Category: Special Events

I first visited the African American Museum last Christmas.  Although I’d spent most of my visit in the basement, which goes back in time as one rides the elevator down, I didn’t have enough time nor mental bandwidth to see the upstairs.

As much as I enjoyed and absorbed the information from the theme-inspired floors, I took very few pictures as a result.  I loved that the Funkadelic spaceship had an honored position. This was probably my favorite artifact in the music section although the music room itself, where we could order up a song through an interactive screen embedded into a table, was my favorite interactive.

This album cover spoke to me since I’d begun writing an essay for Veterans Day about how the phrase “We the American People” should be inclusive, yet in common practice, it exclusively means White people. What struck me most about this album cover was as much progress Black people have made, we’re still fighting some of the same battles.

This interactive, geared mostly toward kids, taught some Black Greek step moves.  I’d wanted my nephew to do more than watch his own outline move, but at least he tried it out.

And like my first visit, I was starving by the time we ate. My feeding was delayed because my sister wanted to see the special exhibit before eating: Oprah Winfrey. As if that exhibit was going somewhere! For some reason, she was too anxious to wait. I sucked it up and walked around with a growling stomach, too hungry to take any pictures. Even so, I enjoyed watching some of her earlier clips when she was a mere beat reporter who’d eventually become a self-made billionaire.

As soon as I hit the cafe, I made a beeline to get the gumbo. That was memorably the best dish I’d tasted the last time. I did my foraging quickly around that a la carte style cafeteria, so I could get a table and put the feedbag on. My sister split a brick of cornbread with me after she and my nephew finally arrived at the table.

At the time, my sister wanted me to tell her my favorite part of the visit. I know it sounds too vague to say “all of it” or “the fact that it exists.” Honestly, I enjoyed seeing myself reflected in history and that the torch has been passed on to my generation to continue the challenge of making positive contributions to society and passing the torch of progress to the next generation.

One of my sisters orchestrated a sneaky-pants surprise birthday party for our mother. She chose to honor Mom’s 78th, versus her 80th, birthday just to throw Mom off the scent. I was in charge of making Mom’s powerpoint.

Mother Nature helped with the surprise. We’d originally planned to have Mom’s surprise party closer to her actual birthday in September, but Hurricane Florence blew that away.  Instead, we held it in November.

Fortunately, I live in a state where early voting is offered because I would’ve curtailed my visit in order to stand in line to vote. The biggest relief is that, taken out of my regular routine, I wasn’t inundated with local campaign ads. Yet, I couldn’t totally separate myself from politics since my family didn’t know about some of the egregious things certain politicians were doing. Yet, even worse than that, two of my friends, both women of color, had told me that they weren’t going to vote! One said that she was a Christian and God would take care of her. The other said she’d be content to let the chips fall where they may.

Of course that didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t go off on them at the time, but I didn’t forget. So, as we were heading down to NC en route to our hotel the day before the surprise birthday party, I asked my brother-in-law to stop so I could take a clear picture of one of the many cotton fields in bloom we’d passed along the way.

I texted this picture to both of my friends with a caption, which read, “Here’s your new workplace since you don’t vote!”

Once we reached the hotel, as anxious as I was to hit the room, I had to pause to take a picture of perhaps the only hotel joke I’ve ever seen.

The next morning, we had a fabulous breakfast and spent a couple of hours decorating the event place. One of the decorations was a deck of playing cards with Mom’s picture on it. As an avid pinochle player, Mom deserved to have her picture grade a deck of playing cards.

Mom arrived, thinking that she and Dad were attending someone else’s birthday party. I’m so happy that I caught her pointing her finger at someone, one of her infamous gestures.  We’d said “surprise” and the DJ played Stevie Wonder’s “Happy Birthday to You” as she circulated around the room.

My sister, who’d masterminded the entire event, maintained such a high level of energy throughout the entire evening. 

Mom then greeted one of her nieces,

one of our godparents,

a cousin-in-law,

her “boyfriend,”

and other family members.

I recommended using Mom’s high school senior portrait, which most people initially thought was my other sister. Dad kept telling people, “I got her when she looked like that!” I didn’t dare tell him that she’d gotten him when he was a young man himself.

Since I’d missed several family reunions in a row on Mom’s side, I wanted to take a picture of some of my cousins.

Then I joined in the group picture, holding Mom’s portrait. When she saw that, Mom had to join in herself.

And of course my sisters and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take a picture with Mom’s portrait.

One of the best blessings I have is that my parents are still alive, well and still together.  I love how they both joke that if the other one passes first, they wouldn’t remarry because they’re too old to retrain a new partner!

As we waited for the caterers to set up, different family and friends got on the mic to tell a funny story or even wish her well.

My brother-in-law missed a lot of the festivities because he had to go out and get a birthday cake since there was a miscommunication with the woman who was supposed to be in charge of the original cake.  Nonetheless, we made due with what he bought.

My parents opened the floor, dancing to “My Girl” by The Temptations.

Soon other couples joined them.

Wasn’t too long before all the line dances were played.

Once again, I risked having my “Black” card revoked since I didn’t dance because I don’t like line dances.

I didn’t even join in when they played the Electric Slide, which was the one I knew how to do.

The thing is, when I learned the Electric Slide, that was it for me. For life.

Then we had the requisite pictures: Mom with her grandkids.

Of course, Dad eventually got into the action.

My godparents posed with my parents.

Then I managed to capture a shot of my nieces with their father.

At the end of the party, before taking the gifts to the car, I snapped a picture of her gift table, which was a little deceptive since most of her cards where stored in the decorative box in the back of the table.

In the course of leaving, I discovered my niece’s steampunk hat that she bought at a costume shop when she should have been searching for birthday decorations for her grandmother. I, of course, had to pose with it. And my nephew, of course, had to photobomb.

Back at my parents’ home, Mom read through all her cards, while most of us were only truly interested in how much each card held. Although one of my cousins kept track of how much she collected on paper, I recounted the cash and put the bills in order. After putting it in an envelope, I ordered my mother to put it in a safe place then first thing Monday morning deposit it. Since we’re both Virgos, the conversation wasn’t necessary.

The next morning, we hit the road back to Virginia. While waiting for the others to finish up at the rest stop, we posed for pictures.

Our cousin suggested we get the tourist sign in a shot.

• Since the tourism motto is “Virginia Is for Lovers,” I got the Love sign as well.

For the past couple of birthdays, I’ve posed with my yoga teacher while wearing my tiara before class.  This was the first time I had a teacher who could truly sing. As a birthday gift, she quickly sang “Happy Birthday” during a third set of camel.As soon as I finished my yoga class, I jetted to one of my favorite movie theatres and arrived in time to order my libations, including an adult shake–chocolate reposado and enjoyed “Searching.”Afterwards, I made my way home during the start of rush hour traffic, mostly to regroup for a happy hour gathering at a swanky hotel downtown, but also to put my Bikram yoga funk ladened mat of its misery in the washing machine.

For this particular happy hour, the sponsors of the event brought together the international crowd from different do-gooder organizations. As mixed as that crowd was, I was the only one with a tiara.  Adding to the ensemble, I pulled my recently polished silver chalice out of my purse and placed it on the bar.

The New York bartender gave not a flying fuck that it was my birthday. Even when I told him what I was celebrating, he put his palms in the air and said, “Look, I just got here. No one’s told me anything.” [Although we Southerners considered his manner abrupt and rude, I’ve learned that New Yorkers consider that normal behavior.]

Strange reaction, but I told him that I wanted some sweet dessert cocktail and suggested a Butter Baby, which is Baileys and Butterscotch.  Again, he was dismissive, but said he’d hook something up. Among the things he put into my birthday cocktail was horchata, Frangelico, vanilla flavored vodka and seems like there was another ingredient.

At the end of the evening, my friend gifted me a bottle of Malbec, my favorite genre of red.

Since I believe in celebrating my birthday more than one day, I attended the opening reception of three women artists who all depicted strong women–real, fictional, and fictionalized real women.

The gallery owner’s husband burst out laughing when I pulled my silver chalice out of my purse.  As usual, they had a small libation table, which included red wine. I posed in front of one of the many Frida Kahlo paintings. This particular one was executed by an artist who had spoken at my show, The Austin Writers Roulette, a couple of times.  She juxtaposed Frida’s husband’s work (Diego Rivera) in the background with Frida in the foreground looking at peace.

One of my heroes, Gov. Ann Richards, who on paper, was the second woman to be governor of Texas, but for those of us who know history, Richards was the first.  Gov. Miriam “Ma” Ferguson appeared to be the surrogate governor for her husband who could no longer legally hold office.

In the years I’ve lived in Texas, I’ve witnessed people of color being priced out of housing due to unchecked rising prices and women having a diminished amount of control over our reproductive rights. I predict the rise of more powerful women such as Gov. Richards. Hopefully that’s more than a birthday wish.

For the past two months, I’ve been researching the feasibility of buying my own place. Seems like a premature endeavor since I barely have two spare pennies to rub together, but this new insurance job that I have is promising.

Nonetheless, one thing I concluded early on is that I didn’t want a house.  I thought perhaps a townhome or condo would suit me just fine.  Too bad they’re all out of my price range, especially in the new area where I wanted to move.

Enter tiny homes.  For the amount I thought I could purchase a condo, seems as if that’s tiny home prices. That’s why I pounced on the opportunity to attend the Tiny Home Jamboree.  I wanted to see what was available in this market, so I went with a friend, who’s actually a homeowner, but wanted to put a tiny home in the lot adjacent to her property and use it as an office.

Unfortunately, the weather reached around 106, so we slowly roasted as we checked out the tiny homes, starting with the DIY ones outside the Travis County Expo gate.This guy’s short bus had a Radio Flyer theme, complete with an actual Radio Flyer wagon in front.

I thought it was a little dangerous to have the bed next to the stove, but still it was otherwise a great use of space.

He even had a little dining table on the other side of the stove and the compost toilet was behind me in this picture.

Before attending this event, I had a bias against buses, but all the wood paneling added warmth to the ambience and won me over.

This was one of the biggest buses in the DIY lot. I thought it must be horrendous to drive this monster.

Yet, check out the full kitchen and pantry!

I really liked the bathroom area since I could stand in the shower.

Plus, there was a compostable toilet, which was a popular model.

This rustic homey DIY had to be pulled by a truck.

Again, I took bathroom shots since I don’t plan to be off the grid as far as some campers were, but many people enjoyed the fact that they had no home base and could see the country while driving along with their home.

Although I want my future tiny home to be in one place, I still appreciated the functional use of space in most of the mobile designs.

This guy, who I nicknamed “Shaggy,” owned a van that was painted as a jungle of marijuana leaves with his stove hitched on the inside of the van door.

This was the first DIY I actually visualized myself living in. Those wide steps were very sturdy and I liked the kitchen area along with dining table/workspace to the side of it.

I felt comfortable climbing the stairs to see the sleeping area.

I also liked the view of the kitchen and dining/work table from the stairs.

This was the only bus I’d seen with a club-footed bathtub. Yet it was in the kitchen without any privacy!

This family did have a private toilet area, but that “public” tub left something to be desired, like a wrap around shower curtain!

I liked how the tiny house from landlocked Colorado reminded me of a ship. The owner said that that wasn’t their intention in the beginning, but it morphed into ship.

The copper floor was made out of thousands of pennies, adding to the penny shortage, no doubt. This was the most elegant tub among all the tiny houses.

Compared to the rest of the home, this sink was surprisingly plain.

The area above the bathroom reminded me of the bow of a ship.

For this model, although I liked the full kitchen with the bathroom behind, I wasn’t  so sure about the sleeping quarters being above the kitchen, especially with the spices I use! And that ladder didn’t look middle aged woman-friendly.

Here’s another spacious tiny home I visualized myself living in. Not only were there twin mattresses and one queen-sized mattress upstairs with middle aged woman-friendly stairs leading to them, but a full bathroom and large bedroom in the back.  Is it possible for a tiny home to have too much room? 

So apathy, overheating and hunger worked against me taking many other pictures, but this wraparound wet bar spoke to me.  I loved the elegant arrangement of the storage space. More practical people can have a dining area instead of this wet bar, but “dining area” can be anywhere one eats. A wet bar on the other hand…

I had no idea what to expect from attending my very first tea sit.  It certainly wasn’t advertised as a “tea party,” in which case I would have been compelled to wear the one frumpy-looking hat I owned. Even when I googled “tea sit,” no such a thing existed.  How could that be? Everything that popped up consisted of how long to allow tea to brew.

As I pulled into the steep driveway, lined by lush trees and other foliage, and branched in opposite directions, I saw a gathering of women already seated on the porch.  Another woman and I were the last two to arrive, making a satisfying total of eight. Enough people to make the conversation rich, but small enough for everyone to be heard.

The UT graduate student who conducted the tea sit had several tea cups that held perhaps four sips of tea, so it was more for whetting one’s whistle than quenching one’s thirst. And like all events where no electronic devices are involved, time slowed down.

The hostess informed us that she liked arranging these teas because she wanted to create groups where people had self-renewing care mechanisms in place to address well-being. My takeaway from the gathering was that she wished to create a means for people to exit the rat race where it’s a constant battle, mentally and physically.

We were a multiracial group of women where none of us were mothers, whether child-free by choice or childless by circumstances. We all acknowledged that we could pour our time and energy into child-rearing or practically everything else that needed creative energy.

In addition to discussing self-care, we discussed, inevitably, our immersion into the toxic political climate, especially how the dominant narrative reacts to changing circumstances. Despite how “changing demographics are being foisted on the American people,” a nonsensical statement in reality since the demographics are a reflection of what’s happening in American society, Americanism in this case was use synonymously with “White.”

The alarm was sounded because American society appears browner over time, yet, looking at congress and other positions of power, there is still an overrepresentation of Whites; but the drum beat of the mid-term elections promises to diversify at least the political demographics.

So the constant challenge remains how to achieve both personal balance with one’s daily life as well as navigating through the changes happening all around us.