Tobago Meltdown

My son had a meltdown on the beach. This was a few days ago before my husband arrived and before I gave in to the expense and rented a car. I’d have to say that in the history of his three-year-old life this meltdown was the worst I’d ever seen. To be fair, I decided to walk to the beach in the hot late afternoon sun on a day he didn’t nap. We tumbled in the mild surf, saw two giant stingrays, collected seashells. All going fine until time to leave. Somehow, right then, the frayed cords holding him together got tangled, pulled taut, and snapped. Mindful he hadn’t slept I knew to treat him with care, to offer no suggestions, to agree benignly to everything he said even if the action needed was the exact opposite; just to tread oh so lightly until we got back to the villa. Until of course a well-meaning Rastaman decided to intervene and ask, “Small Man, like you not ready to leave the water?”

Small Man freaked the fuck out, grinding against me like an itchy calf against a tree, bellowing as if being lead to the abattoir.

Tobago, Natural Museum

We have found our perfect beach. We made two trips to Stone Haven, which had no stones but did threaten to engulf my children with hang-ten breakers.  And one drive to the significantly named Black Rock, with its barrier pool the perfect depth for the kids, but the water came up to my knees. Plus, I was paranoid that if I went beyond the rocks the surf would dash my brains against the rocky ledge. So we ventured left from our villa and found Mt. Irivne Bay. Calm water, clean sand, public facilities, bar, and gigantic stingrays.

If you want to see a bunch of West Indians clear a beach fast, shout “stingray.” Better yet, shout, “two sting rays.” They swam right up to the shoreline looking for fish guts. Both were huge and graceful, undulating their massive wings under the shallow surf. Occasionally, one partially beached a wing against the sand as if to reassure that they weren’t after us, just offal. We fled the water with the rest. My children were thrilled for a minute, and then more interested in making sand pies. On the one hand I thought good, that’s why we’re here. I want you to see seven-foot stingrays without making an F-train trip to the Brooklyn aquarium. But the other part of me was like “Guys, look! Gigantic stingrays! On the beach! Ahhh!”

Tobago

We are in Tobago! Last night I wrote a blog post on my new website and then couldn't figure out how to work it (my husband doesn't get here until Friday and I am not ashamed to say that he does the technology in this family; I handle social interactions and directions). The post is lost. I think I said I chose to bring the kids to Tobago because, A: My daughter had a very demanding kindergarten year and I wanted her to fully experience the down time that summer is supposed to be. B: Do you have any idea what it costs to send two kids to camp in Brooklyn? Thousands. C: My children have truly begun to think that a Trinidadian accent is something mom uses when she's pissed off, so there's supposed to be a "roots and culture" component to our adventure.

In the scant 48 hours we've been here my 6yo daughter has tanned to a shade of brown close to mine; she spends every second in the pool or the ocean; my 3yo boy, a natural explorer, is allowed to roam around the grounds out of my sight and unsupervised (if you've ever seen this boy endlessly walk the perimeter of our small, fenced-in Brooklyn playground, you understand why this is noteworthy). The kids have helped released leatherback turtle hatchlings into the Caribbean Sea, been startled to silence by the loudest goat ever, noticed that the Bare-Eyed Thrush sounds exactly like a wounded cat, and decided that naked is truly the way nature intended us to be.

Only one moment has given me pause. On our first night, fulfilling a promise to Helen that she could get into the pool at whatever hour we arrived at the Villa, I saw the fattest frog squatting on the rail. I understand he might have been hunting for bugs, but really I think he was just put here on earth to test me. I hate frogs.

GRACE IN THE CITY

I'm excited to share the paperback cover of my novel, Grace in the City. I've been trying to limit my use of exclamation points, but I love this cover!!! On sale 9/4/2012. I can't wait. Please share your thoughts and comments!

Defection

I've been trying hard not to post about having deactivated my Facebook account, and then I read the following in the NYTimes magazine, "When a computer chimes [...] with a new message, the brain starts anticipating the neurological “pleasure” [...]. That expectation, if unsatisfied, can build until you find yourself moved to distraction by the thought of an e-mail sitting there unread — even if you know, rationally, it’s most likely not important." (click here for entire article) Here was depressing confirmation that I had become a bona fide, diagnosable, rat-seeking-chocolate-at-the-end-of-the-maze facebook junkie. Luckily, at least for my own anti-zeitgeist peace of mind, I'd canceled Facebook a full two weeks before that article was published.
The time had simply come. Among other cues I couldn't resist telling me to "get out" were my mind wandering off to Facebook instead of into the new novel I was writing, wondering how many "likes" a particular post had received since the last fifteen minutes I checked, and my 5 y.o. daughter presenting me with her artwork and asking me to post it on my Wall. 

Understanding Addiction

My relative has lost another attempt to stop using drugs and I'm trying to understand his relapse. Why does quitting seem simple? That all one has to do is want enough to stop in order to stop? I thought I couldn't understand this weakness, this character flaw, until I cast my relative's addiction in terms I could understand: my own weakness.
For years, I have pulled a particular spot of my hair. I pull it when I write, mostly, but also when  I watch a movie, or have a lazy conversation with my husband. I do it a lot when I read. And, if pulling wasn't quite something I did in secret, I never pulled my hair in public.
For as long as I have pulled my hair, I have tried to stop. It's benign, but there's nothing attractive about a self-inflicted, benign bald spot behind your left ear.
The pulling began shortly after I stopped chemically straightening my hair, about fifteen years ago. For about year during that time, I grew out my natural hair and returned to a relaxer. Never once during that period did I pull my hair. Unfortunately, I also didn't run or engage in any strenuous exercise that would undo my expensive hairstyle and since I'm more concerned with my physical health than smooth straight hair, I cut off the straightener and went back to my natural kinks, and to pulling.

Done, so time to begin.

I handed in my Master's thesis in early January, and am now formally Victoria Brown, MFA. On the one hand my time has been freed up to pay more attention to my blog, but on the other, there's much more writing to be done, as well as I need to find a new academic job (wink, wink). Seriously though, I'm looking to find balance. I like making blog entries, but I also need to keep working on my second novel. Social media is all the rage for anyone trying to promote anything, and we're told constantly by editors and other writers and publicists that we've got to blog, and tweet, and facebook, and follow and lure followers! I find that all the outlets take up so much time - time that should be spent on the bigger projects. I'll try to keep blogging - maybe shorter posts, though it's hard for me to stop at a paragraph or two. Maybe I'll post more links and photos, or maybe I'll come to the Medium when I have something to say that I just have to say. In the meanwhile, keep up with me at Victoria Brown Author on Facebook, and follow me on twitter at @byvictoriabrown.

Hiatus

During the Fall, the Medium is on hiatus. I'm finishing up my last semester of Graduate School, working on the dissertation, as well as completing other classroom and professional responsibilities. The blog is the thing falling to the wayside, temporarily.

Please keep up with me on Facebook as Victoria Brown Author, or check my website (http://byvictoriabrown.com/) for updates on readings from my novel, Minding Ben.

Still, if something happens that I feel I must blog about, I'll find a social media outlet to let you know to check me out.

Cheers!