I was robbed again last week Tuesday, December 23. I wasn't alone this time, which made it both better and worse. Chef Boyardee and I were liming outside my house. Two guys held us up at gunpoint and very politely took his car keys, wallet, phone and my phone. My poor darling is now traveling to work in POS from Chaguanas, sometimes after 10 pm.
I am not feeling traumatised, but I know I must be. I'm numb really. I kept asking myself, 'Again?' I asked God, 'Again?' I tell people that this is the second time this year I've been held up at gunpoint and I feel like a fool. Like its my fault. Maybe I didn't pray enough, or do enough good deeds. Maybe I haven't been to church three times a week this year. Maybe I should stay inside more often.
It was a struggle to leave the house, so I deliberately scheduled stuff to do this week. One thing everyday. On Monday, I couldn't wait to finish the interview and get back home; felt exhausted. On Tuesday, I was able to wander around the mall for a little bit before I felt like I was about to suffocate. Today, I went out on assignment, ate, came home, went back out to collect a cheque and had a small talk with a friend. Then I came home. Progress, incremental, but its there.
I have no moral, no words of wisdom today. I thank God I'm alive and that He has kept me and Chef Boyardee and will continue to keep us.
"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time (this present life) are not worth being compared with the glory that is about to be revealed to us and in us and [a]for us and [b]conferred on us!" Romans 8:18, AMP
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
I ended up painting alone ...
WARNING: This post is quite late, having been written last year around November, but I thought I'd share it all the same ....
I dismantled scaffolding. By myself.
Ok no, not really. I dismantled 1/3 of the scaffolding by myself. Then the (male, Indian, way shorter than me) owner came, took one look at me and refused to let me do anymore, saying, "It's ok, I'll take care of it." I was sweating like a pig and very smelly, so I wasn't at all perturbed to stop dismantling and go outside. And breathe really deeply for a really long time.
Can we talk about blisters? Never had one before but spend a day with a roller in hand and what do you know?
Starting at the beginning: wanted a room painted in my new (to me) house so that I could FINALLY FINALLY move in. But the walls are really high, over 12 feet in some places, so my lil sis and I painted three walls as far as we could reach. It took us about two to three hours. Chef Boyardee came during the afternoon and did the last wall and a second coat on all four. He took roughly 45 minutes to do this, looking quite sexy all the while. I was a mess of paint and bad hair and pathetically unfit panting. No justice.
The second day of painting, everyone else was busy. So once the scaffolding was set up, I had to paint the second (top) half of the room by myself. Alone. I painted, sweated and stank, dragged the scaffold across the room a couple times, for about four hours, but I got it done. The room is now a blindingly beautiful mystic white.
That's where the dismantling comes in. If you are at all familiar with scaffolds, they are not rocket science. It's basically a huge 20-piece steel puzzle. Now my problem with dismantling the scaffolding was not the simplicity of taking it apart. It was the weight of the pieces ... and the tricky skill of moving them without (a) putting a huge gash into my newly painted wall and (b) not hurting myself. However, (a) was a priority over (b). So you know what happened. Pulled a muscle in my leg. Almost bust my toe. Hit my head so that I had a headache for a couple days (concussion anyone?). But I was getting it done, in between breaks. This is not to say that I wasn't happy the guy came and took over. I just wanted you to know that it was getting done, ok?
Would I do this again? Certainly! Not. I think it would cause me less grief to hire my brother and cousin and let them dismantle scaffolding.
I dismantled scaffolding. By myself.
Ok no, not really. I dismantled 1/3 of the scaffolding by myself. Then the (male, Indian, way shorter than me) owner came, took one look at me and refused to let me do anymore, saying, "It's ok, I'll take care of it." I was sweating like a pig and very smelly, so I wasn't at all perturbed to stop dismantling and go outside. And breathe really deeply for a really long time.
Can we talk about blisters? Never had one before but spend a day with a roller in hand and what do you know?
Starting at the beginning: wanted a room painted in my new (to me) house so that I could FINALLY FINALLY move in. But the walls are really high, over 12 feet in some places, so my lil sis and I painted three walls as far as we could reach. It took us about two to three hours. Chef Boyardee came during the afternoon and did the last wall and a second coat on all four. He took roughly 45 minutes to do this, looking quite sexy all the while. I was a mess of paint and bad hair and pathetically unfit panting. No justice.
The second day of painting, everyone else was busy. So once the scaffolding was set up, I had to paint the second (top) half of the room by myself. Alone. I painted, sweated and stank, dragged the scaffold across the room a couple times, for about four hours, but I got it done. The room is now a blindingly beautiful mystic white.
That's where the dismantling comes in. If you are at all familiar with scaffolds, they are not rocket science. It's basically a huge 20-piece steel puzzle. Now my problem with dismantling the scaffolding was not the simplicity of taking it apart. It was the weight of the pieces ... and the tricky skill of moving them without (a) putting a huge gash into my newly painted wall and (b) not hurting myself. However, (a) was a priority over (b). So you know what happened. Pulled a muscle in my leg. Almost bust my toe. Hit my head so that I had a headache for a couple days (concussion anyone?). But I was getting it done, in between breaks. This is not to say that I wasn't happy the guy came and took over. I just wanted you to know that it was getting done, ok?
Would I do this again? Certainly! Not. I think it would cause me less grief to hire my brother and cousin and let them dismantle scaffolding.
Why I love him ...
I was talking to Chef Boyardee about SOMETHING important (can't remember what it is now) and made reference to Bandit Man. As in, "that thing was in the purse that Bandit Man took."
Chef didn't ask me about the thing I lost, nor did he give my hand a reassuring squeeze in remembrance of my ordeal with Bandit Man. He instead asked me, "Why do you have to be so gender-specific?"
Chef didn't ask me about the thing I lost, nor did he give my hand a reassuring squeeze in remembrance of my ordeal with Bandit Man. He instead asked me, "Why do you have to be so gender-specific?"
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
More about food ...
Doesn't it just look scrummy? It's a vegetable stuffed chicken breast by Chef Sabrina Rosales of Executive Caterers. To the professional photogs out there, yes I know that there's a really harsh shadow under the food. I'm sorry. I will do better.
Ok enough advertising. We know I like eating food, but I also like photographing it. I'm still a relatively amateur photog, but I know I don't like event photography, not that into sports (although you can get some nice action shots) and there's only so much you can do with portraiture in a studio. But there's a million and one ways to plate a good-looking dish.
I grew up poring over magazine with recipes in them. The stories - yeah the stories were great, but when I hit the back section of Island Life where there were full page food spreads, I was in love. There's something about fine dining platings and presentations that appeal to me on a deep almost spiritual level. I wanted to know how the photographer produced that photo.
Years later and I'm still learning, still saving money to buy more equipment, although Rufus and Betsy (the camera and the flash) are serving me just fine right now. But I've been holding myself back from really pursuing food photography. I have no formal training in photo-take-outing. I only know a few chefs, I have no big name in the media business, no impressive set up - just me and mi camera and my ideas.
I take baby steps: suggest an idea to my editor here, brainstorm another idea there. Take my heart into my hands and walk a little further, expecting to get shot down and rejected or laughed at. And so far, I've gotten only help and acceptance. God has been good.
Tonight I'm going for sushi at Benihana with a friend. And I'm gonna be brave enough to take Rufus and Betsy along with me and see what we could rustle up. If you see a big rainbow roll in some magazine wit my name on it, doh be surprise, yes.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Let's all exercise
I started jogging again a couple weeks ago ... well, to be truthful, I started walking briskly again a couple weeks ago. You see, I love food (is it any wonder that I'm in love with a chef?) and that love was getting out of control. When my portion sizes start to look like my 21-year-old brother's, I had to worry. In addition to the extra inches around my waist and the appearance of back fat. Yes, back fat at age 25. The horror.
So, hence forth eating the plain yogurt with fruit, very little bread, NO CAKE, lots and lots of water and fruit and exercise. What a time to start dieting. Christmas is traditionally a time of overeating for me; the only time of year that I used to truly pig out. So it's going to be a test of self control. I was whining the other day that I had more self control when I was 17 than I do now, but that's not strictly true.
When I was 17, I believed that I could change the world. I was young, energetic, hopeful. By my not eating meat, I could cause the entire exploitative chicken and beef industries to collapse within months. If I read Eric Williams' From Columbus to Castro cover to cover, the Caribbean History examiners wouldn't notice that I never got past page 5 of the actual course text book. If I exercised every single day, I could get through the hell that was sixth form without killing someone. Well, exercise and a daily cup of French vanilla coffee.
Now I'm not so convinced of my power. These days, I'm a lot more cynical. What's another twenty slices of cake going to do, huh? Even though I know that soft drinks give me the female equivalent of a beer gut, what's another Coke? What's another plastic bag at the grocery going to do to the environment? Why not drive to POS when it would be more cost effective to travel? I ask myself 'why not?' a lot more these days. And the back fat answered, 'THIS is why not.'
So, hence forth eating the plain yogurt with fruit, very little bread, NO CAKE, lots and lots of water and fruit and exercise. What a time to start dieting. Christmas is traditionally a time of overeating for me; the only time of year that I used to truly pig out. So it's going to be a test of self control. I was whining the other day that I had more self control when I was 17 than I do now, but that's not strictly true.
When I was 17, I believed that I could change the world. I was young, energetic, hopeful. By my not eating meat, I could cause the entire exploitative chicken and beef industries to collapse within months. If I read Eric Williams' From Columbus to Castro cover to cover, the Caribbean History examiners wouldn't notice that I never got past page 5 of the actual course text book. If I exercised every single day, I could get through the hell that was sixth form without killing someone. Well, exercise and a daily cup of French vanilla coffee.
Now I'm not so convinced of my power. These days, I'm a lot more cynical. What's another twenty slices of cake going to do, huh? Even though I know that soft drinks give me the female equivalent of a beer gut, what's another Coke? What's another plastic bag at the grocery going to do to the environment? Why not drive to POS when it would be more cost effective to travel? I ask myself 'why not?' a lot more these days. And the back fat answered, 'THIS is why not.'
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