At every family event, I arrived with my big-mini paparazzi camera, which most of my kin detested until Cousin Maria announced that she was traveling to Belize for the holidays. Our other cousins there wanted to see current pictures of “di fahmly eena di States,” because it had been over a decade since we last saw each other. Putting their annoyance aside, my stateside family smiled slightly, and for once, I was capturing more than palms.
****
”Whey yuh di snap dey evalastin’?” Cousin Maria asked, pushing back errant strands of her salt and pepper wavy hair that escaped from her taut ponytail. Without waiting for my response, Cousin Maria said, “Mekka see.”
I handed her my camera and showed her how to scroll through the current images as well as the ones I had forgotten to delete from our holiday and backyard gatherings. The more family fetes Cousin Maria saw, the more her smile faded away. After looking at four events, she had turned completely sullen.
"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned.
"Dis," she started, pointing to herself and leaving her fingerprint on my camera's screen. "In every picture me di wear the same shirt."
I looked. She was right—and she was wearing the same black and white stripe shirt that day.
"It's alright, we're family," I said, trying to comfort her.
"No! Everybodie have on ah nice pretty frock or press-up dungarees and me one have on ole clothes. Even mi shoes dem look mashup eena di pictcha and now dey have a hole," she said showing me.
I looked. Two of her toes peeked out.
As Cousin Maria’s brows furrowed and her big brown eyes started to water, she picked up her bag to leave and announced, "Me wahn juss stop come out." And at that, she was gone.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
ANECDOTE TUESDAY - REEFAH
With much groveling, I had convinced my parents to allow me to attend a public high school instead of the all girl-girl Catholic school I had been accepted to on an academic scholarship.
At my mother's insistence, I had signed up for keyboarding class, electing to sit next to a girl who warmly smiled and waved me over. As soon as I sat down and squeezed my new five-subject spiral notebook and pens into the tight space between our archaic typewriters, the girl scooted her chair closer to me, then tossed her knapsack on her thighs.
"Yo girl," she said, startling me.
She doesn't seem so friendly anymore, I thought.
"Hi," I mumbled feebly.
"Look over here," she said pointing to her lap.
I looked at what seemed to be dirt in a plastic bag. "What is that?” I whispered.
"Weed."
"What?
"Weed."
"Dirt?" I asked in response. At fourteen, I had never heard that word nor seen weed.
"No," she hissed. "Weed. To smoke." She rolled her eyes, taxed that she had to even explain what it was.
I looked again and a light bulb went off in my head. "Reefah? I said, my Belizean accent automatically changing the "er" to "ah." I had only heard my mother mention reefah when referring to wayward, often ostracized family members.
"What?" The girl snapped.
"Reefah. That's what that is, nuh? Drugs?"
"No one says reefer anymore, and it's not really drugs. Just a little something to mellow you out," she explained, once again smiling.
I was rooted to my chair in fear of being labeled a drug-user, or worse, expelled. My public school experience was turning out to be nightmare. Maybe I should go back to Catholic school where it is safe, I mused in my naiveté.
"Here, try it," the girl said, offering me a smaller baggie. "I'll give you a free sample and tomorrow you can buy some from me."
"Um, well, my parents wouldn't want me to have it in the house so..."
"Smoke it in your bathroom when they're not home and spray some air freshener. You do know how to smoke, right?"
I avoided her question, instead saying, "Well, I...I won't have any money tomorrow. I think I'll pass, but thank you for offering," I said cordially.
She looked at me with disgust and started pitching the other student to the left of her. In an attempt to be helpful, I interrupted the girl’s presentation and showed her a sign that read, Say No to Drugs.
She glared at me then scooted her chair further away.
At my mother's insistence, I had signed up for keyboarding class, electing to sit next to a girl who warmly smiled and waved me over. As soon as I sat down and squeezed my new five-subject spiral notebook and pens into the tight space between our archaic typewriters, the girl scooted her chair closer to me, then tossed her knapsack on her thighs.
"Yo girl," she said, startling me.
She doesn't seem so friendly anymore, I thought.
"Hi," I mumbled feebly.
"Look over here," she said pointing to her lap.
I looked at what seemed to be dirt in a plastic bag. "What is that?” I whispered.
"Weed."
"What?
"Weed."
"Dirt?" I asked in response. At fourteen, I had never heard that word nor seen weed.
"No," she hissed. "Weed. To smoke." She rolled her eyes, taxed that she had to even explain what it was.
I looked again and a light bulb went off in my head. "Reefah? I said, my Belizean accent automatically changing the "er" to "ah." I had only heard my mother mention reefah when referring to wayward, often ostracized family members.
"What?" The girl snapped.
"Reefah. That's what that is, nuh? Drugs?"
"No one says reefer anymore, and it's not really drugs. Just a little something to mellow you out," she explained, once again smiling.
I was rooted to my chair in fear of being labeled a drug-user, or worse, expelled. My public school experience was turning out to be nightmare. Maybe I should go back to Catholic school where it is safe, I mused in my naiveté.
"Here, try it," the girl said, offering me a smaller baggie. "I'll give you a free sample and tomorrow you can buy some from me."
"Um, well, my parents wouldn't want me to have it in the house so..."
"Smoke it in your bathroom when they're not home and spray some air freshener. You do know how to smoke, right?"
I avoided her question, instead saying, "Well, I...I won't have any money tomorrow. I think I'll pass, but thank you for offering," I said cordially.
She looked at me with disgust and started pitching the other student to the left of her. In an attempt to be helpful, I interrupted the girl’s presentation and showed her a sign that read, Say No to Drugs.
She glared at me then scooted her chair further away.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
DATING ADVICE FROM COUSIN MARIA
At 28, I was still unmarried, which was akin to cardinal sin in my Belizean family.
During another family cookout, my mother decided it was apropos to roast me in front of everyone, loudly proclaiming and complaining that, "After giving birth to five pickney, all me have is one grandchile."
Like grandchildren are items someone can pick up in the grocery store, I thought.
Glancing at me, she shook her head and walked away dismayed. I was her eldest child and by her standards, should have been wedded, bedded, and made a couple babies by now.
Feeling sorry for me, my cousin, Maria, sidled up next to me, gently taking one of my hands into her two clammy ones.
"Gyal," she began in her heavy Belizean dialect. "Whey di tek suh long?" she asked of my seemingly perennial singledom.
"I don know...I want to meet the person I’m supposed to be with and love forever. There's this one guy I kinda like, but..."
Cousin Maria interrupted me, sucking her teeth. "Love? Yuh di fool 'rung, gyal! Yuh mussee di wait fuh di perfeck mahn, but mekka tell yuh something: He nuh exist! Dat is di problem wid oonu young people today; oonu want nice nice all di time."
"Maria, you’re missing the point. I'm not asking for perfection, just someone who is compatible with me emotionally, mentally, spiritually, socially..."
She interjected. "Gyal! Dat is too much! Di mahn yuh like--he fat? He black? He bruk?"
"Well, he's kinda dark and thick..."
"Lookyah, none of it matters," Cousin Maria said, caressing my hand in comfort. The clamminess was irking me.
"When yuh get eena di bed and di lights off, he can be any mahn yuh want him fuh be. 'Membah dat," she said winking, then walked off.
During another family cookout, my mother decided it was apropos to roast me in front of everyone, loudly proclaiming and complaining that, "After giving birth to five pickney, all me have is one grandchile."
Like grandchildren are items someone can pick up in the grocery store, I thought.
Glancing at me, she shook her head and walked away dismayed. I was her eldest child and by her standards, should have been wedded, bedded, and made a couple babies by now.
Feeling sorry for me, my cousin, Maria, sidled up next to me, gently taking one of my hands into her two clammy ones.
"Gyal," she began in her heavy Belizean dialect. "Whey di tek suh long?" she asked of my seemingly perennial singledom.
"I don know...I want to meet the person I’m supposed to be with and love forever. There's this one guy I kinda like, but..."
Cousin Maria interrupted me, sucking her teeth. "Love? Yuh di fool 'rung, gyal! Yuh mussee di wait fuh di perfeck mahn, but mekka tell yuh something: He nuh exist! Dat is di problem wid oonu young people today; oonu want nice nice all di time."
"Maria, you’re missing the point. I'm not asking for perfection, just someone who is compatible with me emotionally, mentally, spiritually, socially..."
She interjected. "Gyal! Dat is too much! Di mahn yuh like--he fat? He black? He bruk?"
"Well, he's kinda dark and thick..."
"Lookyah, none of it matters," Cousin Maria said, caressing my hand in comfort. The clamminess was irking me.
"When yuh get eena di bed and di lights off, he can be any mahn yuh want him fuh be. 'Membah dat," she said winking, then walked off.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
JOKE & ANECDOTE
JOKE
Two kids are playing in a pool—a toddler girl and boy. The little girl looks between the boy's legs then asks, "Can I touch that?"
The little boy replies, "No, you already pulled yours off."
ANECDOTE
My cousin, Maria, who was born in Belize, but has spent half of her forty-three years of life living in the United States, only recently heard of the letter 'z'. Until 1981, Belize was called British Honduras and accordingly, people—including Maria—learned to spelled words the European way like color instead of colour and theatre instead of theater.
During a family backyard cookout last July, my precocious nine-year old niece,Kate, started spelling all the words she knew that started with the last letter of the alphabet. Hearing her, Maria turned to my sister, Kate’s mother, and asked in her distinctive Belizean dialect, “Ah whey she di sey dey?”
"What?" my sister queried, clearly confused.
"What was di fuss lettah di chile mi sey juss now when she middi spell zebra?" Maria replied, pointing at my niece.
"Z," my sister said.
"Z? Ah whey dat? I nevah hear ’bout dat before.”
Raucous laughter erupted from my mother, siblings, and cousins who had all paused with their pina coladas in hand to listen to the exchange. When everyone settled down, my sister turned to Maria again and said, "After being in this country over two decades, how is it you have never heard of the letter 'z'?"
"Me don't know. Me always said zed. Like zoo woulda be zed-o-o."
***
Got a joke or funny anecdote? Holler! BTW, today's joke was the courtesy of Tiger. :-)
Later Lovelies,
-Betsy Ice
Two kids are playing in a pool—a toddler girl and boy. The little girl looks between the boy's legs then asks, "Can I touch that?"
The little boy replies, "No, you already pulled yours off."
ANECDOTE
My cousin, Maria, who was born in Belize, but has spent half of her forty-three years of life living in the United States, only recently heard of the letter 'z'. Until 1981, Belize was called British Honduras and accordingly, people—including Maria—learned to spelled words the European way like color instead of colour and theatre instead of theater.
During a family backyard cookout last July, my precocious nine-year old niece,Kate, started spelling all the words she knew that started with the last letter of the alphabet. Hearing her, Maria turned to my sister, Kate’s mother, and asked in her distinctive Belizean dialect, “Ah whey she di sey dey?”
"What?" my sister queried, clearly confused.
"What was di fuss lettah di chile mi sey juss now when she middi spell zebra?" Maria replied, pointing at my niece.
"Z," my sister said.
"Z? Ah whey dat? I nevah hear ’bout dat before.”
Raucous laughter erupted from my mother, siblings, and cousins who had all paused with their pina coladas in hand to listen to the exchange. When everyone settled down, my sister turned to Maria again and said, "After being in this country over two decades, how is it you have never heard of the letter 'z'?"
"Me don't know. Me always said zed. Like zoo woulda be zed-o-o."
***
Got a joke or funny anecdote? Holler! BTW, today's joke was the courtesy of Tiger. :-)
Later Lovelies,
-Betsy Ice
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
HELLO 2011
Hello there! Happy New Year four days in, Lovelies!
I know…so long. Sooo long, but I’m back now.
2010 was an amazing year. Sure, I had a modicum of setbacks, but overall, my 365 days felt like one big happy adventure filled with family, friends, several passport stamps, fun-filled follies, and lots of self-awareness. Before the year ended, I thought about the people that brought me the most happiness and pleasure as well as those that provided serious stress, grief, and heartache. I mentally thanked every single one of them for the life lesson s/he provided.
I’ve already had my share of prima donnas and princes on poor behavior a few days into 2011, but no more! This is another great year in the making and allowing triangles in the player’s circle causes chaos. Folks, clear you life from bedlam in the form of people and things. Go for realistic goals and surround yourself with people that have something intellectually, spiritually, socially, financially, and/or emotionally to offer. To get started, here are a few tips to a happy, healthy, prosperous, and cheerful new year:
1. Set realistic goals – Folks always want to lose weight. If you gained thirty pounds in the course one year, you’re probably not going to lose it all in one month. And if you didn’t have a baby, how did you gain all that weight anyway? Don’t tell me love! “Oh, girl, I loves my man and cooks for him all the time. That’s how I got fat.” No, you got fat because you went to the Chinese spot and ordered four chicken wings with pork fried rice and lo mein three times per week. Two other days you went to Crown Fried Chicken to buy buffalo chicken wings; one night you cooked a pasta dish and ate a pint of ice cream as dessert; to end the week, you went to Ak to get the “good hero” with all the works. That’s how you got fat. Instead of trying to lose thirty pounds, try losing five per month. Once you cut down on Kum Kau, you’ll drop a few pounds and save a few dollars in the process.
2. Be a better entrepreneur – Your business is successful when you can show a real profit, not one floating in your head. Make better decisions regarding your business. Whether it’s a side hustle or full time gig, make sure you’re paid—on time. Pro bono is great if you agree to it upfront, but there is no reason why one year later (and then some) you should be waiting for your client to pay you. Whether your client is new business relationship, friend, or family member, ask for 50% of your fees up front. If the person doesn’t agree, move on. The next person will.
3. Do something crazy – Yup, I said it. Whatever it is you want to do may seem crazy, but it probably isn’t. Pole dancing? Not crazy at all. Actually, it’s a lot of frickin’ work and I popped an almost new brand pair of stilettos trying to swing on the pole. But, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it. You should. I had a blast and even have pictures to show. Other not so crazy things: Go on vacation solo. Write a love letter. Send an apology letter to a friend you know you hurt. Run a half marathon. Give away last season’s Manolo’s, Choo’s, or Todd’s. I’m a size 10 folks!
4. Share – Give your time, energy, and knowledge via volunteering or helping a family/friend build their strategic plan.
5. Help Betsy – Post comments. All the time. Even if it’s a one-liner and forward the link to your friends. I’m doing big things this year and it would help me immensely to know that folks are out there reading and liking the blog. And if you don’t, that’ okay too; just post a comment telling me why. I’m a reasonable human being and amenable to your suggestions. Grrr. Tiger, that growl was for you :-)
Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy Ice
(Yes, I dropped the “Baller” this year)
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
WAS IT A DATE?
When you’re out (or in) with someone new, how do you know it’s a date? Does the other person feel the same?
I had dinner with a fellow some time ago and the conversation eventually turned to dating. Ol’ boy said he would “go out” with women thinking they were just “hanging out” but the woman thought it was a date. Instead of letting the thoughts hang in the air, I asked him what he thought of our “hanging out.” He stammered around a bit, so I interrupted, clarifying that he was a cool dude, but it wasn’t a date for me. He said he felt the same way but didn’t want to hurt my feelings in the event I believed otherwise. Isn’t communication great?
Now, on another instance, there was some miscommunication. A brother and I made dinner plans for 8 pm. He was supposed to meet me in my neighborhood, and I assumed we would go to dine. But, since my cooking skills are sharp (I’ll take anyone on in the kitchen—just holler!), I decided to surprise him with a home-cooked meal. Excitedly, I stood at my counter dicing onions and mincing garlic and peppering my sauce with spices. With one hour left before his arrival, I was getting ready to whip up a cake or dessert bread. Not only did I want to see him, I was really remiss in cooking so was greatly looked forward to a home-cooked meal. I figured I would have heard from him n hour or so before our 8 p.m. date to confirm my address. Nada. I knew at that point he wasn’t coming but I continued to cook. 8 p.m. Blinking indicator light, but no messages from the brother. Finally, at 9 pm, I send a message that simply read, “?” I didn’t want to talk to him because I KNEW he would have an excuse. Ten seconds later he replied with something along the lines of getting back in the city late (I knew he was scheduled to return to town early that day) and wanting a rain check. I didn’t reply.
I ate dinner alone, disliking the feeling, but surely enjoying the food. I had cooked enough for five servings—leftovers or me and for him to carry to home/work.
A week later, I called, saying that he just wanted to catch up with me and see how things were going. Instantly, I was infuriated. What I wanted was a date a week prior, but thought back to the conversation with ol’ about what constitutes a date and how do you know you’re on one, especially during the beginning stages. Mr. Stood Me Up knew that I was interested in him; we flirted all the time and I said as much. So meeting for dinner shouldn’t have been a question of, “Is this a date?” right? Right?
Two days lapsed and I didn't return his call. In part, I didn’t want to talk to him. I felt like he wasn’t going to even contact me if I didn’t send a message first and that’s just whack. On the flip side for fairness, I wonder if he thought it was a “hang out” session and thought it wasn’t a big deal because we’re “cool people.”
Did I get stood up? Someone holler with sage advice.
Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy “Baller” Ice
Monday, September 20, 2010
MY ANNOYING/DEPLORABLE LIST
Folks, I have a lot on my mind and much to share. First, I wanted to talk about how great my Friday/Saturday was and opposingly, how my Sunday sucked, but I’m distracting by the need to share something else: a dozen things I find annoying or downright deplorable.
So without further adieu, my list.
15. holding in farts
14. people with a cart full of groceries at the 10 items or less express line
13. computer error messages
12. pumping gas
11. braggarts and/or constantly confused people
10. needing to go to work every week day (that 99 weeks of unemployment doesn’t sound that bad right now)
9. knowing that I have a ton of work to do but avoiding it (aka procrastination)
8. not getting a seat on the train
7. shredding papers
6. my mobile phone and/or iPod battery out-charging when I need it most
5. the slimy look and taste of okra
4. people touching my clean clothes with their dirty hands at the Laundromat (who cares if I didn’t take the clothes out the dryer ten seconds after they were done!?!?!?)
3. very laborious housework (i.e. cleaning the toilet tank, painting)
2. my dry cleaning expenses
1. taking a poop at work (besides the fact that almost twenty women at my workplace have to share one bathroom key and the toilet paper feels like burlap on my bottom, it’s just gross. I don’t even have any reading material like I do in my own house so it really is a trip of waste, but at least I had time to think of this blog post!)
What’s on your list? Share here.
Lata Lovelies,
-Betsy “Baller” Ice
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