Fish Eyes, Ironing and Vincy Aerobics

One morning this past week, I woke up went through my normal routine of getting ready and headed out to breakfast at the Adam’s table. Sitting on the table in front of me was a bowl of fish soup, complete with a whole fish, potatoes, green bananas and broth. Fish eyes stared back at me as if to say “Good Morning! I hope you are ready for another day at school!” Now, I would not consider myself a picky eater but I am not especially keen on bones, skin or eyes for that matter. I guess that I have gotten used to the fish industry in the US that has convinced me that fish is skinless, boneless and eyeless when it comes to your table (or the skin is just on one side and easy to remove). It was one of those small challenges you don’t expect to come across but there it is facing you down at 7am. After taking a deep breath and a big sip of coffee, I went to work on the soup. I scraped every piece of meat off of that fish that I could wrestle free from the bones, skin and eyes. I saved all of my scraps on a separate plate and was relieved to find that a cat happened to be hanging around our yard. My scrapes went straight to the cat and my lack of fish cleaning skills went unnoticed for the day.

Vincentians must be among the best pressed people in the world. On the van to Kingstown in the morning, everyone has on a clean, fresh outfit. Even if it is just a t-shirt, it looks nice. During my first week at the Adam’s house, I had put on clothes to go to training and Florence simply told me that I was not allowed to leave the house without pressing my clothes first. I tried to convince her otherwise by stretching the shirt and showing how once I tied it up, it would look better but there was no chance. I was to join in the ranks with the Vincentians and become clean pressed. Since that day, I have decided that Sundays are my ironing day. After church, I pick out the five outfits that I will wear for the week and then get to work on ironing. It is hot work in the midday heat with only a fan blowing a bit of relief. It usually takes an hour for me to complete the chore and I am always sweat drenched by the end but it feels good to know that Florence is proud of me when I walk out of the house in the morning. Her Peace Corps is no creasy!

This past week, I was invited to attend aerobics with Florence’s sister, Edna. After a day at the Layou Government School, I hoped on a van to town to meet her at her office. Aerobics are held at the Peace Memorial Hall in a room that serves as a reception area for the concerts and recitals hosted in the auditorium. The class had four participants; myself, Edna, the former principal of Layou Government School who is now retired and a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties. The instructor, a man in his fifties, had been in a terrible car accident that left one of his legs permanently damaged. I had been nervous that the class might be too hard but after assessing the situation, I felt like it might be more like low-impact aerobics which would be much easier to follow. Boy howdy, I was wrong! The first twenty minutes of class were spent Shaking- Your-Booty. My bum went in every direction possible at the fastest pace possible for the next twenty minutes. All of those women were naturals! They could spin, shake, thrust and move those hips in all different directions. After the first twenty minutes, we grabbed “weights” that had been created by putting sand into Gatorade bottles, and did twenty minutes of non-stop lifting. “Squat deeper, lift higher, don’t stop!” yelled the instructor. I could feel the burn. We finished up the class with twenty minutes of sit-ups and Pilates style stretching. The next day, I could feel it all and it made me smile. Just goes to show that assumptions are usually wrong. I can’t wait to go this week. I figure after two years of this class my hips will be able to move like a local Vincentian!

Picture of the Beautiful Layou Waterfront