Austin is usually a morning person. Not so today. Today he is definite grouchy. From the moment he woke me up he has been whining. Moaning. Crying. You name it. I finally allow myself to be pushed out of bed and pulled into the bathroom. Austin apparently forgot how to use the potty by himself and needs reassurance that he is doing a good job. The whole process proves to be beyond the poor guy this morning and as his weepy voice informs me that he now needs me to pull up his pants for him. Yawning I crouch down to do the honors. As I turn him around, he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Suddenly he pulls his shoulders back and pushes a matted curl back into place. A smiles slowly crosses his face and without moving his eyes away from his reflection he happily declares, "Mama! I am lookin' gooood!"
I have now vowed to sleep with a mirror hiding under my pillow, ready for the next time my vain, grumpy child dares to wake me up.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
St. Vincent
Finally a moment of quiet to remember our trip to St. Vincent. St. Vincent is one of the few islands left in the Caribbean that has not yet been complete exploited by the cruise and tourist industry. I have only been a few places where I have experienced meeting people unaffected by the money-maker machines that feed off of hype and gimmicks to keep their economy going. In the Scottish highlands where neighbors have been neighbors as far back as they can remember; in a small ancient village named Conques in the South of France, where, for centuries, the cobble stones roads wind have passed by old men in berets on their rocking chairs; and now here, on the island of St. Vincent.
Here generations have passed without much changing or challenging their way of life. In the mountains of St. Vincent there live people who have never made it the 5 to 10 miles to the ocean. It was on the Island of St. Vincent where much of the blockbuster Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy was filmed and yet many of the locals I talked to thought that they filmed it on a different island. There was no movie theatre, no shopping district and hardly any tourists at all. The “hotels” are mostly old “Great Gatsby” homes made for the English and French ruling class who alternately and ultimately, unsuccessfully, tried to colonize the island. The demographics tend to remain the same despite the island’s independence. Rich English retirees have bought up large vacation homes up in the hills while the majority of the Vincies live in poverty. I never actually saw many of those vacationers, but we were there the in the rainy season.
We arrived at the end of Vincy Mas, a two month celebration akin to Mardi Gras. The last day was dedicated to a parade that lasted the better part of a day. People from neighboring islands came to represent schools, groups, bands and whole islands with their colorful costumes and small floats pulled by a single person. Large trucks were scattered throughout the parade housing massive speakers while blaring the parade songs over and over. A song titled “Party Animal” won a contest to represent the parade and we must have heard that song over 40 times during our vacation. A strange remix of the Kelly Clarkson song, “Since you’ve been gone,” sung in a different language seemed to have won second place. The dancing and music went on well after we left that evening. We were informed that it was probably not a wise idea to stay in town after dark, as our blaringly white skin would tip off our “tourist” status to even the most inebriated fellows. Not wanting to be such an easy target, we resolved to hang out at our hotel (old mansion) during the evenings.
It was wonderful watching the Vincentians move and dance with such spirited abandon. Robert and I felt that we were experiencing the island in a way that won’t be possible a few years down the road. Even as I write this there is a large 5 star resort nearing completion on the backside of island. And although this may bring needed commerce to the island, it will most definitely cheapen many of the native traditions with the sale of memorabilia and shoddy trinkets that will be used to promote the island’s culture.
I feel a deep sadness for the change that most Vincentions have no idea that is coming. I keep thinking of a couple experiences we had while living in Laie, HI. Once when taking some visitors to experience Honolulu, the Hawaiian tourist Mecca, we saw some young, Haole girls working their hips in a very energetic attempt of the Hula. It was entertaining. The costumes were pretty and jingled when they moved. It was just some meaningless entertainment. And very commercial. And then there was Trish. Trish is a very large, very hard featured woman. Life has not treated her kindly, but genetics did. She has two very beautiful and talented daughters. I met Trish my first year in Laie when I worked at a pearl kiosk about two feet from her souvenir kiosk outside the quad of the PCC. During many of the slow hours I watched as she taught her 13 year old daughter to learn the storytelling moves and music of her ancestry. Watching that young girl express the emotions of an entire culture through the movements of her body the tone of her voice was about the most moving thing I’ve ever seen. There is no mistaking the imitation and the real thing.
So, experiencing St. Vincent before the waves of tourism change the dynamics of the island was something that we’ll never forget.
While we were there I had the opportunity to earn my scuba certification. We worked with Kay, the owner of Indigo Dive, during our entire trip. She is this awesome Brit. (married to Mal, a Vincentian) who has created a thriving business in less than 3 years. She made the whole experience easy, safe and fun. I’m sure she got sick of us, but we’re determined to drop by her new shop one day. By the end of our trip I was ready to purchase a complete diving equipment set and buy tickets to the Great Barrier Reef. (Reality hit as soon as our first bank statement arrived in the mail, but one day when we are rich and famous, I’m totally there.)
Now, if you’ve made it this far through this post, I’ll grace you with one last experience. The bus system. The bus system on St. Vincent is made up of anyone who owns a vehicle, but mostly buses. I use the term “bus” very liberally because what most of these men owns is comparable to van. In fact, they are mostly the same size as my dodge caravan which seats 7 people in a crunch. 6 people rather comfortably. The bus drivers all modified their vans and instead of a luggage area in the back, they put another row of seats. In the spaces where one would normally walk back to the back seat, they made these temporary seats/platforms that could be removed in a second and basically created a full length bench. One man drove and another stood at the door and took the money. These drivers would speed up and down the one main road going around the island and shove as many people in the van as they could along the way. We were often squished in there with 18 other people, large and small. If you were in the back and wanted the driver to stop, you’d either catch the door handler’s eye or call out. At that point everyone in front of you in the removable seats would exit and wait as you shimmied by the remaining passengers. As soon as you jumped off they would file back in, filling up the back first and replacing the removable seats as they went. Because time really is money for these drivers, they would drive like maniacs from one stop to the next, swerving around slow drivers and ignoring all driving laws (I’m not sure if there are any driving laws, to tell you the truth) It was a wild ride every time we got on….but it only cost 50 cents as compared to $15 dollars in a taxi to go to the same place. Crazy.
Finally a moment of quiet to remember our trip to St. Vincent. St. Vincent is one of the few islands left in the Caribbean that has not yet been complete exploited by the cruise and tourist industry. I have only been a few places where I have experienced meeting people unaffected by the money-maker machines that feed off of hype and gimmicks to keep their economy going. In the Scottish highlands where neighbors have been neighbors as far back as they can remember; in a small ancient village named Conques in the South of France, where, for centuries, the cobble stones roads wind have passed by old men in berets on their rocking chairs; and now here, on the island of St. Vincent.
Here generations have passed without much changing or challenging their way of life. In the mountains of St. Vincent there live people who have never made it the 5 to 10 miles to the ocean. It was on the Island of St. Vincent where much of the blockbuster Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy was filmed and yet many of the locals I talked to thought that they filmed it on a different island. There was no movie theatre, no shopping district and hardly any tourists at all. The “hotels” are mostly old “Great Gatsby” homes made for the English and French ruling class who alternately and ultimately, unsuccessfully, tried to colonize the island. The demographics tend to remain the same despite the island’s independence. Rich English retirees have bought up large vacation homes up in the hills while the majority of the Vincies live in poverty. I never actually saw many of those vacationers, but we were there the in the rainy season.
We arrived at the end of Vincy Mas, a two month celebration akin to Mardi Gras. The last day was dedicated to a parade that lasted the better part of a day. People from neighboring islands came to represent schools, groups, bands and whole islands with their colorful costumes and small floats pulled by a single person. Large trucks were scattered throughout the parade housing massive speakers while blaring the parade songs over and over. A song titled “Party Animal” won a contest to represent the parade and we must have heard that song over 40 times during our vacation. A strange remix of the Kelly Clarkson song, “Since you’ve been gone,” sung in a different language seemed to have won second place. The dancing and music went on well after we left that evening. We were informed that it was probably not a wise idea to stay in town after dark, as our blaringly white skin would tip off our “tourist” status to even the most inebriated fellows. Not wanting to be such an easy target, we resolved to hang out at our hotel (old mansion) during the evenings.
It was wonderful watching the Vincentians move and dance with such spirited abandon. Robert and I felt that we were experiencing the island in a way that won’t be possible a few years down the road. Even as I write this there is a large 5 star resort nearing completion on the backside of island. And although this may bring needed commerce to the island, it will most definitely cheapen many of the native traditions with the sale of memorabilia and shoddy trinkets that will be used to promote the island’s culture.
I feel a deep sadness for the change that most Vincentions have no idea that is coming. I keep thinking of a couple experiences we had while living in Laie, HI. Once when taking some visitors to experience Honolulu, the Hawaiian tourist Mecca, we saw some young, Haole girls working their hips in a very energetic attempt of the Hula. It was entertaining. The costumes were pretty and jingled when they moved. It was just some meaningless entertainment. And very commercial. And then there was Trish. Trish is a very large, very hard featured woman. Life has not treated her kindly, but genetics did. She has two very beautiful and talented daughters. I met Trish my first year in Laie when I worked at a pearl kiosk about two feet from her souvenir kiosk outside the quad of the PCC. During many of the slow hours I watched as she taught her 13 year old daughter to learn the storytelling moves and music of her ancestry. Watching that young girl express the emotions of an entire culture through the movements of her body the tone of her voice was about the most moving thing I’ve ever seen. There is no mistaking the imitation and the real thing.
So, experiencing St. Vincent before the waves of tourism change the dynamics of the island was something that we’ll never forget.
While we were there I had the opportunity to earn my scuba certification. We worked with Kay, the owner of Indigo Dive, during our entire trip. She is this awesome Brit. (married to Mal, a Vincentian) who has created a thriving business in less than 3 years. She made the whole experience easy, safe and fun. I’m sure she got sick of us, but we’re determined to drop by her new shop one day. By the end of our trip I was ready to purchase a complete diving equipment set and buy tickets to the Great Barrier Reef. (Reality hit as soon as our first bank statement arrived in the mail, but one day when we are rich and famous, I’m totally there.)
Now, if you’ve made it this far through this post, I’ll grace you with one last experience. The bus system. The bus system on St. Vincent is made up of anyone who owns a vehicle, but mostly buses. I use the term “bus” very liberally because what most of these men owns is comparable to van. In fact, they are mostly the same size as my dodge caravan which seats 7 people in a crunch. 6 people rather comfortably. The bus drivers all modified their vans and instead of a luggage area in the back, they put another row of seats. In the spaces where one would normally walk back to the back seat, they made these temporary seats/platforms that could be removed in a second and basically created a full length bench. One man drove and another stood at the door and took the money. These drivers would speed up and down the one main road going around the island and shove as many people in the van as they could along the way. We were often squished in there with 18 other people, large and small. If you were in the back and wanted the driver to stop, you’d either catch the door handler’s eye or call out. At that point everyone in front of you in the removable seats would exit and wait as you shimmied by the remaining passengers. As soon as you jumped off they would file back in, filling up the back first and replacing the removable seats as they went. Because time really is money for these drivers, they would drive like maniacs from one stop to the next, swerving around slow drivers and ignoring all driving laws (I’m not sure if there are any driving laws, to tell you the truth) It was a wild ride every time we got on….but it only cost 50 cents as compared to $15 dollars in a taxi to go to the same place. Crazy.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Scribner Family Reunion & Dad Scribner's 70th B-day Party
Somehow we managed to gather all Mom & Dad, all 8 siblings and their spouses and all 23 grandkids (did I get that number right?) together in one place over the 4th of July. This was no small feat, but worth all the effort to get there. My kiddies loved sleeping in a tent, playing with their many, many cousins and playing at Lake Payson in Utah. Robert and I loved hanging out with the big kids after the little ones all went to bed. After 3 days of camping my kids were the dirtiest I've ever seen them. (for those of you who read my blog, you may find that hard to believe...but believe it.) By the way...if anyone has that picture taken of Alaina our last day there where it looks like she actually bath in dirt and ate a mud pie...would you send it to me?
On Sat. we all washed up for pictures and got ready to surprise Dad with his party. He was a little put off that we kept making him go down to town to pick up random groceries and bags of ice but the surprise was worth it. The funniest part about that was that I made Dad pull over in town to listen to a bagpipe group perform (it was Payson's Scottish Festival that day) which ended about 4 minutes after we parked. As the crowd dispersed I saw Aunt Joyce and several party goers walking up to their cars to go to the party and so before Dad could see them I brusquely ordered him to pick up the pace and get to the store. Since he had just barely parked he was a little miffed at me. Oh well!
We had a wonderful party. The boys sang and we performed a Mom-esque Reader's Theater about Dad's life. The brothers and sisters and spent months writing inane and silly emails back and forth trying to decide on the best stories to portray, and in the end we all had a good time roasting Dad with them. We were a little presumptuous, since Dad's b-day isn't until Feb., but we knew it would be almost impossible to gather everyone together again for the real day. i think I actually tell everyone that he is already 70 now anyways. I mean, once you celebrate, it is pretty much legal.
It was awesome seeing everyone there....I wish ya'll would bite the bullet and move on over to NC so we could get together more often!
One more thing - for the fam-damily -...I have my pictures in PhotoBucket...I don't have many more than you've seen in this entry. But I know the rest of you took tons more pictures...does anyone want to come up with a way to share them all? Email me.
Somehow we managed to gather all Mom & Dad, all 8 siblings and their spouses and all 23 grandkids (did I get that number right?) together in one place over the 4th of July. This was no small feat, but worth all the effort to get there. My kiddies loved sleeping in a tent, playing with their many, many cousins and playing at Lake Payson in Utah. Robert and I loved hanging out with the big kids after the little ones all went to bed. After 3 days of camping my kids were the dirtiest I've ever seen them. (for those of you who read my blog, you may find that hard to believe...but believe it.) By the way...if anyone has that picture taken of Alaina our last day there where it looks like she actually bath in dirt and ate a mud pie...would you send it to me?
On Sat. we all washed up for pictures and got ready to surprise Dad with his party. He was a little put off that we kept making him go down to town to pick up random groceries and bags of ice but the surprise was worth it. The funniest part about that was that I made Dad pull over in town to listen to a bagpipe group perform (it was Payson's Scottish Festival that day) which ended about 4 minutes after we parked. As the crowd dispersed I saw Aunt Joyce and several party goers walking up to their cars to go to the party and so before Dad could see them I brusquely ordered him to pick up the pace and get to the store. Since he had just barely parked he was a little miffed at me. Oh well!
We had a wonderful party. The boys sang and we performed a Mom-esque Reader's Theater about Dad's life. The brothers and sisters and spent months writing inane and silly emails back and forth trying to decide on the best stories to portray, and in the end we all had a good time roasting Dad with them. We were a little presumptuous, since Dad's b-day isn't until Feb., but we knew it would be almost impossible to gather everyone together again for the real day. i think I actually tell everyone that he is already 70 now anyways. I mean, once you celebrate, it is pretty much legal.
It was awesome seeing everyone there....I wish ya'll would bite the bullet and move on over to NC so we could get together more often!
One more thing - for the fam-damily -...I have my pictures in PhotoBucket...I don't have many more than you've seen in this entry. But I know the rest of you took tons more pictures...does anyone want to come up with a way to share them all? Email me.
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