Victory!

I remember the Wang. I bet some are saying, “The Wang?” Alright, so I am dating myself. The Wang was a word processing computer. I used it when I worked at Hughes Aircraft Company in the late eighties or early nineties.  I can't remember the exact date.


I was one of two employees who had one of these amazing machines in my office. Of course, in order to get printed material, I had to call the print room to get permission and then walk a half mile to pick up the material. The room was filled with huge processing units and the printers were the size of a Smart Car.  The floppy discs were half the size of a door.


I was an expert using this computer. I was able to write programs and do work in half the time it would have taken without this technology. I was the go-to person when anyone needed to know how to do something. Then, in a blink, the Wang was replaced. In came the DecMate. These word-processing machines were smaller, cheaper and allowed everyone to have their own little DecMate sitting on their desk. I picked up the new computer system quickly and regained my reputation for being the expert.


Very quickly, however, DecMates were replaced with word processors. Once again I was challenged to learn a new system. I was fearless. I remember the technician saying, “feel free to do anything; you can’t hurt this machine”. I called her back to my office an hour later. I had gotten into the autoexec file and changed the start-up command. She left different instructions. “here’s a list of what not to do”. I was programming in DOS in no time.


It wasn’t long before the PCs were kicked to the door to make way for the MACs. By now, I was tiring of learning one system after another. Of course, within a couple of years the MACs were kicked to the curb and PCs were back. By then, I had lost interest in learning what was behind the system and focused on just using the software at hand.


Change and learning to flow with it is the name of the game.  I’m comfortable with technology, but, having been absent for two years from the technology scene, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. I'm in catch-up mode.   When I left for Peace Corps, Blackberries were just introduced. The Smartphone, like the EVO and the IPhone did not exist. IPODs were only used for playing music, not for taking video or listening to the radio.


I had no clue how to turn the television on when I returned.  During my time in Peace Corps, HD was introduced.  The equipment changed and programming TIVO changed. The remote controls changed.  DirecTV has given way to FIOS and friends have dedicated computers hooked up to their televisions. My 30+ year old son no longer talks; he texts. He calls himself Senior Textioso - whatever that is.  I find myself texting him across the small table in the restaurant. It’s the only way to get his attention.


The clock on my car is still two hours ahead because I can’t figure out how to change it. Worse yet, I programmed an address into the navigation system a couple of weeks ago and while I was driving touched the screen. That must have told the system I wanted to make an additional stop. I had to get off the freeway and get the manual out to figure out how to stop the car from having a fun-filled day in Bakersfield, 100 miles from my intended destination.


Political candidates TWEET and have Facebook pages. I have a Facebook page and can deal with that, but I have yet to understand why I would ever want to TWEET.


I need to buy a DVD player, but the technology is different, and so I came home empty handed. I’m not sure what Blue Ray is, or why I want it, so I need to investigate it before I go back to Costco. 


We rent video’s from a vending machine outside the grocery store. The first time I spent a substantial amount of time going through the video’s while a very long line began forming behind me. Those waiting had a disgusted look on their face and their body language was less than friendly. I’ve since learned to go the Red Box Website before I go to the store. I feel a lot safer when there is a crowd behind me now.


Netbooks were introduced while I was away, but it seems they have drifted away since IPAD had it’s coming out party. I’m still not sure why anyone would want an oversized ITouch that can’t store anything. It seems like a total waste of money to me. I am likely missing something here as anytime I say this, I’m met with disapproving body language and people quickly move away so as not to be near ignorant contaminated ground.


During the time I was away I saw new and amazing technology – the Kindle. I only saw one, but it was eye-popping technology!  I came home to find a dozen different brands and children are saving their allowance to buy them. There is something that is just wrong about highlighting an ebook. You can highlight, can’t you?


I find that I am slightly behind the technological curve which can be dangerously close to being left in the proverbial dust. Today's proverb: She who doesn’t know will rarely be given an opportunity to learn.  


Let me demonstrate this proverb:  I went to the grocery store and there were long lines.  I hesitated to walk up to a self-serve checkout. Why? Because I had produce and I am not sure how to scan it. There was a store employee there who saw my hesitation. She said, “don’t worry, I’ll help you”. What I didn’t realize is that she didn’t “help” me, she did it for me. Why? Because people waiting for self-serve were in an impatient hurry. I fell into the same trap at IKEA when the reader would not scan the barcode.  I can't even talk about my experience at the Post Office.  Let's just say I'm lucky the guy behind me was honest because if he wasn't, my debit card would be paying for several purchases that day.


Here’s the bottom line; the purpose of this post: Yesterday I went to the grocery store and came out victorious. I arrived early in the morning when few were there. I took my time at self-checkout. When the lady asked if I need help, I politely said “no thank you”. So please, all you techies out there – give me a chance to catch up! Yes, I have wrinkles on my face, but I can still learn. I like technology!  Yes I can!  I'm pumped.  I'm going outside right now to learn how to change the time on the clock in my car!

Simplification

People give me a sympathetic look when I tell them about the fire. My response is always the same: it turned out to be a good thing. Sure, I lost some things I would like to have, but they are just things. And yes, I got a new kitchen, all new windows and floors, appliances, furniture, clothes, and six months in a hotel with maid service – but that wasn’t the good part.


The good part was that the clutter was gone; it was history – a pile of ashes! I didn’t have to deal with it. I didn’t have to make the decision to part with a stack of coupons that I continually forgot to take to the grocery store and would likely never use. Or, the adorable shoes with the little bow that I knew I wouldn’t wear again because they gave me blisters the only time I wore them. I didn’t need to worry about keeping the trail of paperwork that, if laid out, would likely span over a mile long and lead to nowhere. That was the good part.


The fire was in 2000. Shortly after I moved back into my house, the trash company changed to a different type of trash can. They asked me how many I would like. I requested one. I should have asked for two.


When I returned home from Saint Lucia I brought a few clothes, some pictures, electronics and gifts. This is all I have…well I should say, this is all I “had”.


Last weekend I visited my oldest friend in Frazier Park. Robin and I went to high school together and we have seen each other occasionally over the past forty-five years. It’s nice. Although we have led different lives, we have the same connection we had so many years ago. I stayed overnight at her home, a wonderful ranch style house on eighteen acres of land. We had lunch, picked up pinecones, and rode ATVs.


We looked through our old high school year book, both of us squinting trying to remember the people in the black and white pictures with big hair, the girls with lots of make-up and the boys with suits and ties. These were the most important people in our lives all those years ago. Robin and smiled as we reminisced about how much emphasis we placed on what they thought of us. Now, neither of us could remember any of them and we were sure they wouldn’t remember us either.


While I was visiting Robin, my house was being transformed. Since I’ve been home, there have been more people in the house than beds to sleep in. When I returned home from Robin’s house, my things were out of storage and a few boxes lay resting on the floor. My sons were setting up my bed – a bed I hadn’t slept in since the night before I left for Peace Corps Staging in Miami. I couldn’t wait to sleep in it again – a bed high off the floor filled with lots of pillows, fresh sheets and down bedding.


I looked around the house and two book shelves in the living room were emptied of Ava’s books and the toys that were scattered about the house had disappeared. A couple of drawers and a pantry were emptied. My son and his family moved over the weekend. They are getting ready for their new daughter, due next month.


The next morning I started reorganizing the living room. I have an extensive library of business books. They take up a lot of space and must be dusted frequently. Sometimes, I reference them. My son Jay suggested I donate them to the library. I actually felt a pain in my chest when he said it. One day, no one will own an actual book. Everything will be on e-books. But, I will keep these books and leave them all to Jay. He can haul them to the library.

Priceless

Where are all the locks?

Over the past week I’ve spent an untold amount of money purchasing organizers for kitchen drawers and cupboards. The more I clean the more clutter I find. How on earth does one amass so much useless stuff? For instance, what are all these keys and what do they open? How long have these old PDAs been in the junk drawer? Why do I keep remote controls after I’ve thrown away the device they belong to? What do these chargers charge? One says that I can only use it with “V1917 Models Only”. What happens if I throw it away and then discover I still have the V1917 Model? I can’t find the stock pot that belongs to the lid that is resting on my stove. It’s a very nice lid and I really hate to discard it. I’m sure I can use it for something.


Why do I have two junk drawers? I know why I have one. It’s because my parents always had one, so it must be necessary. Right? The junk drawer has a myriad of treasures. Extra buttons from clothes that have long been donated to Goodwill and extra light bulbs for Christmas light strands that were replaced years ago. Lots of nails and screws that were left over from things assembled. Pennies…lots of pennies. Why can’t it be dollars instead of pennies?

Huh?

What is this stuff?

But the vast majority of this treasure is unidentifiable. I must have kept these things for a reason. I’m sure they are important. Please don’t judge me. I know you have treasures at least equal to mine! And if you know what any of this stuff is, please let me know.


I have just started opening my boxes. I don’t have a clue why I have all these clothes…but I have a new rule. I purchased fifty pink hangars. I cannot have anymore than the hangars will hold and each hangar is only allowed one garment. If I buy something, I must give something up. Another rule: the shoe stand I purchased holds thirty pair of shoes. Why on earth do I need more than thirty pair of shoes when I only have one pair of feet!


I look at things a lot different since returning to the United States. Life was simple in Saint Lucia and although it’s unlikely that I will achieve that simplicity here, I am determined to make it less complicated. So, I have bags and boxes destined for the Goodwill Store. And remember when I said I should have requested two trash cans? Well, make that four!

The Ol’ Property Tax Bill

The mail comes fairly early.  I sort through it, first discarding all the annoying flyers, ads and assorted junk mail that few pay attention to and most will immediately toss into the recycle.  Not a single consideration goes into any of this untidy paper, including the expensive glossy color ads which tempt the reader with enticing phrases such as “one day only sale”, or “going out of business” or “half off”.  Let’s be real for a moment; the only useful purpose this paper serves is to keep my dear Letter Carrier, Steve, employed.  For that, I am grateful.

The only other thing that comes with any regularity is a few bills.  Among the bills on this day is the Property Tax.  Looking for a due date, I scan the contents of the envelope when I notice the amount is about $150 over the usual number.  That makes me take a closer look.  Have you ever looked at one of these bills?  Well, I haven’t.  I’ve always been too busy.  I’m a good soldier.  It comes, I pay.  Now, for the first time since my mid-twenties, I have no job or structure and therefore, I’m up for a time-consuming challenge that has no value but even with a null result, I know I will achieve a feeling of satisfaction that I completed the task.

I examined the details of the tax assessment.  I understand why I’m paying for County Parks, Trauma and Emergency Services, the Fire Department and Libraries.  I’m not sure how they arrive at the numbers, but, it doesn’t matter because there are bigger mysteries to uncover in this bill.  With cell phone in hand, I set out to get to the bottom of a bill I have always blindly paid – and will again pay – it’s just this time I want to know what my money is supporting and most important, I want to know WIIFM (a business term for What’s In It For Me).

I looked closer at the bill to discover a section of “Voted Indebtedness”.  This is the part where ‘we stick it to ourselves’.  It includes $4.01 for the Metro Water District.  I have no idea why they are getting this money, but I think it’s safe to bet that sometime in the not-so-distant past the majority of voters thought it would be a fine idea to give the Metro Water District this money.  I’m sure it’s going to some bureaucratic nightmare that won’t ever do me any good but will likely line some executive bureaucrat’s pocket. 

There is a charge for $43.70 charge for Community College.  This is alright as I worked at Los Angeles Harbor College and they needed the bond that is bringing this minority college (among other community colleges) up to date.  I remember voting for this one.

There is a $202.67 charge for the Los Angeles Unified Schools – a charge that I am sure will be squandered while raising bureaucratic ego’s into the stratosphere while we watch drop-out rates sour.  I distinctly remember voting against this nonsense.  My son said this amount will continue to increase.  

Other entries on the bill are intriguing.  I must have missed the class that taught what WB MWD STDBY CHG means because there is nothing on the bill that tells me.  I can only assume I’m in a small minority of people who was absent that day.  So I called to find out.  It is the Western Basin Municipal Water District Standby Charge.  So what do I get for this?  I get recycled non-potable water.  I tried to find out what that means to no avail, although the woman said that farmers might be using the recycled water.  Right, all the Los Angeles farmers – wait, where are all these farmers?  I don’t see any farmers in Los Angeles.  I’m a little curious about this recycled non-potable water because Orange County is recycling toilet water into drinking water.  They said they are going to get back to me on this one.

Who would know that LACO VECTR CNTRL is a pest control administration organization tasked to administer costs for another organization to get rid of mosquitoes.  Huh?  Doesn’t that sound like we have one too many organizations in the pest control fight!  I never knew these pests were a problem in the arid community of Los Angeles, but maybe that $7.25 is well spent.  I asked them how they get rid of the mosquitoes and when the last time they were in my neighborhood, but they aren’t returning my phone calls.

I found that the Sanitation District charges me $135.00 to treat my water.  I asked what they were putting in it but they didn’t know.  That makes me wonder what they really know.

I pay a fee for Flood Control.  I wasn’t aware we had a flooding problem in Los Angeles, but I found out this fee pays to keep our dams, catch basins and channels clear.  I guess they forget about the one in my neighborhood – you know, the one with old shopping carts and trash building up in it.  The woman from Flood Control suggested the citizens should be responsible for this.  Huh?  

There were several numbers that I had to call to get information.  After piecing the data together, this is what I believe I am paying for:  the reason we need the Pest Control people is because the Flood Control people aren’t cleaning out the drains and thus they build a supply of non-potable stagnant water which is ripe for mosquitoes.  After the water is sprayed for mosquitoes by the Pest Control people and then deemed non-potable by the Water Basin people, the Sanitation District treats the water and it is then turned into recycled drinking water. . . or they just give it to the vast amount of Los Angeles farmers . . . take your pick.

 

Ah, another productive day.

Coming Home - Feeling Lucky

This is my group in the beginning.  We never know how this adventure will unfold. And now, here I am at the ending. I'm sure each of our individual endings look different and any expectations we had when this photo was taken are a distant memory.

Only a handful of people know that I only have two weeks left on the island. I have one foot firmly standing on Saint Lucia soil and the other foot stepping back into California.


I am excited to go home and spend time with my three sons and daughter-in-law, my granddaughter, friends, my dog Barkley and a newly acquired kitty, Riley. I am looking forward to seeing my youngest son, Kevin, who is coming to help me move.


I spoke with my granddaughter and she is anxious for me to watch her take tap dancing lessons. I have another granddaughter who will arrive in November. I anticipate and look forward to this next chapter but I feel a pull from Saint Lucia, the country I have grown to appreciate and love.


Two weeks later. It is near midnight. It seems as if I have been travelling for hours. Oh, I almost forgot – I have been travelling for hours.


Edward picked Kevin and I up at my apartment at 1:00 p.m. I looked around one last time at the two bedroom apartment that had become my home.

The main road in my village where I walked
to the highway to catch a bus

Earlier I said my last goodbyes to Elvinette, Brenda and Lyle. The night before, I said goodbyes to my neighbors and my friend Angelina. I walked down the stairs for the last time where John and Elizabeth were waiting to say goodbye. Within just a minute or so we were on our way and I was looking out the window of the van getting a last glimpse of Micoud Village as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The lines at Hewanorra Airport were longer than I have ever seen. I get lucky. They took my three over-packed suitcases without weighing them and gave Kevin and I boarding passes. We look over at the three hundred people waiting in a line nearby realizing this is the line to get through security.

My last glimpse of Saint Lucia

And, finally - the plane is here

The plane is an hour late and we are warned that we will likely miss our connection. We are given seats in the front of the plane so we can rush the crowd, move through customs, claim our baggage and try to make the Los Angeles flight. This is definitely a sign that I am leaving my slow-paced life where everything will eventually happen and into a world where the word stress is part of life. I am entering the crazy fast moving ridiculous way of life that just two years ago I accepted as normal. Yes, this will be a long day.


No one dares get in our way. We are focused. We successfully navigate our way through Miami Airport getting through customs in record time.


Our luggage is among the first bags thrown onto the luggage carousal. I find two carts, Kevin throws the bags onto the carts and we run through the airport, clearing the last x-ray check in record time.


I yell over at Kevin, “Over here”, knowing where the re-check for Los Angeles is located. A few beads of sweat are on my forehead but I have a feeling of complete satisfaction that we were going to make our flight. A woman behind the ropes approaches. Breathless, I say, “LAX”. She looks at me in an almost bored manner and simply says, “too late” as she pointed to the re-booking line. I look in the direction of her pointing finger and witness the sedentary line with three hundred impatient, grumbling and angry people. This is a fitting welcome to my former life.

The American Airlines agent tells us how "lucky" we are because our flight delay was late due to maintenance. Most of the people in the re-booking line were there due to weather delays.  She explains, "If your flight was late because of weather, American would only re-book your flight".


Quietly, I wondered why this was considered lucky. Wouldn't lucky be considered getting to our destination ahead of time? Or, wouldn't lucky be a free first-class upgrade and getting to our destination on time? Isn't lucky not having to pay for over-packed, bulging bags checked with 'Heavy' tags fastened to them?  Alright, I could continue to contrast my definition of lucky with American Airlines definition, but you get the point I'm trying to make.


After standing in the line for over an hour, and trying to put a 'I feel lucky look' on our face, we are re-booked for the next morning and handed food and hotel vouchers. We were on our way to find the hotel shuttle.


Tomorrow the journey would continue with yet another stop and change of planes. In the end, this simple 'lucky' trip became an adventure which included more than 24 hours, two countries, three states, one missed flight, a hotel stay, three bus rides and a car ride before arriving home.


During our Close of Service Conference, we were warned about re-entry into the United States and the readjustment that people feel. Twice I’d vacationed at home since leaving for my Peace Corps assignment. I am sure these warnings don’t apply to my situation.


My next and maybe last post will describe three stories where I found myself looking at simple things in a very different way.

Humm? A new trend? A fashion statement?

My report on New York is being interrupted for this special news bulletin.

Yesterday I stopped to take shelter during a rain storm. Is there a fashion trend going on here?




Considerable research determined the answer is yes, it must be a new trend.

Dropping

I don't have a lot of choice. I can move to a new house. I can pay for a flight to bring one of my boys here. I can spend my entire retirement fund to stay in a luxurious hotel with a swimming pool and lounges on the beach. Alright, the most realistic option is to pay for one of my boys to come here. Why? Will look at what I am finding around my house! I am sure this is a mouse dropping!

Frightening as it is, I have dealt with this in the least girly way possible, largely because the mouse has never come out in the open and so I’ve never seen it! I've seen these droppings for awhile now, but have lived in denial.

I've convinced myself it is not real and if I don't talk about it, it is not true. Another story I tell myself is that these are old droppings and the mouse has long left the premises. I found one dropping in a bedroom drawer. Since then I rattle drawers, cupboards and closets before opening them in order to give the vermin fair warning to get out of sight and let me remain in my happy place.

I have a fear of these four-legged low-to-the-ground, silent and sneaky things. I remember my mother standing on the dining room table screaming one afternoon; a frightening vision leaving this once impressionable mind indelibly stained with terror. Yes, mom too was deathly afraid of these creatures.

Years ago and early one morning I was sitting on the sofa, drinking my first cup of coffee. It was Sunday Morning. I was reading the paper and listening to news on the television. This particular morning was different and the event is crystal clear in my mind. Within my periphery, I saw something move. I turned my head and met its gnarly eyes. I was sure this creature was going to attack me.

I knew what I had to do. I immediately looked for Putter, my beloved black kitty-cat and fierce hunter who slept with one eye opened and loved nothing more than living for his purpose. He loved slinging mice high into the air like little toy things. After playing with it until all signs of life were a distant memory, Putter would then bite its head off, decapitating it on the spot.

Although Putter has gone to the big kitty litter box in the sky and is no longer available to save his best friend, the story lingers. That morning I picked Putter up and pointed his face in the mouse’s direction. Putter yawned and jumped back on the sofa quickly regaining his lazy comfort.

I ran into Kevin's room and woke him. Now one thing you must understand about Kevin is that no one would describe him as “friendly” in the morning and especially not friendly in the wee hours of a Sunday morning. However, after exchanging words, he begrudgingly got out of bed, snarling words that would make any mother run for cover. I ran from the house, not knowing how he would capture the intruder. Minutes later he appeared on the doorstep with only his boxer shorts on. The mouse was firmly in the clutch of his hand and its little tail wrapped around his arm. Kevin shouted, "What do you want me to do with it?"

I have several more stories similar to this one, but I will spare you the details as I’m sure you understand the depth of the predicament that was in front of me. So, lets get back to the point of this story.

Given the situation I was in, I reacted in the only logical way I could think. I left an email for my boys giving them specific instructions about coming to the island to capture this dangerous and ugly creature and save me from the horrible fate that I was sure to face.

Then I confided in Elvinette telling her what I had done. She looked at me and said, "Karen, those are Gecko droppings". Disaster averted and my happy place resumed.

Bank on Learning

I remember when my oldest son was just approaching his teenage years. He came into the house one evening, excited and loud, declaring his love for the perfect food. He made a declaration of truth, “they fill you up, they are cheap and they taste good!” I’m glad he grew out of that because, although he made valid points in his argument, donuts aren’t exactly nutritious.

The growing stash of Pringles Cans in various sizes under my sink provides constant pangs of guilt. I already filled the mostly empty cupboard once. I gathered them up and took them to the after-school program. I was confident they would find a myriad of uses for the wonderful cast-away and ever-growing collection of cylindrical containers.

But alas, my collection grows. The only other thing occupying space within this cupboard is an extension cord which I must use when I need electricity to my washing machine. It’s annoying when I open the door to remove the cord. The containers spill over onto the floor and throughout the shelf. I must bend down and neatly arrange them, pushing them backward and hoping that when I return the cord to its rightful shelf space, the cans will not behave in the same manner and cause me more grief. What’s a Pringle Loving Girl to do? Surely, I shouldn’t give up my love of these crunchy salty delights! The Pringles cans are just one part of the story so let us move forward.

I’m teaching a Grade One Junior Achievement class. This is my first effort teaching this grade. I was excited when the teacher asked me if I would do it…that is until I looked through the kit. I previously taught Grade Three and found it a challenge because this American company made no cultural considerations in the curriculum. They used donuts for an exercise when many of my children had never eaten a donut. They gave me a cassette to play music when I had nothing to play it with. It became quickly apparent that Grade One is no different.

But first, let me be fair. These problems have been brought to the attention of Junior Achievement Worldwide and they have pledged to improve the worldwide portion of the program. It is a great program. I was in Junior Achievement in high school so many years ago and learned a great deal from it. But, like the Pringles Cans, this is just one point in the story and so again, let us move forward.

The focus of this course is to learn about acquisition. In other words, how to trade, barter and buy the things we need and want and how to save money to obtain things beyond our immediate reach. The kit contains stickers of coins and posters with blown up pictures of money. So, what’s the problem? Saint Lucia doesn’t use American Dollars; they use Eastern Caribbean Dollars. So once again, I must get creative.

When my niece taught the class she pasted American change side by side with Eastern Caribbean change so that the children could see the comparison. This was a good exercise because tourism is a growing industry in Saint Lucia. It is likely that they may see American dollars at some point in their life.

The instructions for this class were to read a story about a little girl who earns and saves money to buy a present for her friend. Then the children are given a sheet with four choices of presents they would like to buy. They are to choose one and put American coin stickers beside the item to pay for it. I quickly see this will make absolutely no sense to these little six year old children.

So, you may be asking at this point: What do Pringles and Junior Achievement have in common? Is she totally isolated in her village on a remote island and she just babbles on about nothing?

I looked at the material and made an executive decision to chuck it. After all, I’m the executive in this Junior Achievement class. And then it came to me . . . the vision. Suddenly 23 Pringles Cans would have a new home and my power cord could once again claim the space in my cupboard that it had enjoyed for so long before I discovered this new tasty food.

Yup, time to make 23 banks…and better yet, I’d just found a use for all those coins that I don’t use (reference my post, “Money”, March 2009). I knew I was in for the fight of my life and had to prepare like a prize fighter. I was determined to win the battle to deliver an effective class. Alright, I admit there may be a possibility that I'm being a little dramatic here.

I measured and cut paper. I glued smaller pieces of colored paper onto the white paper. The children will decorate the paper before taping their artwork to the Pringles Cans. I separated all the coins I’ve collected in the last year and divided them into the cans. I even went to the local credit union to get some quarters, adding two to each can. I made my own can. Look at this talent! Am I amazing or what?

The next day, I was armed with the Junior Achievement storybook and twenty three cans, each filled with coins. I walked down my stairs and through my village streets, the cans loudly clinking, the loud sounds ringing in my ears and drawing the attention of each passerby. I boarded the bus and finally made my way to the MoPo.

I showed the children my bank and asked, “would you like to make one of these today?” Of course they all declared with excitement, “Yes, Miss”. I pulled out several coins and put them on a nearby desk next to my can.

The story for this week is about a little girl who works for money which she saves to buy a birthday present for her friend. I read the story to the children. Each time the little girl in the story earned money, I would take coins from the pile and toss them into the can. They made a loud noise, capturing the children’s attention.

After reading them the story I gave each child a Pringles Can complete with about a dollar in change. I asked them to take the money and find all the one cent coins, two cent coins, five cent coins and so on. I asked them to identify each coin.

I told them because they had worked so hard in the Junior Achievement class, they would be able to keep the coins. One little boy whispered in my ear, “I have money!” I responded, “yes, you do”.

The teacher looked my way while the children were coloring and decorating the paper that would cover each can. She said, “where did you get all these cans”. I responded, “easy, I eat a lot of Pringles”. Although I’m sure there was some dietary judgment on her part, she did flash a friendly smile.

I passed by the desk of a little girl, Jilli, who slipped me a homemade card. After the class, I looked at what she had given me. Two princesses with crowns, the printed words “Junior Achievement” and inside the card read, “I love you Miss”.

The teacher kept all the things they had made during Junior Achievement. They would bring them home during the last week of school. On the final day I was there, the teacher pointed to their banks and told me the children were bringing in change they collect and are rapidly filling up their banks.

Mexican Independence 200 Years

Tracy left the island and it was time to slow down a bit. Janyn and I spent slower days; we had a Banana Daquirie at Sandy Beach and went to the after school program. The last Thursday she was here was Corpus Christi day, a religious holiday.

Elvinette arranged for a large bus to take children to the Mexican Embassy. When she asked if we wanted to attend, we jumped at the idea. The Embassy had an exhibit celebrating it’s 200th anniversary of Independence from Spain.

I’ve become a night person since I retired from the corporate world in 2005. Before coming to Saint Lucia, I taught night classes. Since being here, I start my days after noon. So when Elvinette said we had to be in MoPo to meet the bus at 9:00 in the morning I knew it would be a small challenge.

The next morning Janyn and I arrived in MoPo just in time for a huge downpour. We took shelter and waited for the bus. As expected, the rain stopped as quickly as it started.

It was a happy bus ride. The children were singing songs and there was excitement in the air. For many children, opportunities to go outside the village are few and so the bus ride was high energy and just plain fun.

In less than an hour we drove past the sparkling Vigi Beach, past the airport and up a steep hill where the embassy overlooks the Castries Harbor. The Children got out of the bus and waited until everyone was ready to enter.

The Mexican Embassy is a tiny room and I wondered how long the exhibit would hold their attention.

We were in this room for a very long time. To my surprise the children enjoyed every moment.

The Mexican Ambassador was thrilled that we were there. He played with the children. They set up tables and played a game of Mexican Bingo and prizes were distributed. He showed them how to play with a top and the interaction was delightful.

The children took our camera and captured their moments.


Janyn and I were amazed at how captivated the children were at the Embassy. Confined to a small space for over two hours, they were well behaved and interested.

I thought of my own children and what it might have been like if I had taken them to this exhibit when they were young. Actually, just thinking about it gives me a headache. So lets move on.

We piled back into the bus and moved down the hill until we found a nice shady tree at the beach. We enjoyed a great picnic lunch. Of course, neither Janyn nor I thought far enough ahead to bring food, but we spotted a couple of food stands where we could buy something. Brenda would have none of that. There was plenty of food for us too. The children played American Football on the beach, collected shells and made sandcastles. The ice cream man stopped and scooped cups of cold dessert for us.


And so the day was over and it was time to pile back into the bus for the long ride home.

Janyn and I looked at each other and no words needed to be exchanged. We bid our friends a fond farewell and walked down a two mile stretch on the beach to do - well, what we do best.

Seeds

The more I learn, the more the same word comes up: Why? Why would anyone try to make money doing this? They grow on trees and they are a seed. What many people don’t know, or at least what I didn’t know, is that the tree not only produces the seed, but also produces apples.

The apples are quite sweet and very juicy, but it is difficult to transport them because the skin is fragile. I’m sure the reason I’d never eaten this difficult to ship and tasty fruit in Los Angeles is because the Cashew Tree grows in tropical climates.

The Cashew Tree begins flowering and the first beginnings of the seed pod become visible. As the flower dissipates and the seed matures an apple begins to grow.


The seed pod is a dark kidney shaped hideous looking thing; I’m reminded of some yucky worm like creature. But, aside from John, everyone I know loves cashew nuts and, therefore, my unscientific conclusion is this: it’s not relevant what they look like in their natural state, largely because no one knows and wouldn't care anyway.

Each apple has one seed. Why on earth did anyone think it would be a good idea to mass produce and sell cashew nuts! I mean cashew 'seeds'. One seed pod per fruit. How can anyone make money from this massive effort? One tree can produce a lot of fruit, but think of the hours of work each tree represents!

One must remove them from the tree, detach them from the apple, dry them, roast them, separate them from the hard leathery pod, pack them and ship them. And, the juice of the apple stains clothes, so there is an added step if you are not careful: shopping for new clothes.

My friends in the village wanted to ensure I understood the whole process. Recently, during the after school program, they brought cashew pods to roast so I could witness it first-hand. A hot fire is built and the seeds are put onto a roasting pan. They are stirred and mixed. Then the pan is removed and the cashew seeds are carefully removed. It's a messy process, fun to watch and even better to eat the seeds fresh and hot from the fire. What a treat.

I needed to know more about this fruit phenomenon.

Nigeria, Tanzania, India and Brazil account for the largest producers of Cashews. Vietnam and Indonesia recently entered this market. We love our cashew seeds. The United States imports 50% of the global market of cashew seeds! Last year, India exported 108,131 tons of cashews! Are you kidding me? One seed per fruit and India single-handedly exported how many tons? Now that is dedication.

Now I need to know how this is possible.
Here’s a video on YouTube showing people removing the cashew seed from the pod. Imagine.



And, here is more detail; a factory in Benin.


Nuts and seeds are a daily part of my diet. When I need a snack many times I will go into a convenience store and pick up a small bag of cashews. When I return home in just a short couple of months, I will be better prepared to appreciate three ounces of cashew nuts at less than $2 per bag.

But, I’m still curious. What else do we get from this tree? Well, it turns out the answer is “Quite a bit!”

Tribes in Surinam use the seed oil as an external worm medicine to kill botfly larvae, wine is made to cure dysentary in the Amazon, shampoos, lotions, scalp creams are made from parts tree bark, oils and leaves; We get salted nuts, plain nuts, dry roasted nuts, oil roasted, jumbo whole nuts, mixed pieces, honey roasted nuts, Trader Joes Lime and Chili and Sesame Honey Cashews, cashew juice, apples,cashew butter, cashew oil, cashew art (compliments of eBay-hey it's not my art! I'm just the reporter), cashew brittle, cashew granola. I need to take a breath and stop here, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m related to Forest Gump.
Oh, and one more thing. The cashew apple provides me with a perfectly amazing cashew smoothie. Cheers!