to a simple syrup (sugar + water);
Three parts "strong" -- rum (only golden rum, NOT white rum);
Four parts "weak" -- served over ice.

Get it?

Okay, to break it down into recipe form: the following would be how you'd make a gallon of Trinidadian rum punch:

1. Squeeze enough limes to make 2 cups fresh lime juice. Pour into a gallon container.

2. Pour 4 cups of water into a large pot, and heat to boiling. Once boiling, reduce to simmer, and START POURING SUGAR INTO THE POT LIKE A MADPERSON. Seriously, just keep pouring and stirring until the sugar dissolves, and keep doing this until the sugar-water mixture is the consistency of, say, cooking oil. You're going to go through almost an entire pound of sugar, and worry about your dental health. Trust me, you haven't made a mistake.

Once the sugar-water mixture is cool, add to the gallon container.

3. Pour 6 cups of golden rum into the gallon container. When in Trinidad, I use Fernandes Black Label rum; however, since it's difficult to get Trini rum in the States, Bacardi Gold will do. Do NOT use white rum -- it just doesn't taste right. It has to be gold.

Stir, and pour over ice. Add a dash of Angostura Bitters (available at most liquor stores), and a dash of grated nutmeg to your glass.

Enjoy!

go big by doing small

Taken through the passenger-side window while Marcus was driving to Maracas Bay on Sunday morning

So, hi!!!

I'm happy to report I'm feeling much better today -- thank you so much for your kind words. They definitely helped. Also, I got a lot done, I feel more organized, and apparently, focusing on pretty things leaves me in much higher spirits. Seriously, you should try it.

Speaking of pretty things, I also cheered myself up by working on the latest issue of Indigo Leaf Magazine. I love reading new words and viewing new art, and I have to tell you that this little project of mine is so selfish in so many ways -- it's just so much fun for me looking at all of your work. I'm trying desperately to get this issue out before the end of this week (since next week, I plan on being in no shape to tackle such lofty goals), so fingers crossed, you'll be able to see the best of what I've been enjoying. Watch this space.

You want to know what else encouraged me to no end?

Funchilde, who delurked yesterday, had a post about "going big" on her site.

You should read it. It made me feel better, in a truly palpable way. I love when you find inspiration in unexpected places, don't you? Thanks, Fun. I owe you one.

Anyway, I started thinking about the tiny things that we all do, without giving much thought to it, and how these tiny things can touch people profoundly, without even meaning to. And if it's possible to help people inadvertently, imagine what would happen if we all did small things for people with thought -- with the intent to help, inspire, or encourage. Wouldn't that be something?

So today, I set this challenge, if you're so inclined: do something nice for someone. Nothing grandiose, or extravagant -- don't even put yourself out. Just do something nice, an unexpected. Open the door for someone. Pay the toll fee for the car driving behind you. Pay someone a quick, heartfelt compliment.

Go big by doing something small.

cheery flowers for deep blue funk

Frangipani in bloom

Despite a weekend filled with wonderful bright spots (great dinner on Friday, hanging out with friends on Saturday, and spending time on the beach on Sunday), over the last few days I've been dealing with an issue that leaves me emotionally and intellectually drained. It is, unfortunately, affecting my mood -- and this during a time when I should be practically euphoric: Carnival is here! Good friends arrive this week!

Instead I feel overwhelmed by what I haven't accomplished this weekend that I intended to but was too distracted, and what I have yet to do in preparation for the insane week that approaches. Snapping out of this funk is going to take some focused concentration.

On an up note, our frangipani tree is flowering again. Behold its pretty blooms! Perhaps it'll capture your interest while I work on my mood.

More (happier more) soon. I promise.

blue yonder

Okay, technically? This isn't a great shot. But I love it. I don't know why, but I do.

Have a great weekend, everybody.

why, if someone asks you for a "wine," they may not mean grape juice

Winin' at the Carnival fete this past weekend

Despite the Spanish name, Trinidad's national language is English. Not that you'd necessarily notice. Like most countries, Trinidad has its own dialect, and when that doesn't work, sometimes we Trinis just take words that are commonly used in most other English-speaking countries, and ascribe whole new meanings to them.

Take for example, the word "lime." In the rest of the English-speaking world, a "lime" is a small, green citrus fruit, often used to garnish guacamole, or make margaritas, or give Sprite its unique limon taste. Not so in Trinidad! (Well, okay, a lime is also a small citrus fruit here in Trinidad, but work with me, people). In Trinidad, a "lime" is a group of people who are hanging out. As in:

"'Ey! Come ovah, nah man! We havin' a lime! Everybody comin'!"

It can also be used as a verb. For example, if you catch your son in a compromising position with a young girl, you might shout, "BOY!! WHAT YOU DOIN' IN DERE??" And your son would like call back, "NUTTIN', MA! WE JUS' LIMIN'!!"

See how that works?

Okay. But that's not the word we need to talk about. Not now, during Carnival time.

You see, the word of the season is "wine."

Now, if you're thinking, "Heh, I know, Karen. You're referring to alcohol. After all, I've heard that alcohol plays a big part at Carnival," you'd only be partially right. We do love our alcohol this time of year, but remember, this is the Caribbean. Wine is for the refined. The well-to-do. The bourgeousie.

We Trinis drink RUM.

No, my little kumquats, to "wine" means to dance. As is to wind your waist. As in make your body do startlingly limber motions which border on the obscene.

And frankly, it's the only way you can possibly dance to calypso and soca, the music of the season.

Now, winin' is not something which can be taught. Oh, we try -- God knows we try -- to teach tourists who flock to Trinidad every year for Carnival. Some of them get it, but most don't. No matter. The ones who don't are too drunk to notice. And the rest of us are too drunk to care. You see, winin' is something that Trinis are just born knowing how to do. Little children wine here. Old women can wine. Hell, men wine all the time. And to explain the wine is just ... well, impossible.

But I shall try.

Okay, so have you ever seen Beyoncé dance? SHE can wine. Or, if you're older, Charo? She could definitely wine (but she was Brazilian, so it's not surprising). You basically just lose all control of your lower extremities, but in a suggestive, rhythmic, and non-spastic way.

What can I say? It's a gift. We don't own it.

Anyway, as I've mentioned before, I've been going to the gym so I can get into this. Well, the truth is that I've given up trying to look like the model in the picture; however, I still go to the gym, because clearly, I'm also going to have to wine. And, I've heard that the gym is a great way to build up stamina -- after all, it will be two straight days of winin'.

And I'm not getting any younger.

Before you even ask, while I might be talked into posting a photograph of myself in that demonically unforgiving costume, there is no way in hell you're going to get to see a picture of me winin', so don't even ask. Because, frankly, while I feel I may owe you the shot of me in that feathered contraption, I have not yet decided to share any shots which show my body from the neck down.

I'm just sayin'.

of funky flowers and potty training

Funky flower from Valentine's Day bouquet

Isn't the flower above unusual? I have no idea what kind it is, but I'm mesmerized by it. I do know it's native to Trinidad. Anyone have any ideas?

Okay, confession time: I only posted the picture of the pretty flower above because I'm going to tell you about potty training. I won't get too graphic, but for those of you who might have a bit of a weak constitution, if things get bad, you can just glance up at the pretty flower, and the dizziness should pass. Don't say I never do anything nice for you.

So, yeah, potty training. I mentioned it in passing the other day, and everyone was full of advice. Thanks so much for that. I will tell you that I'm probably going to just go on instinct with this one, because it seems to be working. Oh, and because I tried doing what Alex's preschool suggested, and I'm so fed up, that I'm stubbornly refusing to take any further advice.

But I digress.

I started potty training Alex about 3 months ago -- if you can call what I was doing "potty training." I like to call it more of a "Look, Allie, the Potty Is Our Friend -- Let's Go Meet It!" sort of an introductory course to the potty. I had been told by all and sundry that trying to potty train your child too early is a mistake: "Wait until she's two!" you cried. So I was going to do that, and then Madonna said something about being a bad mother if your child isn't potty-trained at two, so I took that as a personal challenge directed specifically in my direction, because I'll be damned if that low-talent-but-admittedly-smart-marketing-genius was going to outdo me.

So.

Anyway, I decided I was going to let Alex sit on the potty when she woke up, after a nap, and before bed -- you know, if she wanted to. No pressure. We're just Getting To Know the Potty.

Well.

She not only was eager to Get To Know The Potty, she wanted to Become One With The Potty. I could NOT get this kid off the pot. The first time she actually used the potty properly, and I did an Unbridled Pee-Pee Dance, she couldn't get enough of it. She would sit. And sit. And sit. "Alex, are you finished?" I'd say after 10 minutes. "No," she'd say resolutely, and she'd sit. Once she actually asked me to bring her a book. If, after 30 minutes, I got impatient and pulled her off the potty, oh! The wailing and gnashing of teeth which would ensue!

Eventually, however, she started realizing that perhaps wasting an entire morning on the pot wasn't the best use of her time, so she started doing her business quickly, and then moving on to more important things, like building blocks. We finally got to a point where she would occasionally tell me she needed to go, but more often than not, I'd have to remind her that, yes, perhaps now would be a good time to try. But you know, it was working. There was no pressure. She was in PullUps. If I remembered to ask her, and she was in the mood, we'd go sit on the potty. Otherwise, life went on.

Finally, after a few weeks of this, I realized that while everyone knows it takes a village to raise a child, it might also take a village to potty train a child -- particularly mine. So I decided to enlist the help of her school teacher.

"Yes, we can help," said Auntie Tess, the lead teacher. "But you need to bring her in panties."

"What? But she's not potty trained," I said naively.

"Yes, but it helps when they can feel that they've had an accident. You should buy her panties."

Celeste, who works with us, agreed. "Yes, buy her panties. That way she'll know."

So, off I went to buy her panties.

Do you know what happens when you buy a kid who isn't potty trained panties?

PUDDLES.

People, I am so tired of puddles, I can't see straight. How it's possible that a kid that tiny can have a bladder that holds that much COMPLETELY escapes me. And trust me when I tell you, these little puddles don't bother Alex in the least. "Mummy! Pee-pee!" she tells me proudly, leading me to her latest puddle. And the problem with puddles (other than the obvious, I mean) is that they make me short-tempered and irritable. And really, I don't want to be short-tempered and irritable. She's just a kid. She's doing her best.

So, we're back to PullUps in our house, and we're all happy now. If I remember to ask, and she remembers to tell me, we go sit on the potty. Otherwise, the Pullups do the trick. Besides, she'll figure it out soon enough -- it's unlikely she'll still be wearing PullUps in high school, right?

And then sometimes Alex and I do a happy dance and a little jig to Denial. La la la!

Whatever man, at least my house is dry. However, because Auntie Tess seems to favour the puddles, I'm taking panties to school with her. Because if her school wants puddles?

They can HAVE them.